High Plains Wife

by Jillian Hart

  That made it worse. He felt guilty enough leaving the way he did without saying goodbye. Guilty again for returning home without kissing her hello. She didn’t know how fiercely he’d missed her at night when he lay awake on the lumpy mattress in the hotel longing for her. She didn’t know how many times he wished to see her—just see her. Through the window at work in the house or walking in the sunny fields with Georgie. Splashing in the creek with her skirt hiked to her knees.

  Love twisted his chest like a belt drawn too tight. His eyes blurred with the intensity of it. The broken places inside him felt endlessly dark.

  What was he going to do? He wanted Mariah. He couldn’t let himself want her.

  “The stallion kept me and Dakota on our toes, I’ll admit it,” he said around a mouthful of biscuit. “But his bad temper benefited me. I got him at a mighty fine price, and that’s something right there. Look at the wide barrel. He’s strong. He’s got good composition and he’s going to sire some mighty fine foals, once I break him.”

  “You sound determined. About as determined as he looks to break you.”

  “He can try, but I’m pretty damn tough.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  How warm her voice, like the first soft fall of moonlight coming over the eastern prairie, and how it lured him.

  He cleared his throat, popped a bite of succulent chicken into his mouth and chewed. If he concentrated on the food and not on her, he might make it through the evening without hauling her down into that grass and letting her love him, his flaws and all, and damn the consequences.

  She touched him, soft as starlight on a lonely night, and the connection was more than flesh and bone; it went beyond the physical. It was as if she’d touched the deepest part of him. He gritted his teeth, torn. He wanted her solace. He wanted her love. He felt her in his soul, and he didn’t understand it, only knew that he stopped hurting when he was with her, when she touched him, when she came to him with this love as amazing as starlight and as steady as eternity and as familiar as his own soul.

  How could he let her any closer? He shook with the fear of it. The uncertainty. If he gave in and loved her, then how long would it last? If how things had gone with Lida were any indication of how marriages went, then in a couple of years the bitterness and disappointment would accumulate like snow on a roof. One day it would be too heavy and the wood holding it up would break and the roof would collapse.

  No, he’d walked down that path and had the broken pieces to prove it. His love for Lida had been nothing like this remarkable, infinite love for Mariah. What would it do to him when she turned away? When she realized he was simply a man, nothing more. He tried to be strong but he was human. Tarnished and with broken places, no different from anyone else walking this earth.

  Behind her in the falling twilight shone the windows of his house. His home. Pop would be in the parlor about now, enjoying an evening smoke, reading the paper and probably keeping an eye on the kids.

  His children. He had to remember what was important. He’d married Mariah for their sakes. Not for his.

  Mariah’s hand slid up his arm and swept over the curve of his shoulder. She was sweet heaven, and what good was heaven to a man like him?

  He closed his eyes. He wanted to run. He wanted to stay.

  Her fingertips were sheer bliss on his poor, tired muscles. “I hate that you’ve been avoiding me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, no longer hungry, no longer anything. “I’m truly sorry about that.”

  “It’s all right. I want you to know I understand.” Gentle, her words. Soothing, her touch. “You loved Lida with your whole heart. I know what that’s like now, and to think of losing someone you love so much… I can’t imagine the pain.”

  She thought he loved Lida? He shook his head, truly lost.

  She kept on going, in that dulcet voice of hers that swept through him like a hymn. “I don’t want you to hurt any more than you already do. If you’re not ready to make love with me again, I can wait. I’ll give you anything you need, Nick. Please, just don’t think you have to avoid me. That’s not good for you or me.”

  “What would you have me do?” He didn’t know if she was sincere or if she was playing him the way Lida always had. Then again, how could she be so forgiving? He’d hauled her into his bed, taken her virginity and every bit of comfort and pleasure he could because he needed it. Because he could no longer stand being alone and hurting. Because the aching void in his soul filled whenever she touched him.

  As she was doing now. Touching him, soothing him.

  “I want you to take your time,” she said, and pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Be good to yourself. I want you to ask me for what you need, and I’ll do my very best to give it to you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Surely this was going to be leading in the direction that women took things—what did Mariah really want?

  He rubbed his brow, overcome, disappointed; he couldn’t stop feeling as if here it came, what he was afraid of. He’d made love to her, loved her with his whole being, and she was going to start using it against him. Trying to herd him like a runaway into a corral of her choice.

  And, like the stallion in front of him, he’d fight. And if he gave in, he’d be miserable.

  “I mean, if you need a friend to talk to, I’ll listen. If you need someone to hold you, I’m here with open arms.” Her fingers stilled, and so did the reverent twilight. “If you need to be loved, then I will do that, too. Without condition. Without end. Just like I vowed to do. To honor and cherish you.”

  She was too good to be true. It was as simple as that. “I didn’t love Lida. Not the way you think.”

  “Of course you did. You married her and were raising a family with her.” She felt as sincere as nightfall, gentle but certain. “She was the mother of your children.”

  “I married her because she was pregnant and I was responsible. Not because I loved her.”

  “But you did.” She sounded as if she had endless faith in him.

