Bedded Then Wed (10 page)

He would just have to be stronger, more determined. And he would have to avoid being near his new wife as much as possible.

Marriage, Emma decided, was not all it was cracked up to be.

She and Mitch had barely spoken in the month and a half since their wedding, and if they did it was only about the most mundane topics. The weather, the livestock, dinner with their parents. It was enough to make her want to scream.

Any time she tried to get close to him or even brushed close enough to touch as they passed in the hall, he acted like she’d scalded him with a burning hot brand. As often as not, he quickly made up some excuse to go out to the barn and get away from her.

He didn’t seem to notice the changes her body was going through, either. They might not be major changes, but they were dramatic—at least to her.

Her pregnancy was starting to show in all the typical ways. Her breasts were growing larger and more sensitive, her stomach rounding out to a tiny mound that no longer fit beneath her pants unless they had an elastic waistband. And her tops, which used to be somewhat loose, were now snug, making her condition more obvious to anyone who cared to look.

Unfortunately, Mitch wasn’t one of them. It was almost as though they were roommates—roommates who didn’t particularly care for each other—instead of husband and wife. And it was beginning to get on her nerves.

Her father and Mitch’s parents had been delighted at the news that they were going to be grandparents, though. And so far, none of them had brought up the fact that she was three months along in her pregnancy and only one month along in her marriage.

But even though it had only been six weeks since she’d exchanged vows and moved in with Mitch, she was becoming almost insanely bored. The few times she’d wandered out to the barn, hoping to find something to break up the monotony of her days, Mitch not only made it clear he didn’t want her there, but if she so much as fondled the handle of a pitchfork, he immediately moved it out of her reach and reminded her that she was pregnant and shouldn’t be working too hard.

Working too hard? She wasn’t working at all. She was barely doing anything beyond cooking and keeping the already neat house free of dust and stray magazines. At least when she’d lived with her father, she’d had ranch business to keep her busy.

Maybe that’s what she should do now that she was living here. Mitch spent so many hours outside, in the barn, working with the cattle and horses, she couldn’t imagine he had much time for bookkeeping and organizing his records. He had a home office, complete with a computer monitor on the desk and file cabinets along the far wall, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing him in there.

Of course, for all she knew, that could be where he spent his nights. It wasn’t like they were sharing a room…or a bed.

But she still needed something to occupy her time and her quickly stagnating brain. So first thing that Monday morning, she got up, dressed and fixed breakfast as usual, not surprised when Mitch sat across from her, eating the food she’d prepared without speaking two words to her. She considered it progress that he grunted in response to a couple of her benign comments, uttered more to break the silence than because she actually expected any interaction with him.

Then, after he’d headed out the door, she made her way to his office and started snooping around. Not that she was looking for anything private or incriminating but to familiarize herself with his business.

Just as she’d suspected, he hadn’t updated his records in quite a while. She found piles of receipts that hadn’t yet been filed, as well as lists of livestock and records of sales and purchases.

Instead of being overwhelmed by the work that needed to be done, she felt a distinct sense of excitement. Finally, she had something to devote her time and attention to, a purpose for her married life other than being a so-called wife and glorified housekeeper. And maybe, if she was lucky, she might even prove herself to be an asset to Mitch and the Circle R.

It wouldn’t solve all her problems…Heck, it might not solve any of them, especially where Mitch was concerned…but at least getting back to some office work would help her feel useful and keep her mind off of her miserable, failing sham of a marriage.

Normally, she enjoyed storms. The cool breeze, the relaxing rhythm of the rain, the fresh brightness and clean smell they brought to everything the next day.

But tonight, all those things only made her feel more alone.

With a sigh of defeat, she sat up in bed, threw back the covers and reached for her robe. Maybe a glass of warm milk would help.

Her slippers scuffed along the steps as she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, turning on the dim light over the stove to illuminate the room without half blinding herself. She pulled a cup from the cupboard and the milk from the refrigerator, pouring enough for several healthy swallows before setting the heavy ceramic mug in the microwave and punching numbers.

While she waited for the buzzer to go off, she returned the milk jug to the fridge, then stood with her arms crossed, hip resting against the counter as she gazed out the front kitchen window. It was dark, the glass streaked and spattered by the rain, but still she could see a light on in the barn on the other side of the yard.

Her brow knit as she frowned. It was odd for anyone to be in the barn at this time of night—even Mitch, with the number of hours he spent trying to avoid her.

Out of curiosity, she wandered into the other room and halfway up the stairs until she could see his bedroom door standing open. She hadn’t noticed it on her way past, but Mitch normally closed his door when he went to bed at night. The better to keep her out, she supposed.

The microwave beeped and she returned to the kitchen to retrieve her warm milk. As she sipped, she moved to the window to stare at the pale light showing through the half-open barn door, her curiosity piqued.

