Will snorted, mentally chiding himself. He'd had too many beers and his thinking was muddled. Tomorrow he'd wake up and wonder why the doggoned damned hell he'd even let such wild thoughts bounce around in his mind.
Heading back to the house, he discovered his half-empty cup sitting on the top step. He tossed the cold coffee into the dirt and went inside. After placing the cup near the basin, he picked up the single lamp left burning and stared at the darkened hallway.
Linnea, with that thick silky hair and the sweetest lips he'd ever tasted, lay in the dark on a bed down that hall. His lusty desire was to tap on the door, find it not quite latched—as though she'd been hoping he'd come—push it open and discover her lying in the moonlight slanting through the curtains. Her hair would be draped across her bare shoulders…and breasts…
The coffee hadn't helped, he must still be drunk to be thinking like that. The door was barred with a sturdy device he'd installed himself, and Linnea was sound asleep, resting after an exhausting day. She'd braided her hair and donned a prim nightdress and would be terrified if he woke her.
Will turned away and took the stairs up to his room.
Linnea lay in the darkness, listening to Will's footsteps on the stairs. Her heart hadn't found a natural rhythm since he'd looked at her in her new dress that morning. Her mind whirled with the events of the day and evening. She thought over every word spoken between her and her new friend, Mavis, and delighted at the knowledge that she could count on Mavis to assist her if she needed help when the baby came.
But always her thoughts came back to Will. Dancing with her. Smiling at her. Kissing her for the second time.
Kissing. Her mind rolled it over. She slid her fingertips across her lips in wonderment. Who'd have known kissing could be such sweet pleasure? That a man as big and fierce-looking as Will could be so tender and bring her senses to life so abundantly? That a man's touch would bring anything other than resigned grim submission?
The fear he created was a different fear than she knew. This new fear was over what he could make her feel, rather than what he could do to her. Feeling something—anything—for him was dangerous. With all her heart she wanted to learn the secrets of Will Tucker's arousing touches, but she could not let herself be used and hurt, no matter how tempting the temporary pleasure.
The fact that she could associate pleasure with a man was astounding. And foreign. Deliriously alluring. Impossible.
Will was her employer. Temporarily. She splayed her hands over her belly and faced reality. After her baby arrived she would be leaving the Double T, and she would never see Will Tucker again.
Chapter Twenty
He wasn't drank the next day. He wasn't even hungover. And the same thoughts still plagued him.
Linnea still didn't seem comfortable around him, but she no longer jumped when he spoke or watched him warily as though he was going to overturn the table and roar at any moment.
Throughout the morning and noon meals, she would meet his eyes and look away shyly. Embarrassed about what they'd shared? Sorry? Will had never given this much thought to anything except the price of a good horse or which stallion would cover his best mare, and now here he was thinking about Linnea and how he wanted her to stay.
He wasn't the most agreeable fellow, but he could work on that. He wasn't rich, by any means, but he owned land and good horses. He'd built and furnished an adequate home, and he could provide for her. A wife had never been a priority before. None of the women he'd met had made him think about marriage—want a wife. Until Linnea. And he wanted her.
For several days he thought and considered the words he would choose. He observed her and tried to read her mood, gauged how receptive she would be to his proposal and the arguments he would use if she hesitated—or refused.
On Thursday he made up his mind he would ask her that evening. She usually spent at least an hour reading in the kitchen with Cimarron. After their lesson, he would ask her to sit on the porch with him…or take a walk down by the stream. The walk would offer more privacy.
Darkness fell over the countryside. He bathed in the stream, dressed in clean denims and a freshly pressed shirt, and let his hair dry in the warm night air. As he approached the house, he noticed that the light was not glowing as bright as it usually did when she and Cimarron read at the table.
Will opened the back door and stepped inside. Aggie sat in her rocker by the cold fireplace, dozing with an embroidery hoop on her lap. At his arrival, she raised her head and blinked.
"Where are Cimarron and Linnea?" he asked.
Aggie slipped her spectacles from her face and squinted at him. "They didn't read tonight. I was mighty disappointed not to hear the story."
"That's unusual," he commented, thinking aloud.
"Said she was tired. Told me to tell the lad when he came around, so I did."
"Is she all right?"
"I asked her, she said she was fine."
Will stood for a moment, his plan interrupted by the change of routine. Linnea had retired this early? He should check on her. "I'll help you to bed, Aggie," he told his stepmother.
"I have to go out back first."
"I'll walk with you."
"Won't that be a treat?" She chuckled and got up with an audible creak of her bones.
Will got the lantern and accompanied the old woman out of doors, waited for her, then walked her back to the house.
He carried the lantern down the hall for her. She took it from him and entered her room. Will turned and tapped lightly on Linnea's door.
There was no response.
"Linnea, are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she replied, her voice weak. "Did you need something?"
"Open the door so I can see you," he insisted.
A moment later, he heard a shuffle and the scraping sound of the bar being raised. Linnea squinted out at the light. Behind her the room was dark. Her braid lay over her shoulder, locks of hair were loose at her face, and she had draped her shawl over her nightdress. Her sleepy gaze flicked over him in mild recognition. "Going somewhere?"
