He stayed away from her at night. Some unspoken agreement between them had drawn that line between propriety and common sense. Days had fallen into a routine that mimicked family life, he mused. They moved around the place as if they belonged there together, the three of them. But it was only an illusion.
On top of totally caring for the baby, Andi cooked, cleaned and put up vegetables from the garden, and though she denied it, grew visibly more exhausted each day. He and Silas sweated out in the fields, repaired fence rails, and ate the food she cooked for them.
Etta still stopped by now and then; she baked pies and bread, more now out of friendship than necessity. At night Jesse worked out in the barn until dark. Then he and Andi went to their separate rooms and, wisely, stayed there.
He sighed. Yes, what they had resembled a family life, but they weren't a family. And all of them knew it.
Jesse turned an ear to the ceiling again. The baby had stopped crying. He heard Andi stop pacing, then the creak of the ropes as she climbed back into bed.
Slapping the pillow, he dug his cheek into the softness, intent on finding sleep again. He lay there for a few minutes with his eyes closed before he recognized the other sound he heard coming through the floorboards overhead: this time, the muted sobs weren't little Zach's, they were Andi's.
Jesse sat bolt upright in bed, straining to hear the sound. She was crying softly as if her heart would break. Anger rolled through him that he hadn't seen it coming. Exhaustion, loneliness, fear of losing her home, and no doubt grief over Zach's death, had caught up with her.
Without thinking it through logically, he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants. His only thought was to go to her, comfort her, make her hurting stop.
He walked barefoot through the kitchen and up the stairs, avoiding the squeak on the third step through old habit. At the top of the stairs he stopped to listen. Behind her closed door, he could still hear her crying, though the sound seemed even more quiet than it had in his room. It was more of a snuffling sound. Jesse's hand poised on the doorknob.
Should he knock? Should he call out to her? Should he just go in and gather her up in his arms? Tell her everything will be all right? That's what he wanted to do.
He felt the truth of that vibrate through him.
But he might as well tell her the moon was blue. What good was comfort from a man like him anyway, when his embrace might hurt her more than help?
Besides, he thought, slipping his hand off the doorknob, he wouldn't be doing her any favor exposing her now at her most vulnerable. That's why, you dolt, she chose to hide her tears from you.
Feeling a fool, he turned to go. The sound of her door opening behind him stopped him in his tracks.
"Jesse," she whispered. "I heard a noise and I—what are you doing? It's the middle of the night."
"I—" He fumbled for an excuse.
"Is something wrong?"
His eyes searched hers in the dark. "Are you all right?"
She sniffed and pulled the door shut silently behind her, staring at him through the darkness.
"I'm... fine."
"The walls in this house aren't very thick, Andi. I heard you crying."
In silhouette, he saw her reach up to run the back of one hand over her cheek, heard her hesitation. "I... I wasn't crying."
"Yes, you were. What's wrong?"
The velvety silence of night surrounded them, insulated them there in the dark hallway.
"Andi?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" She gave an annoyed sniff. "What if I was? If I feel like blubbering into my pillow in the dark I suppose I should be able to do it without an interrogation, shouldn't I?" She turned on her heel and reached for the doorknob. He stopped her with one hand.
"Andi, wait. Maybe it is none of my business, but I don't like to see you upset like this."
His touch sent heat spiraling up her arm and she tried to pull away. "You're right. It isn't any of your business. But if you must know," she lied, "Isabelle said it's quite normal for new mothers to have crying spells. That's all it is."
Jesse reached for the bowl of wooden matches on the hall table, struck one, and lit the oil sconce hanging on the wall. The golden light flared, illuminating the hallway. To his regret, her thin cotton gown became nearly translucent in the light. But Andi was looking at him wide eyed the same way he was looking at her. He became acutely aware that he'd forgotten to put a shirt on as her gaze flicked down the length of him. But his shirtless condition wasn't what really shocked her.
"Jesse," she said breathlessly. "You shaved."
