Even the old gentleman, David Solomon, had been subject to her charm, accepting the cup of tea she prepared for him with a courtly bow. And holding court was about what she’d done, there in the parlor with three men.
Although, in good conscience, he could not include Jake in that particular scene, since he’d retired to the library while the blacksmith worked his miracle. Tense and almost rude in his behavior, Jake still sulked within the walls of his sanctuary this morning.
He’d managed to speak kindly to the piano tuner as the elderly man left yesterday. In fact their moments together had been touching as Jake sat on the porch with the gentleman. Cord had watched from the barn door, feeling a stranger in his own home, what with all the commotion over the Steinway in the parlor.
He sighed, aware suddenly that he was halfway back to the ranch and hadn’t paid attention to one yard of the distance they’d traveled over the past little while. Beside him, Rachel was silent, looking off across the fields to where the river ran through a verdant meadow.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked, shifting in the seat to turn in her direction.
She shot him a look of mixed surprise and elegant reserve. Her chin lifted a bit and she shrugged. “I’m not sure. I have the last of the tomatoes to put up and Lorena will have washwater ready. There should be enough to keep me busy.”
She was in a snit, sure enough, Cord thought glumly. Not one word had passed between them on the trip home, and she was probably stewing over what he’d told her at the railway station. We can’t be responsible for Jake’s happiness…
Damn! It was the truth. She’d put herself on the line for his brother, trotting around like his personal representative, hauling David Solomon out to the house and dealing with the blacksmith as she had. Between Rachel making the arrangements and all the rest of it, two days had been spent getting the damn piano set up for Jake to play…and then he’d gone and hibernated in the library instead of trying out the thing.
Cord leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the reins threaded through his fingers. For the first time in their short marriage, he felt a separation from Rachel, as though their thoughts were on two different paths.
“I suppose Lorena will have started dinner already.”
She turned her head aside. “I would imagine so.”
“I’ll carry the washwater out to the tub for you before I head for the barn.”
“Lorena and I can probably manage it by ourselves.”
He sighed deeply. “I always carry your washwater, Rachel.” An undertone of impatience edged his voice.
“I can manage,” she told him shortly.
He sat erect and snapped the reins, urging the horse into a lope. The buggy lurched and Rachel bounced on the seat. One hand swept to adjust the tilt of her bonnet and she muttered beneath her breath. The words were unclear, but her expression told him that he might be better off not catching the gist of what she’d said.
Cord pulled up into the yard with a flourish, the mare rearing a bit as he drew her to a halt. With a courtly gesture, he swept his hat from his head.
“I’ve delivered you safe and sound. Since you don’t need me for anything, I’ll be on my way to the barn.”
Rachel’s head swung about as if it were on a swivel, her eyes wide with an astonishment he could only relish. Served her right. For the first time in their marriage, he had her on the run. She was speechless and stunned.
She could still move though. He watched as she climbed down from the buggy, her legs stretching to reach the step and then the ground. Wasn’t much to her, seen from this angle, only the lush lines of her breasts as she drew in a deep breath.
Her bonnet was awry and she tore it from her head, leaving it to dangle from one finger. He watched as her eyes blinked and her tongue moistened her lips, and then one hand lifted to brush at her hair.
A pang of guilt stabbed him. He should have helped her down. But she’d refrained from seeking his help, and now, unless he missed his guess, she was even madder than she’d been ten minutes ago.
Perhaps he’d pushed her too far. But damn it all, she had time and sweet talk and warmth for every man Jack in the county! She could just tend to herself for a while, without him waiting on her.
The washboard gave her the outlet she needed, Rachel decided, scrubbing for all she was worth. Lorena had offered to work at the first tubful, but Rachel had shaken her head and bent to the task with a vengeance.
The sound of the dasher’s regular rhythm inside the churn caught her ear, and she glanced at the porch where Lorena had set to work making butter. A frown creased her forehead and Rachel knew a moment of guilt.
