JOE'S WIFE

by Cheryl St. John

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his bare spine and shoulders to her, pulling the bunched trousers from his foot. "Nobody took care of my leg before I came here, and I did okay."

  "But the hot packs make it feel better."

  "Yes," he said softly, "they do."

  She realized then that she was talking to his naked back and that he wore only his white cotton drawers. He stood up and moved to the face bowl, meeting her glance in the mirror.

  Meg turned the other way.

  "Now who's embarrassed?" he asked with a chuckle.

  "Shall I go for some hot water and the liniment?"

  Water splashed. "No." He returned and sat on the bottom corner of the bed. "Look at me."

  Her heart fluttered foolishly. Looking at him was more disturbing than it should have been. Her common sense railed against it.

  "Please?" he added mildly. "We need to talk."

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  « ^ »

  Meg turned those vulnerable hazel eyes on him.

  He would have spared her this if he could have. But it was done. He'd given his word, and now he had a child depending on him. "Lottie died today. There was a message for Reverend Baker when we got to his place. I went over to Rosa's and helped her make arrangements."

  "I'm sorry, Tye. I know she was your friend."

  "I hadn't seen her for years until recently," he said, not expecting or needing her sympathy. "Of course I'm sorry she went like that, and I'm sorry Eve lost her mother. But don't be sorry for me. Eve's the one who needs the comforting."

  Every once in a while her gaze returned to his bare skin, but she'd force it to his eyes or to the quilt. "So, Eve is here for good."

  "Yes."

  "When is the funeral?"

  "Tomorrow. Didn't have anyone to notify, so soon as the casket's built, the reverend's ready."

  "Will you take Eve?"

  The question had crossed his mind, but he hadn't had much chance to think about it. "Do you think she should go?"

  "I guess so. We took Forrest and Lilly to Joe's funeral. Otherwise, wouldn't she wonder what happened … to the body and all?"

  "I guess so. I don't know what to do with a kid." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly.

  "I don't reckon anyone does, Tye. You just sort of have to learn it as you go along. And as long as you're trying to do what's best for them, you can't go too far wrong."

  Their eyes met again in the lantern light.

  "I don't mean for this to be a concern between us," he said gently, meaning Eve, though she was much more than a concern. She was a responsibility, a person to share the rest of their lives with, a helpless human who needed comfort and love.

  "I know that," she said, speaking as fairly as she always did. He'd been the one taking advantage. Knowing she didn't think less of Tye because of his parentage, he'd expected she wouldn't think less of Eve for hers. He'd taken that for granted.

  So far Meg was doing all the giving and he was doing all the taking, and that shamed him. But he had nothing to give except hard work, and as yet that hadn't paid off in any visible manner.

  Lord, she was beautiful! She'd let down her hair and brushed it until it gleamed. The honey-colored tresses cascaded across her pale shoulders. What on earth did he have to give her that was worthy of her?

  The ring. He would get her father's ring for her.

  And the ranch; he'd do everything in his power to make it the best it could be. For her. Because she loved it so, and because it meant so much to her.

  "I'll come with you, Tye."

  "What?" He'd lost the thread of their conversation.

  "To the funeral tomorrow," she clarified.

  He felt as if a stone were lodged in his chest, and he had to work to breathe around it. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

  "I'm sure. It'll be better if we're both there."

  She was right. If he went alone, tongues would wag doubly fast. He nodded.

  "Now, you'll let me see to your leg." She stood and moved to leave the room. "The water is still hot, it will only take a min—"

  Tye caught her wrist and stopped her from leaving.

  She stared down at his hand and her pulse fluttered in her throat. He felt the gentle throb in her wrist, too, and loosened his hold. The scent of violets encamped in his senses, and when she raised her luminous eyes to his face, his heart threatened to leap from his body. "Thank you," he said simply.

  "Let me get the water and towels," she said.

  He freed her hand. For a long moment she didn't move. Finally, with a swish of linen, she opened the door and left.

