Joe's Wife (15 page)

She'd been lonely for a long time.

Besides that, she had settled herself to the idea from the start. She'd even given Tye permission. And last night … last night, with her shocking responses, she'd even given him
encouragement.

Well, now it was done. They could end the tension of waiting and get on with their lives, their purpose. It had been sensible.

She told herself that when the men came in for breakfast and she still couldn't meet Tye's eyes. In. the corner of her vision, he ate his eggs and drank his coffee.

A cry sounded from the other room, and Tye shot off the bench and around the corner.

Meg followed more slowly, discovering him standing and holding the sobbing child, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

"I want my mama!" Eve wailed.

"I know you do," he said gently, awkwardly patting her back. "I know."

Meg allowed herself to look into his dark eyes, and she read only concern … and the powerlessness she'd seen before. "Eve," she said. "You and I have to get prettied up for the service today. Would you like me to tie ribbons in your hair?"

"I want my mama," she said again.

She had to speak around the lump in her throat. "I think we'll get you washed up, and then you can try a couple of fresh eggs. Do you like hot cocoa?"

She rubbed her eyes with her fisted knuckles and nodded.

"Good. We'll be fine, Tye."

They locked gazes. He was going to have to trust her with this child. He couldn't look after Eve and do the work he needed to do, too. Meg knew it wasn't that he didn't trust her. He hesitated only because Eve didn't trust her yet. He didn't want Eve frightened because he wasn't there. The child seemed to draw comfort from him.

Meg identified well with that feeling.

"I'm leaving you with Meg to eat and get ready," he said, and bent to place her on her bare feet on the floor.

With eyes as round as saucers and her lower lip trembling, Eve watched him turn and go back toward the kitchen. Seconds later, the door opened and closed. Those violet eyes latched warily onto Meg's face.

"Well, kiddo, we may as well get used to one another," Meg said.

Eve didn't speak a word the whole time Meg fed her and dressed her and brushed and tamed her gleaming black hair. She said nothing until Tye returned to change, and then she asked where the dog had gone.

It seemed odd doing all these personal things for a small person she'd only just met, but the thought that there was no one else and that Eve had no choice but to trust her softened Meg's heart toward the child even more. Tye had told Meg that Eve would go to an orphanage if she didn't come here. She could have been fostered out to anyone. Anyone.

But she hadn't been. By some divine providence she'd been entrusted to Tye and Meg. That duty was weighty and sobering, but Meg knew now she wouldn't shirk or resent it.

Everybody needed to feel safe. And she vowed Eve would feel safe with them.

Tye entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Meg observed him standing near the stove, Joe's shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, one hand resting at his hip, and a responding thrill shot through her chest. The memory of what they'd done in the secretive cloak of night shocked and excited her at the same time, and she fought to control her reactions lest he turn and catch her and know what she'd been thinking.

The sun hadn't come out that morning. She went in search of a coat for Eve, finding a long woolen sweater and buttoning her into it while Tye changed into what she'd come to think of as his wedding suit.

She and Tye donned hats and jackets and the three of them rode on the wagon into town. Reverend Baker, Rosa Casals, Jed Wheeler and a few saloon patrons were the only ones joining them at the brief graveside service.

They stood on the rocky patch of ground on the outskirts of Aspen Grove where crude markers jutted from the earth in no particular pattern. Someone had built a wooden fence years ago, and a church committee fought time and weather each spring by repairing and whitewashing it.

Meg had never before attended a funeral that didn't take place in the church and conclude here. She glanced around at the few mourners, listened to the reverend read from his Bible and couldn't bear to see the service end without a song or a conventional gesture of some sort.

Reverend Baker glanced around, too. Tye stared at the casket they'd lowered into the fresh opening in the ground and tirelessly held the orphaned Eve.

Meg's heart fluttered, but she opened her mouth and started singing, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…"

To her complete and delighted surprise Tye joined her, his voice a clear, true baritone that carried across the windy hillside.
Rosa
and the reverend joined them, and after three verses, they stood in silence for several minutes.

Jed and the other men broke off and headed back toward
Main Street
.

Rosa
hugged Eve and Tye. "I'll be packing and leaving," she said to him. "Royce Parks is coming for me day after tomorrow."

"Well, good luck," he said with a nod. "I hope you're happy with him."

