She sagged against the railing. Hearing voices from inside the shop, she knew it wasn't Thaddeus who'd entered, so after a moment, she ventured in. While Dan's back was turned, helping a rancher with feed choices, she slipped out the front door, cringing at the sound of the bell that seemed to be tolling the tumult of her life.
Chapter 18
Thaddeus hadn't come by in four days, not since she'd seen him at Dr. Bell's. Misery kept her company, and anger befriended her but good. If he took up with the doctor, while she carried his baby, Eliza vowed she'd retrieve Thaddeus's own revolver from the lockbox under her bed and let him experience her displeasure.
Everyone knew he was working like a fiend on his house, but surely, he had a moment to come woo her, seeing as how he'd said he wanted to marry her.
"I hate him," she said aloud, sitting on her front porch, waiting to catch a glimpse if he went by in his wagon or on his horse.
She understood at last why he'd left Spring City in such an all-fired hurry. The torture she felt even imagining seeing him walk down the street with Dr. Bell on his arm had to pale in comparison to how he'd felt when she'd run up to him flaunting her engagement ring.
Thaddeus had been smitten with her then, but years had passed since.
Twice, she'd got rid of him, after his proposal and when he'd acted like a naughty schoolboy trying to climb her trellis with a very different type of proposal altogether. Would he come back a third time?
Why not go see him? All she needed was a halfway plausible reason. After all, they were still friends—though ever since he'd used the word to describe their relationship, she'd started to hate it. Then she remembered what she had in the drawer of her bedside table, and she smiled.
Fifteen minutes later, she knocked at the front door of Thaddeus's house, thinking the sound was no louder than her pounding heart. No answer. She could still walk away with him none the wiser.
She straightened. No, she wasn't going to act like a hog-nose snake and play dead. She had a strong backbone, by God, and she aimed to keep it. Picking her way carefully through the weeds and overgrown grass, she tried again at the back door.
Still, no answer. It was unlocked, but propriety restrained her from letting herself in. She looked around the yard. His absence was curious since his wagon was unhitched in the drive, and she could hear his horse nickering softly.
Exploring a little farther, she strolled to the small paddock and called to Thaddeus's new horse, who came sauntering over. Letting her stroke from its white blaze down to its velvet muzzle, it whinnied appreciatively.
"You're a sweet thing," she murmured, thinking of Lucky and hoping their old horse was being treated kindly.
"Shit! Shit! Goddamnit to hell!"
She opened her eyes wide. That didn't sound good. Startled by the ferocity of Thaddeus's words, Eliza patted the horse one more time before pushing away from the fence and heading toward the barn to investigate.
The double-wide doors were open, and she walked through them before stopping to let her eyes adjust to the comparative dimness of the interior.
It didn't look any different from most barns, except messier. And of course, Thaddeus was there, making it different from any other barn in the world.
He stood in the far corner, scrabbling at something on the old wooden workbench. Shirtless, wearing denims. She faltered, feeling that familiar twist in her stomach, definitely something more substantial than butterflies. If only he hadn't been shirtless!
He was muttering and banging at something metal on the table. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to him. She even said his name, perhaps too quietly. When she got within arm's reach, he still hadn't acknowledged her—even though she was close enough to watch the sweat-sheened muscles play across his back as he hammered.
Reaching out, she touched his shoulder ever so lightly.
"No!" he yelled, dropping everything, spinning around and grabbing both her upper arms as if ready for a fight. There was nothing tender in the grip that bit into her flesh. His face was a mask of hostility for a split second until recognition dawned.
"Ellie!" He didn't immediately release her as his eyes widened in surprise.
Mutely, she stood unmoving, stunned by the violent expression he'd worn a second earlier and by the certainty that if it hadn't been her, he wouldn't have hesitated to strike out. She looked to where his hands gripped her shoulders, one of them trailing a soiled white bandage from his finger, then back at him. He released her at once.
