High Plains Wife

by Jillian Hart

  A mistake. No wonder he felt it necessary to let her know how he felt. You’re my housekeeper, Mariah.

  Nothing more.

  She closed her eyes against the pain.

  “Mariah?” Jeb’s gruff baritone boomed sharply, like a general barking orders in the heat of battle, and it echoed around the kitchen like a gunshot.

  She could only stare at him, the present and past oddly blending together, seeing the image of her father in the kitchen doorway over the top of Jeb Gray striding toward her, his brow furrowed, his mouth a grim, uncompromising line.

  “I’m sorry, Jeb. I don’t have your coffee ready. I’ll make it right now.” Her fingers didn’t work right. She was upset, was all, but she dropped the measuring spoon and cringed when it clinked against the counter. Clumsy, her pa would have said.

  She grabbed the coffee mill and, in her hurry, the drawer slid out and fell in a perfect arch from shelf to floor, clattering to a stop in front of Jeb’s left toe. Her heart stopped as he knelt to retrieve it.

  Tears of shame burned behind her eyes. She grabbed the coffee bag, determined not to spill that, when Jeb’s big gnarled hand closed over hers.

  “You look mighty exhausted, girl.” Kind words, gently spoken. “I can make the morning’s coffee.”

  “But it’s my job.”

  “I thought my son had gone plumb loco marrying you, and I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong. But you are a fine woman, Mariah, and I don’t come to admire too many women. Give me the coffee beans.”

  Foolish tears blurred her vision as she handed over the coffee bag. “I’ll do better tomorrow.”

  “You’re doin’ fine today.” His hand lighted on hers, just for a moment, but the connection was unmistakable, like a father to a child, not a bond that hurt but one that healed.

  Blinking hard, she set about her work. Putting the ham and sausage on to fry. Whipping up biscuits. The kitchen didn’t feel lonely and neither did she, sharing her workspace with Jeb.

  “What kind of eggs would you like for breakfast?” she asked.

  “I love how you scramble ’em,” Jeb replied.

  There was a harmony she’d never known, working side by side as she flipped the sausages and he ground the coffee. She dolloped spoonfuls of biscuit batter onto a baking sheet as Jeb set the grounds to boiling.

  “I’ll be back for that,” he said, gruff as always, but with a sparkle in his eye. “When I do, will you let me steal one of them biscuits hot off the rack?”

  “Chances are good.” She felt warm inside, as if she belonged.

  Was it a sign? If Jeb could learn to accept her, even maybe like her, then could Nick? A small hope flickered to life inside her chest. While she worked, she nurtured that hope for a true love, a real marriage and—maybe—a baby one day.

  It was such a tiny hope, but she held on to it with a fragile need. A mistake, Nick had said. Exactly how much did he mean that? And was she wrong, maybe too desperate, to hope the love of her life might one day love her back?

  As she scooped the last of the scrambled eggs from the pan, she heard the fall of Nick’s step on the porch. Felt his sure, steady presence like the heat from the stove on her skin a moment before he opened the screen door.

  The Stetson’s dark brim shaded his face, hiding the deep-set eyes she loved so well, the strong line of his nose and the hard curve of his mouth. The stony cut of his jaw looked rigid, as if he was tensed for battle as he stalked into the sunny kitchen like a hungry predator. The power in his lean, well-honed limbs, the strength in his trim body and the magnetism of him, of his character, filled her with longing.

  Such a man. She wanted him with the depths of her being, and she felt alive as he strode straight toward her, cutting through the lemony rays of the new sun streaming into the kitchen.

  “Can I have a plate?” he said. Not “Good morning, Mariah.” Not “I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean it.” Not “I love you.”

  He held out his hand, palm up, waiting.

  The tiny seed of hope died within her. Since she was just the housekeeper, she fetched a clean plate for him and dished his food right from the stove.

  “Thank you.” As if she were a stranger, he tipped his hat and strode right out of her kitchen and into the new day. The sunlight didn’t touch him as he disappeared from her sight.