"No. Aggie said you were tired."
"So you woke me up to see?"
Putting it that way made him feel foolish. "Are you sick?"
"No."
Something didn't feel quite right, but he didn't have anything to go on other than the fact that she'd never gone to bed early before. "Sorry to bother you. Night."
"Good night."
She pushed the door shut, the bar came down on the other side, and Will stared at the wooden barrier, disappointment chugging through his veins. Of all the scenarios he had imagined, as well as their possible outcomes, this had never been one of the possibilities. In his imaginings, he'd always had a chance to ask her.
Returning to the kitchen, he stared out the back door for a length of time, then finally closed it and climbed the stairs to bed. He didn't sleep much that night.
The following morning, Linnea took longer than usual to carry platters to the table and to make the rounds pouring coffee. Once, she paused and leaned on the corner of the table. Will studied her exhaustion, noting lines at the corners of her mouth and across her forehead. Fatigue? Some sort of illness?
"Roy, you and the men head to the east range, and I'll catch up with you later," he told his foreman when the meal was nearly finished. "I'll pack food for a cold lunch."
"Okay, boss," Roy replied.
"Cimarron, fetch a rocker from the porch and wipe the dust off. Then bring a wagon around."
Cimarron did as asked.
After the men headed out, Will added wood to the stove and pumped water to heat, then filled the enamelware basin, scraped soap, and plunged the plates in. "Sit down before you drop," he told Linnea.
"I'm okay."
"You're not okay. Sit."
She sat in the rocker beside Aggie and the two women exchanged a look.
Will scrubbed and dried the dishes, then stacked them on the table. "I want you to rest today," h
e told Linnea. "I'll fix our noon meal, so you won't have to handle that."
She nodded wordlessly.
He assembled the food in crates and carried it out to a wagon. Coming back to stand just inside the door, he gave her a scrutinizing glance. "You sure you're not sick?"
"I'm not sick." She waved him away with a flick of her wrist.
He hesitated a moment longer, then turned and left the house.
Linnea listened as the sound of the horse and wagon dwindled. Turning, she discovered Aggie staring at her.
"My back hurts," she explained.
"Maybe you should lie down," Aggie suggested.
"Maybe I should."
Linnea got to her feet and struggled to keep her balance as a pain shot through her back, wrapping around her sides like a vise. Her back had started hurting the day before, and lying down had helped somewhat. She'd awakened several times during the night with an agonizing, twisting knot in her back muscles. She couldn't imagine what she had done to cause so much discomfort. Maybe it was just because of her advanced pregnancy and the burden of the baby she carried.
Lying down didn't help a bit this time. She dozed, and awoke each time the pain increased. By late afternoon, the pain had moved around to the front, and with dawning realization, she admitted what she already knew: this was not a backache.
Her baby was ready to be born.
After long minutes of panic and tears, she collected herself and firmed her determination. She'd suspected the night before, but she'd refused to jump to conclusions. This morning, she'd realized that she might be ready to have her baby, and there would be no one around to call on for help.
But if she'd let on about her suspicions, Will would have wanted to go for the doctor, and she wouldn't allow that to happen. Given her own choices, no man would ever have been allowed to touch her, even if he was a doctor. If she waited long enough, she could escape that and send someone for Mavis.
When dusk came, she roused herself from the bed, her belly seizing with cramping pain, and shuffled to the kitchen. The men had eaten a cold noon meal, so she couldn't let them fend for themselves for supper.
With Aggie studying her, she quickly peeled potatoes and sliced ham to fry. She had to stop every few minutes and lean on the counter or the table and wait for the cramping to pass.
With the smells of food in the air and the kitchen hot from the stove, the familiar sounds of the men and wagons drifted through the open door.
She could make it a while longer.
Moving from the stove to the table, a pain seized her. She paused and let the kettle hit the table with a whack. Something low inside her seemed to burst and warm liquid ran down her legs. The pain grew so intense, she couldn't breathe.
Panic claimed her, and she let out a cry of alarm.
Leaving everything as it was, she turned, holding the wall for balance, and stumbled to her room.
In agony now, she lowered herself to the bed and laid on her side in a ball, squeezing her eyes shut. Everything in her lower body pushed downward, and she groaned.
She had no way of knowing how long she lay there like that, the tide of agony ebbing and flowing. Sometime later, Will appeared, his freshly washed face a familiar anchor in the sea of torture. "Will," she said.
"Linnea, what in God's name is going on?"
She didn't reply, just bit down on her lip as a pain gripped her in its teeth.
"Holy shit, woman!" he shouted. He sprang away from her momentarily, gripped his head with white knuckles, and then seemed to come out of his initial shock to spring to action. He leaned over her. "How long has this been going on?''
"All day," she ground out.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"
She shook her head.
"I'll send for the doctor." He started to move away, but her hand whipped out and gripped his wrist.
"No," she said through clenched teeth. "That's why I didn't tell you. I don't want the doctor." Her nails bit into his skin like talons, and her strength astonished him.
"You damned fool woman."
"I don't want the doctor," she insisted.
