Romancing Olive (17 page)

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Butler. I’m sure though, I’ll be able to decide if the drawing I see is the house I would like,” Olive said.

“I’m sure you don’t know anything about building houses. You may need some advice.”

“I may need some advice, you are correct. But if I do, I’ll either research my

questions or hire an architect.”

“Now that’s just plain stupid. Where would you do research and what architect would you hire?”

“You have been kind enough to allow me to stay here, but that does not entitle you to make my decisions.”

Jacob shook his head. “I’m not trying to make your decisions. I just thought I’d offer help if you need it. Women don’t know much about building is all I’m trying to say.”

Jack and Beth’s heads swung to and fro from one end of the table to the other as Jacob and Olive argued.

“Well, Mr. Butler,” Olive said with a thin smile, “if my mind and constitution is too fragile for the construction of my own home, then may hap I’ll ask the sheriff for advice. I’m sure he’d would be happy to help.”

Jack and Beth sat straight in their seats as Jacob gritted his teeth and slapped his hands on the table. “I never said you weren’t smart enough, Olive and you know it. And leave the sheriff out of this. I know I was wrong and I admitted it.”

* * *

Olive was having an honest to goodness argument and it felt wonderful. She didn’t mind her words; just parried back with the only man she ever felt the comfort to do so. Her voice rose to match his.

“Very wrong, Mr. Butler. To think after all this time that you thought so little of me. I was hurt at first, but I’m just angry now. My father deceived me, my brother was a liar and a cheat and you … you think I’m a loose woman. No wonder Mary doesn’t ever want to get married. Men are . . . are jackasses.”

“A jackass, you say. I’ve never heard anything stronger than fiddle-dee-dee from you,” Jacob said and stood. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, red-faced, “I wasn’t a jackass when we were kissing on the front porch, now was I.”

Olive’s eyes widened wider than the frame of her glasses but they would not leave Jacob’s face, as he slowly glanced from Jack to Beth. She stood abruptly and turned to Jack.

“More stew, Mr. Steele?” she asked calmly.

“Well . . .” Jack said and leaned back in his chair.

“Take me out for a walk, Jack,” Beth said as she wiped her mouth and stood.

Jack looked up to Jacob and grinned. “Pretty as a sunset,” he said.

“Didn’t your wife ask you to take her outside?” Jacob said.

“Come on, Jack,” Beth said.

Jack slowly slid out his chair and joined his wife. He turned back to Jacob and smiled. “Don’t worry Jacob, everybody fights. But the making up is usually good.” Jack howled at his own joke and Beth grabbed his arm, dragging him through the open door.

Jacob dropped into a chair and ran his hand through his hair as Olive cleared dishes from the table.

“Well, Mr. Butler, you’ve done it now,” she said finally.

“What have I done?” Jacob asked.

“Now, Jack and Beth think I meet the sheriff for disreputable purposes and then run home and kiss you on the porch. This is going to be my hometown. I would hope to keep my reputation untarnished.”

“Oh, Olive, for God’s sakes, they don’t think you met the sheriff for some two-stepping.”

“Two stepping? Another colorful phrase for me to add to ‘itchy.’” Olive filled the bucket in the sink with wash water. She tilted her head and said, “You’re probably right. Who would ever dream of the Spinster Wilkins’ ‘two stepping’ with anyone.”

Jacob jumped from his seat and turned her from the sink. “Me, goddamn it. Me. I’ve been thinking of two stepping with you for quite a while.”

The water trickled slowly over Olive’s hands as Jacob held her arms. His words replayed in her head as their eyes met and would not part. Olive swallowed and looked away.

“I don’t two-step, Mr. Butler.” She returned to his gaze. “I never have and doubt if I ever will.”

Jacob released her arms. “I bet you’d dance pretty good if you’d let yourself.”

“Dancing, Mr. Butler is for married women. Young married women. It happens to be how the human race produces children, if I’m following your metaphors.”

