Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  "What could be more natural than the birds and the bees?"

  Lydia stuffed a wet towel into his hands, her irritation a puzzling and new emotion. "What do birds have to do with any of this?"

  He chuckled, trying not to move his sore lips, and washed his face. He'd seen her look at his body, and he could have sworn he'd seen something akin to appreciation sparkle in her eyes. "I suggest you wait in the hall."

  "Why?"

  "Cause I'm gonna wash this foul mess off." He lathered a washcloth. "Unless you want to help, that is." He saw her consider it, watched indecision flit across her delicate features. It was cruel of him to dare her, but day after day lying abed in pain had soured his disposition. And what did he have to lose?

  Maybe she'd stay.

  Lydia stood, confusion creasing her forehead.

  Maybe she'd wash his sore-but-wanting body for him. Jakob reached for the knotted sheet at his hip, and remembered her embarrassment when she'd helped him out of his dungarees. Her fingers twitched against the folds of her skirt, awakening excitement in the pit of his belly. She spun and left the room. He grinned.

  He appeared in the kitchen, wet hair slicked back, dressed in his work clothes and boots.

  Lydia took one look and knew his intent. "Jakob Neubauer, you're not going to work in the fields today!"

  "Who's gonna stop me?"

  Hands on hips, she faced him. "You still have poison in your body, and the sun might be harmful to your bites."

  Annette tactfully slipped from the room.

  "I'm fine. I can't lay in that bed another minute. It's harvest time. I need to work. Are you going to fix me something to eat, or do I have to do it myself?"

  She'd been taking him his meals regularly. Why did he act as though she were neglecting her duties? She yanked the breadboard from a peg and astounded herself with the irreverent thought of shaking it at him. Instead, she hit the table with a crack that surprised them both.

  Jakob ate the sandwiches in silence, drank two cold glasses of milk and grabbed his hat.

  "Lydia."

  She turned from the basin.

  "Danke."

  His voice was sincere, and the word spoken in her language, as if just for her. His eyelids and lips, though improved, remained pitifully scarred. Her anger toward her thickheaded husband softened. "Bitte."

  Lydia paused in the tedious chore of maneuvering the paddle stick on the barrel washer. She'd had too little sleep this whole week. A whining sound caught her attention. She listened. Maybe she imagined it. No. There it was again.

  At the bottom of the steps, she cocked her head. On her hands and knees beside a chokeberry bush, she peered under the porch into the darkness. Her eyes adjusted, and she made out the eerie glow of a pair of eyes staring back at her.

  Startled, she prepared to back away, but the whine came again, pathetic and thin, accompanied by a rhythmic thumping on the hard-packed dirt.

  "Jessie?"

  The dog's tail whacked the earth in reply.

  "What's wrong? Come out here so I can see you." After considerable coaxing, she urged the dog out. Jessie blinked against the harsh sunlight. Lydia saw that the tender, thinly haired parts of the dog's face and ears were covered with knots. Her nostrils were swollen shut. Compassion brought tears to Lydia's throat. Jessie licked her cheek and nose with a dry tongue. "Oh, Jessie. Poor girl."

  Lydia dragged the reluctant animal across the threshold into the kitchen, where she bathed her bee stings and coated them with Annette's poultice. She spread an old rug in a shady corner of the porch, and filled a bowl with cold water, placing it near the dog. Just as she turned back to her laundry, a shot rang out across the dooryard.

  The reverberations echoed between the outbuildings, across the dooryard, and dissipated into the sunny afternoon sky. Lydia blinked in surprise and ran toward the terrible sound of an animal's scream.

  She could only see blue shirts and dun-colored hats through the corral fence. Coming closer, she recognized Jakob and his father, and at their feet lay Jakob's prized black horse. Blood trickled from a neat bullet hole in the white blaze between his eyes. His lips were foam-flecked, and his massive limbs jerked reflexively.

  She pictured Jakob proudly driving his new team up the drive that first day, remembered the pride with which he'd shown her the animals, the care he'd taken with their feeding and grooming. She stared at the horse's shiny dark coat, the hide Jakob had lovingly run his hands over time and again, and her heart broke.