"Five children will keep me busy," she said with a rueful smile. "I probably won't have too much time to worry over being happy." She ran a hand over Eve's hair. "You take good care of her, now."

"We will," he promised.

Rosa
turned, took Meg's gloved hand and gave her a warm smile that revealed a crooked tooth. "Enjoy this new family," she said with a squeeze. "And don't settle for anything less than all you want out of life."

"Thank you," Meg said. "Best wishes on your marriage."

With pursed lips,
Rosa
nodded. She turned and walked away. Eventually the reverend followed.

Tye nodded to Meg and they climbed onto the wagon seat and headed for the ranch. The sun broke through the clouds as they reached their land, and Eve had fallen asleep against Meg's side.

Tye carried her in, placed her on the bed and changed into his work clothes.

"I didn't know you could sing," Meg said as he crossed the kitchen.

Tye studied the way the bow of Meg's apron flattered her nicely rounded backside and remembered the silken feel of her bottom. "Don't know many church songs," he replied. "You picked one I knew." He stepped behind her, and she edged away as though she were uncomfortable with the closeness.

She picked up a pan. "What's your favorite pie?"

He studied the silky-looking tendrils that hung against the back of her neck, wanting to press his lips there. "Don't have a favorite," he said finally.

He stood right behind her, his lips near her ear.

From his vantage point, he noticed the pink blush creep up her ivory cheek. Was she embarrassed about what they'd done? She obviously wasn't comfortable with him. Did he still seem like a stranger to her?

"I haven't even kissed you," he said, realizing it at the same time he spoke it. He hadn't courted her, hadn't eased her into a physical relationship, and now he regretted his lack of romantic preparation.

Her skin grew redder than ever. She deliberately shied away from his nearness, but still she said nothing.

Perhaps it had suited her just fine, after all. He'd known whores who wouldn't kiss the customers. Was kissing too intimate for her? Were her kisses something she'd saved for Joe?

"Kisses are for lovers—is that what you're thinking?" he asked, not hiding the resentment in his tone.

Meg's heart ricocheted inside her breast and embarrassment clawed at her skin. She hadn't been thinking anything. She didn't know what to think!

"What are
we?"
he asked.

She didn't know what they were. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, least not herself or her feelings.

His boots thudded across the floor toward the hooks. The door opened and closed, and he was gone.

Meg released the breath she'd been holding and pressed her hand to her thudding heart. She closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek.

Silently, so as not to wake Eve, she entered her room and opened the horsehide trunk at the foot of the bed. She touched Joe's hairbrush, his razor and mug and picked up the bundle of letters, reminding herself, castigating herself.

She'd done what had needed doing. She'd done what Joe would have had her do. She'd clung to his dream with all her being and held his memory and his land dear.

Why, then, did she look twice at the hairs caught in the bristles of his brush, trying to remember their exact color? Why did the image of shiny dark hair and strong, callused hands come to the forefront of her thoughts?

Meg held the letters to her breast, tried to recapture their importance and sentiment, but heard only Tye's questioning words:
Kisses are for lovers… What are we?

Chapter Nine

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T
he
sky overhead had turned dark and the gray underbellies of fat rain clouds hung over the landscape. Tye strode to the barn, not eager to spend time cooped up with the men yet not willing to force his company on Meg. He uncoiled and recoiled the length of new rope he'd been dragging behind his horse for weeks in hopes of loosening it up. The hemp was finally getting soft and pliable, and, satisfied, he looped it over a nail and pulled down his saddle.

Perching on a nail keg in the open barn door, he worked oil into the leather, noting the first pelting drops of rain that spattered in the dust outside. That day
he
'd awakened more relaxed and feeling better than
he
had in a long time. The memory of Meg's eager body and their unexpectedly satisfying union left him half-aroused and more than happy with himself.

But her embarrassment and avoidance had dimmed his pleasure. What was going on now? Was she sorry? She'd been the one to suggest
he
satisfy his needs with her, and he never would have if he hadn't known she'd been as eager and as ready as he was.

And the more he thought back over it, the more he was sure he hadn't pressured her. He didn't know which of them had actually initiated the act; it had been a gradual yet mutual joining; she had been a willing participant. He wasn't dull enough to think he'd done anything against her wishes.

But maybe that assessment was unfair. Maybe she'd been half-asleep and not really using all her faculties for a decision.

