Startled by the touch of his fingers sliding gently across her exposed cheek, he pulled at her chin and forced her to look at him.
"Grace, please hear me. This night was not entirely your fault. During the fall season, bears scour the woods trying to eat enough to build up their fat layers for winter. The early snow caught us all off guard. Besides, I would have noticed the scraps by the door and discarded them myself if not for the snow covering them. You are a city girl. You don't know the ways of this wilderness and it was my responsibility to protect you. ‘I am truly sorry for my inept ability to do so.”
Grace didn't know what to say. He seemed sincere. What did his apology mean? Was he thinking perhaps she would make a good wife after all?
“You should get out of those wet clothes and then get some sleep. I’ll rest here on the floor by the fire tonight.”
She watched him settle under the covers. There was nothing left to do but get herself into bed. Grace picked up the candle holder and shuffled her way to bed. She left the door slightly cracked so the heat could reach her. But she wanted to be able to hear John if he needed her.
“Goodnight, Grace.” She heard John’s words in the darkness.
She smiled to herself. “Goodnight, John.” She allowed her heart to feel hopeful.
17
Something woke Grace from a dead sleep. What had awakened her? There it was again. She jumped at the sound. She was certain she latched the bolt. Had the bear come back to forage for the rest of the scraps by the door?
She shook off the cobwebs of sleep and grabbed her shawl. The cabin was very chilly and she realized the fire must have died down. How long had she been sleeping? Nothing but dark pitch shown through the bedroom window. Panic seized her throat. She could see John thrashing about in the dim light of the dying fire. He was moaning loudly. Fever.
Grace pulled on her shawl and boots. She entered the main room and was relieved to feel some of the warmth from the stove still filling the cabin’s main room. John was uncovered. He must have done it in his sleep. Now he shivered. She touched his cheek and forehead. He was burning with fever.
"John. John, it's me. Grace. Open your eyes and look at me. John."
His bedding was soaked from the sweat beading on his skin. He smelled of musk and sweat. She had to get his fever down somehow.
Grace dipped the remaining water from the kettle and set it on the floor near John's writhing body. Dipping a rag into the cold water, she mopped his scorched brow, his face, his chest and arms, his legs and feet. She had used up almost all of water but she didn’t want to risk another trip to the river. The bears ever present in the back of her mind.
She took a pot from the cupboard and opened the door to scoop snow from just outside the door. Setting the bolt back in place, she rushed to John’s side with the melting snow and continued her ministrations to his fevered body. She repeated the process until the early dawn tinted the sky outside the cabin’s windows.
Exhausted, Grace watched her husband fall into a calm and peaceful sleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythmic cadence. Relieved the fever had finally broken, she lay next to John on the floor, careful not to wake him, and covered herself with the quilt. She would rest for a few moments in the warmth beneath the quilt next to her husband's body. Then, she would get dressed and walk to the river for more fresh water. Just a moment or two and then she would get moving.
Rays of bright sunshine punched through the window and streaked across John's face illuminating the back of his eyelids with a reddish, warm glow. He lay still and tried to take stock of his surroundings. His side throbbed as did his left arm. No. Wait. His arm wasn’t throbbing. It was numb and his fingers were full of pin pricks. What was happening? He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He was in his family's hunting cabin. But why? Memories of yesterday came rushing back.
The bear attack. Grace. He panicked trying to get his bearings but he couldn't move. His arm was pinned to the floor where he lay. He turned his head to see the reason why and the sight greeting him took his breath away.
His unwanted wife lay next to him, her head on his arm, her heart-shaped face inches from his. He could feel her warm breath tickle his lips with every breath she expelled. But it was her hair...her long, soft, golden tresses flowing around them both that robbed him of his ability to think clearly.
He was mesmerized by the sight. He closed his eyes against the painful pin pricks in his fingers and savored the feel of her breath so close to his lips. The warmth of her body next to his battered one made him feel a contentment he had not known in such a long time. Not since Lizzie had shared his bed. His life. His heart.
Suddenly, he was aware of a subtle change in her breath. He forced his eyes open and found himself gazing into the beautiful soft brown eyes of his wife. His wife. His unwanted wife, he reminded himself.
"Good morning." Was all he could manage to get past his dry lips.
He watched the changes in her face as realization of their situation hit. Her eyes rounded in shock. She grabbed the quilt covering them then blushed again when she realized the consequences of her actions left her husband's naked body exposed.
“I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.” She turned her back to him and threw the quilt at him hitting him square in the chest. He watched her run across the floor in bare feet unable to stem his freewheeling imagination. The slam of the bedroom door echoed through the cabin and brought him back to reality. He lay back against the floor and studied the sturdy wooden ceiling beams. The sight of his fleeing wife's backside in the very transparent nightgown had him wishing he could rethink his situation.
18
Grace slammed the bedroom door and leaned against it. She could feel the heat of embarrassment on her cheeks. How had she fallen asleep on John's arm? She remembered feeling the exhaustion and she was only going to rest her eyes for a few seconds.
