by Jodi Thomas
Ford patted the nose of the bay he’d said was Hannah’s while she was here. “We may be bunk mates, old friend,” Ford mumbled, “for I may be sleeping in the next stall.”
The horse shook his head and breathed out a heavy sound that almost made Ford believe the bay understood.
“I’ll have to give up my bed to Uncle Zachery, if he really is an uncle, and he’d be sure to notice if I slept on the couch. So that leaves the barn.”
Ford hand-fed the horse more oats. “It’ll be cold, but I’ve slept in worse places. I remember when you were about all I owned a few years back and we were hauling buffalo bones for ten dollars a wagon load. I used to sleep under the wagon to keep thieves away. The settlers were usually honest enough and collected their own bones, but a few of those old buffalo hunters figured it was their right to steal my load, since they were the ones who slaughtered the herds in the first place.”
The side door creaked and Ford turned around. Hannah was standing just inside the door.
“Do you always talk to your horse?”
“Yes,” he answered, seeing no point in denying the obvious. “Don’t you talk to Sneeze?”
Hannah smiled and took a step closer. “I guess so. I never really thought about it. Sneeze is like one of my family.”
“So’s the old bay,” Ford said. “When I need a horse I have to depend on, I saddle him every time.”
“Then why don’t you give him a name?”
“A name wouldn’t change how I feel about the horse. I’ve seen men give their mount some grand name, then ride the horse into the ground so bad they have to shoot him. I’d never do that to the bay.”
“Didn’t you say he was my horse for the time I’m here?” Hannah asked.
“Yes,” Ford answered, very much aware that she’d moved within a few feet of him. He liked the way the fresh smell of her blended with the odor of hay.
“Well, then, while I’m here I’m going to give him a name.” She touched the horse’s nose. “I don’t know what, but I’ll think of something.”
Ford thought of suggesting she think a little longer than she had with Sneeze, for that had to be about the dumbest name for a cat he’d ever heard. “Did you just come out to talk about names?”
“No.” Hannah looked nervous. “Since Uncle Zachery arrived, I haven’t had time to talk when I knew we were alone. I think it’s very important that he think we’re happily married.”
“I agree.” Ford lifted the light from the hook and waited for her to move ahead of him toward the door. “The way he talks, most of Saints Roost would know within hours if he suspected something.”
Hannah opened the side door. “He already turned in for the night in your room. I told him if he was planning to have breakfast, he’d better take a bath before he goes to bed. He grumbled, but agreed.”
“I guessed he’d take my bed.” Ford had already thought their problem out. “I don’t mind sleeping in the barn, I’ll just follow you in and grab a few blankets.”
“No.” Hannah took his arm. “I think you should sleep in my room.” She pulled him along toward the house. “It’s safer. The hands will know something’s wrong if they see you bedding down in the barn when they arrive in the morning.”
“But where will you sleep if I take your room?”
Hannah’s words were a whisper, but Ford heard them like a shout. “In the same room.”
“But I thought you wanted a lock between us?”
“I do.” Hannah realized she was more afraid of jeopardizing her safety than she was of Ford. “But it’s very important that I be able to stay here a little longer. Maybe even more important than my being safely locked away from you.”
Ford hung the light on the outside hanger. The firelight from inside was enough to see the final few feet into the house. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Hannah. I would never hurt you. Even if my sister does think I’m half-wild sometimes. You have my word nothing will happen between us.”
“I want more than your word,” Hannah whispered. “I want your Colts when we enter the bedroom. Once inside, we’d better be very careful what we say. Uncle Zachery may be listening. If you make one move toward me, a shot is all he’ll hear.”
Ford couldn’t believe she was so frightened of him. Had she really thought the little bolt he put on her door was all that kept him away from her bed last night? “You have my word; I’ll not touch you. But if you also want my Colts, you may have them.”
Hannah nodded and moved on into the house.
