Emaline felt breathless. “Believe it.”
But he didn’t look convinced. “When did this change of heart occur?”
“When you were hurt,” she admitted. “When I thought I was going to lose you, I realized I wanted to experience—”
“So this is about having sex?” he interrupted.
“It’s about making love,” she said. “Ever since that awful wedding, I’ve felt you pulling away from me, Ransom. I want us to be close again.”
“Through sex,” he said flatly.
“Why can’t you understand?” she wailed.
“Explain it to me, Emaline.”
She noticed he hadn’t even used the shortened form of her name, putting him one more step away from her. She reached out to him again. “I love you, Ransom. I want you to make love to me.”
“Even though you believe making love to me is a death sentence? No thanks.” He turned to leave.
“Please, stop,” she begged. “Please, listen to me.”
He paused with his rigid back to her. She could see his hands were balled into fists. She closed the distance between them and put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened.
“Please, Ransom. Turn around and look at me.”
He hesitated so long, Emaline was afraid she’d lost him forever. Then he turned and looked at her with tortured eyes. In a voice raw with emotion, he said, “You’re killing me, Emaline. Lying beside you night after night and not touching you is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. But I’ll be damned before I make love to you when you’re lying beneath me like some virgin sacrifice.”
Emaline stared up at him. “Lying beside you without touching you is killing me, too,” she said quietly. “It’s killing my soul. You’re the other half of me, Ransom. I can’t live without your love. I can’t live without your touch. I want you and I need you.”
“Em.” Her name seemed wrenched from somewhere deep inside him. That single word held a world of agony and unfulfilled desire.
Emaline swallowed over the hard knot in her throat and said, “I can’t help my fear of dying. It’s real. But the fear of losing you is greater by far. Please don’t turn me away. Please make love to me.”
Ransom pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I love you, Em. So much I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I want to make love to you, but I’m afraid.”
Emaline’s brow cleared. “Darling,” she said, brushing a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe if we face our fears together, we can overcome them.”
She watched him search her face, looking to see whether she meant what she was saying. “Do you believe I love you and need you?” she asked.
Apparently he did, because he scooped her into his arms and headed for the buffalo hide in front of the fireplace.
Flint had been aware all evening of the tension between Ransom and Emaline. That had caused him to focus on the situation in his own marriage, which was strained. He’d been content to let well enough alone, hoping his relationship with Hannah would improve with time.
It hadn’t. He felt no closer to his wife now than he had on the day he’d married her. Truthfully, he felt more distanced from her. He’d thought they were getting along well together. Then something had changed. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but tonight he’d finally come to the conclusion that the only way to find out was to ask.
He closed the bedroom door, turned to Hannah, and said, “I want to know why you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
She flushed, her cheeks turning dark in the lamplight, so he knew she knew what he meant. Since the day Ransom and Emaline had returned from the roundup camp, his wife had shut him out of her life. Hannah spoke to him if he asked her a question, but she confined her give-and-take conversation to Emaline and Ransom.
He hadn’t even noticed at first, because he usually spoke with Ransom at the supper table about business matters, while the two women talked about the soap making or candle making or laundry or cooking that had occupied their day. After supper, he and Ransom sat planning their next workday in chairs perpendicular to the stone fireplace, while their wives read or talked or worked on some sewing or knitting or crocheting project on the sofa across from them.
In addition, Flint had been distracted by his concern for Ransom. Over the past couple of months, he’d come to realize his brother was terribly unhappy. Since the two women were sitting so close, it was impossible to ask Ransom what was wrong. Flint had figured his brother’s discontent was probably caused by the unresolved personal issues in his forced marriage to Emaline.
He gave Ransom plenty of openings to discuss the matter when they rode out together in the mornings, but Ransom hadn’t picked up his cue, and Flint wasn’t about to offer advice that hadn’t been requested. However, thinking about Ransom’s troubles with Emaline had caused Flint to mull over—to compare, actually—his own relationship with his wife.
That was when he’d noticed that although Hannah was talking plenty, she wasn’t speaking to him.
“I want an answer, Hannah. Did I do something wrong? If so, tell me, so I can apologize, and we can get on with our lives.”
Her chin took on a mulish tilt, and for a moment he thought she wasn’t going to answer. She sat down near the foot of the bed, gripped the bedpost with one hand to steady her front-heavy pregnant body, and said, “Are you sure you want to know?”
That sounded forboding. Did he want to know? Was he opening a can of worms? Was he going to create more problems than he already had? Surely not knowing was worse than knowing. He was pretty good at solving problems when he knew what the problem was.
“Just tell me, Hannah. Why aren’t you talking to me?”
She caught her lower lip in her teeth, then let it go, took a deep breath, and said, “I don’t see the point in getting to know you any better.”
Flint felt like she’d slapped him. He was shocked. And hurt. He kept his face impassive, unwilling to give Hannah the satisfaction of seeing how deep her words had cut. He realized he still didn’t know how she’d come to that decision. “Can you tell me why?”
