When they were done and put away, he sat down at the table with his ledgers while Blythe, who had changed into her nightgown and the ugly flannel robe, sat on the sofa in front of the fire with her feet propped on a footstool, doodling on a pad of some sort. Banjo, who’d abandoned Will for Blythe, lay near her feet, snoring softly. Will couldn’t help but smile at the picture they made.
The light from a nearby lamp and the fireplace cast the feminine curves of her face into provocative patterns of light and shadow; the graceful arch of an eyebrow, the tantalizing shape of her lips, the sweet line of her chin. Not for the first time, it struck him that his wife was a very pretty woman, but he’d been too angry at the whole female sex to see anything beyond the fact that she was Win Granville’s sister.
As he cast surreptitious looks at her, he realized again that things between them were better than he’d expected them to be. She’d had her share of disasters the past couple of days, but she hadn’t given up on making his place—their home—something he could be proud to show his mother. He admired her for her grit and determination.
For the first time since they’d spoken their vows, he felt pretty good about their future. Blythe Granville Slade wasn’t a quitter, and regardless of what had happened in her past, he knew she was a decent person, a woman any man would be proud to call wife. Including him.
He wondered what it was she was drawing but didn’t want to interrupt and ask. Instead he turned a page and started tallying up column after column of numbers, hoping to find money for replacement equipment where there seemed to be none, praying he would somehow be able to hang on to the mill. After all, he had a wife to provide for, and regardless of Martha’s claims, he had no plan to sell to Granville, if there was any possible way to keep from it.
Thinking about his duty to provide for Blythe brought another responsibility to mind. He’d been brought up with the belief that not only was the man to provide for his family, he was to be the spiritual leader of the home. He’d fallen down on that job during his marriage to Martha, but he’d had no aspirations to lead a godly life, and he’d been too busy trying to make her happy to do what he knew was right. Then, when she’d walked out, he’d allowed his misery to take control of his life and lead him into paths he knew better than to travel.
His heart told him it was time to make things right with God. Following Jesus was not a magic elixir, did not guarantee a life free of trials or disasters or fix life’s every problem, but he knew it did guarantee that there would be someone on his side who was able to help carry the load, and it would go a long way toward smoothing out the trouble spots in his marriage and his life.
He sighed.
“Is everything all right?” Blythe asked, looking up from whatever she was doing in the book.
“Fine. How’s your back feeling?”
“Better, now that I’m resting.”
“Good.”
“What’s on your mind, Will?”
He looked at her in amazement. Once again she’d sensed something was amiss with him. “I was wondering if you’d like to go to church Sunday.”
“Church?”
She looked as surprised by the suggestion as he was for making it.
“Yeah. I was thinking it might be a good thing to do if we really mean to start out as we intend to go.”
“You have a point,” she said, “but I haven’t been but once since I came back. I felt like I had a target on my back.”
“Not much understanding, huh?”
“It’s hard to say,” she told him, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I know that some people realize that what happened wasn’t wrong, although eloping is a bit of a scandal,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “The people who matter to me have been very forgiving and caring. But there are others...”
“I can only imagine,” Will said.
“I’m afraid I’ve been too busy being miserable to have much time for God.” She looked at him curiously. “What about you?”
“I haven’t stepped through the church doors since Martha walked out. Considering everything that’s happened, I think it’s time to change that.” He smiled at her. “Maybe if we show up together, we can prove to everyone that we’ve both moved on, that we’re done with the past. What do you say?”
He watched as she seemed to digest his suggestion. Then she looked up with a smile that took his breath away.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go to church.”
Will went back to his numbers, more content than he had been in months, years, maybe. He was re-adding a column of numbers when a soft thud broke his concentration.
Will glanced over at Blythe. Banjo looked up at her as if to ask what was going on. She’d fallen asleep. Her head drooped to the side and her notebook had dropped to the floor. Besides the emotional strain she was under, he knew she was worn-out from the work she’d done around the house.
She was a tiny thing, and sitting there with a quilt over her legs and the thick braid hanging over her shoulder, she looked more like a little girl than a woman. Will covered a yawn and glanced at his pocket watch. Time for bed.
He closed the ledger and went to the sofa, intending to give her a little shake and send her to her room. Instead he picked up her drawing tablet. She’d been sketching a ladies’ dress, something that looked suitable for church. There was a list of fabric amounts, lace and notions to adorn the creation. He didn’t know anything about ladies’ fashion, but he thought the design was pretty.
Curious, he flipped through the other pages, finding more of the same. One page held the drawing of a wedding gown, stunning in its simplicity. He wondered if she’d sewn the dress and worn it for her sham wedding to Devon or whatever his name was. He was shocked by the intensity of emotion that swept through him at the thought of her as another man’s wife, brief though the time had been.