  One brief look, a few spoken words to her, and she was all Nick could think about with every step he took toward the corral. Mariah. He ached with a longing for her he couldn’t explain. Maybe it defied all logical explanation. It just was, and that made it dangerous.

  “Hey, son. Wait up. Thought I might join you.”

  Nick took one look at the old man carrying his heaped plate of food in one hand and a steaming cup in the other. What was Pop up to? “You never eat outside.”

  “That ain’t entirely true. I’ve been known to take my meals in the field a time or two.”

  “When you had a wife you wanted to avoid. I remember, long ago when I was a boy. Just never thought I’d be doing it.”

  “Life will surprise you, that’s for sure.” Pop caught up. “Are you heading to the new corral?”

  “Yep. I want to spend some time with my new stallion. Get him used to me hanging around.”

  “Good. Get him used to your scent and your voice. Let him see you’re not gonna hurt him.” Pop nodded his agreement. “Say, that’s a fine woman you’ve got in your kitchen. Thought you should know.”

  “I thought you were the one who said I shouldn’t have married Mariah.”

  “I spoke out of turn, and I apologize.” The older man settled his plate on the flat joint of the split rail fence. “But I’m not the one doin’ her wrong now.”

  “So that’s why you came out here.” Nick balanced his plate on the rail, staring hard at the delicious food piled high. He wasn’t hungry. Again.

  What was happening to his life? He wanted peace, not chaos. He wanted a predictable, orderly life that wasn’t going to rip his soul to shreds. He didn’t want his days filled with angry silences and glares, or his evenings torn apart by accusations and lingering unhappiness. He didn’t want nights spent alone in his bed, knowing his wife wasn’t in hers.

  He wasn’t going to let any woman make him feel that worthless. He wasn’t going to let any woman climb her way past the steel walls protecting his heart.

  Especially Mariah.

  Pop finished his first sip of coffee, taking his time, as if considering his words. “Keep in mind, you’re not nine years old anymore, but you’ll listen to what I have to say. You hear?”

  “Don’t think you can lecture me. I don’t need advice on how to handle my wife.”

  “I think you need more than advice, son. Keep in mind this woman can cook. She can bake. She can take care of those children with a mother’s kindness.”

  “You’re makin’ my head hurt.” Nick rubbed his forehead, irritable. He should have grabbed a cup of coffee while he was in the kitchen. It’s just that Mariah unsettled him, stirred him up so that he was inside out, upside down and longing for her kiss, craving her touch, wanting to love her so hard and so much, he couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

  “Son, I know Lida wasn’t a good wife to you, and I sure am sorry about that.” Pop stopped slurping his coffee and set down the cup. “It breaks my heart to see you like this. She made you unhappy, and now you think misery is all a woman is gonna bring you. But your mother, before she died in childbed, God rest her soul, was a fine woman. Sweet, soft, gentle. Loving. You remember her.”

  “I was three.” All Nick recalled was the scent of vanilla as he’d clung to his mother’s skirts and a soft voice that was like singing. A woman’s memory grown indistinct with time. “You just recall the good, because my mother’s gone and you loved her. You of all men should know how hard a marriage is.”

  Pop hung his head. “There’s no denying my second marriage wasn’t so good.”

  “You were miserable.
”

  “I was no different from you, with a ranch to run and a child needing a mother’s care. I married out of desperation.”

  “Maybe misery is the state of marriage.”

  “No, son, I’m sorry if that’s what you think. If you grew up watching me unhappy with my wife, and then you went and found unhappiness with yours, but you’re wrong. If your mother had lived, you would have seen what love can be.”

  “Love doesn’t last.”

  “Love is the only thing that lasts. Nothing, not even death, can stop it.”

  “That’s a funny philosophy coming from you, Pop. The man who told me to marry someone who can cook because that’s what mattered.”

  “I didn’t know you would be given a rare chance.” He raked his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, looking troubled, looking weary. “I had that chance once, and it was taken from me. But the love I had for your mother never died. It lives to this day in my heart and, somewhere, in hers.”