She’d bustled into the house, changed her clothes and scurried around gathering the wash without saying a word. Lorena had had Buck give her a hand with the boiler, and by the time Rachel returned to the kitchen, the water was steaming in the washtub out back.
Now the braided length of Lorena’s golden hair swayed over her shoulder with the movement of her arms as she bent to her task. Rachel leaned back from the washboard.
“When you get tired of churning, I’ll switch with you.” As an olive branch, it wasn’t much, but it was the best she could offer right now, she decided.
Lorena’s blue eyes widened, and the thumping came to a halt. “I thought you were mad at me.”
Rachel shook her head. “No, not you.”
A grin twisted the corner of Rena’s mouth. “Not Cord, surely?”
“Let me know when you want to switch,” Rachel said with a half smile, her anger already dissipating. She’d sure scrubbed the bejabbers out of Cord’s white drawers and everyday shirts. Not a smidgen of soil remained on his Sunday shirt either. A good, healthy fit of anger was worth something, she decided, wringing the water out of his clothes.
She fished around in the washtub, coming up with a blue and white shirt of Jake’s. It hardly needed to be washed, as seldom as he soiled or stained anything. Her movements slower, she swished it in the water and held it up for inspection. The underarms probably needed a scrubbing, but not much else.
“I’ll do Jake’s things.” Lorena stood by her side and Rachel looked up in surprise.
“I don’t mind.” A lock of hair fell across Rachel’s forehead and dangled over her right eye. She blew at it, an ineffective solution. One sudsy hand rose to brush it aside, and she felt the residue of soap she’d left on her face.
Lorena smiled broadly. “I do. I’ve dreamed for years of doing Jake McPherson’s laundry and now I’ve got the chance. Move over. The butter’s almost ready. You can finish it up.”
Rachel gave up her place willingly. Washing a few whites had never worn her out so quickly before. They floated now in the clear rinse water she’d brought out, soap bubbles popping as they rose to the surface.
“Dinner’s about done, Rachel. By the time you finish working the butter, it’ll be time to drop dumplings on top of the stew.” Lorena cast an eye at the sky. “I dare say it’s pretty near eleven o’clock.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll hurry.” Rachel climbed the steps and lifted the churn, carrying it inside the kitchen. She turned just inside the door and looked toward the barn.
Inside, standing in the shadow of the big doorway, Cord watched, hands on his hips, hat tilted forward. Across the wide expanse of the yard, their eyes meshed and she was struck with a sense of loss.
He was angry at her and she wasn’t really certain why. He’d made a remark about taking on the responsibility for Jake’s happiness and then fallen into a gloomy silence.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was jealous of the time she spent with his brother, little enough as it was. Seemed like she catered to men every living hour of the day, she thought, her gaze unwavering as she studied her husband.
Oh well, if he didn’t like it, he could just lump it. She had a pile of work to do before the day was over.
The easy routine they’d established early in their marriage was mar
red by a silence that could have been cut only with words of contrition. And from the looks of things, Cord was fresh out of apologies.
Rachel sniffed, stepping behind the screen in the corner of the bedroom to undress. It was cramped quarters, but she’d be jiggered if she was going to shed her clothing in front of Cord tonight.
She stripped quickly, pulling an old cotton gown over her head. A quick wash in the basin was sufficient, she decided, stepping from behind the screen, hairbrush in hand.
He’d undressed and climbed into bed already and she barely glanced his way as she settled in the rocking chair to brush out her snarls. She bent almost double, allowing her long hair to fall forward. Then, catching it up to braid it quickly, she fastened the end, circling it with wisps of loose hair from her brush.
The remaining strands of hair were removed to the hair receiver on the dresser, and there were no more excuses to keep her from joining Cord. She turned to the bed, only to find herself facing her husband’s back. He’d rolled over toward his side of the bed, and she was struck with a sense of loss she found difficult to contain.
