“I wasn’t sure you’d come home.”
He sighed heavily. He hated it when she got snippy. “We need to talk.”
Her knitting needles continued to click. “I’m listening.
“Would you look at me?”
Her hands stilled. He watched her breasts lift as she inhaled a deep breath. When she finally lifted her gaze and speared him with a glare, he felt the remaining weight lift from his heart. Jenny wouldn’t still be so hot if she’d done something wrong. He hadn’t been a fool, he’d been an ass. His lips lifted in a rueful grin. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
She lifted her chin, and even though she was sitting and he was standing, she still managed to look down her nose at him. “Yes, you do. And I don’t know that I’d be laughing about it if I were you.”
“Ah, Jenny, I’m not laughing about any of this.” Approaching the fireplace, he lifted the poker from the stand and stirred the dying fire. As it hissed, Trace fixed his gaze on the dancing yellow flames. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I said the things I said.”
She waited, watching expectantly, and Trace grimaced. The woman was out for blood. “And you were right about me drinking at home. That’s not something the girls should see.”
“It’s not something I should see.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “Or smell.”
Her sanctimonious sniff didn’t wear well on him. “You’re the one who told me to go down to the Acre.”
Neither did the rolled-eye look. He rubbed his hand across his jaw. “You know, Jenny, all you had to do was give a little. If you’d told me where you were I wouldn’t have stalked off.”
Jenny stared at one of her knitting needles as if she contemplated plunging it into his breast. “Let me make sure I have this straight. All I had to do was to tell you where I was for an hour during the smack-dab middle of the day?”
“More like three hours.”
“Three hours.” She calmly laid her knitting aside, then rose to her feet. She braced her hands on her hips and stepped toward him, her head dropping back as she moved close. “Excuse me, McBride, but the country fought a war over slavery not long ago. I made certain promises to you when we married, but I don’t recall ‘accounting for each and every minute of my time’ as being one of them.”
Damn, but she was beautiful when she was in a temper. Her skin glowed with color and her eyes sparkled like sunlight on blue water. She was spirited, vibrant, and alive. He spoke without thinking. “God, woman, you make me want you.”
She tossed her head, flinging her long blond tresses across her shoulder. “You make me crazy, McBride! Completely, totally, one-hundred-percent crazy.” She reached for him and he expected to feel her hand strike him. Instead, her fingers tugged at the buttons on his shirt, opening them one by one. “What have I done to make you doubt me?” She yanked the shirt free of his pants. “What have I done to threaten your trust?”
She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, down and off his arms. Balling it up, she threw it away. “And what,” she continued, pushing his bare chest with the palms of both hands, backing him across the room, “what makes you think I’d ever put up with having to account for every minute of my time? I’m a grown woman, McBride. I’m an independent woman. If you wanted to keep track of every tiny second of your wife’s life, then you should never have married me!”
With that, she pushed him onto their bed and followed right behind him. She leaned over him, her unbound breasts grazing his chest. When her mouth was scant inches from his own, she said in her mellowest, sippin’ whiskey voice, “But aren’t you glad you did?”
They made love with a fierceness that surprised them both. It was a consensual taking and giving, commanding and surrendering. When it was over and they lay spent, sated, and replete, Jenny absently trailed her fingers across his abdomen and said, “I won’t betray you, Trace. You can trust me.”
For a long moment, he remained silent, a bittersweet emotion gripping his heart. With a sigh, he said, “That’s the problem. I can’t.”
Her body, so soft and pliant a moment before, stiffened. Before she could protest, he laid a finger across her lips. “Shush, honey. You don’t understand. It’s not you at all. It’s old demons that are riding my back with their claws sunk deep.”
“What do you mean?” she asked softly.
He curled a strand of long blond hair around his finger. “I think it’s beyond my ability to trust in anyone anymore. I know that’s not what you’re wanting to hear, but it’s the truth—my truth.”