  Tye removed his cotton drawers with a groan and covered himself with the sheet. Her nursing had become pure torture. He purposefully counted patchwork stars on the rumpled quilt.

  She returned and he still sat on the side of the bed.

  He helped her place the oilcloth beneath his leg but didn't recline, as was his usual position while she treated his leg. She used tongs to wring the first towel, then, gingerly, her fingers. He stared at the outline of her breasts beneath her soft linen gown and noted each gentle movement with tormentingly rapt attention. The image of covering them with his hands nearly made him groan aloud again.

  She raised her face. "Ready?"

  He tore his gaze to hers and nodded, welcoming the distraction.

  Gently, she laid the steaming towel on his scarred thigh. He rode the sensation of pain until too quickly it dulled, and her hair became his focus. He wanted to reach out and touch the silky tresses, wanted to know if they felt every bit as glorious and warm as they appeared in the golden light. As he'd cleaned and brushed the mountain lion's fur, he'd been reminded of Meg, of tawny beauty and softness that disguised underlying strength.

  His fingers tingled with the wanting.

  She replaced the cooling cloth with another hot one, and he barely even noticed. Her hands were red from the heat, and he had the sudden urge to hold them between his, kiss them, press them to his own hot flesh.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  He focused on her eyes. "What?"

  "That hurt you."

  He must have made a sound. He shook his head. "No."

  Finally, she blotted his thigh dry and reached for the liniment bottle. "No," he said. "Not tonight."

  "But, Tye, it—"

  "No," he said firmly.

  She drew her hand back. "Did I do something—"

  "You've done everything right. Everything. It's … it's intolerable for me."

  "What is, Tye? The pain?"

  "No, not the pain. You! This! Us!" He gestured with a sweep of one hand, encompassing her in her thin linen gown and him in nothing, and the fingers of that hand ended up thrust into his hair against his scalp, frustration and thwarted desire eating him alive.

  With a curse, he tugged the protective sheet from beneath his leg and tossed it aside. He pulled the covers over himself. "Get into bed."

  Meg obediently set her supplies aside, blew out the lamp and crawled into bed. The erotic scent of her hair drifted to him like a siren call.

  Tye thought of Eve out in the other room. He thought of the funeral they would attend the following day. He thought of the cows he had to milk in the morning and those he'd have to round up and brand in another week, and into the night he concentrated on anything but his wife beside him.

  And finally he slept. And dreamed of her.

  She smelled as wonderful as he remembered. Her hair was as velvety thick and soft as he'd only before imagined. One slender arm across his torso brought her plush breasts against his chest. With only the thin layer of linen separating their skin, heat radiated between their bodies. Her hard nipples brushed his side, rubbed the back of his wrist. He turned his hand and greedily cupped a fleshy mound. She laid her head on his shoulder, her hair a taunting caress against his face and neck.

  He groaned. He was as stiff and ready as he had been for weeks. She pushed her breast into his palm and ma
de an eager mewling sound in the back of her throat.

  Her breath ruffled the hair on his chest, hardened his nipples. He rolled on his side toward her.

  Beneath the bedclothes, he fumbled in the darkness, found her rounded backside and pulled her against him hard, pushing against her at the same time.

  She wrapped her arm around his neck and her warm breath grazed his ear.

  Quite naturally, he slid his hands beneath the hem of her gown and raised it, his fingers sliding along warm, satin skin, molding against her defined hipbone, dipping in at her waist, drifting higher and drawing a shiver from her as he found her naked breast and rolled her nipple between his fingers.

  Meg pressed her face against his neck, and he leaned above her. He ran his hand back down, dipped a finger in and around her navel, discovered a silken thatch of curls and tested the dewy folds beneath.

  She curled her fingers into his hair and pressed her lips against his neck with a smothered cry. He shifted his weight onto her.

  Their bodies seemed made for each other, hers eager, warm and pliant, his seeking, parting her thighs, easing into her with careful restraint.

