by Merry Farmer
Callie continued washing without saying another word. She handed the soap back to him while she dipped her head underwater. John could see her thinking, could see her rolling over some problem. He had half a guess of what it was. Patience. Patience was the way to see this through.
He was right about that much.
“John,” she began hesitantly as he scrubbed suds through his over-long hair. He lifted his brow in silent reply. She swallowed. “I’ve been thinking. You’re a man, right?”
He blinked, then laughed. Gently, so she didn’t think he was laughing at her. “I suppose I am.”
She continued to squirm around her thoughts, not meeting his eyes. “I’ve always been told, as long as I can remember, that men have certain… needs. Is that… is that true?”
It was all John could do not to let his senses run riot and spill heat through his body, which would only complicate things. He had to handle this carefully, tenderly, in spite of the fact that all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and show her how strong his needs were.
He handed the soap back to Callie and ducked under the water to rinse his hair and buy himself time. When he came up, he took a deep breath, slicking back his hair and blinking.
“Well,” he answered at length. “Yes, it is.”
“Oh.”
He met her eyes. “But I believe that’s true of all people, men and women.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And I assume by ‘needs’ you’re referring to… the need for intimacy.”
“I… um… yes.” The furious blush on her cheeks was so charming and attractive that John’s groin tightened in response.
“I don’t know how you were raised,” he continued in as soothing a voice as he could manage, “but if it was anything like the way I was raised, it was with a great deal of taboo and even fear around the topic. But then I was married and, well….”
She tensed, lowering her eyes. The red of her cheeks took on a different feel. John frowned as he watched the play of strange, new emotions on her face, but went on.
“As a young man I was told that the right kind of girl, frankly, abhorred that kind of intimacy. But Shannon was absolutely the right kind of girl and,” he struggled with whether he should be sharing, “to be quite honest, I believe she enjoyed it as much as I did.”
“Oh.”
An awkward silence pooled between them. Callie stared at the ripples in the water. John drifted closer to her. Had he said the wrong thing?
“Is something bothering you?” he asked, his voice quiet and gentle so that only she could hear it, even though the closest swimmers were only yards away.
Callie’s glance flickered up to him. She bit her lip, a sure sign that what she wasn’t saying was more important than anything she had said.
“Do you have questions for me about this? Specific questions?” he asked.
She did. He could see it in her eyes. “Do you think we should be more intimate with each other?”
Yes, his heart and mind and body answered so fast it brought a grin to his face. Every day in every way. He kept his enthusiasm to himself, though, and pressed his lips together as he thought about how he wanted to answer.
“When the time is right, yes.” He glanced past her shoulder, around at the people close to them.
“How do we know when the time is right?” She pressed. “I mean, I guess with… with Shannon you knew because you were married, you had that wedding ceremony. And you loved her. But we’re married too, we have been for weeks now. Only….”
She stopped her babbling and glanced down at the ripples in the river again. John remained quiet, let her think. Her thoughtfulness was one of the things that drew him to her. Children splashed and played nearby, joined by adults who needed to play to let off some steam. John drifted closer to her. He sought out her hand under the water and held it. She glanced up at him again.
“I don’t blame you for feeling confused.” He spoke in a low and tender voice and he met her eyes confidingly. “I’m confused too. I don’t think either of us were prepared for this journey.” More than just the trail. Neither of them were prepared for the lives they were thrown into. “But we’ve committed to it. I’ve committed to it, to you.”
She smiled, but there were bittersweet tears in her eyes.
He hesitated, then went on. “In the last couple of weeks I’ve come to think of things like this: there was life before the trail west and there will be life after the trail west. Those are two different things, entirely different. Neither one has any part in the other. For me, everything before the trail is done. It’s the past, and it’s over. But the future is looming. It will be here before I know it. That’s where I have to live. As far as I see it, you’re a big part of my future. I want to focus on that, on you, on Koenig’s store, on the store that I hope to open one day. Granted, there are a lot of other distractions,” he glanced quickly around at the noisy pond, “but that’s what I want to focus on.”
“Me too.” Callie smiled.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He shifted, reaching under the water for her other hand and pulling her closer.
“So why don’t we make it a project to spend the rest of our time on the trail, in between lives, building intimacy.”
“Building it?” Her expression turned suspicious, but the tension and anxiety were less than they had been.
“Building it,” he confirmed. “We’re well on our way already.”
“We are?”
“Absolutely.” He drew her closer to prove it. “In the last few weeks, since we were married, we’ve done an admirable job of becoming friends. At least, I consider you to be my friend now.”
“I am,” she rushed to agree with him. “And all things considered, you’re the best friend I have. I feel safe with you.”
His heart leapt in his chest. “Then we have a lot more going for us than many other marriages. I also believe, and I think you’ve noticed as well, that we do have a certain degree of intimate energy between us.”
Callie blushed and lowered her eyes for a moment. “I think you’re right,” she answered barely above a whisper.
“So we have nothing to worry about. We’re friends and we can work to build intimacy between us. We’ll have a happy life together.”