She closed her eyes at the memory of waking next to her husband's body, his warmth penetrating her nightgown. Her head resting on his shoulder inches away from his face. She touched her own lips with her fingertips. Never in her life had she wanted to kiss someone so much. But this morning, looking into her husband's beautiful blue eyes, she wanted nothing more than to divest herself of her flimsy nightgown and fully participate in what her marriage bed had to offer.
Heat flushed her cheeks again at the thought. When had she become so wanton? She had never had any desire to touch a man's body, much less be touched...until now.
She moved across the room and jerked open the lid of her trunk. Rummaging around the interior, she realized she had very little to wear that a man would consider seductive. Most of the dresses she owned were practical. Surely she could come up with something.
Steady brush strokes tamed her bedraggled hair. She brushed while she pondered her dilemma until her nerves grew calm and she could feel her waist length hair soft around her shoulders. She had often thought to cut her hair into a more manageable length but there just never seemed a good time to get the job done.
Nimble fingers braided the mass into a long braid she allowed to trail down her back. Her stomach rumbled reminding her she had a responsibility to keep them both feed until she could nurse her husband back to health. Never let it be said she didn't take her responsibilities seriously. Opening the bedroom door, she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her on the other side.
John managed to ease his aching body off the floor and into an upright position. He had to admit the image of his wife’s slender backside in the thin nightgown darted in and out of his thoughts as he struggled to keep himself upright. The effort came at a cost. Sweating profusely, pain emanated from every scratch and puncture on his body. He kept himself from laying back down. Instead he pushed through the pain and got up off the floor long enough to fall into the rocking chair by the fire. He was hurt but he would live and the little miss in the other room was responsible for it all. She may not have known not to leave scraps too close to
the door but she never faltered once. She was no squeamish shrinking violet, that's for certain.
The look on her face when she entered the room revealed she hadn’t been expecting him to be sitting up. Her eyes lingered on his bare chest. He let his quilt slip a little lower on his torso and watched his young wife’s blush of embarrassment. Her reaction almost did him in. He pursed his lips together hard to keep from grinning. There was a lot to admire about this feisty golden-haired stranger. He was beginning to wish he could keep her.
But the past came floating back into the present. He liked Grace. But being married to him was not an option. Despite his admiration for her, he could not allow her to be a part of his life.
His original idea hadn't gone the way he planned. He thought to scare the woman away. Instead, she had tried to save his life. Twice. Now what was he to do with her.
"Good morning, John. You look like you've been run over by a runaway freight wagon." He watched the efficient movements of his wife as she prepared the fire and stove for the morning meal. He was coming to appreciate her sense of humor too. He liked that about her. Well, too bad, she's going back.
"Your concern for my welfare is touching." He placed his hand over his heart allowing the quilt to slip southward again. He watched Grace turn back to the fire, the only indication she saw the slip was her ears tipped in red. He smiled to himself and hitched the quilt back into a more discrete position.
"I am going to the river for fresh water and trout for our breakfast. I will start the biscuits and gravy as soon as I return. Will you be okay while I am away?”
He should be insulted that a slip of a girl such as Grace thought he couldn’t manage without her but he found her concern endearing. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” He watched her turn with a flourish of her skirt and exit the cabin closing the door firmly behind her. John sat motionless, staring at the closed door. This woman—his wife—one amazing woman. He was mesmerized by her and it scared the hell out of him. He had to get well as soon as possible so he could pack her up and get her back to town before his fortitude slipped past his point of resistance.
He felt a twitch down south.
“Easy, partner. We’ve already had this discussion. That one’s off limits.” He hitched up the quilt. “No way in hell that’s gonna happen. Again.”
19
Grace paced back and forth across the frozen grass in front of the closed cabin door. She inhaled the crisp mountain air deep into her lungs time and again. Finally, her erratic heartbeat slowed. There, that’s a little better.
The sight of her husband sitting in that chair bare chested in nothing but a quilt wrapped around his...nether regions was not something she had expected to see this morning. It was bad enough she had fallen asleep in his arms only to awake and find his crystal blue eyes inches from her face. And his lips. She could admit to herself she wanted to reach out and touch them with her own. Scruffy beard and all.
She walked to the river’s edge and sat on her upturned bucket. Impaling a piece of bacon on the end of her hook, she tossed her line into the water and waited.
She gave the area around her a quick look to make certain momma bear hadn’t returned. Satisfied, she got as comfortable as she could on the wooden bucket and pondered her situation.
It was obvious that her new husband was attracted to her the night he pinned her to the floor. She recognized the look on his face. So, why couldn’t she use her husband’s attraction for her against him? Entice him back into her bed. He was her lawfully wedded husband and she thought he might be handsome behind all that bush he hid behind. Something happened to her every time he looked at her with those eyes of his. It did things. Way down low. It made her want things.
A tug on her line jerked made her jump. She stood and pulled on the line. She had actually caught a trout. Well, that would teach the mountain man to cast her as a helpless city girl. Proud of her success, she tossed the fish on the ground away from the river’s edge, rebaited her hook with more pork fat and tossed it in again. Settling down on the bucket, she resumed her thoughts.
