by Jodi Thomas
‘‘I forgot to ask you how you like your coffee,’’ she said as she poured.
‘‘Strong,’’ he answered, watching her closely. This is marriage, he thought. If she decided to stay, this was how it was going to be every morning for the rest of their lives, and already he couldn’t think of anything to say. It might prove a long, long lifetime. He tried to think of the kind of things he talked about with the saloon girls in town, or the mercantile owner’s wife, or even Mary Anna after he’d asked her to dance. Nothing he could think of sounded right.
Letting the first few swallows burn his throat, Winter decided he’d probably have little use for speech from now on. Kora seemed as quiet as her sister was chatty. He couldn’t imagine how two women from the same parentage could be so different. Jamie looked as if she’d never worn a dress, and he guessed Kora was always a lady.
Finally she broke the silence. ‘‘I like a little sugar in mine.’’
For a second her words made no sense, for he’d forgotten all about the coffee. She was trying to help make it easier, he guessed. The least he could do was try also. ‘‘In a china cup?’’
Kora smiled. ‘‘No, I’ve always like the feel of a mug in my hands. That way the coffee warms my fingers.’’ She stared down at the cup.
That’s it, he thought. That’s as far as the conversation will go. What else could he say? They might be married, but he didn’t feel he knew her well enough to comment on her hands now hugging the cup, or ask her why she’d touched him last night. Or why she’d chosen to sleep in the attic on the floor and not in one of the beds downstairs. Or why she was already dressed this morning. Shouldn’t she have been in her nightclothes? He wasn’t about to inquire.
Hell, he swore again to himself, I could spend a lifetime thinking about what not to talk about with this woman.
‘‘I have to ride out to the south pasture this morning,’’ he said between sips. ‘‘I’d invite you to come along, but it’s not as safe as usual.’’
‘‘I don’t ride,’’ she answered.
‘‘Never?’’ Winter couldn’t imagine a woman never riding. Being able to handle a horse was a part of life, like walking, or breathing, or swimming.
‘‘I never learned.’’ She smiled suddenly. ‘‘Maybe you should have asked me that last night before you married me.’’
Winter frowned. ‘‘Most definitely. I might have changed my mind. A rancher’s wife who doesn’t ride, now that’s something to consider. I’ve never heard of that.’’ Even Miss Allie could ride when she was in her sixties.
Kora laughed suddenly. ‘‘You’re kidding!’’
‘‘Of course.’’ He liked the way she laughed. ‘‘Whether you ride or don’t is up to you.’’
‘‘If you’ll wait until I get the house in order, I could get Jamie to teach me. I’ve always been afraid of horses, but if you’ve got a gentle one, I’ll try.’’
‘‘No.’’ He stood and downed the last of his coffee. ‘‘I’ll teach you to ride. I wouldn’t trust that sister of yours to be safe.’’
She followed him to the door. Before he could reach for his hat, Kora lifted it from the peg and handed it to him. She was doing it again, he thought, playing the part of a wife as though she’d read a book on what to do.
‘‘If there’s trouble, I may be late.’’ He wished he could think of something else to say. There were a thousand things he didn’t know about her. Like where she came from and how her parents died. How did she get the ribbon of calluses on her palms?
‘‘I’ll wait up.’’
‘‘It isn’t necessary.’’
Nodding, she didn’t look up at him. He had the urge to ask her to let her hair down again like it had been last night, but it seemed a very personal thing to request of a woman. She might be a mouse afraid to talk to him, but her hair was magic, all shiny white gold.
Winter didn’t want to leave. Maybe if they spent some time together, they’d finally stop being as jumpy as spring colts around each other. ‘‘Kora?’’ He tried to say her name without sounding like he was snapping an order, but his voice had rusted from lack of conversation.
‘‘Yes?’’ She raised her gaze.
He saw it then, the fear he’d seen before. Here they were standing in the kitchen in broad daylight, and she was looking at him as if he might try to murder her at any moment. Without thinking, he said the only thing that came to his mind. ‘‘Are you sorry?’’
‘‘For what?’’