He didn’t realize how much he believed it himself until that moment. Things would work out between them. They’d both made good choices. All that was left now was to move forward with them.
Chapter Thirteen
Callie had never had such an odd, thrilling, strange conversation in her life. Building intimacy. It almost felt as though she shouldn’t be talking about it. But it was John she was talking to—her husband. If she was going to talk about these things with anyone, it should be with him. It was almost laughable how giddy he made her feel, the things he’d said, the way he’d looked at her. She liked it, but should she? And what about Shannon? It was too much to think about.
They finished washing. John swam after their soap, which had floated away as they spoke. Callie waded out of the water, squeezing her hair and shaking her limbs as she made her way up the hillside to where their clothes and towels waited.
She felt better, but not perfect. The ghosts were still with her. She wondered if John compared her to Shannon. She wondered what Greg would have to say about the situation. John had declared them friends and she agreed that they were, but was it enough for a marriage to have friendship and carefully constructed physical closeness? What about love? What about passion?
She wasn’t any more settled as they walked back up to the circle of wagons, even though John seemed to be far more relaxed. There was nothing to do but let the knotted jumble of emotion sit there. She had work to do, responsibilities to uphold, a journey to complete.
The people who had stayed in camp rather than go for a swim were busy with everyday projects. Callie figured that she should make bread and boil more water for tea while she still had the time. She tried to put
all of her uncomfortable thoughts aside as she walked around to the back of their wagons, climbing up to fetch the supplies she needed.
As she reached for a half-full sack of flour, she heard a distinct hiss and rattle. Frozen, she looked around for what she knew made that kind of sound. Sure enough, a fat, angry rattlesnake coiled only feet away from her, near the front of the wagon.
“John!” she screamed, setting the flour aside and scrambling backward.
“What is it?” He rushed to the edge of the wagon as she reached it. He was halfway through jumping into the wagon beside her when he saw the snake. “Geez!”
He stumbled back, all color draining from his face, arms flailing for a moment as he teetered on the edge of the wagon bed. He grabbed Callie around the waist and yanked her away.
They spilled to the ground. Callie had the wind knocked out of her. An instant later, John was on his feet, retreating with his arms held wide to protect her. Callie leapt up and pressed against his back, staring over his shoulder into the wagon with wide eyes.
Their antics were noticed by the neighbors.
“What happened?” Marcus, who had been cleaning his rifle, shot to his feet.
“Rattlesnake,” John managed to squeeze out.
From the other side of the wagon, the miner Cletus came rushing forward with a stick in hand. “I’ll get—”
“Stand back!” Marcus cut him off. He puffed his chest heroically and grabbed his wife’s frying pan while she dashed after him to take a look.
“I’ll be,” she exclaimed, pushing in front of Cletus, who had started to climb into the wagon himself. Cletus scowled at her. “It’s a big one too!”
Callie’s wits returned. She took a step forward to look, but John caught her arm and pulled her close.
“Just let them handle it.” His voice was hoarse and his eyes wide behind his glasses.
She didn’t want to laugh, but a grin found its way to her lips before she could stop it. “Don’t like snakes?”
“No.” He shook his head fast and stiff.
Callie’s grin softened to a comforting smile. She still wanted to giggle, but she took his hand and nudged him to walk forward so they could see what was going on. Marcus jumped around inside the wagon, shaking it, as his wife shouted orders.
“Over there! Don’t let it get away! It’s behind the crate!”
Cletus shifted anxiously from one foot to the other, looking around and scowling as if Marcus had stolen his thunder. Callie supposed others had taken the reverend’s sermon about helping people more to heart that day than she did. Cletus seemed upset that he didn’t get to be the one to help. He spit and cursed and stomped off.
A ringing thump came from the back of the wagon followed by Marcus, “Got ’im!” He hopped out a moment later, long, limp snake dangling from his hand. His wife cooed in admiration as he brought his prize over to them. “He’s a bute! A skin like that would make a mighty fine belt.”
John swayed away as Marcus held the dead snake out to him, leaning heavily on Callie for a moment as if he’d gone faint. Then he cleared his throat, forced himself to stand tall and said, “Thank you, Marcus, but he’s all yours,” in as crisp and polite a tone as could be imagined.
“That’s mighty nice of you, John,” Marcus beamed, turning and showing the snake to his wife.
“I’ve heard rattlesnake cooks up good,” she nodded in thanks as well, sliding a hand along the snake’s scales.
John’s weight sagged against Callie again. Callie checked on him, only to find him pale, almost green, and deliberately looking away from Marcus’s wife.
“Wonder how it got into your wagon,” she mused.
Callie’s urge to laugh froze. She felt her own color drain.
“You don’t think there could be more in there, do you?” John asked.
“No ma’am.” Marcus was torn between grinning at Callie’s anxiety and puzzling over the snake. “Snakes can’t jump.”
“Then how do you suppose that one got into our things?” John’s voice was razor-thin, but still polite.