John had proclaimed his intentions. He didn’t want her as his wife because he thought she was a loose woman but now that he knew she was a virgin—that he was the only one, could she convince him to reconsider? Could she convince her reluctant husband to keep their marriage and bring her sisters to Creede? To let her help me move past his ghosts.
Seduction could be the answer. Reminiscing about Rosie’s saloon girls, Grace made metal notes of their examples of seduction. She felt her face blush. Could she go through with this plan? It was one thing to think about that sort of thing. It was another thing entirely to set such a plan into action.
She and her sisters had always held themselves above Rosie’s girls. That they were just a tad better than the rag tag lost souls that escorted countless gentlemen up the grand staircase and into the back halls only to return and do the same thing again and again each night. And all because she and her sisters refused to sell themselves for money.
But Rosie treated everyone with respect even though Grace was certain the saloon owner sensed their distance. Rosie had told her once that everyone has a price. You just have to find what motivates people and you can get them to do things they never suspected they would try.
Grace knew now what Rosie meant. Money hadn’t motivated her but love for her adopted sisters sure had. Husband or no, she was getting ready to seduce a stranger. The thought made her smile. “Oh you brazen hussy. If Reverend Baker could see you now, your name would be Jezebel.”
The sudden jerk of her pole had Grace wrangling another trout, her thoughts fading into action. When both fish were secure in the bucket, she filled it with enough water to cover them and headed back to the cabin. “I’m not so bad at hooking trout. Let’s see how I am at hooking a husband.”
John wasn’t certain how long his wife would be gone so he made haste and shuffled across to the living room to the bedroom where his clothes were stuffed in a makeshift closet. He held on to the quilt just in case his wife changed her mind and came back in. The last thing he needed was to find his wife’s warm, whiskey colored eyes staring at his naked body. Damn. Just the thought caused parts of him to sit up and take notice.
He pulled a clean shirt and pair of dungarees from the closet. Thank goodness he had left some of his clothes behind last spring when he and his brother used the cabin for spring turkey hunting. He found a pair of wool socks from the shelf above. He felt better now that he was up and around. And dressed.
He wished he could wash his hair and trim his beard but he needed help. The thought of Grace’s slender fingers combing through his hair, massaging against his scalp made his nether region jump again. He had to get back to town as soon as possible. Spending another night with Grace was a dangerous proposition because he didn’t think his injuries would slow him down if things got out of hand.
His stiff legs now able to walk in full strides, he shoved a couple more sticks of wood into the pot-bellied stove. He sat in the rocking chair and thought about his dilemma. The sun was quickly melting the snow. As soon as his wounds allowed him to lift the heavy harnesses, he and Grace were headed back to town. He just had to figure out a way to get Grace to agree to go willingly without her thinking she had somehow let him down.
An hour later, John’s thoughts were interrupted by his spunky little wife when she swept through the cabin door carting two good sized trout in the water bucket. Her radiant smile lit the room.
“Now that I know the pork fat works great as fish bait, I can keep us stocked with plenty of trout.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. Instead she kept moving and talking.
“I’ll stir the embers in the grate, get the fire hot, and heat the bacon grease in the frying pan.” A self-satisfied smile adorned her face. “We’ll have fresh trout, biscuits and gravy for breakfast.”
Well, I'll be.... He watched in awe as Grace prepared the fish for frying. She was doing a hell of a job feeding them while he w
as sitting on his banged up ass.
“You are up and dressed. How are you feeling?” she inquired over her shoulder.
“Sore. And damn stiff. But alive.”
“Thank God. I was worried about you there for a while. Your fever really spiked during the night and I feared you were getting an infection.”
He watched her fry the trout and put the biscuits in the cast iron Dutch oven to bake. She set the table with the rustic tin pans. His conscious pricked as he watched her struggle with the preparation of their meal with not a single word of complaint or look of reproach in his direction.
"Can I help you with anything?" he offered. He started to rise but she stopped him.
"No, I'm almost finished. You should sit back and rest. Are you in pain? Do you want me to check your wounds again?"
Yes. He wanted that close contact with her, but the thought got his nether region’s attention. It wasn’t a good idea. As much as he wanted to feel her fingers touching his skin again, tending to his wounds, he knew it was a dangerous proposition and he couldn't allow her to get close enough to him that he would want her to stay.
"No, I'm okay. Just hungry" He sat back down and fiddled with his knife and fork to keep from making eye contact with Grace.
"Well, it shouldn't be much longer. The trout is almost done and the biscuits just need to cool a little before I take them out of the pan."
He watched her movements, graceful and sure. Grace. That was a good name for her. She was totally out of her element and yet she worked to provide a meal in the most primitive of settings with the utmost grace of any high born city socialite debutante he had ever had the opportunity to know. His thoughts drifted back to Lizzie. Life should have turned out so differently for him. But misdeeds and misfortunes lay buried with his one true love. He would not allow this woman to pry the iron armor from his heart. He respected her too much to tie her to a man who could never love her and he didn’t think lust would be enough for Grace.
Grace Page 13
