The relief was momentary; however, as she considered how to respond to her host’s confused words.
“Well the truth is, Mr. Wyatt, that I am another man’s bride,” she revealed, adding as she cast her own gaze downward, in the direction of her host’s signature crop, “When I see these beautiful roses that you grow, I’m reminded of my wedding bouquet; the flowers that I carried down the aisle to marry Vance Phillips, the man of my dreams and heart.” She paused here, adding as she stared him straight in the eyes, “The only man, I must tell you, that I will ever love.”
Thomas stood up straight at this news, his sculpted cleft chin flying upward as he met her gaze in full.
“Then why are you not at home with him?” he asked, his deep tone now reflecting the abject coolness he heard in his visitor’s voice. “As opposed to standing here with me, telling me that—although you have answered my ad for a mail order bride—you have no earthly intention of ever loving me?”
Amy sighed.
“You are correct, Mr. Wyatt,” she relented finally, adding as she folded her arms before her, “I should not have come to this place—only I have to tell you, no one awaits me at home.” She paused here, adding as she struggled to keep an even tone in the face of flooding emotions, “My husband passed away more than a month ago. One moment we worked side by side in our fields, enjoying our life together and joyfully anticipating the birth of our first child.” She paused here, adding as she shut her eyes tight. “Then within moments it all fell apart. My husband had a bad heart, and he collapsed in the field; leaving me all alone.”
With these words her eyes flew open and her chin again raised; once again she drew that all important second wind, staring her host straight in the eyes as she told him, “In my heart, Mr. Wyatt, I remain the wife of Vance Phillips. I shall not under any circumstances love or even lay with another man.” She paused here, adding as her tone softened and became more tentative, “Only I don’t see how I can work my land on my own, or for that matter manage our bills. I thought that I could come to your ranch and cook for you, maybe clean your house and do a little field work—more after my baby has been born. I could have been a big help to you….”
She trailed off here, adding as she turned away, “I can see that I’ve made a mistake, Mr. Wyatt. I am dreadfully sorry that I wasted your time—I’ll let you alone and go back to my ranch, where I belong.”
Amy froze as she felt her shoulder being grazed by a soft, gentle hand; one that turned her slowly but surely in the direction of its bearer.
She relaxed as she beheld the crystal blue eyes that had captivated her from the moment they’d met; and now, she noted, these eyes came filled with a welcome mix of tender and sublime emotions.
Understanding. Empathy. Tenderness. The very things that she needed at this time, that few others seemed willing to show her.
“What kind of a gentleman would I be if I turned away a young woman in your condition, at this time in her life?” he asked, adding with a defined nod, “Furthermore, what kind of a gentleman would I be if I coerced a woman into being my wife?”
With these words he clasped her hands between his and stared into her eyes with a smile.
“I would like to invite you to stay on with me here at the ranch,” he told her, tone kind and abiding. “I’ll give you a room of your own with a comfortable bed, and all the food you can eat. When and if you feel up to it, you can help out with the cooking and housekeeping, perhaps do a bit of field work when you need exercise—but I won’t see you overexert yourself. I am no millionaire Ma’am, but I do pretty well for myself. And I’d like to share this ranch, this new life that I’m building, with you.”
Amy smiled, squeezing his fingers between hers as she exhaled in spite of herself; her shoulders sagging as she finally took a moment to relax—to cease for an instant with her worry and concern and bask in the rays of her beloved Texas sun.
The respite was brief.
“What exactly do you want in return for all this luxury treatment?” she demanded, fixing her host with a suspicious look as she suddenly broke away from him. “I want to know this now, Mr. Wyatt, before we take another step forward in this crazy plan.”
Her host sighed.
“Please call me Thomas,” he bid her, adding as he shook his head from side to side, “I realize now that it was a mistake to place a mail order bride ad, in particular. People seem to assume certain things about a man who orders a mail order bride—that he’s not a true gentleman at all.” He paused, adding as he shifted the brim of the tall ivory hat that sat atop his regal head, “I’m not that kind of man, Ma’am. I love this land so much that I want to share it with someone; a woman who shares my love for Texas, for the land.” He paused here, adding as he once again took her hand in his, “I just want to share my life. Would you give me that opportunity, Amy?”
Amy thought a moment, and then nodded.
“Well Mr.—Thomas—I guess that I’m willing to give it a try,” she conceded, adding with a shy smile, “And you may call me Amy.”
*****
Amy awoke the next morning to find herself in paradise.
Even before she opened her eyes she experienced the sensation of divine luxury, a feeling supplied by the presence of a lace trimmed floral print comforter as it cradled and coddled her body; a form further comforted by the shine of luminous sunbeams as they flew inward through a nearby window, and by the scent of roses that seemed to grow just outside the same window, intermingled with the more distant but uncomfortable scent of freshly baked buttermilk pancakes.
Finally opening her eyes, a still sleepy Amy basked in the vision of a bedroom that seemed custom made for a princess; a luxurious refuge adorned by café style floral print curtains, plush ivory carpeting and ivory, bronze bordered bureaus.