No doubt Joe had known the proper way to make love to a lady. He'd probably never been driven by his baser instincts. Meg knew Tye had been with other women. Perhaps that dirtied him in her esteem, too.

Or maybe she hadn't liked it.

Tye recalled her moist welcome, her eager movements, the way she clutched at him, clung to him. No, she'd liked it.

The oily rag stilled on the leather. He stared at the worn saddle. She'd liked it. His weakness for her had him aroused just remembering.

Another thought stole in to eat away at his short-lived pleasure. Maybe in the darkness of night she could pretend he was Joe. And in the daylight she had to see him for who he was.

The thought hit him like a kick in the chest. It knotted his stomach and sickened him.

He stood, grabbing up the can of oil and hurling it against a wooden beam with all his might. With a disappointing thud, the can hit the wood and fell to the hard-packed dirt.

Tye kicked his saddle and pain shot up his leg.

He limped in a circle and cursed inventively until Purdy appeared from the back room. "Somethin' ailin' ya?"

Tye waved him off, leaned against the doorjamb and lit a smoke. He inhaled deeply and held it in his lungs until they burned, then drew another punishing breath and finally exhaled.

Major appeared from the depths of the barn and sniffed around Tye's ankles. Tye glanced down at Joe's dog. He looked around the inside of Joe's barn, then peered through the sheets of rain at Joe's house.

Quickly finishing with his saddle, he returned the supplies to their shelves and saddled a horse. He wasn't getting anything done here; he might as well ride into town. That's where everyone would be until the rain either let up or got so bad they had to go ride the river for stuck cows.

He donned his hat and slicker and mounted the horse, riding slowly past the house. He peered at the light in the window, noted the smoke coming from the chimney and, as if a ghost were on his tail, spurred the mare into a run for Aspen Grove.

Meg couldn't say she was surprised that Tye didn't come for supper. He hadn't remained home evenings before Eve had arrived, but she'd hoped that the child being here would make him feel obligated to stay. Obviously, it made no difference.

"Where's Tye?" Eve sat near the fire, her ever present rag doll in her lap.

Meg looked up from the dress she was mending. "He went into town."

"When will he come back?"

"Probably not till late. After you've gone to sleep."
After I've gone to sleep.

The child's lower lip quivered at that reply, and Meg chastised herself for her thoughtlessness. She stuck her needle in the fabric and laid the skirt aside. "What shall we do to pass the time this rainy night?"

Eve shrugged.

"What did you and your mother do in the evenings?"

"Mama worked at night."

"Oh." Meg bit her lip. She was really earning favor this way. "Well, I work in the daytime, so you and I will have time together in the evenings."

"What about Tye? Will he be here?"

Meg wished she had an answer. She wished she knew what lured him to town every night. "I don't know. Sometimes. What would you like to do? Shall I read to you?"

Eve moved to sit on the footstool and adjusted her skirts primly. "Okay."

Meg opened a drawer of her grandmother's china cabinet and pulled out
McGuffy's Eclectic Reader,
which had been hers as a child, as well as a couple of books Lilly had left behind. Running her fingers over the cover of the Charles Perrault collection of fairy tales, she found she missed Gwynn and Harley's visits. Her in-laws had never stayed long, finding the house and amenities lacking, but at least the family had been a diversion for an afternoon or evening.

"Whose book is it?" Eve asked innocently.

"It's my niece Lilly's."

"What's a niece?"

"A niece? Well, if you have a brother or sister, their little girl is your niece."

"You have a brother or a sister?"

"I have several. And several nieces, too." Before she had to explain that Lilly was her niece by marriage, she opened the book and read.

Eve listened politely, occasionally stroking her doll's dress. Halfway through "Puss In Boots," Meg stopped. "Are you enjoying the story?"

Eve nodded sleepily.

"Shall we save the rest for tomorrow night?"

"All right."

Meg poured Eve a glass of milk and herself a cup of coffee. They ate the few cookies that were left.

"Can Major come in tonight?" Eve asked.

"To sleep with you?"

She nodded.

"I guess it doesn't hurt anything for him to sleep in here." They made a trip to the outhouse and Major found them on their way back. Meg dressed Eve in her nightgown and took her time brushing her thick dark hair into shining waves and braiding it. Finally, she tucked her into the pallet.

"If Tye comes, tell him I was a good girl," Eve said.

"He knows you're a good girl."

"Okay, but make sure he knows."

"Why, Eve?"