Jesse ran a hand over his freshly shaven jaw. "Oh, that." He'd nicked the hell out of his face tonight, a direct result of his lack of practice with a straight razor. "Yeah, I decided you might be right about the beard. It served a purpose in Montana, with the cold nights and all, but here it's just a nuisance."
Her gaze roamed over him. A ragged breath hitched her chest. "It looks... good."
"Thanks." He was thinking the same thing about her hair, lying across her breast in an auburn plait. His blood stirred to the rhythm of his thudding heart. He thought of her only minutes ago, crying as if her heart was broken. Now, only a redness around her eyes and nose betrayed her. But that was enough to make him want to reach out and protect her from that kind of pain.
She eyed him critically from several angles, then gave him a small smile. "I see you still have dimples."
"I do not," Jesse denied with an adamant frown.
"Do so."
"Never. Dimples? Come on."
"Always did. Right here"—she reached out and traced a finger over the dent in his cheek to prove her point—"and... and here." Her teasing grin faltered at the sudden heat in his eyes.
"Ah..." he added, grabbing her hand away from his sensitive skin, "...and the nicks. Don't forget the nicks."
Their eyes locked for the space of two heartbeats. "Well, you'll have to be more careful next time, won't you?"
He nodded slowly, without taking his eyes from hers. "Much more careful." His gaze moved to her mouth. Dangerous, was his only thought. Damned dangerous to be looking at her this way.
Close enough to feel the heat of his body, Andrea's every instinct told her to pull away from him. But she didn't. No—couldn't. He held her there with those blue eyes as surely as did his hand. She ran a tongue across her suddenly dry lips, wondering if he was going to kiss her. Wishing he would, hoping he wouldn't.
Could he hear the wild beating of her heart? The sound of it in her own ears drowned out everything else. It had been a mistake to come out in the hallway. After she'd seen it was Jesse, she should have just closed the door. Now he was so close, she could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of her gown. So close she felt her nipples bead and harden in response.
Jesse watched the tip of her tongue dart out to wet her full lower lip and felt his control slipping. He reached up with the hand holding hers and ran a knuckle over the smoothness of her cheek. A tremor went through her, but he wondered if the reaction was his instead. Damnation.
"Andi," he said low, "if I kissed you now, I'd have to stay. You know that."
Through a fringe of dark lashes her amethyst eyes glittered. "Do I?" she whispered back. "It never stopped you before."
The truth stung. "That was then."
"And now?"
"Now, you're my little brother's widow. The mother of his child. And I've got a life waiting for me out in Montana."
She pulled her hand from his. An unexpected bitterness welled in her throat. "Oh, I see. I suppose you expected me to wait for you."
"No. No I didn't."
"But you didn't expect me to marry your brother."
"It doesn't matter." Turning away from her, he stared blindly down the stairs.
"No? What did you expect, Jesse? That I would pine for you for the rest of my days? End up an old spinster? Did you think I'd wait forever for a man who never even bothered to write to tell me he was still alive
?"
He turned on her. "If I'd written I—" He faltered, then changed tacks. "I'm glad you married. Glad even that it was Zach. He was crazy about you, even back then."
"You're afraid to kiss me, aren't you?" she taunted.
"What?"
"You're plain scared."
He glared at her. "Of what?"
"Of what you're afraid is still between us."
Outside the hall window, the crickets filled the empty pause as Jesse's eyes skewered hers. "Friendship. That's all that's still between us, Andi."
She lifted her chin. "Maybe. But you'll never know will you?" She took a step toward him.
"Andi, this is not a good ide—"
"Afraid to know?" she asked, arching one dark brow. "Maybe there is nothing. Maybe all that's left is a memory."
Damn it to hell, Jesse thought, why didn't she leave well enough alone?
"You married my brother," he said in accusation.
"Yes, I did."
"And you loved him."
Her eyes didn't flicker. "Yes... I did."
