"Why?"
She was getting her back up again. "Because we're cheap. Since we work for you and will be inside the house often, we'll want to do a particularly good job. Nothing like being face to face with your shortcomings every day."
"I suppose you would know a lot about that."
Ouch! She was working up to something big. He wished one of the boys were here to tell him what he'd done. He couldn't come right out and ask what it was. A woman could accept a man's intentionally doing something he knew she wouldn't like. Men did that all the time. But to have committed a grave sin and be totally unaware of it ... well, there was no excuse for that.
"That depends," he said. "Not everybody looks at things the same way."
"I never realized how true that was until you forced your way into my life."
She'd accused him of a lot, but forcing his way into her life was something she'd added since yesterday.
"Did he leave a bill of lading?"
"Why should he do that?"
"So I'll know if I got everything I ordered."
"I told him I didn't need it."
He felt the net closing but still didn't know the reason. "Why?"
"Everything is here and paid for."
Aha! So that was it. He would deal with blabbermouth Tidwell later, but right now he had to get his head out of the noose.
"You want to know why I did that, don't you?"
"What makes you think that?"
"The murderous look in your eyes."
"You must see that a lot."
"Women are usually happy to have me around. I make it a point to leave before I wear out my welcome."
"You miscalculated this time. Why did you pay for everything?"
"William wouldn't have ordered all that stuff otherwise."
"Then you should have told me."
"You weren't there. It was easier to do it myself."
"That's not the real reason."
"When did you start being able to see inside my head?"
"I could always see inside the head of men like you. You like to control women. You can't bear the thought that a woman could succeed without a man. If we do, we'll threaten your position in the world, your view of yourselves as indispensable. Your--"
Owen couldn't stand it any longer. "You've been wrong before, but you haven't said anything stupid."
"I'm not stupid!"
"No, you aren't, so stop saying stupid things, and before you tell me any more of what I think, let me tell you what I know. I saw my mother manipulate one man after another. They would do anything to keep her happy. Control works both ways. It depends on who's got the stronger hand and how ruthlessly they're willing to play it."
"You--"
"Let me finish before you take another bite out of me. During the war I saw women running farms and businesses without their husbands, brothers, fathers, or sons. And they did a damned good job of it. They kept the food and supplies coming. They performed more individual acts of courage than my whole troop. I know women can succeed without men. And you know something else? That has never threatened me, because I've never wanted to prove myself indispensable to any woman."
He hadn't meant to say that much, but he was tired of being branded an unprincipled rogue just because he was good-looking. For the first time in his life he'd done something for someone else with no ulterior motives, and she was trying to saddle him with a load of guilt.
"Is it so hard to believe I did it just because I wanted to help?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Nobody does anything without a reason."
"Can't you believe I might actually be able to do something without expecting something in return?"
"Maybe you're doing this to relieve your conscience about something else you did, or didn't do."
A sudden vision of Rachelle Ginter's blood-strained body lying in the orchard grass flashed though Owen's mind. He was pursuing Laveau because of Rachelle, but could that also be the reason he was helping Hetta? She was right. People didn't do things without a reason, but that didn't mean the reason had to be bad.
"You forced me to realize I was marrying William out of fear. That was pretty hard to take. I don't like that realization any more now than I did in the beginning, but I accept it. Maybe you're hiding from something."
"What makes you say that?"
"Because there's no reason why, out of all the women you must have known, you should have picked me to help."
"You don't believe it's because I like you?"
"Not enough to do all the things you have done."
"Well, you're wrong. I do like you enough. I may not know all the reasons why, but I do." He realized that wasn't very flattering, but he decided that nothing but the naked truth had any hope of puncturing Hetta's ironclad belief that no one could possibly like her for herself. "A lot of people like you enough to take an interest in your welfare. You may not believe that, but it's true. And we're not going to stop liking you and trying to do things for you just because you don't know how to say thank you."
"But why?"
"You haven't believed a word I've said since I got here. I don't know why I should think you'd believe me now." On a sudden impulse he grabbed her and kissed her, hard. "Do you understand that? I kiss women I like. Other men do, too. It doesn't mean anything earth-shaking. It's just another way of saying I like you."
She looked stunned but not overwhelmed. "That doesn't make sense."
He gave up. "Just mark it up as one of those things people do that defies explanation. Right now I'm in desperate need of lots of coffee and food. Then we have to get to work on your house."
"I don't need any more space," Hetta said. "The house was big enough before."
Owen just kept shaping the stones for Myrl to carry to Ben, who laid them in the foundation. They'd been arguing about this for three days. Owen had stopped answering her. He probably couldn't hear her over the sound of the mallet and chisel on the stone.
There were times when she wondered how she managed to keep her mind on her work. She wasn't used to men working without a shirt on. Not Myrl and Ben. Owen. He said pounding stone caused him to work up a sweat. He didn't have to tell her that. She could see the moisture glistening on his body. She felt as if the temperature had gone up at least ten degrees.
