Now his feet dragged with dread and his heart felt like a stone at the bottom of the creek bed. He’d do his best to appear normal, but his mind kept straying to the christening gown in the trunk.
He was glad that the house was quiet when he entered. He assumed everyone had already gone to bed. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He eased down the hallway, trying not to make noise when he passed Greta and Anna’s room. Further down the hallway, a light under his bedroom door told him that Catharine was still up. He took a deep breath and turned the doorknob to face her.
Catharine, in the glow of numerous candles, was sitting in the bathtub with a sponge to her leg, which was dangling out of the tub. She sat up, looking startled, then realizing he stood staring, she quickly slumped back down under the bubbles.
Peter heard his own sharp intake of breath at the vision of loveliness submerged in a bubble bath before him. His wife. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth until he finally said, “Excuse me. I had no idea you were bathing.” He started to close the door. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Don’t do that. I’m nearly through. Perhaps you could wash the spot on my back that I can’t seem to reach.” She shot him a daring look.
Was she flirting with him? This was different from the reserved bride that he’d held in his arms for the last several weeks. Something must have changed. But why now, Lord?
“Please . . .” she purred as he stood hesitantly, shifting on his feet.
There was nothing he could do but fulfill her request, then he would head to bed. He knelt down on one knee, taking the sudsy sponge from her hand as she leaned forward. A more beautiful back could not exist, he concluded. He applied the sponge gently, admiring her shoulders and the way she narrowed delightfully at the waist. The water smelled like her, and the lavender scent was heady. She was all femininity . . . soft with wet, curling tendrils of hair dangling at the base of her slender neck, now tan, in contrast to her back.
“You can scrub a tad harder. I won’t break, you know,” she teased, looking over one shoulder at him with her usual smile. His eyes locked with hers until he forced himself back to the task at hand.
“Mmm . . . a little to the left.” He heard her soft sigh. “I have a slight itch there. Ahh . . . that’s it.”
Peter’s blood began to race, and the hand that held the sponge shook. He wanted to lift her out of the water and carry her to the bed and keep her there until morning, but he wouldn’t—not this time.
“You’re very quiet today. Anything wrong?”
He stood and dropped the sponge with a plop in the tub. “Nope. Will that do? I think I’m kinda tired. It’s been a long day.” It was a blatant lie, he knew, but he was not inclined to hold someone else’s wife in his arms tonight—or any other night. You don’t know if that’s true. But better to be on the safe side, he thought.
“Could you hand me the towel then?” Her hands clutched the side of the tub. He watched her brows knit together in a deep frown.
Peter lifted the towel and tossed it to her, then turned his back discreetly as she stood. That’s when his eye caught the rose petals on the bed and her filmy nightgown lying in wait. I can’t believe she’s tempting me while she’s married to someone else! Hot anger flashed over him, and he turned, stalked out of the bedroom, and left her standing in her bare feet, clutching the towel. Any other time he would have been flattered, but tonight his blood boiled. The desire that he’d had earlier fled like geese on a cloudy November day.
Clutching the towel to her chest, water pooling at her feet, Catharine felt numb. Had he just stalked out of the room without a word as to where he was going? Had she done something to deserve his anger? Hot tears formed, threatening to spill over. She looked over at the bed strewn with rose petals and candles burning nearby. Suddenly she felt mortified. Maybe Peter wanted to be the one to initiate romance in the bedroom. She realized with a sobering thought that she knew very little about the ways of men, but by now she should have learned something from her past.
Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she patted her skin dry, donned a nondescript cotton gown, and placed the delicate nightgown in the bottom of her bureau drawer, totally out of sight. There would be no need for it now. With one swift motion, she swept the rose petals into her palm and deposited them in the trash basket. She blew out the candles and climbed into bed, not sure what to think.
