His Brother's Wife

by Lily Graison

  Rafe sighed and watched him run to the barn before turning back to face Ben. Their amusement would fuel them for hours from the looks of them. When they’d settled, Rafe stared at them, hoping they’d just go. The less they knew about Grace, the better off they’d all be. Of course, that wasn’t going to be the case.

  “Please tell me he’s joking.”

  Rafe blew out a frustrated breath. “No. He’s serious.”

  Ben grinned and glanced at the men at his back. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled again and shook his head. “And how the hell did he get a woman to agree to marry him?”

  It galled Rafe to even have a conversation with Ben, let alone answer questions he’d rather not. Staring up at him, he narrowed his eyes. “I have things to do, Ben. I’ll check those fence lines this evening. You gentlemen have a good day.” He turned and left them in the yard and made his way back to the barn. He hoped like hell they took the hint and left.

  When he reached the ladder propped against the barn, he glanced back over his shoulder. He sighed in relief when they turned their horses and started to ride away.

  The tension he felt seeped out of his shoulders then and he glanced to the house. If Grace hadn’t come outside he wouldn’t have felt so edgy. He didn’t put anything past Ben and with him knowing Grace was here, it just made things worse. Not only would he have to watch his herd, he’d have to watch her too. If there was one thing he knew about Ben Crowley, it was the fact the man had little regard for the law. He took what he wanted and damned the consequences. He just hoped Grace wasn’t one of the things Ben decided he wanted.

  Chapter Seven

  Rafe found Grace hurrying across the kitchen once again when he entered that night. He hung his coat and hat on the peg and gave the room a good look. It was clean and smelled of fresh bread.

  She glanced up at him and smiled and the sight nearly stole his breath. For a moment he let his past miseries fade away, to forget they existed and pictured her as his. A woman who had looked forward to seeing him step through that door, greeting him with a beautiful smile and promises in her eyes that told of secrets she’d share later in the darkness of their room.

  He blinked and shook off the thought, watching her take the plate sitting in front of his chair and pile it full of another meal she’d cooked. He crossed the room, pulled his chair out, and sat down without a word.

  He’d avoided the house much of the day because of her. Had even coerced Jesse into bringing his lunch to the barn for him. His determination to put Grace from his mind worked as long as he didn’t have to look at her. Seeing her now, in her too fancy dress, dishing out food for him and Jesse, was almost more than he could bear. This wasn’t what a woman like her should be doing. He could tell that with a single glance. Her life before coming to Willow Creek was a mystery but he’d bet money she hadn’t spent it cooking and serving food like a common house servant.

  When she settled into her seat, the swish of her skirts loud in the silence in the room, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. There was a smudging of flour on her cheek and her hair, where it fell around her face, was wet and stuck to the skin. He wondered if she’d ever sweated before coming out here. For some reason, he doubted it.

  He couldn’t explain why the sight angered him. He knew nothing about her but he’d bet the ranch she deserved more than this. This sty of a house. She should be surrounded by lace and satin, served off fine china by someone paid to do nothing but see to her every wish.

  He ate in silence, barely tasting his food, listening to her and Jesse talk. Their conversation ranged from the difference in weather in Boston and Montana to what foods Jesse preferred to eat. When Rafe had cleaned his plate, he pushed it away and stood, walking out of the kitchen without a word. The silence that followed him was deafening.

  He entered the sitting room and stopped at the sight of it. His chest tightened. It was clean. Spotless, even. It was the first time he’d seen it so since before leaving home at the age of eighteen.

  There wasn’t a speck of dust on anything. The fireplace was swept clean, the rock lining it gleaming as if they had just been placed there. The floors shone, the coverlets draped over the sofa and chairs bright and he wondered how she’d managed to do so much in one day. He remembered her flushed cheeks, her sweat soaked hair, and knew. She’d worked herself ragged and cooked a meal fit for a king.

