My Heart's Desire

by Jo Goodman

  She shrugged.

  He nudged a chair away from the table with the toe of his boot and sat. "What's wrong with you?"

  "Nothing." She looked at him now. He had a smile on his face that she could only have described as simple. "You've been drinking."

  Since it wasn't a question, Jarret saw no reason to respond to it. He tucked into his stew. On subsequent bites the burnt offering wasn't so bad. He was a little regretful he hadn't been present to watch her prepare it. He'd have had another story to swap with Duffy.

  Looking around the cabin, Jarret noticed that Rennie had spent the day cleaning. The rug at the foot of the rocker had been scrubbed, the floor swept, the mantel dusted. He realized the chair he was sitting in didn't tilt anymore. She had even leveled off the legs. The top of the stove had been scoured, and the breakfast dishes were put away. "Looks like you kept yourself busy," he said.

  There hadn't been much choice. Remaining idle would have taken her wits. There was also the fact that once she started cooking the kitchen area had quickly become unrecognizable. She had strewn flour from larder to stove, trailed sugar along the table top, upended a pot of boiling water, and spilled her blood while cutting the venison. Cleaning had been a necessity.

  Jarret reached across the corner of the table and brushed Rennie's hair at her shoulder. She flinched. His fingers stilled but didn't move. "You have some flour in your hair." When he felt her relax he finished brushing it out.

  Rennie pulled back the strands when he was done and smoothed them into a loose coil at her nape. Wisps of red and copper strands fringed her forehead. Ignoring Jarret's chuckle, she buttered a warm roll after cutting off the blackened bottom.

  "Your face is looking better," he said. When she glanced at him questioningly, he added, "Swelling's down. The color's still not good."

  She had seen herself in Jarret's shaving mirror and discovered she was vain enough not to want to see her reflection for several more days. "It's not so bad," she said.

  Jarret didn't think it was either, but he was surprised to hear her say so. He finished his meal in silence.

  By the time Rennie finished the dishes, Jarret was steadier on his feet. His simple grin had faded, and he had the beginnings of a headache. He considered retiring early, but as he watched Rennie work he knew what he had to do. When she picked up a pile of mending, he gave up his seat at the window and headed for the kitchen pump. "Do you sew any better than you cook?" he asked, watching her try to thread a needle.

  "No," she said. "Not a whit better."

  He had to smile. She was so matter-of-fact about it. "Better than you sing?"

  "Worse."

  "Good thing you build bridges, then."

  She ducked her head so that he wouldn't see she was fighting back laughter. "It's a very good thing."

  Jarret filled a large pot with water and began to heat it. He hooked a kettle of water over the flames in the fireplace and added two smaller pots to the stove. The windows in the cabin soon misted. While the water grew hot Jarret cleaned out the wooden bathing tub. He could feel Rennie's eyes on him, but he couldn't catch her at it. Every time he looked in her direction her lids would have just lowered over her mending.

  Jarret carried the pots of hot water in his left hand and filled the tub where it rested behind a yellow cotton curtain. By the time he added a bucket of cold water from the pump, Rennie was on her feet and moving toward the ladder.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

  She pointed to the loft. "I'll wait up there while you bathe."

  "I didn't drink away all my money at Bender's. I paid two bits for a bath in town. And a penny more for soap." He rubbed his chin. "I had a shave, too. This is for you."

  "For me?" Rennie could hardly take it in. "You did this for me?"

  Her surprise rubbed Jarret the wrong way. One would think he had never shown her any favor. He turned away. "I'll get you some towels," he said gruffly.

  His attitude confused Rennie, but she refused to let it overshadow her pleasure. She quickly climbed the ladder to the loft and flung her belongings in every direction searching for bath salts and soap.

  "What are you doing?" he called up. "The water's getting cold."

  She told him. "They must be with the things I left with Jolene." Rennie squirmed out of her gown, slipped on her nightshift, and clambered back down the ladder. Jarret was gone, and there was more water heating on the stove. Rennie slipped behind the curtain, undressed, and slid eagerly into the water. It was wonderfully warm, lapping her breasts and, when she inched lower, her shoulders. Jarret had laid a towel on the seat of a chair. Rennie picked it up, folded it, and placed it over the back of the tub so that it pillowed her head and neck. She closed her eyes and vowed to stay just where she was until the spring thaw.

