Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  Amazingly, Jakob laughed.

  Most of the bystanders drifted back into the barn, where the music was still in full swing. Both brothers turned, and at Lydia's expression their laughter died on their faces.

  Humiliation festered until it became full-blown anger. She clenched her fists at her sides, as if she, too, could have hit one of them. Her expression obviously sobered them both.

  Jakob started toward her. "Lydia—"

  "If belittling me is the solution for your childish confrontation, then I am useful. My poor use of your language is not as degrading as full-grown men fistfighting in the dirt. Disrespectful it is to hit another person. If you're not ashamed of yourselves, I'm ashamed enough for you. To be the wife of a man with no self-control is not something I am proud of." She whirled and marched around the corner of the barn.

  No one followed.

  In the darkness, Lydia found her way to the wagon. Nearby, Gunter and Freida chewed clumps of grass. Surprisingly, she didn't feel like crying. The longer she stood there, the more her anger abated, to be replaced by remorse. "Ach, how could I have said those awful things?" she said aloud.

  Lightning bugs danced sporadically in a bean field beyond the house. Her impudence had finished her this time. A woman never raised her voice to a man! Never questioned his integrity, or challenged his authority. Her mother had never dared challenge a word or action of her father. Lydia had never heard a woman speak that way. Jakob had been lenient up to this point. But now? What would happen now?

  Footsteps sounded in the gravel behind her. She tensed. The form wasn't tall or broad enough for Jakob, and she sighed in relief. Annette again.

  "You all right?"

  "No, I've done something awful!" The first tears threatened. "I said terrible, insulting things to Jakob and Anton."

  "I heard. They deserved it for acting like a couple of rowdy little boys."

  "They'll never forgive me."

  "Of course they will." She chuckled. "They may even thank you. You didn't say anything the rest of us haven't tried to, believe me. If they behave like children, they deserve to be treated like children."

  Unconvinced, Lydia shook her head.

  The notes of 'Turkey in the Straw' wafted through the warm night air. Annette convinced her to return.

  Johann coaxed her into dancing and remained with her while they packed. Jakob lifted her over the side of the wagon, as always, but she snatched her hands away from his hard shoulders as soon as he released her. He rode beside her in stony silence while Johann drove the team.

  Franz and Annette snuggled in the far corner, and Anton and Emily exchanged a few words that were disguised by the jingle of harnesses and the rumble of the wagon wheels.

  Emily had been surprised, but somehow envious of how possessive and jealous Jakob had been over his wife's innocent dance with his brother. That was the emotion she craved inciting in her own husband. What would Anton have done if she'd danced with half a dozen men or even flirted? Would he notice?

  Anton reached for her hand, and she brushed it away. Respectable women didn't show affection openly, and she craved respectability. She needed Anton to love her, not desire her only to satisfy his needs. She was not like her mother. She deserved better. Her gaze drifted to where Nikolaus slept soundly on a quilt near Annette.

  Once in their room, Lydia poured warm water into the basin and washed quickly. Franz's voice carried down the hall. Jakob opened and closed the door. He stripped off his shirt with an economy of motion, flung it toward the woven basket, and missed. Lydia backed away from the washstand, giving him a wide berth. He took the cloth she'd used and scrubbed at his upper body. Beads of water glistening on his shoulders in the lantern light, he turned his frosty blue gaze on her. Lydia wilted, moving closer to the bed's edge.

  "I didn't like what you did," he growled. He towered over her where she perched tentatively on the side of the bed.

  Lydia's heart pounded in alarm. "I don't know what you mean."

  "Dancing with Anton," he said roughly. He flicked her shortened braid over her shoulder and touched her collarbone, enunciating each syllable. "I didn't like it. You didn't want to dance with me, but you had a gay time with him."

  He blew out the lantern, and his trousers hit the floor. She scrambled to her side of the bed, drawing the sheet protectively under her chin.

  "Jakob..." She blinked in the sudden darkness. "I did not know you would find it inappropriate. Many others danced with partners who were not their mates."

  He snorted.

