He merely smiled at the woman and murmured something that he hope sounded intelligent and vague. He took a quick glance at Calliope to see her fussing with a basket, a slight blush on her cheeks.
“We were all surprised since Mr. Melrose had us believing he was to marry her.” Another woman, tall and very thin with pinched lips studied him from behind her spectacles.
Stephen glanced at Calliope to see if she was going to answer. “I never promised to marry Mr. Melrose.” She tilted her cute little chin up. “I’m sorry he told you all that.”
He was proud of her strong response. She might need his protection against the man’s bullying, but she had no problem standing up for herself with these ladies. Truthfully, he found ladies with their gossip and mean slights to be harder to deal with than fisticuffs with another man.
“Well, we’re all just glad you’re happy, dear.” Mrs. Martindale patted her hand. “Why don’t you take your new husband around and introduce him to the others until we’re all set up here?”
They strolled arm-in-arm, Calliope making the introductions. She was well-respected and liked by the community. One or two others raised their eyebrows at her having a husband, but no one else mentioned Melrose. Stephen kept watch over the crowd, and eventually caught sight of the man standing with a group of men who looked as shifty as him.
Eventually they made their way over to the circle of men standing with Melrose. When Calliope noticed who was in the group, she attempted to turn him in another direction. He was having none of it, and kept her on the path headed to the men.
“You can’t avoid him forever.” He murmured into her ear as they got closer.
Melrose scowled as they approached. “Look who’s here. The bride thief.” He grinned at him, and leered at Calliope, which set Stephen’s blood to boiling. He gripped Calliope’s hand when he felt her stiffen against him. “Melrose.” He nodded in the man’s direction.
Perhaps sensing the tension between the two men, once Calliope introduced him, the other men drifted away, leaving Melrose, Stephen and Calliope facing each other. “Don’t think you’re gonna get away with this, McCoy.” Melrose spat on the ground.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Stephen managed to keep his voice steady, even though he wanted nothing more than to throttle the man.
“I know this marriage thing is a fake. She never mentioned you in all the time I’ve known her, then all of a sudden you two are married. Don’t sit well with me, and I intend to find out what the hell is going on with you and my woman.”
“Since we’re standing on the church grounds, I’ll be a gentlemen as I promised my wife. But I would like to remind you that Mrs. McCoy is not ‘your woman’ and you are to stay clear of her. Is that understood? You are not welcomed at our house and I don’t expect to ever come home and find you there.” He began to walk Calliope away when he stopped and turned back to Melrose.
“I’m curious about one thing.”
Melrose frowned at him. “What’s that, McCoy?”
“I’d like to know why the creek on our side of the fence is dry with all the rain we’ve had. My man and I intend to investigate. We just want to be sure no one has done any damming of the creek on the other side of the fence.” With that they strolled away.
***
Once they were out of earshot of Rupert, Calliope yanked her arm from Stephen’s and turned to him. “Your man? Damming up the creek? Did you mean my creek?”
Stephen regarded her with raised eyebrows. Oh, how dare the man look surprised. She’d told him at the very beginning that this was her farm, and she would make all the decisions.
“Why is it I didn’t know anything about the creek being dammed up?”
He shrugged, making her even angrier. “John and I only saw it the other day. I guess I forgot to mention it to you.”
“Forgot? It’s my farm. I need to know everything that goes on there. And since when did John become your man?”
“Whoa, settle down, honey.”
She gritted her teeth. “Don’t honey me.”
Stephen looked around at the curious faces watching their exchange, and took her by the arm again. “Let’s discuss this somewhere else. Preferably at home.”
“My home?”
That got to him, since his face flushed red and his body stiffened. “I was under the impression it was our home. But maybe I was mistaken. Perhaps I’m only an employee, rather than a husband.”
She raised her chin. “Yes. An employee. That was our bargain, I would remain sole owner of the farm and you would be there to keep Rupert away.”
“Calliope, this is not the place to have this conversation. We’re drawing attention, and if you want to keep up this ‘pretend’ marriage, we need to stop bickering. Now.”
Of course he was right. If she wanted everyone to believe theirs was a love match, then she had to get her anger under control. She drew in a deep breath and offered him a slight smile. All that she could manage at the time with her heart thumping with anger. She refused to have another man take over her farm and her life. If she had wanted that, all she had to do was marry Rupert and be done with it.
Except there was more to it than that. The thought of Rupert’s hands on her naked body was enough to bring up the breakfast she’d eaten hours ago. Stephen had, indeed, saved her from that nastiness.
But it was still her farm, and he needed to know that.
The rest of the afternoon passed in relative peace. They avoided Rupert, who also avoided them, although he did glare at Stephen every once in a while. Based on what she knew about her neighbor, he wouldn’t give up so easily. He wanted her and he wanted her farm. He was the sort of man who got what he wanted. She shivered once again thinking about his hands on her.
“Are you cold?” Stephen regarded her from where he sat on the ground, leaning against a tree, his arms resting on his bent knees. They’d finished their plates of food and sat watching the children running around, enjoying the spring air.