They walked silently across the room until they were almost directly in front of Uncle Zachery’s door. “Well, darlin’, we’d better call it a night,” Ford said. “Tomorrow comes early.”
She tried to laugh, but her voice sounded slightly tight to Ford. “Morning comes the same time every day, dear.”
They moved to the master bedroom and closed the door. Inside, only the light of the small corner fireplace lit the room. For several seconds they stared at one another, as if not knowing what to do. Then Ford moved over near the armoire. He sat on the ladder-back chair and pulled off his boots.
Hannah tiptoed close and knelt at his side. She leaned over and brushed his ear with her words. “He’s still in the dressing area, and the room has no lock except on the door going to the other bedroom.”
“I’ll correct that tomorrow,” Ford promised as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “I can sleep on the floor by the door.”
“No.” Hannah lifted his Colt from the gun belt hanging on his chair. “I have another idea.”
Ford watched as she moved to the other side of the bed and slipped off her dress and stockings. Then she crawled beneath the covers. He removed his clothes, feeling awkward that she was watching. He smiled, realizing she’d watched once before with a Colt in her hand. If she hadn’t shot him then, maybe there was some hope for him making it through the night.
When he stepped to the other side of the bed, Hannah turned back just the first quilt. “You sleep between the quilts and I’ll sleep a layer deeper. Then we should be safe.”
Ford crawled into bed, thinking he was never worried about being safe. Stretching, he felt the gun a layer deeper at his side and decided he should give his safety a little thought. With her finger on the trigger, if she had a nightmare, she might tense and he’d be past tense.
Before he could say anything, Uncle Zachery opened the door of the dressing area. He looked out into their bedroom as if he were a landlord and had every right to nose into other people’s bedrooms.
“You already in bed?”
Ford stretched his arm out and Hannah placed her head on his shoulder. To Zachery they must look like they were cuddled up together.
“Good night, Zachery,” Ford grumbled, as if the old man had awakened him.
Zachery closed the door without another word, and Ford felt Hannah try to smother her giggles. He kissed her lightly on the forehead. “We pulled it off, darlin’.”
She moved back to her own side of the bed.
Ford rolled to his side so he could see her. “You don’t need the gun, Hannah,” he whispered. “If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.” He thought of adding that he might not touch her even if she wanted him to. It seemed to Ford that every time she’d touched him he’d fallen into her trap like some mindless soul. Ford had a will of his own. He decided he wasn’t a man to give, or take, affection lightly. She might be heaven to kiss and hold now, but he had to think clearly. In a month she’d be gone, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to live with memories. Maybe living with nothing was easier. He was at home with loneliness and could endure it.
She didn’t answer or remove the gun. He lay on his back and listened to her breathing slow into sleep. He thought of reaching for the pistol and removing it, but he might startle her. So, even though he knew it was foolish, he lay next to a woman with a Colt in her hand.
Finally, a few hours before dawn, Ford fell asleep. He didn’t know when he rolled over with his
back to her, or when she’d cuddled against him with only one blanket between them. But he awoke before first light to find her arm around his waist and her cheek on his shoulder.
He slowly rolled over and she cuddled back against his side without waking up. Pulling the covers over her shoulder, he studied her face in the early light. She had high cheekbones and a rounded mouth that pouted slightly in sleep. Her lashes were long and dark against her pale skin. The hand that rested on his chest was well shaped, with long, thin fingers and lines of scratches across the back. The clean, wild smell of her surrounded him, and he thought he could stay in bed forever.
But they both had much to do. Gently, he lifted her hand and pressed her palm to his lips. “Hannah,” he whispered. “Wake up.”
She moved against him, pressing into his side.
He brushed the hair from her cheek and whispered again as he kissed her sleeping eyes, “Hannah.”
When she didn’t awaken, he let his lips trail along her face to her mouth. Tenderly, so he wouldn’t startle her, he brushed a kiss across her lips.
She moaned again and rolled over, pressing her back to his side and pushing her hips against his thigh.
