by Tia Dani
"What book? You didn't come with any book."
Her mouth dropped. Remembering he wasn't familiar with 20th century slang, she snapped her mouth shut, and started for the house. "Forget it. It's too complicated. And besides, you wouldn't understand anyway."
"No." He bounded after her, stopping her before she got very far. "You're not leaving here until I know what you are talking about. What book?"
Libby regarded the hand clamped on her arm. "It doesn't matter. You wouldn't know it."
"Try me."
His persistence was annoying. "All right. The book of Libby Strammon's life. Okay?"
"You have a book written about your life?" He glared at her like she was lying. "Are you famous?"
Frustration rolled over Libby in waves. The tension from the past few weeks, plus the extra sparring with him yesterday, and his inability to understand broke her control. "Leave me alone, Matthew." Her voice quivered with a half-laugh, half-sob, and she turned her face away from him. "Just leave me alone."
* * *
The strain of visiting the place where Elizabeth had died weakened the last of his reserves. He rubbed his aching thighs. Kneeling for hours on the ground before the small headstone hadn't helped, either. He'd stumbled over the words which took a long time coming.
Was he a fool to believe she heard him? A part of him felt her alive, in some unknown place, in some shimmering form.
Yet, after the words stopped, things seemed different. He could no longer sense Elizabeth's presence. Instead, he saw Libby's face, laughing, teasing, and smiling. The taunting images drove him to anger and despair. Their message was clear. In order to have the one, he would have to lose the other.
Losing Elizabeth wasn't an option. He owed her his promise. It was the least he could do after he failed to protect her. To Libby...he had promised her nothing, nor would he ever pledge his devotion to her. He'd learned promises made with love carried too high a price to pay. If he offered anything to Libby it would have to be unadulterated lust, nothing more. Matthew closed his eyes, willing the guilt welling inside him to leave.
Libby deserved more than lust from a man. She deserved someone who'd offer love and commitment for the rest of his life.
Matthew opened his eyes and glanced at the late afternoon sky. The sun's rays bathed his face. Warmth he welcomed. The long night and early morning sapped all energy from his body. By the time he had reached his decision at the grave and had found a measure of peace, it was already past noon. It took him the rest of the day to walk back to the farm. He didn't pay much attention to the music coming from within the main house. Yet, when he stepped over the threshold, the peace he'd built up disintegrated. Turmoil coiled through him like a snake under the front porch.
There was Libby...dancing slowly in her father's arms. The obsession he thought he'd overcome returned with a vengeance. No matter how determinedly he kept his promise to Elizabeth, he still couldn't control his craving for Libby. She fired his blood. He needed to be the one holding her, feeling her small waist beneath his hand. He needed it so badly he ached. She was too desirable, too damned beautiful, to fight.
The temptation to stride across the room and sweep her into an embrace threatened to destroy his promise to Elizabeth. He'd left the kitchen before his honor cracked, to get as far away from Libby as possible. If he'd stayed any longer, he would have snatched her from her father's arms.
Running didn't help. She only followed, asking if he was all right. She was even more desirable outdoors than indoors. The bright Kansas sun glittered in emerald-green eyes, and the gentle breeze laid a stray curl of long blonde hair against her smooth cheek. He wanted to brush it back behind her ear with his finger then continue on, to trace her jawline up to her mouth.
Dammit. An urgent need throbbed through him, settling bone deep and dredging up the feelings he'd been fighting to control.
He should have known Libby wouldn't react like a normal female when he'd kissed her. Dealing with her was like playing with live coals. He was the one who'd get burned.
But the moment he kissed her, he discovered a yearning he never allowed in his life. He needed more than a memory in a grave.
Matthew dropped to his knees and raised his face to the sun.
But, God, what good was a promise, if it wasn't faithfully kept?
Chapter Twelve
A dilapidated wagon, held together more with wire than nails, pulled in front of the house as Libby stalked around the corner. A couple sat on the wagon's bench seat. The man appeared to be of medium-height with dirty-blond hair, and the small woman, heavily cloaked, wore a faded bonnet. The man climbed down and headed for the front door.
