Joe's Wife (14 page)

Meg looked her over. She was still fully clothed. "Is she staying?"

He nodded.

"Maybe there's a nightgown in the bag I carried in."

"Sorry. I forgot about her things. And the horses—"

"Gus took care of the team. You can get the trunk later. I guess we'd better get her out of those clothes and figure out where she's going to sleep."

"How about the pallet I made in the attic? I can bring those blankets down. I'd suggest she sleep in the bed with you and I sleep out here, but…"

Meg nodded. "But I don't think she likes me."

"She will. It's just that everything's strange to her, and she's scared."

"Tye, did—"

"We'll talk after we get her settled," he said, and leaned to place Eve on the braided rug. He straightened, flexing his leg, and reached for the rope to pull down the attic stairs. Working together, Tye and Meg made up a padded bed safely away from the fire he'd started earlier, and Tye gently placed Eve on the thick nest.

Meg unbuttoned Eve's shoes and slipped them off, rolling her stockings off next. Tye went for the bag Meg had left in the kitchen and set it nearby.

She worked the dress and petticoats from the sleeping child.

Tye turned his back.

She slanted a glance at his broad shoulders. "What are you doing?"

"Giving her some privacy."

"She's asleep, Tye. Besides, she's … she's … how old is she?"

"Five and a half. Her birthday's behind Thanksgiving."

Meg blinked at that one, but said, "Turn around here and help me."

"No, I—"

"Come on now, she's like a noodle."

Reluctantly, he turned.

"Why, you're embarrassed," she said with a grin.

But he helped Meg stuff limp arms into sleeves. And in minutes they had Eve in a white cotton-and-eyelet nightgown and covered with a crisp sheet that smelled of outdoors. Major curled up beside her and eased down with a canine sigh.

Meg exchanged a look with Tye.

"Maybe the dog will keep her company. You know, a warm body if she gets restless," he suggested.

She did know. She'd slept with the scruffy animal a few times herself during the long, lonely nights of Joe's absence. "He can stay."

"I'm going out for a minute." Tye let himself out the front door.

She moved into the bedroom to get her own clothing changed. Turning down the lamp and reaching for the window shade, she noticed the orange glow of Tye's cigarette at the edge of the yard. She pulled down the shade, dressed in her nightclothes and climbed into bed.

He entered the room minutes later, closing the door purposefully. He removed his gun belt, rolled it around the revolver and stored it under the bed. Meg shut her eyes. She listened as he stripped off his clothing, piece by piece, emitting a stifled groan.

She sat up. "I didn't take care of your leg."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare spine and shoulders to her, pulling the bunched trousers from his foot. "Nobody took care of my leg before I came here, and I did okay."

"But the hot packs make it feel better."

"Yes," he said softly, "they do."

She realized then that she was talking to his naked back and that he wore only his white cotton drawers. He stood up and moved to the face bowl, meeting her glance in the mirror.

Meg turned the other way.

"Now who's embarrassed?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Shall I go for some hot water and the liniment?"

Water splashed. "No." He returned and sat on the bottom corner of the bed. "Look at me."

Her heart fluttered foolishly. Looking at him was more disturbing than it should have been. Her common sense railed against it.

"Please?" he added mildly. "We need to talk."

Chapter Eight

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M
eg
turned those vulnerable hazel eyes on him.

He would have spared her this if he could have. But it was done. He'd given his word, and now he had a child depending on him. "Lottie died today. There was a message for Reverend Baker when we got to his place. I went over to
Rosa
's and helped her make arrangements."

"I'm sorry, Tye. I know she was your friend."

"I hadn't seen her for years until recently," he said, not expecting or needing her sympathy. "Of course I'm sorry she went like that, and I'm sorry Eve lost her mother. But don't be sorry for me. Eve's the one who needs the comforting."

Every once in a while her gaze returned to his bare skin, but she'd force it to his eyes or to the quilt. "So, Eve is here for good."

"Yes."

"When is the funeral?"

"Tomorrow. Didn't have anyone to notify, so soon as the casket's built, the reverend's ready."

"Will you take Eve?"

The question had crossed his mind, but he hadn't had much chance to think about it. "Do you think she should go?"

"I guess so. We took Forrest and Lilly to Joe's funeral. Otherwise, wouldn't she wonder what happened … to the body and all?"