"I'm sorry," he said, running his hand through this hair. "Didn't I tell you before not to do that?"
"You mean not to sneak up on an armed man?" she asked, then felt her face go hot as she recalled the last time she'd snuck up on him in Charlotte's house; his "weapon" had been sensual torment. She blushed to the roots of her hair at the memory, her heart racing while standing so close to him.
Perhaps he was remembering the same encounter because his gaze dropped to her lips, and his hands reached out for her again. Hurriedly, she stepped back.
"I'm sorry I startled you," she said.
"You're lucky my guns are in the house," he teased. "I have to admit that when attacked from behind, I usually shoot first and ask questions later."
She could imagine that technique had kept him alive. Thinking of which, she noticed on his left side, where his chest tapered to his ribs, that he carried a scar, raised and still pink. If Stoddard had been a better shot, Thaddeus wouldn't be standing in front of her.
She fisted her hand to stop from reaching out to touch the scar. In her mind, she saw Jo tending him. Jo, who'd been intimate with him over the years. Jo.
"You were busy," she said, dragging her gaze to his face. "I guess you didn't hear me. But speaking of guns, I have your revolver, back at my house. I forgot to return it."
His brow furrowed. "How did you...?"
"I picked it up after you were shot. I don't know why."
"I'm glad you did." He grinned, as though being shot were inconsequential. "It's a damn accurate weapon."
He paused, cocking his head as if expecting her to explain her presence, but she didn't know what else to say. She wasn't really sure what she'd hoped to accomplish in seeking him out.
She winced as the silence grew. She'd never felt awkward with him before.
"Can I come by later and get it?" he asked, seemingly unperturbed and unnoticing of her discomposure.
Was that what she'd wanted? To entice him to come back a third time, using his gun as bait? She was pathetic.
"What were you doing?" she asked instead of answering his question.
Grimacing, he swiveled back to the workbench. "I'm repairing a few things in the house, but I bent my saw."
He held up the rusty tool by its splintered wooden handle, and she could see a definite wave to the metal-toothed blade. She looked past it to the hammer he'd been wielding.
"You were hammering your saw blade back into shape?"
Giving her a sheepish smile, he shrugged before dropping it back onto the workbench with a clatter.
"I already broke the only other saw I could find." He gestured with his head and she looked to see a mangled blade in two pieces on the floor by the ladder—the ladder to the loft where she'd rather carelessly lost her virginity and her heart.
Unable to stop herself, she lifted her gaze to the platform overhead, then shot a glance back at him.
He looked stricken. Was that regret she saw on his face?
"I'd better be going," she said, realizing it had been a mistake seeking him out in the first place.
"Wait, Ellie. Why'd you come? Do you need something?"
Did she need something? Yes. My old childhood friend, Thaddeus Sanborn.
She glanced at the ladder again. Why was she standing there, gawking at his chest and recalling that long ago night? Somehow, he'd climbed that ladder, drunk as he was. She bit her lip, thinking how he'd sent her up ahead of him—he must have had a fairly good idea of the prize awaitin
g at the top, more so than she had understood.
She stuck her hands in the pocket of her skirt. Then she remembered her errand.
"Oh, silly me." Was it her pregnancy that made her mind leap from one thought to another and then forget others completely? "I brought you something. Hold out your hand."
He did, never taking his eyes off hers, until she pulled her precious treasure out of her pocket and dropped the contents onto his outstretched palm. She made sure not to let her hand linger too long against his calloused skin despite how she wanted to.
He stared a moment and then frowned. "My coins and..." His gaze flew to hers.
"That's the bullet that would've killed you," she explained, reaching out, touching the area over his heart where she'd seen the mark, long since healed. Then she snatched her hand away.
Barely able to meet his green gaze, she added, "I'm sorry that you got shot because of me, Thaddeus."
Embarrassingly, her throat closed up, thick and tight, and she knew a bucketful of tears wasn't far behind.