Reminding himself that he couldn’t change the past, Will placed the sketchbook on the sofa and stood staring down at her, wondering if he should say something to wake her or give her shoulder a little shake. Before he realized he’d made a decision, he was bending over to pick her up.
Blythe made a soft murmur of objection but curled an arm around his neck and snuggled her face against his throat. The simple act of trust filled his heart with a rush of emotion. What that feeling was, he couldn’t have said, but it was far different from anything he’d experienced before. It was something good and warm that pushed away all the coldness and doubt that had taken up residence in his heart.
His senses were awash in the sweetness of the lilac scent she favored. It occurred to him that if he dipped his head the slightest bit, his lips would be touching hers. Instead of giving over to the allure of her lips, he carried her to her room and shouldered open the door. Somehow he managed to pull the covers aside and place her onto the bed. Blythe’s eyelashes fluttered upward a fraction of an inch and once again she made sounds of objection. The arm around his neck tightened.
He froze, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. Her eyes might have opened for a few seconds, but she was asleep and unaware of her actions. Wanting closeness. Craving touch. As any man in his situation would, he wondered if she even realized who was carrying her. Whom she was holding close. To let that thought bear any significance was to invite disaster. He banished it the only way he knew how.
He kissed her.
Her eyelashes fluttered upward, and recognition flickered in her eyes. Instead of pushing him away as he expected, he felt the arm around his neck loosen and her bandaged hand slip to his cheek, the unwrapped fingers skimming over his face and down his jaw. It was all the acceptance he needed to deepen the kiss, which lasted longer than he intended. He drew away reluctantly, while he still had enough wits about him to think straight.
As he straightened, her eyes opened again. Briefly. A soft sigh soughed from her
lips and she whispered a soft, “Please...” Then, without another word, she rolled onto her side and slipped her hand beneath her cheek. Will stood there for a moment, just staring at her and wondering what on earth had just happened. Then, with his heart and mind reeling, he pulled the blankets over her shoulders and left the room.
He was afraid that, despite his anger, resentment and disillusionment, he was falling hard and fast for his bargain bride.
Chapter Fourteen
It wasn’t quite daylight when Blythe woke the following morning. Her arm was a bit sore from all her scrubbing, but her back felt better and she felt more fully rested than she had in days. She was also becoming accustomed to her new bed and had slept soundly, in part because she and Will seemed to have reached a certain level of comfort in their dealings with each other. She stretched in contentment until a sudden thought sent her bolting upright.
The last thing she remembered was sketching a new walking dress. She had no memory of coming to bed. How had she gotten here? An elusive recollection of clinging to something warm, strong and safe teased the edges of her memory. The only thing she knew with those qualities was Will.
She pressed her fingertips against her lips that had begun to throb. She closed her eyes, trying to recall something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something...nebulous. Momentous. The memory surfaced bit by bit. A face near hers. Dark eyes. Intent. Intense. Wondering. Whatever had happened had to do with Will. Her heart took a sudden tumble and her breath hung in her throat. Will. Had. Kissed. Her.
And she’d let him.
Close on the heels of that startling realization came the need to justify the incident. She’d allowed him to take advantage of her simply because she’d been asleep. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted him to.
You held on to him. You didn’t stop him.
An undeniable truth.
But why had he kissed her when he said he would never fall for another woman after Martha’s betrayal?
Finding no answers, she rose, took care of her morning toilette and removed the bandage from her hand to let the air get to it as Will had suggested. Deciding that it looked better, she dressed in more of her old clothes, put on a clean bibbed apron, lit a couple of lamps and went to stoke the fire in the stove. By the time the blue-speckled coffeepot had been filled and set to boil, the sun was making its first tentative appearance above the treetops.
Will’s ledger still lay on the table. She started to open it but realized that would be intruding on his personal business. A business that was hers now. She bit her lower lip, debating whether or not she should take a look. Like her brothers, she was good with numbers, and it appeared that dealing with them was frustrating to her new husband. No, she wouldn’t look, but she would offer to give him a hand when the timing seemed right.
Egg basket in hand, she stepped onto the porch and stood for a moment, watching the sunlight inch upward to mingle and merge with the clouds, creating a panorama of orange-reds and gold and various tints of lavender while the sounds of the waking world filled her senses. There was a chill in the air, but she knew the day would be a glorious one. She heard the twitter and chirp of half a dozen songbirds welcoming the morning. They, too, sensed that springtime was fast approaching.
How long had it been since she’d awakened early enough to greet the day? How long since she’d really listened and looked at the world around her or enjoyed the many riches God had blessed the earth with? Too long. Smiling, and drawing in a deep breath of the clean, fresh air, she whispered a soft, “Good morning, God,” and felt her heart soar.
Banjo, too, seemed to enjoy the scents around him. He stood silently beside her, his nose lifted, sniffing out the various smells mingling in the chill morning air. If she didn’t know better, Blythe would vow he was smiling. She laughed aloud at the notion and her companion looked at her questioningly. She reached down and scratched him behind one of his floppy ears.