Ford closed his eyes and tried to decide if he was in heaven or hell.
Chapter 10
THE FIRST WEEK of Hannah’s make-believe marriage passed in a blur of activity. She rose before dawn every morning and dressed while Ford was still asleep. Usually she managed to have breakfast ready about the time he finished shaving. They’d eat together at the little table in the kitchen and watch the sunrise. Sometimes, if she coached him, he’d tell her of his plans for the day. She always talked about the lessons the children would do.
Ford bought Dr. Stocking’s old buggy and fixed it up for her to drive to school. It was big and roomy, with a cover to protect her and the smell of old leather to surround her as she rode. Gavrila’s hired hand was always waiting for Hannah in town. He’d take care of the rig and the bay while she taught and have the buggy tied by the steps of the school when she finished. On the ride home, Hannah always stopped by one of the dugouts, or soddies, to pay a quick call on a parent. She usually made it home in time to start supper before Ford came in with Uncle Zachery trailing behind him. Ford was always covered with dirt and mud from working, and Zachery always looked exactly as he had when they’d left that morning.
Zachery took a grand interest in the horses Ford was breeding and spent some days reading books Ford had collected. Then at dinner he’d tell Ford everything he’d learned, as if Ford had never bothered to read the books for himself.
Even though she was tired, she liked cooking for the three of them. While Zachery told her all about what Ford had done on his ranch, Ford washed up at a stand just outside the kitchen door. Ford never said much during dinner, but always complimented her on the meal, even when it was very simple.
The kitchen was better equipped with supplies than the restaurant kitchen had been in Fort Worth. The cellar had potatoes and apples packed in cool sand and shelves of canned peaches and tomatoes. She also found several jars of plum jelly stored with coffee, flour, beans, and sugar in a round tin barrel kept tightly closed. The smokehouse had salted pork, beef, and smoked wild turkey. Hannah found it fun being able to decide on a menu, rather than having to try to make something out of the little that was available.
After supper was Hannah’s favorite time. Ford would turn to his books and read to her. She’d draw while she listened, loving the images his words brought to mind. Since the day he’d seen her sketches on the board at school, he’d made sure she had several drawing pads both at home and school.
When the story was over, Ford would look at her drawings and tell her that they were nice. Any disappointment Hannah felt over his comments was more than balanced by Uncle Zachery’s ravings about what a great artist she was. Hannah knew the drawings were good, but guessed them far closer to nice than great. But still, Ford’s honesty hurt slightly.
Ford asked her one night why all the drawings were so sad, making her realize that as he read she’d always picked the darkest parts of the story to reproduce. Maybe, she decided, the evil was more familiar to her, and the drawings gave her a good feeling that the hero had somehow escaped from the shadowy darkness she sketched.
By Friday night, she was too exhausted to draw as he read, so she sat on the floor beside his rocking chair, her head against his knee, and listened. Uncle Zachery stretched out on the couch and started snoring halfway through the story. Ford’s voice lowered so as not to disturb the old man.
When Ford closed the book, Hannah smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she said, resting her chin on his leg. “I love hearing stories read out loud. It’s wonderful.”
Ford lightly brushed her hair with his fingers. “You’re welcome.” Tomorrow they’d be married a week, and Ford was already having trouble remembering what the years of his life had been like alone. Three more weeks and she’d be gone, and he’d go back to reading to no one other than himself. “Are you ready to turn in?”
Hannah stretched as he stood. When he offered his hand, she accepted it, and he pulled her gently to her feet. Her body pressed against his as he steadied her, and neither turned loose the other’s hand.
He wished he knew how to make small talk. During the day he always tried to think of things to say. “How was your day?”, “Do you like the children?”, “Am I doing something wrong that makes you so afraid of me?” But at night, when he set foot in the house he’d built alone, he’d look at her moving about the kitchen and all words would leave him. He felt like an outsider, unable to play in the world of make-believe she’d built around them.
