As soon as the door closed behind him, Anne hurried to put away her clothes and get into bed. The idea of being caught standing in the middle of the room with nothing on but a nightgown unnerved her, but the thought of sharing the bed with him had her entire body rigid with fright.
She climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, but that didn’t give her any sense of comfort. Every time she moved the slightest bit, every time she took a deep breath, the bed made a sound. And that made her even more conscious of the fact that she was in a bed waiting for her husband. The coolness of the sheets, which was always a comfort after a warm summer day, seemed ice cold and unfriendly tonight. Her body seemed strange and unfamiliar. Sensations didn’t register as they used to. She felt as if she was coming down with a fever, then with the chills.
She was being stupid, letting her nerves get the better of her. She would relax. Peter—Pete—had promised not to touch her. She believed him. She really did.
She wished she had the courage to blow out the big lamp he’d brought from downstairs. He must have gotten it while she was in the bathroom. She would have preferred to wait for him in the dark. At least he wouldn’t be able to see the fear in her face.
The bedroom door burst open, and Belser strode into the room. “Couldn’t wait to get in his bed, could you?” he shouted.
She could tell he’d been drinking. Not enough to be drunk, but enough to be unpleasant.
“He’s my husband,” she managed to say, her voice a harsh whisper. “It’s where I’m supposed to be.”
“I don’t believe he’s your husband. Even a sap-sucker like Peter wouldn’t marry you. Not that I think he’s Peter.”
“He wants us to call him Pete. He says Peter reminds him—”
The bathroom door slammed open, and Pete strode into the room. He was naked from the waist up. Anne felt the blood rush to her face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded of Belser.
“I came to see—”
“I didn’t hear you knock. I didn’t hear Anne invite you in.”
“I never knock. I—”
Pete’s fist shot out, made contact with Belser’s face, and sent him reeling back through the doorway.
“Don’t ever come into my bedroom without knocking and being invited,” Pete said. “Next time I’m liable to shoot first.”
“Son of a bitch!” Belser shouted, holding his hand to a nose that dripped blood. “You’ve broken my nose.”
“Your nose will heal,” Pete said. “A bullet through the chest is a little trickier. Now get out of here. The sight of all that blood is liable to upset Anne.” He closed the door in Belser’s face. “Sorry about that,” he said to Anne. “He won’t do it again.” Then he disappeared into the bathroom once more.
Anne lay in the bed, her mouth agape. Nobody had ever stopped Belser from bursting into rooms. Uncle Carl had given up, but it was clear Pete wasn’t going to put up with it. She feared Belser might get a gun and come back, but after a series of curses that turned Anne’s ears pink, his voice faded away down the hall. A moment later she heard the door to his room slam. The tension left her body and she collapsed into the pillows.
She felt exhausted, utterly wrung out, mentally and physically. She had thought the tension of waiting for Pete, not knowing when—or if—he would arrive, and worrying about what her uncle would do next had been difficult. None of that equaled the few hours since Pete’s arrival. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but this wasn’t it.
Yes, she did. She’d expected to see her old friend of ten years back again. She’d expected to fall into the same brother-sister relationship she’d enjoyed so much. She’d expected to have to encourage him to stand up to Belser. She’d expected to feel that she was important to him, that he needed her.
Instead she’d gotten a man who not only shattered any remaining vestiges of their brother-sister relationship, but acted as if it had never existed. He clearly didn’t need her to stand up for him. He was more than capable of taking care of Belser and anybody else.
Including herself. Suddenly Pete seemed very male, very sexy, very physical, even dominating, much like all the other men in Wyoming. That made her think of what was supposed to happen on a wedding night. Any other man in Wyoming would expect it, wouldn’t understand—or accept it—if she felt reluctant. He’d think it his right to force her.
That was what scared her. She was suddenly thrown into a relationship she hadn’t expected and didn’t understand. Dolores would tell her to throw herself into his arms and let him do with her as he wanted. She couldn’t do that. It would be like throwing herself over a ledge without knowing where she would land.