The tiny girl shrugged. "'Cause Mama said I must be good for Tye."

Meg took one of the dark curls that escaped near Eve's ear in her fingers. "I'll tell him."

Eve gave her a halfhearted smile and rolled to her side, the doll beneath her chin.

Meg stroked her hair tenderly, wishing she was more of a comfort to the child. Maybe she'd needed to talk about the funeral that day. Meg didn't know what to say to her. Tye should have been here for her. She was his obligation, after all.

How thoughtless of him to go off and abandon Eve when she needed him here with her. He'd been concerned enough about the girl to accept responsibility for her, and now that she was here, where had that concern flown?

Meg worked herself into a full-blown huff, then wondered if she was really mad about him leaving Eve or if she was mad about him leaving her.

Both, she realized. For reasons she didn't wish to examine, she felt abandoned, too. Well, Tye was her husband. She had every right to expect him to behave like one.

Eve had fallen asleep, so Meg checked the fire and took herself off to bed.

She'd been dozing when sometime later she awoke to the sound of Tye's clothes rustling and his weight dipping the mattress.

He smelled of rain and faintly of smoke, but she didn't detect liquor.

She couldn't say why she rested easier when he was beside her. It was as though her house were in order when he came home, and so, anger forgotten, she allowed herself to drift back into sleep. She'd barely closed her eyes when his hand threaded into her hair and his fingers stroked her cheek.

Instinctively, she brought her hand up to his and nuzzled his palm. Warmth spread through her insides at his gentle caress, and her heart started its crazy pounding. Guilt and ecstasy warred, and sensory pleasure and aggressive need won out. She rolled against him and pressed herself along the length of his strong body.

He gripped her scalp hard and pulled her face up to his, unerringly finding her mouth in the darkness and covering it with his. For a first kiss, it wasn't hesitant or exploratory. It was demanding and eager. This urgency between them was foreign and somehow shameful, but Meg held her misgivings at bay by kissing him back and losing herself in the sensual gratification.

He didn't taste like liquor; he tasted like Tye and faintly like mint. His lips were firm and insistent, and she welcomed the kiss while denying in some distant recess of her mind that she shouldn't.

He kissed her long and breathlessly, pausing to taste her lips, her chin, her cheek. He kissed her with slow and tender persuasiveness, blocking caution from her mind and resistance from her body, and she remembered his words,
Kisses are for lovers.

His tongue coaxed her lips apart and he kissed her deeply and soundly and with delectable thoroughness. Meg had never been aroused like this. She squirmed against him. He wedged a knee between her thighs, a poor substitute for her desire, but she made an appreciative sound.

He tugged at her nipples through her cotton gown until she wanted to cry her frustration.

And then his hands began their marvelous journey beneath her gown, along her electrified skin, setting her nerve endings ablaze.

Meg clutched at his shoulders and drew him against her, over her, into her. Nothing existed but the two of them and this wild, unchecked quest for release. The aching fullness brought an immediate and unexpected wash of pleasure, and she sobbed it against his mouth.

"Say my name," he said insistently, framing her jaw with one strong hand.

Meg fought for a coherent thought. "Tye," she whispered.

"Again."

"Tye." This time the word came out as a hoarse utterance.

"Again."

She said it once more and he thrust against her forcefully, muscles straining, as though he sought to grind himself into her very being. The metal headboard thudded unrestrainedly against the wall and Meg gripped the sheets for a measure of stability.

He groaned.

She whispered his name.

He slid to her side and gathered her tightly against him.

And Meg cried. A purging release of emotion and pleasure, and something far deeper than their physical bonding.

"I didn't hurt you?" he asked, his tone conveying distress at the thought.

"No."

He kissed her temple and smoothed her hair, and beneath her palm his racing heart slowed its pace. Outside the rain pounded steadily.

A twinge of guilt pierced her when she thought of the letters in the trunk at the foot of the bed, so she pushed the thought from her mind and concentrated on the softness of the mattress beneath her, the warmth and strength of Tye's arms around her, the enticing smell of his skin and his solid body along hers.

Here was someone to hold her. Someone to share the nights. She wouldn't feel guilty for that.

The following day Purdy remained at the house with Eve while Gus, Tye and Meg rode out to search for cows, a task more suited to spring. Carefully, they inspected the marshes for animals that had wandered too far from the bank and become immobilized in the mud.