Her heart felt raw. The evening had not gone at all the way she’d envisioned it. All she’d wanted was to feel Peter’s strong arms about her. Now she felt foolish. Maybe he’d had a change of heart or maybe he expected something different. Whatever the cause, she hoped she could get it out of him. He was totally different than he’d been before he’d chatted with Clara and taken a walk.
Catharine had gotten the distinct feeling that Clara disliked her and her sisters. Though she’d never said anything directly, her scrutinizing eyes told the truth.
Catharine wasn’t even aware that she was crying until her pillow became damp with her tears. She sniffed, then listened for any sound that Peter was in the kitchen or parlor downstairs, hoping he would come to bed, but after what seemed an eternity, she dropped off to sleep, a light smell of roses still clinging to the sheets.
Peter took care not to wake Catharine while he removed his clothes. He’d taken another walk to simmer down the turmoil twisting in his mind, making it impossible to think clearly where she was concerned. Catharine was sleeping soundly now, so he moved closer to the edge and told himself it was so he wouldn’t disturb her. Truth was he didn’t trust himself laying this close to her. Maybe he should consider sleeping in the barn as an alternative, but then questions would surely be raised by her sisters. He listened to the even rise and fall of her breathing and felt guilty that he’d walked out when she had all but given herself to him.
But he thought the cost too high for now until he got clarity on the situation. Thoughts of her luscious skin and open innocence riled his aching heart, but he wouldn’t want to use her that way.
He needed a way to turn his mind off, so he began to think about his wheat crop. The plants looked healthy, and though he was worried about getting rain, he felt sure it would come and the wheat would be ready for summer harvest. It made him smile when he thought of all the questions Catharine had first plied him with about growing wheat. He was so pleased that she was eager to learn about wheat farming and running the household in general. She was what the Lord called a true helpmeet.
He groaned deeply. What am I to do, Lord? What if she isn’t who she says she is?
You’ll stand by her . . . that’s what you’ll do.
Though his head heard the answer clearly, his heart wasn’t feeling so inclined.
A deafening crack of thunder woke Catharine from her fitful sleep. Startled, she sat up halfway in bed and saw the entire room bathed in bright blue light as lightning flashed. Thunder crashed again, its rumble shaking the very foundations of the house. She glanced out the window as another flash of lightning illuminated the surrounding woods, and she shivered and scooted back under the covers. She hadn’t heard a drop of rain, but the storm continued to rage. She wanted to move to Peter’s protective arms, but she didn’t dare. He’d rejected her once tonight, and once was enough.
The next clap of thunder caused her to shriek with fear, which awakened Peter. He rolled over and propped up on one elbow, squinting through half-closed eyes to ask her what was wrong. Before she could answer, another jagged flash of blue light struck a tree nearby, and she jumped, yanking the covers over her head. Never had she witnessed such a lightning storm. She was thankful she was safe at home in her own bed.
Peter patted her arm through the sheet. “It’s okay. It’s just a lightning storm moving across the prairie.” The wind rose, banging the shutters against the windows. He hopped out and quickly closed them, then returned to bed. “They usually create more racket than damage, but they do put on a spectacular light show against the sky.” He tent
atively reached out to reassure her. She took that as a signal to move closer to his side, and she snuggled next to him so she couldn’t see the jagged bolts of lightning. After a long moment, he placed an arm about her shoulders.
Catharine sighed, enjoying the feel of his strong arms. She felt safe and cared for, though she wasn’t sure she should’ve snuggled up against his unwilling body. He smelled so manly that she almost forgot there was a storm raging. She never wanted to move back to her side of the bed. How could she understand him if he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong? She was afraid to speak and said nothing, not wanting to break the intimate moment.
A sharp pounding on their bedroom door caused them both to separate and spring up. “What is it?” Catharine called out.
The bedroom door swung open, and Anna nearly tripped on her nightgown in her haste. “I’m sorry, Catharine, but the noise woke me and scared me. I yelled out to Greta, but she’s not in her bed, and she’s not anywhere to be found.” Anna’s eyes were wide with anxiety.
