Jeb's Wife

by Patricia Johns

  He shut his eyes, then rubbed his hands over his face. It was a strange thing to heat a man’s blood like this, but it had been a very long time since a woman had touched him . . . and his last wife had never touched him like that.

  Leah’s touch had been gentle, even a little exploratory. And it had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to pull her into his arms properly and feel her against him, run his hands around her waist, and lower his lips over hers. What was it about this woman that drew him to her?

  He pushed back the image that rose in his mind. He shouldn’t even be thinking these thoughts. He knew better. He wasn’t about to push himself onto her and ask for more than they’d agreed upon. He’d been with a woman before who had put up with him while she pined for another man, and Jeb hadn’t exactly improved over the years. Whatever attraction he felt for Leah wasn’t the issue. She hadn’t married him for that, and Jeb wouldn’t try to change the rules of their marriage.

  From the bathroom, water turned on—a soft trickle into the sink. He knew the sound.

  Jeb sighed. He’d been curious if Matthew would show up to that game night tonight, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure what he’d even do if faced with the younger man. There was no competition . . . technically. Matthew was married with a baby on the way. And how could Jeb exactly compete with the younger man who’d held Leah’s heart? Jeb was the husband Leah had taken on for her own practical reasons, but Matthew, she had loved.

  Except, he’d have to face the man at some point—look him in the eye. He’d rather stay hermited away than do that, quite honestly.

  Jeb wasn’t ready to sleep. The water seemed to be stopped, which likely meant she was back in her bedroom, so he picked up his light and opened his bedroom door.

  He stepped out into the hallway with the lantern in one hand, and he saw the pale ripple of a nightgown. He and Leah both froze. She wore a long-sleeved, cotton nightgown, her uncovered hair falling in a thick brown braid down her back. She stared at him, eyes wide, her lips parted.

  “Hi,” he said. He realized then that he was standing in the doorway without a shirt on, his pants hanging lower than usual without his suspenders. His entire chest was exposed—the length of puckered scars down his side. Her gaze moved down his torso, and he could see the horror in her eyes. He reached for his shirt.

  “I was just—” She licked her lips and they grew pinker, looking away. “I was hungry.”

  “Me too,” he said, and he pulled on his shirt, doing up the buttons. He wasn’t living alone anymore, or with his uncle. He’d have to watch that. “I was thinking of peanut butter on bread.”

  The Amish peanut butter was sweet—a combination of corn syrup, honey, peanut butter ... It was comforting—a sweet treat from his childhood, when things were still safe and warm.

  “That would be good.” She smiled hesitantly. “Unless you needed some time to yourself.”

  “It’s okay. Come on.”

  She hesitated. “I should get dressed.”

  “Why?” He met her gaze. “I can’t see anything through that, and we’re married, Leah. What are you afraid of? Someone would see you in your nightgown in your own kitchen?”

  He didn’t wait to see what she chose, but he headed down the staircase, and he heard the soft squeak of her feet on the stairs behind him. He smiled to himself. This was one of the pleasures of a wife—a woman’s presence, her smell, the soft flap of her nightgown around her ankles. He might not have anything else from her in this marriage, but he could enjoy the small things.

  He hung the lamp on the hook above the table, the rocking, the swath of light teetering across the kitchen.

  “I was thinking—” Jeb said, pulling out the bread. “About Matthew.”

  “Matthew?” She came up to the counter, and with her so close, he wondered if he’d see the signs if she lied to him. Would her face pale? Would she blush? Would she look away?

  “Yah. Is it awkward between you?” he asked.

  “A little,” she said.

  He hadn’t expected her to admit to that, and it made him feel better that she did.

  “They were at our wedding,” she added.

  “Yah, I saw them. Do you love him still?”

