by Jodi Thomas
He’d hated those nights. A boy sleeping in among men who yelled and swore and cried. The silence of the classroom was a welcome change. He hadn’t minded that he slept on the floor with a single blanket at night. The warden’s wife gave him clean clothes every Monday and made him bathe once a week. When he’d finished and dressed, she’d always inspect for dirt under his nails or ears that weren’t scrubbed.
If she found nothing, she’d say, “You’ll do” and walk away without another word.
He ate his meals on the back porch of the warden’s house. Their cook gave him scraps at first. No matter what or how little was on the plate, Michael thanked her every morning and night. Eventually, the meals got better. After a few months, she even gave him a tin with leftover biscuits in it. “You ain’t much older than the kids in that school. It ain’t fair you don’t have no lunch.”
Michael thanked her and that night he tasted his first dessert. One scoop of apple cobbler.
When he was growing up with his uncles nothing had an order. Supper or any meal, for that matter, came when the food was done. If nothing was caught and cooked, they ate like chickens scratching around for bits of food.
He passed through the pasture gate and into the courtyard wondering if the San Louise Ranch ever had cobbler.
He saw Abe and Joseph walking out of their small rooms along the row of cabins Cozette had called guesthouses. His uncles were dressed in wool trousers without a single patch and well-made broadcloth shirts.
“Hold up, Mickey!” Abe yelled. “You get a look at our quarters? Real sheets and two blankets each. One of the maids came by to tell us she’d pick up our laundry and sheets every Monday to wash. Imagine that.”
Joseph shook his head and stuttered, “They’ll w-wear them out w-washing them that often.”
Abe took his time chewing his words before he spoke, as he always did when he wasn’t sure of something. “How long do you figure we’re staying?”
Michael wished he could tell them the bargain, but he’d given his word. “Behave yourselves and you can stay as long as I do.”
Abe tried again. “When your pa married our sister, he took her away. The marriage didn’t take, I guess, ’cause she was back before all the seasons changed with you in her belly. When she left us she kept saying it was forever. Mickey, you ain’t never used that word once.”
Michael had heard the story of how his mother left them a hundred times. They did all they could when she went into labor, but she died giving birth to him. Then his uncles stole a goat and somehow kept him alive. He was about seven when he realized his uncles barely had a brain among them.
He tried to make one detail clear to them. “I’ll stay awhile but we’ll have to leave eventually. This is Cozette’s ranch, her land, not mine. Never forget that.”
They both nodded and turned toward the bunkhouse.
“Aren’t you coming in to dinner?” Michael asked.
“Nope.” Abe smiled. “We’ve been invited to the bunkhouse kitchen for chili.”
Joseph grinned. “W-wish we could invite you, boy, but it w-wouldn’t be right. You’re going to have to eat in the big house w-with all those people w-watching to snatch your plate before you get a chance to lick it clean and more forks than anybody ought to have to put up w-with.”
Abe frowned. “One of them fell in my pocket this morning. I guess you’d better take it back before they miss it.”
Michael took the fork. “No stealing while you’re here, remember?”
Abe’s head bobbled, but Michael doubted the message would log.
He walked back to the house. Inside the kitchen, he dropped the fork on a worktable and moved on. The place had more rooms than he could count. There were sitting rooms and proper parlors. Cozette’s father’s office was bigger than most banks, with closets and doors going off in almost every direction. While they’d looked over the map she’d mentioned her father hadn’t smoked in weeks, the area near the desk still smelled of cigars. Michael decided to ask if the bookkeeper smoked. If he did, he couldn’t have been away long even though Cozette hadn’t seen him.
When Michael finally wandered into the main entry hall, he found Cozette waiting on the third step, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms. She still wore her white blouse and riding skirt.
“Am I late?”
“No, you’ve plenty of time to change for dinner. I laid your clothes out myself.”
He frowned. “Why would I change?”
She smiled. “I’ve wondered that same thing most of my life. All I know is my uncle invited guests again. He’s not talking to me directly, but apparently he’s not ready to leave and needed a reason to stay. The charade of a wedding dinner with neighbors is as good a reason as any to delay his departure.”
“How’s your father?”
“The same.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with sadness. “He doesn’t squeeze my fingers anymore and he won’t open his eyes when I talk to him. I get the feeling he wishes I’d stay away.”
Michael took her hand firmly in his grip. He had no idea what to say. The old man was having a hard time dying just as he’d had a hard time living. Cozette had been as starved for love growing up as Michael had been.
He tugged on her hand and pulled her into his arms as she stood. For a moment all he did was hold her against him guessing that the feel of another standing heart to heart was as foreign to her as to him.
She held on tightly for a moment, then smiled her thanks up at him.
“If I dress for dinner,” he tried to make light of what had just passed between them, “I’m guessing you will have to also.”
She groaned. “Of course, and wear my hair up. After all, I’m not a child any longer. I’m a proper married lady.” They moved up the stairs, holding hands.
