Erin turned to Ketch to find him studying her. This was not an easy task, asking personal questions about Mace, but one that needed doing. “Was Mace married when he came up here?”
“Sure was. Didn’t he tell you?” Erin’s quick shake of her head told Ketch that wasn’t all Mace didn’t tell her. Well, he wasn’t going to volunteer, but he wouldn’t refuse to answer her. The matter of Mace and Erin sleeping apart came to mind. He had heard them in the hall that first night, and while he never figured Mace for a fool, Ketch was revising his opinion of the man he liked and respected. All a man needed was eyes to see that Mace wanted her. And the sweet lady in front of him was no better, with her sneaky looks when she thought nobody was watching her.
Erin set the muslin wrapped cheese down on the porch. “This admission is painful for me to make, but it must be said, Ketch. I know that Mace cared deeply for his wife, but I don’t understand why he married her.”
“Loved her,” he answered without hesitation. “Loved her enough to turn his back on his folks, who wouldn’t accept her. She was Cherokee, full-blooded. Her folks farmed the place next to Mace’s. Natural they’d get together. Saw it happening. Saw that no one believed he’d marry her. You know for yourself what a stubborn cuss he is.”
“Yes,” Erin whispered, finding the mountains in the far-off distance drawing her gaze once more.
Ketch shifted his stance, patient now that he saw the direction of her questions. Sometimes he believed she was no better than Mace, taking everything he dished out without fighting back. Wasn’t natural for a body not to have a line that, once crossed, spelled out temper. Except when it came to Becky and Jake, he reminded himself. Then she lit into Mace for all her slender body was worth. She wasn’t one to raise her voice, but he’d never met a woman who could put so much in a look from those green eyes the way Erin did.
Nodding to himself, he figured she was filled with plenty of sass and fight, all right, but something held her back from loosing it on Mace. He’d taken about all he could of these goings-on. The men mumbled about Mace’s temper, but none wanted to confront him. Yet he couldn’t shake off a feeling that if Mace took another slice out of Erin tonight in front of them, one of them would likely take the boss out behind the barn.
“Miz Erin, I’m likely steppin’ out of place to be tellin’ you this, but can’t be holdin’ it back no more. Mace cut himself off from everyone after his wife died. There’s reasons only he can tell you, but he blames himself for her dying.”
“What do you mean, Ketch? How could he blame himself?”
“Tol’ you. Ain’t for me to say.” He glanced behind her toward the springhouse and saw that Owhi, a Yakima Indian who sometimes worked for them, had dropped to a crouch as if he was studying the earth. He couldn’t figure what the man was looking for, hunkered down and touching the ground. Owhi was the best tracker to be found in these parts, and if he had found animal tracks near the springhouse, Ketch didn’t want Erin to get upset. Her being a city woman, like Mace often called her, she wouldn’t have noticed them. He made an abrupt excuse to leave her.
Unsatisfied, Erin hefted the cheese and climbed the back steps. There was a cool wind blowing down from the mountains and she longed to linger outside, to think about what Ketch told her, but Mace had been working close by repairing corral fences these last two days and took all his meals at home.
There was no sign of Becky or Jake, but she kept her worry to herself. The children were often gone for hours at a time. When she voiced a protest to Mace, braving his anger, he always reminded her that they were his and he would raise them his way. Jake was often still shy with her, and Becky, when she was bored, would help with whatever chore Erin was doing.
Learning that Mace blamed himself for his wife’s death reinforced her feeling that he tended to spoil Jake and Becky beyond a man loving his children, although, secretly, she craved a bit of that love for herself.
“Find something, Owhi?” Ketch asked as he approached the Indian near the springhouse.
“The new woman of Mace carries her child low in her belly.”
“The new woman…Oh, you mean Erin,” Ketch began, then he stopped. His mouth was open and stayed that way when Owhi pointed to the prints in the muddy ground.
“See how she steps? Four moons will see the birth of the child.”
“There’s no child! You’re wrong, Owhi. I know there can’t be a child, and for sure not one coming in four moons.”