  Leah blinked. “I don’t think—”

  “I just want to know,” he said, softening his tone. “If I can’t avoid seeing the man, I at least want to know what to expect. You didn’t marry me for love, so I don’t expect it. But ... do you love him?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “You can say if you do.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I’m trying not to love him. It’s been a year since we broke up. And I thought he was the one God had saved for me. I thought—”

  Jeb pulled a tub of sweet peanut butter from the cupboard and pried open the lid. It used to be a honey container.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  “I told him I couldn’t have kinner,” she said. “And that was all it took. He just ... it was like snuffing out a candle. Whatever he felt for me vanished, and he turned it all onto Rebecca. So yah, I loved him dearly, but I question what he felt for me.”

  Jeb nodded. “And what he feels for his wife, I imagine.”

  “What he feels for her isn’t for me to judge,” she said tightly.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “You deserved better treatment.”

  “It is what it is,” she said. “I can’t give birth. He knew what he wanted.”

  And Leah would be faced with Matthew’s pregnant wife—the babies, the family Leah hadn’t been able to provide. Jeb smoothed the peanut butter onto a thick slice of bread and passed it over to her.

  “What about you?” she asked, accepting the plate. “What is it that I don’t know about Katie?”

  Jeb looked up at her and found her dark gaze locked on him. He normally hated scrutiny, but she wasn’t looking at his scars this time. Her gaze met his.

  “She hated me,” he said quietly, and as the words came out, he realized he hadn’t meant to say it. Not so bluntly at least.

  “Why?”

  “Because she loved an Englisher boy, and I wasn’t him,” Jeb said. “Her parents and several prominent members of the community were very concerned about her relationship with that Englisher. He’d been asking her to leave her family and run away with him. Their solution was to arrange a marriage for her.”

  “Why did you agree?” Leah asked.

  “Because—” Jeb paused, his mind going back to those naïve, hopeful days. Did he want to reveal so much? “Because she was beautiful and I’d been halfway in love with her for a long time. All of us boys were. And the community had chosen me. I was stupid enough to think that after we were married, she’d love me back.”

  “But she didn’t . . .” Leah sounded like she understood how a young woman’s heart worked.

  “No, she didn’t,” he admitted. “And this is why I resent the community so much. They assured me she would. They told me that as married men they understood women better than I did, and any hesitation I felt was natural, but unfounded. I could trust them, they said. And they knew for a fact that she’d settle into married life and start having babies.”

  Leah winced at the last word. Right. He hadn’t meant to rub that in her face.

  “Was it very bad?” she asked softly.

  “Terrible.” He cleared his throat. “She never did forgive me.”

  He could remember the icy silence in their home that could last for days, interspersed with her sharp tongue where she could find the one thing he was most sensitive about and stab at it with her words. She’d learned how to insult the things that made him a man. She knew how to pick away at his sense of self-worth. She’d been very good at tearing a man down.

  “Is that why you’re asking about Matthew?” Leah asked.

  Jeb picked up his own plate of bread with peanut butter, but he didn’t take a bite. He sighed, putting it back on the counter.

  “Maybe.” He pressed his pal
m against the counter, feeling his scarred flesh go tight.

  “You think I’ll hate you?” she whispered. “Because you aren’t Matthew?”

  “I hope you won’t.” Jeb looked up.

  “I’m glad you aren’t him,” she said. “Because he could change his affections as quickly as I could change a dress.”

  “And you can’t change your feelings like that,” he concluded.

  “No, I can’t.”

  He was saying too much. Was it that she was a beautiful woman, too, and that was his weakness, or was he just this lonely for someone to unburden himself to? He shouldn’t be telling her so much, but there was something about her that drew him to her. The lamp hanging from the hook above the table sputtered twice and then went out.

  “Blast,” he muttered. “I didn’t refill it.”

  He’d been a little preoccupied the last few days, and his normal routine—the refilling of lamps, the cleaning of boots—had fallen by the wayside. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but moonlight from outside illumined parts of the kitchen. Leah’s nightgown shone in a rectangle of moonlight, her bare feet looking pale against the wooden floor.