Maybe fifteen.
What was it about the sight of his body that affected her so strongly? She could be a dozen yards away, yet she felt as though she were touching him, as though she could feel the heat and texture of his skin. No matter how long she kept her gaze averted, or how determined she was to divert her thoughts, she couldn't get away from this feeling of closeness, the sense that he was only inches from her fingertips.
She liked Owen far more than she wanted to admit, and this nerve-racking response to his presence made her feel vulnerable. A woman wasn't in danger from a man she could ignore, but Hetta had reached the point where she couldn't ignore Owen, not even in her sleep. Erotic dreams she blushed to remember interrupted her slumber every night.
"You can take all the extra material back to William. I'm sure he can find someone to buy it," Owen said.
"What am I going to do with all the extra space?" she asked.
Owen had told her she would need it for the family she was going to have one day. He'd said it was pointless not to build the extra rooms while they were at it. Besides, Texas was so devastated by the war and Reconstruction, building materials were cheaper now than they would be in the future. People were willing to sell just about anything for cash money.
He still refused to take any money for the building materials. She thought she'd outmaneuvered him when she went to the bank and asked Ida's uncle Fred to transfer the money to Owen's account, but Owen didn't have an account.
"You need to stop working," she said to Owen. "It'll soon be time for bed. Mryl and Ben have left for town."
"Good," Owen said. "My muscles are sore."
They didn't lo
ok sore. They looked wonderful. She wondered if it was proper for a woman to have such thoughts about a man. Her mother had never talked about her feelings for her husband. Ida had only scorn for women who were unable to control their physical reactions to a man, but Hetta couldn't stop the shivers that raced up and down her spine.
Hetta handed him the towel he'd used earlier to wipe the sweat off his body. He'd thrown it over a bush to dry. "It's been a hot day," she commented.
"You look cool," he said. He'd buried his face in the towel.
"I'm not. The stove is hot." They'd reframed the old part of the house and put up joists for a second floor.
"It gives your cheeks a becoming flush," Owen said.
"That's not what my father called it."
Owen lowered his towel and hooked her with his gaze. "It's time you put everything your father ever said out of your mind. The man was so jealous of you, he couldn't stand it."
"Why on earth would he be jealous of me?" The idea was so preposterous, it left her breathless.
"Because he knew you were stronger than he was. You didn't need him, and he knew it, so he tried to tear you down."
"That's impossible. That's--" She couldn't think of a word that would show just how absurd she found the idea.
Owen tossed the towel back on the bush. "Will you massage my shoulders? Three days of shaping stones have made my muscles really stiff."
His request caught her off guard. Impulse almost caused her to refuse, but he'd kept his distance since the night he'd washed her back. She wanted to massage his back. Just the thought of touching him made her feel deliciously weak.
"You don't have to do it for long," he said coaxingly. "Just long enough to work the knots out."
"Okay." Did her voice sound uncertain to him?
He sat down in front of her and turned his back. "Did your mother ever say the kind of things your father said?"
"Of course not. She loved me."
He turned, and his gaze met hers. "I think he hated you."
Something in his expression, some tiny shadow that flitted across his face and was gone as quickly as it came, made her pause. "What made you say that?"
He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder. "The muscles right across the top," he said. "My father hated my sister."
As her hands began a slow kneading of his muscles, he spoke softly.
"She wasn't my father's child. He let her live in his house, but he wouldn't look at her. My ma hadn't wanted another child, especially one as plain as my mother was beautiful. There was no one but me to take care of her."
He didn't have to tell Hetta that the more his sister was mistreated, the more he tried to protect her.
"Where is she now?" Hetta asked.
"She died of scarlet fever the year before the war. My father refused to come to the funeral. I sent my mother a message, but she had a new husband by then. She didn't want any connection with her past."
"I'm so sorry." She couldn't think of anything else to say. "It's a terrible thing to die so young."
"It can be worse living and knowing your parents don't love you."
Her hands moved on their own, momentarily detached from her thoughts. Did Owen really believe no one could love him? Could that be the reason behind his need to prove himself irresistible to every woman he met? She felt his muscles swell under her fingertips, sensed the power in his upper arms.
How could a man so big and powerful, so capable and self-confident, be vulnerable the same way she was, feel vulnerable?
For the first time in her life she realized that men needed the same kind of emotional support women needed. They might not use it the same way--they certainly didn't express their need in the same way--but they were just as dependent on other human beings to make them feel needed, to feel whole.
With that realization, a wall somewhere inside her crumbled and fell. Men were no longer the enemy, the all-powerful. They didn't just want women. They needed them.
She was aware that her hands were no longer massaging Owen's shoulders and arms. They were caressing them. The change had come with her realization of the change in their roles. She needed comfort, but she could give it as well.
And that made her feel very powerful.
Owen seemed to have been aware of the change. He'd gone very still. Even when her hands moved from his shoulders to his back, he neither moved nor spoke. She enjoyed touching him, not because of his muscles or because of his size, but because it gave her a feeling of connection to him.