  "Oh, Jakob," she whispered.

  Jakob turned his head toward her, holding his lips in a straight line. Seeing the misery in her eyes, he didn't trust himself to speak. Listlessly he held the gun at his side, as though it weighed hundreds of pounds. The animal's front legs twitched intermittently.

  "He had to do it, fraulein," his father said. "We waited for Jake to get better so he could decide. The critter was sufferin'."

  Lydia moved to his side. "Oh, Jakob, I'm so sorry."

  Her dark, tormented eyes almost finished him. He bit the inside of his mouth and fought his overwhelming discouragement, not wanting her to see his weakness.

  Consolingly she touched his forearm. He glanced at her hand on his skin. She needed the touch as much as he did. He wrapped a strong arm around her and pulled her against his hip, handing his father the gun at the same time.

  Lydia pressed her forehead against his shirtfront. "I'm grateful you're safe."

  With his other arm, he hugged her.

  "Jessie is sick, too," she told him.

  He leaned back to look at her. "Jess?"

  "Yes, but I washed her and put salve on her stings. I think she'll be all right."

  Jakob pulled her shoulders away from his chest and stared at her. "You doctored Jessie?"

  She nodded.

  He would have liked to see that. The way those two avoided one another? Compassion had overcome fear—another accomplishment for her. He hugged her again, rightfully proud.

  Automatically, Lydia circled his waist with her arms, returning the embrace.

  "Thanks, darlin'." The task of moving and burying his horse didn't seem quite as bitter as it had moments ago. "See you at supper."

  Later that afternoon, Lydia selected apples from a full barrel in the pantry. She performed the task routinely, her thoughts centered on Jakob's distress. How hard it must have been for him to watch the horse suffer, then to shoot him squarely between the eyes and watch him die. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

  Apples again. She didn't care if she never ate another apple as long as she lived. Perhaps she could cook them together with some pie plant and bake a cobbler. She filled her apron, snatching up the corners and squeezing her way between barrels. The porch door squeaked, alerting her to the presence of someone she couldn't yet see. Shifting her grip on her apron, she paused in the doorway.

  Franz, in worn work clothes and dusty boots, stepped behind Annette, who was dropping doughy dumplings into a steaming kettle of noodles. He closed blunt fingers over Annette's shoulders and pressed his face against her damp neck. Embarrassed, Lydia backed farther into the pantry's shelter, out of sight.

  Covertly Lydia watched as Franz slowly slid his hands down his wife's arms to her hips. His touch lingered caressingly, then glided to grasp her buttocks through layers of dress and petticoats.

  Unconsciously Lydia lifted and tightened her grip on the bundle of apples. She knew she should turn away, or make her presence known, but for some unexplainable reason, she just watched in fascination.

  Annette turned to face him. She raised her arms and laid her wrists over his broad shoulders. The spoon in her hand dripped chicken broth down the back of his shirt, but only Lydia seemed to notice. Franz grasped her hips again, pulling her flush against his body, and their lips met in a bold kiss.

  Lydia's heart thrummed in an alarming staccato beat, leaping into her throat and choking off her breath. Annette seemed as eager for her husband as he was for her
!

  Her sister-in-law gripped the back of Franz's neck with her free hand. He kneaded the fabric of her skirt. Palms dragging, his slow touch inched from her hips, across her waist and up to the starched front of her dress.

  His coarse, work-worn hands pressed Annette's breasts upward in almost angry circles. She saw no humiliation, no discomfort, on Annette's pink face. Rather, tenderness shone from her eyes when the kiss ended. Franz's face was as flushed as hers. Their noses touched in playful intimacy.

  "Meet me in the tack room tonight?"

  Annette laughed, and he slid his arms around her, hugging her energetically. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor, and he stepped back to retrieve it for her. She thanked him, and the promise in her eyes caught at Lydia's heart.

  "I'll be there."

