Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  His face scant inches from hers, she dropped her gaze, only to discover his broad chest sprinkled with hair the color of corn silk. "Nein—no."

  "How do you say 'beautiful'?"

  "Schon."

  "Es tut mir leid, schon weib." Tipping her chin up, he covered her slightly parted lips with his own, gently at first, then pressing firmly. His apology, as well as his kiss, pronounced the tremulous flutter within her breast. His lips tasted sweet from the apple he'd eaten, but salty from his perspiring skin. He deepened the kiss, and she fought for breath, reminded of the sensation she'd experienced when the bakery's storeroom exploded. It was as if the air had been sucked from a room.

  She forced herself to breathe, thinking of the weeks he'd be gone. She touched the hair at the back of his neck. Her fingers slid into the soft thickness and prolonged the kiss, holding him with gentle persistence.

  His kisses created wonderful and wanton feelings. Greedy. Strangely disquieting. That she enjoyed this intimacy surprised her. His lips, hungry and mobile, turned her insides to liquid. She wanted more of him. She needed to open herself fully and take all of him she could. When he was gone, she would need to remember this moment.

  Respectable women don't enjoy seduction.

  Embarrassed by her unconcealed response, she pulled away. He leaned back to look at her, keeping her hand tucked in his. Her other hand drifted back to her lap. His eyes were translucent, like two pieces of sky seen through cracks in a roof.

  Jakob. Jakob, I don't know how to fix this thing between us. I don't know how I should think or feel, I just know what I want. I want you. And I need you to want me.

  "What are you thinking?" He watched her pinkened lips as she answered.

  "Jakob, I want to tell you..." Her lashes swept her flushed cheeks.

  He tipped her chin up with a thumb. "What?"

  "I am sorry for cutting my hair and making you angry."

  A rock sank in the pit of his belly. He should be the one apologizing.

  "I thought it would please you if I looked like the ladies in Pittsburgh."

  Her tongue darted out to nervously touch her upper lip, and the rock moved elsewhere.

  "I know I'm not fashionable, and that I don't know how to behave or what to—"

  "Lydia."

  Her dark eyes scanned his face. "Ja?"

  "What are you saying?"

  "Just that—that I wish to please you more than anything, and I seem to make a fool of myself each time."

  He took a second to reevaluate his assumptions. "Do you mean you cut your hair because you thought I wanted you to look like a city woman?"

  At her blush, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, tormenting himself with the erotic satin texture against his coarse skin.

  She blushed more deeply than before. Taking a strand of loose hair, he caressed it between his fingers. His knuckles grazed her neck and cheek, holding her gaze with his. Her lips were slightly parted, and still moist from the kiss they'd shared. "You don't know what you do to me."

  "What?" she asked.

  He shook his head and gave her a wry grin.You make me hard and crazy. You turn me inside out, and I love the torture. You make me want to build you a house and make you a baby. I don't trust myself anymore, and I'm angry and frustrated all the time. You make me want to carry you off someplace alone and do all the things I've dreamed of doing.

  "I've never met anyone like you" was all he said. "I don't want you to be like anyone else. I like you just the way you are." Smelling like apples and sun-dried cotton.

  "Is it good?"

  What he felt for her was so good that the thought of her taking a horse in his absence filled him with terror. He closed the distance between them, cupping her delicate chin in his palm. Sylvie's life had been taken by a horse, and the thought of such a thing happening to Lydia—he couldn't even think about it.

  Closing her eyes, she met his lips, and he kissed her lazily, savoring her taste. She hadn't cut her hair out of disgust or revulsion. She'd tried to please him, as she always tried to please him. Guiltily he realized how homesick she must be. He hadn't done a very good job of fulfilling his promise to court her. He'd have to fix that. "Yes, it's good," he whispered against her lips. "Very good."

  Early that evening, Jakob entered their room, and Lydia glanced up in surprise. Until now they had avoided dressing at the same time. He was dressed only in denims, and his wet hair dripped on his bare shoulders. His wife surveyed his bare chest with a blush, bent to tie her shoes and prepared to leave.