“You’re never going to love me the way you love Emaline.”
Flint hissed in a breath. How did she know? How long had she known? He’d thought his secret was safe. He’d been so careful to hide his feelings. He felt a jolt of horror, wondering if his brother had divined his feelings for Emaline, wondering if that was why Ransom was so unhappy. There was no way he could ask.
“What makes you think I have feelings—”
“Don’t bother lying,” she interrupted. “I’m not blind. I can see what’s right in front of my nose.”
“Emaline is married to my brother.”
She snorted. “Yes, she is. So what?”
“I would never—”
“You covet your brother’s wife.”
He’d thought those words, but he’d never heard them spoken aloud. Put that way, it sounded truly awful. Literally sinful. He felt the heat on his throat rising up to become a guilty flush on his face. He would never, ever act on his feelings, but he hadn’t been able to banish them.
Hannah took a deep breath and said, “You can’t help who you love, Flint. But I don’t want to get burned.” She met his troubled gaze, and said, “So I’m keeping my distance from you.”
That was plain speaking. Flint had no idea how to reply.
She asked, “Is there anything else? If not, I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”
“How long is this shutout going to continue?”
She glared at him. “How long do you plan on being in love with another woman?”
“I met her long before I knew you.”
“And fell in love with her?”
He nodded.
“And stayed in love with her? Even though she chose your brother?”
“It wasn’t something I could
control,” he argued. “It just happened.”
“And you still love her?” she asked.
He wasn’t going to say he had no feelings for Emaline, because that would be a lie. But he wasn’t going to admit he did, either, not to his wife’s face. “Isn’t there some way we can work this out?” he asked instead.
“It’s your problem,” she said. “You solve it. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”
“I do mind,” he said, taking a step toward her. “There’s more to being a wife than cooking and cleaning and sewing, Hannah.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Like what?”
“Like kissing and touching.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pregnant.”
“So?”
She glanced at him warily. “You can’t like the way I look.”
“Why not?”
“I’m ugly.”
“You’re beautiful. And desirable.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’ve always wanted you. Never doubt that, Hannah.”
“But you don’t love me,” she said flatly.
“Do you love me?” he countered.
She hesitated, then said, “Even if I did, I wouldn’t be fool enough to admit it.”
“So you don’t?” he pressed.
“My feelings are my business,” she said stubbornly.
“So, where does that leave us? I don’t love you, and you won’t admit to loving me,” he said. “Does that mean we can’t take comfort from one another? Or that we can’t give each other pleasure?”
“No, I don’t think we can.”
“We can try,” he insisted. “If you’re physically uncomfortable, we can stop.” He didn’t know why he was trying to convince Hannah to make love. Especially when she’d just called him on his feelings for Emaline.
“I’m not the woman you want,” she said flatly.
“You’re wrong about that.” His emotional commitment to Emaline had done nothing to quench his physical attraction to Hannah. He’d kept his distance from his wife ever since the night he’d brought Ransom home, in deference to her pregnancy. But maybe, in hindsight, that had been a mistake. It seemed Hannah had gotten the wrong idea.
“I’ve never wanted Emaline the way I want you.”
“You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “No, Hannah. I wouldn’t lie about something like that. If I didn’t desire you, why would I want to make love to you?”
She looked confused and unhappy. “All right,” she said at last. “I’m willing to try. But turn out the lamps.”
He shook his head again. “I want to see you. I want to see how your body has changed with the baby growing inside you.”
“You won’t like it,” she said.
He smiled. “Let me be the judge of that.”
“I don’t want to be judged at all,” she retorted.
“Okay. Fine. I won’t tell you how beautiful I find you.”
She glared at him, obviously not believing a word he said. She scooted off the bed and began unbuttoning the voluminous dress she was wearing. When she had the buttons down the front undone, she slipped it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor, leaving her wearing a large white flannel shift. She removed her shoes and stockings, then reached under the shift and pulled off a pair of underdrawers. Finally, she pulled the shift off over her head.
She stood before him with her feet apart, her blond hair barely covering her enlarged breasts, her hands balled into defiant fists at her sides, her pregnant belly distended, gloriously naked.
Flint gasped.
She moaned and stooped down to grab the shift. “I warned you!”
He had his arms around her a moment later. He eased the flannel garment from her clutch and let it fall back to the floor. “Hannah, don’t. I was gasping with disbelief because you’re so beautiful.”
She looked at him, her eyes swimming in tears, and said, “You’re just saying that.”
He laughed and grabbed her naked buttocks in his hands and pressed her rounded abdomen against the fly in his jeans. “Feel that?”
Her eyes went wide.
“That happened the instant I saw you naked. Is that the response of a man who doesn’t like what he sees?”
Her head turned down, and he put a hand under her chin to lift her face so he could see into her eyes. “This hasn’t ever happened to me with Emaline. Not once.”