"I have to go," she practically squeaked, turning and sprinting for the open doors.
She should've known he wouldn't let her get away that easily. Thaddeus caught up to her in three steps, his big warm hand shackling her wrist and holding her in place.
"Don't run away. Please." He turned her to face him, and then he slipped the coins and bullet into the front pocket of his denims. With two free hands, he took hold of hers.
She felt his thumbs caress the backs of her hands, then start to lightly drift over her knuckles. She closed her eyes. How else to keep the tears from falling?
He groaned. "Why do I always end up making you cry?" he asked, his voice sounded anguished. "When all I want to do is love you."
"Love me?" she repeated, her eyes snapping open. Where had that come from?
This week, she hadn't believed he even liked her, let alone loved her. He'd kept his distance, seeming to be easily distracted by whatever he was doing here at his house.
Shouldn't he be coming to her house every day, begging to be allowed to rub her feet and her back, which had begun to ache something awful? Shouldn't he be holding her hand as they walked down Main Street showing everyone she belonged to him?
"I don't think you know what love is," she accused, ignoring her own irrational thought that he would, indeed, have been holding her hand in public if she hadn't turned down his marriage proposal, lackluster as it was.
His jaw clenched, and his face darkened like a thundercloud across the sun. "Is that so?"
He reeled her in by her hands, which he still clasped, until her body was pressed up against his. Then he released them so he could spread his fingers at her waist and anchor her there.
Like the alarm bell that Ely rang if ever there was a fire, her body jangled its own alarm. Putting her palms on his bare chest, whether to him away or to hold on, she relished the feel of his warm skin under the pads of her fingertips.
She'd all but baited him, just to get a reaction like this—one that proved he had genuine feelings for her.
Raising her head, she peered up at him, wishing, not for the first time, that she'd gained a little more in height. But the look he gave her, down the end of his nose, was an angry one.
"Words are not getting through to you, Ellie, as if you simply don't want to hear. Or you think I'm lying." He gave her the smallest of squeezes, showing his frustration.
She wanted to believe him, but a flicker of doubt must have shown in her eyes because he growled his frustration.
"Well, damn!" Lightning fast, he moved his hands to cradle her head, his fingers weaving into her hair and holding her still while he claimed her lips—not punishingly, though she could feel the tension in his body where they touched.
He moved his mouth against hers, then changed direction, slanting his head the other way and fitting his lips to hers again.
Delightfully sizzling shards of pleasure glided through her from head to toe. As her lips softened under his, he relaxed into her, never releasing her from the kiss, but somehow enveloping her with his broad chest and shoulders and arms, drawing her in.
Her hands skimmed up his naked skin to lock behind his neck.
She sighed, and he took her open lips as an invitation, widening the stance of his legs to hold her even closer before sweeping his tongue into her mouth. Heat swirled low in her body, and she could feel her own pulse in her throat. Daringly, she touched his tongue with the tip of her own, and he groaned.
His tongue circled hers, then retreated as, at last, he lifted his mouth from hers. Slipping his hands from her hair, he roamed them over her body, encountering the hard cotton-encased steel of her corset stays.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, not loudly, but sounding irritated, perhaps because it impeded his ability to feel her body and her breasts.
"A corset," she said when she caught her breath. Of course, he must know what a corset was. "A maternity corset."
"A maternity what?"
Without another word, he proceeded to yank her blouse up so he could look underneath.
"Thaddeus, stop!" she protested, taking note of the fact that they were in his barn in broad daylight. She batted at his hands to no avail.
"That looks uncomfortable."
"It's not too bad."
"You never wore a corset before."
She blushed, but he continued, "Well, did you?"
"No, I never did."
"Does it help?"
She looked at him, puzzled by his strange question. "Help?"
"I mean, does it offer you some support for your stomach?"