  "Don't go," he said, hoping it sounded more like an invitation than an order. He crossed to the washstand. She perched on the bed's edge and watched him dry his hair and shoulders with brisk movements. He bent at the knees and combed his hair while looking at his reflection in in the mirror.

  Removing a crisp white shirt from his chest of drawers, he examined the arrow-straight creases in it. "You've been doing these, and I haven't thanked you."

  "It is not necessary."

  He hung the shirt carefully on the bedpost and took her hands, urging her gently until she stood. When he didn't have his boots on, her eyes came level with his chin. "I know how hard everything has been for you. You've done a good job. There's still so much work ahead, and sometimes I think it's unfair..."

  The thought died away before he could voice his insecurities. He'd taken so much from her, and he had so little to offer in return. That was why the house was important. So far his plans had progressed as he'd hoped. She was the wife he'd wanted, and he would build her a house with the flower garden she wanted. He would make her happy. Then they could begin their family. Releasing her hands, he draped his arms loosely around her waist.

  "What is unfair, Jakob?"

  She smelled of lavender, clean and feminine. She intoxicated him, but he was still almost a stranger to her. Time, Neubauer. Give her time. "That all the other women will look like pigweed in a posy patch next to you."

  She brought her hands up so her fingers rested on his arms, and her innocent touch sent immediate signals throughout the rest of his body. Gently he pulled her closer, until the lower halves of their clothed bodies met. Her soft form molded against his willingly. Her hair was cool and satiny beneath his fingers, and he buried his face in the dark tresses and inhaled deeply. Her body trembled.

  Jakob removed his hands from her hair and grasped her upper arms, holding her away from him. His gaze flickered over the hair covering her shoulders, and he thought of her cutting it to please him.

  Of course she was submissive; meekness was the backbone of her character, her beliefs. If she had chosen a husband within her colony, how would he have treated her? Just how chaste could a husband be?

  He pictured her married to a dark-haired tailor or rope-maker in somber blue clothing, and a fierce possessiveness counteracted his misgivings. Hating the helplessness that smothered him, he pulled her close, needing to brand her as his own. His lips covered hers, hard and demanding—no evidence of the gentle kisses they'd shared that afternoon.

  Punishing her for his own wretched frustration, he kissed her hard, using her startled gasp to plunge his tongue into her mouth and seek every conquerable depth within. She recoiled. He knew the instant she wanted to pull away. Gratified in some perverse way, he released her abruptly and reached for his shirt.

  Lydia caught her balance, seized the bedpost and lowered herself to the edge of the bed. Jakob shrugged into his shirt and grabbed his gray snakeskin boots.

  "Jakob?"

  He paused in the doorway without looking back over his shoulder.

  "Are you angry with me?"

  An uneasy silence stretched across the room. She didn't deserve to be treated this way. Finally he turned and met her stare. "No. I'm not angry with you." He looked at the floor. "I'm angry with me."

  "Why?"

  He shook his head. "I'm not sure." He turned until he met her dark, confused gaze. "I'm sorry, Lydia. Let's just fo
rget it."

  With that, he left the room.

  Chapter 13

  Impromptu tables fabricated of planks and sawhorses supported enormous quantities of popped corn, cookies and baked goods. One held a wooden keg of beer with a spigot at the bottom. A bucket on the floor caught the brew that drizzled over the sides of steins and mugs. At one end of the building stood a platform made of skids end to end and laid with flat planking. Both sets of doors were open to the sultry summer breeze; the space in between had been swept clean and scattered with sawdust for dancing.

  Lydia took it all in with jittery anticipation. Next to her, Charlotte straightened and absently tucked her royal blue blouse into the waist of her full print skirt. Wound through her gold hair was a matching ribbon. A short time ago, Lydia couldn't have imagined a woman who wore adornment in her hair. "Your blouse is lovely."

  Charlotte touched her collar in a pretty gesture. "Thanks. I used a blouse of Annette's for the pattern. I still have the paper, if you'd like to borrow it."

  "Danke, but I don't know how to sew."

  "Didn't your mother teach you? I'm not being critical," Charlotte hastened to add. "I just wondered."

  "No. For pleasure my grandmother sews. In the colony the tailors provide garments. Each person has one job only. I was a baker."