She searched his face, and he could see she was trying to determine whether he was telling the truth. He met her gaze and said, “Only you do this to me, Hannah. Only you.”
“Don’t tease me, Flint. I’m vulnerable. I can be hurt.”
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. His hand slid down to her belly. He was astonished to find that it was hard, rather than soft.
Then the baby kicked him.
He let go and stared at her belly, amazed and amused, then met her gaze and asked, “Was that what I thought it was?”
She smiled and nodded. “She’s active at night.”
“She?”
“It’s a girl. Her name is Lauren,” she added.
“Lauren. That’s pretty. What if it’s a boy?”
“Then you can name him.”
Flint was intrigued by the idea. He’d had mixed feelings when he’d learned he would be raising another man’s child. Disappointment was uppermost, because he couldn’t start on his own family until McMurtry’s kid was born. He was surprised Hannah was going to let him name the child if it was a boy.
“How about Douglas?” he announced. After a good friend who’d died in the war. “Or maybe Russ.” He’d had a good hunting dog named Russ. “Or Jesse.” He had a sibling named Jesse, a sister with a boy’s name, who’d disappeared during the war.
“Thank goodness it’s a girl,” she said with a laugh. “Sounds like you can’t make up your mind.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “Just in case.” He dropped to his knees, put his mouth next to her belly, and said, “Hey, you in there. Don’t be kicking your mom.”
He felt Hannah’s hand on his head, felt her fingers threading tenderly through his hair. He kissed her belly, then stood and picked her up and carried her to bed.
Flint revered Hannah’s pregnant body. He found satisfaction in the way she clung to him and arched her body toward his. He felt exhilarated by her sighs and moans of pleasure. He marveled at the fullness of her breasts, admired the roundness of her belly, and at last, found his way home.
As he lay oxygen-starved beside her afterward, Flint wondered whether it was possible to learn to love a woman. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all he needed to do. He also needed to fall out of love with a woman. Surely there was a way to accomplish both.
He figured he had about two months—until McMurtry’s kid was born—to figure it all out.
“Are you all right?” Ransom asked.
Emaline rolled onto her side on the buffalo hide rug and threaded her fingers into the dark V of curls on Ransom’s chest. “I never imagined sex would be like that. It’s not just pleasurable, it’s uplifting. What I felt was so … unexpected.”
Emaline was hard-pressed to come up with superlatives. Ransom had been gentle at first. She was the one who’d become demanding. She was the one who’d bitten and scratched. She was the one who’d lifted her hips in time with his thrusts. She was the one who’d clasped her legs around his thighs at the ultimate moment as he set his seed in her womb.
“Glad to hear you approve,” he said, sitting up and grinning down at her.
Emaline rolled onto her back, reached her hands up over her head, and stretched, arching her back like the cat that got the cream. “When can we do it again?” she asked.
He laughed. “I’m ready.”
Emaline glanced at him and blushed. He certainly was. She sat up, amazed at how unashamed she felt to be naked with him. She crossed her legs and said, “I think we already made a baby.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said with a smile. “I can’t wait to be a father.”
“I know you’ll be a wonderful father,” she said, smiling back at him.
“And you’ll be a wonderful mother.”
Emaline’s smile disappeared as she ducked her head. She wanted to believe she could survive a pregnancy, but she’d heard so many horror stories from her aunt that she found it hard to believe. “I hope I get the chance,” she said quietly.
A furrow appeared between Ransom’s brows. “Does that mean you’re thinking you have nine months left to live?”
She shrugged.
He pulled her onto her feet and into his embrace and hugged her. Hard. “You can’t give up like that, Emaline. I won’t allow it.”
She hugged him back, hoping against hope that he was right.
“I can’t help being scared, Ransom.”
He let her go and looked into her eyes and said, “Do you think I’m not scared, too? I know pregnancy has risks, but they can be managed. I plan to take very good care of you. I don’t intend to let anything happen to you.”
“You can’t help the fact that I have narrow hips. You can’t change the way I’m made.”
He huffed out a frustrated breath, then turned abruptly and went hunting for his clothes, which he’d dropped willy-nilly around the parlor. He didn’t look at her as he dressed.
Emaline realized that while it had felt perfectly natural to be standing naked together, it was very uncomfortable to be a naked female in a room with a fully clothed male. She began pulling on her own things, hurrying to catch up with Ransom.
When she finally got her blouse on, he was standing with his hip cocked, something she’d noticed both brothers did when they were anxious or uncomfortable, waiting for her to finish buttoning her skirt. Her fingers kept fumbling with the last button, until finally he took a step closer and said, “Let me do it.”
He did up the button, then took her by the shoulders with both hands and said sternly, “Look at me, Emaline.”
“You sound like my father,” she said petulantly.
“But I’m not, as you very well know. I’m your husband. You’re mine to love and cherish and protect. I’m making a rule that—”
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