by Carol Arens
She glanced down at him, sudden grief darkening her olive eyes. “Oh...a desperate situation is exactly what happened.”
“That is not at all what happened.”
Lantree rose from where he remained crouched beside the chair then joined her at the window. He touched her shoulders, turned her to look at her reflection in the glass.
“Tell me what you see,” he said.
“Rain.”
“I see someone lovely.” He knew she saw their reflections because she glanced at him in the glass, her expression wary. “I see a woman who can look at me and not be focused on the third button of my shirt. Look here, Becca, if you tip your head to the side—” he cupped her cheek in his hand, pressing gently “—you can rest your head on my shoulder.”
“That hardly makes me lovely, Lantree,” she said, but she didn’t lift her head.
“I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve never even spoken this out loud. I was relieved when my fiancée left me.”
She turned so that they no longer looked at each other in the glass.
“You didn’t care for her?”
“I did, very much, at first. She seemed to be everything a man could want, pretty, petite, sweet-natured. After a while, though, I felt her withdraw when we were alone. It turns out, she was afraid of me...of my size. The truth is, when we were intimate she trembled. So I held back, worried that I might hurt her. Then the fever came to town. I couldn’t save her parents, and her brother was gone before I knew he was ill. She blamed me.”
“For an illness that you didn’t cause? That you risked your own life trying to stop? If you ask me, she didn’t deserve you. You were a hero, Lantree, flat out and plain.”
All of a sudden she hugged him around the middle. He felt the tickle of her hair under his chin.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.”
“Don’t be. Eloise and I would never have suited.” He kissed the top of her head, felt her take a long breath and lean into him. “The reason I’m telling you all this is so you’ll know how special you are. Tiny women might be what society sets as the standard, but to me, you are the beautiful one. And while you are beautifully formed, loveliness goes so much deeper in you, Becca. You are smart and resourceful, brave and funny. When I look at you I hear music, even when you’re not playing your violin. So when I tell you that you are beautiful, I’m seeing you inside as well as out...and I’m being sincere when I say so.”
“Well—” she placed her hands on his chest and shoved away from him “—at any rate, we have bigger issues to face than my appearance.”
His words had not convinced her that she was not the ugly duckling. But he had opened his heart to her and he could only hope that in time it would make a difference.
“I suggest we take them one at a time,” he said.
“I suppose that’s the only way we’ll get by.”
“Will you agree to sleep in the bed if I sleep on the couch?”
“That hardly seems fair. This is your home.”
It was his home and he’d been happy living in it by himself.
No longer, though. Now that she was here he knew this sturdy cabin was where she belonged, where he wanted her to be.
“I want you here, Becca. Please say you’ll stay. We can work things out as we go along.”
She nodded then walked toward the bedroom. She turned.
“We can remain friends, Lantree, and I’m glad for it.” She shut the bedroom door behind her and he was left staring at the polished wood.
He wondered if that bit about friendship was true. He could not say exactly when things had changed for him, but what he wanted was a wife. He wanted his sweet and spirited Rebecca.
* * *
Rebecca opened the front door of the cabin, letting the morning light stream inside. She went to each window doing the same. She breathed in a deep lungful of fresh summer air.
Three weeks had passed and the world had not quit spinning because she was married. It was true that hers was not a marriage in the typical sense, but she and Lantree had worked out a living arrangement that worked for them.
They shared the house, but not the bedroom. He rose early to light the fire, then banked it again at night. She laundered and mended his clothes.
Most nights they went to the main house for dinner and companionship, but other nights they kept to their own company, staying up late, laughing and talking like friends would do.
She would not have believed it possible on that first night when Lantree had carted her over here, but this snug little cabin was beginning to seem like home.
It had taken a while to get used to the idea of living with a man who she did not really feel married to. It felt a bit wicked, even though in the eyes of everyone but her it was perfectly respectable.
Leaning her elbows on the windowsill she gazed down the slope at the paddock, watching Lantree while he went about his morning chores.
She liked watching him, the way his muscles moved under his shirt when he worked, the way he touched the animals with a gentle hand.
When it came to her husband, her emotions were a jumble. Things were comfortable between them, but at the same time tense.
Mostly, they behaved like lifelong friends. Those were comfortable times. But other times, when he thought she did not notice, he would look at her in a peculiar way. A way that made her itch inside.
If she were to be perfectly honest, she enjoyed that curious feeling. Sometimes she would awake in the middle of the night and listen to Lantree breathing from the front room. She would toss and turn, wonder about things.
Things like what was acceptable in an unintended marriage.
If she were to do something scandalous like...oh, say, strip bare and parade naked before him, it would be to her mind perfectly wicked when in fact, according to the ways of marriage, it would not be.
Those and similar thoughts plagued her during the night and lately even during the day, when she found herself watching him from a distance like she was doing now.