He felt like the worst kind of bastard to be jealous of whatever happiness Zach and Andi had found together. Nevertheless, anger was the only emotion he could allow himself to feel right now. Anger that she would push him so far. Anger that he was, in fact, afraid to be pushed.
Reaching a hand out, he slid it into the hair at the damp nape of her neck and pulled her roughly closer, closer until her body was flush with his. Instinctively, she grasped his arms to keep herself from falling. There was no fear of that. His steely grip said he wouldn't let her go.
"And what if memory's all there is?" he asked.
"Then we'll know, won't we?"
He dropped his mouth an inch away from hers, but still didn't kiss her. Andi's eyes were wide with fear, or expectation, he didn't know which. Her heartbeat fluttered against the wall of his chest like a bird's. Her scent drifted up to him—a heady combination of lilac water and soap—testing his resolve.
Oh, hell. Whether it was her taunt or his own mixed-up emotions guiding him, he couldn't let her go. He'd prove to her once and for all there was nothing left between them. And then she'd let him go.
"You want me to kiss you, Andi Mae?" he asked, his mouth a whisper away from hers. She didn't answer, only stared up at him, her eyes filled with silent challenge.
He dropped his head down slowly, slowly, until his lips brushed hers with the most platonic of touches. Her mouth was unexpectedly soft and pliant, her lips warm and sweet as honey. His body tightened all over and he lingered there for a moment longer than wise. Lifting his head he glared down at her with a look that said, "There."
Her closed eyes fluttered open with an accusing gleam. "Coward."
He exhaled sharply at her taunt. He was a coward, damn him. "All right. You want a kiss?"
He crushed his mouth against hers then with all the pent-up emotion coiling inside him. He kissed her hard, grinding his lips down on hers to prove... hell... to prove himself wrong. To prove her wrong.
There was no gentleness to his kiss, Andrea thought, not even kindness. When his arms tightened around her, capturing her, she fought down a moment of panic. Another man, a darker one, rose up like specter in her mind. Fighting down the picture, she opened her eyes. No, this was Jesse, she reminded herself. Jesse. Not... him.
Andrea's mouth slanted under his, opening at the insistence of his. Their breaths mingled and she felt her insides dip and plunge like a cork on water. Her heartbeat raced along the edges of her nerves, awakening some long-dead desire from deep inside her.
Invading her mouth, his tongue sought hers, then lashed the smooth surface of her teeth. Andrea tightened her arms around him, seeking to draw him closer, closer to her. His skin was smooth and hot beneath her touch as she slid her hands up his shoulders and beyond, to the silky thickness of the hair at his nape. Her fingertips raked his scalp.
A ripple of surprise went through him as she met his tongue with her own, exploring the rough texture of it the way he had discovered hers. From somewhere in his throat came a sound of need. He deepened the kiss, the anger suddenly gone from his embrace. Pulling her closer, he spread one hand across her hip until her body was flush against him as flame on a burning ember. He was strong and hard and she could feel his wanting through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Jesse's tongue danced with hers, the tune as familiar as the one on the old music box that sat in the corner of the parlor. She remembered the taste of him, the shape of his mouth, the way it fit with hers like no one else's ever had. His hand slid intimately up the curve of her ribs to cradle the fullness of her breast. Like a river current, his touch swayed her, stole the strength from her knees, and eddied inside the very depths of her.
Here in the darkness, her body answered his the way it always had, despite the years that had slipped away between them, despite the fact that only weeks ago she'd had Zach's child.
Oh, Jesse, Jesse, why did you ever leave me?
As if he'd heard her thought, Jesse pulled away from her, lifting his head only inches from hers. His breath, ragged and harsh, caressed her cheeks. His eyes, stunned and troubled, probed hers in the dim light. He swallowed hard as he set her away from him. His breath came as hard and fast as hers.
On a husky laugh, he raked one hand through his long hair. "Damn..."
"Yes," she agreed on a shaky breath.
He jammed his fingers into the tight back pockets of his Levi's. "So what does that prove?"
