Disappointment stabbed at his heart. “Why not? I thought you enjoyed it. I know I did.”
“It was wonderful, but that’s not the point. I still believe I’m married to someone else and I don’t care to feel like a cheating slut.”
Frank shook his head. “I’m sorry if last night made you feel cheap. That certainly wasn’t my intent. I thought I’d given you enough time, but evidently I was wrong. I’ll try to respect your wishes.”
She crushed her knuckles to her lip then lowered them. “You aren’t the cause of my feelings. I’m punishing myself. You didn’t force yourself on me. Honestly, I needed you. I’ve always been a sexual being... I drive David crazy. But, like I said, let’s chalk it up to a mistake and know it won’t happen again.”
Frank stood, picked up his hat and slapped it against his leg. A flurry of dust sifted through the air. He stared down at her. “You can call it a mistake if you want, but it wasn’t for me. I’ve made love to you a thousand times, and last night was one of the most memorable. You’ve never been so willing and free with your body. Nothing that wonderful could be wrong.”
He stomped back to the barn and began mucking the stalls. His neck muscles corded and his jaw ached from clenching his teeth since his discussion with Mariah. With a sigh, he stopped shoveling, wiped the sweat from his brow on his shirtsleeve then leaned on the spade handle. The stench of manure hung heavy in the air.
What a turn his life had taken. His wife had changed in so many ways since the accident. Although she looked the same, he wondered if maybe she was somebody else. Thoughts of last night kept flashing through his mind. It was Mariah’s body he made love to, but she’d never reacted with such passion and wanton lust. She always acted the proper lady, even in bed. Last night was definitely different. He shook the silly notions from his head, threw down the shovel and filled his arms with fresh straw.
~ * ~
Taylor watched him swagger across the yard. The man had a sexy walk. She took a deep breath and fought her building desire for him and tipped her coffee to her lips. It’d gone cold. She set the cup on the table and pulled her legs up under her. Resting her chin on her hand, she pondered how long she could be strong.
It won’t happen again, Taylor... it won’t.
She rose and went into the house, wandering through the rooms, snooping through drawers and cupboards. Nothing struck a familiar chord. Being in limbo grew tiresome. She walked into the parlor and perched on the edge of the settee. Before, she’d only stood in the doorway, but now she sat with hands primly folded in her lap and scanned the room, hoping something would jump out at her. The quaint furnishings and handmade doilies gave the room a homey feel. Lovely though it was, her shoulders sagged. There was nothing in the room that smacked of her personality in the least.
She glanced at the picture above the fireplace. Mariah’s face—her own face—stared down at her. Moving to the hearth for a closer look, she leaned on the wooden mantel, rested her chin on her hands and stared up at the portrait. She sensed absolutely no connection, even when she closed her eyes and searched her memory.
When she opened her eyes, she noticed the imprints her hands and elbows left in the dust on the wood. It occurred to her the house was in dire need of a good cleaning.
I haven’t made a move to clean anything since my accident. If I’m going to be the lady of the house, and it looks like everyone but me believes I am, I’d better get busy.
She went into the pantry and found a flour sack. The printing on it had long ago faded and the material had grown soft, most likely from countless washings. On the way back to the parlor, she realized there was probably a pile of dirty laundry somewhere. She shook her head. It could wait. She had no interest in mimicking the old westerns she’d seen and spend time stooping over a washboard. It was hard enough for her to believe she suddenly found dusting an interesting pastime.
Without the thick layer of silt, the dark mahogany tables shone brightly. She wiped away her prints from the mantel and straightened the pillows on the settee. Amazingly, she enjoyed herself, even hummed a cheerful tune.
* * * *
She knelt on hands and knees, washing the floor when Frank came inside. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Whoops! Guess I’d better not track up what you’ve just washed.”
An unpleasant odor hung on him like a fog and his boots bore evidence of mucking the stalls. He backed out the door, removed them and left them outside, then stood in the doorway in his stocking feet. “Is it dry enough for me to come in?”
Taylor struggled to get up. “Damn long dresses,” she murmured under her breath, surprised that Frank didn’t seem angry anymore. She wiped her brow and smiled. “Yes, it should be dry over there.”
He tiptoed across the floor, into the dining room. “I’m getting hungry. How about you? I haven’t had anything since breakfast.”
Taylor’s stomach growled at the mention of food. “I haven’t had anything but coffee. I sure would like something.”
She felt a slight pang of guilt that Frank had done all the cooking, but she eyed the big, old stove with curled lip. She had no idea how to cook on something so archaic, and besides, she abhorred kitchen chores.
Chapter Eighteen
Denver, Colorado—2002
Mariah never knew something as marvelous as a shower existed. She stood under the pelting spray until the warm water turned cold, then dried off with a downy bath towel. Even the large ‘M’ displayed on the material felt soft against her skin. She stood in her bathrobe and flushed the toilet for a second time, still amazed at how the water swirled around the bowl and disappeared.
A person could really get used to all these modern conveniences.
She turned on the tap to brush her teeth, and glancing in the mirror, pondered the strange image staring back at her.
