by Jillian Hart
She gazed up at him with her top teeth digging into her bottom lip. The cold didn’t feel as overpowering here, standing near to her, her body a few scant inches from his. His heart lurched in his chest, wanting her and wanting to take care of her.
“Supper can wait a few minutes. You didn’t get a chance to nap today.” He tried to keep his feelings out of his voice, but he wasn’t sure how much he succeeded. “Remember that lecture my sisters gave me? Now that they’ve met you, they are going to be watching me like hawks. I don’t want to slack off, or they will be after me in no time.”
“Yes, I noticed how they made big, strong you quake in your boots.”
“I’m easily intimidated by women,” he joked, just to watch her smile. Just to see the splash of humor light her up. There went his heart again, lurching against his will.
“If that’s true, then I should be the one telling you what to do.” Her smile grew until it was real, dominating her face and reaching her eyes.
He stared down at the bow of her mouth upturned in a tantalizing curve. The need to kiss her whipped up in him like a sudden blizzard. It hit him with enough force to rattle his bones and make blood surge in his veins. What would her lips feel like, feather-soft against his? Caring roared through him, stronger than the need to kiss her.
What was he going to do about his feelings for her? Not acknowledging them wasn’t working. They rose up anyway, refusing to be ignored or to pay heed to the fact that this wasn’t a real marriage.
Just one in name only.
“Austin?” Her voice penetrated his thoughts and he realized she’d been asking him something.
“Maybe you’d better say that again. I’m a man. I’m easily distracted.” He used humor again because it seemed to wipe the worry twisting her forehead.
“I said Rosie is waiting for you.” She gave a little head bob, a dear movement against the palm of his hand.
“Yep, I’d best get back out there.” He couldn’t bring himself to step away. “I’m sure she’s anxious, wondering what’s keeping me. She really loves her grain.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s the grain.” She gazed up at him, and for a second—just one brief instant—something that looked like caring shone within her. It was gone too quickly for him to be sure.
Hope licked through him. When he took a step away from her, regret speared between his ribs, arrowing deep, and he knew it for the sign it was. He didn’t want to leave her side. His emotions ran deeper than he thought.
Not sure what to do about that, he checked the fire—which was burning steadily and brightly—before backing away. Willa made a pretty picture standing in the fall of firelight, with her windswept hair and unguarded eyes.
* * *
She hated the exhaustion that dragged on her like lead weights as she put warmed leftovers on the table, but she stayed silent. She didn’t want Austin to know. She could feel him watching her as she slid the platter from the rack, set it on the table’s center and turned to close the oven door.
“I’ll get the rest. You look asleep on your feet.” He set the milk pail on the counter.
“I’m almost done.”
“Yes, you are.” He held out her chair and gestured toward the cushion. “I can handle the rest. Please.”
“I—” She wanted to argue, but the low silky notes of his words tempted her. She could see how much this meant to him. He was genuine in his concern for her, and it touched her. She knew it was concern for the child she carried, but it was nice all the same. “Thank you.”
“Good.” His breath stirred her hair as she sat. “I should have realized how much you need a daily nap.”
“I didn’t, either. The pregnancy is starting to have a bigger effect on me.”
“That’s to be expected. Did I tell you the doctor is coming by tomorrow? I wanted him to check you over and make sure everything is progressing all right.”
“A doctor?” She couldn’t help gasping a little. “They’re expensive.”
“But necessary. When I spoke to Doc Wetherbee yesterday when I repaired a shoe for his horse, he said he’d be glad to drop by in the afternoon to check on you. He’s a kind man. You’ll like him.”
“I would feel relieved to know everything is fine.” Another luxury her child would have. Good medical care.
“It’s settled, then.” His nearness skidded across her skin in little pleasant tingles as he helped her to scoot in her chair. Was it her imagination or did she feel especially warm?