  “What are you, a poet?” Nick thought his father was tougher than that. Tougher than anything.

  He pushed away from the fence, startling the stallion, who was approaching with nostrils flared, and cursed. His temper felt on the edge. His senses full-loaded and his control ready to crumble into a thousand pieces. He felt as if he was back in the boat again, caught in a river without a way to haul them in to shore and the rapids were approaching. “I don’t need any help, Pop.”

  “I think you need more than that. A swift kick in the britches, so you’d best listen to your old man, and listen good.”

  “I can manage my own wife.”

  “She’s more than a wife. She’s a damn fine woman who works without complaint and does everything she can for everyone in this family. She keeps the house clean and the children cared for, and have you noticed how she looks at you?”

  “Yeah, Pop, I’ve noticed. That’s why I’m out here with my food getting cold, instead of eating inside at the kitchen table.” How could he say it? Whenever he looked at Mariah he felt as if he were breaking inside. The hard walls and defenses and shields he’d built to cover up the truth that Lida figured out and Mariah would in time—he was just a man, with flaws, with broken places. He made mistakes, said things he regretted, and fell short of the man he wished he could be.

  Now was one of those occasions. What he wanted to do was to open his heart to Mariah and love her, as if he’d never been hurt, as if he knew beyond doubt that love never ended and that he’d never fail her. They’d never fail one another. They’d grow old together, happy and complete, as husband and wife, friends and lovers.

  But if he let her in, he let in the rest of it. “The truth is, Pop, love ends. People disappoint one another, and those disappointments build into resentment and bitterness and even hatred.”

  “Sometimes that’s true. We both know it. I’m not gonna deny it.” Pop sounded so wise, looked so sure. “But sometimes, love is even stronger.”

  “Than bitterness? Than a wife who’s tired of hard work and being trapped by her children?” It tore at him, the uncertainties that lingered down inside.

  With Mariah, he’d chosen a woman who didn’t mind hard work. Who had a few social clubs to keep her happy and friends to visit. But she was also practical and didn’t look to fancy things to keep her happy. He’d chosen Mariah because she was so lonely, she would be happy to care for children not her own.

  And that made him remember something. What was it that Mariah had said? It troubled him now, and with the rising sun in his eyes, burning away the darkness, stinging so that his vision blurred, he struggled to remember. He’d been over there on the rise. He’d been watching the storm for twisters, and they’d been talking about his kids. They’re my children now, too.

  “Trust me, son. Mariah’s a rare woman with an unbreakable heart.”

  “That’s not possible. Hearts break. You know that. I know that. And then you figure out it’s better not to get close to anyone and go on with your life. Or marriage.” Nick had heard enough. He turned his back on his father and walked away. He’d do anything to escape the pain crackling to life inside him.

  “I don’t mean her heart can’t break.” Pop’s wise words lifted on the wind, inescapable. “I mean no matter what, Mariah will keep on loving with the broken pieces of her heart, and in the broken places, and that kind of love will never end. If you can find a woman like that, then the least you can do is love her the same way in return.”

  How can anyone love with the broken pieces? Nick had the image of Humpty-Dumpty, the children’s nursery rhyme, and all the king’s men couldn’t put him back together again. That’s what life did to a man. Testing him day by day, leaving scars here and bruises there, in his soul. Every flaw felt as huge as a mountain. Those flaws were what drove Lida away. And they’d drive Mariah away, too. He felt her in his soul every time she smiled at him, every time their gazes met. It was too much. Too damn much to hand over. He didn’t need his soul shredded and torn at his feet, too.

  He kept walking, his conscience biting, his anguish large enough to choke on. This was killing him, tearing at him deep inside, and as much as he was hurting, he longed for Mariah with his heart and his body and his soul.

  He couldn’t live like this. That was all he knew as he kept on walking through the shimmering prairie grasses with the hot sunshine all around him.

  He felt dark and cold.

  “I bet you win the most votes,” Betsy predicted as she poured a cup of coffee in the church basement where the Ladies’ Aid gathered. “I voted for you and so did Rayna.”