“What happened? This must have something to do with your first wife.”
His finger stilled. “I’ll not speak of that woman while I’m in our bed with you.” He rose above her and stared down into her face. “Don’t worry about it, Jenny. I’ll handle it from now on. Better than I did today, I hope.” He sealed his promise with a quick kiss.
“Now, there’s something else I want to talk about,” he continued. “How would you like to take a little trip?”
“A trip? Where? When?”
He rolled onto his back and pulled her into the shelter of his arms. “Well, we’d need to leave tomorrow, actually. Be gone about a week. Definitely home for Christmas. I found out this evening that Hill County is about to decide on an architect to design their new courthouse. I’d like to have a go at getting the job. Counties all across Texas are in the market for landmark courthouses, and if I could get one commission, it might keep me busy for years. It’s the type of work I love, to be honest. Not that I mind designing houses, it’s just that—”
Jenny stopped him with a kiss. “Of course you’ll go to Hill County, and they’ll be fools if they don’t choose you to design their new courthouse.”
“I figured we could take the girls and make it a little holiday.”
She shook her head. “This is a business trip. You don’t need your family tagging along and tying you down. Besides, the girls have school and I have gowns to finish.”
“No, Jenny. I’m not leaving you here alone. I can’t. What if Big Jack were to return?”
Jenny considered the problem. It would be stupid of her to disregard the possibility of danger. Big Jack wanted her punished “permanently” because of the accidents his daughters suffered. The question returned time and again: How would he react when he learned his son was dead?
“Trace, you can’t be with us all the time—”
“True, but I can be here when he gets back to town.” His expression grew grim. “He won’t bother us after that, I can assure you.”
They sat silently for a time, each occupied with thoughts of Bailey. Then Trace gave Jenny a quick hug. “Never mind, sweetheart. I’ll skip the trip. There’ll be other courthouses.”
“No. You need to do this. It’s important. Besides, I have an idea. What if we hire a bodyguard while you’re gone? Surely you know somebody who would be good.”
She watched his expression as he considered it.
“Bart Rogers. He used to drink at the End of the Line.”
After another moment’s thought, he scowled. Jenny sensed he might be about to refuse, so she added, “We could ask Mrs. Wilson to stay the nights while you’re gone. I know she prefers to keep this as a day job, but I’ll bet she’d help us out for a week. In fact, we could have the bodyguard walk the girls to and from school. We could even arrange for someone to walk me to work and back if that would make you feel better. We’d be safer than if you were in town.”
“Gee, thanks,” he said dryly.
She smiled sheepishly. “You know what I mean. We’ll be fine here, Trace. I don’t want you to worry a bit. And, when you come back, I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”
He arched a brow. “A surprise?”
She gave him her cat-’n’-cream smile. “An extra special Christmas present.”
Sitting up, he studied her with a calculating expression. “What is it?”
She shook her head.
“Come on, darlin’, give me
a hint. Just a little one?”
Laughter burst from inside her. “You and your daughters are so very much alike. I’ve been hearing the same sort of thing from them for weeks. And you know what?” She gave his side a little pinch.
“Ouch! What?” He gave a mock ferocious glare.
She pretended to turn a lock on her mouth. “I don’t tell them a thing. Just like I won’t tell you anything about your extra special present—at least until you come home from Hill County with a commission to design their new courthouse in your pocket.”
“What if I don’t get the job?”
When he said that, she knew she’d convinced him. He’d hire this Bart Rogers in the morning and probably drive her crazy with instructions before leaving on the eleven-thirty train. “You will get the job. I have total confidence in you, Husband mine.”
“Hmm.” He lowered his head and nuzzled her neck. “Bet I can convince you to tell me what my surprise is now.”
Her smile was a sweet, sensuous invitation. “You’re welcome to give it a try.”
Much later Trace fell back on his pillow, pleasantly exhausted. “You win,” he said when he could catch his breath. “You fight dirty, but you win. You can keep a secret like no woman I’ve ever known before.”