  The tart, fruity aroma of the apples she gripped penetrated Lydia's senses. She felt each lump pressed against her own breasts. Guiltily she lowered the apron and stepped back, allowing the dimness in the pantry to envelop her. She sank against the rough wall, resting her head on the planks. Sweet, sweet Annette, with her daintily embroidered bodices and hankies and pillow slips. Annette, whose soft, pale skin smelled of lilac water. Lydia imagined Annette and Franz, heads together on those delicate pillow slips, the scent of lilac water on their fevered skin. She pictured them in the privacy of the tack room, against a backdrop of saddles and bridles.

  And she smiled.

  "Lydia?" She jumped, and an apple shot from her apron and rolled across the floorboards. Franz bent to pick it up and reached questioningly for her arm. "Are you all right?"

  "No! I mean, yes. I'm fine."

  "You gave me a start, leaning against the wall that way. Sure you're feelin' okay?"

  Embarrassed, Lydia accepted the apple. This was the same man she'd milked with, alone in the barn night after night for weeks. He hadn't suddenly sprouted horns. "I'm just a little tired."

  He followed her to the table and watched her roll the fruit onto the surface. "You took good care of Jake. I know he's cantankerous, but... the horse, ya know."

  "I know."

  "Get some rest tonight."

  She smiled into his kind face. "I will. Thanks."

  The door opened and closed, and Annette hummed a cheerful tune. Tendrils of dark hair curled attractively around her ears and high forehead. Her fair skin glowed with a faint sheen of perspiration. She was lovely. What man wouldn't be smitten by her fair beauty and gentle manner?

  Lydia wanted—no, craved—what Annette and Franz had.

  There was a way to learn that missing element. If she had the courage. If she wanted a real marriage, a home and a family, she had no other choice. Ignorance stood in the way.

  She looked down at the growing pile of peels and cores on the table. Quavery warmth meandered through her veins.

  She would ask Jakob.

  Chapter 19

  Lydia breathed a sigh of relief at the passing of the harvest. She no longer milked morning and evening. Once again the family ate supper together—a welcome interlude in the daily routine. Whereas before she'd considered their evenings a sinful waste of time, Lydia had learned to deeply appreciate the relaxation and companionship.

  Tonight Jakob had played his fiddle, and she and Johann had taken turns dancing with Nikolaus.

  "We'll check the animals," Franz said. He and Annette left the room hand in hand.

  Lydia snuck a sidelong look at Jakob. Franz's hands on Annette's starched dress front popped to mind, and she envisioned the two of them in the barn, kissing, touching. Warmth curled in secret places within her, and she found herself watching Jakob's dark hands.

  Idly he shuffled a worn deck of playing cards. He met her eves. "Tired?"

  "No."

  "Still think I'm damned for those few games of euchre?" The corner of his full lips turned up, teasingly, and she thought of him kissing her.

  "Maybe." She gathered Nikolaus's wooden blocks.

  "Wanna try to beat me at checkers?"

  "All right."

  Jakob located the game, and they excused themselves and went up to their room.

  "Are you concentrating, Lydia?" he asked after effortlessly beating her four games straight.

  "Hmm? No, I think not." Lying on her stomach, she rolled and smoothed a wad of skirts trapped beneath her.

  Jakob steadied the board on the bed. "What're you thinkin'?"

  She looked up into his fathomless blue eyes. Whenever she'd asked him questions, he'd been forthright. She knew he appreciated honesty, so she prepared to say what she'd been thinking. She felt her cheeks grow warm. "I was thinking about what Annette and Franz are doing in the barn."

  Jakob's lips parted, accompanied by a total lack of reply. A tinge of pink ruddied his deeply tanned cheeks.

  "What do you think they're doing?" she persisted.

  He busied himself, arranging red checkers on her side of the board. "I don't know."

  Color high in his cheeks told her he did know. "Do you think they play checkers?"

  The side of his mouth turned up, but he refused to meet her eyes. "I doubt it."

  Lydia won the next game, but not because she concentrated any harder than before. She jumped his last king. "Jakob?"

  Apparently thinking it safe now, he met her eyes.

  "I want to ask you something."

  "Lydia." He pushed his long frame from the bed and picked up the board and checkers. "I don't..." He set the game on a chair next to the door.

  She sat at the bed's edge, her skirt rumpled carelessly beneath one knee.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his glance skittering from the mussed bed and back to her. He plowed a hand through his hair. "Okay." Pulling the chair over, he plunked down in front of her. "Ask."