Perhaps it was from the steam of the tea and the food on the table in front of her. Heat radiated off the nearby stove, but that didn’t seem to be the source of her problem. She couldn’t think what was wrong with her—her breath came in quick little gasps, too—as she watched him carry the basket of warm rolls to the table.
What a fine-looking man he was. She noticed it more keenly than ever before. She bit her lip, appreciating the masculine way he moved, the muscles in his arms and how they rippled beneath his shirt when he set his coffee on the table.
“Home always seemed incredibly quiet and calm after a visit with the family.” His chair scraped against the floor as he settled in at the table.
“It does. It was chaos. But pleasant,” she emphasized.
“I don’t know what I would do without them all. It must have been lonely for you growing up an only child.” He grabbed the serving spoon and filled it, lifting one eyebrow in a silent question asking for her plate.
It was another courtesy he showed her, serving her first. Those courtesies kept adding up. She held out her plate for him and watched it fill with chicken and dumplings. How could she ever do enough for him to make up for his kindnesses?
“Yes, it was a bit lonely but I didn’t know the difference.” The sad, one-room shanty she’d grown up in seemed so far away, it could have been a dream. “I couldn’t help notice how well you and your brothers and sister get along. You’re close. I can’t imagine what that must have been like growing up.”
“Trouble, that’s what. Also very loud and obnoxious.” He filled his plate to the brim and dug in. “I didn’t have a moment alone to myself until the day I moved out to live on my own.”
“I see that twinkle in your eyes. It wasn’t all that bad.”
“No, it was very, very good.” He took a bite and washed it down with coffee. “You saw my brothers. We’re a big strapping bunch. Between the three of us, we nearly drove Ma crazy. I can still hear her shouting from the kitchen. ‘If I have to come out there and separate you boys, then mark my words you will be sorry.’”
“Were you ever sorry?”
“Sometimes.” Laughter bracketed his mouth, teasing out his handsome dimples. “Brant would poke his tongue out at me and I’d try to grab it and the next thing you know the three of us were wrestling around on the floor, knocking something over. A lamp would break and we’d be in for a licking.”
“And you were the older brother. You should have known better.”
“Exactly Ma’s reasoning. She never understood how aggravating younger brothers could be. I tried to explain how it wasn’t my fault. She never saw my side of things.” The humor glinting in his eyes said differently. “If my brothers weren’t so aggravating, I wouldn’t have had to make them stop.”
“You were simply the innocent bystander.”
“Just minding my own business. Evelyn was the worst. By the time she hit school age, she figured out that our folks thought she could do no wrong. Their little angelic girl, compared to the three of us, always fighting, rolling around in the dirt and climbing trees.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to see why they might have thought that,” she said wryly. Why couldn’t she stop looking at his dimples? Dimples had never affected her like this before.
“To this day, Pa doesn’t believe us.” Austin cut
open a dinner roll. “Evelyn would do things to purposely get us into trouble. Like sneaking into the parlor and quietly turning over the coffee table and making it look like we’d been fighting in there. Ma would come in from her garden, take one look and we’d be banished to our rooms with no supper. Evelyn would be as sweet as could be. ‘I tried to stop them, Ma’, she would practically sing. ‘But they wouldn’t listen to me.’”
“Personally, I’m taking Evelyn’s side.” The joke crossed her lips and she was laughing, just a little. “I’m sure you boys were guilty about something.”
“We used to play ball inside the house—not supposed to—but sometimes it just happened.” He swiped butter on his roll and took a bite. “One day we were fighting for the ball on our way out the door, I gave Derek a shove and he tumbled backward and landed bottom first in Ma’s Christmas cactus. She’d inherited that plant from her mother, who’d passed away, and boy, did we get into trouble for that. I can still see eight-year-old Derek with his backside in the planter, stuck. It took all of us pulling on him and holding on to the planter to get him free.”
“You’re making that up.” She set down her fork she was laughing so hard. “That can’t be what happened.”