  The yellow curtain fluttered as the cabin door opened. "I'm here," she called so that he wouldn't invade her privacy.

  He did anyway. His hand slipped between the curtain and the wall. In it was the bath salts. When she had relieved him of that he held out the lavender soap. "I brought back your trunk from town. I forgot I left it in the shed with the horses."

  She added the salts to her bath. Her skin seemed to absorb the fragrance and soft healing powers of the water. Rennie rubbed a little soap onto a cloth and began to wash with leisurely strokes. Because her eyes were closed again she didn't see Jarret poke his head in long enough to add hot water and make certain he didn't burn her.

  "You stay on that side of the curtain," she told him. She looked down at herself after he'd withdrawn and was satisfied he hadn't seen more than her bare shoulders. "If you recall, I offered to go to the loft while you bathed."

  "If you recall, I didn't." They were lovely shoulders, he thought.

  Rennie was too content to make an issue of it. "I'm going to sleep here tonight," she said.

  "You won't be comfortable."

  "Nothing will convince me of that now." She raised one leg and began soaping it.

  On the other side of the curtain Jarret tortured himself imagining what she was doing. "Do you need any help?"

  Rosy color came to her cheeks. Though it felt like her spine was melting, she managed to put some starch into her voice. "Jarret, I've been bathing myself since I was five years old."

  "An oversight on my part."

  "You're incorrigible."

  He deliberately misunderstood. "Encouragable? You're right. One word from you and I—"

  "I-N-C-O-R-R—" She stopped. "Oh, never mind. You know perfectly well what I said. And I'm not talking to you anymore. It takes too much energy."

  A moment later the curtain was pushed aside. "I could move closer," said Jarret. "You wouldn't have to yell."

  She tossed her wet washcloth at him. "Make yourself some coffee and drink it black. You need to sober up."

  Jarret peeled the washcloth off his face and tossed it back.

  Rennie nearly took the bait, coming close to rising above the water line in order to catch the cloth. At the last moment she realized his trick and remained where she was. She wagged a finger at him. "That's quite enough of your foolery."

  Unabashed, Jarret retrieved the cloth, dropped it in her hand, and left her alone while he made coffee.

  Rennie dropped below the water altogether, soaking her hair. She lathered it up and scrubbed her scalp. It was only when she needed a rinse that she went begging for Jarret's services.

  "I'm drinking coffee," he told her.

  "Don't be horrid. Just bring me a pot of warm water. It doesn't have to be hot." She added quickly, "Not icy cold either."

  "You're very particular."

  "Please."

  "I like that word." He set down his cup and took a pot of water off the stove. He dipped his fingers in it to make certain it was neither too hot nor too cold. This time upon entering Rennie's oasis, Jarret pushed the curtain entirely aside. She sank lower in the water, her knees drawn toward her chest. Her dark red hair was a soapy crown on her he
ad, the tiny bubbles a row of diamonds. Jarret knelt beside the tub and raised the pot.

  She looked at him suspiciously. "That's not cold, is it?"

  "It was a temptation," he said, "but, no, it's not cold."

  Rennie closed her eyes, screwing her face in anticipation of the waterfall. Instead Jarret let the water trickle over her head. Lather slowly cascaded over her forehead, closed lids, and cheeks. She relaxed as the crown of hair was undone and lifted her face to the gentle splash of the water.

  Jarret's touch was light as he smoothed away the damp rivulets of hair that uncurled along her temple and cheek. The backs of his fingers were tender as they brushed the discoloration along her jaw. His thumb was a whisper touch across the spiky edge of her lashes. He sifted through her damp, silky hair as he rinsed it, then laid it over her shoulder. The dark ends of red and chestnut floated on the water and clung to the curve of her breast.

  He set the pot aside when the last of the water trickled out. Rennie's face was still raised toward him, close enough now that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. She hadn't opened her eyes.