‘‘For marrying me,’’ he answered. She was the one who’d come into this marriage with nothing. The marriage had made her a wealthy woman, for even if she left, he planned to offer her far more than train tickets. But he was the one who felt like the beggar. He’d taken advantage of her impoverished situation. He knew the moment he’d seen what little she had in that hole she called a home that she’d have to agree to marry him or face starvation.
‘‘No,’’ she answered. ‘‘I’m not sorry.’’
Winter dragged his fingers through his dark, straight hair and let out a long breath before lifting his hat. ‘‘Will you promise me if you ever are, you’ll tell me?’’
Kora tilted her head slightly. ‘‘I promise.’’
‘‘I’ll tell one of the men to have a wagon ready to take you into town. I’d like you to buy anything you need to settle in here. Anything. Just put it on my account.’’
‘‘All right.’’
‘‘And take Logan along with you. Until this trouble’s over, I’d feel safer if you had him along if you leave this area.’’
He wasn’t sure if she agreed or was too frightened to argue. ‘‘Try to get some rest today. Logan will see that the men move one of the beds up to the attic and anything else you want hauled up there.’’
She didn’t answer.
Winter opened the door, angry with himself for ordering her. The woman had no idea how desperate the men were to break the quarantine. A man who’d kill another man’s herd with the fever was just one step away from killing the man. Later, he’d try to make her understand that his ranch was in the dead center of the only logical crossing. Which made him, and now her, the most likely targets.
He walked out onto the porch, almost colliding with Cheyenne. ‘‘Shouldn’t you be asleep? We were up all night,’’ Winter growled at the Indian.
‘‘No.’’ Cheyenne didn’t bother to say the obvious. ‘‘ Logan says you’re saddled up. I thought I’d join you.’’
Checking his Colt, Winter lowered his voice. ‘‘I can almost smell trouble in the air.’’
Cheyenne glanced over Winter’s shoulder to make sure Kora wasn’t listening. ‘‘So can I. They’re coming. I can feel it beneath my boots.’’
‘‘Like a man feels a stampede coming even before he sees it,’’ Winter added. ‘‘Well, let’s ride. I’d rather go out to meet it than have trouble come knocking at my door. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before dark.’’
‘‘It wouldn’t knock twice in one day at your door,’’ Cheyenne mumbled as he walked to the hitching rail. ‘‘Yesterday you had no wife. Today you almost had two.’’
Winter sighed, knowing that if Cheyenne was mentioning it, the other hands were probably joking about Mary Anna’s visit by now. ‘‘You saw the lady?’’
‘‘She was riding out in such a rage, she’ll whip her poor horse to death before she reaches town.’’
‘‘Maybe he’ll buck her off.’’
‘‘Some women aren’t as easy to be rid of.’’ Cheyenne swung into the saddle without another word, leaving Winter to wonder if Cheyenne was talking about Mary Anna’s horse being rid of her or him being rid of Mary Anna.
They didn’t talk for several hours as they rode back and forth across Winter’s land, making sure all the lookouts were in place. Miles of range stood with open pasture, but each rancher knew where his land ended and his neighbor’s began. As the weather warmed, the chances of a herd trying to cross grew greater. A few of the small ran
chers had suggested barbed wire to close off the land, but most of the older ranchers were dead set against it. Some of his neighbors were even talking about hanging any man who tried to drive a sick cow over their property, but Winter thought shooting the infected cattle was as far as he’d go.
By nightfall every bone in his body ached from exhaustion. Cheyenne left him at the barn, and Winter walked slowly to the house. He could see a light on in the kitchen and found it strangely welcoming. For most of his life he’d never felt a sense of home. Before this house, the only place he’d called home had been a village along the Washita. His last memory of it had been the screams of his mother’s people as soldiers rode in.
No one was around as he washed on the porch and entered the kitchen, but he found a meal on the table with a cloth covering it. He downed the glass of milk and tasted a leg of chicken with one hand while he tried to remove his coat with the other.