“I swear it. Ma was yelling, Derek refused to give up the ball and Brant was tattling on how I was the one who gave Derek the push. After we got him out, the plant was never the same. Leaves had torn off. Stems had broken off. It didn’t bloom when the next Christmas rolled around. Boy, we were in trouble. We weren’t allowed anywhere near that plant under threat of thrashing. Ma meant business.”
“Something tells me the story doesn’t end there.”
“Not by a long shot. This is where Evelyn comes in. My parents’ sweet, innocent, never-did-a-single-thing-wrong daughter.” He set down his fork, transformed in the light. No longer the stranger he’d been, but the man she knew. The man who made her lean a little closer, caught by his story.
“One day, Ma finds a stem broken off the cactus for no apparent reason. It’s just laying on the floor. She hunts us down, hauls us off our ponies and marches us into the parlor. ‘Look at that,’ she says, shaking us by our collars. ‘Which of you did this? Confess now or else.’ And since none of us knew what had happened, that’s what we said. Big mistake.”
“It was Evelyn?”
“Absolutely. Evelyn who smiled at us in triumph, standing where Ma couldn’t see her. I saw that smug look. I saw her mouth, ‘Ha, ha, I got you.’ I knew why we were sent to bed hungry that night.”
“I’m sure you deserved it in principle.” She reached for her tea. “You probably got into trouble somewhere and your ma never knew about it.”
“Likely, but Evelyn was rewarded by success and it didn’t stop. Whenever she wanted to torment us, she would pluck a stem off the plant, make it look like we’d been roughhousing in the parlor and Ma never questioned it. Even when I tried to make her see the truth. Nope, not precious, angelic Evelyn. She would never do anything like that.”
“I’m starting to like her even more now.” She stirred sugar into her cup. “It sounds like growing up in your family was wonderful, except for the cactus incident.”
“Wonderful? That’s a word. Lucky is another.” He polished off the last of his chicken. His plate empty, he shoved it away and reached for the last of his coffee. “What about you? You’re still looking pale. Let me guess. You should go lie down.”
“It’s not long until bedtime.” She took a sip of tea, determined to hide the truth. Her arms felt heavy and weak, just like the rest of her. Lifting the teacup felt like an effort, but one she was determined to hide.
“You look ready to fall out of that chair.” He pushed from the table and circled close. He stole her cup, seized her hand and helped her to her feet. Once again he stood so close she could feel his body’s heat. His masculine scent was somehow comforting, just like his hand that folded around hers. “Let’s get you to bed, okay? A good night’s sleep is what you need.”
“No. The dishes need to be done. The kitchen needs to be tidied. I didn’t even get a chance to do the day’s sweeping.”
“The sweeping and tidying can wait.” He tugged her along, his strength greater than hers, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She stumbled forward, shivering as he leaned in to speak against her ear. “I’ll do the dishes. Being sent to my room wasn’t the only way I was punished. Ma would put me on kitchen cleanup when I got into trouble.”
“So, you’re saying you have a lot of dishwashing experience?”
“I tended to get into trouble a lot, but I never meant to. Honest.”
There went his dimples, luring her again. Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t know how she’d been so lucky to get this man for her husband, but she wasn’t going to disappoint him. Not anymore. Not ever again.
Gratitude for him filled her up so much, she couldn’t speak. She let him lead her into their bedroom where he lit the lamp for her, set her teacup on her bedside table and left her alone. The image of his handsome smile lingered like a treasure in the silence as she sat on the edge of the bed in the room where she was safe.
Where she would always be safe.
* * *
A storm set in around bedtime. Austin marked his page, put aside his book and knelt to bank the fire. As he listened to the wind beat against the west side of the house and echo in the room, he realized even sitting by himself he didn’t feel as lonely. Something had changed during supper. The ice between them melted and Willa’s guard inched down just enough for him to see a hint of the woman she was meant to be.
