There was one bedroom at the foot of the stairs and she looked into it. It was obviously his. The sheets were quite dirty and there were clothes all over the floor. The first things she would need to do were laundry and dishes. Before those two tasks were handled, she wouldn't even be able to really get started on anything else.
There was another room there on the bottom floor, and she looked into it. It was relatively clean, except for the dust on everything. It was a parlor, and she could imagine spending happy evenings there, crocheting or sewing while he did whatever men like to do in the evenings.
Her days would be full for a while at least. That was good. It had to be.
She climbed the stairs to find two bedrooms at the top. One looked like it was meant to be a spare bedroom, complete with an unmade bed and a dresser. The other room was a nursery. She frowned. That nursery had a great deal of dust on it. Why would a single man build a nursery as soon as he built the house? Surely he'd wait until he had a wife.
And then it all clicked in Meg's mind. He'd been married before. That's why the house had once been loved by someone. That's why there was a nursery. And more importantly, that's why he said he would never love again. It all made sense to her now, even though she didn't want it to.
She climbed back down the stairs slowly, not sure how to broach the subject with him, so she didn't. He'd gone into his bedroom and closed the door, so she removed her coat, pulled her apron over her dress, and rolled up her sleeves. If she could do even a portion of the dishes tonight, she would be able to get more done tomorrow.
Lars came out of his room wearing work clothes. "I'm going to go out and milk the cow and gather the eggs. I will be back."
She was pleased to hear she'd have fresh eggs and milk every day for her cooking and baking. She watched him go, a sad look on her face. How long would he wait before he told her about his lost wife?
She stood at the sink, thankful for the water pump. She wouldn't have to make trips out to the well to do dishes and laundry, and that would make her life much easier than it would have been.
By the time he was back from milking the cows and gathering eggs, she'd made serious strides in the work at hand. She had many of the dishes washed, and all the pots that had food caked on them, which was all the pots in the house, were soaking. She wiped off the table and scrubbed out a skillet. They'd had a late lunch, so he didn't know if he'd want to eat again that night. If he did she could make some bacon and eggs or some pancakes.
"Are you hungry?" she asked as he set the milk on the table and put a basket of eggs beside the pail. "I could make something simple tonight like bacon and eggs or pancakes."
His eyes lit up. "Pancakes? It's been a really long time since I had pancakes." He went to the boxes he'd carried in from the mercantile and found some flour and some maple syrup. "George knows I love maple syrup." He had gotten a new bottle every month when he picked up supplies while Olga was still alive.
She smiled and nodded. "Pancakes it is." Looking around she found the other ingredients she'd need. She took a mixing bowl she had just put away and quickly mixed the batter, spooning four circles onto the large skillet.
He looked around the room. It was already looking much better than it had in two years. She'd done a good portion of the dishes and cleaned off the table. He'd gotten into the habit of moving the dishes around on the table and eating in smaller and smaller spaces until he was forced to do dishes or eat from pots.
When she set the first plate of pancakes in front of him, he wished she'd had time to make butter in the churn, but because she hadn't, he picked up the syrup and covered them. Then he leaned in and just smelled them. It was going to be a treat not to eat his own cooking. Apparently she knew how to cook some of his favorites as well.
She made pancakes until the batter was gone, refilling his plate twice. Finally she sat down with the last two pancakes and a glass of milk for herself. "Do you like French toast as well?" she asked.
"What's that?"
She shrugged. "It's just a way of using up older bread. You dip the bread in a mixture of milk and eggs and then you fry it like you would a pancake. You serve it with butter and syrup."
"If it has syrup, I will eat it." He didn't know why he had such a love for all sweet foods, but he did.
"Then I'll make those when I need to use up bread."
"That won't happen."
She frowned at him. "Why not?"
"Because I haven't had fresh baked bread in so long, I don't think I'll be able to stop eating it once I start. It sounds delicious, though."
She laughed. "I'll make a bit of extra and hide it, just so I can make you some French toast. How would that be?"
"It sounds lovely. I should have married a long time ago, just so I could eat good food again."
"I'll do my best to keep you happy." She hadn't taken the time to dig through all the supplies from the store yet, because she didn't want to put them into a dirty kitchen. She'd clean out the pantry and make sure everything was spotless before she started to put the food in there.
When he'd finished eating, he leaned back and patted his belly. "That was delicious. Thank you."
She smiled, getting up and taking both of their plates to the sink, and immediately started another round of dishwashing.
He watched her, wondering when she'd start berating him for the mess he'd left, but she never did. She did every dirty dish he had left out, drying them and putting them away. Then she took all the pots she had soaking and she washed the ones she could easily wash. She set the others onto the stove. "I'll have to boil those to get the food off, and that can wait until tomorrow. For now, I'm tired."
He got to his feet. "If you still want to sleep alone, there's a bedroom upstairs you can use. You're welcome to share my bed, of course, but I can't promise I won't touch you."
"I'll use the bed upstairs for tonight, thank you." She smiled at him, wondering how she was supposed to say goodnight to the husband she'd met only a few hours earlier. Really, it was out of her realm of experience.