  Not for long. She might as well know the truth. “You think I’m pining away for the woman I loved. Sure, I loved her, but the passion we shared was dead long ago. The truth is, we could barely speak civilly to one another the last couple of years she was alive. I’m sorry for her passing, and, sure, I loved her in a way. But that isn’t the reason I’m out here with the horse, instead of inside the house with you.”

  “It isn’t?”

  He heard the vulnerability in her words but kept right on going. It was the only way he could right the boat and keep them on the correct course, safe and out of danger. “I married you out of necessity, Mariah. I needed someone to keep the house and care for my kids and cook the meals. That was our bargain.”

  “It sounds so harsh when you say it like that. A bargain. But marriage is more than that. We vowed to love, honor and cherish each other. I know you’re torn apart inside, I can feel it. Somehow I can feel what’s inside you, and I will do anything to heal your pain.” Her hand splayed across his chest, over his beating heart. “I’m your wife, Nick. When we made love—”

  “You’re my housekeeper.” He tore away from her, unable to take it, breaking apart from the inside out because she wanted the impossible from him. The one thing he couldn’t afford to give, because she was as dangerous as a tornado roaring across those plains, coming straight at him, destroying everything in her path.

  She wasn’t like Lida. Not in the least. Mariah meant every word she said. He could feel it. The truth of it. In his heart, and in hers.

  She wanted his love, that was all.

  It was too much.

  “Just your housekeeper? You can’t mean that.” She sounded so sure.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, fought with everything in him, and kept walking.

  “Nick?”

  His hands fisted as the last vestiges of twilight faded and night fell and he melted into the shadows. Mariah could not distinguish him from the darkness of
the vast plains.

  Yet she could feel him like the wind on her face—nothing that could be touched or seen or measured, but it was there just the same, a force that was endless and had a power of its own. A force that came quietly or fiercely, and she could feel his heart in hers and feel his hopelessness.

  He’s not ready to love me. Mariah took solace in that. He was still grieving, that was all.

  He’s hurting, he’s confused, he needs time. She wrapped her arms around her waist. There was a tight knot of pain in the center of her chest. What had he said? He’d admitted he didn’t love Lida. That he was not grieving her. That wasn’t the reason he walked away into the night. His hurtful words echoed inside her.

  He wasn’t grieving Lida. The truth of it sunk in, hitting her hard, and the tight ball of pain inside her began to unwind. I needed someone to keep the house and care for my kids and cook the meals.

  Sure, he needed help. She understood that. She’d married him knowing he’d married her for practical reasons, but he’d chosen her. Out of all the women at the dance who were younger and prettier. Out of all the women in town who were softer and sweeter and more accommodating.

  You’re my housekeeper, he’d said. But there was no way that was true. Never. She’d felt the way he loved her. With every touch, every kiss, she’d felt his love. And it was like a slow, steady lightening of a predawn sky, glowing with the promise of the day to come.

  Then why had he said that? She hugged herself more tightly, alone. She had never realized how dark a night could be.

  She stood a long while, waiting. But Nick did not return to her. In time. She wished it with her entire being. She could not let go of the hope he would come to her.

  But the doubts began to feel as wide as the horizon as she trudged through the grass. The house was lit up like a beacon, the windows glowing warm and bright, as if unafraid of the night.

  You’re my housekeeper, kept echoing in her mind.

  As Papa had always told her, What man would want you, Mariah? You’re as cold-hearted as your mother, and there’s only one thing a woman like you’s any good for and that’s hard work.

  She died a little, but kept on walking.

  It was late, past time to put the children to bed. And, as always, there was more work to be done before she could sleep.

  The wind rushed through the open window to snap the curtains hard enough to wake her. Mariah rolled over in her bed, alone, wearing nothing but her night rail. She’d kicked the sheet off her in her sleep. The wind billowing into the room was humid.

  The distant roll of thunder told her another storm could be on its way. Had Nick come in while she was asleep? Or was he out there somewhere in the endless dark? She yanked the window closed and the curtains fell silent. Lightning snaked across the sky to the northwest. The sky was glowing strangely with an eerie light.

  She pulled on her housecoat and padded down the hall. Nick’s door was open, his room empty. His bed unmade. The bed where they’d made love, where they’d come together as one, and the impact of it still ached inside her. Wasn’t that what marriage was supposed to be? That special bond, physical and emotional? Why had Nick pulled away?

  The wind was blowing harder by the time she stepped outside. Whipping up dust and snapping through trees. There was a sense of expectation in the air as Mariah picked her way down the path, the landscape made translucent by the glowing sky. A strange color twisted in the clouds to the north.

  She found Nick on the rise, sitting in the waving sea of grass, arms around his knees, watching the storm. The wind was too loud for him to hear her, but his shoulders stiffened. His spine straightened. He cocked his head, listening for the sound of her gait on the crackling, dry grass.

  Would he send her away? Or ask her to stay? There was only one way to find out. She gathered her courage and slipped to the ground beside him. “I figured you’d be out here watching the storm.”

  “Twister weather, but tonight’s storm ought to miss us.”

  “As long as the wind doesn’t change direction.”

  “That’s why I’m sitting up here, to be sure.”