The chicken tasted better than any he’d ever had. Before he realized it, he’d downed another two pieces and poured himself a third glass of milk. Ten minutes later he’d cleaned the plate and eaten half a pie.
Finally Winter paused and leaned back in his chair. Married life was great. As he relaxed, he looked around the kitchen. Tiny changes were everywhere. She’d moved things, organized them differently. And there were new things, too. Towels on the bar beside the sink, jars with matching lids on a shelf, a blue bowl on the table filled with shining apples.
Winter picked up one of the apples, remembering how the captain had yelled at him for eating all the apples when he’d been a boy. But that had been all he could get to when he’d been hiding in the supply wagon. He thought the captain was going to kill him over a handful of fruit. But that next spring the captain had ordered trees all the way from Dallas and made Winter work until after dark, planting them down by the spring. In a few years they’d had more apples than they could eat.
Wandering to the study, Winter stretched out on the sofa and tossed the apple in the air. If Kora could make that good a pie with apples left in storage for months, he could hardly wait to taste the pies she’d make come summer. Closing his eyes, Winter let the piece of fruit drop to the floor from his open palm as he fell asleep.
Much later he felt someone gently tugging off his boots and spreading a blanket over him. Without opening his eyes, he heard soft steps walk to the fire and put on another log. Fighting down the desire to look up, he remained still as she crossed to him once more and lightly touched his cheek. Then, so softly he could almost swear he was dreaming, she kissed him and vanished before he could think of the way he should react.
His exhausted mind told him it was only a dream as he drifted deeper into sleep.
Dawn was just seeping into the study when Winter was jolted fully awake by the slamming of the front door.
He reached for his gun and ran toward the foyer, wondering if every morning of married life was destined to start the same.
Jamie collided with him as he rounded the study door.
He took one look at her and lowered the weapon, then saw the anger in her eyes and reconsidered.
She shoved him hard, almost knocking him off balance. ‘‘Get out of my way, cowboy!’’
Winter opened his mouth to answer her just as he saw Kora come from the kitchen. All the anger left him when he saw her.
‘‘What is it?’’ she asked, looking from Jamie to Winter. ‘‘What’s wrong?’’
‘‘Win’s given orders that we can’t leave!’’ Jamie stomped toward her sister with a look that dared Winter to say a word. ‘‘He’s planning to keep us prisoners here. I told you the man was one half wild and the other half crazy. What kind of man rides up after dark demanding you marry him before dawn, then takes us to his house and holds us prisoners?’’
‘‘I’ve done no such thing!’’ Winter shouted as he rubbed his scalp trying to awaken his brain. ‘‘I just said if you leave, someone has to go with you.’’
‘‘Well, I like riding alone!’’ Jamie snapped.
‘‘You’ll go with a rider, or not at all. At least until the trouble’s over.’’
Jamie took a step toward him. If she’d have been his height, he might have considered backing down. She had the same blue eyes and blond hair as her sister, only her eyes were filled with anger and her hair tied with rawhide at the nape of her neck. He felt as if a painter had used the same model to sculpt both an angel and a devil.
‘‘I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not my father or brother or husband. You’re not even my sister’s husband, sleeping down here on the couch. What kind of man are you anyway?’’
Winter balled his hands into fists at his sides, making himself remain still. He’d never been talked to like this, and the image Cheyenne had suggested of tossing her into the river flashed through his mind.
Before he was fool enough to act or even speak, Kora stepped between them. She turned toward Jamie, almost touching Winter with her back.
‘‘Winter’s right, Jamie. If he thinks there is too much danger for you to go alone, then there is.’’ She stood firm.
To Winter’s surprise, Jamie backed down. She hadn’t seemed the least hesitant to face him, but Kora’s gentle voice drained her fury.
‘‘And another thing’’-Kora raised her chin as she faced Jamie and leaned slightly to touch Win’s chest with her back-‘‘our married life is none of your concern, just as yours will be none of mine once you’ve said ‘I do.’ ’’
‘‘Don’t hold your breath for me to ever say those two words.’’ Jamie stomped halfway up the stairs, then turned around, her smile fixed on her face. ‘‘When you ride out, dear brother-in-law, I’m going with you. I’m not spending another day cooped up, and Cheyenne and you are the only two men on this place that look like you could keep up with me. So when you ride, I ride.’’