Peter grabbed his pants next to the bed. “Give me just a moment to get dressed, Anna. I’ll find her.”
Anna turned her back to them and waited.
“Where do you think she went, Anna? Was she in bed when you retired?” Catharine tried not to allow panic into her voice. Anna was already upset. Where in the world would Greta be this time of the night?
“We both went to bed at the same time.” Anna fingered her cotton nightgown nervously. “It’s not like her to take off.”
Peter, dressed now, strode over to Anna’s side. “I’ll check around outside. Maybe she couldn’t sleep and then the storm came up. She’s probably in the barn waiting for it to pass.” He glanced over at Catharine. “I’ll be back. You two stay put.” He strode down the stairs, taking them two at a time, his boot heels pounding against the hardwood. Catharine and Anna followed.
Catharine called out, “I’ll make us a pot of coffee. Please be careful!” When he opened the front door, there was still not a drop of rain to be seen. After he disappeared into the darkness, she quickly shut the door. “Anna, go get your robe and I’ll do the same, then I’ll make some coffee.”
Anna answered as she moved to the stairs. “I’ll get both our robes and be right back down.”
“Goed. I’ll be in the kitchen.” Catharine hurried over to the stove to start the coffee and jumped when a loud clap of thunder roared. Lord, let Greta be safe from this lightning, and help Peter find her and bring her back to us. Her eyes were wide open now, and she knew they were swollen from last night’s tears. She hoped Anna wouldn’t notice they were red and purposely kept her head down to avoid being asked questions. She filled the coffeepot with water and scoops of coffee as she’d seen Peter do every morning, and placed it on the stove to boil. Then she sat down at the table and waited.
Anna burst into the kitchen. “Catharine, look what I found on the floor next to her bed!” Anna held out a wrinkled note.
Catharine briefly scanned it. The note from Bryan, asking Greta to meet him out at the line shack at midnight. Catharine dropped her hands to her lap, still clutching the note. “I wish I’d seen this before Peter left. I just heard him streak out of the yard on horseback.”
“I’m sure he’ll head that way. At least we know she’s not alone.” Anna hugged her robe tighter. “Maybe not alone, but safe? That’s what I’m worried about.”
One quick glance around the house and porch, and Peter knew that Greta wasn’t nearby. He hurried into the barn and was greeted with a brief snort from Star. Misty’s stall was empty, indicating Greta had taken her. He quickly threw a saddle across Star’s back, not wanting to waste time.
He wondered where Greta might have gone this late at night. She seemed happy enough living here, so he didn’t think she’d run away. What then? By the time he straddled Star’s back, he thought he knew the answer to his question. She must be meeting someone, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it might be Bryan Gifford. He’d seen the way Bryan flirted with Greta when they were in town and at church when he’d sat with her.
He gave his horse a tap with his boots as he clicked his tongue, and soon they were trotting down the lane that led away from the house and out along the edge of the road. He held the horse’s reins tightly, his knees firmly against the horse’s sides since the lightning might cause Star to bolt.
Peter knew that Catharine was fiercely protective of her sisters and felt responsible for them. Something to do about a promise she’d made to her father before that fatal shipping accident when she’d lost both her parents. He’d bring Greta back, providing he could find her. He owed Catharine that much.
He hadn’t gone but a couple of miles when he saw the line shack illuminated by a flash of lightning. Used by cowboys during the winter to mend fences and keep track of strays, it could be a safe haven away from a sudden snowfall—or downpour. He urged his mount in that direction, and as he drew closer, a light through the window told him someone was there. He slid off his horse and wrapped the reins around the hitching post, next to Misty and a second horse.
He called out, “Anyone there?” but didn’t hear a sound. So he pounded on the door, and Bryan opened it. Peter saw Greta behind him, clutching his sleeve with a look of fright. It was hard to see with only the kerosene lantern that sat on a makeshift table in the center of the room.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” Greta lifted her chin.
