Her arms tightened their grip on him, fingers grasping for purchase as she held tightly to the taut flesh of his backside. Tears slid from her eyes as she watched him, gazing on the man who had claimed her with unbridled passion.
He opened his eyes and they blazed with pure emotion, finding her and focusing on her face. “You’re crying.”
She shook her head. “Not from pain or sorrow, Cord.”
“What, then?”
“Sometimes I love you so much, it just rises up in me like the tide, and then overflows in tears.”
His palms held her face, his fingers lacing through her hair.
From one lower lid, then the other, a single drop fell to roll down his face.
She lifted one hand to touch a teardrop as it trembled on the edge of his jaw, then reached to wipe away the other. Her smile was fragile, quivering on her lips as she brushed her fingers over his mouth.
And then, beneath the touch of her fingertips, his mouth opened and he uttered the words she waited to hear.
“I love you, Rachel. As God is my witness, I love you as I’ve never thought to love a woman. You’re my heart’s desire, all I’ve ever wanted in a wife.”
His voice lowered to a whisper, and his eyes held hers as he repeated once more the joyous revelation she’d craved so long.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
Chapter Seventeen
The sun was barely up when the first notes reached Rachel’s ears. Muffled by the walls between, they were not enough to waken her, but loud enough to disturb the silence of early morning, bringing her to that half state of sleep and awareness.
She opened her eyes, listening to the faint sound of the piano in the parlor below. One note struck with a delicate touch, sustained, and then blended in with another, then a third, forming a chord.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, her feet touched the floor. Rachel rose and stepped to her dresser, opening the drawer to search out clean underwear for the day.
A muffled footstep alerted her to Cord’s approach and she looked up into the mirror on the wall. Behind her, his tall figure stood in the shadows of early morning, his hair in disarray, his big body surging with the strength of youth and male arrogance.
She watched as he approached, until her paler flesh was silhouetted against his darker form. Until he stood with his chest touching her shoulders, the furry texture of his body brushing with intimate knowledge against her own smoother skin.
“I love you,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes, the better to hear the tenderness that lurked in the deep tones of his voice. That this strong, stalwart man was hers, that his love for her had been spoken aloud, that she was safe, secure in that love, was almost more than her heart could contain.
She tilted her head, allowing his mouth to venture closer to her own, and her words were a husky whisper that echoed his own. “I love you, Cord.”
He smiled, a lazy movement of his lips, meeting her gaze in the mirror. “You’re awake early.”
She nodded. “I heard the piano.”
He stilled, his lips unmoving, his body tensed, as if his whole being listened for a sound.
Again the single note vibrated in the silence, its tone sustained as it was joined by another, then a third. The pressure on the pedal relaxed, and the blended trio of notes was silenced.
Rachel released her breath, only now aware that she had held it within her lungs as the faint notes shimmered in the morning air. “Jake.” His name was borne on a wispy exhalation.
She turned to Cord, sliding her arms around his neck. “He’s at the piano, Cord. He’s using the pedal.” She leaned her forehead against his chest, her ears attuned to the next sounds that would surely follow.
Cord’s arms tightened around her and they swayed together in the first rays of the rising sun. Beyond the window, across the pasture where horses grazed and yearlings stood beneath tall maple trees, the horizon grew brighter, drawing the sun into the morning sky.
“Has he eaten?” Rachel stood outside the parlor doors, where Lorena kept watch. Opened barely a crack, they offered a glimpse of the man who sat on the piano bench.
He was in the midst of a simple melody, his fingers moving slowly as he improvised, playing a song unfamiliar to Rachel. “He’s composing as he goes along, isn’t he?” she whispered.
Lorena nodded. “I think so. He’s run through about everything he knew by heart already.”
Since sunrise, Jake had been at the keyboard. During breakfast the men had listened, exchanged glances across the table, their faces lit with a wonder that warmed Rachel’s heart. They probably didn’t recognize the music his fingers formed, she decided, but their appreciation was no less keen, their approval no less valid.
“Should we disturb him? He needs breakfast.” Rachel peeked through the narrow opening as she spoke.
Even as her words were uttered, Jake’s hands ceased to play, his fingers lifting from the keys, then falling in his lap. “Come in, Rena…Rachel. Don’t stand out there whispering.”
The doors gave way easily and Lorena led the way. She stood behind him, her hands hovering then lowering to his wide shoulders, fingers flexing as she caressed the muscles, easing the ache they must feel after such continuous strain.
“Congratulations, Miss Rachel,” he said, his voice quietly sarcastic. “You’ve managed to place me where I thought never to be.”
She was stung by his tone, her eagerness tainted by his obvious ill will. “Is that all bad?”
Lorena’s hands squeezed tightly against his shoulders, as if she would warn him to watch his tongue.
It had no effect.
“Nothing is ever all bad,” he answered. “Neither is anything ever all good. Giving me the means to play this cursed instrument was a fine gesture on your part.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, his cheek grazing Lorena’s wrist in the passing.
“Why do I feel as though I’m waiting for the rest of the sentence?” Rachel asked sharply, her good mood laid aside.
