“Why not?”
He looked as if he really didn’t know.
“It’s indecent.” Her cheeks warmed. “In front of the kids, at least.”
He turned to face her and propped himself up on his elbow, his morning vocal chords warmed with friction. “Did you never see your parents kiss? Hug?”
Not that she could recall. Had he seen his parents do so?
Her parents hadn’t so much as fought in front of her and her sisters, though they surely had since she could always tell when Mother was put out with Father.
And Gregory had never been one for publicly showing affection. He may have kissed her a few times in front of the children over the years, but they’d been nothing overtly amorous, never had they seen—
“I take your silence to mean no.”
“You can’t tell me you think children should see ... what belongs in a bedroom.”
“Didn’t you hear me tell Spencer he should knock?” He flipped off his covers, grabbed his slacks off a chair, and stepped into them.
She sat, dragging the quilt up with her. “Then why did you trap me against you?”
He stopped pulling his pants together in the front and stared at her. A twinge in his cheek gave away his irritation.
She crossed her arms to ward off the chill. What had she said to cause that look?
“If it’s proper for you to be in here, then it’s proper for them to know where you sleep.” He buttoned his pants and reached for a shirt draped over the footboard. “We’re husband and wife whether or not you want to be.”
She frowned. Did he think she wasn’t thankful he’d married her? “I—”
“When Celia and Spencer are older and contemplating their first night with their spouse, I don’t want them to recall this moment and believe there should be any shame in the physical side of marriage.” He tucked his shirttails in with a stabbing motion.
Her shoulders sagged. Shame? Shame sounded so harsh, yet she couldn’t deny the fire still blazing in her cheeks.
He fumbled with his flipped collar. “In the eyes of God, there’s nothing wrong with you being in here, but I have to wonder—” He clamped his jaw, and without looking back, left the room.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged herself. She knew there was nothing wrong with her being in here, but Jacob did things so differently, made her reconsider her life so thoroughly, that she wasn’t sure she’d ever done anything right at all.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The minutes-old memory of her family looking at her with disappointment made Annie want to pull Jacob’s covers over her head and pretend this morning hadn’t happened. Going downstairs and seeing the betrayal in Celia’s eyes, the confusion in Spencer’s, or the anger in Jacob’s again, was the last thing she wanted to do.
Annie dragged herself from under the covers and to the washstand. She smacked her cheeks with the tepid water, then gripped the porcelain basin.
She’d been convinced coming to Jacob last night had been the right thing to do until she was caught in a position she’d never been in before.
Sure, her children had occasionally visited her and Gregory’s bedroom, but never when she’d been pressed up against his bare chest.
Jacob’s manner of expressing his love for her would look far different than Gregory’s ever had, and for Celia’s sake she’d hoped to hold off displaying how quickly things were progressing between them until her daughter’s animosity toward Jacob had lessened.
How Celia had just looked at her, as if she’d betrayed Gregory, was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid.
And the hurt in Jacob’s eyes ... She should’ve insisted on talking with him last night, but she’d never seen him upset before. She’d figured submitting to his request for time to simmer down wouldn’t hurt anything, because if she knew him at all, come morning, he’d have been apologetic, telling her what was bothering him, and asking after her feelings like he so often had.
If only this morning had gone as she’d thought it would.
She returned to sit on Jacob’s side of the bed and squeezed her forehead with her hands. What was she to do now? Jacob would likely forgive and forget, but Celia had always responded better to heart-to-heart talks with Gregory than with her.
She flipped through Jacob’s Bible toward James, desperate for guidance.
If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering. For he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed.
If her feelings were anything—sloshed and tossed about would certainly describe them.
Lying on the quilt, she splayed her hand in the oblong indentation on Jacob’s side of the mattress. Her dream of Gregory this morning had been all too real. His burly, hairy chest. His riotous red hair cropped short on his head and face.
And though she could still recall how the scents of cattle, mud, and rain had clung to Gregory ever since they’d moved out here, she couldn’t remember his underlying aroma.
She bunched Jacob’s pillow under her head and rubbed at her eyes.
Jacob smelled of spices, moss, and ... Jacob.
Lord, I loved Gregory, but I need help letting his memory go. I do feel as though I’m betraying him when I love—
She bit her lip and the tears rolled down her face. She rolled over to nuzzle her face into Jacob’s pillow and deeply inhale his scent.
She loved Jacob.
Loved.
And so quickly and deeply that she worried her love for Gregory had been but a shallow thing.
The crash of pans and the stench of burning butter wafted up from downstairs.
Jacob shouldn’t have to feed the children, especially after how she’d hurt him.
But she couldn’t go downstairs yet. Right now, it was more important that she pray for the wisdom she desperately needed for having a talk with her daughter and making amends with her husband.
Jacob scraped the dark brown circles off the skillet and flipped the flapjack. He rushed to throw more butter into the pan before he charred the other side of Spencer’s breakfast.