Why do I believe so strongly this isn’t my face? Where did I go? Could I be wrong? Am I really Taylor Morgan?
She ran her fingers through unfamiliar thick hair and tucked it behind her ears. She sighed as she put away her toothpaste and brush, closed the wall cabinet, and took one last glimpse of her reflection.
It isn’t really such a bad one.
The miracle she hoped for was slow in coming. The dream she kept waiting to awaken from lingered on and on. Frank couldn’t possibly be a product of her imagination. She missed him too much for him not to be real. But how did she make David believe her?
As she came out of the bathroom, she collided with him in the hallway. He wore a white robe matching hers. She averted her gaze from his bare chest. “Oh, I’m sorry. I guess I should watch where I’m going.”
“No problem. I was on my way to take a swim. Want to join me?”
“Swim? Where?”
“We have a pool in the backyard, remember?”
Mariah hadn’t ventured that far yet. “We have a swimmin’ hole?”
He chuckled. “Where did this new language come from? I said pool... swimming pool.”
Her cheeks heated. The fact he found her speech so different only proved she wasn’t the same person. And was a pool the same thing as a hole?
David took her hand and led her to the curtained wall in the living room. He pulled on a piece of hanging cord and the material parted in the middle, revealing a huge window. Beyond was a large fenced area filled with plants, flowers and an expanse of green, all next to a large pond of crystal blue water.
She could barely wait for him to open the door. Once outside, she strolled from one end of the yard to the other, smelling the flowers and walking barefoot in the lush grass. She paused at the edge of the pool, knelt and wiggled her fingers in the water, then gazed up at David. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.” The phrase rang all too familiar. Her days were filled with strange new things she’d never even imagined.
David took off his bathrobe and dove in, drenching her with the resulting splash. He surfaced, rolled over on his back and kicked his feet. “You always had your heart se
t on having your own pool. You were on the swim team in college, and you love water. Logical match. Go get your suit on and join me.”
Mariah wiped the back of her hand across her dripping face and pushed back a soggy strand of hair. She crinkled her nose at the strange almost medicinal smell hanging in the air. “What suit?”
She averted her eyes from the flimsy bit of material that clung to his evident manhood.
“Swimsuit. You have twenty-five of them at last count.” He chuckled.
“I don’t know how to swim... at least I don’t think I do.” Her head ached from trying to remember.
“Taylor,” his voice turned stern, “believe me, you’re a swimmer. Go change. Once you get in the water, it will come back to you. It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“Bicycle?”
He rolled his eyes. “Never mind.” He waved her away. “We’ll talk about that later. Just go get changed. This will be good therapy for your sore muscles.”
She cringed at having to ask yet another question. “Where would I find my swimming clothes?”
“Bottom drawer, right hand side, I believe.”
She went inside, rummaged through the bottom drawer and pulled out tops and bottoms resembling pieces in the undergarment drawer. “Heavens,” she mumbled. “I can’t possibly wear anything so revealing—especially in front of David.”
But, he expected her to join him.
Mariah tried on a few, but shed them quickly when she glanced in the mirror and saw how much flesh she exposed. Finally, at the drawer’s bottom, she found a single piece that covered more than any of the others. She put it on and turned in a full circle in front of the looking glass.
At least this one doesn’t display every part of me… but I still feel naked as a jay bird. I can’t go out there like this.
David called to her. She snatched the robe from the bed, wrapped it around her and stepped outside. “Here I am.” She ignored her thudding heart.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Take that thing off and come on in. The water’s warm.”
Mariah stood clutching her wrapper with white knuckles. David paddled to the shallow end and extended a hand. “C’mon. Just stand on the stairs until you’re ready.”
She dangled her foot over the side and tested the water, then stepped down. “Oh, it does feel nice.”
Mariah braved the second step.
“Take off your robe,” he said a second time. “You’re gonna get it wet.”
“I… I don’t know if I can. I’m not used to… exposing so much of myself.”
“Look, Taylor. I’ve seen everything you have. You’re my wife. I’ve made love to your body a thousand times.” He waded closer and cupped his hand to his mouth. “This may come as a shock to you, but I’ve actually seen you naked.”
His words lit a fire that flamed her face. She lowered her eyes and fought the urge to argue. Her mind formed words she wanted to scream at him.
You have not seen me naked. You may have seen Taylor, but not me.
“Really,” David continued to prod, “come on in. You’ll enjoy it.”
She had no way out. With a deep breath, she flung the robe onto a nearby chair, scampered into the shallow water, and crouched beneath the surface until nothing showed but her neck and head. The water felt surprisingly warm. “All right, I’m in. Are you satisfied?”
Hopefully, she hadn’t revealed too much.
* * * *
After several futile attempts to move beyond the shallow end, and sinking like a rock, Mariah wondered why David still insisted she was a swimmer. Tired of gagging and choking on swallowed water, she’d reached her boiling point. Her jaw ached from tensing it.
She pushed saturated hair out of her face and glared at him. “See? Are you convinced? I do not know how to swim. You may find this fun, but I certainly don’t.”
With anger bubbling, she realized she stood in shallow water, bearing her body to him. It didn’t deter her. Her concern over modesty had shifted to surviving the swimming pool.