He bowed his head, a gesture that lacked submission, given his arrogance. “I’m sure I’ll be a source of entertainment to all the ranch hands and even to the ladies of the household,” he said lightly. “And when I’ve gained back all my competence, I might even play for the parson on a Sunday afternoon.”
“I only wanted to return to you the joy of music, Jake. I never intended to begin arranging your schedule for a tour of Europe.” She spun from him, long strides taking her from the room, and behind her she heard Lorena’s gasp of dismay.
In the kitchen, the bread was rising nicely on the top of the warming oven and Rachel’s eyes lit on the rounded mass. Leaning forward over the range, she lifted the pan to the tabletop, whisking away the dish towel that covered it. A bowl of flour awaited the task and she cast a handful over the wooden breadboard, white puffs sifting to the floor as she added a second helping after the first
The dough was turned out with a swift touch and she began the pummeling that would tame it and eventually turn it to light, tasty fare for the household. For now, the battered dough simply became the object of her anger.
“Don’t beat the poor stuff to death.” From the doorway, Cord watched, and she ignored his good-natured gibe.
“Rachel?” He stepped closer, as if he sensed that all was not as it seemed. “What’s wrong?” His tone turned dark, dangerous as he neared her. “What’s happened, Rae?”
She felt the fire rise in her cheeks as she allowed her gaze to rise from the glutinous mass she handled. “Your brother is an ass.”
He was not altogether successful in hiding his grin. “I’ve known that for years.”
“No, I mean, he’s really an arrogant, idiotic ass!”
He nodded his agreement. Then, leaning back on his heels, he ventured to vent his curiosity. “What’s he done now?”
She shook her head. “I’ve got bread to take care of. Go ask him.”
Somehow, he’d gotten into the midst of a mess here, Cord d
ecided, his footsteps lagging as he trod the hallway toward the library. From within, Lorena’s clear tones were being overridden by Jake’s caustic remarks.
“I didn’t ask for interference in my life. I don’t know why I should be grateful for a chance to play my pretty little pieces for the benefit of—”
“Damn you, Jake McPherson! You are the most ungrateful, inconsiderate man I’ve ever had the poor judgment to make acquaintance with.”
“And how many men have you known, Miss Claypool?” he returned quickly.
She huffed her disdain. “That’s neither here nor there. The point is, you hurt Rachel’s feelings and all she intended was for your life to become better.”
“Thus far, I haven’t noticed much improvement.”
“Well, for one thing, you’ve managed to stir yourself beyond this room. For another, you’ve played the piano and played well.”
“And you are qualified to be a critic, I suppose?” he gibed with sarcastic skill.
“I only know what I like, and after all, that’s all any critic manages to base his review upon, isn’t it?”
“There is such a thing as skill and training and varying degrees of talent,” Jake reminded her smoothly.
“Do you have any of those?” she asked him.
The room was silent, and Cord leaned against the wall beside the library door, hoping for a continuation of the warfare within. So much easier for the two of them to hash things out in his hearing, telling him what he wanted to know without the task of questioning the miserable specimen of manhood his brother had become.
“I had all of them…once.” Jake’s words were tinged with bitterness.
“You’ve hurt Rachel terribly,” Lorena said after a moment.
“Offer her my apology, will you?” The words were stiff and formal, and yet within them hovered a note of sincerity.
“You can offer your own apologies, Jake McPherson. You didn’t mind causing the pain. Now you can just get yourself out there and start the healing.”
“Don’t ask me to do that, Rena.”
“I love you,” she said with quiet despair, “but, sometimes I don’t like you at all.”
Light spread a path from the doorway, as the draperies within the room were pulled apart. A great commotion was taking place inside the library and Cord smiled as he listened to Lorena’s banging and clattering.
“Are you planning on tearing up the whole room?” Jake’s voice came from nearby and Cord backed off a few steps.
“I’m cleaning up your mess for the last time, and then I’m heading for home.”
“You’re leaving me?”
A loud thump, sounding suspiciously as though she’d pitched a stack of books on the floor, assailed Cord’s hearing.
“Yes, I’m leaving. I’m tired of watching you pout. I’m sick of your selfishness. And most of all, I’m disappointed in you.”
“Then leave, if you feel that way. I got along before you got here. I suspect I’ll manage after you’re gone.” The words lacked force, spoken beneath his breath, and Cord lowered his head as he reluctantly absorbed his brother’s pain.
He turned, his footsteps silent as he retraced his path to the kitchen.
The bread pans were full, lined up like metal soldiers atop the warming oven, and Rachel’s hands snapped open a dish towel as he watched from the doorway. The checked fabric drifted over the pans and she stepped back, an air of satisfaction alive in her face.
“You thrive on this, don’t you?” he asked quietly.
She glanced at him, her features more relaxed now. “Kneading bread is good for me, Cord. I manage to come back to the fundamentals when I…” She tilted her head, eyeing him carefully.
“You look like you’ve been through a war of your own,” she said.
He nodded. “Kinda. Listened in on one, really.”
“Lorena?”
“Yeah. She says she’s leaving.”
“I hope not for my benefit. I don’t need her to stick up for me.”