Jenny stretched languidly and purred. “What can I say, McBride? I’m good at everything I do.”
Almost five minutes passed before he spoke again. When he did, his voice rumbled soft and low, without a sign of the banter that had flavored their previous conversation. “I know you’re good. That’s why, even after all this mess today, I’ll be able to leave Fort Worth tomorrow without you. I have confidence in you, too.”
She snuggled close to him. “You trust me.”
She’d fallen off to sleep before he whispered, “I’ll try, treasure. I surely will try.”
SUNSHINE FILLED the sky three days later as Jenny stood behind the house wringing water from a wet window curtain. She’d worked at Fortune’s Design that morning, until an intense desire for a nap sent her home.
Bart had proved to be a godsend. He did make her feel safer in Trace’s absence, but she appreciated him just as much for the errands he consented to run. Like now, for instance. Bart was making a quick run to Fortune’s Design for her. Once she decided to stay home this afternoon and help Mrs. Wilson with a few light chores, she’d asked him to fetch home the dress she simply had to finish by tomorrow. It was Mrs. Howell’s tenth wedding anniversary, and for the special occasion she’d ordered one of the dresses Jenny privately called Miss Rachel’s remakes.
Ever since Jenny had worn hers to the Harvest Ball, the gowns had been her biggest seller. A full half of the orders had been placed by husbands for their wives, also. Trace predicted a baby boom come summer as the result.
Jenny smiled at the memory as she draped the cloth over the clothesline. She scrutinized the ruffled yellow gingham for signs of blue paint and grimaced at the dark shadows she discovered. That Katrina. The child could destroy a cannon if she put her mind to it.
Pinning the curtain to the line, she tried to ignore the nausea churning in her stomach. It must be nearing two o’clock, she realized, wiping her wet hands on her apron. This child had begun to make his presence known as regular as clockwork. Three times a day at ten, two, and six, her stomach went to rolling like a ship in a hurricane. She swallowed hard, then quickly finished hanging the rest of the wash. She’d learned that if she lay down right away, she sometimes could hold off the worst of it.
She didn’t mind spending a few minutes in bed, but she’d hate to spend her entire day that way. If Trace was here, that’s exactly what would have happened. He’d have her tucked into bed round the clock.
It was a darn good thing she’d not made the trip, after all.
Lifting her face toward the sunshine, she closed her eyes and concentrated on calming her pitching stomach. She’d made the right decision by not telling him about the baby after she learned of his impending trip. She’d been afraid he wouldn’t leave her if he knew. Now she hoped she’d be over the worst of the sickness before he returned. Otherwise, knowing Trace, he’d nurture her crazy.
She was placing the last pin on the last bedsheet when nearby, a man cleared his throat. Startled, she dropped the pin and whirled around. He stood beside the swing that hung from a branch of a nearby oak, and he wore a hesitant smile on his face.
“Trace!” she called with delight, running toward him even as she wondered what had brought him home early. She threw her arms around him. “I’ve missed you so much already.” As he opened his mouth to speak, she closed it with a kiss.
And that’s when she knew.
She wrenched away, shocked and shaken. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her voice trembled as she backed away from him and asked, “Who are you?”
The rueful smile was just the same as Trace’s. “Thackery McBride. Tye to friends and family.”
As she looked closer she recognized the differences, slight though they were. He was a shade leaner than Trace and perhaps not quite as tall. Now she could see the small white scar above his lip, and she realized he parted his hair farther toward the left than did Trace. But the greatest dissimilarity was in his eyes. Oh, the color was the same, but the emotions were completely different. She detected wariness and caution. A hint of despair.
“I’m Trace’s brother.”
Jenny was speechless. Trace had a brother he’d never once mentioned? A twin brother? The nausea in her stomach churned fiercely. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and rushed past him for the minimal privacy of the far side of the oak tree. Leaning over, Jenny was violently sick. It seemed to go on forever.