Lars caught her hand, pulling her toward him. At her wary look, he shook his head. "I just want to kiss you goodnight. You did say I could kiss you whenever the mood struck me."
She nodded, raising her face to his, expecting the same slight brush of the lips he'd given her in church.
He cupped her face in his hands, leaning down and touching his lips to hers. When he'd kissed her in the church, there'd been no real spark between them, and as much as he didn't want to love the woman, he did want the passion she could show him.
He lifted his head after a very brief kiss, rubbing his thumb over her lower lip as he looked into her eyes. "Have you ever been kissed before?"
She nodded. "You kissed me at the church, remember?"
He chuckled softly. "That wasn't a real kiss. That was just a touch of my lips on yours. Have you ever had a real kiss?"
"I'm not sure what you mean." Why wasn't that a real kiss?
"Let me show you." His head lowered again, and this time his lips played with hers. His tongue stroked her bottom lip, seeking entrance into her mouth.
Meg was unsure what he wanted, but when she parted her lips to ask, his tongue swooped in, showing her in a way that was much more effective than any explanation ever could be.
Lars let out a groan, his hands moving from where they still cupped her cheeks to her tiny waist as he pulled her flush against him. There was the spark he needed. He wanted her badly. He wanted to drag her into his bedroom and demand his rights as a husband, but that was no way to get her to acquiesce.
No, he'd take things slowly, and when he did make it into bed with her, she would want it as much as he did.
Finally he lifted his head, his forehead resting against hers. "Now do you understand the difference?"
Meg nodded, slightly out of breath. "I—had no idea people kissed that way." She was embarrassed to admit it, but at least he would understand how inexperienced she was. "Goodnight, L
ars."
"Goodnight, Meg." He touched his lips to hers briefly. "I will see you in the morning."
He walked off toward his room, wondering how he was going to keep his heart from being taken by her. He'd thought he had buried it with Olga, but his lust and his love were too closely knit. He shut the door softly behind him, trying to force his heart to stop its erratic beating.
He would have to quit thinking of her as anything more than a housekeeper and cook, a vessel for his seed. She would bear his son, but she would get no affection.
Outside his room, Meg stood frozen. She had felt more from that kiss than she'd ever imagined was possible. He'd touched her lips, her heart, and her soul. How on earth could a man make her feel so much in such a short time?
She slowly climbed the stairs to her empty room. She couldn't find any clean sheets, so she put a quilt over the mattress, and folded it in half, lying on half and covering with the other half. She didn't bother changing into her nightgown, knowing she wouldn't be warm enough. It was warmer downstairs near the fire.
She lay for a while with her eyes wide open staring at the wall. What would life be like when she allowed him more than a kiss? He was hiding so much from her, denying his first wife and a child, she was certain. She understood why his heart was off-limits to her, but she wanted him to voice the words to her. Telling her would be the right thing to do, and he seemed like such a good, honest man who always did the right thing.
When she closed her eyes, she saw nothing but his face. His eyes as they looked down into hers. Her lips still tingled from his touch. She could feel on her sides where he'd gripped her waist. Never had she thought she would be attracted to a man like him. A good little Irish girl was never interested in a man who wasn't from the Emerald Isle.
While her family may be disappointed in her for marrying, and especially for marrying a Norwegian man she'd never met, she didn't care. Something about the sad, lonely man touched her heart. Sure, she had a lot to do to take care of him, and to get his house in order, and he was so brooding he could easily make her crazy, but one touch and she melted like sugar in his arms.
She only hoped she would be able to hold out for a full week, and take the opportunity to get to know him as she wished. Maybe it was folly on her part, but she felt that once that part of their marriage started, the courtship would end, and she desperately wanted the courtship.
Meg had always dreamed of a man who would sing her love songs, who would bring her flowers. She had never met a man willing to do either, but now she'd married, she had a chance for it to happen. At least, she hoped she did. He seemed to be so distant from her, except when they touched.
He was willing to share his body with her, but she could tell he would need persuasion to share his heart. She was an Irishwoman at heart, and she firmly believed that a man's heart should be held firmly by a woman before she agreed to spend a night in his bed. There was no hope of getting him to agree to such a thing. No, he wanted to hold himself away.
She could only do what was within her abilities. She'd clean and cook for him. She would make his home a place where he could be proud to bring people. Anything beyond that was impossible. Perhaps she could find a tender spot by making special meals for him, or cleaning up the things his first wife had put out everywhere. Maybe that was what it would take.
Maybe making sure he knew she respected his feelings for the woman who'd come before her would be all it would take. It was hard to know, because she barely knew him, but that wouldn't continue. She would not spend her life married to a stranger. Meg Borgen was going to have the love of her man. She didn't care what it took.
Once she'd decided on a course of action, she finally closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would make him love her.
Chapter Five
Meg woke even earlier than usual the following morning, convinced that if she showed him how hard she would work, he would realize he could love her. She tiptoed down the stairs and quickly made bacon, eggs, and pancakes for breakfast. She wouldn't always go overboard on everything, but she would until he started to love her. She knew she could make it happen.