"I guess so. I don't know what to do with a kid." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

"I don't reckon anyone does, Tye. You just sort of have to learn it as you go along. And as long as you're trying to do what's best for them, you can't go too far wrong."

Their eyes met again in the lantern light.

"I don't mean for this to be a concern between us," he said gently, meaning Eve, though she was much more than a concern. She was a responsibility, a person to share the rest of their lives with, a helpless human who needed comfort and love.

"I know that," she said, speaking as fairly as she always did. He'd been the one taking advantage. Knowing she didn't think less of Tye because of his parentage, he'd expected she wouldn't think less of Eve for hers. He'd taken that for granted.

So far Meg was doing all the giving and he was doing all the taking, and that shamed him. But he had nothing to give except hard work, and as yet that hadn't paid off in any visible manner.

Lord, she was beautiful! She'd let down her hair and brushed it until it gleamed. The honey-colored tresses cascaded across her pale shoulders. What on earth did he have to give her that was worthy of her?

The ring. He would get her father's ring for her.

And the ranch; he'd do everything in his power to make it the best it could be. For her. Because she loved it so, and because it meant so much to her.

"I'll come with you, Tye."

"What?" He'd lost the thread of their conversation.

"To the funeral tomorrow," she clarified.

He felt as if a stone were lodged in his chest, and he had to work to breathe around it. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"I'm sure. It'll be better if we're both there."

She was right. If he went alone, tongues would wag doubly fast. He nodded.

"Now, you'll let me see to your leg." She stood and moved to leave the room. "The water is still hot, it will only take a min—"

Tye caught her wrist and stopped her from leaving.

She stared down at his hand and her pulse fluttered in her throat. He felt the gentle throb in her wrist, too, and loosened his hold. The scent of violets encamped in his senses, and when she raised her luminous eyes to his face, his heart threatened to leap from his body. "Thank you," he said simply.

"Let me get the water and towels," she said.

He freed her hand. For a long moment she didn't move. Finally, with a swish of linen, she opened the door and left.

Tye removed his cotton drawers with a groan and covered himself with the sheet. Her nursing had become pure torture. He purposefully counted patchwork stars on the rumpled quilt.

She returned and he still sat on the side of the bed.

He helped her place the oilcloth beneath his leg but didn't recline, as was his usual position while she treated his leg. She used tongs to wring the first towel, then, gingerly, her fingers. He stared at the outline of her breasts beneath her soft linen gown and noted each gentle movement with tormentingly rapt attention. The image of covering them with his hands nearly made him groan aloud again.

She raised her face. "Ready?"

He tore his gaze to hers and nodded, welcoming the distraction.

Gently, she laid the steaming towel on his scarred thigh. He rode the sensation of pain until too quickly it dulled, and her hair became his focus. He wanted to reach out and touch the silky tresses, wanted to know if they felt every bit as glorious and warm as they appeared in the golden light. As he'd cleaned and brushed the mountain lion's fur, he'd been reminded of Meg, of tawny beauty and softness that disguised underlying strength.

His fingers tingled with the wanting.

She replaced the cooling cloth with another hot one, and he barely even noticed. Her hands were red from the heat, and he had the sudden urge to hold them between his, kiss them, press them to his own hot flesh.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He focused on her eyes. "What?"

"That hurt you."

He must have made a sound. He shook his head. "No."

Finally, she blotted his thigh dry and reached for the liniment bottle. "No," he said. "Not tonight."

"But, Tye, it—"

"No," he said firmly.

She drew her hand back. "Did I do something—"

"You've done everything right. Everything. It's … it's intolerable for me."

"What is, Tye? The pain?"

"No, not the pain. You! This! Us!" He gestured with a sweep of one hand, encompassing her in her thin linen gown and him in nothing, and the fingers of that hand ended up thrust into his hair against his scalp, frustration and thwarted desire eating him alive.

With a curse, he tugged the protective sheet from beneath his leg and tossed it aside. He pulled the covers over himself. "Get into bed."

Meg obediently set her supplies aside, blew out the lamp and crawled into bed. The erotic scent of her hair drifted to him like a siren call.

Tye thought of Eve out in the other room. He thought of the funeral they would attend the following day. He thought of the cows he had to milk in the morning and those he'd have to round up and brand in another week, and into the night he concentrated on anything but his wife beside him.