  Nothing had ever felt so wonderful, so fulfilling and tantalizing at the same time. Nothing he'd ever done had been this important, this all-consuming and alive.

  Her knees hugged him snugly, her body sheathing him tightly, her arms locked around his neck.

  This was a dream come true. He took time to run his palms against her skin, to enjoy the feminine curves and textures and to elicit her sighs of pleasure.

  The mildness of their first joining quickly disappeared.

  Her entire body tensed against him.

  Her teeth dug into his neck.

  Tye had never concentrated as hard on anything as he did on recognizing the signals her body sent and intensifying her pleasure. "Like this?"

  "Yes." Her hands moved to his hips and her fingers pressed into his flesh, restraining him.

  "Slower?"

  "Yes."

  Tye gritted his teeth and thought about the cows.

  Her breath caught and held.

  "Now?"

  "Yes."

  He held her as tightly as possible without crushing her, kissed her damp temple, inhaled the rapturous fragrance of her hair and spent himself inside her.

  Her gentle tremors encased him. Beneath him Meg's body went limp, but her fingers had come back to stroke his hair. The rigid muscles in his thigh jumped, and he eased himself to a more comfortable position for them both.

  Her skin was warm and damp and very real against his. His heart thudded at a clear, precise rate. The scents of violets and musk mingled unmistakably. He wasn't sure at which point he'd become aware that he was awake and not dreaming. It didn't really matter. It had been better than any dream he'd ever had.

  He smiled against her fragrant hair.

  She adjusted her gown and rolled to her side. He followed, wrapping himself behind her spoon-fashion, noting her delectably round and firm backside, unable to imagine a better place to snuggle. With her scent in his head and her body tucked against his, he drifted back to sleep.

  Meg awoke at sunup, the heat of Tye's long form pressed along her back. Her eyes hadn't even opened before she remembered what had transpired during the night.

  A warmth bloomed in her chest, and her face and neck grew hot at the shocking memory. More so at her shocking behavior and reactions. Trying not to disturb him or jostle the bed, she untangled herself, straightened her gown and padded out to warm some water. Her body ached in embarrassing places. She needed a bath.

  The fire was started and the water beginning to warm when Tye entered the kitchen behind her. She didn't turn around.

  "Morning," he said softly.

  "Morning."

  He came up behind her and she tensed without thinking. He didn't touch her. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  An uncomfortable minute passed. "I'll go milk."

  She nodded, relieved. He grabbed his jacket and the door opened and closed. Quickly, Meg poured water and carried the pitcher past the sleeping child to her room. She closed herself in, removed her wrinkled nightgown and bathed, using the basin and the towels.

  Her body didn't seem like her own. She smelled different. She felt different. She felt … disloyal. But that was crazy. Joe was dead.

  She had loved Joe, and she'd never thought to ever take another man to her bed or to her body.

  Her traitorous body. She donned her clothing swiftly, as though covering herself could hide or change what had happened.

  She'd been lonely for a long time.

  Besides that, she had settled herself to the idea from the start. She'd even given Tye permission. And last night … last night, with her shocking responses, she'd even given him encouragement.

  Well, now it was done. They could end the tension of waiting and get on with their lives, their purpose. It had been sensible.

  She told herself that when the men came in for breakfast and she still couldn't meet Tye's eyes. In. the corner of her vision, he ate his eggs and drank his coffee.

  A cry sounded from the other room, and Tye shot off the bench and around the corner.

  Meg followed more slowly, discovering him standing and holding the sobbing child, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

  "I want my mama!" Eve wailed.

  "I know you do," he said gently, awkwardly patting her back. "I know."

  Meg allowed herself to look into his dark eyes, and she read only concern … and the powerlessness she'd seen before. "Eve," she said. "You and I have to get prettied up for the service today. Would you like me to tie ribbons in your hair?"

  "I want my mama," she said again.