What a ninny she was, imagining things that could never be. If they ever did become married in the way marriage was intended, attachments would form.
He’d told her a few times that he had no intention of leaving this ranch, Boone or no Boone. But that was foolishness.
And to boot, if life went the way of her daydreams, there might be a child.
All of a sudden, it felt like her heart rolled over on itself. A baby...for her?
By the saints, what a silly thing she was. She would not be giving Lantree Walker a son or a daughter. What made her think he would even want that?
She shook herself, regaining her emotional balance. Doing something creative would set her right. First she sat for a moment with her violin. She played something quick and levelheaded sounding. Nothing daydreamy this morning.
Next, she decided to set her hand to something practical. A big batch of freshly baked cookies ought to make the work in the corral more pleasant on this quickly warming day.
She went to the main house and, while baking the cookies, spent a pleasant hour with Barstow as he prepared the midday meal.
Treats in hand, she walked toward the barn and saw the men gathered, taking a break from the heat in the shade of the big trees in the paddock.
Grandfather, Tom and Jeeter sat on tree stumps. As was becoming more common with each passing day, they glanced at her belly before greeting her with a smile.
Surely they did not think that in three weeks’ time her stomach would suddenly swell. How disappointed they would be if they knew that Baby Walker was never going to be.
Lantree, having fed Fancy Francie and her growing calves, crossed the paddock toward her, a smile on his handsome face.
Day by day, she was coming to love that smile, th
e way it would flash so suddenly and light up his expression.
“Hot damn, Lantree!” Jeeter exclaimed, jumping up and slapping his thigh. “Not even midday and here comes your missus with tidbits from heaven.”
Luckily, she had made more than enough, knowing that Jeeter ate more than three grown men would.
She sat down on a stump and handed the cookies to the men while behind her, Lantree leaned against the rail fence. She handed a couple of cookies back to him.
While the men munched, they discussed local events.
Apparently, Coulson was not the only place where railroad fever was heating up.
“We’re all going to Billings, aren’t we?” Jeeter asked, crumbs dotting his lips. “This is an historic event.”
“Someone’s got to mind the ranch,” she pointed out, hoping that the one to remain behind would be Lantree. The farther away he stayed from the strangers who would be thronging in, the safer he would be.
“We could hire the Fulton boys. Their pa’s always eager for them to make some extra money. And the boys like to get away from home now and again,” Grandfather said. “And since Barstow doesn’t like to travel, he’ll be here.”
“But what about—”
“Jeeter’s right,” Lantree cut her off, probably sensing that she was looking for a way to keep him at home. “Things are going to change in these parts. I want to witness the beginning.”
“Ain’t we due for a supply trip about then, anyway?” Tom put in.
“It’ll be a grand sight, seeing that big old locomotive rolling over the track, belching out steam and smoke,” Grandfather declared.
“I reckon there’s got to be some settlers coming who have daughters.” Jeeter slapped his knee, clearly pleased with the prospect.
“When do we leave?” Rebecca asked resigned.
The fact was, she was as anxious as anyone to watch the train pull in for the first time. Not only that, it had been said that Billings was growing fast, soon to be bigger than Coulson.
The mayor must be in a fit over that state of events.
“Three weeks,” Lantree announced, looking nearly as pleased as Jeeter did.
The thought of being so close to Coulson jittered her nerves, but she could not deny that she was anxious to witness the arrival of the train and the new town growing up around it.
Chapter Twelve
There was a holiday feel about the trip to Billings. Rebecca was half-glad that she had not had the chance to talk the men out of going.
They camped at the same lovely, secluded spot where she had secretly bathed. In a way it was a shame they would only spend one night.
The day was settling into twilight and she walked about under the trees gathering small kindling for the campfire. Tom and Jeeter had gone deeper into the woods to gather logs. Grandfather unloaded the wagon, tossing out cans of beans, blankets and brushes for grooming the horses.
Lantree watered the animals at the pond. He seemed to be looking at something in the water, toward the center. Whatever it was, she did not see it.
Bringing the horses back to the campsite, a grin cut across his face. His gaze slowly swept her from head to toe.
How curious.
“Have you spotted a big fat trout for our dinner?” she asked, because what else would he have seen?
His grin tweaked up on one side. “I do have an appetite all of a sudden.”
An hour later, it was full dark, the sky alive with stars.
The night had cooled so the campfire felt nice. The five of them sat about the snapping flames eating fish off the bone.
The evening’s conversation touched on many things but always it came back to the arrival of the railroad...how it would change things for good and for ill.
Grandfather asked for a serenade so she unwrapped her violin from the padding she had protected it with and began to play. She started with something lively to express the excitement over the coming train.
As the evening deepened, and a quieter mood set in, Grandfather made a request.
