Practically Married

by Christine Rimmer

  “She’s like all the rest of us. Looking for love.”

  “Maybe, after today, she’ll know that love is right here. With us.”

  “I think she’s starting to get the picture, Edna. I really do.”

  Tess returned to the main house at nine. She found no one downstairs, so she went up and knocked on Jobeth’s door.

  “Come in.”

  Tess pushed open the door.

  Jobeth sat on her bed, wearing her pajamas, holding a black-haired doll that she’d named the Spanish Lady. The doll, dressed in red satin and black lace, was one Josh had given her not long before he died. Jobeth held up the doll. “Do you think she looks like Starr?”

  Tess went and sat beside her. She smelled of toothpaste and soap. Her bangs had split in the middle, the way they always did. Tess traced the space with her forefinger.

  “Mom. I asked you a question.”

  “Um?”

  “Do you think the Spanish Lady looks like Starr?”

  Tess turned her attention to the doll. “Hmm. A little, maybe. But Starr is more beautiful.”

  “Yes. That’s true. I love Starr.”

  “Yes, I know you do.”

  “Do you love Starr?”

  “I do.”

  “That’s good. I think she’ll be fine in the morning, don’t you?”

  “Yes, she’ll be much better. In the morning. After a good night’s sleep.”

  Jobeth slid off the bed and put the Spanish Lady back in her stand, next to four other dolls, on the bureau. “I never liked dolls that much. My real father always gave them to me. Remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s hard to remember him sometimes.” She straightened the skirt of a doll dressed like Scarlett O’Hara, all ready for the Wilkeses’ picnic, in Gone With The Wind. “So it’s funny, because now I’m glad to have these dolls. They help me remember him. Things like the way he would smile sometimes. And laugh.”

  “Yes, he had a great laugh. And a warm smile.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to call Zach Dad. He feels like my dad. And now, after he’s finished adopting me, he’ll be my second dad, forever and for true, won’t he?”

  Tess nodded.

  “Would it be all right, then? If I did?”

  “It’s all right with me. Maybe you ought to ask him.”

  “I did. I asked him first.”

  Tess hid her smile, thinking, Of course, she asked him first. She finds it so easy to talk to him. Easier than I find it, certainly. Easier than she finds it to talk to me. “What did he say?”

  “He said it was fine with him, but to ask you, too.”

  Tess let her smile show then. “Well, all right. You’ve asked him and me. And we’ve both said yes. So what are you going to do?”

  Jobeth grinned. “Call him Dad.”

  An hour later, Tess sat in her bed with the light on, trying to read a novel that had seemed really good last night, but tonight just didn’t seem to hold her attention at all.

  Someone knocked at the door. She thought it would be Jobeth. Or possibly Starr.

  She looked up. “Come in.”

  The handle turned and the door swung open. It was Zach.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tess lowered her book and put her hand to her throat. Though she had on a plain pair of summer pajamas and the covers were pulled up to her waist, she felt totally naked.

  “Is it all right if I...come in?”

  Since her throat felt too tight to let words out, she nodded.

  He crossed the threshold and shut the door. And then he just stood there, a tall man in a clean chambray shirt, new Wranglers and tan moccasins. For a long time, they regarded each other. His hair looked wet, as if he’d taken another shower since the one before dinner.

  Her heart beat with sweet fury, to think what that might mean.

  Finally he said. “I went to Starr’s room. She didn’t answer my knock. So I looked in. She’s asleep.” He smiled a little. “She looks so sweet, when she sleeps.”

  Her throat still felt tight, so instead of speaking, Tess nodded again.

  His smile turned rueful. “Do you want me to go?”

  She shook her head, vehemently.

  “Then maybe you could help me out a little here.”

  She forced out some words. “All right.”

  “There. Was that so hard?”

  She tugged on the covers and smoothed the sheet. “I’m nervous, I guess.”

  His eyes said he understood. “That’s okay.”

  She remembered what he’d been talking about. “Starr told me she’d apologize to you in the morning.”

  He looked beyond her, to the windows, over which the curtains were drawn. “Do you think it’s going to be okay with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “You really mean that?”

  “I do. I don’t mean I think it’ll be easy. But I think it’s going to work out. She wants to stay with us and she’s willing to change.”

  “What do you think about Beau?”

  Tess considered, then answered, “I think life’s been hard on him. And that he does care for her.”

  Zach made a low sound of agreement. “I think you’re right.”

  Tess closed her book and set it on the nightstand. “I also think he’s good at heart—and that he gave Starr a great gift today.”

  “And that was?”

  “He set her free of him.”

  Zach pondered her words, then asked, “Did you tell her all this?”

  Tess shook her head. “If she realized that he said those cruel things for her own sake, she might chase after him. She’s only sixteen, Zach. Whatever else you want to say about him and her and what’s happened between them, she’s just plain too young for him now.”

  “I thought maybe she’d feel better, if she knew.”

  “She’s a proud and determined girl. And I think he’s the first guy who’s ever meant anything to her.”

  “He is,” Zach said. “She told me.”

