by Tia Dani
"Thanks," came a reply barely heard over the sounds of pounding footsteps on the stairs. "They're probably sampling Getz's new beer. They better not drink it all. I bought it for the party tonight."
Libby sighed, lying back on the bed. "He's worse than James, I think."
Katherine nodded. "He had his mother in a state of utter exhaustion half the time." Suddenly her voice changed. "Sarah, are you all right?"
Libby recognized worry when she heard it. She sat up again. Sarah had gone to the window. As she watched the comings and goings, she kept rubbing her hand over her swollen belly.
"Sarah?"
"It's all right. I'm fine." She left the window and headed for the door. "I better get started on my eggs."
Libby bounded from the bed and stopped her from leaving. "Are you having contractions?"
"Contractions?" Sarah hesitated. "I do feel odd. Not quite right, but not bad either. Like I'm having little tiny shivers." She patted Libby's hand and headed for the door. "I suppose it's because of all the excitement of being at a party. I haven't been to one in ages. I'll see you two downstairs."
Once Sarah was far enough away so she couldn't hear, Libby looked at Katherine and asked, "How long do you suppose she has? A day maybe?"
"Not long." Katherine sighed. "Possibly two at the most. Babies have a way of making their own timetable."
Libby could have shivered right along with Sarah. She'd only delivered two babies in her whole life, and both times were in a hospital with a certified doctor watching her every move. "You know we can't let Claude take her back to their farm. From what Sarah tells me, it's nothing more than a hole in the ground."
"It's worse than a hole." Katherine's voice was hard. "Even Matthew and I, by ourselves, built one better when we first tried. Claude Getz is a fool. There's nothing about the place which is appealing"
Libby shuddered for real this time. "Then for certain Sarah can't have this baby there. Somehow, we have to convince Getz to let Sarah stay with us until she delivers."
"It won't be easy. Claude Getz doesn't appreciate being told anything."
"Don't I know it. I've run into men like him before." Libby walked over to Luke's bookshelf and stared unseeingly at the first row. "There's got to be a way to get through to Getz, prove to him mistreating his wife is wrong."
Suddenly, as if calling out to her, a thin book, embossed with gold lettering and stuck between two larger tomes, caught her attention. She pulled the book and read the title carefully. Libby started to grin. Of course, why hadn't she thought of it before? It was one of her favorite things to practice during medical school.
"Katherine, if you don't mind, I would like to read up on something before coming downstairs and helping you." She looked at Katherine, almost pleading. "I promise I'll be down before too long."
Katherine studied her. She glanced at the book in Libby's hand and smiled. "I suppose it has something to do with medicine?"
"Uh-huh."
"All right. I'll see you later."
The minute Katherine disappeared Libby scanned the bedroom. An object sitting on a small writing desk in the corner caught her eye. "Perfect, it couldn't be any better." She went to the desk and grabbed the beautiful, cut crystal paperweight and went to the bed. Lifting her skirts, she climbed up and plopped down Indian-style in the center of the mattress.
Ten minutes later, she looked up from the book and said enthusiastically, "Luke Abrams, I think I love you."
Chapter Sixteen
Self-preservation goaded Matthew to turn around and go back down the stairs, but he remained rooted in the hallway. Overhearing Libby's declaration of love, he became like a man possessed. He knew the pain would collide violently with his gut once he saw them, but he still needed to find Libby in Luke's arms.
Squaring his shoulders, Matthew entered Luke's bedroom then almost tripped over his feet as he stumbled to a halt. Libby sat cross-legged, alone in the middle of Luke's wide bed, facing the south window. Her petticoats and skirt were bunched up above her knees, and she appeared lost in a book. Beside her was an empty white slop-basin, a folded newspaper, and a paperweight.
The combination of items puzzled him, especially the slop-basin
"Ah ha! That's it. That's it!"
What in God's green earth is going on? She hadn't noticed him. He could have used an auger on the floor, and she probably still wouldn't have noticed him. Her attention remained devoted to her reading and...to the conversation she was carrying on with herself.