“Becca, won’t you play ‘Canon in D’? It was your grandmother’s favorite and I haven’t heard it since—” His voice caught. “Well, for a very long time.”
While she played, the night seemed to slow down. The song of crickets and frogs faded. She felt Lantree’s gaze lingering upon her. Her blood felt slow and languid in her veins.
In the silence that followed the piece, she wanted to say that there was another person around the campfire. That she had felt Catherine Moreland’s fingers lightly on top of her own, but in the moment a human voice would sound intrusive.
Grandfather surely thought so. Without a word, he rose from his spot by the campfire and went to his bedroll.
Moments later Jeeter and Tom stood, yawned, then nodded a good evening.
Within moments the snoring began.
After a while, her head began to sag. Lantree caught her hands and helped her up from the ground. He snatched up the wool blanket they had been sitting upon then wrapped it around her shoulders. He drew her close to him by pulling on the fringed hem.
Golden light from the campfire reflected on his face. No doubt about it, she had married an exceptionally handsome man.
This close, his eyes no longer appeared blue. They reflected the amber blaze of the flames. She felt downright singed by the look he leveled upon her. Her feminine parts had gone feverish...simmering in a curiously pleasurable way.
She had no experience to know that this was true, but she suspected that this feeling, left unchecked, would lead to something she could never come back from.
The prospect frightened and delighted her at the same time. She could not deny that his gaze, so hot and possessive upon her, made her feel a little bit married.
“You look so damn pretty by firelight, Becca. You can be angry if you want to, but I’ve been waiting to tell you for some time.”
She wanted to be offended, but she seemed to have temporarily misplaced that emotion. Perhaps because he had called her Becca again. He was doing that more often lately and she could not deny the tug it gave her heart.
“You have a right to your opinion,” she declared, because she needed to say something but wasn’t sure what it should be.
A wolf howled not far in the distance. An owl hooted on a branch overhead while small creatures scurried in the brush.
“Sleep with me tonight.”
With all the wildlife stirring in the dark, the idea was appealing. She had wanted to suggest the same thing last night, but could not work up the nerve.
“For safety’s sake,” she mumbled.
“Because I want to feel you beside me.” He tugged the blanket tighter, pressing her close to his chest.
“Oh...well then.”
He slipped his arm about her waist, led her close to the water’s edge where, earlier, he had set up the bedrolls.
He knelt and rearranged the separate beds into one.
Fully clothed, she lay down between the blankets. Lantree slipped in beside her.
The man was a flame. His warmth seeped past her clothing, heating her to the bone. Thank goodness she would not spend the night shivering. How strange it was that the days in these parts could be so warm yet the nights so cold.
For a long time she watched the stars, listening to the rumbles and snorts of the men who slept about the campfire.
Lantree also watched the stars, his head tipped so that she felt the tickle of his hair on her ear. After a while, he turned his face and she watched his gaze settle on her.
She drew in a quick breath. The emotion she saw in his eyes was not that of a comfortable friend. He was a man, wanting a woman...wanting his woman.
He touched her hair, smoothing back some of the tangles that the day’s ride h
ad caused.
“My sweet, beautiful Becca,” he whispered.
There might be words in the universe to chastise that remark, but at this moment she could not find them...did not want to.
His breath skimmed her forehead, slid down her nose, then huffed against her mouth.
A kiss, warm and featherlight, came down upon her lips. The scent of Lantree filled her senses. The taste of him made her melt into the kiss instead of shy from it as good sense warned her to.
The problem was, over the weeks her feelings for him had grown. She would be a fool to deny that her emotions had not morphed from friendship into something more intimate.
The draw of what was forbidden sent a delicious shiver through her because forbidden was something that existed only in her mind.
His tongue touched her lips, gentle, coaxing until she opened for him.
She felt his fingers at her waist, tugging her shirt out of her riding skirt. The fabric of her camisole shifted then his fingers were against her bare skin, stroking and petting while they crept deliberately up her ribs.
His kisses moved from her lips to her jaw, then to her neck where her pulse thudded.
She made a sound that she had never made in her life, a soft moan...for something. She wasn’t certain what it was, but it was wicked and she wanted it.
“Rebecca.” The heat of his breath, so sultry and masculine, brushed her skin. She shivered.
The calloused fingers of a cowboy, gentled by a physician’s touch, stroked the flesh over her ribs, lingering for an instant here and a moment there, but there was no mistaking where they intended to go.
Now was when she ought to call on reason, to roll up in a blanket and sleep alone.
In the distance, wolves called to one another, sounding lonely. The mournful howls went on for a long time, then after a short yip, became silent.
Tonight, unlike the wolves, she was not going to be lonely.
When Lantree’s fingers fondled the under curve of her breast, she arched into his touch.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, then his muffled moan when he pressed his palm over the full swell of her flesh.