She wanted the old Peter back, not this new Pete. She wanted to sit next to him, hold his hand, have him put his arm around her without having to experience any of this disturbing physical turmoil. She wanted the quiet, easy relationship she remembered. This new Peter—no, Pete, she had to remember that—had thrown all that out the window. He was totally foreign, totally unexpected. But he was exciting. He was attractive. He was big, he was strong, he was …
She didn’t have all the words yet. It was as though she’d been a girl all her life and in one afternoon she’d been told she had to become a woman. Peter might be happy with a girl, but a man like Pete, simply by who he was, demanded a woman. She didn’t know if she could be that woman. She didn’t know if she had the courage.
She wasn’t sure what it meant to be a woman. Right now it felt uncomfortable. Frightening. Demanding. Dangerous. But she knew she couldn’t turn back. Everything had changed this afternoon. She could never be the same again, not even if she wanted to be. And she didn’t. The change alarmed her, but it thrilled her as well.
She’d never really understood the distinction before, but for the first time in her life she was beginning to feel like a woman. She’d have to talk to Dolores. She would know what to do.
But first she had to get through this night. And Pete was coming out of the bathroom.
If he’d looked overwhelmingly male before, he positively exuded masculine energy now. He’d stripped down to the bottom half of his long underwear. While the garment provided an effective cloak for the most private parts of his anatomy, it put the rest of his physique in strong relief. Unlike every other man she knew, his upper body was deeply tanned rather than white. She didn’t know how he’d gotten a tan working in a hardware store. Nor why he should be working with his shirt off. But her questions were quickly forgotten as her attention was drawn to his powerful chest and well-muscled arms. He must have lifted a lot of heavy boxes.
But all that was a brief, quickly forgotten thought. She was primarily conscious of the magnificent image and the terrifying effect it had on her own body. She felt a thousand tiny shocks being administered at random all over her. She pulled the covers up higher, clutching them tightly in her hands. But that action brought her forearms into contact with her breasts, and she realized that her nipples had become sensitive to touch. The shock amplified all the other feelings until she felt like a hysterical mess.
“I didn’t know I was inheriting such a modern house,” Pete said. “A real bathroom with water fed from a cistern in the attic. I can’t wait to take a bath in that tub. It looks big enough for both of us.”
Anne blushed down to her toes. Whoever heard of a man and a woman taking a bath together? The idea was preposterous. Yet the idea settled in some corner of her mind and refused to go away.
“Are you going to sleep under all those covers?” he asked.
She nodded. She hoped he wouldn’t take them away from her. She didn’t know why he would, but she didn’t know what men did to women when they slept in the same bed. At least not ordinary men. Belser had enjoyed himself frightening her with what Cyrus would do. She had been certain the Peter she used to know wouldn’t have done anything like that. She wasn’t sure about Pete.
“You’ll wake up in a sweat. It’s not that cold yet.”
/>
“I like lots of covers.”
“Fine by me as long as you don’t shove them off on me. I’m used to sleeping in the open.”
“But you wrote me you lived in a nice quiet rooming house.”
“That was in Illinois. I got used to sleeping out on the way here. Much more invigorating.”
“Weren’t you afraid of wild animals?”
He blew out the light, leaving them in the dark. She felt the bed sag under his weight, and she forgot all about any animals but the very large male in the bed next to her.
“Wild animals won’t bother you. You’ve probably been listening to Belser spin tales just to make himself seem like a big fearless fella. There’s nothing out there half as dangerous as another human.”
“Does your wound still hurt?”
“No.”
“Did it hurt at first?”
“Like the devil.”
“Weren’t you afraid?”
“Why? I was still alive. I had a horse, food, and my guns. What else does a man need?”
Anne could think of so many things, she hardly knew where to start. “I’d have been afraid.”
“Naturally. You’re a female.”