  "Is that all?" she whispered.

  He stared at her. The velvet lashes. The sheen of her skin. The damp mouth. "No," he said huskily. "I don't think it is."

  His mouth lowered over hers.

  Chapter 9

  The first touch was tentative. The second less so. When Jarret's mouth settled over Rennie's a third time, all hint of hesitation had vanished. His lips captured her sweet response. The kiss deepened.

  Ribbons of mist rose from the surface of the water. Rennie raised her hand. Water lapped gently against the side of the tub. She touched her fingertips to the damp curling ends of Jarret's hair at his nape. Water trickled beneath his collar. A droplet traced the length of his spine. It was as if Rennie had touched him there.

  He needed her to touch him everywhere.

  Jarret cupped the side of her face. His thumb whispered along the arched line of her throat. Beneath it he could feel her pulse, first the steadiness, then the racing. His lips moved to the corner of her mouth and slid lower, along her jaw to her ear. Her breath caught as he teased the lobe with his teeth and the curve with his tongue.

  Rennie felt the heat of Jarret's touch against her skin. His thumb seemed to fire her pulse. His fingers trailed slowly down her neck to her shoulder, then passed lightly back and forth across her collarbone. His mouth was at her temple and then the corner of her closed eyes. His hand was beneath the water, sliding along the slope of her breast. Her skin flushed. The rose tip of her nipple hardened. His hand moved between her breasts and held her heartbeat in the heart of his palm.

  Hot tears stung the back of Rennie's lids. Her cry was small, panicked. She sat up, pushing Jarret's hand away, and turned her face so that his kiss had no target. Water splashed over the side of the tub as Rennie drew her knees protectively toward her chest. She hunched forward. Rennie didn't have to see Jarret to know that he was withdrawing. She felt it.

  Jarret stood. He looked down at her bent head for a long moment, at her hunched shoulders, and at the dark hair swirling on the surface of the water. "It seemed like you were willing," he said lowly.

  She nodded, her cheek against her knees. She couldn't look at him, afraid to let him touch her, afraid not to. Her confusion only added to her fears. She tried to speak, tried to tell him what she was thinking, but her mouth was dry. She remembered other hands, less gentle hands, and she remembered how once before Jarret's loving comfort had turned to fury and how the fury had been turned on her. Cruel memories made her shudder.

  The folded towel Rennie had used as a neck rest slipped into the water. Jarret reached for it, careful not to touch her. In spite of that he saw her flinch. Angry for reasons he could not clearly define, Jarret pitched the sodden towel. It slapped the floor and sprayed droplets of water on his boots. He found a dry one for her, tossed it on the nearby chair, and then slammed out of the cabin.

  Rennie did not immediately reach for the towel. She remained in the tub until the water was cold and her skin was colder, until the heat of Jarret's touch seeped out of her. The sensation was only temporary. Picking up the towel, she discovered it was dry, but not fresh. Jarret's scent lingered. The fragrance of his shaving soap remained. She used it, not because there was no other choice, but because she wanted him to cover her. Rennie's stomach knotted as she fought another rising wave of panic.

  Keeping busy helped her not think about it. She emptied the tub, tossing buckets of water out the back door. She mopped the trail of puddles on the floor, then put away the pots Jarret had used to heat the water. When he still hadn't returned, Rennie straightened things in the cabin that didn't need straightening. She poked at the fire, carried in wood, and trimmed the wicks in all the oil lamps. For a few minutes she stood barefoot on the small front porch in her nightshirt, looking and listening for some sign of Jarret. Snow flurried as wind soughed through the trees, but there was no other movement. Finally she went to bed.

  Jarret entered the cabin with infinitely more care than he had left it. He was quiet as he shrugged out of his coat and boots. He padded across the floor and stoked the fire before he climbed the ladder to the loft. Stepping over the mound of blankets that bundled Rennie, Jarret stripped to his drawers and then lay down on the feather tick. He sighed when blankets were pushed in his direction.

  "I thought you were sleeping," he said. It was what he had wanted to believe. He drew the blankets around him carelessly.