One day that careful hint of her smile would blossom into the real thing. One day she would laugh fully out loud, and he couldn’t wait to hear that sound or see her face wreathed in an all-out smile, her eyes sparkling without a single shadow in them. Hope lifted him as he stood, hung the shovel on its hook and turned out the lamp. After tonight, he had to believe that in time she would at least come to care for him.
Snow pelted the house. It sounded like they were in for a serious blow. The blizzard’s wail drowned out the rhythm of his gait as he crossed the dark room and eased open the door. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he waited until he could make out her sleeping form.
She lay on her side, her dark hair fanning out behind her, her hands folded on her pillow as dainty as could be. She hardly made a shape under the covers. He worried about how thin she was. What about the babe? It was husbandly concern that drove him to pick up the afghan folded on the chest at the foot of the bed. Concern—not caring.
Not the first seeds of love.
He shook out the length of wool his mother had crocheted long ago in his youth, and laid it gently over Willa’s sleeping form. Ma would have loved her, he thought, as he tucked the edge carefully into place below her chin. Ma would have fussed over her like there was no tomorrow.
Willa gave a little sigh in her sleep, an endearing sound that wrapped around his heart. She lay peacefully, and he couldn’t help drinking in the sight of her—her porcelain profile, her perfect sloping nose and her mouth lush and tempting relaxed into the perfect shape for kissing.
Hold it there, Austin. You’re thinking about kissing her way too much. He was lucky she’d let him hold her hand. He gave the covers a slight tug to bring them up around her chin so no chilly air could slip in. He had to accept facts. Willa had come to him out of desperation, not because she wanted a husband to love. He’d taken that risk the moment he’d slipped a train ticket and ten dollars for meals into the envelope along with his written proposal.
He’d gotten himself a fine woman. Pa had been the first to mention it when they’d broken out the whiskey. A man’s duty to his wife was the most important thing. He’d waited eight long years for his own bride. He didn’t dare be disappointed by Willa and her confession that she didn’t believe in love.
He took a step back in the dark room and sat down on the nearby chair. The cushion squeaked, but the sound was swallowed up by the blizzard beating against the wallboards like a wild animal fighting to get in. He tugged off his boots, watching Willa sleep, breathing in and out, so very vulnerable.
Devotion filled him up. Maybe she couldn’t love him, but something had happened between them tonight at the supper table. It made him see what could be. There could be something between them—not what he’d hoped for and far less than what he needed, but it was a great deal more than he’d had as a bachelor.
He would consider it a privilege to be as close to her as she would let him.
Chapter Thirteen
The sound in the wind was the reason Willa looked up from her work. The heavy storm took on a musical sound, and the snow that had been thudding against the windows changed to a splat. Rain. It fell in gray sheets, making watery sounds against the side of the house. She abandoned the fabric spread out on the table to wander to the window. Maybe this storm was the change she’d been waiting for. Spring in these mountains would be beautiful.
The clock chimed four times, drawing her attention. She tapped across the freshly polished floor, lifted the lid from the kettle and stirred the fragrant bean-and-beef soup. It had been a specialty of the hotel where she’d worked when her ma lived, before her sad marriage to Jed. She considered the dish one of her best. She hoped Austin would think so, too, she thought, as she added a handful of chopped dried parsley and replaced the lid. That would be fine simmering away while she was in the barn. But just to be sure, she knelt to open the stove door. A few turns with the shovel to bank part of the fire, and she was ready to go.
Her muscles ached pleasantly from a day of satisfying work. The furniture shone with new polish, the windows glinted without a streak and her only regret was that she’d run out of time to do more than cut the material for every window in the house. Tonight would get a start on sewing them. She slipped out of her new shoes and into her old ones before pulling on her old coat and hood. It would take not take much time at all to hem the fabric and sew on a ruffled edge. Thinking how cheerful the house would be put a smile on her face as she shouldered out into the storm.