* * *

Jacob sat down at the table. Twice in so many days he’d spoken without thinking. His blood was racing, he was mad at Olive, had a hell of a good fight with her and now, damn Jack, anyway, he wanted to kiss her till her legs wobbled like a new born calf. And he told her that he was thinking of doing more. What is wrong with me? Maybe nothing, Jacob admitted. Because these last few weeks, he had felt more alive than he had in a long while. Fighting with Olive would probably be a highlight if they ever married. He smiled to himself. Screaming, yelling, getting everything off your chest, kind of arguments followed by loving in the middle of the night that makes a man realize how lucky he is to not be alone in this world. He would miss her influence on the children and a clean house, no doubt, but more than that; he would miss her smile and her sass when they disagreed.

“We started this argument over the house if you remember. I didn’t mean to insult you Olive. I think you’re the smartest person I ever met. Don’t ever think different.”

Olive dried her hands and sat down at the table.  “I don’t really think you’re a jackass. But I have a different view of the world and my life now, Jacob. I am all those two children and myself have to rely on. I’m not the meek mouse, accepting what men tell me, anymore.”

Jacob laughed. “A meek mouse, Olive? You haven’t been meek for two seconds together since I’ve known you.”

Olive told Jacob about her meeting at the bank with Mr. Holmes

She finished her tale and looked up at Jacob. “So do you blame me for getting angry? I find out in one day, my father deceived my mother and I. I own property and have money. I make huge decisions for the children and myself. I’m thrilled with what I’ve decided, frightened as well, and then you accuse me of well, you know.”

Jacob picked her hand up in his and stroked her palm. He watched his fingers as they moved slowly over her white skin. His inner battle raged and he finally decided to fess up. What the hell, he thought, he already told her he wanted to two-step with her. She was moving to her own house, the temptation would be gone but he was lured in an odd way to be totally honest with Olive. Whether because of her self doubt that he wanted to assuage or because she made him think and feel without grief for the first time in a year and he was in her debt. But either way, she deserved to know she was not the spindly dried up old maid she saw herself as. He looked in to her eyes and she returned his look, seemingly frightened and compelled by the touch of his hand.

“I was jealous, Olive. I thought you and the sheriff had something going on and it bothered me.”

* * *

The words registered in Olive’s head and heart but her reply made Jacob’s eyes widen. “That’s what Beth said.”

“What?”

“Beth said you were jealous and she said you’d be especially nice to me if she was right. Then you carried the Dutch oven for me and asked to see how my sewing machine worked. She was right.”

Jacob looked away and scowled. “Yeah, well, Beth Steele’s a know it all.”

“You were right all along as well, Jacob.”

“About what?” he asked.

Olive swallowed nervously. “I don’t know anything about what goes on between men and women.”

Their eyes met and Olive felt the world and her problems melt away. She could have been standing in a ballroom in Vienna or on the streets of New York and Olive would have still seen and felt nothing but Jacob’s gaze. At that moment he was her world, so completely, so fully, tears welled in her eyes.

Jacob stood slowly. Olive followed and they stood, inches apart, fathoms too far, and yet completely joined.

“A kiss wouldn’t hurt anything, would it, Olive?”

She shook her head and a fat tear rolled down her face. Jacob wiped it away with his thumb and inched closer to her face. Their doubts, their fears, their own devils, fled from their minds as the distance separating their lips disappeared.

Olive’s hands crept slowly up thick forearms, to broad shoulders, physically imposing, yet so tender in their embrace. The touch of his lips to hers, made her shiver and wonder how a man so handsome could be kissing her. It was as though she was the frog, in the fairy tale and with this prince’s kiss, came alive.

And certainly Olive had never felt before this overwhelming instinct to lay with a man. She cringed at the thought in her mind, but yet that was clearly it. The urge, from deep within the same place in her psyche that compels humans to eat and sleep and protect their young. And mate. His body covering hers, in a union, shrouded in mystery, with a history that dated to the very conception of man. As she stared into his eyes, she knew he felt the same.

* * *

How could I have found her undesirable, Jacob thought, as he deepened the kiss and wrapped her thin frame in his arms? Every spot of flesh that touched sparked, as he turned his head to cover her mouth completely. When their lips broke, they stared at each other inches apart, panting and wanting. And he knew, fleetingly admitted, that he wanted this woman in his bed, under him, kissing him, as their bodies joined.