She felt his hands at her waist as he offered her support, and she was too ill to do anything but accept it. Finally, the spasms eased and she straightened. His arms dropped away and he took a step backward.
Embarrassment flooded her face as she accepted the handkerchief he offered. How humiliating, she thought, wiping her face. She meets her husband’s brother and the first thing she does is lose her lunch on his boots. Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
His green eyes were mocking as he spoke in a dry, bitter tone. “I see by your reaction that my brother has told you all about me.”
Burning red onion peels will bring good luck.
CHAPTER 16
STEAM ROSE FROM THE spout of a porcelain teapot as Jenny filled two cups to the brim. Mrs. Wilson had taken one look at Tye, welcomed “Mr. Trace” home, then disappeared on an errand to the market in an obvious effort to leave the newlyweds alone in the house for their reunion.
Embarrassment hung between Jenny and her husband’s brother like the sheets on the clothesline. Trying to get past it, she gestured toward a plate filled with different kinds of cookies. “Have one, please. The ginger cookies are Maribeth’s favorite.”
“Trace’s, too, if I remember right.” He lifted a sugar-dusted cookie from the plate. “Lemon has always been my first choice.”
Jenny smiled. “You’ll have to fight Katrina for those. She positively adores lemon cookies.”
Tye grimaced and pursed his lips.
“Too sour?” she asked.
“No. Not the cookie, anyway.” He set down his sweet and spooned sugar into his tea. “More like bitter memories.” After a moment, he cleared his throat and asked, “How are the girls? I bet they’ve grown so much I’d hardly recognize them. I reckon Emmie finally grew a pair of front teeth?”
The awkwardness between them abated as they spent the next few minutes discussing the McBride daughters. Jenny relayed stories of the Menaces’ shenanigans, and laughed along with Tye as he imparted a few tales of growing up with Trace. By the time he was done he had proved beyond a doubt where the McBride Menaces got the mischievous side of their natures.
“You mustn’t tell the girls, Tye,” she said with a groan. “Robbing a train was bad enough. My daughters don’t need to know anything about explosive
s.”
He leaned back in his chair and studied her warmly. “So, Mrs. McBride, how long have you and Trace been married?”
“Call me Jenny, please. Your brother and I married a little over two months ago.”
“So this is your first baby.”
Her cup rattled in its saucer. She leaned back in her chair and gaped at him. “How did you know? Trace hasn’t even guessed.”
“I always figured it out before Trace. Constance used to tell us …” His voice trailed off and he busied himself by spooning more sugar into his tea.
When he didn’t quit, Jenny asked in a wry tone, “Care for a little more tea with your sugar?”
He stopped abruptly and gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry. I admit I’m more than a little nervous.”
Returning his smile, Jenny stood and retrieved a clean cup and saucer. She poured him a fresh cup of tea, saying, “That makes two of us, I’m afraid. I find this quite unsettling—you looking so much like my husband.” She paused for a moment, working up the nerve to ask her visitor a question she’d wanted to ask his brother for months. “You mentioned my husband’s first wife. Did you know her well? What was she like?”
He shook his head. “No disrespect meant, ma’am, but you need to ask your husband those questions, not me.”
Jenny wanted to groan. What was it with these McBride men? They were worthless when it came to providing answers. It would serve them right if she sicced Wilhemina Peters on the both of them.
Unwilling to allow what appeared to be a golden opportunity to pass her by, Jenny tried again. “Trace refuses to speak of her. I know there was an accident of some sort, and that he feels responsible. But his reticence puts me in a difficult position. The girls wonder about her; they ask me questions they cannot ask their father. I’d like to know something I could tell them.”
Slowly, he stirred his tea. He was obviously weighing her words. When he spoke his first sentence, she felt a surge of victory.
The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (The Bad Luck Wedding series) Page 26