“I like your hair down.” He winked at her. “It brushes your bottom when you walk.”
She slapped at his ribs and laughed. “A gentleman never refers to a woman’s bottom.”
He liked her teasing. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen. “I’m sorry, but you know, dear, I’m not a gentleman and I like looking at your bottom as well as your hair.” He slowed slightly to take in the view before she pulled him along.
They reached her room, where Moses slept outside her door.
“I slipped past him,” she confessed.
“Don’t do it again.” He hadn’t meant his words to roll so hard.
She looked up as if she might argue, then turned and disappeared into her room.
He woke his uncle and told him to go eat chili, that he’d guard his own wife tonight. She didn’t like being ordered—he needed to remember that. She expected him to be a gentleman and he wasn’t sure how. The one compliment he’d given her apparently wasn’t proper. If their marriage lasted beyond dinner tonight, he’d be surprised.
Chapter 6
Cozette jumped at the tap on their connecting door half an hour later.
“Ready?” he said when she shoved the lock free.
She didn’t miss his smile, but he looked nervous and somehow that one fact calmed her. With only a slight hesitance, she motioned him into her room.
She couldn’t help but stare at him from head to toe. He looked striking in his tailored evening jacket and white shirt hugging his tan throat. “Almost,” she whispered. “I can’t get the latch of my necklace to hold. Would you do it for me?”
Handing him the jewelry, she turned her back. Her hair was already swept atop her head, so he should have no trouble. Standing very still, she waited.
“Got it,” he said.
She felt for the necklace even knowing it wasn’t there. “No, you haven’t.”
He laughed. “No, I meant I figured out how this thing works. Now hold still and I’ll rope it around you.”
She felt his warm fingers work the lock at the back of her neck. Then his hands drifted down, smoothing the chain along her throat. She didn’t move as his long fingers fanned out over her bare shou
lders and gently held her still. She could feel his breath against her cheek, but he didn’t move.
“Are you finished?” she asked, waiting for him to let go of her shoulders.
“Yes.” His voice was oddly low. “I’m just enjoying the view from here. I think I like it better than I do the one of you walking away. You seem very nicely rounded in several places.”
She turned preparing to snap at him, but he was even closer than she thought. They were almost touching. The warmth in his eyes shocked her, as did the honesty. He wasn’t flattering or playing with her, he was simply telling her how he felt. He had no reason to play games with her. They both knew the bargain between them was already set.
She raised her chin slightly. “It’s time to go downstairs.”
He took her hand and put it in the bend of his elbow, then led her down the steps to a dozen people waiting to see the newlyweds.
Cozette smiled when she saw them. Most of the women had been friends of her mother’s from years ago. She remembered them coming to visit when she was little, but they’d stopped dropping by after her mother died. Uncle Raymond would have to be on his best behavior. Even if he was furious about the marriage, he couldn’t afford to let on in front of them or the powerful husbands who stood at their wives’ sides.
Michael remained near, smiling but saying little. He asked where each guest’s land was and if it bordered San Louise, then talked of the weather, but little else.
Her mother’s friends seemed to tolerate Raymond more than like him. By the time dinner was served it was plain they came to see her and the man she’d picked to marry. Judging by their smiles, the neighbors liked her new husband just fine.
The only thing Michael did out of order was pull up her chair beside his when they walked in to dinner. The guests laughed and kidded him about being a new husband. One lady even commented that it was the dearest thing she’d ever seen.
About the time the main course was served the talk turned to books. Cozette tried to shield questions meant for Michael. She wasn’t sure he was well read and she didn’t want these people to hurt his feelings. But, after a few moments, she realized they were united in their mission to get to know him.
When she glanced at her uncle she knew that somehow he was behind their curiosity. He must have planted a seed that her new husband was not good enough for the princess of San Louise.
Finally, a man on their left asked Michael, point-blank, what he thought of Moby Dick.
Michael set down his fork and said simply, “I think it’s a wonderful study on social status and it makes you speculate on your own personal beliefs as well as your individual place in the universe.” He fought down a smile, probably proud of himself for remembering most of a review he’d read. “I also think, at over eight hundred pages, it’s a bit longer than it needed to be.”
The room was silent for a moment, and then everyone talked at once. He’d somehow passed the test and been accepted. For the rest of the meal, no one bothered even to look at Uncle Raymond.
“You read,” she whispered near Michael’s ear when she got a chance.
“Yes, dear.” His hand moved over her skirt and brushed her leg. Then, without hesitation, he kissed her lightly.
Cozette blushed and pushed his hand off her skirts. He might read, but as far as his manners, he would barely be considered housebroken. No man, not even a husband, would touch his wife’s leg in public. Thank goodness they were at the end of the table, where no one could see.
The table roared with approval over the kiss as she slipped her hand beneath the table and pushed his hand away a second time.
“Do it again! We missed the wedding!” someone yelled. “At least we should be allowed to see a real kiss.”
