The Horseman's Convenient Wife

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The Horseman's Convenient Wife Page 9

by Mindy Neff


  ‘‘Not you, love,’’ Iris said. ‘‘Your hat is part of your outfit.’’

  ‘‘Mine’s part of the whole package, too,’’ Stony pointed out.

  ‘‘And a very nice package, indeed. But you’ll be polite during dinner. You can put it back on when the dancing starts. Nothing sexier looking than a cowboy gliding his lady across the dance floor with his head bent and his hat tipped low.’’

  Iris busily arranged food and the old fellas grumbled about bossy women. She shot them a quelling look and encouraged everyone to sit and eat.

  Now that Eden’s hat wasn’t shading her face, Stony noticed the pallor of her skin.

  ‘‘You okay?’’

  ‘‘Of course.’’ She smiled at him—forced, he realized. To anyone else in the room it would have looked genuine. But Stony saw more than most. Eyes often spoke, and if you looked closely enough, listened, you could see beneath the surface.

  Looking at her, he saw beauty and milky-white skin framed by hair the color of a blood bay, shot through with deep, wine-red highlights. Dimples gave her smile a mischievous air, an openness that clearly showed she was a woman who loved people, interacted easily with them, a woman who genuinely had fun wherever she went. The unselfconscious way she’d picked up the rhythm of the music, moving her body to it as she’d made her way across the room a few minutes ago, said it for her.

  But in her eyes was weariness. And fear, he realized, his brows pulling together.

  He slipped the big tote-style purse off her shoulder and pulled out a chair for her to sit on.

  She smiled and her dimples flashed. ‘‘A girl could get spoiled by you.’’

  ‘‘You bet,’’ Ozzie Peyton said, coming up behind them. ‘‘A gentleman’s what his grandma raised him to be. Good teachin’, you bet. Don’t you just love to hear this gal talk?’’ Ozzie asked with a glance at Stony.

  Stony was still imagining ways to spoil Eden Williams. When she looked up at him, he held her gaze, steadily, deliberately.

  Regardless of his looks, there was one area he was totally confident about: he knew how to please a woman. ‘‘Yeah. I like the accent.’’

  ‘‘Well, then,’’ Ozzie said, a bit nervously. That little bit of eyeball communication was a scorcher and meant to be private. He nearly rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘‘I’ll just step right out of the fire here and take a seat.’’ Vivid blue eyes twinkled as he scurried away, obviously to report back to his cronies.

  Eden cleared her throat. ‘‘They’re matchmaking, you know.’’

  ‘‘I figured that out.’’ He sat down beside her.

  ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

  He glanced at her, frowned. ‘‘For what?’’

  ‘‘For dragging this out so publicly.’’ She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. ‘‘Aunt Lottie told me you were a private man, and I’d hoped to give you the option of keeping what went on between us private.’’

  ‘‘You think I’m embarrassed that folks know we’re…together?’’

  ‘‘I hope not.’’ She flicked her hair behind her ear. ‘‘I just wanted—’’

  ‘‘I don’t mind, Eden.’’

  She nodded. Then a look of distress passed over her pale features. She smiled, put a hand on his thigh and gave a squeeze, nearly sending him straight up out of the chair.

  ‘‘Excuse me a moment, will you?’’ She picked up her oversize purse, slung it over her shoulder like a backpack and headed in the direction of the rest rooms.

  It was a trek she made just about every half hour over the course of the evening. And each time she returned, her smile was a little brighter, her skin a little paler. He made a point of noting the time, watching her closely.

  Something wasn’t right, yet each time he started to ask, she would shake her head, smile at him and continue visiting with the neighbors, laughing and joking—and unobtrusively excusing herself to go to the ladies’ room.

  By nine o’clock, Stony had had enough.

  He headed over to where she sat chatting with Vera Tillis.

  Everyone at the table looked at him expectantly as he stopped by Eden’s chair, gazed down at her. Holding out his hand, palm up, he said, ‘‘Dance with me.’’

  It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t give her an opportunity to answer, much less choose not to. He carefully pulled her to her feet and drew her onto the dance floor.