“Well, she is anyway.” He reached her in two long strides. “No, not really. She’s mad at him all on her own. Called him selfish and a couple of other things I can’t remember.”
“Give him a day or two,” Rachel said easily.
His arms slid around her waist and he drew her into a loose embrace. “You’re not mad at him?”
She shook her head. “Sounds like Lorena’s mad enough for both of us.” Her smile was quick. “He’s got a musician’s temperament, Cord, and he’s feeling the length of his tether.” She looked up at him and he was struck once more by the gentle beauty of the woman he’d married.
“You sure get over bein’ mad in a hurry, Rae.” And thank God for that! His lips twitched as he considered the benefit to himself of that particular quality of hers. She didn’t hold a grudge for long, this small creature he held in his arms.
“I’m thinking his tether may be longer than he knows, Cord,” she said slowly. “If he’s willing to make concessions.”
“He’s not much for that sort of thing.”
She smiled, as if she knew a secret. “He may have to do some changing.”
“I’m leaving.” The words left no room for doubt. Lorena’s bag was bulging, her face was flushed and her eyes glittered with traces of an emotion Rachel could only guess at.
Whether anger or hurt drove her, the golden-haired woman had reached her limits, and the loser in this game would be the man in the library. Probably even now he was nursing his aggravation in front of the window, shoulders hunched and hair all awry, as if he’d lost his hairbrush and wasn’t interested in finding it again.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Rachel told her firmly.
“That’s part of it,” Lorena admitted. “On the other hand, I can’t face watching him go downhill for the rest of his life. He’s not even making an attempt, Rachel.”
“You’re wrong,” Rachel replied. “He did make an attempt. He played that piano for hours, until his arms and fingers probably ached beyond belief. And then he decided it was all for naught, that he’d never be able to go beyond that parlor or past the walls of this house.”
Lorena sat down in a chair at the table. “You’re a better woman than I am,” she announced. “And I’m the one who loves him.”
“I do too,” Rachel admitted. “I love him for his talent, for his bravery in going to battle when he knew he was risking more than his life. I love him for finding the courage to tackle the piano this morning, and I love him because he’s still sitting upright in that chair and not pounding the floor with his fists.”
“I thought he might, for a few minutes there,” Lorena said softly.
“He’ll come back from this.”
Lorena’s glance was doubtful. “You really think so?”
“I’m going to see to it.”
Lorena eyed the bulging satchel she’d plopped near the screen door. “It’ll be a chore to unpack that thing. Everything’s in it all every which way.”
“We’d like to make you an offer, Mrs. McPherson. Could you come over to the theater when you’ve finished your business here?” The dapper gentleman faced her on the wide sidewalk in front of Conrad’s store, and Rachel was stunned.
“An offer to do what?” she asked, although she was almost certain of his words before he uttered them. If the banker’s word could be depended upon, she would be asked to assist in rehearsals before the actual musicians arrived on the scene, whenever theater groups or vocalists came to perform.
“It has to do with having someone here to take charge during the times when no representative of our corporation is present. Sort of an on-hand manager.”
She nodded. “I see.” Lifting one hand in a vague gesture, she groped for a coherent thought Food, supplies…her list. She’d do first things first.
“I’ll be the better part of an hour,” she said finally, surprised at the confident tone of her voice.
Mr. Baldridge tipped his hat, stepping back to open the
door of Conrad’s store for her entry. “I look forward to speaking with you,” he told her.
Rachel stepped through the doorway into the comforting scents of leather and starched bolts of cotton fabric. The pungent smell of wax greeted her as she approached the counter, a reminder of Conrad’s diligence this morning. The counter gleamed. The wooden showcases, a blend of glass and walnut, gave evidence of loving care, and Rachel was aware once more of the man she had spurned in favor of Cord McPherson.
He’d have been a fine husband, she was forced to admit. But when all was said and done, he didn’t hold a candle to the rancher she’d married. And then she looked up to find Conrad facing her across the counter. His brows were lifted, his mouth pursed, and he leaned toward her, couching his question with an air of gaining her confidence.
“What does the gentleman from New York want with the wife of a rancher? If you’ll pardon my curiosity,” he added as a hasty afterthought.
“I’m not sure,” Rachel answered. “I’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. I’m to meet him when I leave here.”
“I heard the piano tuner spent the best part of the day at your place a couple of days ago.” He took the list from her hand and perused it, scanning it quickly. “Heard tell that John Hunsucker did some work for you, too.”
“I’d think Green Rapids had more to do than speculate over the goings-on at the McPherson ranch.”
He shrugged, turning to the shelf to begin filling her grocery order. “Not much. Since the day Jake came to town for the picnic, he’s been the subject of half the gossip in the barber shop, and most all the speculating in this place.”
“Are you aware of his enormous talent, Conrad?” Rachel leaned against the counter, conscious of several women who spoke in soft tones on the other side of the room.
He turned to her. “Everyone who knows the family knows that he was heading for the concert stage when he chose to join the Union army. We all watched that big piano come off the train the month after he went to New York to study. His pa wanted it ready for him when he came back, so he’d have an instrument to practice on.”
The Wedding Promise Page 23