  She'd been grateful to Anton for teaching her to dance. It had been enjoyable. For once she'd blended in with the farmers and their wives, no longer sticking out like a misfit.

  Jakob turned onto his side, away from her. The bed seemed larger than ever.

  What on earth had gotten into Jakob to make him behave this way? She suspected he'd drank too many steins of beer, but there had to be something else. An idea dawned, and she rolled the possibility over in her mind, as though savoring a rich pastry on her tongue. "Jakob?"

  "What?"

  "Are you feeling jealousy?"

  Dead silence met her straining ears.

  "Jako—"

  "Yes, dammit!" He flung himself onto his back. "Are you happy?"

  Her entire body relaxed, and she smiled. "Yes. I believe I am."

  The darkness assumed a friendlier countenance. Perhaps another prayer had been answered; perhaps she was learning to understand this unusual, emotional Outsider and his world better than she thought.

  He rolled toward her and found her hair in the dark. Gently he smoothed it back from her forehead in a caress that eased her worried heart, and she closed her eyes with a weary sigh.

  "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I drank too much and lost my temper."

  He pulled her close, and she snuggled against his firm chest, inhaling his yeasty scent. Yes, she was learning. "You have no reason for jealousy," she whispered.

  A soft snore was his only reply.

  Chapter 14

  Abridge was going up across the Susquehanna River near Williamsport, far to the northeast near the base of the Bald Eagle Mountains. Lydia looked at the spot on the map Jakob showed her. Over halfway across the state of Pennsylvania! A three-day trip from Pittsburgh by train meant Jakob would have to leave at the end of the week.

  He looked up from the map on the kitchen table and seemed to read the uncertainty in her eyes. "It's not that far. Only six weeks, and I'll be back."

  Six weeks. Her finger traced the railroad tracks, creeks and cities along the route. So far. Farther than she'd ever dreamed of going. She was already lonely. He was her family. Was it so easy for him to leave for so long?

  Jakob folded the map into a neat triangle. Sunday dinner had been cleared away, and Franz and Annette had gone to visit her sister. Anton was taking his frustrations out on the hills of firewood behind the barn, and from the sounds of it, he already had a sizable amount split and stacked. Lydia hadn't seen Emily since church.

  "Time for your lesson."

  She raised her gaze. "Lesson?"

  "You want to ride. Get your bonnet."

  Surprised, she did as she was told. What had prompted his change of mind? Did this mean she'd be seeing her grandmother soon? Lydia listened attentively, and Jakob explained the procedure for saddling and harnessing the horses. He showed her how tight to make the cinches, how to adjust the stirrups and which side to mount from. When both horses were saddled, he laced his fingers together and indicated that she should step into his palm. She pulled on the saddle horn, and he lifted. It wasn't a graceful mount. She wrestled with her skirt, revealing a great deal of calf.

  Jakob pretended not to notice as he raised himself into Gunter's saddle with an ease she envied. He showed her how to control the horse with gentle tugs on the reins and appropriate pressure of her knees. Using those leg muscles took some getting used to, and by the time they reached the house site, her legs were so stiff she couldn't get dow
n alone. Jakob reached for her, and she slid into his arms, letting him catch her with one arm behind her knees.

  She gazed into his eyes, unable to look away. She wanted him to kiss her, to fix whatever this broken thing was between them. She needed him to look at her the way he had before he'd consummated their marriage, before disillusionment clouded his eyes. She wanted another chance. He allowed her feet to slide to the ground, and she wobbled away from him, toward the shade of a tree.

  Freida raised her nose and nudged Lydia's back. Her already weak legs buckled. She sprawled, in an unladylike fashion, on the ground, her skirts trapped beneath her, her underskirts and an immodest expanse of both legs revealed. Scrambling to cover herself, she sat where she'd fallen, too tired to argue with her overworked legs.

  "You okay?"

  "Yes." She saw him trying not to smile.

  Overhead, a blue jay called to its mate. Jakob knelt on the grass and studied the expanse of afternoon sky. She envied his effortless ease of motion, admired the way the sun filtered down through the trees and dappled his broad shoulders. She would miss him.