Owen turned without warning. "Let me do your back. You'll have to turn around," he said when she didn't move. "And slip your dress off your shoulders," he said after she had turned.
She wouldn't be nearly as exposed as she had been in the bath, and he wouldn't be doing anything she hadn't already done to him, but it seemed different, as though she'd be giving up a little more ground. Or handing it over.
"Back in a moment." Owen was on his feet and striding toward the log room before she'd finished unbuttoning the front of her dress. She had it off her shoulders, her eyes turned away from him, by the time he returned.
"I have something that will make it feel better," he said.
"What?"
"Rose-scented oil."
She'd never heard of such a thing.
"I bought it for a lady in San Antonio."
The drops were cold on her hot skin, but she loved the subtle fragrance. She was certain Owen's San Antonio friend was no lady, but if this oil was an example, maybe she could learn a few things from her.
She had expected that the feel of Owen's hands on her back would cause her to clutch her dress tightly against her breasts. Instead, she felt the tension leave her body, her muscles relax, her hold on her dress loosen. Maybe she had stopped being afraid of her own reaction to him.
Lassitude caused her to let her head drop. It was simply too heavy to hold up. Even when Owen kissed the nape of her neck. Especially then. She moved to give him more room when he started to kiss her shoulders. She wondered why William had never wanted to kiss her, why Ida said she didn't want men slobbering over her. Neither of them knew what they were missing.
She didn't object when Owen shifted his position so he could kiss her lips. She hadn't forgotten the kiss in Ida's parlor, the kiss that had changed her life. He'd kissed her twice to prove a point. She had wondered if he'd ever kiss her just because he wanted to kiss her. Now he had, and she gave herself up to enjoying it.
But the kiss that began so gently, a mere brushing of lips, quickly turned hot and impatient. She responded without restraint. She'd waited a lifetime for this, had never thought it would happen. Abandoning her hold on her dress, she threw her arms around Owen's neck and returned his kiss with the pent-up fervor of years of longing. The feel of her nipples brushing against his chest, then pressed hard against it, only served to heighten her need. She wanted to take her fill of this moment in case it never came again.
The feel of Owen's hand on her breast startled her. Not because of what he did, but because of how it affected her. Nothing she'd ever experienced had come so close to overturning her senses. It was as though she were suddenly cut adrift from the world around her. But even that didn't compare to the feel of Owen's lips on her breast.
She felt as if she would explode.
She never knew that men wanted to do anything like this. She never suspected that women would let them. She was certain she wouldn't. If she'd been able to conceive of it in the first place. But it was happening to her, and she knew she'd never feel fully alive until it happened again.
Her body arched against Owen--it did it on its own--and a soft moan escaped her. Forces beyond her imagination controlled her body. They appeared to know what they wanted, what she needed.
But when Owen's hand moved down her side, along her thigh, and lifted her dress, she felt herself stiffen.
"I won't hurt you," he whispered. "I'd never hurt you."
She'd reacted from shock rather than fear, jus
t plain not knowing what was going to happen next. Her muscles seemed paralyzed, unable to respond to orders from her mind. Even when his hand moved under her dress and up her inner thigh, she couldn't move. She waited, wondering, fearing.
"I'll stop if you want me to," Owen said.
Her mind screamed yes, yet she shook her head.
Owen's lips turned their attention to her breasts, but she couldn't think of anything except his hand as it moved along her thigh.
"Open for me," he said.
She knew she couldn't move, that her knees would remain pressed together for the rest of her life, yet she did relax, she did open for him.
The shock when his hand entered her was profound. After everything else that had happened to her, she was certain she wouldn't be able to endure it. She was even more helpless to resist the waves of sensation that consumed her, that robbed her of strength and will. She'd never experienced anything so powerful in her entire life. She heard moan after moan. They seemed far away but they must have come from herself. She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. Her whole body moaned in an attempt to give voice to what was happening. And the message was clear.
More was not enough.
As though in answer to her unspoken plea, a wave swept through her that nearly obliterated consciousness. She hung on, determined she wouldn't miss even the smallest sensation. For a moment she feared she wouldn't be able to retain her grip. Each sensation pushed her closer to the edge. Just when she was certain she couldn't endure any longer, the waves crested in an exquisite peak and tension flowed from her like water over the rim a pond.
She was exhausted, yet completely reborn.
Hetta lay awake, unable to sleep. What had happened still astonished her. She'd never imagined it was possible to have such a powerful physical response to a man, any man, for any reason. It staggered her to think her body was capable of such explosive feelings. It was like discovering she had a whole other self about which she had known absolutely nothing. But having discovered it, she knew it would be impossible to abandon it. She had crossed a kind of barrier, completed a rite of passage, had reached a dividing point in her life. But as astounding as this was, what she couldn't understand was why she'd allowed Owen to do as he wanted with her body.
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