  Shaking his head, he headed to the small desk in the corner of the room. His papers were stacked, the ledger laid on top of them, and the surface of the desk had been cleaned as well. Grace hadn’t left a thing untouched.

  He fingered the hardwood, remembering the times he’d seen his father sitting there going over his ledgers. He wished again he’d been here when his parent’s had died. He couldn’t even imagine what Jesse had gone through having to deal with all that by himself. He was a boy, regardless of the fact he claimed to be a man, and having to bury his father and run this farm alone had to have been terrifying for someone his age.

  The memories of his father brought a profound sadness Rafe would never get over and the guilt nearly drove him to his knees. He should have been here. It was his place to bear the burdens of his family, not a fourteen year old boy. Maybe that was why the kid hated him so much. Because he hadn’t been here when they needed him.

  The guilt ate away at him daily and there wasn’t anything he could do to make the pain go away. Nothing but get up every morning before the sun came up and right the wrongs he’d done. To try and get the ranch back into shape. To see it thrive as it once did.

  It seemed almost hopeless now. Much like his life. Maybe Jesse was right. Maybe he never was around when the ones he loved needed him. Katie accused him of it enough. It’s why she packed her things and ran off in the middle of the night.

  Rafe shook off his melancholy thoughts and opened the drawer on the desk, rifling through the papers until he found his father’s Will. He’d read it a dozen times and Harland Samuels’ last thoughts were of his sons. He’d left the farm to Jesse and himself, split evenly. There was no mention of Ben or any sort of arrangement between the two.

  He read each line again, looking for anything that would substantiate Ben Crowley’s claims and saw nothing. Regardless of what that man said, his father didn’t give him first rights to the grazing lands or the cattle.

  A noise behind him caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder. Grace was there, standing in the doorway staring at him. He ignored her, turning back to the desk before pulling out the chair and sitting down.

  Her feet barely made a sound as she walked across the room but her skirts swished as she moved, the noise loud in the stillness surrounding him. He knew when she was near without even looking. The scent of roses was still strong on her skin. It was mixed with soap, soot from the fireplace and plain ole’ dirt but he inhaled deeply regardless, taking it all in.

  She cleared her throat before saying, “Is everything all right?”

  He wanted to tell her no. To tell her every problem weighing on his mind but doing so would only cause more misery down the road. She wasn’t his, he reminded himself, regardless of how much he’d like her to be. He stared at the papers in his hand and said, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. You seem… distracted. You didn’t say anything at supper and you left without a glance at Jesse or myself. I just thought maybe something was bothering you.”

  He was distracted all right. With constant thoughts of her, a problem he needed to correct if he wanted any kind of peace in his house.

  If Jesse knew the sight of Grace caused his pulse to leap and made him think things no gentleman should, the kid would pitch a fit loud enough to be heard all the way in Missoula. Jesse didn’t need another reason to hate him and taking the bride he sent away for would do just that.

  Regardless of how many times he told himself women were a distraction he didn’t need, that Grace, as beautiful as she was, would rip his heart out like the others did,
he had a hard time not thinking about her. He needed to forget how good she smelled and how seeing her in his house doing tasks as simple as sweeping the floor, cooking, and smiling at him so prettily, made him want her for his own, damn the consequences.

  But the voice of reason pushed all those superficial reasons away and sanity crept back in. She wasn’t worth the heartache. No woman was.

  Hardening his heart, he pushed his desire for her away, forcing himself to be less than civil with her. “Don’t presume to know me, Ms. Kingston. Just because I didn’t speak to you doesn’t mean anything is wrong.” He looked over his shoulder, his gaze locking with her own. “Did you ever stop to think maybe I have nothing to say to you? This isn’t Boston and the world doesn’t revolve around you regardless of what you may think.”

  He felt like an ass the moment the words were out of his mouth. The look on her face was his undoing. It took everything in him not to apologize.

  Turning to the desk, he ignored her.