“Four moons the child comes,” Owhi insisted, rising to his full height.
“I’ve never had cause to doubt you, but I’m telling you you’re wrong this time.” Ketch shook his head, but couldn’t help staring down at Erin’s footprints. For all that he told Owhi he was wrong, he had never known the man to be anything but right. But what he was saying was impossible. Wasn’t he just thinking about Mace and Erin sleeping apart? Even if…No! This wasn’t true.
“You wanted work?” Ketch asked him, deciding to let the matter drop. He wasn’t going to fight with him.
“I bring king salmon from the early run.”
Ketch licked his lips. Owhi had a way of smoking salmon that he and Mace loved. “Went dip netting?”
Owhi smiled. “This is way to take as many salmon as needed.”
“Dangerous, too,” Ketch muttered, thinking of the one time he and Mace went along with Owhi. The Yakima had led them down to the river where the waters were forced through narrow channels and over low falls. Ketch had taken one look at the crashing, tumbling waters falling from one pool to another and felt his stomach heave. But Owhi stood on a wooden platform precariously tied to basalt cliff, extended over the whirlpools and eddies, sweeping his long-handled dip net from the upper to the lower pool. It had amazed Ketch that the fish couldn’t be seen, only felt coming into the net and hauled up to the platform. The fishing station was highly prized among the Yakima, often passed down from one generation to the next.
“The salmon will be good for the woman. Give her much strength but no make fat.”
Ketch stared at Owhi’s moccasins and the small footprints near his feet. If Owhi was right, and he wasn’t admitting that he was, but if it were so, the child wasn’t Mace’s. That might explain a lot. Heck, he told himself, it would explain everything.
“I bring fish to smokehouse.”
“Yeah. You do that, Owhi, then come up to the barn. I’ve something for you.”
Mace found Erin alone in the kitchen when he came in to eat. The table was set for the midday meal, steam rising from the platter of venison steaks. Bowls of hot green beans flavored with bacon, pickled corn relish and stewed tomatoes lined the center of the large trestle table. Erin had her back toward him, taking pans of golden brown biscuits from the oven.
Her hair was rolled tight and pinned to her head, but he remembered his one sight of it long and freely curling down her back. His reaction to her had changed in the six weeks she had been there. He woke hot, stayed hot, and slept hot as a firecracker lit at both ends and popping in the middle. Since she’d taken to wearing a long apron over her gown he couldn’t tell if she was showing yet.
“Brown and perfect as could be,” she said, using the linen towel to plop the biscuits into a basket.
He knew she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone, but he made no noise to correct her. She finished and dug two small-fisted hands into the small of her back, moaning and stretching while he watched.
He was so engrossed in watching Erin that he didn’t hear Pete coming down the hall.
“Miz Erin…Oh, hiya, boss.”
Erin spun around, not toward Pete but to Mace. The hot pan from the oven clattered to the floor and she cried out as it seared across the back of her hands. Before Pete moved, Mace closed the distance between them and grabbed Erin away from the stove. Pulling her arms to the side, he held her wrists apart, turning them over and staring at the already blistering skin.
He reached behind him to the top of the table, tossing off the glass cove
r of the butter dish without thought to its breaking. Taking the rounded ball in one hand, he used it to soothe the burns.
Erin bit her lip, trying not to cry out. She steeled herself for another sort of blistering, the type only Mace could deliver, which never seemed to heal.
“Stop standing there useless as a milk pail under a bull, Pete. Get two clean cloths.” Mace resisted Erin’s attempt to pull free of his grip. He stared down at her bent head as she stilled, refusing to look at him or talk. Mace realized it had been like this since the first morning. Only where Becky or Jake were concerned did Erin open her mouth. He knew she was trying damn hard to please him, but it remained unexplained why the more she tried, the angrier he became. He took the napkins Pete handed him.
Despite his anger, he was gentle wrapping her hands with the cloth. But when he was done, he held her in place and looked at Pete.
“You wanna explain to me what you’re doing in the house during the day? I told you to ride fence, didn’t I?”