Now she stood only a breath away, her fingers holding his, and he was speechless. He didn’t know women well enough to say what was on his mind. How does a man tell a woman that he likes watching her move? Or that the smell of her hair stays with him all morning? He was sure it wasn’t proper to tell her that the first time she touched his shoulder as she served dinner, he’d almost bolted out of the chair.
Hannah looked up at him with her blue eyes and whispered, “I guess we could.”
Ford fought to keep from moving. “We could what?”
She smiled, as if guessing his thoughts were heavy tonight, outweighing conversation. “We could turn in early. It seems Uncle Zachery already has.”
Forcing himself to look away, Ford tried to shake his mind free. “We could just throw a blanket over him and let him sleep on the couch. That is, if Sneeze doesn’t mind us using what has become his blanket.”
Hannah thought of saying that Uncle Zachery would be more comfortable in bed, but then she remembered he was used to sleeping beneath the tables and bars with a spittoon for a pillow. “I don’t think Sneeze will mind.”
Ford lifted the cat while Hannah spread the quilt Sneeze had claimed as his the night they’d first arrived. As soon as the blanket was in place, Sneeze wiggled from Ford’s grip and curled back atop the blanket, beside Zachery.
“He’ll sleep soundly in here.” Ford tossed another log on the dying fire. “From the clouds I noticed gathering to the north, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get another cold front like we did last week.”
“The snow wouldn’t keep me from going to school, would it?” Hannah moved toward their bedroom.
“It might. I’ve been snowed in for over a week at this time of year. That’s why I keep plenty of supplies on hand.” Though he wanted to follow her and keep talking, he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. So like he’d done every night since they’d been forced to share a room, he excused himself to check on the barn, allowing her to get ready for bed alone.
“I’ll be back,” he mumbled as he grabbed his coat.
Hannah turned and watched him go, guessing his reasons for leaving.
She’d just finished combing her hair when he returned. He carried a load of wood in one arm as he entered and closed the door behind him.
When he sat down to remove his boot
s, she moved to the holster hung behind his chair and pulled the Colt from its cradle.
“You don’t need that,” Ford said, as he had every night for almost a week.
Hannah hesitated for the first time. “I feel safer knowing I can protect myself.”
Ford rested his hand on her wrist, just above the gun. “From who? Me? Hannah, I won’t hurt you.” His thumb rubbed lightly across her pounding pulse. He was so weary of telling her, but he’d say the words a thousand more times if she’d just believe them once. “Even if we had no bargain.”
She pulled away and he didn’t try to hold her. “I need the gun between us.” She moved to her side of the bed and crawled beneath the blankets.
Ford twisted out the light and removed his clothes, down to his heavy merino drawers, in the shadows of the firelight. He’d paid a dollar and a quarter for three pairs of the underwear, more than he’d ever spent. He told himself they were worth the price because of the pearl buttons and the ribbing, but in truth, he knew he’d spent the money because Hannah would see them. When he reached his side of the bed he noticed she’d once more pulled back only the quilt for him to sleep under, leaving a blanket between them.
As he rolled his weight onto the bed, he felt the cold steel of the pistol against his side. Frustrated, he refused to move the inch away so he couldn’t feel the gun. He crossed his arms above his head and stared at the light from the fireplace as it danced across the thick beamed ceiling. Maybe he’d freeze when the fire died out. Maybe she’d accidentally shoot him in his sleep. After a week of this arrangement, he decided he didn’t care.
“You didn’t cover up,” Hannah whispered.
“What?” They were the first words she’d said to him all week once they were in bed. He’d realized that her not talking was another way of ignoring the fact that they were lying next to one another. “Did you say something?”
“The quilt is still on my side.” She shoved it toward him. “You’ll catch cold.”
“I don’t care.” He didn’t feel any cold at all. In fact, he was warm. Just thinking of her so close to him most nights kept his blood summer-hot. He felt her moving closer, rolling toward him.