  A painful prick, like that of a thorn or needle, stung Lydia's hip. Another needlelike pain bit the small of her back, and another pinpricked her waist. "Ow!" she cried out in alarm.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I don't know," she said, squirming to scratch at the flaming; spots. "It feels as if there's a thorn inside my dress, but I can't find anything to pull out. It moves around. Oh!"

  Helplessly he watched for several seconds. "Something must be biting you. Turn around."

  Too uncomfortable to object, she turned her back and allowed him to unbutton her dress. "Hurry!"

  Another sharp sting pierced her side. With her frantic help, he peeled her dress down and peered inside her cotton under-slip. "I see the welts. Untie the front."

  He tugged at the narrow shoulders of her undergarment, and she complied, dropping it to her waist, baring herself, too intent on stopping the stings to notice. He searched the folds of fabric. "Here."

  He held an insect between his thumb and forefinger—a huge winged ant. Flicking it away, he said, "Fire ant."

  Lydia clutched her clothing against her breasts, vulnerably exposed to the warm afternoon sun and Jakob's perusal. Behind her, Jakob stared at the silken white skin of her long back, studying the bumpy column of vertebrae where it dipped into the folds of bunched fabric at her hips. Her narrow waist flared into smooth, rounded buttocks, two dimples on opposite sides of her spine.

  "Is it bad?"

  "What?"

  "My back—the bites. They sting." She scratched her hip.

  "No, don't do that." He stopped her hand. "We'll have to go back to the house and put something on them." Purposefully he turned her sleeves right side out. She twisted at the waist, poked her hand through the armhole of her slip, and Jakob got a heart-stopping view of a full, creamy white breast with a dark, puckered nipple. That brief sight speared him with desire. Roughly he helped her into the dress and buttoned it quickly. If he'd had anything to say, he couldn't have talked; his tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth as it was.

  Back at the barn, he tutored her relentlessly, hoping to take her mind off the inflamed and itching stings and his off that disturbing first sight of her skin. He showed her how to walk and cool the horses, and how to use fresh hay to dry their coats before taking a stiff brush and finishing the task. He measured water and feed, explaining all the while that the horses' care and comfort always came first. They were a valuable and indispensable asset to the farm and not to be treated otherwise. Finally, hoping exhaustion would claim them both, he sent her upstairs while he dipped cold water from the well.

  Jakob splashed his face and neck with water, the effort having no more effect than spitting on a forest fire. He was going up those stairs to see her body in the light again. And not touch her? He stuck his entire head in the bucket and came up sputtering. Why not touch her? She's my wife! He heard a peculiar noise in his own throat. She was the gentlest of women. The best of women. He remembered his callow attempt at making love to her—like a green schoolboy starved for her flesh—and hot shame washed over him anew. He couldn't go on like this.

  In their bedroom, she stood in her white slip, and her hair had fallen from its confinement down over one shoulder.

  "Wash." He poured water into the basin and busied himself with towels and ointment while she obeyed. He led her to the edge of the bed and took a deep, cleansing breath, steeling himself for another glimpse of her uncovered body. "Turn around." He coaxed the garment from her shoulders past her waist. "You've been scratching."

  "I feel foolish," she said, and flinched when he dabbed cool, sticky salve on her skin.

  "Nothing to feel foolish about. Everybody gets bit sooner or later." He lifted her tangled hair and searched out bites. Loose tendrils clung to her slender white neck. He wanted to nudge them aside with his nose and lay his lips on the soft, fair skin.

  "Here." She raised her arm. Sure enough, welts trailed across the velvety pale skin of her side. He tried to concentrate on getting salve on the red spots, but his attention wavered to the underside of her breast, where she clutched her slip fiercely, concealing herself. The swell of her flattened breast had a shadow underneath that dried his mouth until he forced himself to swallow. He wanted to press his face against her freshly washed lavender-scented skin, wanted to touch his tongue to that shadowed crease between her breast and rib and...

  She turned to him, an innocent expression in her gold-flecked eyes, and he knew his own expression was as guilty as... sin.

  Her dark gaze was luminous and questioning. "Jakob?"