At least she was climbing into a clean bed. The sheets were cool and she relished the scent of them, fresh from the clothesline. It had been a long day and her muscles ached, arms and legs both. Reaching to catch at the billowing sheets and pillowcases, not to mention the lines of shirts and smallclothes, had been tedious. Between them, she and Lorena had folded two big baskets of clothes, sprinkling some down to iron on the morrow.
She stretched, her toes seeking the foot of the bed, with no success. It was good, this languid weariness, making her ready to sleep. Especially since Cord gave every appearance of having arrived at that state already.
Her head turned in his direction. He was unmoving, but she’d have bet her bottom dollar he was wide-awake.
“You ready to tell me why you were so hotheaded today?” she asked pleasantly.
He snorted and shifted, his shoulder hunching beneath the sheet.
“I take it that’s an answer of some sort,” she persisted, suddenly enjoying her first experience with taunting an angry man.
“Don’t push it, Rachel.” His voice was gruff and just a bit testy, she thought.
“Well, don’t tempt me, Cord McPherson, or I just might” The urge to plant her foot in the small of his back and send him over the side of the bed was almost irresistible. She turned to her side to consider the idea from another angle.
“One more word and I’m liable to lose my temper, Rachel. I mean it. You’ve pushed me far enough. Just turn out the lamp.”
From another man it might have been cause for alarm, but the thought of Cord doing her any harm was beyond believing, and Rachel grinned, her last shred of pique vanishing.
She lifted her legs, drawing her knees up. Then, placing her feet squarely against his bottom, she pushed, lending all her strength to the effort.
He yelped, a quickly muffled sound, as he caught himself midway to the floor. One hand slapped the bare wooden boards and he levered himself back up, rolling over in a single furious movement.
His eyes were narrowed slits, his nostrils flaring and his mouth a firm line as he lunged for her. Hands grasping and fingers gripping her wherever they could, it was to his credit that he didn’t exert any great amount of pressure.
One palm had managed to grasp her upper arm, fingers wrapping it firmly, the other hand snagged against her gown, his widespread palm enclosing her breast. He looked down at what he held, then quickly up at her. Their eyes clashed in a gaze rife with surprise, and he growled a muffled curse.
In an automatic response to the hand that cradled the softness of her bosom, she gasped, shrinking back from his touch.
“Don’t!” Gruffly, he uttered the single word, and she obeyed, catching a deep breath, aware of the pressure of each fingertip that rested against her. His grip on her arm tightened and he drew her closer, until the shadows between them became a blending of their bodies.
“Don’t you know I wouldn’t hurt you?” The words were harsh, but the hands that held her were gentle and Rachel leaned to him.
“I know that. You startled me.”
“Really? And what do you think it did to me to be pushed from my bed?”
“I couldn’t resist. You were so angry and ornery…I just couldn’t help it.”
“I was trying to leave you alone.”
“Oh? Why would you want to do that?”
“Damn it, Rachel! I’ve been sore at you all day and if I were to come at you tonight, I’m afraid I might be rough.”
“I’m still not sure why you were angry, Cord, but I doubt your hands would ever cause me pain.”
“I’ve never seen a woman so confounded…” He pressed his lips together and glared at her. “You had those men eating out of your hand in the parlor.”
She wrenched from his hold and he let her go. With a rustle of sheets and a mumbled oath, she managed to sit up beside him. “What are you talking about?” The words were a harsh whisper, and she forced them out on shallow bursts of breath.
“John Hunsucker and that piano tuner and Jake. They kept givin’ you sheep’s eyes…”
“That piano tuner is blind! He couldn’t look at me if he wanted to. You are out of your mind, Cord McPherson!”
“He kissed your hand!” His roar was enough to wake the dead and Rachel slapped her hand across his mouth. Sort of like closing the barn door after the horse had run off, she thought ruefully.
Her whisper was pushed between barely parted lips. “He didn’t kiss my hand. He bowed over it, a very courtly gesture, I thought. I gave him a cup of tea. Then I handed tools to Mr. Hunsucker while he worked on the piano.”