  The feel of the soft dress under his palm nearly sidetracked him. A kind of velvet, he noted, yet not really velvet. With his palm low on her back, he could feel the elastic waistband of her panties. Or maybe a slip, he wasn’t sure.

  Wyatt was dancing with Hannah, her pregnant belly like a basketball between them. Ethan danced by with Dora, and from the way he was looking at his wife, somebody was surely going to suggest he either get a room or take her home.

  Couples, Stony thought.

  He hadn’t imagined he’d ever be one again.

  ‘‘I like your neighbors, Stony.’’

  ‘‘So do I. Now do you want to tell me what’s going on with you?’’ Tiny blue veins mapped the inside of her arms, the back of her hands, the slow pulse at her temple. Lines of pain pulled at the corners of her eyes. It almost hurt him to see it. ‘‘You’re sick, aren’t you?’’

  She shook her head, rested her cheek against his shoulder.

  ‘‘Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?’’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘‘She was deaf—born that way. She could speak, but rarely chose to do so. So the majority of our communication was in sign language. I learned to listen when hands spoke, to notice nuances, changes in mood, for instance, sadness…physical pain.’’

  She sighed and whispered something he couldn’t hear over the music.

  ‘‘What?’’ He bent down so they were cheek to cheek.

  ‘‘I started my period,’’ she repeated, embarrassment tingeing her voice.

  He stopped dancing, cupped her chin and tipped her face up so he could get a good look at her. A strong wind would knock her down. He felt his heart kick behind his ribs. ‘‘Is that why you’ve gone to the bathroom every half hour?’’

  A hint of color stained her ashy cheeks. She nodded. ‘‘Don’t worry. It’s usually only like this for a couple of days.’’

  A couple of days? He knew the workings of a woman’s body—no subject had been taboo with his grandmother, plus he’d also been married for two years. So he had a fairly good grasp of what was happening here.

  At the rate Eden was going, she might not survive a couple of days.

  Chapter Seven

  After Stony got Nikki settled in bed, he made his way back downstairs. The light from the bathroom spilled a yellow glow over Lottie and Ray’s bedroom, outlining Eden’s body curled in a ball on the bed.

  ‘‘How often do you go through this?’’

  Eden hugged her stomach and swallowed back the wimpy emotions that sneaked past her defenses around this time every month, making her impatient because she had little control. The pain made her nauseous. That Stony was witnessing it embarrassed her to no end.

  ‘‘I’m fine.’’ She waved him away. ‘‘I’ll be better in the morning.’’ Not likely.

  He sighed. ‘‘You’re not fine. Tell me what to do to help you.’’

  ‘‘Leave.’’

  He shook his head, carefully sat down on the bed beside her. ‘‘That’s not one of the options. Did you take anything for the pain?’’

  ‘‘No. It’ll be okay.’’ Getting up would simply be too much. If she could just be still for a few minutes she’d manage. It would pass.

  He was quiet for a long time before she felt the mattress shift, realized he was leaving, respecting her wishes. She told herself she was relieved, that the lump in her throat was the product of pain. Besides, she’d just as soon be alone with her misery. She had never liked people witnessing a weakness in her. She was always the one who led the way, the one who got out of bed no matter what, who’d baked five hundred lemon tarts
with a blinding, raging headache.

  A headache she was now experiencing with a vengeance.

  The backs of Stony’s knuckles lightly brushing her cheek made her jump like a scalded cat.

  ‘‘Easy.’’ He sat back down on the side of the bed, slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her.

  Eden barely suppressed a moan. Anything straighter than a curled position felt like torture.

  ‘‘Take these.’’

  She saw that he held two of her prescription pain pills.

  ‘‘I don’t usually go through a lady’s purse, but it occurred to me on my way to get aspirins that a doctor would probably have prescribed something much stronger for you.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ She put the pills in her mouth and sipped the water he held to her lips. ‘‘I’m sorry to be such a bother.’’

  ‘‘Hush now.’’

  His kindness simply undid her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, not just from the excruciating cramps wrenching her body, but from the deeper pain, the knowledge that what she was experiencing right now was the ticking time bomb that could cause her to lose a very vital and important part of her womanhood.