"Okay, so that'll work. Providing I can convince Luke to go along. He's got to remember he has to hit The Creep over the head hard enough to disorientate him."
Disorientate...creep? Matthew caught himself gawking and snapped his mouth shut. Just once he wished she used words he understood. It always made him feel like a chair with one short leg. Come to think of it, he'd been unbalanced around her since their discussion about her lover, David. What in the hell was a creep? And why would she want Luke to hit it on the head hard enough to make it disorientated?
For the first time in his life, Matthew wished he'd listened to Katherine's advice and gone with Luke to Kansas City a couple years ago. Luke returned home, talking about the kinds of women he'd met, especially the educated and high-classed ones. For months, Luke spouted highfalutin words no one seemed to understand. Just like Libby.
A slow burn smoldered in Matthew. From now on, he wouldn't allow himself to be confused by her fancy words. Even if it meant he'd have to study every damn book on Luke's bookshelf. Or...figure it out himself. Silently, he repeated her sentences word for word and recalled she used him instead of it.
Matthew chewed on his lower lip. Since, him usually stood for a male, the creep more than likely had to be another term for a man. And...if she wanted to have this creep knocked senseless to the point of being disorientated, there was a good bet it had to be somebody she didn't like. So creep was a man, one she didn't particularly like.
A sinking feeling pulled at Matthew. He didn't need signs in the sky to know who she hated. She'd made it clear enough over the past few days.
He was the creep.
Matthew rallied his flagging spirits. She'd called him one name too many. First she'd called him a French-sounding word, then a baboon, whatever in the hell that was, and, now a creep. Enough. He'd put a stop to it, by God. He'd talk to Luke and forewarn the man of Libby's plans. Matthew grinned. A good friend like Luke would never agree hitting him on the head. And besides, once...
Matthew paused. Luke acted like a love-sick cow this morning. If Libby asked him, Luke might, with his twisted sense of humor and the right motivation, go along with her warped ideas.
A snort escaped him. Even if Libby convinced Luke, he'd be ready for them. Forewarned was forearmed. He'd give them no chance to catch him alone and unaware.
"What are you doing here?" She slammed her book shut and tucked it under a pillow.
His snort must have startled her. "Looking for Luke."
"He's not here."
"What are you doing?"
"Sitting on the bed."
He ignored her smart remark. "You realize it's improper for a woman to be in a single man's room?"
"So," she returned defensively, "I'm improper. If it bothers you leave."
"I'm not bothered." Matthew answered with irritation and folded his arms across his chest.
Her fingers tapped angrily on her knees. The action drew his attention to her white pantalets. He studied her posture and found with surprise it didn't bother him anymore. Her outlandish ways were starting to seem normal.
He waved a hand at the slop-basin. "You getting sick?"
She glanced at the white pot beside her. "Actually," her voice turned dry. "I thought I needed it earlier."
She didn't appear sick. In fact, she looked damn fine. Most women had a leathered look, but sunlight streaming in from the east windows gave her skin a healthy glow, like hand-rubbed fine wood.
Matthew glanced at t
he headboard behind her. He'd enjoyed building Luke's bed and the matching furniture, going to extra length to carve and polish them just right. He loved working with wood. To slide his fingertips across the smooth grain of maple often reminded him of what it was like to slide across the satiny smoothness of a woman's skin.
He focused on Libby. She glowered at him with crossed arms. For the first time he noticed her arms were sleeveless and the peaches and cream of her skin matched her face. More than anything he wanted to touch her and find out if she would be soft...smooth?
Small rivulets of sweat trickled down his back. Matthew chided himself. This wasn't what he came here for. He unfolded his arms and turned away, disgusted lust raised its ugly head. He blurted out, "You better now?"
"I'm not sure," she replied. "It depends on how much longer you are going to stay here?"
Scowling, Matthew returned to the end of the bed. He was the one making her sick and she hated him enough to have him hit on the head. Whether she liked it or not, he'd have the last word. "Don't start on me. I was in a good mood before I walked in here."