  “That’s right.” Rayna appeared through the small crowd at the refreshment table, balancing three plates of sliced chocolate cake. “You put in so much extra effort, I’m sure most of the members respect that. You’ll make a great president.”

  “Thanks, but either way, my friends are more important to me.” And my family, she added. Fine, she’d love to be president, but she’d be fine if she wasn’t. For the first time in her life, she could say that. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t alone.

  But she was lonely. And it was odd, because she was with her closest friends at her favorite social club, basking in the glow of success from their last fund-raising event and already making plans for the next one. She had a wedding ring on her hand and stepchildren waiting for her at home. Her life had been transformed. She had transformed.

  Where her life had been empty, it was now full. But inside her soul, that’s where she was lonely. In a place she hadn’t known existed until Nick had taken her to his bed and awakened it.

  She ached for him the way the earth craved the dawn, the way winter wanted for spring. Nick didn’t love her. He didn’t want her. He’d driven his rejection to the point inside her where it would hurt the most. She was furious with him. She wanted to hate him. She ought to throw things at his head and cry and shout and give him a piece of her mind.

  It would be so much easier if she could. If she could rage at him for hurting her. But the truth was harder. The feelings more deep and complicated. She loved him truly, down deep in those places he’d breathed to life inside her heart and her soul. In the places where love could not die.

  Even when she wanted it to.

  “Gather around.” The elections chairwoman, Ellie McKey, clapped her hands, silencing the din of nearly three dozen women talking in a small, enclosed room. “I have the results.”

  “O-oh, I hope we both win.” Betsy fidgeted with excitement.

  “For treasurer…” Ellie’s voice rang out.

  So, what did she do about her marriage? Mariah’s thoughts took her away from the applause to earlier this morning when Nick wanted a clean plate and not her. All he did was walk away. From her questions, her uncertainty and her pain. When she was hurting and when she needed him to hold her, to come to her, instead of turning away, where was he? Turning his back to her. Every time she needed him.

  But he certainly had no problem reaching for her when he w
as in need. He was the one who’d taken her to his bed. He wasn’t distant and uninterested then, oh, no, he was—

  “Betsy Hunter, vice president,” Ellie announced, jerking Mariah from her anger, but the argument still continued in her head.

  Nick wanted what he wanted. To be left alone, to be loved, to be served his breakfast, to have his house clean and his children cared for so he didn’t have a single worry, and all his needs seemed to be met—

  “Mariah Gray.”

  Applause roared, bringing her back to the room. Betsy had grabbed Mariah’s hand and was jumping up and down. Looks of approval were beaming her way from her friends in the group. She was president?

  “And those are our new officers for this coming year,” Ellie continued. “About the upcoming Fourth of July church breakfast. We’re going to need…”

  Mariah took plenty of congratulations as the meeting finally adjourned and she, Rayna and Betsy made their way outside. Mariah couldn’t believe it. She’d finally been elected president. She’d worked long and hard putting in extra hours over the past year, with her eye on that lofty position. She was happy, yes. She’d do her best for the club, as she did with everything, but being president of the Ladies’ Aid wasn’t her greatest wish.

  Being loved by Nick was.

  After saying goodbye to her friends, Mariah ran a few quick errands to the mercantile and the grocery. She mulled over her situation all the while. Standing in line at the mercantile, the clerk finished tallying her purchases.

  “Shall I put this on Nick Gray’s account?”

  “Yes.” That was the final blow. Nick still hadn’t added her name to his store account. And why should he? She was merely his convenient wife.

  Rage blinded her. She felt cold with it, hot with it, and so powerful she felt as if she could take on a charging bull and win. Gathering up her parcels, she marched to the door with such speed, everyone darted out of her way.

  Good. Because this was the beginning of her anger. How dare Nick treat her like this? He knew how she’d been raised. He knew how lonely she was. He knew how she felt about him. And he’d had the nerve to call their beautiful lovemaking a mistake.