  When she walked away without a word, her steps heavy on the stairs behind him, he closed his eyes and sighed. As awful as he felt he now knew an effective way to keep her at arms length. Just insult her. She’d put the distance between them that he needed whether he wanted it or not.

  Chapter Eight

  The house was quiet. The clock on the mantel read a quarter till ten and no one had stirred for hours now. Grace entered the kitchen and lit the lamp on the table before crossing to the back door and opening it. The tub she’d seen out on the porch the previous week looked plenty big enough for bathing and with days worth of sweat and grime coating her skin, washing from the pitcher and bowl in her room wouldn’t be enough.

  She struggled with the large round tub as she pulled it into the house, trying to be quiet in the process. Jesse wouldn’t be awakened by the noise up on the second floor but she wasn’t sure about Rafe. He slept in the little room off the kitchen but she had no clue if he was a sound sleeper or would any sort of noise awaken him?

  Glancing to his door, she listened for any noise. After hearing none, she set the tub in front of the stove and spent the next five minutes scooping hot water from the stoves reservoir into the tub then added cold water from the buckets under the sink to cool it a bit.

  Placing her soap, clean nightgown, and towel on a chair, she stripped off her dress, her chemise and bloomers before stepping into the water. It was just big enough for her to sit down in and she sighed as the water engulfed her body. It was pure heaven.

  She washed away the grime and sweat, soaked her hair and lathered it, rinsing away the suds and leaned back when she was finished.

  The past week seemed to have sped by in a blur. She was tired and felt three times her age. She found a new appreciation for all those servants her father had kept in their home.

  Grace never thought about the things they’d done to see to their comfort but she did now. The cooking alone was a chore, cleaning the mess up afterwards, thankfully, had been taken up by Jesse and Rafe. They were adamant on cleaning up when she cooked and she tried harder to please them for that reason alone.

  Cleaning the dirt and grime from their house and seeing they were fed a hot meal seemed like so little a thing but watching them eat as if they’d never tasted better thrilled her to no end. It was a daunting and grueling job taking care of them. One she wasn’t accustomed to but she’d see it done if it killed her.

  She hadn’t made the decision to move across the country on a whim, after all. She knew it would be different, difficult even, but being needed for once in her life made it all worth while. And she was needed. She saw it every time she looked at Jesse. Regardless of him sending away for a wife, what the boy needed was the loving attention only a mother could provide and she was determined to give it to him.

  It was obvious there hadn’t been a woman in this house for some time. Jesse had said his mother had died years ago and she couldn’t imagine any other woman wanting to be inside the house as she’d found it, which eased one of her fears. Rafe didn’t have a woman friend. Not one he brought home, anyway.

  She sighed as she thought of him. She wasn’t sure why she still found him attractive. He was surly most of the time, that is if he even bothered to speak to her to begin with. He said nothing of the meals she cooked for him, nothing as to the state of the house, and didn’t even look at her most days. If she had to guess, she’d say he didn’t think much of her at all, which was odd.

  Her life in Boston had been full of suitors. Men of every age showered her with attention as they tried to woo her and she’d flirted and complimented them as she’d been taught to do. None of those things would work on Rafe. He didn’t seem like the type of man who would be swayed by a pretty woman, regardless of how she acted toward him.

  She’d spent days giving him her best smiles, trying to show him without words how much seeing him thrilled her and….nothing. The man barely glanced her way. When he bothered speaking to her, it was curt replies, disdain dripping from his words to make her think the sight of her angered him. She was at a loss as to what to do.

  The day she met him, his gaze had lingered on her breasts as he took a slow perusal of her body. Desire had stained his eyes with heat. The way he’d looked at her at the stagecoach station had said it all. He’d wanted her. It may not have been the forever kind of want but he was attracted to her, just as she was to him.

  So why was he so aloof? Did he have a woman friend after all? Was there a widow somewhere in Willow Creek who knew what it felt like to have his strong hands caressing her flesh? She shivered just thinking about it.