And finally he slept. And dreamed of her.

She smelled as wonderful as he remembered. Her hair was as velvety thick and soft as he'd only before imagined. One slender arm across his torso brought her plush breasts against his chest. With only the thin layer of linen separating their skin, heat radiated between their bodies. Her hard nipples brushed his side, rubbed the back of his wrist. He turned his hand and greedily cupped a fleshy mound. She laid her head on his shoulder, her hair a taunting caress against his face and neck.

He groaned. He was as stiff and ready as he had been for weeks. She pushed her breast into his palm and made an eager mewling sound in the back of her throat.

Her breath ruffled the hair on his chest, hardened his nipples. He rolled on his side toward her.

Beneath the bedclothes, he fumbled in the darkness, found her rounded backside and pulled her against him hard, pushing against her at the same time.

She wrapped her arm around his neck and her warm breath grazed his ear.

Quite naturally, he slid his hands beneath the hem of her gown and raised it, his fingers sliding along warm, satin skin, molding against her defined hipbone, dipping in at her waist, drifting higher and drawing a shiver from her as he found her naked breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers.

Meg pressed her face against his neck, and he leaned above her. He ran his hand back down, dipped a finger in and around her navel, discovered a silken thatch of curls and tested the dewy folds beneath.

She curled her fingers into his hair and pressed her lips against his neck with a smothered cry. He shifted his weight onto her.

Their bodies seemed made for each other, hers eager, warm and pliant, his seeking, parting her thighs, easing into her with careful restraint.

Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so fulfilling and tantalizing at the same time. Nothing he'd ever done had been this important, this all-consuming and alive.

Her knees hugged him snugly, her body sheathing him tightly, her arms locked around his neck.

This was a dream come true. He took time to run his palms against her skin, to enjoy the feminine curves and textures and to elicit her sighs of pleasure.

The mildness of their first joining quickly disappeared.

Her entire body tensed against him.

Her teeth dug into his neck.

Tye had never concentrated as hard on anything as he did on recognizing the signals her body sent and intensifying her pleasure. "Like this?"

"Yes." Her hands moved to his hips and her fingers pressed into his flesh, restraining him.

"Slower?"

"Yes."

Tye gritted his teeth and thought about the cows.

Her breath caught and held.

"Now?"

"Yes."

He held her as tightly as possible without crushing her, kissed her damp temple, inhaled the rapturous fragrance of her hair and spent himself inside her.

Her gentle tremors encased him. Beneath him Meg's body went limp, but her fingers had come back to stroke his hair. The rigid muscles in his thigh jumped, and he eased himself to a more comfortable position for them both.

Her skin was warm and damp and very real against his. His heart thudded at a clear, precise rate. The scents of violets and musk mingled unmistakably. He wasn't sure at which point he'd become aware that he was awake and not dreaming. It didn't really matter. It had been better than any dream he'd ever had.

He smiled against her fragrant hair.

She adjusted her gown and rolled to her side. He followed, wrapping himself behind her spoon-fashion, noting her delectably round and firm backside, unable to imagine a better place to snuggle. With her scent in his head and her body tucked against his, he drifted back to sleep.

Meg awoke at sunup, the heat of Tye's long form pressed along her back. Her eyes hadn't even opened before she remembered what had transpired during the night.

A warmth bloomed in her chest, and her face and neck grew hot at the shocking memory. More so at her shocking behavior and reactions. Trying not to disturb him or jostle the bed, she untangled herself, straightened her gown and padded out to warm some water. Her body ached in embarrassing places. She needed a bath.

The fire was started and the water beginning to warm when Tye entered the kitchen behind her. She didn't turn around.

"Morning," he said softly.

"Morning."

He came up behind her and she tensed without thinking. He didn't touch her. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

An uncomfortable minute passed. "I'll go milk."

She nodded, relieved. He grabbed his jacket and the door opened and closed. Quickly, Meg poured water and carried the pitcher past the sleeping child to her room. She closed herself in, removed her wrinkled nightgown and bathed, using the basin and the towels.

Her body didn't seem like her own. She smelled different. She felt different. She felt … disloyal. But that was crazy. Joe was dead.

She had loved Joe, and she'd never thought to ever take another man to her bed or to her body.

Her traitorous body. She donned her clothing swiftly, as though covering herself could hide or change what had happened.