  ‘‘Oh, man,’’ Stony said. ‘‘Don’t do that. Shhh.’’ He hooked his hand under her knees and brought her onto his lap, holding her as she curled into his chest.

  ‘‘The curse of women,’’ she whispered. ‘‘We just get so weepy, and the next thing you know, we’re squalling for no good reason.’’

  Hardly jiggling her, he scooted back against the headboard, stroked her hair, her arms, the sides of her legs. ‘‘I’d say you’ve got plenty of reason.’’

  His chest was so broad, his shoulders and arms thick with muscles, his palms wide and oh, so gentle as they passed up and down over the silk of her pajamas. He surrounded her. Made her feel cherished.

  He was the kind of man most women only dreamed of.

  The kind of man she could easily fall in love with.

  She groaned again, and his arms tightened, holding her more securely, pulling her knees tighter toward her chest.

  ‘‘Shhh.’’ His cheek rested against the top of her head, his breath stirring the hair at her temple. ‘‘Relax. The medication’ll kick in soon.’’

  And although it did succeed in easing the pain, sleep wasn’t one of the perks. Not with the way she had to get up and down all night.

  Stony was afraid to leave her side, and by morning he was a wreck.

  That’s why he’d called and dragged the doctor out of bed at the crack of dawn.

  ‘‘Thanks for coming, Chance.’’ He shook the doctor’s hand and filled him in on the nature of the problem and his concerns.

  When they went into Eden’s room, she was just coming out of the bathroom. Again.

  She uttered a feminine sound of distress.

  ‘‘Well, then. This is a fine how d’you do, and I don’t believe it’s covered in the etiquette books.’’ Her drawl was even more pronounced, and in a show of modesty, she raised her hand to the lapels of her pajamas. ‘‘I’m sure y’all will excuse me. I’m not exactly dressed for entertaining company, and to be honest, I ought to mention that I’m feeling about as friendly as a bramble bush right now.’’

  Stony admired her quick wit, the way she handled any situation she was thrust into. Pale as a ghost, in her pajamas, she was the perfectly contrite and correct Southern hostess. A lady right down to her toes.

  Too damn good for the likes of him.

  ‘‘Eden, this is Dr. Hammond.’’

  Eden finger combed her hair, wishing there was a hole she could hide in right quick. ‘‘I appreciate your concern, Stony, but this truly isn’t necessary.’’ She looked at the doctor. The very young and handsome doctor. ‘‘I’m sorry, Doctor Hammond. Stony’s apparently worried that I’m about ready to give up my guitar for a harp, and I can assure you, I’m not.’’

  The doctor laughed, and Stony frowned.

  ‘‘Call me Chance. And let me be the judge of what’s necessary. It’s one of my specialties.’’ He held out his arm in a gesture indicating she should hop back in bed.

  This might very well be his specialty, Eden thought, but she still didn’t like being fussed over. It had been mortifying enough to discuss her female health issues with Stony, to have him practically witness the whole thing up close and personal for goodness’ sake. And now they expected her to go through explanations all over again? In front of both of them?

  ‘‘Really, this isn’t—’’

  Stony’s hand cupped her shoulder, squeezed gently. ‘‘I’ve explained the nature of your condition to Chance,’’ he said softly, understanding her discomfort and reservations. ‘‘For my peace of mind, will you just let him have a look at you?’’

  When he spoke to her in that incredibly tender voice, how could she refuse him? And there really wasn’t any call to be embarrassed about her state of undress. Her satin pajamas were the equivalent of silky pants and a shirt, perfectly modest.

  ‘‘Just your vitals and some questions,’’ Chance added.

  She smiled. ‘‘I assure you, I’ve still got a pulse. And by the way,’’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘‘It’s very nice to meet you.’’

  ‘‘Same goes.’’ He waited until she’d settled back in the bed, then checked her heart and pulse rate, the reaction of her eyes and the color of her fingernails. ‘‘Any fainting spells?’’

  ‘‘No.’’

  ‘‘Dizziness?’’

  ‘‘Comes with the territory.’’

  ‘‘Would you recognize the signs of shock?’’

  She nodded. ‘‘Weakness, shallow breathing, rapid heart beat, clammy skin, confusion.’’ She’d experienced every one of these symptoms in the past few days, and they had nothing to do with shock and everything to do with the soul-stirring, six-and-a-half-foot cowboy who was practically hovering behind the doctor.

