Practically Married

by Christine Rimmer

  “It’s a crime.”

  He let out a dry laugh. “Exactly.”

  Outside, the wind cried. Tess got up and put another log in the wood-burning side of the big kitchen stove. The Rising Sun had all the conveniences, including central propane heat. Still, they salvaged a lot of wood—from out in the pastures, from the edges of the juniper forests that grew up the mountains and from old, falling-down buildings. They used that wood for heat, sometimes hardly needing the propane at all.

  Tess stared down for a moment, into the flames that burned in the belly of the stove. Behind her, Zach was silent and outside, the wind moaned. Tess watched the flames as they embraced the log she’d just fed them. The heat rose up, warming her face.

  She heard Zach shift in his chair, and smiled. He was probably wondering what she found so interesting down inside the stove. She put the iron cover back in place and turned to find him watching her.

  He said, “You did great today, when Jo fell off that horse. You didn’t get nuts, the way some mothers would have.”

  “I felt pretty nuts.”

  “It’s what you did, Tess. That’s what counts. You’re always a plus in a crisis.”

  She loved when he praised her. It made her feel so good inside. She dared to tease, “Always? How would you know?”

  “I’ve watched. Remember the Christmas before last? When Abby got so sick?”

  Just before Tyler Ross was born, Abby had fallen victim to eclampsia—extreme pregnancy-induced high blood pressure that had put her in a coma and almost killed her. They’d all been at the ranch, snowed in by a Christmas blizzard, when the condition became acute.

  Zach made a musing sound in his throat. “We were all useless as udders on a bull—me, Nate, and especially Edna.” He didn’t mention Cash, who had been absolutely terrified for his wife, and had stuck right by her side, willing her to pull through. “But you,” Zach said. “You called for the helicopter, and saw to making Abby as comfortable as possible. You dealt with Edna’s near-hysterics. You kept your mind on what needed to be done, and you did it.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were something that night.”

  Outside, the wind had died down for a moment. Tess, positively basking in such praise, whispered, “I was?”

  Zach whispered back, “Yeah.”

  And they looked at each other, a long look, a look that drew on Tess somehow, pulling down into the center of her, making a warmth, a pooling sort of feeling. A feeling of...

  Desire.

  The word bloomed in her mind, as the warmth bloomed down inside her. Zach went on watching her, his eyes so steady, his whole lean body absolutely motionless, waiting... for what?

  She wished he would move. She wished he would stand up and walk around the table and—

  She cut off the thought. It seemed a wrong thought.

  But why?

  The answer came: because she loved Cash. She did. She had planned, as Zach’s wife, to make love with Zach. To be true to Zach in the ways that Zach demanded—in all ways, really, except deep in her most secret heart.

  But to want Zach? To yearn for the feel of his hands on her skin, for the touch of his lips against her hair...

  That hadn’t been part of her plan at all.

  Which was crazy. He was her husband. For her to want him should be very right.

  Except that it called into question her love for Cash, made it seem a transitory thing. Made her affection seem cheap, that its focus could so easily shift.

  Zach picked up his beer and drained the last of it, watching her the whole time.

  In her belly, in spite of her shame, the hungry heat grew, rising up like the fire in the stove behind her, as if she’d somehow just given it fuel.

  Zach set down the empty bottle, then gestured at hers. “You haven’t finished your beer.”

  She couldn’t stop staring into his eyes. “I’m not much of a beer drinker.”

  He made no polite reply to that, only continued to stare right back at her in that arousing, fathomless way.

  The shocking heat inside her burned hotter still. At the same time, his remark had her feeling obligated to drink the beer she’d opened. She stepped forward, picked up the bottle and took a sip, using the action to break the seductive hold of his gaze. When she lowered the bottle, a tiny bit of foam got away from her and dribbled over the edge of her lower lip.

  She lifted her hand, to wipe it away—and her gaze locked with his again. She brushed at her chin, feeling mesmerized, lost somewhere in that level gaze of his.

  All at once, her imagination got away from her. She pictured herself leaning across the table, stretching toward him, yearning, seeking—until her mouth met his and she sighed in both triumph and surrender.

  In her imagination, he didn’t turn away. In her imagination, he tasted a little of beer and a lot of the wind outside, with a slight tang of sage and cedar. In her imagination, he kissed her with longing. He kissed her with heat—slow, radiant heat, as from a well-tended fire that burned so hot beneath a layer of protecting ash. A fire that would last the whole night.

  More than the night, a hundred nights.

  A lifetime of nights...

  Chapter Eight

  In the stove behind her, a log must have shifted. Tess heard a dropping, settling sound. Zach went on watching her.

  And she knew that if she didn’t do something to break this strange erotic spell that had suddenly got hold of her, she would do something else. Something like what she had just imagined.

  She would reach for him. And not just because they were married. Not just for the sake of another sweet child to hold in her arms.

  But for him. For the feel of him. For the things they might do alone in the dark. For the sake of the act itself. with him.