One day she could have her own children enjoying the church picnic. However, in order to be a mother, she first had to become a true wife. If Stephen’s kisses were any indication on how skilled he would be in bed, her determination to keep him from her bed might not be so very wise.
“I am a little chilly.” She checked the tiny watch pinned to her dress. “It is getting late. We still have some chores to finish before bed.”
Why had she mentioned ‘bed?’ All that dwelling on it while she’d watched the children play had softened her brain. The look on her husband’s face told her he still planned on joining her there one night. So far he’d been sleeping on the small sofa in her bedroom. Each morning she shook out the sheets, blanket, and pillow he’d used, and stored them in the closet before Bertha entered her room to clean.
He rose and offered his hand for her to stand. Whether by accident or on purpose, he tugged a little bit too hard and she landed pressed against his chest. She licked her suddenly dry lips and looked into his shuddered eyes. Oh, dear. Surely he wouldn’t kiss her right here in front of everyone? She would be scandalized. Pulling back, she smoothed her hair back. “I need to fetch my basket from the table.”
Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, he tucked a curl behind her ear, then cast her a slow smile and nodded. “I’ll go with you.” He reached out and took her hand.
She was still seething, but would finish this difference of opinion on her farm at home.
The ride from town was uneventful, with both of them quiet with their own thoughts. She had to decide what she really wanted from Stephen. She’d jumped into this without much forethought and now she had a husband who wanted to take her to bed, who wanted to have a say in decisions, and gave her the uncomfortable feeling that he was about to take over.
That had not been her plan when she fled the very same situation with Rupert.
Her honest side chastised her for expecting the man to be no more than a puppet. He was a flesh and blood man, wit
h feelings, wants, and desires of his own. She’d been so busy thinking about what she needed and wanted that she ignored the fact that Stephen McCoy was, in the eyes of man and God, her husband. With certain rights, whether she liked that or not.
She viewed him from underneath lowered eyelashes. A handsome, strong man, it would be no sacrifice to allow him to bed her. Especially based on the few kisses they’d shared. Just thinking of those kisses had her face heating.
But then would her feelings change? Would she fall over like a simpering female and allow him to rule her life? She’d often though her mother allowed her father to rule with such an iron hand because she was so in love with the man.
Once they arrived home, Stephen jumped down from the wagon bench and strode to the other side. Clasping her waist in his hands, he lifted her and slowly slid her down his body, all the time gazing into her eyes, almost as if challenging her. She knew her face reflected her uneasiness at his closeness.
“If you think I’m going to forget our discussion, you’re wrong.” She pulled back. “I’ll meet you in the parlor after you’ve put the wagon away.” She grabbed the basket from the back of the wagon and hurried to the house. He would not use kisses and smoldering looks to control her, either.
She stood staring out the window when he entered the parlor. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her arms. “I don’t like to see you upset.” His soft words whispered near her ear sent goose bumps racing along her skin.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “You agreed to allow me to keep the farm in my name, only.”
He turned her so she faced him in the circle of his arms. “I did. And isn’t that what happened? Have I asked you to change that?”
It was very hard to concentrate when he was so close. The scent of something spicy and warm that always surrounded him. The warmth of his body radiating out to hers. The softness of his much washed shirt underneath her palms where she held onto his arms. Strong muscled arms. She pulled away.
“Yes. You haven’t asked me to add you to the deed. But you are taking over. You never told me about the creek being dammed up.”
“It probably slipped my mind. I only thought of it again once I saw Melrose at the church.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And you referred to John as ‘my man.’”
“So what?” He ran his fingers through his hair and placed his hands on his slim hips. “My man, your man, our man, it’s just a figure of speech.”
“No. It’s not just a figure of speech. You assume too much.”
“I’m your husband. Even if I don’t have my name on your precious deed, I still have a say. I can’t expect to work with these people if they think everything I want to do has to be approved by you first.”
“Why not? It was that way before you came.”
“But I’m here now. And I have some rights. I intend to help you make this farm bigger and better. Maybe even expand to a horse farm sometime in the future.”
She gasped. “I never said I wanted a horse farm.”
“That’s not something I want to discuss now. I just want to make it clear that I need your backing when I deal with people.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. From here on out you will consider yourself my employee.” With that she flounced away and raced up the stairs to the bedroom.
Chapter Six
Stephen stood with his mouth agape as Calliope hurried from the room and ran up the stairs. The sound of the bedroom door slamming knocked a picture of a field of daisies from the wall in the parlor, to land on the floor.
An employee?
What the hell had he gotten himself into? The woman was beyond frustrating. When he didn’t want to grab her and kiss her senseless, he wanted to shake her senseless. He’d never met someone who was able to tie him into knots like she had the ability to do. He ran his hand down his face and picked up the basket she’d left on the parlor floor to return it to the kitchen
Two weeks later
Stephen dipped his head into the bucket of clean water and rubbed his face, then grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up to wash his face and hands. He was tired to the bone after having spent days walking one of the workhorses back and forth at the end of the field, dragging a log that would create a dust barrier between fields that crawling bugs would not cross. The entire process seemed fruitless, since the bugs had already badly damaged one field and were headed for another.