  “Do you think it would be the right thing, if she went running off after him?”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then maybe we ought to just let it be.”

  They shared another long look.

  Zach said, “I always liked your eyes. Cat eyes, the way they tip up at the corners, the way they shine...”

  Tess’s heart beat even faster, to hear such words from him. Inside her chest there was a rising feeling. She tried to think of some appropriate reply to his compliment, but none came.

  And apparently, he didn’t expect a reply, because he turned away then and wandered over to her sewing area, against the wall near the big double bureau. He put his hand on her old Singer and asked without looking at her, “How long have you had this thing?”

  “My parents gave it to me, as a high school graduation present.”

  “That was only—what? Eight years ago?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This machine looks a lot more than eight years old.”

  “My mom bought it used. Reconditioned, I think they call it.”

  He met her eyes at last. “Buy a new one.”

  She smiled. “No. That one works just fine.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “It’s the same thing, and we both know it. And the answer is no. You’ve bought me too much already. Besides, I really love that old machine. And I’m used to it.”

  “I have not bought you too much.”

  She held his gaze. It felt so wonderful. Just to look at him, and have him look back. To dare to hope that his being here might mean a turning point in what they shared.

  “Let’s not argue about a sewing machine,” she suggested in a voice that had somehow gone husky. “Or about how generous you are.”

  He grinned and her heart went weightless. “Then what should we argue about?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Let’s not argue at all.”


  “All right. I can deal with that.”

  He came closer. There was a small armchair, upholstered in maroon velvet, a few feet from the side of the bed where she lay. He dropped into it—sprawled, really, stretching his legs out and laying his arms on the armrests. For a moment, he let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling.

  Then he straightened enough to look at her. She saw the heat in his eyes, as well as something else. Something that looked like resignation.

  He said, in a low tone that affected all her senses, “Come here.”

  The breath fled her body and her mouth went as dry as a drought-stricken field.

  He waited. He knew she would come. And slowly, the way a person moves in dreams, she pushed the covers away and swung her feet toward the floor.

  He watched her, and the way he watched made her insides turn liquid, shimmery. Hot.

  Her toes touched the small rag rug by the bedside. She could feel the pattern of the braiding all along the soles of her feet. All at once, everything, everything had gone so thick, so heavy—so unbearably sweet.

  She stood, smiling a little, aware that the legs of her pajamas, pushed up by the covers, had dropped along her shins to their full length. She spared a moment of regret that on this night of all nights, she wore nothing more exciting than plain pink pajamas made of ordinary cotton.

  She remembered the satiny nightgown and lacy negligee she had bought to wear for him. She wished she had them on right now.

  But she didn’t.

  Some other night, she thought. And at the idea that there might be other nights, a delicious shiver went through her.

  He was still waiting. She came on. His legs were open, so she stepped between them. He rested his head back again, looked at her through eyes that burned her in the most delightful way. And then he reached out. He clasped her waist. She felt the heat of his hand through the cool pink cotton.

  He sat up straight and looked at her earnestly. “We got through today somehow, didn’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “Together.”

  She closed her eyes for a minute, loving the sound of that word. Then she opened them. “Yes, Zach. Together.”

  “It’s starting to seem a false thing to me, to sleep separate from you.”

  Her throat closed on her again when he said that, just clamped shut in pure joy. She dared to lift her hand and touch his hair. It was damp. And thick and silky. She felt a bright glow all through her, to think that she might begin to touch him whenever the mood struck. That they would share the closeness of two people who were truly and fully wed. She touched his jaw, found it smooth and fresh-shaven. He smelled so clean and good.

  He said, “I want to stay here—in this room, in that bed—with you, tonight. Will you have me?”

  She thought of the cold spring day he’d proposed to her, at that spot that she’d known must have been special to him. She remembered his bewildered look when he saw how bare it was, the way he’d remarked that it was pretty, in summer. He had asked, Will you have me as your husband, Tess?

  She had answered, Yes, Zach. I will.

  And then, more recently, when he said he wanted to adopt Jobeth, he’d asked, Will you allow that?

  She had given him the same answer. Yes, Zach. I will.

  Tonight was no different than the times before. She told him softly, “Yes, Zach. I will.”

  His hands moved to the bottom button of her pajama top. Trembling a little, she helped him, her own hands starting from above and moving down.

  Their hands met in the middle, and she laid hers over his. Together, they parted the top, slid it off her shoulders and away. She felt his gaze on her breasts. She looked down at herself, saw the pale globes, the hard nipples. Then she looked at him again.

  He whispered, “Beautiful...”

  She smiled at him, still holding his hands. Gently she pressed them against her belly. They were large hands, chapped and hard-used. They covered so much of her. His fingers wrapped around the base of her rib cage. His touch felt dizzyingly rough—and so wonderfully hot. She moaned a little as the encompassing touch slid upward. For one brief, exquisite moment, he cradled her breasts.

  Then his hands glided down. He took the rest of her pajamas away, guiding them over the curve of her hips and off to the floor. She stepped back, out of them—and as she did, he rose.