“The window was stuck in Miz Erin’s room and she asked me to fix it when I had time. The fence is checked, and I told Ketch what repairs are needed up in the high meadow.”
“You had to rise mighty early to get it done and be back here so soon.”
Both Erin and Pete shared a look that was not lost on Mace. Simmering anger began to bubble as it hit a low boil. She asked Pete to fix her window. She allowed him in her bedroom. She didn’t think he noticed all those sweet smiles that passed between the two of them. She still thought him a fool.
“If there’s repairs to be made you’d better get to it,” Mace said, giving Pete a cold stare.
Pete didn’t bother to point out that food was already on the table and he hadn’t eaten since five this morning, putting in a full day’s work so he could come back to help Erin with the heavier chores. He stepped around Mace and the table, grabbing his hat off the rack near the door.
“Pete, wait,” Erin said, yanking her hands from Mace’s grip. Placing her elbow against his waist, Erin shoved Mace aside and slipped around him to the table. “Take some biscuits and steaks with you.” Her hands were clumsy trying to cut the still steaming biscuits and fill them with the venison.
Mace took the knife from her and with a few deft cuts opened four, filled them and had them wrapped in a napkin handed over to Pete before the man got close to the table.
“Get going or you’ll miss supper,” he ordered the younger man. Admitting to himself that what he felt was jealousy, Mace turned on Erin. “If you need fixing in my house, you ask me. Or were you looking for an excuse to get Pete alone here?”
“No. You’re wrong, Mr. Dalton.” Erin closed her eyes and her mouth. It was senseless to defend herself. When she opened her eyes to look at Mace, his expression relayed that he, not Erin, was the wronged party. She didn’t understand and said as much.
“I’m trying to hold to your terms, Mr. Dalton. I’ve cleaned your house, cooked your food and tried to care for your children.” Erin had to stop. He was standing so close to her that the heat from his body was something she couldn’t ignore. This was the first time since the day she arrived here that he had been this close to her. She took a shaky breath, trying to control the shiver at the touch of his hands on her arms.
“Figured you’d be too soft for ranch life. I warned you how it would be, didn’t I?”
“You warned me about the hard work, Mr. Dalton. You never said a word about stripping my hide at every turn.”
“Stripping your…” Mace stopped himself from saying another word.
With a look, Erin begged him for a little understanding, but Mace had closed his eyes, drawing her closer to him without conscious thought.
The back door slammed and Mace jerked away from Erin.
Ray and Cosi came in, plunking their hats on the rack, sniffing appreciatively.
“Pete said food was on,” Cosi announced, pulling out his chair.
“Couldn’t find Jake or Becky, boss,” Ray added, taking his place next to Cosi. “What happened to your hands, Miz Erin?”
“I was careless with the biscuit pan. Not to worry, I finished mending your good shirt for the meeting tonight.”
Mace sat down, too, his anger at full boil. “What meeting?” he asked Ray.
“Grange,” he said, passing along the platter of venison and helping himself to the corn relish. “You coming?”
“Guess I will. Where’s Ketch?”
“Down at the barn. Owhi brought us salmon from the first run,” Cosi answered, looking around and not finding the butter. Shoving his chair back, he snatched up a biscuit and headed for the door.
“Now what?” Mace demanded.
“We need butter.”
“I’m sorry, Cosi, I used—”
“Not to worry, Miz Erin. I’ll get it in two shakes.”
He’d no sooner left than Ketch came in, each hand filled with a child’s ear. “You’ll never guess where I found these two, boss. Down by that damn bull again. Warned them, I did, just like you, but these two are ornery ’bout listenin’ to what’s good for them.”
Mace’s fork hit his plate with a clatter. He glared at Ketch. Since Erin had come here, Ketch appeared set on siding with her about Jake and Becky’s needing a firmer hand. Most times he ignored him, but that bull had an uncertain temper at the best of times, and their disregarding his own orders to stay away from him demanded Mace do something harsh to bring the lesson home. With a hard gaze he looked at his two mud-strewn children.
“Wash up and sit. I’ll deal with you two when we’re done.”
