Authors: The Forever Man
Carolyn Davidson (25 page)
“Pretty soon,” she quibbled. “I just actually realized it myself over the last little while.”
“Are you happy about it?”
Was that a worry line she noticed creasing his forehead? Was it really so important to him that she be pleased about this baby?
“Johanna, it’ll be different this time. I’ll be here. You know that, don’t you?” Low and soothing, as if he must allay any fears she possessed, his words spread a quilt of comfort over her.
“You’re the first person who’s ever hung around for the long haul,” she said quietly, one finger lifting to smooth away the crease that had deepened as he spoke. “My mama couldn’t help dying, but I think I took it as a personal thing. I was really angry with her for a while, along with missing her so badly I could hardly stand it. And then there was Joseph.”
“He wasn’t worthy of you, Jo. Any man who would leave a woman to carry his child on her own isn’t worth the powder it’d take to blow him away.”
“Yes, well, even that baby…” She drew a shuddering breath.
“That poor little mite missed out, honey.” His hand brushed against a tear that slid down her cheek. “You’re gonna be a wonderful mama.”
She smiled at him, blinking against a salty deluge that would not be denied. “And then my pa. He just didn’t care.
Not only about me, but about anything, once my mama passed on. I felt like there’d never be anyone…just for me.”
“I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” It was a simple statement, and his eyes narrowed as he held her face ready for his kiss of promise. His lips were firm, brushing against her mouth as if he sought just the right place to imprint his vow. “I’ll never leave you, Johanna. I’m a man who believes in forever, especially when it comes to you.”
She clung to him, and his hand slipped to her back, his fingers spread wide as he held her closely. “Jo? I have something to show you, something I made.”
She nuzzled against his cheek. “Now?”
His chuckle rumbled as he shifted against her. “Yeah, I think now would be a good time. We need to be alone for this, and I can’t guarantee much privacy in the light of day around here.”
She roused, scooting back to sit against the headboard, tugging the sheet to cover her breasts. “All right, Mr. Montgomery, show me.”
He grinned ruefully. “I’m afraid this involves getting some clothes on, sweetheart. Maybe your nightgown and that flannel robe of yours.” Swinging his long legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his discarded trousers and slid into them.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” The whereabouts of her gown was in question, but unless she was mistaken, it was clear over in the corner, where he’d interrupted her earlier.
His eyes lit with a glimmer of understanding. “I’ll get it for you.”
It landed in her lap, a balled-up mass of fabric, and she quickly pulled it over her head, tending to the buttons before she slid to the side of the bed. Standing, she allowed it to fall around her, distracted by the knowledge that Tate’s eyes were on her every move.
“You do have a pretty pair of…ankles.”
“Tate!” It was a subdued wail of dismay as she turned to find her robe. “Where are we going?” she asked, determined to get his late-night adventuring done with.
“Outside.” His grin faded, and he opened the bedroom door, waiting for her to precede him.
“All right.” At this point she’d be willing to follow the man anywhere, she decided, even when most folks were sound asleep.
They left the house in silence, the moon lighting the yard and the meadow beyond. Tate took her hand and led her in the other direction, toward the hillside where the graves of Fred and Mary Patterson were marked by hewn pieces of granite. In the pale glow of moon and stars, they lifted toward the sky, small markers barely visible from the house.
Tate’s arm was around her shoulders as they walked, and Johanna felt the familiar fullness in her chest when they approached the small graveyard. And yet there was a difference, a lightening of the load she’d carried for so long. As if this man had taken part of her burden upon himself, and in the sharing had eased her grief.
“Look, Jo. There, by the baby’s grave.” He halted her just yards from their goal and stood behind her, his arms around her, firm beneath her breasts as he held her against the warmth of his body.
And ahead of her stood a graceful wooden slab of hickory, marking the grave of a baby who had been mourned only by his mother, up until now.
“What does it say?” There was lettering on it. She could see that the surface was cut, engraved with a series of letters, indiscernible in the dim glow of moonlight.
“It says ‘Beloved Son.’ Just that, Jo. If you want more, I can carve something else on it.”