“How on earth did I end up here?” she mused, thoughts thick and groggy. “Oh, I don’t care—as long as I am not required to move anytime within the next year or so.”
A loud knock on her bedroom door stirred her awake moments later; reminding her with a jolt as to her current location—and also of the man who owned this home.
Gathering her crisp cotton sheets tightly around her chin in a protective move, Amy called out in a tentative voice, “Who’s there?”
“It’s Thomas. I’ve come with your breakfast,” her host answered, his tone tentative and reverent.
Amy nodded—then pondered just how ineffectual such a move was with a closed door between them.
“Come in,” she said finally, sitting upright in bed as her door swung open to reveal a most unusual sight.
Although dressed in the denim blue jeans, crisp white shirt and black rawhide boots and hat combination typical of a rancher, her host still looked every inch the role of a dashing butler; carrying as he did a tray topped with a hearty stack of piping hot buttermilk pancakes, and a tall brown mug that brimmed with steaming hot cocoa.
“Breakfast is served,” Thomas announced with a grin, seating himself on the edge of her bed and setting the tray before her. “Enjoy.”
Amy did just that seconds later, digging deep into her succulent morning feast as she pinned her host with inquisitive eyes.
“Delicious!” she praised him, adding as she inclined her head sharp in his direction, “I simply must ask though, who occupied this room before I did?”
Thomas shrugged.
“No one to speak of, Ma’am,” he told her. “Truth be told it was never slept in before last night.”
Amy nodded.
“So you as a Texas rancher tend to prefer lace comforters and floral print café curtains?” she queried, accompanying her words with a long hard look that brought a loud guffaw from deep in Thomas’ throat.
“Not at all, Ma’am,” he admitted, adding with a soft smile, “You see, my paren
ts were the original settlers who claimed this land, about 15 years ago. Their home still stands, just up the dirt road.” He paused here, adding in a sentimental tone, “My dad always insisted that his home be decorated in the style of a ranch house—with a lot of browns and blacks, with rawhides hung up all over the home and statues of bulls and horses on every available surface. So when I built my own ranch house, I set aside one room just for my mother—a place where she could come, write the poetry that she loved to pen, and just stare out the window at the Texas moon.”
Amy smiled.
“Well that was kind of you, Thomas,” she praised him, adding as she took another hearty bite of her steaming hot pancakes, “Are your folks still alive?”
Thomas shook his head.
“My dad has been gone for six years, my mother for three. I miss them so much,” he revealed, adding as a telltale veil of tears brimmed forth from his aquiline eyes, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I know a cowboy ain’t supposed to cry.”
Amy said nothing, just wrapped her arms around his muscled shoulders and pulled him closer to her; telltale tears escaping her own eyes as the two tilted their foreheads together and their hands clenched between them.
“Do not even dream of apologizing to me,” Amy insisted, adding as she ran a comforting hand through the silken lengths of his thick, golden hair, “I reckon that, at this point, we both need a good ol’ cry.”
The couple said nothing for several moments, just leaned into one another as their hands remained clenched and their tears fell free between them.
A wave of warmth coursed free through Amy’s being as she tilted her chin upward; smiling soft and tender as her doting host wiped the tears from the surface of her fair skinned cheeks.
This smile broadened moments later, as a warm eyed Thomas tilted her delicate chin in his hand and covered her mouth with his.
Touching her lips with a whisper soft kiss, Thomas massaged her mouth with his in a tender advance that nonetheless resounded with a certain, unmistakable passion.
Kissing him in kind return, Amy plied his lips with tender affection as the two drew closer, her senses lulled and her worries forgotten as they lost themselves in a peaceful—if passionate—reverie.
The feeling fled them all too soon.
“God almighty,” the rancher swore softly, breaking their kiss as he jumped from Amy’s bed and made fast tracks toward the door. “What am I doing, taking dreadful advantage of an expectant woman like this?”
Amy shook her head.
“No Thomas,” she countered, adding as she made a broad gesture between them, “I wanted you to kiss me.”
Yet he was gone.
“Criminy,” Amy exhaled, adding as she lay back in her bed with a frustrated sigh, “Why can’t anything in my life go smooth? Just one thing? Lord, I guess it’s simply too much to ask.”
*****
He hated himself.
For the first time in a life guided by the concepts of civility and nobility, and overseen always by the Biblical verses his mother had taught him as a child, Thomas Wyatt felt shame and self-loathing; alien emotions that plagued his heart and addled his troubled soul.
Standing in the midst of a fragrant rose patch that needed his attention, Thomas nonetheless picked at the soil beneath him with a weary, lethargic hoe; his face downturned below the brim of his hat as his mouth turned downward in a woebegone frown.
“What foul demon possessed me just now? Why did I have to go and take advantage of a proper, innocent lady?” he paused here, adding with a slight shrug, “OK, well perhaps she’s not so innocent, considering the fact that she’s in the family way—but she is without a doubt a proper widow woman still in love with her husband, God rest his soul. I betrayed the both of them when I kissed Miss Amy; the woman who I promised to treat with the upmost propriety and respect. And I also betrayed her unborn child, kissing its mother weeks before its birth.”