The boy would be disappointed enough that his sister and mother had decided to stay upstairs, so these flapjacks needed to be good to make up for it.
A pool of maple syrup ought to make them palatable.
Spencer finished setting the table, sat in his chair, and picked up the old Jacob’s ladder Annie had unearthed in one of her cleaning frenzies.
The toy was one of the few things Jacob had carried with him after leaving Texas and wandering from ranch to ranch until he settled here with his old war buddy, Bryant. Silly thing for a man to cart around, but he couldn’t part with the plaything. A cowhand, who’d taken a shine to him years ago, had made it for him, declaring it unconscionable for a boy named Jacob not to own a Jacob’s ladder.
The tic-tic-tic of the flat, interconnected blocks climbing down one another soothed his nerves.
Just as God had known Jacob in the Bible, so too did He see into the heart of each person in this household.
Though the inner workings of his wife’s heart were hard to understand, if she’d come from a family that hadn’t been affectionate, if letting herself love with abandon was a foreign concept, he could understand a little of why she was having such a hard time letting him get close to her.
Yet, it still hurt. Two men vied for room in her heart, and he was currently the one out in the cold. He was obviously nothing like Gregory.
Of course, he’d already known that in a way. He’d met Gregory on a few occasions, a man’s man. Tough and strong. Only said what needed to be said and then was done with discussion.
He’d not ventured to think Gregory had treated his wife in the same manner. His parents had been enamored with each other. Countless times he and his brothers had pretended to gag at the long kisses Pa would lay on Ma just to make them squirm.
And
come to think of it, though he knew Annie loved her children, she didn’t do a lot of touching and hugging with them either. It wasn’t just him.
Sliding a well-done flapjack onto a plate, he handed the food across the table to Spencer. “Here you go, son.”
The boy wrinkled his nose at the dark circle.
“Just cut off anything too burnt.”
Annie padded into the kitchen on bare feet. She smiled at Spencer but wrinkled her nose at his breakfast.
Her gaze found Jacob’s, her eyes wide like a doe wary of a hunter’s presence.
No matter how completely befuddled he was by her constant pushing him away, he’d not force her to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. Did she not know that?
Sure, he’d voiced some strong words to her earlier, but would she ever stop being so guarded around him?
He stared at the burning butter in the pan for a moment, then held out the spatula in surrender. “I think we’d all appreciate it if you took over.”
Nodding, she took the utensil and stiffened when he bent to kiss her on the cheek.
He sighed and walked to the table.
Annie spooned out more batter. “Where’s Celia? She ought to eat.”
Jacob stopped mid-sit. “I’ll get her.”
Celia had said she’d be willing to talk this morning. Maybe he could at least fix one thing before he left for work.
Trying to hum as she finished frying the flapjack, Annie lost track of the melody and had to restart.
The fast-paced thumps of her husband’s boots on the stairs ended her absent-minded humming. She turned toward the stairs and frowned. Was he running?
He appeared at the bottom of the stairwell and strode across the kitchen, straight for his gun belt. Grabbing it, he slung it around his waist.
“What’s wrong?” The acrid smell of burnt cake curled up from the skillet, so she flipped the pancake over while staring at the bleak expression on his face. Her heart raced like a runaway stage. “Where are you going?”
“She’s gone.” He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat.
“Gone?”
He covered the distance between them in two long steps and took one of her hands in his. “Out the window. She evidently climbed down the trellis.”
When would Celia’s impetuous decisions ever cease to surprise her? “I suppose we’ll have to switch their rooms once she returns. Spencer’s window’s painted shut.”
A quivering smile formed on Jacob’s unshaven face. “Thanks for being willing to enforce my disciplinary choices, but I think you were right. I was too strict.”
“Even so, she shouldn’t have left without permission.”
“You don’t understand.” He looked deep into her eyes. “She took her belongings. All of them.”
An unseen hand clamped around her throat. “She ran away?”
The hurt in Celia’s eyes this morning had warned her that her daughter was about to throw a fit—but run away?
“Yes.” His voice wasn’t much more than a whisper.
Annie dropped into the nearby chair. The flowery pattern on her skirt seemed to be moving in dizzying circles.
He clasped her upper arm. “If you wouldn’t mind throwing something together for me to eat, I’m heading out to search for her.”
What if...?
Jacob crouched in front of her. “Anne?”
“I’m sorry.” She stood, but too quickly, for she had to lean against the table to steady herself. “Food. You need food.”
He clasped her other arm and leaned down to look at her, his eyes filled with worry.
What was he seeing that made him look like that?
Despair, of course.
Annie let herself fall against him, drawing solace over how quickly his arms wrapped around her. “Please. Please, find her.”
If only she could start the morning all over again.
But this morning wouldn’t have happened if not for last night—and Celia had obviously not been in favor of how she’d chosen to spend it.
Yet how would continuing to cater to Celia do them any good?