Filled with a sense of well-being for the first time in months, she drew in another deep breath of the clean country air and made her way to the smokehouse for a slab of bacon, adding it to the basket she carried. Opening the gate to the chicken pen, she unlatched the door to the house and stepped inside. She was feeling happy and confident as she gathered the eggs for breakfast.
She was reaching beneath one of the birds when, for no apparent reason, the hen on the nest flew at her with a loud squawking. Blythe dropped the basket of eggs and let loose an ear-piercing scream. Her panic seemed to incite the other fowl and soon the chicken house was filled with flapping wings and loud cackling that sent Blythe into a screeching and arm waving of her own.
Only when Banjo barked and bolted for the door did she realize what she’d done. She’d left the gate open and the dog had followed her inside. Still yelling and waving her arms to deter a hen that seemed intent on settling atop her head, she ran behind the dog, tripping over him in her haste and landing hard on her hands and knees.
With her palms and knees smarting, her ears still ringing with the sounds of a dozen birds screeching, and very near tears, Blythe heard the front door slam against the house and the sound of someone running down the steps and across the yard.
In seconds she felt strong hands circle her upper arms and draw her to her feet. Still unnerved, she looked up at her husband. His calloused hands rested on either side of her face. Seeing the genuine concern in his dark eyes, she lost control over her tears and felt their wetness begin to slip down her cheeks.
“What happened? Are you all right?”
Was she all right? She really hadn’t been all right for months. And now, despite the disastrous results at her inept attempts at making a home for her and Will, she’d begun to think that maybe they could make a success of their strange marriage, after all. They’d made huge strides the past few days, but now she’d managed to undo everything with one silly city-girl mistake.
Instead of answering, she gave a great gulping sob and wrapped her arms around his lean middle. She heard him draw in a surprised breath and then felt his arms circle her shoulders while that same breath trickled slowly from him.
She didn’t know how long she cried, only that as miserable as she was, there was comfort in his arms. So much comfort she wished she never had to move away. His chest was broad and warm and...bare. She jerked away from him as if he were hot to the touch.
“What’s wrong?”
She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “You’re not dressed.”
The scowl was back. “Actually, I am dressed. I was putting on my shirt when I heard all the commotion.”
He did have on a shirt, but it was unbuttoned.
“No sense going into a flap,” he growled in a low, irritated voice, even as he began to do up the buttons. “We are married, and I’m sure there will be a lot more of these moments through the years.”
The thought was very disturbing. She released him and whirled away.
“What? What did I say now?” he asked, catching her hand to turn her to face him once more.
She hissed in pain.
“I’m sorry. I forgot about your hand,” he said, lifting and turning it palm up to gauge how badly the fall had affected it.
“I’m sorry I’m such an incompetent wife,” she said through clenched teeth while he picked pieces of dead grass and grit from the raw wound.
“This needs a good washing out and a good dousing with Mercurochrome or iodine so it won’t get infected,” he told her.
Blythe gave a slight shudder. She wasn’t a fan of either.
“And you’re not incompetent,” he told her, finishing his assessment and letting go of her hand. “You’ve lived a completely different kind of life. You’re not used to country life or wifely duties. It will take you a while to get the hang of things,” he told her in a clumsy attempt to soothe her misgivings. “I’m
sorry I can’t afford some help. If I can get the mill turned around, maybe we can hire someone to come a day or two a week.”
Hire someone! Her chin began to quiver again. He must think she was so inept that he wanted to hire someone to do what she couldn’t. Well, she would not have it.
“I don’t want someone to help me. I want to do it myself. I want to be the best wife I can to you. In every way.”
The provocative statement hung in the air between them, charged with unspoken meaning and unstated possibilities. Meaning and possibilities they both chose to ignore for the time being.
“Why?” he asked, planting his hands on his hips. “To uphold your side of the bargain?”
She was surprised by the bluntness of the question. Honesty, Blythe. “Partly.” She lowered her gaze, fearful of what she might see in his eyes. “And partly because you’re an important person, someone whose business is vital to the welfare of a lot of families in Wolf Creek. I...I want everyone to know that I want to help you in whatever you endeavor, and I want you to be proud to walk down the street with me on your arm and call me your wife. And later...when we have children, I want you to be proud to have me as their mother.”
* * *
Will stood there, dumbfounded by the passion in her voice. If there had been any lingering doubts about her commitment to their marriage, they vanished. She considered her role one of worth and usefulness. In that moment he knew beyond a doubt that she was the kind of wife any man would be proud to call his own.
And children? The thought of having children with Blythe was both frightening and heady. For a moment thoughts of what kind of husband he would be scattered before a new notion. Would he... Could he be a good father?
“You don’t have on any shoes.”
Wolf Creek Wife Page 17