Libby focused on the woman. Medical instincts took over the minute she noticed the woman's profile. Her features were too pale and a purplish-red bruise marred the area below her left eye.
"Howdy, Miz Strammon. Nice afternoon, ain't it."
As the man greeted Katherine, he seemed pleasant enough, but Libby wasn't fooled. She'd experienced men like him before. They came with their wives into the hospital where she worked in Kansas City as an Intern.
"Yes, it is, Mr. Getz." Katherine's greeting was polite but cool. Her tone warmed when she addressed the woman sitting in the wagon. "Good day, Sarah."
The woman, clutching a frayed wicker basket close to her chest, nodded briefly.
Libby stepped to the other side of the wagon. She shaded her eyes and looked up. "Hello, there."
The woman visibly flinched. Her eyes darted between Libby and her husband.
"Hello," she answered softly.
"Would you like to come inside for something cool to drink?" Libby's heart went out to the woman. She had the indication of fainting. "I'm sure Katherine has some lemonade."
"I...I..."
It was clear she didn't know how to respond. Her husband made it for her.
"Get down, Sarah! We're stayin' the night."
At the sudden order, Libby wasn't sure who jumped higher—Sarah or herself. Laughing, Libby held up a hand. "Here, give me your basket. You're going to need both hands to get down."
A fleeting smile crossed Sarah's features, and Libby's heart warmed. Even the bruise and paleness couldn't disguise the beauty which beamed when she smiled. But when Sarah handed down the basket, Libby's delight faded. Below the young woman's frayed sleeves, both wrists were welted and red. They'd be purple with bruising before long.
Libby took the basket and stepped back, hoping her face didn't show the anger she felt. However, when the woman stood, Libby's anger turned to out-and-out rage. Sarah's profile showed she was in the last stage of pregnancy. Libby counted to twenty, rapidly. No doubt about it, Sarah's creep of a husband deserved some sort of punishment. He needed to be arrested. Libby paused. On second thought, arrest wasn't good enough. He needed to be whipped, then tarred and feathered, then arrested with the key thrown away for extra measure.
"I...I'll take my basket now."
"What? Oh, here." Libby held out the basket and forced herself to smile. "You're so quiet I didn't even realize you were already down."
Sarah nodded. "I'm a quiet person."
I bet you are with a husband like that, Libby muttered to herself. When she noticed Sarah looking at her in confusion, Libby smiled. "Shall we go inside with the others?"
As Libby entered the kitchen behind Sarah, she was surprised to see the kitchen had returned to its original order. Theo sat in a chair beside the fireplace, his leg stretched out on a stool. Katherine gave him a brief smile and made introductions. Soon they all sat at the kitchen table.
"Yes ma'am." Getz said later as Katherine returned to the table with another plate of cookies. "It be right neighborly to invite us to spend the night, Miz Strammon. Right neighborly."
Farmer, The Creep Getz, sat across from Libby. She'd decided to give him the name the minute she'd discovered Sarah had been beaten.
Katherine joined Libby on the bench before responding. "I couldn't let you sleep o
n the road between Luke's place and ours. Especially with Sarah's pregnancy so far advanced. She would be uncomfortable."
"Shoot, she's use to it. Ain't ya, Sarah?" Getz nudged his wife with his elbow. "Tell em what ya sleep on at home. Tell them you choose to sleep on a pallet on the floor rather than sleep with me in the bed." He glanced around the room as if it needed an explanation. "Ya see, Sarah, says I hit the baby when I roll at night so it's better she sleep on the floor."
The moment Getz jabbed his wife with his elbow, Sarah moved slightly on the bench, allowing more room between her husband and herself. Clear to everyone but to her husband, the woman pulled her arm in tight against her side as if protecting the child within her womb from another hit.
Libby gritted her teeth. Sarah had to protect her child from its father at night and day. Something in her expression must have alerted Sarah to her feelings for the woman gave her a small smile and shook her head.
Proud yet resigned to her fate.