If Mitch wasn’t in his room and didn’t seem to be anywhere else in the house, that meant he very well could be out in the barn.

But why? She couldn’t imagine any chores needing to be done so badly that they couldn’t wait until morning. The obvious answer, of course, was an emergency with one of the animals.

Suddenly concerned, she set her mug on the kitchen table and moved to the front door. She slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and a jean jacket, then opened the door and ran out into the rain.

The ground was wet and muddy, the rain plastering her hair and clothes to her body almost the minute she stepped outside. She crossed the lawn in less than a minute, ignoring the soggy earth trying to suck down her shoes and splattering on her bare legs and the hem of her long nightgown.

Slipping through the crack in the barn door, she shook herself, wiped the water and clinging strands of hair away from her face, then glanced around to see if she could find Mitch.

The center of the barn was empty, filled with nothing more than the usual bales of hay, bags of feed and assorted equipment for cleaning stalls and currying the horses. But she heard noises at the far end of the building and started toward them.

One of the stall doors was open, and as Emma got closer she realized that what she’d heard was Mitch’s voice, speaking in low tones. When she got close enough, she saw him hunkered over a dappled gray mare who was on her side on the stall floor, plainly in the final stages of giving birth.

Careful not to make a sound for fear she would distract him or disturb the horse, Emma stood at the edge of the stall and watched. Mitch continued to murmur encouragements, patting the mare’s haunches and neck when he could, offering hands-on assistance when it was needed. In only moments, tiny hooves and a tiny nose appeared, and, when the time was right, Mitch tugged on the long, slippery legs to help pull the foal’s body free of its mother.

On the final tug, Mitch fell back and the foal landed almost completely on top of him. Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes as she heard his deep laughter and saw his wide smile as he made sure the foal’s nose and mouth were clear, then helped get the baby on its feet.

The mare was back on her feet, too, licking the baby clean, and it only took a few minutes longer for the foal to start nudging around, searching for its first meal.

Mitch wiped his hands on the legs of his jeans and she quickly ran the back of her hand over her cheeks before he turned and caught her crying.

When he saw her, he froze for a second, then continued brushing the straw from his pants as he moved slowly toward her, his gaze raking over her body.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, stepping out of the stall, closing and latching the door behind him.

She shifted backward to stay out of his way, tugging the sides of her denim jacket closed and crossing her arms to keep them in place.

“I saw the light on and thought something might be wrong.”

She glanced over the edge of the stall door at mama and baby, and he followed her gaze.

“Nothing wrong,” he said, “just a mare in labor.”

“I can see that.” She smiled and stepped just a fraction closer. “He’s beautiful. Or is it a she?”

“He. It’s a colt.”

Several seconds ticked by in silence while they watched the pair.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Mitch told her, breaking into the moment. “You’re soaking wet, and you should be in bed.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She turned, taking in his damp hair and the stains marring the front of his shirt and pants. “And I think you’re in worse shape than I am.”

He looked down at himself and grimaced. “Yeah, I guess a shower wouldn’t be out of the question.”

“Come on. Let’s go back in the house.” She slipped her arm through his, ignoring his protests that she would get dirty and tugged him forward. “I’ll make us some hot cocoa while you get cleaned up.”

Mitch turned out the lights and dragged the heavy door closed before they set out across the yard at a jog. The rain soaked them through again and they hit the covered porch already shaking droplets from their hair and clothes. Just inside the door, they both kicked off their shoes and hung their jackets.

Emma padded barefoot across the kitchen and began digging in one of the low cupboards for the right size saucepan. When she realized Mitch hadn’t moved from his spot by the door, she straightened to face him.

“You go ahead upstairs. Get a hot shower and change into some clean, dry clothes. I’ll have the cocoa ready by the time you get back.”

“Maybe you should take a shower first. You’re just as wet as I am, and—”

She scowled and started tapping the bottom of the stainless steel pan in her hand against her leg. “If you say ‘you’re pregnant’ one more time, I swear, I’ll bean you. Yes, I’m pregnant, but no, that doesn’t mean I’m as fragile as a china doll. It hasn’t started to get cold out yet, and a little bit of rain isn’t going to kill me. I’m not even cold, and I’ll dry. You, however, are both wet and dirty. So go.”

His eyes darted to the pan at her side, then back to her face, apparently reading the annoyance there quite clearly. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders slouching forward just a touch.

“Right. I guess I’ll go get that shower then.”

Struggling not to laugh, she forced her mouth to remain tight, knowing that he would hear the amusement in her voice even if her expression remained stoic. “Good idea.”

He spun on one stockinged foot and marched out of the entryway in the opposite direction. She listened to the squeak of boards and the sound of his footfalls as he passed through the living room, then up the stairs.