Jacob’s embrace tightened. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”
She burrowed into his chest and let his warmth infuse her for the briefest of seconds before stepping back, wanting to give him a confident smile, but unable to move her lips in the right direction.
He ran a knuckle down the side of her face. “It’ll be all right.”
She gave him a small nod and began methodically honeying a small stack of flapjacks and folding them in half while he filled his canteen with water.
He quickly kissed both her and Spencer, took a bite of his makeshift breakfast sandwich, and rushed out the door.
She followed him out to the porch’s edge, watching him rush down the street until he disappeared into the early morning bustle.
Spencer grabbed her hand. “Will Celia be all right?” His eyes had lost their ever-present gleam.
She forced a bright smile. “Your sister may be foolhardy, but she can take care of herself. When we lived on the ranch, she was gone for hours at a time, remember?”
Taking Spencer by the shoulders, Annie turned him toward the table. “When you finish eating, we’ll look about town for her. She’s around somewhere.”
But if she wasn’t?
The plains were vast and the train could take her anywhere.
Annie forced herself not to run back out on the porch and holler for Jacob. If her daughter was rash enough to decide to run away in the space of an hour, she was hot-headed enough to sneak into an empty boxcar.
Surely Jacob had realized that. Probably why he’d rushed from the house.
Spencer ate with a quickness that indicated he knew there was no time to dally, and yet, she couldn’t sit still as she picked at the burnt pancakes Jacob had made.
If Celia left town without much money, the brothels and gambling halls lining the tracks from town to town could easily derail a headstrong girl with an empty stomach and the hubris of the prodigal son.
Finding her daughter before she did something irreversibly stupid was completely outside her control.
God alone could protect her girl.
But if He didn’t?
What was she supposed to do?
Laying her head in the crook of her arm, she closed her eyes to stanch the threatening tears.
Spencer nudged her elbow. “Mama?”
Swallowing hard, she sniffed and surreptitiously wiped her face across her sleeve before looking up at Spencer.
“Shouldn’t we pray?”
“Yes.” But though she swallowed again, she couldn’t voice more words.
Spencer bowed his head and his little face screwed up in concentration. “God Jesus, bring Celia back. I don’t want her gone forever though she picks on me all the time. Thank you for the food even if it’s burnt, and help Mama not be so sad. Bring Pa back safe too and ... and lead us through the paths of right stuff and trust you and give you glory forever. Amen.”
She couldn’t help but smile at Spencer’s attempt at imitating the way Jacob often ended his prayers.
And yet, Spencer’s garbled words addressed her uncertainties. She needed to focus on doing the “right stuff”—and trust God to do the rest. Choosing her next steps by whatever would glorify God most. No matter the outcome.
How had worrying about Mother’s or Mrs. Tate’s opinion of her marriage glorify God? She’d told Mrs. Tate she was thankful for His provision, but if she’d been truly grateful, why had she worried about what to do with the gift rather than just enjoy and praise God for it?
How did beating herself up over the choices she’d made—which may or may not have led to Celia’s running away—glorify God? Modeling for Spencer how one trusted God by obedience to His Word no matter what happened would’ve been better.
And how did holding on to her cattle and pining for her lost ranch glorify God? She didn’t deserve Jacob, his love, his provision, or this
beautiful home, but she’d miraculously been given them all, and she should be investing her time and money here.
Though she seemed to have failed at most everything up until now, her next step only needed to be what would give God the most glory.
Not just because she felt like it. Not only when she was promised success. But because He was worthy of it. Because it was right.
“C’mon, Spencer.” She wiped her eyes one last time and took his hand. “Let’s go find Celia. And if we don’t, we’ll pray God keeps her safe.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Celia unpacked her belongings onto the floor of a dilapidated covered wagon. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so she stopped to take deep breaths and let them out slowly.
Didn’t help.
This wagon was a sorry excuse for a shelter.
And though Daniel had sworn nothing bad would happen to her out here, Timothy’s expression made her doubt that promise was worth much.
She trusted Daniel well enough, but these strangers? Without another woman around? Daniel would leave at the end of the day, and then it would be just her and two scruffy men, camping out in the middle of nowhere.
She stared at her folded quilt, but decided not to pull anything else out. She got up and pushed back the canvas flap.
Daniel had said this old wagon would be for her use alone, but a rotting wagon bed with a canvas roof was no barricade against a determined intruder, and the next site might not even have a shelter.
If she’d been smart, she would’ve confiscated one of Daddy’s guns before leaving. She patted her boot, confirming her jackknife was still there.
Knife or no, camping no longer seemed a good idea. She didn’t want to go back to the marshal’s, but neither did she want to leave one trap to end up in another.
After climbing over the wagon bed, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Daniel!”
The water rushing around the river bend dampened her holler.
Fifty yards away, a flash of russet hair momentarily appeared above the silvery-gray sagebrush edging the river.
Romancing the Bride Page 25