“And he laughed and preened, showing off his wide shoulders and all those muscles for your benefit.”
“I don’t believe you!” She forgot the need for silence. “You were jealous of a blind man and the blacksmith, not to mention your own brother, who merely tolerates me most of the time.”
“I’m not jealous. I simply want you to behave yourself around other men. Even old Conrad was tryin’ to peek inside the buggy to get a gander at you when we went by the store.”
She picked up her pillow and slammed it down on his head. “He was sweeping the walk, and barely took a second to nod at you.”
His words were muffled by the pillow and she held it firmly against his face. That he could have freed himself readily was beside the point. She’d managed to silence his accusations, and that was enough to keep her on the attack.
“You have no reason to be jealous of me, Cord McPherson. I’ve never been unfaithful to you in any way.”
Her voice caught as she uttered the words and her hands loosened their grip as she turned away from him. The pillow was pushed aside and he reached for her, his hair falling over his forehead, his eyes filled with a passionate intensity she could not fail to recognize.
“Don’t you try to make love to me when you’re angry. I won’t have it!” she said in a husky whisper, even as he pushed her back against the mattress.
“Ah…that’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. McPherson. You will have it.”
“No, I don’t want you to…” Her protest was stilled by the touch of his mouth against hers, his lips nibbling against her flesh, even as he swept his hands the length of her body to rest against her hips.
“You don’t want me to what?” Flesh brushed against flesh as he spoke, and then he coaxed her mouth to open, his tongue a gentle weapon, easing its way beyond the barrier of her teeth to draw her own into a duel in which neither would be loser.
She felt the familiar shivers of desire, the flash fire of need his caresses evoked, and her flesh tingled with anticipation. That this man could entice her, beguiling her so readily, was a mystery she stood no chance of solving.
But it was so, and her eager heart embraced the fact of it. His touch was ever welcome, even in this moment, when she’d but a minute past assured him that she was not willing. Her mouth
opened wider to welcome his intimate caress, and she pressed against his firmness, acknowledging the male strength of the man she loved.
He released her mouth, his lips suckling for a moment on her lower lip, pulling it with a gentle rhythm between his teeth. “Damn! You’ve got me pokin’ at you with a fence post, girl,” he growled against her throat.
She’d noticed, and the words he spoke only served to bring a low laugh from her.
“Still mad, Cord?” she asked in a whisper.
“Ah, hell! You know better than that. I wouldn’t hurt you, Rae.” His teeth caught at the bodice of her gown. “I might bite a little, though.”
She wiggled against him. “Maybe I’d better get those buttons out of the way.”
His male strength pressed against her, and the urgency of his arousal was firm against her thigh. With a guttural sound of impatience, his hands met where buttons joined and in a single movement, he tore them asunder.
“You ruined my gown!” she said in a whisper of amazement.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he told her gruffly. “Two of them, in fact. Although you don’t need any, as far as I’m concerned.”
His hands were swift, his fingers clever, as he divested her of the torn garment, lifting her, shifting her to suit his purpose. He’d hidden nothing beneath the sheet but his own male flesh, and now there was only the sensation of soft, woman’s skin and the hard muscles of her mate forming a unity that defied understanding.
She gloried in his possession, bending to his need. Her heartbeat increased with every stroke of his hand, every touch of his mouth against her skin. He lifted her, his hands strong beneath her. He coaxed her, whispering enticements against her ear. His fingers lured her ever nearer the point of fulfillment her body had learned to crave, and then in a single, forceful thrust, he took her with him to a place where only the two of them had ever been.
To a joining so far removed from what had gone before that her cries of completion rose sweetly on the night air, unhindered by his mouth to hush the sound. His head thrown back in his own ecstasy, he called her name, a dark, frantic sound that clutched at her heart.
The Wedding Promise (Harlequin Historical) Page 22