“When did you make it, Tate? Was it that piece you showed me the other day?”
His head nodded, brushing against her hair. “Yeah. I finished it last night and put it into the ground this afternoon. It sanded up real nice, Jo. I put a finish on it and set it up with concrete so it won’t budge.”
“What if the boys ask?”
He leaned to kiss her cheek. “We’ll tell them the truth, if it’s all right with you. Just that once, a long time ago, a baby was born and died, and his mama remembers him.”
She waited for the terrible pain to descend. But found only the warmth of his embrace filling her with joy. She rubbed her face against her arm. “It doesn’t hurt like it used to, Tate.”
“It’ll hurt less as time goes on, honey. It’s easier when someone shares the sorrow.”
She shuddered, visualizing what her future had contained before Tate Montgomery entered her life. Turning in his arms, she curled against him, secure in his embrace, tucking her face against his throat, inhaling the male scent of him.
“I love you.” She rose on tiptoe, tilting her chin to capture his mouth, sealing her vow with a blending of lips.
His hands slid up to cradle her face, and he tipped his head to one side, allowing the moonlight to shed its glow, illuminating her. “And I love you. Have you forgiven me for the bull, sweetheart?” His grin was rueful, but the hesitation he offered as he awaited her reply was telling.
She nodded, her own smile an answer. “I trust you, Tate. That’s the bottom line. I wouldn’t have gotten so bent out of shape if you’d told me first.”
“Bent out of shape? You were madder than a wet hen, honey.”
“I suppose I was, at that,” she conceded. “Don’t ever pull another stunt like that, Tate Montgomery.”
“From now on I’ll know better, Jo. I’ve never had a partner before, you know.”
“Well, you’ve got one now, mister.”
“Yeah.” He hugged her against him, quickly, firmly, as
if he were sealing their bargain anew. And then whispered against her ear a proposal so blatant, so filled with promise, it elicited a smothered gasp of disbelief as she pushed against him, sputtering her protest.
“All night? You’re crazy, do you know that?”
He turned her, his arm pinning her to his side, her feet skimming the ground as he hauled her down the sloping hillside. Behind them, the moon caressed the barren hilltop, softening the edges of the markers that guarded the graves, lending a silvery glow, as if the heavens were gathering up the grief inherent in such a place, leaving only peace behind.
S
elena Phillips was a beautiful bride, and her matron of honor was equally lovely, wearing a striped taffeta dress that had been let out at the waist for the occasion. Leah Ibsen and the barber, Jacob Nelson, walked the same aisle two months later, on the hottest Saturday in July, providing the residents of Belle Haven another opportunity to celebrate.
Three weddings in one year, one gentleman had been heard to remark, as if such a thing were unheard-of. The town was growing by leaps and bounds, what with the new babies being born. And from the looks of it, Tate Montgomery’s wife would be providing him with another mouth to feed.
The summer provided a bumper crop of corn, Tate’s new seed proving to be dandy. The apples were ripening up, the transparents bringing in a tidy amount for Johanna’s bank account. She’d hired on a boy to help pick, and Mr. Turner had taken every bushel he could get. Tate had not allowed her to climb a ladder, and she’d contented herself with gathering up the windfalls and watching.
They’d tried their hand at cider-making and ordered in some jugs to hold product. Tate predicted a real future in
cider, once the trees were full-grown and they could figure out a better process of making the tart drink.
It was while the Baldwins and snows were at their peak that Johanna left the orchard one hot late-September afternoon to climb the stairs to the big bedroom on the second floor of the farmhouse. And it was there that Tate found her a little later, garbed in her nightgown in the middle of the day.
He’d cast one look in her direction and known that the months of waiting were almost at an end. But it was nightfall before the tiny, perfect form of his daughter was placed in his hands.
Merry Johanna Montgomery, named for her grandmother, but with the name spelled to reflect the promise of the joy she would bring. The first of four children Johanna would bear her husband, a living harbinger of happiness yet to come.
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eISBN 978-14592-6818-0
THE FOREVER MAN
Copyright © 1997 by Carolyn Davidson
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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