"Amazing." She purred. "If you leave now, we'll both stay in good moods."
Common sense told him he was digging his hole deeper, but Matthew had fallen below common sense. The longer he scowled at her sitting cross-legged, looking like the cat that licked the last bit of the family's cream, the greater the urge to teach her a lesson surfaced. "What if I don't want to leave?" He lifted his knee to the bed and leaned forward. "What are you afraid of?"
If a cat could bristle any higher Matthew would have been surprised. He watched Libby's eyes glitter. Her voice softened to a throaty purr.
"I told you I'm not afraid of anything."
If ever he was going to best her, it had to be now. "I'd say you're afraid. You look nervous."
"Nervous? This is my disgusted look, you fool." She glared at him. "Get off the bed"
He leaned closer, bringing his other knee onto the mattress. "No."
"Yes." She leaned away.
The thrill of seeing Libby disconcerted drove him on. "No."
"Matthew, I'm warning you." She scooted back, using her hands to help hold her upright. "If you're contemplating joining me on this bed to prove some asinine point, you've got rocks in your head."
He chuckled. She sure could say the funniest things. "Rocks, huh?"
"Yes, rocks, you know, instead of brains? Now get off this bed."
He chuckled again, enjoying this new sense of power. He braced his knees apart for better balance while he towered over her. "No, I don't think so."
"Matthew," she said, glaring directly at the lower half of his body. "You're going to be sorry if you don't get off this bed."
"What are you going to do?" He glanced at her trying to untangle her feet from her skirt and petticoats. "Kick me, if I come any closer? By the time you unwind those long legs of yours I'll have you pinned on your back."
"You...wouldn't...dare." Her voice went cold, her body stilled.
"But I would." Without warning, he lunged at her and forced her onto her back restraining her body under his. "See, what I mean?"
Memories of how he they met at the stage station surfaced. "Haven't we done this before?" Although her hands had been behind her, she managed to get her palms against his shoulders. He chuckled and pressed his hips down. Her legs still crossed at the ankles were trapped beneath his thighs. "Is that the best you can do this time?"
"Matthew, if you don't get off me, I'll scream."
"You do," he warned, "and I'll shut you up with a kiss."
She gasped and started to squirm, pounding against his chest. "You wouldn't dare."
He captured both her wrists with one hand and held them against his body. "You're repeating yourself, Sweetheart."
"I don't care. Don't call me Sweetheart."
In her struggles, her hips collided against his. Matthew ignored the heat rolling over him and lowering his face so he was looking directly into her eyes. "Not until you tell me what you're up to."
"I'm not up to anything," she hissed and bucked again.
Matthew swore softly. His body would betray him if she kept this up much longer. "You're up to something. Stop moving."
"I am not." As usual she didn't listen. She arched her back and slammed into him.
A bead of sweat slid down his cheek. "Stop moving your hips. I overheard you talking."
She stilled. "When?"
"A few minutes ago. You wanted Luke to knock me senseless."
"Whaaat? I did not."
Matthew sighed. She could give a mule lessons in stubbornness. She couldn't admit her actions even if her life depended upon it. "Libby, I heard you say it."
"Tell me what I said. Tell me the exact words you heard me say."
She lay subdued and Matthew decided to go along with her demands. "You said...and I quote...'He's got to remember he has to hit the creep over the head hard enough to make him disorientated.'"
"What makes you think I was talking about you?"
He frowned, unsure of how to explain his careful logic. "It doesn't matter how, I just do."
"Matthew?"
Her quietness should have warned him, along with the fine lines crinkling along the corners of her eyes. Funny, he'd never noticed them there before. "Yes?"
"You're dead wrong. As usual."
Chapter Seventeen
"You're dead wrong, Matthew," Libby repeated, unwilling to hide her grin. She forced herself to hold back her laughter. Matthew looked absolutely stunned at her announcement.
"I'm wrong?" His bewildered expression turned dark.
"Yep, dead wrong. Now get off me."