She wasn’t sure she liked that. Somehow it made her sound inferior. She probably was—Belser always said she wasn’t worth as much as a ten-year-old boy—but she’d depended on Peter—Pete—to take her part.
“My parents would never let me go very far from the house when they were alive,” she said. “And Uncle Carl was even worse.”
“A female ought to get out once in a while. You can’t be afraid of the rest of the world. Isabelle started across Texas with nothing but a wagonload of orphans to keep her company.”
“Who’s Isabelle?”
“Uh … a woman I know. She and Jake adopted a whole bunch of orphans.”
“Who’s Jake?”
“Her husband. I just said they adopted a bunch of orphans. You don’t expect Isabelle to live on a ranch with a man who’s not her husband, do you? Isabelle’s not like that. You start getting careless with the rules, and she’s liable to knock you up side your head with a log to get your attention. Then she’ll really lay into you.”
“Did she lay into one of the orphans?”
“Yeah.”
“Who?”
“A friend of mine.”
“How did you meet him? I didn’t know you went to Texas.”
“I didn’t. He came to Illinois. Look, are you going to chatter all night?”
“No.” She nearly swallowed the word. She never chattered, but she was curious about him. He’d done so many interesting things he’d never mentioned in his letters.
“Good. We both need a good night’s sleep. I’ve got to ride all over this place tomorrow. Then we’ve got to decide what we’re going to do about this marriage.”
“You’re not going to divorce me, are you?”
Chapter Four
“Nothing like that. We just need to talk. After all, we’re practically strangers.”
They weren’t supposed to be. She hadn’t thought they would be, but Peter—she had to keep reminding herself to think of him as Pete now—was definitely a stranger. She supposed it was natural to change when you grew up, but she hadn’t. Uncle Carl used to say she looked exactly the same as she had the day she was born.
Despite Pete’s assurances, she was afraid he did mean to divorce her. He hadn’t wanted to marry her. She didn’t fool herself on that score. According to Uncle Carl, Peter didn’t have the gumption to marry anybody, but Uncle Carl didn’t know how he’d changed. He had plenty of gumption now, far more than she ever would. He probably wanted a wife with gumption, too.
She wondered if she could develop gumption, or if she had it and didn’t know it. No, she was just a shy, silly girl who’d fallen in love with a boy years ago and hadn’t grown up enough to know boys change. She’d let her need, her naivete, and his willingness to marry her convince her he would be the same sweet boy she’d known years ago. She could have believed that boy had failed in the hardware business. She found it difficult to imagine Pete failing at anything. He was so full of energy, so willing to face down anybody who got in his way. He could ride a horse, fight, use a gun … well, he could do just about anything a cowboy had to do.
Of course, that might have been the reason he failed at running a hardware store. She didn’t imagine any of those things would be very useful in such a business. He must have spent so much time outside the store that he didn’t have time to tend to business. It must have been that friend from Texas, the one the lady named Isabelle hit with a log, who taught him all those things.
She wished she knew a lady like Isabelle who could tell her how to get some gumption, or give her some of her own. Surely a lady with the courage to hit a man with a log had more than enough gumption to share. Anne sighed. She’d probably be afraid of such a woman. Besides, she probably looked like a horse. According to Dolores, pretty women didn’t need gumption. They just needed to learn how to use their charms.
Of course, Anne didn’t have any of those, either. She was pretty enough—people were quite willing to tell her that—but a woman of her background couldn’t expect to have charm. People were quite willing to tell her that, too.
She sighed again. She had thought she had everything all worked out. Peter … Pete just needed to marry her and claim his inheritance, and everything would be fine. Of course, she had worried he wouldn’t be able to stand up to Belser. But she had meant to help him. She’d looked forward to that. No one else had ever depended on her or even listened to her. Sometimes they talked about her as if she didn’t exist. Pete had never done that. She’d counted on being important, needed. Now she didn’t know if that would ever happen.