  She entwined the fingers of both hands and gathered her courage. "I'd like to know what you apologized for."

  Minutes ticked away in the silence of the room. Down the hall, a door closed. "What do I do wrong, Jakob?"

  He swallowed, as if trying to bring some moisture to his dry mouth. "Nothing that I know of."

  Lydia's pulse hammered in her throat, constricting her voice. "But... I don't know... how to please you." She twisted her hands in her lap, wanting to cry over her inability to express herself. "I can tell you're unhappy and angry each time..."

  Her voice trailed off, and she felt herself blush furiously.

  "Don't." He raised his big hand and scrubbed his face, then kneaded his neck.

  "Is there... something about me? My body? Something I don't understand how to do?"

  This time his mouth opened, as if he were trying to say something. Something hard to say. Something painful.

  "I realize it was unfair of me to place such emphasis on having children. There's really no hurry, and if—"

  "No." His knuckles tapped against his pursed lips momentarily. He stood and paced to the window and back again. Sitting on the edge of the chair again, he took her hand. "No, Lydia. You're beautiful. You're perfect in every way. What bothers me is what you must think of me. I had it all figured out when I was away. I planned it so differently."

  He'd thought about these things while he was gone? Hope glowed in her heart. "What did you plan differently, Jakob?"

  His gaze skittered away. He stared at her hand in his, frowned intently, and softly cleared his throat. "I promised myself I'd go slow and easy with you. I wanted to make up for... everything, but none of it was good for you. I wasn't gentle or caring like I should've been."

  "You're gentle and caring all the time, Jakob."

  "No, I'm not," he told her. "I'm selfish. I always get... I..."

  She leaned forward and squeezed his fingers.

  "I feel like I'm too rough, in too much of a hurry." He snorted. He'd been too eager, not the least bit gentle. He'd wanted her so badly, waited for so long. Too long. Everything about her felt so good, so right. Her nearness set him aflame. "Thank God you don't have anything to compare it to."

>   She stared at him in bewilderment. "My grandmother said we would work it out. That it's natural and good. I think so, too."

  Jakob made a religious inspection of her face, studied her hair, her dress. His heart zigzagged in his chest, and for one chaotic moment he wondered if he heard thunder. She will be meek and obedient, because it is our way.... Again her father's taunting words crowded against hers. "Don't say that just to please me."

  Her dark eyes filled with pain. "Jakob, would I say something I didn't mean?"

  He grasped her upper arms in his strong hands. Her dark eyes opened wide, but he saw no fear there. He saw trust, and an imploring glow. Her gaze dropped to his lips, smoldering with earnest longing. His heart beat wildly.

  "What are you saying?"

  "You please me. I want us to have what Franz and Annette have."

  His wife wanted him, enjoyed him. Intense relief rolled down his body, oozed into his pores in a song of awakening. Joy took up the descant, trilling through his veins, cleansing him for another, more vibrant shock of emotion. Desire. Want for her chased everything else into silence.

  Their eyes were scant inches apart. Her shoulders trembled, and he relaxed his grasp.

  "Jakob?" she whispered.

  He had compared her to Sylvie. Yes, she was pure, like Sylvie. Fearful of God's retribution, like Sylvie. She wanted to please him, as Sylvie had. But there was something else....

  Something about her was not at all like Sylvie. He ran his thumb across her shoulder, and her eyes smoldered. He moistened his lips with his tongue, and color suffused her cheeks. Their gazes met, and he could see the pulse at the base of her throat hammering.

  Lydia responded.

  That was the difference. He had desired Sylvie, but she had never reciprocated. He'd carried that guilt around for so long it had become part of him. Guilt like a pocket watch he set in the morning and kept in his pocket all day, checking it regularly. Guilt that her naive desire to please him had inadvertently sent her to her death.

  Lydia had been an innocent, but she'd come to his home willingly. And she'd submitted to him willingly. Maybe he was a coarse, worldly man, but maybe she didn't mind. He'd asked himself how long he would let Etham Beker stand between them, and now he knew.