As the words whispered in her mind Libby sensed a kindred spirit with Sarah. They were similar in age and, though reared in different eras; both did what they had to do. Sarah...save her baby and survive. Libby...face discrimination for wanting to become a female doctor in a man's world.
And a doctor she was. Since the Getz's were going to stay the night, Libby decided to examine Sarah and her baby right after dinner. To show Sarah how much she liked her, Libby said pleasantly, "I'm glad you're going to Mr. Abrams' party, Sarah. It will be fun having someone my age to talk to."
Getz spoke up before his wife could answer. "Abrams wouldn't have it otherwise. When he dropped by a week ago, he told me right out. Getz, he said, you gather up your special brew and come to my party." The farmer nearly preened. He looked around the table. "Wants me to brew up some extra beer for hisself while I'm there. I reckon I's the first one to know about the party." He ran a beefy hand through his greasy hair. His fingers left clump tracks in the dirty mass. His hands definitely needed a good scrubbing. Thank God for Katherine's special made soap.
Getz grinned at Libby. "Since Sarah ain't in no condition to have fun, you make sure you save me some dances, pretty lady. Ever'one knows I'm the best dancer in these here parts."
Not on your life, Creep! Libby swallowed fast to keep the words in her mouth. She forced herself to say instead, "We'll see, Mr Getz."
"The name's Claude. Call me that 'stead of Mr. Getz."
"Thank you. I'll remember." Libby turned back to Sarah. "Would you like some more lemonade? I see your glass is empty." Actually, she hadn't had any of it. 'The Creep' drank it when he thought no one was looking.
"No, thank you. I'm fine."
"I'd sure like some more." Getz said. "Sarah, honey, get yoreself up. Don't make our kind hosts do all the work. Fetch the pitcher"
Libby shot angrily to her feet, almost knocking Katherine off the bench.
"Libby!"
Theo's voice reverberated across the room. He had been sitting quietly, listening to the conversation taking place at the table.
Still fuming, Libby turned toward him. "What?"
"It's time for my walk."
It wasn't hard to catch his drift. He wanted her out of the room before she said something she shouldn't. "Right. I'm coming." As much as she'd like to speak her mind, doing so would only cause trouble.
Katherine cleared her throat and stood. "I'm about ready to start serving supper, would you like to help set the table after we get your husband some more lemonade, Sarah? It'll give us a chance to become better acquainted."
"I'd be delighted."
Libby halted by the door, feeling guilty Sarah had to help Katherine. "I'll do it."
Katherine waved her away. "No, walk with your father. His leg could use the exercise. And...I think you could use some too."
Libby flushed and hurried out the door. Apparently, her father wasn't the only one noticing her rising temper.
The moment they reach the stand of trees which protected the house from wintry northern winds. Libby stopped and faced her father. "Honestly. Can you believe Claude Getz?"
One tree had a limb, bent and growing low to the ground. It made a perfect bench to sit on. Her father half-leaned, half-sat against the limb and watched her as she paced in front of him.
"He's typical of the men of these times, Libby. Women aren't important to them."
"Not important. Ha! That's a laugh." Libby stopped pacing. Unfortunately her father was right, but she didn't have to like it. "Without women, there wouldn't be any men."
"It's one of those debatable topics, Libby." His voice turned dead-pan, "You know, like which came first—the chicken or the egg?"
Libby hesitated, then sighed, knowing her father deliberately used the riddle to put her mind on something else long enough to calm down. She gave in and hopped onto the limb. "All right, you win. I'll settle my feathers."
"Good, now let's get back to the subject at hand. Libby, you can't go blasting in where it doesn't concern you."
"It does. If you haven't noticed, Sarah is going to have a baby."
Her father raised an amused eyebrow. "I noticed. But, you're not home anymore to—"
"Don't I know it," she snapped, interrupting him. "Every time I turn around, I'm reminded of it."
"Keep on being reminded. Rules are different here. People think and act differently than they do in our time."