  "You went to Bender's," she said. She despised the fact that her tone was faintly accusing. He had a right to go wherever he wished, whenever he wished. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

  "Yes, you did."

  "You're right," she said after a moment. "I did."

  "What I do is my business."

  Still curled fetally, Rennie turned on her side toward him. She could have stretched out her arm and not been able to touch him, but it seemed that more than a physical distance separated them. "Yes, I know that. I was worried."

  "About me?" he asked. "Or about yourself?"

  Rennie would not let herself be riled. "Both," she said. "But mostly about you."

  His voice was sharp. "What did you think I was going to do? Get drunk again?"

  She nodded, realized he couldn't see that, and said, "Yes, I thought you might get drunk."

  "I didn't."

  "No," she said. There was a hard, aching lump in her throat. It was difficult to speak. "No, you didn't. You were with Jolene."

  Jarret didn't answer immediately. He stared straight ahead in the darkness and wondered what he should say. He knew what she thought, and he knew the truth. The two were not the same thing. "How did you know?" he asked finally.

  Rennie closed her eyes briefly. "I can smell her on you."

  "I see."

  "She favors rose-scented soap."

  "That's true."

  Rennie's hand curled around one corner of her pillow. Her fist clenched as did everything else inside her. "You're not denying it, then."

  "No," he said quietly, tiredly. "I'm not denying it."

  It shouldn't have hurt so much, Rennie thought. She shouldn't have felt betrayed. Telling herself that changed nothing. The feeling remained. "Are you taking me to the Jump tomorrow?"

  "I haven't decided."

  Rennie wondered if that was really the truth or if he simply didn't want to go another round about it. "When will you know?" she asked.

  "When I know."

  It wasn't a satisfactory answer. Rennie folded her pillow under her head and blinked back burning tears that seemed to well up from nowhere. She spoke haltingly. "When you kissed me before... I wanted you to—I... I liked it when you kissed me."

  "I don't want to talk about it. Go to sleep."

  "No, not yet. You've been gone, with someone. I've been alone here with only my thoughts. I tried to keep busy, tried not to think, but then I came up here and it was either sleep or think. I
couldn't sleep and I couldn't not think."

  Jarret said impatiently, "What is it you want to tell me?"

  His tone stung her, but Rennie went on in a voice that was barely audible. "I wish I had let you do more to me."

  "Shut up, Rennie."

  "I wish I hadn't stopped you."

  Jarret's arm snaked out in the darkness and unerringly found her wrist. He yanked her hard across the space that had separated them and trapped her other hand. He held them firmly on either side of her face.

  It happened so quickly that her surprise was after the fact. She stared up at him, searching his shadowed profile. She felt his angry tension in the tightness of his grip and in the hard leg that lay diagonally across both of hers. His taut and raspy voice was merely an extension of that same tension. She flinched at the harshness of it.

  "What the hell do you want from me, Rennie?" he demanded. "Are you naive or spiteful? Or can't you make up your mind?" He pressed his groin against her hip and let her feel the hardness of him that was all angry desire and tense need. "Don't talk to me about what you wished happened unless you wish it now. Do you, Rennie? Is that what you want?"

  "I don't," she said at first. Then, "I don't know."

  He swore softly and gave her wrists a little shake. "Why did you start this? I came back here tonight perfectly willing to pretend you were sleeping. Why the hell didn't you give me the chance?"

  "I only meant to—"

  Jarret let her go and sat up. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. "What you meant," he said caustically, "was to influence me to take you to the Jump."

  Now Rennie sat up. "Take it back," she said quietly.

  "Take what back?"

  "I'm not a whore," she said. "Take it back."

  He shook his head. "I've been with practiced whores who were less skillful than you."

  The cruelty of his remark simply took Rennie's breath away. Her chest hurt and her throat seemed to close. She held herself stiffly, as far away from him as she was able. When she could finally speak her voice was brittle. "You've changed," she said without inflection. It was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact. "It doesn't take whiskey to ruin your vision. You're so full of hate and anger and sheer cussed meanness that you can't see straight even when you're sober. If I can't get you to take me to the Jump for the right reasons, then I don't want your help for the wrong ones."