"For one, it proves you've haven't forgotten how to kiss since I last saw you." She saw in his eyes, he remembered only too well how good it had once been between them. Her thudding heart remembered it, too.
"I was hardly a monk."
"Nor was I," she replied pointedly.
"So, how do I compare?" Defensiveness edged his voice.
For an instant, she wondered if that could possibly be jealousy she glimpsed in his eyes. Zach and she had been husband and wife in every sense of the word of course, but never, in all the time they were together, had he made her tremble all over the way she was right now. She glanced down, unwilling to give him that admission with a look.
"That's hardly a fair question, Jesse."
"I suppose not. But I must admit I'm curious. After all he was my little brother."
"What difference could it possibly make now? Zach's dead."
He regarded her for a long moment. "No difference. Because what just happened between us was no more than just that. A kiss."
"A simple kiss," she affirmed.
He shifted in annoyance. "So, what's two?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"You said, for one, I've haven't been a monk. What's your second point?"
She shrugged. "That should be clear, even to you."
"What just happened between us only proves that I'm a healthy man and you're a healthy woman."
Her mouth tipped upward at one corner. "It proves that whatever else you feel for me," she said, turning the brass and porcelain knob on her door, and stepping into the shadows, "indifference has no part in it. Goodnight, Jesse."
She disappeared into her room, leaving him on the landing alone. He ground his teeth together, knowing she was right. Dammit! She was always right. He turned down the wick on the hall lamp and blew out the flame. He knew, too, that it was time to start putting his plan into action, before it was too damned late for either one of them.
Chapter 10
The white clapboard Methodist church sat atop a pretty little knoll at the head of Elkgrove's Main Street. Its belled steeple, complete with huge clock, gave it the singular distinction of being official timekeeper of Elkgrove. Its rather infamous timepiece clanged religiously on the hour, every hour and at high noon, played a peal of chimes to mark the time to which everyone in town set his watch.
Jesse pulled the buggy to a stop beneath the huge white ash trees that surrounded the church, just as the bell chimed nine. He set the brake, climbed down and tied t
he mare to a vacant spot on the whitewashed hitching rail. From within the sanctuary came the sound of voices lifted in song.
Andrea glanced down at Jesse. He looked particularly handsome in the white shirt he'd changed into, a black four-in-hand tie at his throat. She could hardly imagine him the same wooly mountain man who'd burst into her bedroom a few weeks earlier. It had been his idea to go to church instead of working today. The idea had pleased her immensely, especially since she'd hadn't been off Willow Banks since the baby.
"We're late," she said, handing Zachary down to him.
"They'll let us in anyway, I suppose," he replied, holding the baby awkwardly against his shoulder. Zachary seemed perfectly at home there, reaching a hand up to curl around Jesse's tie.
Offering a steady hand, he helped her dismount. "You look real pretty, Andi. Even in widow's weeds."
She laughed. "Thank you, I think. It's been a long time since I've been to church. Not since before Martha's death. What if... if someone makes an issue out of your staying out at the farm with me, alone?"
He glanced down at her realizing for the first time she was worried about it. "Does it bother you, Andi, my staying there?"
Her eyes met his. "No. I feel safer with you there."
"Even after last night?"
Chin up, she smiled. "Even after last night." The kiss they'd shared had proven what she'd known since that day he'd returned—time and distance had not diminished the powerful bond between them. The prospect of falling in love with him all over again didn't frighten her. Being foolish enough to risk that emotion again was what had her really scared.
"Ready?"
She nodded, threaded her arm through his and walked with him to the double doorway.
The tune to one of her favorite hymns surrounded them as he pulled open the double doors:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I'm found.
Was blind but now I see.
One voice in particular rose above the rest. Andrea glanced to the right. There, standing among the other coloreds along the back wall stood Silas and Etta. Silas didn't glance at the hymnal in Etta's hands. He knew all the words by heart. With a voice rich and deep, he didn't allow the fact that he'd been relegated to standing at the back of the church to dim the joy in his singing.
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