“I could ask you the same question.” Peter’s jaw clenched as he tried to control his temper. He wasn’t her father, and he’d have to be careful of what he said. “Greta, go outside and wait for me by my horse.”
“But I’m afraid of the lightning.” She chewed her bottom lip.
“Well, you weren’t too afraid to be out in it! I want to have a word with Bryan.”
Bryan’s lips twitched in annoyance, but he gave Greta a brief hug, then grazed her brow with a kiss. “Do as he says. I’ll see you soon.” She reluctantly let go of his hand, tears filling her blue eyes.
Not if I have anything to do with it. Peter stepped aside to let Greta pass.
When she was out of earshot, Peter’s gaze focused on Bryan. “The next time you want to court a lady, you should do it the proper way instead of sneaking around. I doubt there will be a next time with Greta, once Catharine hears about this.”
“Greta and I will see each other, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re not her father.” Bryan held Peter’s gaze through narrowed eyes.
“No, but I’m her guardian as long as she lives in my home.” Peter turned to leave, but Bryan stayed him with a hand on his arm.
“She’s almost eighteen, and you can’t tell her what to do then.”
Peter looked down at his arm. “Take your hand off me.” Bryan dropped his hand to his side. “I’ll give you just one piece of advice my father told me. ‘A man don’t have thoughts about women till he’s thirty-five. Before that, all he’s got is feelin’s.’ So, Bryan, don’t you dare consider taking your feelin’s out on Greta. Do you get my drift?”
Bryan nodded, a sneer forming on his lips. “What I hear is someone trying to tell me how to run my life. The army already does that, so I don’t need an old farmer’s useless advice.”
Peter flinched. He’d never been called old before. “You’d best consider what I said.”
“I consider that a threat,” Bryan hissed, hands on his hips.
“Take it however you want.”
Lightning popped again. The conversation was over, so Peter stepped back to his horse and pulled himself into the saddle. Greta did likewise while Bryan stood glaring at Peter.
Peter and Greta rode in complete silence until they were in sight of the house. Greta twisted in her saddle to face Peter. “Catharine will be very upset with me . . . Maybe you could persuade her to go easy on me.” She gave him a hopeful look.
“I tend to stay out of other people’s business until it affects my own.” As they neared the barn, Peter paused. “I�
�ll put the horses away, but next time you want to take one of them, you’d best let me know first.” He slid off Star’s back and grabbed the reins from Greta.
Visibly angry, Greta dismounted. “Somehow I thought I could count on you,” she said. “Haven’t you ever been in love, Peter?”
Her turned and fastened his eyes on her. “I am in love—with your sister—but I’m not sure if Bryan has love or lust for you. There is a difference, you know,” Peter said through tight lips.
Greta clenched her fists at her sides, flashing him an irritated look. “I’m almost eighteen, and I assure you that I know the difference!”
“Just be careful, Greta, and listen to your sister. You and Anna are her main concerns.” Peter led the horses inside the barn for a quick rubdown before going inside. It was time for Greta to face the music.
The lightning storm had all but subsided while Catharine paced the floor in concern for her sister, but she abruptly stopped wringing her hands when Greta entered the living room. She wrapped her arms around Greta’s shoulders. “Oh, thank God you’re safe!” Then she pushed Greta away. “How could you worry me like this? Have you no consideration for anyone but yourself, Greta?” Her voice quivered with anger, which had only mounted as she’d thought of every possible scenario while at the same time prayed for her sister’s safety. “You could have been struck by lightning. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Greta stood with her arms hanging limp at her sides, staring at the kitchen wall as if the answer would be found there.
Anna moved toward her sister. “Are you all right, Greta?” Concern reflected in Anna’s face as she lifted Greta’s hand to her cheek.
Greta shrugged. “Don’t worry, Sis.” She smiled at her and dropped her hand. “I’m perfectly fine, in spite of Catharine’s worries.” She turned to Catharine. “I’m almost eighteen, Cath, and you need to remember that.”
Deeply Devoted Page 10