She put a pot of coffee on, assuming he drank it because it was in the supplies, and set the table. She looked around the kitchen at all that was left to do in just that room. She needed to scrub the floor, several pots, and the walls. The stove needed to be blacked badly. She was certain it hadn't been done in at least two years.
She yawned, wishing she could go back to bed just thinking about it all. Today would be a day for cleaning the kitchen, baking bread, and doing laundry. She wanted every piece of laundry in the house clean and on the line before noon. It may not be possible, but she was certainly going to try.
She had breakfast on the table, just as the front door opened. She jumped, startled.
"Got fresh milk and eggs," Lars said, setting them on the work table. He walked to her and kissed her softly. He didn't sink into the kiss as he wanted to. He needed to keep his distance, and kissing, for whatever reason, made him feel more for her. How he'd talk her into his bed early without kissing her a lot, he didn't know, but he'd figure that out. Soon.
"Breakfast is ready," she said with a smile. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black," he replied, watching as she poured his coffee into a cup and set it beside his plate. She'd gone all out for breakfast. He couldn't remember a time someone had fixed both eggs and pancakes for the same meal, but he certainly wouldn't complain about it. It all looked delicious.
"I'll try to find time to make butter today, but I think there are other things that are a little more important.
He sighed but nodded. "I do have some food in the cellar. There are some canned goods I purchased a while back, and some potatoes and some carrots. Maybe even a pumpkin or two if you like pumpkin pie."
She took her seat across from him, grinning. "So you want me to make pumpkin pie? Is that what you're saying?"
He shrugged. "Only if you like it, of course." He wouldn't ask her to go out of her way to make something special for him, because he wouldn't ever return the favor. He couldn't.
"Of course. Any apples down there?"
He shook his head. "Apples are hard to come by around here. I've planted some of the seeds I've gotten when I bought them from George in town, but they haven't grown much yet."
"You'll need to show me where they are, so I can do my best to fertilize them and keep them going." She took a bite of her eggs, watching him as she ate. "What kind of farmer are you?"
Lars frowned. "A good one, I hope."
She shook her head. "No, I mean what do you grow?"
"Oh, I'm a wheat farmer. This is good land for wheat."
"I see." She didn't know much about wheat except that it was ground to make flour. "Is there anything in particular you're hungry for? Anything you want special for supper tonight?"
He shook his head. "We'll worry about special meals after you've had some time to get the house where it needs to be. I've been seeing a lot of deer, so I might bring you one so you can make some stews. Do you know how to dry meat?"
"No, I don't. If you show me once, I can learn though."
"I have a spring house I use for keeping meat fresh. I'll show you before I go out today. Then you can choose what you want to fix." He finished the last of his breakfast, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "Are you finished?"
Meg looked at her plate. No, she wasn't nearly finished, but she'd go with him. "I'm ready."
She followed him outside, and he explained the buildings to her. "That's the chicken coop," he said of a small sod building. "The chickens wander in and out, but I've used some of the new barbed wire to keep predators out as best I can."
He showed her a small barn, this building made of wood. "I keep two cows in here, and my four horses. I have two teams. One is mostly for driving and the other is for farm work."
"I see. Will I need to feed the animals?"
He shook his head. "The only outside work I'll
ask of you is to keep a kitchen garden come spring and summer. You'll grow most of the food we eat. It'll save us a lot of money at the mercantile in the fall and winter."
She nodded. "I expected that."
He took her to the well. "We have the pump in the kitchen, but if it acts up, just come out here and bring water up from the well."
"I can do that," Meg told him. She hoped she'd have time to churn butter that day, and she'd work quickly to make it happen if at all possible. She could make a simple stew for supper to take less time so she could manage it.
He took her to the other building that was again made of mud. It was barely tall enough for him to fit into. "This is the spring house. I rerouted a bit of the stream through here to keep meat cold enough. I got fresh meat in town yesterday. George got it from the butcher and added it to our order. I brought it in here before going into the house last night."
She looked around the building, noting the meat in the water. She rubbed her hands over her arms to warm them. "Is there anything in particular you want me to get started on today?"
He shook his head. "There's a lot to do, and I appreciate you being so willing to get started. Do what you can and leave the rest."
Meg nodded, watching as he walked away at those words. He was off to work, and she was expected to do her share now. It was a good thing she'd bought a pioneer handbook back in Massachusetts before she left. It wouldn't tell her everything of course, but it would get her started. "Wait! Will you be home for lunch?"
Lars turned around. He didn't want to come home for lunch. He didn't want to see her that often, but he would be hungry. "Yes, I'll be home for lunch today. After today, I'd appreciate if you could pack a lunch pail for me."
"Of course!"
Meg hurried into the house to get the dishes done. She'd start the stew right away and make it big enough they could eat it for both meals that day. She'd make him sandwiches for lunch tomorrow. She could be a wife. She just needed to learn what he expected of her.
Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17) Page 4