She laughed, feeling shaky from their kiss and a bit nervous at this Thaddeus who behaved so unpredictably. Squirming from his hands, she turned her back to him trying to tug her shirt into place, but now he was holding it up from behind.
"No, you dolt," she said, yanking at the fabric and trying to escape. "It's not for support. It's supposed to make my figure look like it did before. It's hiding my condition for as long as possible."
"That's ridiculous," he scoffed. "You can't hide your condition. And you could be... I don't know," he stopped, and she looked over her shoulder to see him running his hand through his unruly hair, frowning, as he stared at the back of the offending undergarment. "You could be squishing the baby."
"Poppycock," she muttered. "It said on the advertisement that it is 'universally endorsed by eminent physicians.' See, I can let it out with these laces."
She ran her hands over her sides where sturdy laces went from her hips to under her arms. "Besides they wouldn't sell them if—"
"Nope," he interrupted, reaching his hands around her and turning her gently to face him again. "I don't like it, not one bit. There's nothing wrong with having a baby, and everyone knows about it anyway, so no more silly corset."
With that, he began undoing the hook and eye fastenings over the front of her stomach.
"Stop it," she hissed, grabbing at his wrists. But he continued, until it was wholly undone, and her small rounded belly popped out, along with her burgeoning breasts. He chucked the offending garment from him onto the dirty barn floor.
Open-mouthed, she gawked. "That cost me $1.50!"
However, as he placed his hand on her exposed stomach, still holding her shirt up with his other hand, she sucked in her breath and fell silent.
In truth, with the corset off, she wanted to scratch the tingling skin over her blossoming belly, but this seemed neither the time nor the place for such an unladylike performance. Especially not while his face held an expression of pure reverence.
"Look at you," he said, his voice thick, as he stroked her stretching skin around her navel and over her hips. His gaze moved higher to her full breasts, making the place between her legs start to tingle at his scrutiny. And then his hand followed, brushing the under-curve and round the side of one breast with his knuckles.
Finally, as if waking from a trance, she yanked her blouse from his grasp and tug
ged it down to fall below her low-waisted skirt. His actions were beyond the pale.
Stooping, she picked up her corset and shook it, but it was covered in dirt and hay remnants.
He stared at her, his eyes like two hard emeralds. "Ellie, don't put that on again."
"That's absurd. You can't tell me what to—"
He held up his hand, pointing a finger at her middle. "I'll be checking regularly. And it won't matter to me where we are, if I find it on you, I'll remove it."
She knew he meant it. "Fine!"
"Fine," he repeated, his tone firm. Then he sighed. "Look, Ellie, the only baby I ever saw being born was one of Riley's colts, and that thing needed room to move."
She knew her eyes must have grown to the size of organ stops. What an idiot! "Babies are not like colts."
"Maybe not, but I want to treat you and our baby as good as any horse. What about Lucky? You'd want Lucky to be comfortable, right, if she was foaling?"
She felt a wave of nostalgia at the mention of their loyal steed—picturing Thaddeus holding her so securely for so many days on horseback. A lump collected in the back of her throat, which became a hot ball of tears. Goshdarnit! She was welling up again.
"I loved that horse," she wailed to Thaddeus, backing toward the barn's double doors. "And you just left her behind." With that, she ran, swiping at her tears, which were already falling like a hard rain.
"Ellie?" he called after her, running as far as his front yard, but she figured even he wouldn't run down the middle of the street without his shirt on.
Her chest heaving by the time she reached her own front steps, she sat down in a huff. Blast it all! She hadn't even asked him what he was doing at the doctor's though the old bandage flapping on his finger gave her an inkling. Obviously, the man was not as good with tools as he was with guns.
He'd said he wanted to love her. He didn't say, I love you with all my heart, Ellie, and I'll never hurt you again. No, he most certainly didn't. "I want to love you" was his fancy way of saying he wanted to bed her again.
An Inescapable Attraction (The Defiant Hearts Series, Book 3) Page 29