  She had to speak around the lump in her throat. "I think we'll get you washed up, and then you can try a couple of fresh eggs. Do you like hot cocoa?"

  She rubbed her eyes with her fisted knuckles and nodded.

  "Good. We'll be fine, Tye."

  They locked gazes. He was going to have to trust her with this child. He couldn't look after Eve and do the work he needed to do, too. Meg knew it wasn't that he didn't trust her. He hesitated only because Eve didn't trust her yet. He didn't want Eve frightened because he wasn't there. The child seemed to draw comfort from him.

  Meg identified well with that feeling.

  "I'm leaving you with Meg to eat and get ready," he said, and bent to place her on her bare feet on the floor.

  With eyes as round as saucers and her lower lip trembling, Eve watched him turn and go back toward the kitchen. Seconds later, the door opened and closed. Those violet eyes latched warily onto Meg's face.

  "Well, kiddo, we may as well get used to one another," Meg said.

  Eve didn't speak a word the whole time Meg fed her and dressed her and brushed and tamed her gleaming black hair. She said nothing until Tye returned to change, and then she asked where the dog had gone.

  It seemed odd doing all these personal things for a small person she'd only just met, but the thought that there was no one else and that Eve had no choice but to trust her softened Meg's heart toward the child even more. Tye had told Meg that Eve would go to an orphanage if she didn't come here. She could have been fostered out to anyone. Anyone.

  But she hadn't been. By some divine providence she'd been entrusted to Tye and Meg. That duty was weighty and sobering, but Meg knew now she wouldn't shirk or resent it.

  Everybody needed to feel safe. And she vowed Eve would feel safe with them.

  Tye entered the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Meg observed him standing near the stove, Joe's shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, one hand resting at his hip, and a responding thrill shot through her chest. The memory of what they'd done in the secretive cloak of night shocked and excited her at the same time, and she fought to control her reactions lest he turn and catch her and know what she'd been thinking.

  The sun hadn't come out that morning. She went in search of a
coat for Eve, finding a long woolen sweater and buttoning her into it while Tye changed into what she'd come to think of as his wedding suit.

  She and Tye donned hats and jackets and the three of them rode on the wagon into town. Reverend Baker, Rosa Casals, Jed Wheeler and a few saloon patrons were the only ones joining them at the brief graveside service.

  They stood on the rocky patch of ground on the outskirts of Aspen Grove where crude markers jutted from the earth in no particular pattern. Someone had built a wooden fence years ago, and a church committee fought time and weather each spring by repairing and whitewashing it.

  Meg had never before attended a funeral that didn't take place in the church and conclude here. She glanced around at the few mourners, listened to the reverend read from his Bible and couldn't bear to see the service end without a song or a conventional gesture of some sort.

  Reverend Baker glanced around, too. Tye stared at the casket they'd lowered into the fresh opening in the ground and tirelessly held the orphaned Eve.

  Meg's heart fluttered, but she opened her mouth and started singing, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…"

  To her complete and delighted surprise Tye joined her, his voice a clear, true baritone that carried across the windy hillside. Rosa and the reverend joined them, and after three verses, they stood in silence for several minutes.

  Jed and the other men broke off and headed back toward Main Street

  .

  Rosa hugged Eve and Tye. "I'll be packing and leaving," she said to him. "Royce Parks is coming for me day after tomorrow."

  "Well, good luck," he said with a nod. "I hope you're happy with him."

  "Five children will keep me busy," she said with a rueful smile. "I probably won't have too much time to worry over being happy." She ran a hand over Eve's hair. "You take good care of her, now."

  "We will," he promised.

  Rosa turned, took Meg's gloved hand and gave her a warm smile that revealed a crooked tooth. "Enjoy this new family," she said with a squeeze. "And don't settle for anything less than all you want out of life."

  "Thank you," Meg said. "Best wishes on your marriage."

  With pursed lips, Rosa nodded. She turned and walked away. Eventually the reverend followed.