  His name on her lips was more than a question. It was an invitation. He dragged his gaze from her eyes to her full, slightly parted lips, then to her hands, clenched on the white cotton over her breasts. With calm, deliberate movements, he let go of the ointment tin and reached out, pulling the garment away from her. At first she resisted, but then her arms slackened. The material peeled away and fell. He turned her shoulders and looked at her body for the first time.

  Her breasts were full and rounded, dark-tipped, with nipples that pebbled as he watched. He skimmed the backs of his fingers up over her ribs, smoothed them in a back-and-forth motion under the swell of one breast. Her skin was as soft and delicate as a baby's. Pure white against his dark hands. He cupped one breast, testing its weight in his palm.

  Sliding down, he knelt next to the bed, circled her ribs with both hands and laid his face in the soft, fragrant valley between her breasts. He inhaled deeply, absorbing her heady woman scent. Her hands fluttered to his shoulders, and he felt them tremble through his shirt. She was exquisite. Beautiful... his beautiful wife.

  He would have this much, just this much. Let her get used to him, to his hands on her skin. He wanted more. So much more. But even this sweet torture was better than nothing at all.

  Rubbing his face against her petal-soft flesh, he gloried in her scent and texture. He needed her. He wanted her, with a possessiveness that scared him. But more than that, he wanted her to desire him—not merely to submit because she was afraid or meek, but to need him as fiercely as he needed her. Almost roughly, he hugged her, pressing his face against her upper chest, then dragging his lips to her throat.

  Lydia's heart beat wildly. Hard enough for him to feel the rhythm under his mouth. Her pulse surged. Her body flowed against his and her fingers tightened on his muscled shoulders. Strong, solid arms held her tightly. His brawny masculinity made her feel altogether feminine and wantonly desirable. She would have liked to give credit to the salve for taking away the bites' sting, but Jakob's overpowering nearness and his burning lips on her skin were the real balm. Hands splayed across her spine, he relaxed his arms' hold.

  "Jakob..." she whispered against the top of his head. She wanted to tell him how empty her life had been before him, how empty life would be while he was gone, how enormous his bed felt when he wasn't beside her. She di
dn't want them to part without a wonderful memory. Something deep inside her needed some part of him, craved a shred of satisfaction to soothe the loneliness ahead. "Jakob?"

  He pulled back and gazed up at her. His ruddy face and clear blue eyes, and her own breasts, were in her line of vision. She felt herself blush. He didn't take his eyes from her.

  She forgot her nakedness. Forgot the subject she'd wanted to discuss. Forgot everything except Jakob. Her perusal fell to his slightly parted lips. He raised himself from his knees to kiss her, and she stood to meet him. His kiss was anxious, almost insistent. One hand found the side of her bared breast, and he inhaled sharply.

  Heart pounding, she waited. Touch me! Yes, touch me! She silently begged him to satisfy her longing, to envelop her, begged for every breath he took to be hers. She leaned into him.

  Jakob spanned her ribs, buffed the delicate skin of her sides with callused palms, then obligingly covered her breasts. With maddeningly slow and gentle caresses he brushed feather-light touches over the hardened tips. Her eyes fell shut, and her lips parted on a gratified sigh. Ah, the pleasure his touch brought...

  "Lydia..." he said, breathing against her mouth and changing his hold as if to guide her to the bed.

  She slipped her hands down his shirtfront, stilling him, wanting to divest herself of the rest of her clothing. She couldn't get close enough to him.

  Jakob did it for her, as though reading her thoughts. Clumsily he jerked the slip down over her hips and watched the underclothes puddle at her ankles. An unidentifiable emotion flickered in his eyes. His heated gaze burned a path from her legs and belly across her breasts, and back to her lips.

  With jerky movements, he unbuttoned his shirt, shrugged out of it and unbuttoned his trousers. Lydia spun, yanked back the quilt and knelt on the bed.

  Behind her, his belt buckle hit the floor. An instant later, he wrapped his arms around her in a possessive embrace. Flesh against flesh sent a shudder of pleasurable sensation to every nerve ending.