“I’m sorry, honey. I thought you’d enjoy it.” He covered his mouth.
Is he laughing at me?
When she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window, she understood. Rivulets of water dribbled down her face from hair askew and plastered strangely on one side of her head.
The sight only served to make her madder. “I don’t know what you think is so funny. I’m getting out.”
Scampering up the pool stairs, she grabbed her robe, threw it around her shoulders then flounced into the house. The sliding door slammed hard enough to shimmy the huge panes of glass.
* * * *
Despite David’s apology, Mariah sat on the sofa with her back to him.
“I don’t know why you’re so mad at me. I only laughed because you looked so adorable.” He touched her shoulder.
The sincerity in his voice caused her icy anger to melt. She turned to look at him. “I don’t like people making fun of me. It seems you’re either annoyed with me or laughing at something I’ve done. I thought it was kind of me to even try your silly swimming hole… pool.”
He inched closer, his empty gaze focused beyond her. “I can’t for the life of me understand how someone forgets how to swim. In college, you were Olympic-caliber.” A sigh escaped him. He swiped his hand across his mouth, then smiled at her. “But, you were a good sport and I’m sorry I laughed at you. It won’t happen again, I promise.
Mariah relaxed, letting the rigidity leave her shoulders. “All right, but next time I tell you I can’t do something, promise you’ll believe me.”
“I promise!” He put his hand over his heart. “Hey, tell you what. To make up, how about I take you to a movie?”
Her smile sagged to a frown.
Oh, not again. You say something and I have to ask the meaning. I’m sick of this.
“Before you have to ask, a movie is like television only bigger, louder and with hot buttery popcorn.”
Mariah licked her lips. It’d been a long time since she’d had popcorn and then only once. “I’d love to go. Should I change clothes?” She gestured toward the jeans and t-shirt she wore.
“What you have on is fine. Let me check the newspaper and find out what’s playing.”
Bigger and louder than television… and popcorn? She released a long breath. As long as there is no water involved, I’m ready to give it a try.
Chapter Nineteen
Colorado Territory—1872
Frank looked down at his dirty clothes and stained hands. “Well, before I fix us something to eat, I think I’d better take a bath. After mucking the stalls, I’m sure you don’t want to sit down to dinner with me smellin’ like this. Usually one of the hands takes care of that chore, but they’re tending cattle today.”
Bath?
She couldn’t believe her ears. “You have a tub? I’ve been using a pitcher and bowl to wash up everyday. You mean I could actually have been taking a bath instead?”
“You really have forgotten most everything, haven’t you? The door next to the guest room hides my project in the works. Don’t you remember… I’m building a water closet... like those newfangled ones in the catalog? We keep the tub in there. I don’t suppose you recall when we went into town to order it?” His eyelids fluttered. “We still have to haul the water upstairs, but someday, I may even be able to connect it to the pump outside.”
A relaxing Jacuzzi popped into Taylor’s mind. “Okay, if it’s 1872 and we don’t have running water, how come I remember sitting in a huge bathtub with jets and massager? Why do I even know what they are?”
Frank’s eyes reflected that familiar confusion she’d seen so often; he offered no response.
Something was very wrong with this picture. Had she been kidnapped and a ransom demanded? She dispelled the thought. A kidnapper probably wouldn’t draw her bath and make her dinner.
With no explanation of her mysterious flashback, she dared not try to explain it, but she certainly was
n’t passing on a real bath. “Lead the way.”
Frank grinned. “Judging from the smile on your face, I guess I should have mentioned the tub sooner. You go on up. I’ll put some water on the stove to heat.”
* * * *
Thoughts of dinner dimmed as she watched Frank empty the first bucket of steaming water into the footed enamel tub. Her tired body yearned for a relaxing bath, but like everything else, Taylor compared the antiquated fixture to the modern conveniences she yearned for. Oh, for a hot water heater and running water.
The sound of Frank adding the second bucket interrupted her thoughts. She watched the rising steam. “I guess I should wait a minute or so until it cools a little.”
“Unless you want to be dinner, that’s a good idea.” He closed the door behind him, his laughter fading as he descended the stairs.
Taylor stepped out of her clothing and dipped one foot into the water. It felt hot, but the longer she wiggled her toes, the more comfortable and inviting it became. She stepped in, sat and leaned back, sliding her body down into the shallow water. Her breasts were barely covered and her toes stuck out at the other end.
“Gee, another bucket or two would have been nice, but...” she mumbled. Stop griping, Taylor! Just enjoy the moment. It’s better than the pitcher and bowl routine.
She reached to a side table, picked up a bar of soap and rubbed it between her wet hands. A luxurious fragrance of lavender rose from the bubbles. The warmth already faded from the water, so she quickly washed then held her nose and submerged her head. After working the soap into a thick lather, she spread the foam through her hair, and dipped again for a quick rinse. Wincing at the soap sting, she knuckled water from her eyes and heaved a sigh. I can’t believe I just washed my hair in the same water I bathed in, and with hand soap. God, I miss my Paul Mitchell shampoo.
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