Becky’s mouth set in a mutinous line. She tried to get Erin’s attention, but she was staring down at her empty plate. Dragging Jake over to the dry sink, she pulled the stool into place. If Erin wouldn’t interfere, they were sure in for it this time.
As it turned out, Mace let them off with another stern warning and chased them outside once the meal was done. The men left to return to work, but he sat lingering over a last cup of coffee. Erin hadn’t eaten.
“Your hands still smarting?”
With a startled look her head came up. She shook her head.
“Don’t like what you cooked?”
Without answering, she rose, carefully holding her plate between her wrapped palms. Mace stopped her by standing and blocking her way.
“You can’t wash the dishes.”
“Yes, I can.”
“It’s foolish to be this stubborn,” he said, taking the plate away. “I’ll do them.”
His offer was as unexpected as the gentleness in his voice. But Erin had learned quite a bit about Mace in the last weeks. Everything came with a price tag. “Thank you, but I’ll manage.”
“Your hands’ll sting in hot water and soap.”
“They’re my hands.”
“You’ll be useless tomorrow if you don’t give them a chance to heal,” he stated flatly, trying to control his anger with her continued refusal of his offer. Why hadn’t he noticed the faint shadows beneath her eyes? Or had he in fact seen them and ignored them? Since he didn’t sleep soundly, he often heard her pacing the kitchen at night and stopped himself more than once from getting out of bed to find out what was wrong.
Those dark green eyes of hers met his with a directness that he found disconcerting. His gaze drifted down to her mouth. He found himself angling his head downward to close the distance between them.
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you, Erin.”
The words were breathed over her lips. Erin felt the intimate heat of his breath. Snared in place by this abrupt change in him, she didn’t attempt to move away. Erin licked her suddenly dry lips. He was watching her with a heavy-lidded intensity that should have frightened her. It didn’t. Her heartbeat increased. His mouth brushed over hers, the touch so light, so soft, she thought she imagined it. Her eyes closed and once again his mouth barely touched hers. She swayed toward the warmth of his body. How could she desire his kiss? The question remained unanswere
d. Mace settled his mouth over hers.
The tiny sound she made from the back of her throat aroused him. The warmth he could sense stealing over her skin, the fine tremor of her lips, all heightened his arousal. He pulled back, staring down at her. The eyes she opened to his were luminous, but questioning. She lowered dark lashes, hiding her expression from him.
Rubbing his hands up and down her slender arms, he drew her closer to his body. He wanted her, now, even as he damned his body for its betrayal. But how could he resist lips that warmed and parted at his insistence? A man had to be crazy to stop exploring the sweet honey taste of her.
Driven by the heavy beat of his blood, Mace drew the tip of his tongue over the sensitive peak of her upper lip and was rewarded with the tilt of her face more fully to his. With a gliding caress, he traced her lower lip from corner to corner, drinking in a small sound of surprise when his teeth gently closed over her bottom lip, holding it captive. He released her in seconds, only to begin all over again.
His hand eased up, cupping her face, hunger replacing tenderness.
The beguiling warmth and gentleness of his mouth was gone, but Erin found she wanted the velvet excitement of his tongue gliding against hers. She brought up her injured hands, needing to touch him but afraid to do more than rest them lightly against his upper arms.
Once again the texture of his kisses changed, and her breath was stolen, her mouth his. Tension that had nothing to do with fear and all to do with passionate need filled her. She hungered for closeness, yearned for acceptance and longed to put the bitterness of the last weeks behind her.
His hand slid down her back, kneading the ache that was constantly with her, creating a deeper ache inside her, drawing her against his chest. With his other hand he cupped her hip, leaving her no doubt about the strength of his own need. She forgot where they were, losing herself in the increased demand of his touch and his kisses.
Erin tried to capture his textures. The silky brush of his mustache, the softness of his lips, the velvet glide of his tongue entwining with hers. Mace had strength but tempered it with a gentleness. That gentleness coaxed her to forget caution, to forget that she was here on his sufferance. The caressing splay of his hand on her back eased her loneliness only to replace it with a building fever.
Gifts of Love Page 12