Michael waited until she turned in his direction. This time his hand gripped her leg with determination and she felt the heat of his fingers through the layers of her gown. With his free hand, he lifted her chin and lowered his mouth over hers.
The kiss was sweet, tender, but his hand moved purposefully up her leg with shocking familiarity. After a few moments she pulled away. Anger flashed before she realized they were on the same side. His bold actions made everyone believe they were in love, and her shocked hesitance only led them to believe that the girl was becoming a woman.
Michael smiled down at her as his hand beneath the table moved back to her knee, straightening the silk gown as he went, as though he could somehow erase the feel of his hand.
The crowd clapped and yelled. “Look,” someone shouted, “she blushes with just a mere kiss!”
Cozette wanted to jab him hard in the ribs but he was playing the game they’d agreed to play. No one in the room would suspect they’d married for anything but love or maybe passion.
All evening he kept her close. He played with her hand while someone read poetry, and when the evening progressed and the wine flowed, and they no longer became the center of attention, he remained close, always touching her hand or arm, or brushing his leg lightly against hers.
She considered the fact that he might be trying to drive her mad. After all, he’d have everything if she went crazy. Each touch seemed a fraction bolder than the last. She found herself warming to each, waiting for the next.
People grouped together to sing around her mother’s piano. Two old men were sound asleep near the door, their brandy still in their hands. To her surprise, Michael moved even closer to her after her uncle retired.
Cozette felt the length of the day. With no sleep the night before, she couldn’t remember when she’d last had any rest. She’d tried for an hour in the afternoon, but there was far too much to do. Now, with the warmth of him beside her, she melted against him, no longer worrying about what was proper.
He seemed to understand, putting his arm around her and pulling her close, then brushing her cheek as he encouraged her to rest her head on his chest.
She didn’t protest, surprised at how good it felt to have someone watching over her. The guests fell away, their good-nights little more than buzzing around her. Even the doctor’s report that her father was resting comfortably hardly registered.
When they were alone, Michael pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against the soft arm of the settee. “Sleep, my dear. I’m right here to watch over you.”
She felt his hands brush along her side and his lips kiss her temple, and then she drifted deep into sleep.
When she awoke, he was carrying her up the stairs. Embarrassed at being carried to bed like a child, she didn’t move or open her eyes.
He went to his room and crossed the space between to hers. Without a word, he gently laid her down on the bed. She didn’t move as he unlatched her heavy necklace. His fingers drifted down and brushed lightly over the rise of her breast, and then he moved to her feet and removed her shoes. His hand glided up her leg to just above her knee where a strap held her gun in place. He didn’t seem surprised by the weapon but simply removed it and pulled her skirt back down.
The thought crossed her mind that if he went any farther she’d scream, but she knew no one would come to stand between a husband and a wife on their first night together.
His hands slid along her sides from knee to shoulder, and then he tugged the covers to her chin and moved off the bed.
She expected him to cross back into his room, but he didn’t. He locked her door, pulled the curtain across the alcove, stoked the fire, and removed his boots and jacket.
Then, very carefully, he lay down atop the covers at her side.
With her eyes closed, she tried to breathe slowly as if asleep as his hand moved across her waist. He stretched, then was still and his breathing calmed.
She risked a glance as she turned to face him.
He was sound asleep.
Chapter 7
When Cozette woke the next morning, Michael was gone but his new boots and coat remained in her room, looking very much like he’d tossed them there before taking his bride to bed.
She stood,
removed her wrinkled dress, and hurried into her morning clothes. She wanted to check on her father before the rest of the house came awake.
The doors between her room and Michael’s were open. His room was empty and for a moment she thought her part-time husband might be gone. She stared out the window until she spotted him in a corral near the main barn. He was on horseback, circling the corral as if testing one of her father’s horses. He wore the tailored trousers and starched shirt she’d left for him along with the leather vest. He looked the part of a rancher.
Two of her three uncles-in-law were hanging on the fence watching Michael. She had no doubt the third little round man was outside her door on guard.
The two on the fence both had on the clothes she’d sent down for them to wear. She’d picked the largest clothes from their stock of work trousers and flannel shirts and asked one of the girls to hem all the pants up at least six inches.
How could Michael be so tall and lean and have three relatives who looked like tree stumps?
As she watched, one of the uncles opened the gate and Michael bolted out across open land at full gallop. He could ride. Not like a gentleman from the East might ride, but like a cowhand used to living in the saddle.
After a few minutes, he turned the horse and raised his hand. Several riders joined him. Within minutes they were galloping at full speed toward the open range. Just before they crossed the ridge, he turned his head toward the house . . . toward her.
Cozette stepped back as if she’d been caught spying. She darted out the bedroom door and headed down the back stairs to the kitchen. The sound of her chubby bodyguard rattled along behind her.
In the kitchen she sat Uncle Moses down at one of the worktables and promised not to try to slip away. “Stay here and have your breakfast. I’m going to check on my father. You can watch the door to his office while you eat.”