  Tess dragged in a breath and made herself speak. “I’ll get you another beer.” She tore her gaze from his—that was what it felt like: tearing. And she turned to the refrigerator.

  “No.”

  Startled at the flat, harsh sound of his voice, she whirled back to him. Their gazes locked again. Something—an energy, a current?—went zipping back and forth between them.

  “One’s enough,” he said, and he stood.

  She watched him, watched his tall, lean body unfold from behind the table. And she told herself he couldn’t know what she’d just been thinking. Her mind was her own. No man could see into it.

  All he could know was what had actually happened. They’d talked, and not one word of that talk had concerned the question of intimacy between them. He’d finished his beer. He didn’t want another. Now he would leave her for the night.

  He would go to his room and she would go to hers, just as they’d been doing every night since their wedding night.

  “I guess I...” Her voice came out all ragged, revealing more than she wanted him to know.

  “You guess you what?” It sounded like some kind of challenge.

  She wasn’t taking any challenge. No way. He was the one who’d said they were taking it slow, and if he wanted to take it faster, he’d just have to say so. Directly.

  She ordered some starch into her tone. “Nothing. I guess nothing.”

  He gave her a distant, completely unreadable smile. “Well, all right. Good night, then.”

  She nodded. “Good night.”

  He left her. A few minutes later, she poured the rest of her beer down the drain and then climbed the stairs herself. She put on her nightgown and cleaned her face and her teeth and she got into bed.

  Outside, the wind blew. It did sound like crying. It truly did.

  She wished those moments hadn’t happened—those moments when he’d looked at her and she’d imagined kissing him. Kissing him, and a whole lot more. Those moments had confused her, made her wonder if she really understood herself at all. And whether he’d guessed her thoughts or not, Zach had withdrawn from her afterward.

  He was such a careful, wary man. She felt certain a lot of lonely nights would go by before he s
ought her out again.

  But it didn’t work out that way. The next night, he surprised her by coming to find her again, after all his work was done. He came, as the night before, bearing more wood. He stoked the fire, then asked, “How about a beer?”

  She grinned in pure happiness. He hadn’t stayed away from her, after all. She jumped from her chair. “I’ll get you one.”

  “And one for you, too.”

  She made a face. “No, thanks. Maybe a cup of tea.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  They adjourned to the kitchen, choosing seats at the table just like the night before.

  They talked of everyday things, which was just fine with Tess. They discussed which sections of fence needed mending and shook their heads over a prize bull that had got his hoof infected so bad, they had to have the town vet out to see him.

  Then Zach said, “I want you to have something.”

  She waited, wondering what in the world he might mean, as he got up and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a small pistol in a hip holster and a box of shells.

  He slid the gun from the holster. “This is a .380 Colt. Simple and effective. A revolver with six shots.” He flipped out the empty cylinder, spun it, then flipped it back in. “You know how to load and shoot?”

  She nodded. “My father taught me. I wasn’t much older than Jobeth. He took me out where I couldn’t hit anything that mattered and set cans on logs for me. Believe it or not, I wasn’t bad.”

  He reholstered the pistol and handed it to her, along with the box of shells. “Any time you go riding alone, load it and take it with you. It’s useful against varmints—on four legs or otherwise.”

  She thought of the rustlers, who might or might not be making regular runs at the stock. If they really were out there, she wouldn’t want to come up on them without a means of defending herself.

  “Thank you, Zach.” She set the weapon and the shells carefully on the end of the counter to take upstairs with her when she went to bed. “I suppose I couldn’t talk you into having one more beer.”

  He grinned. “Sure you could. Just this once.”

  Tess poured more boiling water on her tea bag and Zach got a second longneck. They sat at the table again. Tess mentioned the paint job she thought the house needed. “I want to do both the inside and the outside. Inside, everything’s looking a little gray. And outside, it’s starting to peel.”

  Zach said, “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. It has been a few years.”

  Tess wanted to do the work herself, inside at least.

  But Zach said no. “We always use the Bartley brothers.” Tess had heard of Brad and Chip Bartley. They’d been painting the buildings of local residents for the past thirty years. “They do a fine job and they don’t fool around. Give them a call. They’ll show up with all their samples and give great advice on colors and brands. Then they’ll buy the paint, and do the job fast and right. All you’ll have to do is work around them for a few days.”

  “But it would be cheaper if—”

  Zach tipped his beer toward her. “I don’t want cheap. I want it done right.”

  “I can do it right.”

  He shook his head, his expression bemused. “Oh, Tess. I know you can.”

  “So then, let me—”

  “You’ve got plenty to do. You know it and I know it. Let the Bartleys paint the damn house. Please.”

  She looked down at her teacup. “Fine. Waste your money.”

  “Our money. And it won’t be wasted.”

  She felt pleasure, a warm sensation all through her, that he would make a point of calling his money hers. She didn’t agree with him. To her mind, she’d have no real share in what Zach owned for some time now. Not until she’d earned it with the labor of her hands. And not until she and Zach were truly man and wife.