  Charlotte's friendly hazel eyes were sympathetic. "Farm life must be hard for you."

  "Not hard. Different. But I'm learning." She watched the musicians warm up. Jakob tuned his fiddle and joked with the men, lantern light glinting off his fair head.

  The other woman touched her sleeve timidly. "I'd be glad to show you how to make a blouse, if you wouldn't be insulted."

  "Insulted?" She smiled and touched Charlotte's hand. "Grateful I would be."

  Several couples moved onto the sawdust-littered floor and stepped to the lively music as a barrel-chested fiddler called out obscure directions. Men and women moved together in orderly circles, like patterns on a quilt. Tom swept Charlotte onto the dance floor in a swish of bright blue skirts. Lydia watched in fascination.

  A half-dozen lively tunes later, Jakob left his place on the stand and threaded his way to Lydia's side. He filled his stein from a keg and took a long thirsty drink. "Are you ready for the Virginia reel?"

  "Your pardon?" Lydia cocked a brow, still uncertain of his mood.

  He gestured with a long arm toward the dance floor, and slicked the foam from his upper lip with his tongue. The action brought to mind his harsh kiss earlier, the shocking thrust of his tongue into her mouth. Lydia's heart lurched.

  "Nein... No."

  "Ja. There's no time like the present. I insist." He thumped his stein down on a nearby table and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the dancers who were squaring off for a fresh round.

  "Jakob, no. Please."

  He took her trembling hand in his. "Hey, this is fun. Don't look so scared."

  The music began, a lively rendition she didn't recognize. Heart pounding, cheeks scorching, Lydia watched Jakob and listened to the caller. She didn't comprehend 'allemande left' or 'do-si-do.' Just when she thought she understood 'swing your partner,' the couples separated. Men moved to the ladies at the opposite corners.

  Her elbow locked with Tom Simms's, and she stepped on his feet twice. Feeling awkward and gauche, she wanted to disintegrate into the sawdust on the floor. After an eternity, the song ended.

  Jakob tried to catch her hand for another set, but she evaded him and ran toward the rear doors. "Lydia, wait!"

  "Nein, Jakob."

  "Dance with me."

  "No."

  "Jake!"

  "Hey, Neubauer!" Several voices called Jakob back to his place among the musicians. "We need ya for this—Jake!"

  Outside, Lydia watched billowy clouds chase a quarter moon and leaned back against the rough barn siding. Her pulse pounded in her temples. She'd looked ridiculous. Her drab blue dress, lack of grace and clumsiness all marked her the Outsider. She wanted to evaporate into the summer-smelling night air.

  "Thirsty?" She turned at Annette's voice. Her sister-in-law handed her a sweating jar of lemonade.

  "Thank you."

  She leaned against the barn beside Lydia. "You all right?"

  Lydia nodded.

  "Men can be tactless sometimes."

  Had everyone seen her humiliation? Did Annette feel sorry for her? Lydia couldn't bear to know the answer to her own question. She sipped the tart lemonade. "What is Jakob doing?"

  "They dragged him back to his fiddle. Let's go try Bitsy McKenna's cookies."

  "I don't know, Annette. I—"

  "Come on. You can't stay out here forever." Annette drew her back into the festivities. With her and Charlotte suggesting ideas for dresses and blouses, Lydia's discomfort waned. Charlotte introduced her to everyone who passed by, and Lydia tried to remember names and faces.

  As the night wore on, she found herself standing by Anton, and together they watched Franz and Annette gracefully executing the steps of the quadrille. As she watched them, sadness struck Lydia again.

  Annette seemed happier and more content with her life than either Emily or Lydia. A vague discomfort raised itself within her. The uncomfortable emotion crept stealthily into her awareness, like a barn cat slinking in with a mouse.

  Stabbed by secret envy, Lydia looked away and struggled to bury the sinful feeling. Annette possessed the missing something she herself so desperately wanted.

  Emily danced with one of the local farmers, graceful and pretty as always.

  "It's really easy, you know."

  Lydia turned to Anton.

  "The square dance. The calls tell you what to do, and you can watch the others if you get lost."

  She understood a few of the singing calls from her observations during the evening. "What's 'cross over'?"