  The water had cooled enough that her shivers weren’t caused by thoughts of Rafe alone and Grace stood, goose bumps pimpling her skin as the cool air hit her wet flesh. When she reached for her towel, the back door flew open. She gasped, turned to see Rafe standing there staring at her and scrambled for her towel. “Turn around,” she yelled as loudly as she dared. He raised an eyebrow at her before doing as asked.

  “The kitchen isn’t the best place for bathing.” He shut the door, removing his coat and hat, placing them on the pegs in the wall. “Unless you know you won’t be disturbed.”

  Grace stepped out of the tub, grabbed her gown and threw it on, the back of it soaking through as it was pulled down over her wet hair. “I thought everyone was asleep.”

  “I normally would be but Jesse didn’t finish his chores so I had to do them.” He turned his head a fraction, his eyes averted. “Can I turn around now?”

  The heat Grace felt burning her cheeks intensified at the tiny smile on his face. “Yes.”

  He turned, his gaze finding, and lingering, on her breasts. Those tingles she’d felt earlier when thinking of him returned with a vengeance as she looked down. Her wet skin made the material of her gown transparent. He could see clean through it.

  She raised the towel to her chest before lifting her chin a notch. “Do you mind?”

  His gaze returned to her face as his smile widened. “Not at all. Feel free to get naked in my kitchen anytime you like.”

  Grace scowled at him before reaching for her discarded clothes and dragging them to her. “You are a pig, Rafe Samuels.” She turned on her heel and ran from the room, climbed the steps as quick as she dared in the dark, and shut her bedroom door hard enough to wake Jesse. She grimaced at the sound and hoped he wasn’t a light sleeper.

  Her thoughts went back to Rafe, to the look on his face when he walked in to catch her standing naked in his kitchen, and she couldn’t explain why the humiliation she should have felt wasn’t there. Instead, heat pooled between her legs, her breasts ached as if Rafe was still looking, as if he were touching her, and she closed her eyes, imagining him doing just that.

  A small moan crawled up her throat and hissed out past her lips. She raised both hands, cupping her breasts in her palms and tried to get the phantom sensation of his imagined hands to go away. It didn’t work. He was still there, his gaze burning a trail over her flesh as surely as if
he was in the room with her. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her hands still cupping her breasts while her hair hung in clumps over her shoulders.

  She lowered her arms, saw her body through the gown as Rafe had, and swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She hadn’t mistaken the heat in his eyes this time. He’d wanted her, had looked at her with desire shining in his eyes and her blood sang in her veins in response.

  Maybe something had changed. Maybe he realized there was no since fighting the attraction she knew was there and maybe, just maybe, he’d acknowledge it now.

  If she were lucky, her marital situation would resolve itself in the form of a marriage proposal from a man who clearly was old enough. A man she had no problem saying yes to. A man she already had a hard time not thinking about. The response her body had to him seeing her naked said it all. She wanted him, wanted him touching her.

  Now she just had to wait for him to admit he wanted her back.

  Hearing her bedroom door shut, Rafe’s gaze raked the room. Water stood on the floor and the instant his gaze lit on that big metal tub, his body started aching at the memory of walking in and seeing her standing there in all her naked glory. Lord, but she was the finest looking woman he’d ever seen. Her breasts were high, her nipples like two small cherries against her creamy skin. Her waist was tiny, her hips flared and the thatch of gold curls he’d seen at the apex of her thighs caused his cock to pulse in remembrance.

  He sighed before crossing the room and grabbing the tub, pulling it across the room and dragging it outside and dumping it. He hung it back up, shut and latched the door behind him before grabbing a few towels to mop and dry up the water left on the floor.

  When everything was clean, Rafe started for his room but stopped when he noticed Grace’s soap still sitting on the chair. He lifted it, inhaled its scent and was reminded of her. Roses. This is the fragrance lingering on her skin.