"Linnea, you need a doctor."
"Send for Mavis." A pain clenched her abdomen, and she bore down with it.
He ran out of the room long enough to shout orders to the men in the kitchen. A clatter of chairs scraping and doors slamming followed. The kitchen pump squeaked as someone drew water.
Back at her side, Will studied Linnea's sweat-soaked hair and clothing. Her face was red with exertion and from the looks and sounds of it, she had started pushing that baby out. This process was supposed to take hours—days sometimes—how had she gotten this far without him knowing? He fought back a stab of panic to think clearly.
His suspicion the night before had been his hunch, and he'd missed the truth. He could castigate himself later. It appeared he had no choice right now but to deliver a baby.
Chapter Twenty-One
We're going to have to get you out of these clothes," he told her.
She shook her head.
"Yes. You're soaked. I'll get a dry nightdress." Turning, he pawed through the bureau drawers and found a cotton garment.
She pushed his hands away to unbutton her own shirt, but she allowed him to help her out of it. She wore a cotton chemise which was damp as well, and he turned his head while she untied and removed it and pulled the nightdress over her head.
"Now this skirt is coming off—and whatever else is under here." He picked her up and placed her on the opposite side of the bed. After stripping the wet bedding away, he placed layers of papers and blankets under her, then moved her back and used a scissors to cut off her skirt and drawers.
She didn't complain at that point, but drew a sheet over her lower body and gripped the hem with white-knuckled fingers. Her face was white, her lips dry and her breathing ragged.
"I'm going to look," he said, after another contraction drew a cry from her.
Beyond modesty, desperate for help and relief from the pain, she allowed him to spread her thighs and assess the progress.
As he did, she bore down and made a tortured sound in her throat. To his amazement, the top of the baby's glistening head was crowning. He cursed in surprise, caught himself and fought for composure.
She laid her head back and panted. Tendrils of hair lay plastered to her pale cheeks.
He was sweating as much as Linnea, his face perspiring, a trickle running down the center of his back. He'd soothed a hundred mares through this process with his voice, but Linnea was no horse. She was a fragile young woman, and he had only a rough idea of what to do to help her. Aggie would be of no help, being feeble and never having gone through this herself.
This was beyond Will's experience, too, but her labor had progressed so far that help would never arrive in time. He was all she had.
"You're doing just fine, Linnea," he said as assuringly as he could and stroked her damp hair away from her face. "Your baby is almost out. A few more contractions like that should do it."
"I can't," she said, her voice weak. She cried openly, tears running down her cheeks.
With one hand on her thigh, he took her hand in the other and squeezed it. "Yes, you can. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you about the doctor. You should have had Mavis here with you, but you were afraid I wouldn't listen. It's my fault, but I'm going to help you."
She nodded her understanding, but continued to cry anyway. Hell, he probably would, too, if he had something the size of that coming out of his body. He swallowed hard, felt her frantic grip on his hand tighten and looked again.
Linnea held her breath and groaned. A head covered with wet dark hair emerged from her body. Will's heart hammered. "There you go," he told her. "His head's out. Just a little while longer and it'll be over."
She was concentrating now, and maybe his words were helping her to focus, so he continued to talk, speaking softly and assuring her the ordeal was almost finished.
Within minutes
, he guided a slippery little body into the world. Though her face was scrunched, the infant was amazingly perfect; her scrawny legs were drawn up like a frog's until she squirmed and stretched one out. Her tiny foot trembled and Will closed his huge hand over it gently, amazed at the sight. His hand swallowed the baby's entire spindly leg.
"It's a girl," he told Linnea, his voice thick. "You have a daughter."
After wiping blood and moisture from the infant, he tied the umbilical cord with a piece of string and cut it. The baby's first cries reached a place in his heart he hadn't known was there until that moment. He wrapped the baby in one of Linnea's clean aprons and held her to his chest to keep her warm.
The one small doubt he'd had—that he would be able to accept this child as his own—fled in that instant.
"Let me see her," Linnea said.
Will placed the child in her arms. Linnea examined every finger and toe and gave the squalling red infant a watery smile.
Will delivered the afterbirth and cleared away the soiled papers and blankets, making Linnea comfortable and seeing to her needs. She wanted a drink, and he brought her a cup of water.
The baby's cries grew increasingly pathetic.
"She probably wants to suckle," he said over the noise. "That's the first thing most animals do."
"Oh." Linnea looked at the baby. Then at Will with raised brows. He hadn't the vaguest idea what to do and didn't like being helpless.
Voices carried down the hall. A feminine voice. Mavis.
Thank God.
"Have I missed all the excitement?" Mavis asked, sweeping into the room and hurrying to Linnea's side. "Oh, what a darling baby! What do you have there, Linnea?"
"A girl," Linnea replied with a smile.
"She's as pretty and delicate as her mama," Mavis said.
"I'll let you two get on with it," Will said, feeling quite out of place and gratefully backing toward the door.
"Looks like you both did a fine job bringing this little girl into the world," Mavis said, casting a smile from one adult to the other.
"I had no idea," Will said.
The Tenderfoot Bride Page 17