When he reached the bathroom and she began to envision him stripping out of his damp clothes, down to nothing but skin, she knew she had to get busy making the cocoa or risk melting into a puddle in the middle of the kitchen floor.

He might have made it clear he had no interest in sleeping with her, but that didn’t mean her hormones had gone off to hibernate. If anything, they were more charged and raring to go than ever. She blamed it on pregnancy, sending her libido into overdrive.

Or maybe it was simply a matter of wanting something even more once she’d been told she couldn’t have it.

Either way, looking at him made her feel like a dieter faced with an all-you-can-eat dessert buffet. She was famished, salivating and more than ready to cheat.

She winced, then blew out a huff of breath and turned for the stove. That was probably not the best analogy, considering Mitch’s biggest fear was just that—that she, or any woman he got involved with, would cheat on him.

But while she was definitely eager to cheat on her no-sex diet, she would never, ever cheat on him.

Even if he never touched her again. Even if he insisted that their marriage remain a cold, passionless one.

She might have to resort to a dozen cold showers a day or investing in a battery-operated self-pleasuring device, but she would never be unfaithful. Not when it was the one thing that would hurt Mitch the most.

And regardless of anything else going on between them or in their lives, that was something she would never intentionally do.

Measuring out milk, sugar and cocoa powder, she mixed them together in the saucepan and set it on a burner over low heat. Just about the time the water turned off upstairs and she heard him moving around again, the cocoa was ready. She turned off the stove and took down an extra mug, filling both with steaming chocolate.

Before setting the drinks on the table, she dropped a few slices of bread in the toaster and pressed the lever. A minute later, Mitch came down the stairs and reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

His hair was still wet, but this time, she assumed, from being freshly washed. And, instead of changing into pajamas or boxers, he’d opted for another pair of denims and a long-sleeved plaid work shirt. He was barefoot, though, and had left the tail of the shirt out rather than tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.

A jolt of awareness zinged through her body, settling warmly between her legs. Swallowing hard, she made a mental note to do some discreet online shopping…and pick up extra batteries the next time she was in town.

But outwardly she tilted her head toward the table and smiled. “Cocoa’s ready. And I’m making toast to dunk. I don’t know about you, but I love hot buttered toast with my cocoa.”

Without saying a word, he passed behind her and took a seat, wrapping his hands around the still-hot coffee cup. She thought about warning him not to burn his mouth, then decided he was a big boy and could certainly tell by the temperature of the ceramic mug and the steam emanating from the liquid inside that it was too warm to drink right away.

The toast popped and she buttered it, then cut the slices in half before setting them on a plate and carrying them to the table. She sat in the chair nearest him, put the plate between them and reached for her own cocoa.

Mitch watched Emma drifting around the kitchen, as comfortable and proficient as ever. Almost immediately after moving in, she’d made herself at home as though she’d always lived under his roof.

Without a word of discussion, she began cooking three meals a day and tidying up. He’d even had to phone his once-a-week housekeeper on the sly and ask her not to come until further notice. He didn’t want Emma thinking he didn’t appreciate her efforts or that she wasn’t doing a good enough job. Especially when he was well aware there was too little to keep her busy around the place otherwise.

Although he made a point not to be around her any more than he had to, he’d noticed the work she’d done in his office and was secretly glad. Not only that she had found something she enjoyed to occupy her time but that she’d taken it upon herself to deal with a part of the ranch business he hated. From what he’d seen, she had managed to organize and complete all of the bookkeeping he had been avoiding for weeks.

Having her here, taking over so many household duties, was somewhat disturbing. It was almost too domestic for his tastes, too strong a reminder that he and Emma really were married and likely to stay that way for a hell of a long time, regardless of the circumstances.

But it wasn’t Emma’s ability to make a damn fine cup of coffee or balance his books that set him most on edge. It was her.

Her presence. Her voice and her scent. Her hair and the sound of her footsteps as she moved around the house. The way she sometimes hummed while she cooked, or the warm, steamy feel of the bathroom after she finished one of her long bubble baths.

Everything about her heated his skin and sent his temperature rising. He awoke each morning with the smell of her in his nostrils, so strong he could swear she’d spent the night beside him in bed.

And her body…her body was enough to make a godless man pray. Especially now, with the changes her pregnancy was making.

They were subtle, to be sure, but he noticed every last one. The slight swell of her small breasts, the gentle rounding of her formerly flat abdomen.

And he wanted, more than anything, to rest his hand on her stomach and feel the place where his child was growing. He dreamed of it, ached with it.

But touching her even that much, to share in the development of the baby they’d made together, would be too dangerous. Because he knew that one touch of her belly would never be enough. He would want to touch her face and her neck and work his way down. He would want to kiss her and make love to her.