Throwing aside the hoe with a frustrated growl, Thomas sighed as his shoulders sank with the weight of his culpable guilt.
“Devil take me!” he bellowed, balling his fists beside him as he added, “I deserve the punishment. Or if God does see fit to grant me another chance, then please send me some sort of a sign—some message that I am not as foul and sinful as I perceive myself to be on this day.”
“Shut yer pitiful mouth and get to work, oh Sultan of Self Pity. Now!”
His head shooting upward, Thomas pursed his lips in a show of keen curiosity as his desperate summons was met by the sound of a distinctly feminine voice.
“Well now Ma always did theorize that God was a woman,” he mumbled, casting a wide eyed curious glance in the direction of the sky. “Guess she was right.”
“Indeed she was, and don’t you forget it Cowboy.”
Thomas jumped, this time recognizing the delicate Southern lilt of his guest at the ranch.
He smiled in spite of himself at the sight of a scowling Amy, now dressed in a basic denim work dress with her arms folded firmly in front of her.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she admonished him, adding as she walked towards him with purposeful steps and retrieved the fallen hoe, “We have work to do.”
Soon the pair stood side by side in the center of the rose patch, tending Thomas’ prized crop as he continued to steal cautious looks in Amy’s direction.
“Are you sure you feel like working the fields, Ma’am?” he asked her, inclining his head in her direction as he tended his own corner of the patch. “Wouldn’t you rather head back to the ranch house?”
Tossing aside her hoe with a frustrated sigh, Amy planted her hands on her hips and looked her concerned host straight in the eyes.
“We see here before us a garden filled with flowers,” she told him, making a broad flourish across the land before him as she added with arched eyebrows, “I am not one of them. I’m a strong and sturdy farmwoman, Thomas. I actually like to work. You don’t need to worry about overworking me, as I shall always let you know when and if I need to take a rest.” She paused here, adding with a slight smile in his direction, “You also don’t need to worry about kissing me either. I like to kiss as well—especially when the individual doing the kissing just happens to be you.”
Thomas exhaled, gracing her with a boyish grin as he considered these words.
“I’m so relieved to hear those words, Amy,” he revealed, adding as he retrieved his hoe and offered her another that lay at the corner of the garden, “And believe me, I’m well aware that you’re not a shrinking violet. You are a woman strong in your convictions,” he paused here, adding as he regarded her with inquiring eyes, “And according to what you said yesterday, you are darned and determined to love only one man for the remainder of your days.”
Amy bit her lip.
“Well Thomas, until the moment we met, I didn’t rightly think that I could ever love anyone else,” she revealed, adding as she shuffled her feet beneath her, “At one point, though, I may have said the same thing about Vance. I was always independent as a gal, and I had no earthly designs on life as a wife and mother.”
Thomas nodded.
“So what did catch your interest?” he asked her, listening intently as the two of them set to work at the center of the field.
Amy shrugged.
“I always earned pretty high marks back at the old school house, so I figured I might make a good school teacher,” she revealed, adding in a lower tone, “but then Vance swept into my life, just like a Texas tornado. Between romance and marriage and babies, I do believe I kind of forgot who I was. My husband became my world—and until yesterday, I think I just kind of lost myself.” She paused here, adding as she raised a finger for emphasis, “Now don’t misunderstand. I did adore my husband….”
“…but he’s gone,” Tho
mas completed, saying the words he knew she couldn’t. “And you, a young, talented and beautiful woman, stays behind.”
Setting aside his hoe, Thomas turned in full to face her as he fixed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You’re still alive, Amy, and you have your whole life ahead of you,” he reminded her as he massaged his agile fingers into the muscles of her slight, work weary shoulder. “And I’d be honored if you chose to spend even a small part of that life with me.”
Covering his hand with hers, Amy graced him with a beneficent smile as she affirmed, “I would like to, Thomas.” She paused here, adding as she rested her hand on her bulging stomach, “First, though, I have to get this baby into the world. This little one has to be my first priority.”
Thomas grinned.
“And once you do, my darling, I would love to court you properly,” he proposed, leaning forward as he graced her cheek with whispery soft lips.
Letting loose an uncharacteristic giggle, Amy wrapped her arms tight around Thomas’ muscular shoulders and leaned for just a moment against his tall sculpted frame; relishing the feeling as he drew her body to his in a warm, loving hug.
“It might be a little difficult to take me about in my current condition and convince folks that you’re courting me properly,” she observed, adding as she graced her host with a nudge of gentle affection, “They might believe that you and I were up to an entirely different brand of reapin’ and sowin, if you catch my drift.”
Thomas’ eyes flew wide open as he considered these suggestive words. Then he started laughing. Hard.
“You’re one of a kind, Amy,” he praised her, gracing her with an affirming squeeze and a warm kiss on the forehead. “And I do mean that in the best possible way.”
Amy let out a rain of tinkling laughter that flew free on the breezes above them.
“Why thank you kindly, Thomas,” she returned, adding as she glanced sideways in his direction, “I think.”
The couple continued on much in this light, animated fashion for the next few weeks; working side by side amongst their beloved roses by day and retiring to their comfortable ranch house in the evening.
Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) Page 75
