A Bride for Keeps (25 page)

The constant hum of John’s chatter forty yards away filled the otherwise silent fields.
Everett stopped and took a side glance at Dex, who pulled his mustache into his mouth
with his lips. One eyebrow pushed his forehead into a mess of wrinkles. “What did
you not get about my little sermon there?”

Everett tossed a worm. “Uh, I understood the speech. Sounds right. But I mean more
like, how do you get a woman to . . . to love you in the first place?” Admitting he’d
failed to capture the attention of a woman who’d lived under his roof for more than
four months filled his chest with shame.

“Well, have you taken care of what I said last time? Do you talk to her?”

Looking straight at Dex, he crossed his arms across his chest. “I’ve tried. A lot.
I would think you could see that. I didn’t like what you said. Hated it, in fact.
I wasn’t acting like the kind of man I want to be, but I think I’ve messed this up
for good.” He reached down and snapped a worm between his fingers. Rachel’s speech
about tearing down Julia’s walls with love nibbled at the edge of his mind. “How do
you make a woman understand you love her?”

Dex’s goofy grin showed up. “Like that.”

“Like what?”

“You say, ‘I . . .’” Dex leaned forward. “Wait for it.” He put his hand behind his
ear and pushed it forward. “. . . love you.”

Everett huffed. “You’re very funny.”

“Well, have you tried that?”

“I think so.” Everett threw a chewed-up leaf in with the worms.

“Think?” Dex shook his head. “What happened after you
think
you said it?”

“She fell off the roof.”

A fit of coughing hardly covered Dex’s laughter. He shook his head and returned his
attention to the plants in front of him. “I think I’ll stop giving you advice right
here and now.”

Could no one help him? “God help me.”

“Yes, my friend.” Dex’s voice was underlaid with amusement. “God help you.”

Julia attempted to rub her back while balancing on the bouncing wagon seat. A violent
bump over an upturned rock sent her scurrying for a handhold.

Everett’s welcome vocal hum relating his fishing adventures with John entertained
her. She smiled at his pleasure in the child. He’d make a good father. . . . Julia’s
heart constricted. She’d stolen that chance away from him. She never wanted to hold
a dead baby again, not after having the pleasure of holding little Rebecca, screaming
and all. Her brother’s lifeless body still weighed heavy in her arms. But then, she’d
only been nine. If she’d known how to get an infant to breathe, if the midwife hadn’t
been busy staunching the flow of blood . . .

No. She couldn’t blame herself for her ignorance. And Mother had lost more than one
child, most before they were supposed to be born. What were the odds it would be any
different for her?

“And so he took the worm off and bit into it.” Everett’s laugh turned into a sputter.
“His face was really something. Almost made me want to take a bite to see what caused
such terrible disfiguration.”

How different the rides back and forth to the Stantons had become from that initial
one in late March. Everett’s jaw was still sharp and square, but unhinged now. And
the dark evening shade of his eyes stole her breath. She’d never seen anyone whose
eyes neared the color gray.

“He said the thing tasted like dirt and . . .” Everett took his focus off the oxen
to look at her, but his voice died off. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Quickly, she assessed herself, staring at him with a muscle-stretching grin. Straightening
in her seat, she relaxed her mouth and looked out over the prairie. “I had a good
time with Rachel. Despite Becca’s crying. Thankfully she takes naps. Rachel napped
too, so I cleaned everything I could quietly.”

She stretched the fingers of one hand against the fingers of the other and yawned.
“Got tons of cleaning at home to do, but it feels good to help, considering how much
Rachel did for me while I was bedridden. And how much she taught me about farm chores
when I first arrived.”

“I’m sure Rachel is grateful. Without ladies taking care of the house, we farmers
would be less successful, less relaxed.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Thank
you.”

She squeezed back, but didn’t let go. Birds flying overhead twittered as they passed,
filling the silence that descended. Her heart encouraged her hand to lie there. Why
couldn’t he hold her hand? She’d been giving quite a bit of thought to letting him
kiss her, but she kept shying away from it anytime he seemed to think about it. So
she’d have to start slower—with hand-holding.

The feel of his roughened palm swallowing her thin fingers made her feel connected,
relaxed . . . like she belonged.

“Julia . . . ” His thumb lazily caressed the back of her hand, and she could feel
the bloom of heat filling her cheeks.