  ‘‘Anemia’s nothing to mess around with,’’ Chance said solemnly.

  She met his gaze squarely. ‘‘I know. I’m taking supplements to compensate.’’

  He picked up the bottles from the nightstand, checked the dosage and nodded. He studied her for a long moment. ‘‘Six months might be too long to let this go on.’’

  Her gaze whipped to Stony, and although his expression never changed, she knew he’d told the doctor her goal, the reason they were getting married. Her face burned even as her back straightened and her shoulders squared.

  ‘‘I’m going to hope and pray like mad that it isn’t.’’ She felt the familiar ache in the back of her throat, the sting in her eyes. She hated the emotional upheaval. ‘‘I’m not foolish, Dr. Hammond,’’ she said quietly. ‘‘I know my body and what it’ll handle.’’

  ‘‘Then I’ll be pulling for you.’’ His eyes were filled with compassion.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  Chance stood and began putting instruments back in his bag. ‘‘You’re drinking? Keeping yourself hydrated?’’

  ‘‘Good old Gatorade.’’

  He nodded. ‘‘Know your blood type?’’

  ‘‘A-positive.’’

  ‘‘Mine’s O-positive,’’ Stony volunteered, his tone grave. ‘‘If the need arose, could I donate?’’

  ‘‘Oh, for Pete’s sake,’’ Eden said. ‘‘Let’s not get too morbid.’’ Never mind that the color of her skin alone suggested she could use a transfusion.

  Chance smiled and nodded at Stony. ‘‘O’s universal.’’ Looking back at Eden, he asked, ‘‘Got everything you need here? I can send one of the women from town if you need supplies.’’

  ‘‘I’m fine.’’ Cryin’ out loud, even with a pitifully low blood count, her skin still turned pink. She could hold her own in any conversation, anywhere, but talking about feminine supplies and bodily functions in mixed company this way was as awkward as in-laws on a honeymoon.

  While Stony walked the doctor out, Eden slipped into the bathroom and got dressed. Her reflection in the
mirror was enough to scare the quills off a porcupine. Her hair looked even redder against the colorless hue of her skin, and her eyes…well, that was a sorry sight. She looked as though she’d gone three rounds with Mohammed Ali’s daughter and definitely come up the loser.

  Given her sorry appearance, she wouldn’t be surprised if Stony withdrew his proposal.

  Doing what she could to disguise her ashy complexion with makeup, Eden quickly plaited her hair in a French braid and gave herself a pep talk.

  ‘‘There’s always a blessing, Eden. Be thankful you’re one of the lucky ones whose period only lasts a few days.’’

  Satisfied that she’d gone as far as she could with her pitiful appearance, she opened the bathroom door and ran smack dab into Stony.

  He steadied her with his hands at her elbows. His brows drew together, pulling at the scar on his face. ‘‘What are you doing?’’

  ‘‘Getting dressed.’’ She smiled at him, touched by his concern, his solicitousness. ‘‘Did you think I’d had a spell and fallen out the bathroom?’’

  ‘‘You look like a feather would knock you over.’’

  ‘‘You’re being very kind,’’ she said on a laugh. ‘‘I just got a good gander at myself in the mirror.’’

  The intensity of his amber gaze made her breath stop for half a heartbeat.

  ‘‘You’re beautiful even when you’re sick.’’ His tone was soft, reluctant even, as though the compliment made him vulnerable somehow.

  ‘‘I’m not sick.’’

  His brows rose. She loved the way he spoke without even using his mouth or vocal cords. It did, however, unsettle her a bit, sent her nerves scrambling.

  She cleared her throat. ‘‘What I am, though, is starving. So, if you’ll step aside, I’ll get in there and fix us up a feast.’’

  ‘‘No, you won’t.’’

  ‘‘Excuse me?’’ It had been many a year since someone had told her no in just that tone.

  ‘‘You go back to bed. I’ll cook.’’

  ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your expertise is the horses. Mine’s cooking. I could have one foot planted in the daisies and an arm tied behind my back and still fix a five-course meal.’’

 

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