  Now, those burning eyes looked down at her. His broad chest confronted her. She put her hands there, against his chest, pressing a little, all at once intensely aware of the strength of him. The obdurate power.

  He took her shoulders, pulled her so close. She felt her nakedness acutely, as the fabric of his shirt and jeans rubbed her tender skin. His arms went around her. She felt them, enveloping her, stealing her breath. His hands splayed at her back and her breasts pressed into his chest.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She hadn’t realized she’d closed them. But she had. She obeyed his command, raising her head fully toward his.

  His mouth hovered inches from hers. She hungered for it. Longed for his kiss. And down below, she could feel him, could feel what he wanted.

  The same thing she wanted: the two of them. Joined.

  “Who do you see?”

  She frowned, not following.

  “Who? Who do you see?” He held her tighter, more urgently.

  She understood then. He still thought she loved Cash. He feared she imagined doing these intimate things with another.

  She caught his lip between her teeth, worried it lightly. He moaned and she knew she had his full attention. “You, Zach,” she said intently, releasing the tender flesh. “Only you.”

  With a low, male sound, he captured her mouth. He kissed her hard and hungrily. She melted into the kiss, totally his.

  His hands roamed. He found the secret place between her thighs. She gasped, melting all the more as he caressed her there. She moved toward him, closer still, her mouth eagerly returning the demanding kiss, her body moving in welcome, encouraging his touch.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, just enough to whisper raggedly, “I believe that—believe you want me.” His hand continued its tormenting play below. “I believe your body is mine.”

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t answer. He lowered his head and took her breast, sucking strongly. She cried out in stunned delight as the thread of desire seemed to meet in the middle of her, stroked by both his hand and his mouth at the same time. Sensation overwhelmed her. Everything was shimmering, pulsing and contracting, then flowing outward and down in a shower of light.

  Her knees buckled at the last. He scooped her up against his chest and carried her the few steps to the bed, where he laid her down.

  She stared at him, as he removed his own clothes. She thought him so fine, so lean and strong. She wanted to cry and laugh at the same time.

  He lay down beside her. She reached out and put her hand on his belly. It was hard and flat, with a tangle of brown hair below from which his manhood stood up proud and ready. She encircled him.

  He gasped, and put his hand on her wrist, stilling any movement. “Don’t. I’ll lose it. I need you. Now.”

  He surged toward her. She fell back and he rose above her. A quick thrust, and he was inside.

  He didn’t move. “Stay still,” he muttered between clenched teeth. A low oath escaped him.

  She waited, for an eternity it seemed. Then, so carefully, she wrapped her legs around him, watching his face, seeing the intense pleasure there, and seeing pain, too, as he struggled to hold himself back.

  He rested on his forearms, brought his mouth so close to hers. “I wanted this.” She felt his words against her lips.

  “Me, too. So much.”

  “And I lied.”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. To myself, mostly. About what I wanted from you. I wanted...everything.”

  “Oh, Zach. You have it. I—”

  He cut off her words with a kiss, then lifted his mouth enough to mutter, “No mor
e lies.”

  “They aren’t—”

  “No. Nothing. Nothing more. Just this. Just let it be.”

  She pressed her lips together. Nodded. And then moaned as he opened his mouth over hers. His tongue traced the line where her lips met. Slowly she opened for him, allowing him in, kissing him fully, letting him taste her, tasting him back.

  Then, as he kissed her, he began to move.

  She gasped and then sighed. They shared the same breath, in the kiss that went on and on, as he moved inside her, slowly, deliberately, making her feel every stroke. She thought she would pass out, from the sheer glory of it. Her whole being rose toward him, moved away, beckoned him back once more. She felt that she surrounded him, and yet was within him at the same time.

  The rhythm grew wilder, rougher, harder. She clutched him tight, pushed herself up toward him.

  And in the end, they found the peak together. She felt him stiffen, heard his guttural cry just as her body bloomed into a completion of its own.

  She must have slept for a time. When she woke, the room was dark. She could feel the warmth of him, smell the scent of him. He was here at last, beside her in this bed, where she’d almost stopped dreaming he would ever come to claim her.

  She thought he was sleeping. But then he touched her, his hand curving on her breast, trailing down over her belly, unerring, relentless. He found the female heart of her. She was ready for him, her legs falling open, her whole body so eager she gave not even token resistance.

  He stroked her, slowly, touching everything, missing nothing. She moaned and moved at the command of his caresses. She cried his name. And tried to say her love.

  But he wouldn’t allow that. His hand stopped its play to move up and close over her mouth. She smelled her own desire, felt its wetness on his fingers.

  “No,” he said.

  She nodded, like a captive sworn to silence on pain of torture or death. And shameless, she lifted herself toward him. He gave her what she sought, resuming the loveplay, finally entering her again when both of them were crazy with the scent and feel of each other.

  It was frantic, needful. It went on and on.

  Later, she woke again. Felt the slight soreness from the times before. Still, she couldn’t stop herself. She reached for him once more.