The soft breathing from the other side of the bed told her Pete was asleep. Her father used to say a man who could fall asleep quickly had a clean conscience. She was sure Peter had a clean conscience. He’d protected her from her uncle and Cyrus without hesitation. He’d stood up to Belser, and he’d kept his promise not to touch her.
But that wasn’t the comfort it should have been. Maybe he didn’t want to touch her. Maybe he was so used to women like Isabelle, women with gumption, that he wasn’t interested in a female foolish enough to be frightened of her husband. Maybe he wanted a woman who wore tight dresses, had red hair, milk-white skin, and crimson lips, a woman who was more than eager to have him on her side of the bed, his hands all over her, his mouth on hers in hot, passionate kisses.
Anne’s whole body trembled at the thought of Pete’s hands on her, of a kiss of any kind. No man had ever touched her. She hadn’t wanted anyone to—except Peter, of course. But she’d imagined holding hands quietly, his arm around her, all very brotherly; imagined his kiss would be brotherly, too. She was certain Pete’s kisses would be entirely different.
The thought frightened her, but she was attracted to him at the same time. Sleeping in the same bed with him scared her, but it excited her. He was everything she wanted and nothing she’d anticipated.
She shuddered. She could almost feel his hands on her shoulder, his lips on her mouth, hot, impatient, hungry, devouring her. That wasn’t what she wanted. He wasn’t what she wanted.
Well, she did like his looks. No one could deny Pete had grown into a handsome man. And so big and strong. She’d be a fool to say she didn’t find that attractive. He was certain of himself, what he wanted, what he could do, what he expected others to do. She’d liked that in Uncle Carl. It was logical she’d like it in Pete, too.
As she ran down a list of other qualities to find she liked those as well, she gradually grew more and more puzzled. What kept her trembling on her side of the bed? Those very same qualities she liked. They made him seem a little dangerous. Not the safe, biddable boy she’d expected. Pete was like a wild stallion—strong, confident, willing and able to take what he wanted. She was starting to feel like something of an idiot. If she liked him the way he was, why
couldn’t she act like it?
Because she still couldn’t believe Pete was real. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she tried to touch him, he’d disappear, that she’d wake up and find it had all been a dream. She didn’t know why she should feel like that, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.
The idea flashed into her head without warning. The impulse caught her by surprise. She turned. He was sleeping on his side, his back to her. The broad expanse of smooth, brown skin beckoned to her. Touch me. Come on. It’s all right. He’ll never know.
She had to be crazy, but once the idea thrust itself into her head, she couldn’t get rid of it.
You want to touch me. I know you do. It’s easy. Just reach out.
She gripped her hands together and held them tightly against her breasts. What if he woke up? What if he interpreted her touch as a signal that she wanted him to come to her side of the bed?
He’s given his word. Besides, he’s sound sleep.
The soft breathing continued without interruption. The more Anne thought about touching Pete, the more difficult it was to resist. She’d never had the opportunity to touch a man who was so young and strong and handsome. He was her husband. It was normal for married people to touch. Her parents had touched all the time. It was okay. It was all right.
She remembered he would let her hold his hand when they went out walking. She liked touching him. The tactile proof of his presence was comforting. He’d seemed to like it, too. His mother had died when he was a baby, and his father and brother were always yelling at him, beating and fighting him.
Maybe if she touched him—not much, just slightly—it would bring back some of the boy she remembered. Maybe all of him hadn’t been swallowed up by this new person who called himself Pete.
Still unsure of herself, she unclenched her fingers. She reached out and tentatively extended her fingers. Closer and closer until they came into contact with Pete’s warm, soft brown skin.
In one continuous motion, Pete threw the covers from his body, produced a gun Anne didn’t even know was in the room, and leapt from the bed to his feet, crouched and ready. His reaction was instantaneous and so unexpected, it surprised a shriek out of her.
Pete (The Cowboys) Page 5