He frowned and shook his head. "No."
"Suit yourself." The only way she could get the upper hand in this situation was indifference. She shifted, hoping to get a little more comfortable, despite the two-hundred-pound muscled hunk lying on top of her. Her feet, crossed at the ankles, were still trapped underneath his thighs. Her toes were going numb.
"You know," she sighed. "If you aren't going to get off, then would you at least move a little so I can straighten my legs?"
"No."
"Listen, Matthew, as much as I enjoy having you crush me into the mattress, you're heavy. My feet are going to sleep."
"They're what?"
Libby grimaced. Oh, she did it again. Another phrase he didn't understand. "My feet asleep? It means—"
"No, no," he interrupted, "not that. You enjoy having me on top of you?"
"We...eell...uh..." Libby allowed her voice to fade away. It wasn't exactly enjoyable, but she didn't dislike it either. It was nice...actually...better than nice. Matthew was built like the movie star, Troy Donahue. Now, if he was the one on top of her. Darn, he has a new movie coming out and I'm going to miss it.
"Libby." Matthew shook her shoulders. "Stop grinning as if you're miles away."
"Hey...Matt! Are...you up there?"
Luke's singsong voice echoed from downstairs, startling both of them.
"Damn." Matthew released her shoulder and rose up, putting his weight on his elbow. "Yeah," he hollered. "I'm here."
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. What do you want?"
"Nothing?" Libby gasped and punched his arm with her fist. "I'd say you're doing something. Look at us! We're—"
"Hush."
"When are you coming downstairs?" Luke's bellow practically drowned out Matthew's command.
Matthew frowned at her, then at the open door. "I'll be down in a minute."
Libby felt the whole bed rattle when he yelled. His lung capacity vibrated her with the force of the blast. She wondered if the ropes holding up the mattress could withstand all the abuse of bouncing, shaking and yelling. If they couldn't, then she and Matthew were going for a quick ride—to the floor. Thinking of the noise it would make on the kitchen ceiling downstairs started her to giggle.
"Cut it out, Libby. It isn't a funny situation."
"Yes
it is."
"When...ya...coming...down...Matt?" Luke's singsong persistence sent Libby into fresh peals of laughter.
Matthew slapped a hand over her mouth and muttered, "God Almighty. This is worse than branding calves. Total chaos."
Libby bit his hand and, when he jerked it away, managed to sputter out between giggles, "Yes...yes...and thanks...thanks to...to Luke, we're...going to get branded if someone comes up and finds us like this."
"Oh....Matthew...what are you doing?"
Matthew bounded off her with an oath. The ropes underneath the mattress groaned in protest as his weight landed next to her. "I'm going to murder him."
"He...ey, Ma...aat?"
"Luke!" Matthew hollered. "Stop your damned singing, I'll be down in a minute."
"All right, people are down here waiting to meet Libby. You've been dallying with her long enough."
"Why doesn't he tell the whole world we're together?"
"Oh, Matthew," Libby grabbed her aching sides and rolled back and forth from the laughter. "You're so funny."
Apparently, she was the only one to see the humor for his eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw.
"Oh, I am, am I?"
Libby ignored his black scowl and nodded, continuing to giggle. She no longer worried about his threatening growl there was no true sense of anger behind either of them. She recognized them as all for show.
When she could breathe without giggling, she straightened both legs and stretched. It felt wonderful not to be a human pretzel anymore. "I'm curious," she asked, "how much do you weigh?"
"I don't know." He was no longer paying her any attention he was too busy running one hand through his rumpled hair and trying to put his shirt-tail back in his pants. Somehow, in their tussle, it had managed slide out.
"Do you mean you don't know, because you don't know, or you don't know because you've never weighed yourself?"
He stopped struggling with his shirt-tail and frowned. "What difference does it make?"
Libby watched him continue fighting the uncooperative shirt. It bunched and pulled with the line of buttons askew. Why he didn't unbutton his pants, she had no idea, but she wasn't going to ask. She was having too much fun watching him struggle.