“I know the day on the roof was a disaster, but I was trying to tell you something
rather important that I hope you didn’t miss.”

Dots of white, yellow, and purple flowers poked their faces between the tall grasses
dancing in the light breeze. She couldn’t meet his eyes, knowing what he was going
to say, and not sure she could say it back.

“I want you to know that I love you more now than then.”

She swallowed hard a few times, testing the words in her head, but she couldn’t force
them off her tongue. She couldn’t toy with him.

“And even if your heart never lets you love me back, I’ll still love you.”

The sway of the wagon kept the awkward silence from being terribly uncomfortable.
She took his hand in both of hers and squeezed her thanks, holding on to his hand
as if she’d slide off the seat without that anchor. He dropped her hand and pulled
her closer, the tension of the moment dissolved under the security of his arm wrapped
around her. Asking nothing, offering everything.

They stopped in front of their pine cabin. She glanced over at the old one and smiled.
Of course, before Kansas she’d never lived in anything as small and sparse as this
new cabin, but compared to the one they had lived in for two months, the new house
was bounds better. Just like their relationship, from horrible to good. He talked
to her and helped without her having to ask. How many women had that? Not her mother.

Everett stood next to the wagon with two hands extended. She tentatively grabbed both
of his shoulders, instead of one to steady herself.

On the ground, he seemed reluctant to let her go, like the
last several wagon rides. She squeezed his arms and let her hands drop before she
turned toward the well.

His hand snagged her elbow, and he pulled her to him. Her breath catching, she questioned
him with her eyes. Would he kiss her? Any day now, he’d take another step toward becoming
more than just the friendly man she lived with, and she needed to let him. He wasn’t
out to take and not give. She had to give back, but the brush of fear in her stomach
fought against the anticipation in her heart.

“What . . . what can I help you do?” His voice resembled a frog’s. His clammy palm
slid to her wrist.

She searched his face. Why had he stepped away? “I need water for dinner tonight.
I hope you don’t mind leftover stew. I’m tired from the work this morning, so I don’t
have the desire to do much more.”

His left hand joined his right, holding and caressing her knuckles. Her heart beat
with each stroke. “Would you like me to cook dinner?”

Her mouth skewed awry. “I’ve heard plenty of your hardtack and bean stories. Should
I really take you up on the offer?” But did she really care what dinner was? She’d
welcome anything that got her to sleep faster.

He bit his lip, and then his eyes shone. “Yes.”

She smiled. “Well, then you best get to it. Stew would be easy, but you’d need to
start now to get dinner done in time.” She should work on the other chores that needed
doing before night fell. “I’ll tend the garden then.”

“Do you want to tend the garden?” His hands disappeared behind his back.

What did
want
have to do with anything? “I suppose I do. It needs to be done.”

“Why not . . . rest?”

A tempting suggestion, but she laughed it off. “No time for that.”

He shook his head slowly, as if he were entertaining a different thought with each
turn of his head. “Is there anything you’ve wanted to do? Something that would make
you happy? Read? Paint? Sing?”

Without thinking, she blurted, “Sleep.”

His toothy smile broke through his face. “Then take a nap.”

“That’s silly.” A midafternoon nap next to a cookstove adding heat to the already
hot day did not sound enjoyable. “You’re cooking.”

“I am, but I’ll cook outside.”

That would be inconvenient for him. “No, that’s not necessary.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to the cabin. “A good day for a nap—too
hot for much else. I have a feeling summer is going to drag its heat into fall.”

“This is ludicrous. This is your busiest time of year.”

His head came so close his breath stroked her neck. “I want you to.” His whispered
words tickled her ear. “If I weren’t cooking, I might join you.”

A tingle shot up her back, but she shied away from the confusing feeling. Since the
accident, they’d slept together side by side in the huge bed he’d built. He’d not
had time to build another bed during her illness. After all that time sharing, asking
him to make another bed seemed childish. But they’d never slept next to each other
during the day. “I think I ought to be doing something useful instead.”

“You do that every day. At the very least, sprawl out on the bed and read something.
You should at least rest your leg. You’ve been doing double duty this week. I’ll manage
the chores for the afternoon.” He left her at the doorstep and strode away. On a mission.

She walked into the kitchen and fingered the dirty dishes on the counter. Her heavy
eyelids begged her to give in. She moved the plates into the water basin but refrained
from washing them.