Winter opened his mouth to argue but reconsidered. Jamie would be safer with them than with anyone on the ranch, and at the pace they kept, she’d be glad to stay home for a few days after.
He took a deep breath, letting his chest press against Kora’s back.
She didn’t move away.
Win lifted his hands slowly, to rest them at her waist. ‘‘Don’t worry,’’ he whispered against her ear. ‘‘I’ll look after her.’’
Kora leaned her head back. By not looking at him, she could ignore logic and enjoy his nearness. His hands were warm at her waist as he turned his face into her hair. He took a deep breath, pushing closer as his chest expanded.
‘‘And another thing!’’ Jamie yelled from the second floor, shattering the moment. ‘‘Tell that Indian to stop watching me!’’
Kora moved away as Win yelled back, ‘‘Tell him yourself! I’m not Western Union.’’
He turned and walked back into the study. The memory of Kora in front of him, touching him so slightly, was as thick as liquor in his mind. Win forced the thought aside, deciding he was being foolish. He wasn’t the kind of man to waste time thinking about the way Kora felt. It wasn’t as if he’d never been with women before; she couldn’t be all that different. He would be far more practical to worry about how Cheyenne was going to react when he found out they’d have company today.
Kora was folding his blanket when he approached. She didn’t look as if she’d been up long. Her hair was still down and she wore a white cotton gown and wrapper. Smiling, he realized they were new. He was glad she’d bought something for herself yesterday. He only wished he’d thought to tell her to.
‘‘That’s not necessary,’’ he said as he tucked his shirt in. ‘‘I usually don’t bother to fold it up.’’
‘‘I’m not just folding it up, I’m putting it up.’’ Kora didn’t look at him as she worked. ‘‘Jamie’s right. We’re married. We should at least sleep in the same room.’’
He watched her closely, trying to read her meaning.
‘‘I’ll move your clothes to the attic today, and tonight you’ll sleep in your own bed in our bedroom
.’’
‘‘Where will you sleep?’’ He remembered how small she’d looked all curled up in a ball on the floor that first night. She hadn’t noticed that after she’d kissed him, he’d followed her upstairs. He’d watched her remove her dress, then lie down on the quilts like an orphan without a home.
‘‘I’ll sleep beside you.’’ She said the words solid, as if she’d thought about them a long time. ‘‘After talking to Logan all day yesterday, if there was one thing I’ve learned, you are a man of your word. I know I’ll be safe, and you’ll ask nothing of me until I’m through grieving, as we agreed.’’
Winter fought not to groan aloud. He wished she hadn’t said what she did. Now he was feeling guilty for even thinking what he’d thought when she’d mentioned him moving upstairs. ‘‘I’ll hold to my word,’’ he reminded himself more than her.
EIGHT
BY MIDAFTERNOON THE SKY WAS BOILING WITH DARK gray clouds heavy with rain. The wind whipped around through the breaks, debating a direction. Winter slowed his horse and let Cheyenne pull up beside him as he watched a dust devil dance along the ridge just south of where his land ended.
‘‘She’s still with us,’’ Cheyenne mumbled.
Winter laughed. The man had spent half his day trying to lose Jamie and the other half worrying about her being able to keep up. To the woman’s credit, she could ride as well as any of his cowhands, and better than most. Cheyenne had pointed out all her shortcomings as a horsewoman, and she’d repeatedly told him where he could ride to and back with his advice.
‘‘We’ll have to cross onto McLain’s land if we go any farther. You think we should turn around and call it a day?’’ Winter twisted to watch Jamie approaching.
He was surprised at the expression on Cheyenne’s face, then he realized he’d probably never asked for advice or turned toward home early. But for a reason he couldn’t explain, he wanted to get back.
‘‘It would probably be best for your sister-in-law,’’ Cheyenne answered. ‘‘This wind will turn cold at dusk.’’