  Still, it meant a lot, that one little word: ours. The sound of it on his lips was like a gift.

  “Tess. Say you’ll call the Bartleys.”

  She looked across the table into his eyes. “I’ll call the Bartleys.”

  “Good.”

  She went on outlining her plans. “I thought I’d get going on the inside of the house right away. And wait a while, till the end of June at least, when the weather should be more dependable, to try the outside.”

  “Sounds good. Call the Bartleys tomorrow, then.”

  “I will.”

  They talked a little more, and then he left her for the night. As she washed her teacup, she was smiling, thinking how well things seemed to be going between them lately.

  Last night, it had been. a little scary—when she’d turned from the fire and found the heat still burned inside her.

  But tonight, it had been only good talk. And sharing.

  Still smiling, she put her teacup in the cupboard and picked up the Colt and shells to put them safely away. Another few nights like this, and she would actually start thinking they were making. progress toward true closeness to each other.

  The next day, Tess called the Bartley brothers. And by the end of the week, they were painting the upstairs bedrooms. By the start of the following week, they’d progressed to the downstairs rooms, beginning with the formal living room and the dining room. The end of that week, the last week in May, was the toughest. The Bartleys took over the kitchen and the great room. Tess served meals in the foreman’s cottage for two days—and didn’t mind the inconvenience at all.

  Cheerfully she stepped over drop cloths and skirted paint cans. With the Bartleys’ help, she’d chosen colors that seemed to lighten and brighten the rooms—pale blues and butter yellows, warm mauves and cloud grays. It gave her a great feeling of contentment, to see that summery freshness taking over the rooms that to her had always seemed just a little too musty and dim.

  And things between her and Zach were going so well. He came to sit with her every night now before bed. They talked over the day just passed, they laughed together. They spoke of Jobeth and how bravely she seemed to be bearing up under the deprivation of not being able to ride.

  “Still, she’s counting the days until we visit that doctor in Buffalo again,” Tess said.

  Zach chuckled. “Counting the hours, is more like it.”

  “Counting the minutes...”

  “The seconds. And one thing’s for sure. Callabash is the best groomed horse in Johnson County.” Since Jobeth couldn’t ride the horse, she spent what seemed like half of every afternoon brushing his hide until it shone like glass.

  More suspicious tire tracks appeared in a pasture that shared a boundary with the Double-K. Beau and Lolly spotted them while out mending fences. Zach called the sheriff’s office and the range detective came out, took pictures and asked questions. The next day the detective called back. He said the tire tracks matched the ones from the previous incidents, including the known thievery back in February. Then he went out and interviewed everyone over at the Double-K. Nate said they’d seen no evidence of rustling there, but they’d keep an eye out.

  Zach and Tess discussed the grim situation a little more that night, at the kitchen table, over a pair of grape sodas.

  “These guys are bound to get caught sooner or later,” Tess predicted. “Someone will see them on Rising Sun land, or you or one of the hands will actually catch them in the act.”

  Zach shook his head. “We’re talking roughly a hundred square miles of pastureland, Tess. And rustlers who know where and when to make a run at the stock. I just don’t know. As long as they’re careful and they don’t get too greedy, this could go on for years.”

  “Oh, I hate to think that’s possible.”

  “Sometimes the truth is not a pleasant thing.” He drank from his soda and when he set the can down, he looked at her in that steady way he had—a level, measuring look that seemed to arouse her with its very directness. But then, after no more than a second or two, he glanced away.

  Tess dropped her own gaze, feeling totally off balance, half-relieved and half-disapp
ointed, wondering if he would ever make love to her, afraid that if he did, she might like it more than she ought to for a woman whose secret heart belonged to someone else.

  When he looked back at her, he was smiling—a friendly, teasing smile. He asked how she was holding up with the Bartleys underfoot all the time.

  She said, “They’re doing a great job. And I’m holding up just fine.”

  In the first week of June, after the Bartleys had packed up their paintbrushes and cleared out until the end of the month when they’d be back to do the exterior of the house, Edna called with a hesitant but heartfelt request.

  “I am just plain lonely, Tess. Isn’t that silly?”

  “No,” Tess said firmly, knowing what was coming, wishing she could feel happier about it than she did. “It’s not silly at all.”

  “I always thought I would love living alone. But I don’t. I want family around me. Of course, Abigail and Cash have offered me a place with them. But they’re gone so much. And I love my daughter dearly, but you know how we are with each other. I’d have her climbing the walls in a week. And she’d get me so crazy, I’d end up having to move out again.”

  Tess made an understanding sound in her throat. She’d seen Abby and Edna together a lot, seen the strength of their love and regard for each other—and also witnessed the way each always managed to say exactly the thing that would set the other on edge.

  Edna went on, “However, for some reason, you and I always seem to rub along just fine together. You’re patient with my tendency to tell everyone what to do. You’re patient with me. And I miss you. I miss Jobeth.”