Jacob watched recognition dawn on Olive’s face. She wanted him and she knew it. He laid his forehead on hers and closed his eyes.

“Olive,” he whispered.

“This may have been unwise, Jacob.”

He murmured his answer. They stood quietly in their embrace, reluctant to face the parting, yet frightened to stay. Jacob’s hands moved slowly up and down Olive’s arms and he breathed softly into her hair. They listened as Beth called to children and the replies the children shouted.

“We have guests, Jacob,” Olive said finally, pulling from his arms.

Jacob looked into her eyes and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to head out the door.

* * *

Olive was cleaning the table when Beth came into the house.

“Everything all right?” Beth asked.

Olive nodded, reluctant to reveal anything of Jacob’s and her conversation. He had patiently listened to her about Mr. Holmes and how she had come to the decision to stay in Spencer. Her father’s deception, her brother’s irresponsibility and her triumph at being free to decide her future. And then he had kissed her. And that kiss unearthed long buried desires Olive never thought she’d be tempted by. But as long as she didn’t voice the feelings Jacob’s kiss evoked, maybe she could forget them, avoid them, deny them.

When at last the house was quiet and the sleep sounds were rhythmic, Olive closed her eyes, gave in to temptation and let her mind wander to Jacob. She could not resist imagining the feel of his arms around her or the sheer, raw, masculine beauty of his face. Skin, tanned from the sun, and rough from whiskers, stretched taut over angled cheekbones. A long straight nose, between green eyes, and above full, heart shaped lips. Jacob’s hair, too long she had thought at first, curled, en masse over his collar and shone blue-black in the sunlight. It’s texture, she blushed to admit, was that of her silk stockings.

Chapter Seven

Jacob lay awake in the bed beside the crib and thought of Olive. He had not been able to vanquish the vision of Olive in his arms, even as Jack had droned on and on about her house as he helped his friend hitch his wagon. Jacob closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, when a picture of Olive, slowly revealed itself. He squirmed, as the image formed, wondering if she had the long thin legs, he envisioned. Her skin would be the milky color, maybe even paler, of her face and he knew it would be as soft. She had full breasts, he could tell, as he held her against him and he swallowed, thinking those breasts, high and soft, rose tipped, he imagined, were just feet away, covered in thin cotton. Jacob ached as he laid still, and the throbbing beat a drum roll to his head.

He stood slowly, to not wake the children and padded softly to the kitchen.  He knelt in his long-john bottoms and reached under the sink to a bottle of whiskey he hadn’t touched since Margaret’s death. As he knelt and held the bottle, his thumb moved slowly over the faded yellow paper of the label. Jacob had nearly finished the bottle in the days following Mark’s birth. It had numbed the hurt briefly, but the pain blew back with a vengeance when he sobered. His shoulders shook with a laugh when he thought of Margaret’s scolding when he occasionally drank. He smiled, ruefully, hearing her threats and he realized this was the first time he had remembered Margaret and not felt tears in the back of his eyes. Their time together had been good, wonderful, in fact, but she was gone and he faced a life without her. The question that remained was whether would he live a full happy life or would her death ever overshadow anything good. He took a swig, still squatting, and knew his sweet wife would not want him to miss a moment of joy for his grief.

“Oh, Margaret,” he murmured to the bottle and the night air.

* * *

Olive stood in her nightgown, under the drape of the curtain and watched Jacob drink and heard him call his wife’s name. She turned quietly, hoping not to intrude, but the swish of the curtain dropping brought Jacob’s head around.

“Olive?”

She peeked around the curtain and saw Jacob stand, bare-chested.  His was tall, wide and cut through with muscles and sinew. A smattering of blue-black hair, held her eyes and the milk she had sought to ease her to sleep was forgotten.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither. You want a nip?” Jacob asked and held up the bottle.

She inched into the room. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

* * *

The light from the window in Olive’s room answered Jacob’s question. Long, lean, shapely legs revealed themselves, shrouded in a mist of white, coming together at her hips. He stared, unable to move his gaze from the spot where those legs joined. He cleared his throat and reached for two glasses on the shelf.

“Then it’s time you tried it.”