  He sounded so distant. How did she reach across and pull him close? She didn’t know.

  He seemed to lean away from her. When he spoke, he could have been a stranger. “Thanks for tucking in the kids tonight. I didn’t get in to tell them good-night.”

  “Joey read himself to sleep. I took the book out of his hands and turned off the lamp.” Mariah remembered how the boy had awakened when she’d lifted the Mark Twain novel out of his grip. Joey had pretended to go back to sleep, but she knew he hadn’t. What was it about the men in this family? Why were they so obstinate? So hard to win over? “I read to Georgie and she went right to sleep.”

  “My children are doing better. You care about them.”

  He sounded like her employer, not her husband, not her true love. “Yes, I care about them. They’re my children now, too.”

  “You always surprise me, Mariah.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I sure as shootin’ don’t know.” He raked his fingers through his hair. Did she always have to be this difficult? Why wasn’t she the convenient, practical wife he’d bargained on? “You’d best get back in the house.”

  “I’d rather be with you.”

  Don’t hurt me like this, Mariah. Nick rubbed his face, wishing he could wipe the scars from his soul as easily. “No, go in. It’ll be hailing in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t mind a little hail.”

  It would be wrong to use her again. Wrong to make her think he loved her—when he couldn’t. It took a big part of him to turn away. “No, I’ll keep an eye on things. If it looks like trouble, I’ll come wake you.”

  “You’re eager to get rid of me.”

  “Nope. Just to be alone.”

  Mariah grimaced, feeling the pain down deep. So, he’d answered her question. He didn’t want her.

  She couldn’t go. Not until she knew for certain. “You didn’t mean what you said, did you? You married me because…” You wanted to love me.

  He covered his face with his hands. He was shadow and darkness, silhouetted by the oncoming storm, his dark hair lashed by the wind. Defeat gusted over her like the cruel storm. “I told you, Mariah. I knew you’d do your best with my children. And I was right. Look how well they’re doing.”

  She couldn’t speak. Her hands trembled. Then her arms. Then her shoulders. A cold, bone-rattling kind of shaking spread through her.

  “My children are all that matters to me,” he continued, honest and as resolute as the prairie surrounding them. “I meant what I said when I married you. I’ll treat you with respect. I’ll take care of you. In return, you care for my house and my children. That was our bargain.”

  “But we made love.”

  “No.” He choked, rubbing his face again. “That was a mistake, and it isn’t going to happen again. I don’t need a wife.”

  I need a housekeeper. She could hear his thoughts like her own.

  Thoughts he meant.

  At least you’re useful, girl. You work hard. There’s no other reason to keep you around. Papa’s voice flashed through her head as a bolt of lightning forked across the clouds where a dark funnel began to descend from the sky to a far corner of the sleeping prairie.

  The twister wasn’t a threat to her, but Nick was. Heart breaking, Mariah climbed to her feet, brushed the grass from her housecoat and ran to the house. A piece of their conversation played in her head. We made love, she’d told him.

  That was a mistake, he’d said.

  A mistake? He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d taken a whip to her and lashed her until he broke through the flesh and muscle to the bone beneath.

  He didn’t want her? All this time she’d thought…

  It didn’t matter what she thought. It was over. Nick was never going to want her. He’d tried to love her and it was impossible. A mistake, he’d called it. Trying to love
her was a mistake.

  She refused to let that hurt. Refused to feel the pain. She wiped the wetness from her eyes, because she was not crying, and pushed through the back door. The kitchen echoed with the pad of her feet and the rustling of her clothes.

  Empty. Alone. That’s how she felt. When she climbed into her bed, that’s what she was. Not Nick’s wife, but the woman he did not want.

  Her heart shattered, like a glass window struck by hammer, cracking into a thousand tiny shards. Destroyed. Never to be made whole again.

  She listened to the sounds of the storm swell and fade until there was only silence. Then Nick’s step rang in the hall. He didn’t hesitate by her door as he ambled past.

  He continued on as if she wasn’t there.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The fire was lit and crackling cheerfully in the cookstove as it had every morning since she’d become Nick’s wife. Mariah knew it was out of courtesy that he lit that fire and nothing more, the same way he took his work boots off at the back door or brought wood in from the shed or mucked out the barn. He considered it his duty.

  As she looked around the lonely kitchen, she realized she had her duties, too. Not as Nick’s true love and not as the woman he’d always wished he’d married over the years, but as someone to take care of his house and his children.

  You’re not good for anything else, girl. Papa’s voice still crept into her thoughts, the low rumble of it and the drunken slur. Why are you starin’ out the window like that? Think someone is gonna wanna marry the likes of you?

  It didn’t matter what Papa had said years ago. She didn’t need to think of him ever again. He was dead and buried and gone from her life. Then why did it feel as if he were here, making all the old wounds in her heart fresh and new?

  Because he’d been right. She’d thought that Nick loved her because of their night together, but now she wasn’t sure. She loved Nick. There had been so much love, an incredible tenderness, but maybe it had all been hers. Not his.

  Maybe Nick had needed comfort from his loneliness, that was all, and she’d been there, coming to him in her nightgown, naked underneath. He’d needed comfort. She’d wanted true love.