One more reason why he would prefer a horse farm. Sure, there were problems with those as well, but on a regular farm a good hailstorm could wipe out months of work in just a few minutes. The work on his farm—ha! he had to remember this was not his farm, he was an employee—was labor intensive. He and John did as much as they could with hiring a few of the older boys from town when the needed additional help. Stephen had so many ideas to make the farm better, more productive and more financially stable, but Calliope had apparently taken up her father’s habit of not listening to anyone else’s ideas except her own.
Frustrating woman.
More than her being so very afraid to release the least amount of control was his frustration in the bedroom. They’d shared a few kisses, and even a few intimate touches, but she always drew back and reminded him theirs was not ‘that sort of a marriage.’ And he would promptly remind her she agreed to allow him his martial rights once she was comfortable. Hell, she might say she was uncomfortable for the next ten years.
He dried his face on the towel hanging on the hook by the back door and entered the kitchen. Wonderful smells greeted him, but what got his attention more was Calliope standing over the stove, her face flushed, curls from her bun drooping around her face. Steam from the pot she stirred had saturated the bodice of her dress which clung to every lovely curve of her breasts.
Blowing out a breath of air from his tightened lungs, he continued across the room to stand behind her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he leaned his chin on her shoulder. “Where’s Bertha?” Whatever she was cooking in no way compared to the scent of lilacs that always surrounded her. He leaned in a bit and kissed the side of her neck.
“Stop.” She tried to pull away, but he held firm, sucking lightly on the soft skin under her ear. He was pleased to see her drop the cooking spoon and lean into him. “Don’t. Do. That.” There was absolutely no strength in her words.
“Are you sure,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ll bet it feels good.” He nuzzled her neck, then brought his hands up to cup her breasts. So soft, so warm. She gave a little whimper and pushed forward into his hands. His thumbs grazed her nipples, bringing a hitch to her breathing.
“Let’s forget about supper and go upstairs.” He nipped her earlobe and moved one hand down to cup her sex through her skirt. She reached out and braced herself on the stove. “No. Don’t do that.”
The woman was driving him crazy. He’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her. And she was his wife. They should right now be upstairs enjoying each other’s bodies, sharing the desire he knew smoldered beneath her cool exterior. She might have said she wanted a marriage in name only, but there was far too much passion in her waiting to be set free.
And he intended to be the one to do it.
Suddenly she wrenched herself free, and turned to him leaning back over the stove. He yanked her forward.
“Stop.” She panted, and leaned further back.
“Foolish woman. You’re about to set yourself on fire.” He pulled her into his arms.
“Oh.”
He moved her a few steps from the stove, released her, and ran his fingers through his hair. “Is supper ready?”
“Yes. You can sit down.” She patted her hair and turned back to the stove, picking up the cooking spoon.
He pulled out a chair and plopped into it. “Where’s Bertha?” Not that he cared where the cook was, he just wanted to have some inane conversation to calm his body down. If such a thing were possible after touching her the w
ay he had.
“She had to visit her mother for a few days. She’s sick with the flu.”
So they had the house to themselves. Instead of calming down, he now had visions of stripping Calliope right there in the kitchen and taking her on the table. Or laying her down on the carpet near the fireplace and making slow, tender love to her in front of the roaring flames. Perhaps he would grab hold of her on their way upstairs later and brace her against the wall, taking her fast and hard.
Good Lord. What the devil was wrong with him? She was his wife, not some whore from the local saloon. He stared at her as her bottom moved back and forth as she stirred whatever it was in the pot. No longer hungry for food, he popped up from his chair. “I think I’ll skip supper. I have a few more chores to finish.”
With that idiotic statement he fled the kitchen and the house, running like some pimply youth who was confronted with his first prostitute.
***
Calliope stood with her hands fisted on her hips, gravy dripping from the cooking spoon onto the floor. Well, what was that all about? Two minutes ago he was starving and now he decided he didn’t want supper.
She turned back to the stove and moved the pot over. Since she’d grown up with a housekeeper and cook she wasn’t much of a cook herself. But since Bertha had to leave she’d made the effort. The least he could have done was eat the blasted thing. Whatever the thing was that she’d made. It started out as stew, but looked more like soup.
Sighing, she sat at the table and thought about her husband. The very reason she wanted to have a marriage in name only was because she didn’t want to fall hopelessly in love with the man and then turn into her mother who allowed her father to run every part of her life. Intimacy with a man did that. Made you fall in love. She didn’t want love. She wanted a nice, normal life with a partner more than a husband.
Although, truth be known, she was having some problems with the partner idea. Not that Stephen didn’t have good plans, but if she allowed him too much freedom the farm would no longer be hers and she would be right where her mother had been all her life.
Stephen’s Bride Page 5