An unbidden yawn surfaced. Never would she be able to sleep during the day without
feeling lazy for doing so. But she had permission, so she’d take that nap. Just not
a long one.

But her mind wouldn’t settle. She’d never been so worried about hurting a man who
had feelings for her.

How long until admiration and caring become affection?

And was the stirring of love enough to get her past her darkest fear?

Wiping at sweat along his hairline, Everett found another stray feather in his hair.
He flicked the downy plume away and returned to turning the chicken on the makeshift
spit. The smell of smoke and meat made his stomach gurgle. He preferred to eat dinner
earlier than this, but Julia was sleeping soundly, so he whistled a slow tune and
didn’t rush. With his knife, he pricked the meat. Almost done. The pot of boiling
green beans was close to ready as well.

Ladies liked picnics, right? He tiptoed into the house and grabbed a blanket and his
Bible off the trunk and peeked into the bedroom. Julia stirred a bit, so he froze.
She murmured and her eyelids flickered, cheeks rosy. He held his ground.

She bolted upright and blinked hard several times. “Everett?” Her throat sounded full
of rocks.

“Good evening, Julia.” He ambled over to the bed and offered his hand. “You ready
for dinner?”

“Did I sleep that long?” Her eyelids kept opening and shutting.

Her long eyelashes begged to be kissed, but he refrained and pulled her to stand.
“Yes. But that’s what you were supposed to do.”

“But . . . no.” She put her hand to her forehead. “If I slept that long, I’ll just
lie awake all night.”

A tightness in his chest clenched the rest of his body. All kinds of images popped
unbidden into his mind. He’d had enough trouble sleeping next to her. He dropped her
hand, needing to put distance between them. He called to her as he nearly ran out
the door. “Come, dinner’s outside. Bring the guitar, would ya?”

To take advantage of the beautiful view to the south, he spread the blanket beside
the bed of flowers Julia had arranged near the house. The horizon was just starting
to show signs of the approaching sunset as pink and orange hues tinted the sky.

He grabbed the browned chicken from the fire spit, set it in a tin pie plate, drained
the vegetables, and returned to the blanket. Julia had already settled herself, sitting
with her head tilted back, eyes closed. Her hair was a mess and her bare toes poked
from beneath her skirts. His throat constricted. Like that first day he’d seen her
after she’d awoken in the Stantons’ barn. That day he’d run from her. Now, he wanted
her to run to him.

She opened one eye and glanced at the chicken. “Who’s that?”

“The mean little hen.” He took his fork and pulled apart the meat to hasten cooling.
“I think she deserved it.”

“You went through a lot of trouble.”

“Not much.” He said a quick blessing over the food and handed her a fork. “Hope you
don’t mind, but since I’m doing dishes, we’ll eat out of the same pan. Less cleanup
for me.”

Huffing, she speared a long green bean. “Maybe I should start taking such shortcuts.”

Around a mouthful of chicken, he mumbled, “Sure. You oughta. No need to stand on formality
with me.”

She took a delicate bite. “This is good! Why didn’t you do this when you were a bachelor
instead of eating biscuits and beans?”

He laughed. “If I did this every time I was hungry I wouldn’t have much of a flock
left.”

“Right.” She chewed slowly before taking another mouthful.

Eating his meal in a comfortable silence, he listened to the drone of cicadas while
watching the colors of the sky grow richer. And he sneaked glances at the fine figure
of a lady next to him, but she kept her gaze pinned ahead.

When finished, he opened the Bible. He’d been out of the habit of reading God’s Word
when she first came, and he didn’t realize how much he had missed hearing from God
every day. During her fever and recovery, he’d read aloud to her, beginning in Genesis.
Those long lists of names and numbers in the Old Testament had put her to sleep. Thankfully,
William had ordered just that to promote healing. He flipped the pages to 1 Samuel.
Finally out of the long lists of names and tallies and into more histories, the reading
seemed to keep her interest.

She’d listened every night since her fever broke, but never said much of anything.
When she had uttered in her delirium that God did not love her, his heart had fractured.
She was good at taking a hammer to his chest and splintering it into a million pieces.
He prayed God would use His Word to make crevices in the wall she’d wrapped around
herself since she’d succeeded in keeping him out. Perhaps God would have better luck.

He cleared his throat and read.

“And it came to pass, when they were come, that he looked on Eliab and said, Surely
the Lord’s anointed is before him.