"Not that much." Libby sniffed. "In some ways, we haven't changed at all. We still have abuse in the 1960's. I saw it frequently at the hospital. Oh, there are laws to protect women, but it doesn't stop some men from beating their wives, girlfriends and children, anyway."
He patted her arm sympathetically. "Maybe, in the future, people will see this behavior stopped."
"I hope so. For the sake of mankind, I hope so." She slapped her hands on her knees and jumped off the limb. "Let's get back. I want to examine Sarah and make sure her pregnancy is coming along all right."
Theo pointed his cane at her. "Remember, Sweetheart, you can't take on the world single-handedly. It's too big."
"I know. But if I can make one small difference, help one woman, no matter which time period; at least it's a step in the right direction."
"Yes, it is."
The minute she and her father entered the kitchen, Libby realized they'd stayed out longer than she thought. The meal had already started. Everyone sat at the table. Only two seats were vacant. One between Tim and Joseph and another between Matthew and Claude Getz.
Libby opted for the one between Tim and Joseph. No sense adding fuel to her fire. At the moment, she wasn't sure which man she disliked the most, Matthew or The Creep.
Tim grinned at her as she sat down and handed her the platter of fried chicken. "We saved ya some." He leaned forward and snickered at Joseph. "We figured you'd be sittin' with us, ain't that right, Joseph?"
Joseph chuckled, looking at Matthew. "Yep."
Libby selected a piece of chicken from the plate and examined it carefully. "Thank you, I appreciate it."
"Our pleasure." Joseph spoke across the table. "Hey, Matt, pass the potatoes when Mr. Strammon gets finished dishing out what he wants."
Matthew acknowledged him with a tired smile. He'd cleaned up since she last saw him. His day-old beard was gone. And he'd changed clothes. The blue shirt emphasized the blackness of his hair. She hated to admit it, but Matthew was a good looking man. Too bad he possessed such a dreadful personality.
Under the pretense of watching her father spoon out the potatoes, Libby studied Matthew. She saw little of the man she'd seen earlier. A resigned weariness subdued the anger and deep emotion firing her anger earlier. If she didn't know better, she would describe his expression as melancholy.
An urge to comfort him plagued her, but it passed when he glanced up and caught her stare. His dark brown eyes never wavered. No hint of melancholy lurked in their burning depths. They shouted strength and resoluteness. A warning of battles to come.
Oh...ho, so this
is the way it is? No matter. Whatever bothered him was not going to be her concern. She had other things to worry about. Frowning, Libby glanced toward Sarah, but her husband mistook it for him. He wiped up the last of his meal with a piece of bread.
"Got something' botherin' you, pretty lady?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew stiffen. "No, nothing," she replied. "Thank you, Mr. Getz."
"Claude," he reminded. "The name's Claude.
"I know." Libby turned to Tim, ignoring the anger radiating from Matthew straight to her. "Are you going to play your fiddle tomorrow, Tim?"
"Yep. Luke asked me to bring it along."
"I'm going to play, too. I got my harmonica." James' voice piped up from the other side of Katherine, and Libby smiled.
"You?" Getz's laughter boomed across the table. "Why, you're nothin' but a pup. What would you know 'bout playin' a mouth piece?"
"Plenty," Tim answered for the boy. He gave James a thumb's up and said proudly, "He's a natural."
"No kid's a natural. 'Lessen it comes to bein' a pain in the—"
"Claude, please," Sarah's soft voice entered the conversation. "These people are our hosts."
"Shut your damned trap, Sarah. Who asked you to speak up?" When he noticed both Libby and Katherine glaring at him, his tone changed drastically. "Sorry, ladies. 'Pologize for cussin'." He yawned wide, not bothering to cover his rotting teeth. "I've been up since before sunrise, tryin' to get my brewin' things together. Guess I ain't thinkin' too straight."
"Who's taking care of your place while you're gone, Getz?"
The question startled Libby. It was the first time Matthew had spoken since she entered the room. His deep baritone resonated up from her toes to her shoulders. Goose bumps broke out all over her arms. She rubbed her hands over her long sleeves, hoping to make the bumps go away. Could she be coming down with something?