  Her brother-in-law explained the term, plus 'allemande,' 'meander' and 'shuttling.' "Come on, I'll show you."

  "Not here." Panic rose in her chest.

  "Outside then. No one will see." He led the way through the rear door. Where they could easily hear the calls, Anton patiently showed her the steps. Gradually her hand relaxed in his, and she began to anticipate the next command. She ran into his back as they do-si-doed; he steadied her with a laugh, and they tried again. Anton's matter-of-fact directions and easy laughter drew her into the festive spirit. She grew more comfortable with her easygoing partner and the dance.

  Jakob drained his stein again and wiped his mouth on the sleeve he'd rolled to his bicep. He owed his light-headedness to the stifling heat in his airless corner of the barn. His watchful gaze narrowed as Anton took Lydia's arm and led her into the throng of dancers.

  They stood side by side, holding hands, before the music began, and Jakob strangled on an unwholesome gulp of jealousy. She'd fled from him, but accepted his brother's invitation. Lydia curtsied and clapped her hands gleefully. Jakob's stein was full once again, and he lifted it to his lips. Envy, that great, blinding tyrant, had its hooks in him.

  During a break, he discussed bridge locations with other farmers, one eye on Lydia. She, Anton and Annette fanned themselves, laughed together and had a good time—without him. He was unaccountably hurt. She had a good time with his brother, but held herself stiff as a rake handle when he was around.

  "She doesn't mean anything by it." Emily refilled his stein again. "I've seen you watching them, but it's harmless."

  He took a long swallow.

  "Lydia seems to be having a good time," Emily said from beside him. "She caught on quickly."

  He squinted from his sister-in-law to his smiling, laughing wife. Behind him, the musicians picked up their instruments and settled themselves. He drained his beer and slammed down the stein.

  Crossing the floor in angry strides, he grabbed Lydia by the arm and pulled her out the door. "What do you think you're doing?" he berated, digging his fingers into her arm.

  "I don't—I don't know what—"

  "Jake! What's
the matter with you?" Footsteps sounded on the drive beside them, and Anton reached for his brother's shoulder. "What the hell—"

  Jakob jerked back, knocking Lydia off balance. She stumbled, and Anton steadied her. "You're not playing with a full deck tonight, little brother. You've always danced with my wife, Jake. Why shouldn't I—Oof!"

  Jakob silenced his brother by hurling a shoulder into his belly, gratified to hear a whoosh of air escape Anton's lips. Anton fell back, gripping the front of Jakob's shirt, bringing Jakob down on top of him. Legs and arms flying, they rolled in the dirt at Lydia's feet.

  She sidestepped. A few mildly interested observers appeared in the doorway. In the light from the barn, Lydia spotted Annette, hands on hips, but showing no alarm.

  Jakob was on his feet again, his expression almost one of regret. But it was too late. Anton swung a fist. Jakob ducked and lunged. Anton jumped to the side and lifted a knee into Jakob's ribs.

  Jakob held his side and panted, glaring at his brother. Lydia watched in horror, unable to move. "Jakob!" She ran to his side. "Stop! Stop this at once!"

  Closed-fisted, he made the mistake of glancing at her. Anton saw his opening and caught Jakob's jaw with his fist, knocking him backward. Jakob tripped over a tree root and landed on his backside in the dirt—hard. Lydia cringed and held her breath.

  "Come on, you drunken turd!" Anton taunted. "I whupped you when you were ten and I can whup you now! What're you so all-fired mad about? You don't have the sense to show a lady how to dance before you lead her onto the floor in front of fifty people! You wanna pound me 'cause I showed her how? Come on!"

  Jakob scrambled to his feet and swayed. Anton stood in readiness, feet sprattled.

  "Jakob. Please." Lydia tried to reason with her husband. "He wants your goat. Don't give it to him."

  Through a haze of anger and alcohol, he gaped at her as if he'd been hit in the face with a dead fish.

  Anton dropped his fists and chuckled deep in his winded chest. The chuckle grew to a guffaw. "Your goat," he chortled. Another gale of laughter overtook him, and he convulsed with laughter. "She said I want your goat!"