Marcus shrugged and handed the snake over to his wife, who took it back to the shared fire pit.
“Can’t rightly say. It might have crawled into a blanket or something sitting on the ground. You might have picked it up and put it in there without even knowing it.”
That seemed to be the end of things as far as Marcus and his wife were concerned. Callie let out a sigh of relief. John, however, insisted on inspecting every inch of both of their wagons while she made bread. She kept an eye on him through the rolled-up canvas at the side of the wagons as he picked his way gingerly through their supplies. He shifted boxes and peeked into baskets and crates, jumping back at the slightest hint of movement.
It was a struggle not to laugh. Not at him, just for him. He had been so kind, so protective and wise down at the river merely an hour before, and now he was as skittish as a schoolgirl faced with a spider. He fared better with the back wagon, since it was mostly empty while their bedding aired. The only other thing in that wagon was Callie’s hope chest, which she hadn’t opened since moving her mother’s tea set when they hooked the wagons together.
“I think we’re safe,” John announced an hour later, sitting heavily on the bench beside where Callie worked.
“Thank you for checking.” She rewarded him with a smile. He deserved it. He needed it. The return smile he gave her was proof of that. He fumbled with his gun—trying to clean it while Callie cooked—but dropped its pieces and made such a mash of the job that he eventually stopped. He gave up and sat where he was, catching his breath and steadying his nerves. Of all things, knowing he was afraid of something warmed her inside and out. Every day, every hour, she learned something new about her husband.
She didn’t realize how affectionate her thoughts for him were until Elton strolled into their area and her nerves snapped taut.
“Hello there.” Elton grinned.
Callie’s shoulders bunched and she focused on her work. It had been days, almost a week, since the last time Elton had approached her. She’d hoped he’d taken the hint and given up his attentions. John cleared his throat and sat straighter.
“Heard you had a scare earlier,” Elton went on with a smirk for John.
“Not a scare,” John clarified with stoic cold, “a snake.”
“Same thing, I hear tell.”
Callie didn’t like Elton’s tone. She didn’t like the way he cast a smarmy glance from John to her.
“Want me to take a look and see if more are lurking?” he asked.
“No thank you,” John did his best to remain civil.
“You sure? I could just hop in that wagon, see if anything is hiding in the nooks and crannies, or maybe that teapot of yours. Better safe than sorry.”
“It’s been taken care of.”
Elton’s grin showed exactly what he thought of John. Callie’s discomfort with the man was quickly turning to flat-out dislike, especially when he turned to her with a wink, as if John wasn’t ten feet away, and said, “Next time you have problems with the wildlife you should let me know. I’m a fair hand with a hatchet or a knife. A gun too for that matter.”
“I can shoot a gun as well, Mr. Finch,” John answered him, “unless you’ve forgotten.”
Callie’s eyes flickered to the side to see the two men staring each other down. Elton wore an insufferable smirk that John met with implacable calm.
“If you need anything, Callie, you come to me.” Elton tipped his hat to her and sauntered off before either she or John could tell him off.
Callie returned to her cooking, lips pursed and frowning so hard her forehead hurt. “I can’t wait until we get to Denver City,” she muttered.
“I’m going to speak to Pete about Mr. Finch,” John echoed.
Callie didn’t reply. She couldn’t decide if it was a good idea or not. She just wanted to bake bread and eat dinner and go to bed so that the next day would dawn and they could keep moving
again.
Though neither of them said anything about it, Elton’s rude interruption stayed with them for the rest of the day. They didn’t talk about it as they ate or as they settled the bedding into their wagon. It was as if they needed the food and the labor to dispel the frustration they both felt. Two words with Elton had upset both of them more than the rattlesnake.
Neither of them had regained a sense of comfort and peace by the time they were ready to go to bed. Callie stripped down to her chemise and drawers, lying down on the aired out bedroll, trying to figure out how she could possibly put everything out of her mind enough to sleep.
She was surprised when John lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms, facing him. There was deliberateness to his gesture that hadn’t been there before and her eyebrows flew up.
“You said you were all right with the idea of building intimacy between us,” he said in explanation. She could still see traces of irritation cause by Elton in the lines on his brow and the tension around his mouth.
“I am.” Callie shrugged as best she could with his arm over her. “I’m also frustrated and distracted and in a poor mood.”
She wasn’t sure, but she had the distinct feeling he took her salty attitude as a challenge rather than an offense.
“What better reason to get close? It will put us both in a better mood,” he said.
“What will?”
“Touching,” he answered as if teaching a lesson. “Touching is very important for intimacy.”
Callie’s brain ran in circles for a moment. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel after the day she’d had.
“We are touching,” she informed him.
He shook his head. She expected him to come up with some thoughtful exposition about what he meant. Instead he ducked his hand under the worn cotton of her chemise and halfway up her bare side.
“Touching,” he said, and though she couldn’t see him well in the fading light, she was sure he had one eyebrow cocked and half a mischievous grin on his lopsided mouth.