  “I think she blamed the wrong person,” Leah said softly.

  “What’s that?” He frowned slightly.

  “Your wife,” she said. “She blamed you. She had a whole lot of other people she could have blamed.”

  “I suppose I was more convenient,” he murmured.

  Jeb smiled at his own dark humor, and before he could think better of it, he stepped closer to her. Leah didn’t move away, and when he reached out with his good hand, she didn’t flinch when he ran his fingers down her forearm, stopping at her wrist. She was beautiful in the moonlight, her face almost as pale as the moon itself, and her dark eyes shining in the darkness. From where he stood, he could see the flutter of her heartbeat in the tender hollow where her neck met her collarbone.

  “I don’t like to talk about that,” he admitted softly.

  “We should be friends, Jeb,” she said.

  “Yah?” Friends. Look at her—standing there in her bare feet, smelling faintly of soap and something else that was sweeter, he wouldn’t exactly describe her as a friend. He didn’t feel friendly toward her. Not in that way, at least. When he looked down at her, he saw a woman—the softness of her figure, the roundness of her body beneath that nightgown . . . He swallowed.

  “In the dark, you look different,” she said quietly.

  “How so?” He ran his hand down her arm again, and this time he caught her hand in his. This was his good hand—the smooth, strong hand that hadn’t been burned down to a claw.

  “You look—” She hesitated.

  “Like a normal man?” he provided. “It’s okay. You can say it.”

  “I don’t really mean that,” she said. But she did. He knew it. There had been times he’d stared at himself in his bedroom mirror by the light of the moon and he’d noticed the same thing—the forgiving nature of night’s shadows.

  “Under all these scars, I’m just a man, you know,” he said, and his gaze locked onto hers. He didn’t know what he meant to do, but she didn’t look away like he expected her to. She met his gaze easily enough, and those plump lips parted as she sucked in a breath.

  And maybe it was that he wanted to prove his point—that he was a man after all—but he stepped nearer, closing those last few inches between them. The fabric of her nightgown brushed against his pants, and he dipped his head down, his mouth hovering over hers. He waited for her to pull away, to shove him, to laugh—he wasn’t sure what. He waited for some show of scorn or disgust, but it didn’t come. Leah stayed there, motionless, her soft hand in his. And then she tipped her face subtly upward, and he lowered his mouth over hers.

  Her lips were soft and yielding, and for a moment he could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his head. He wanted to pull her closer—but he didn’t dare.

  It was like holding a butterfly, knowing that if you did more than let it light on your finger, you’d crush it. And he’d crush this moment if he let go of the careful rein he maintained on his desires.

  Leah was the first to pull back, and he shut his eyes and pressed his lips together. He opened his eyes again as her hand tugged free of his. She backed up two steps, and for the first time he saw wariness in her eyes.

  “I should go to bed,” she whispered.

  “Leah—” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but his voice didn’t stop her. She left her plate untouched on the counter, and the staircase creaked as she went up and disappeared.

  It was so quick that he almost questioned whether he’d kissed her at all.

  Jeb stood there, his heart hammering in his chest. That had been a mistake. He knew it. They’d agreed not to cross these lines, and he’d already gone and kissed her.

  When would he learn?

  Leah wasn’t so different from Katie. She’d loved another man and she did not love Jeb. What he was doing here was courting heartbreak. He’d been down this road already.

  Chapter Ten

  Leah shut her bedroom door with a click and dropped the hook to lock the door from the inside. Her heart was pounding, and she touched her lips with her fingers.

  He’d kissed her. There had been something about the moonlight that had softened him, and while she’d been nervous of his muscular frame, somehow he’d seemed gentler down there in the kitchen, and his worry that she’d hate him like Katie had nearly broken her heart. There he was, just a man who’d married the wrong woman, afraid he’d court the same spite from her.

  Leah might be many things—infertile, childless, heartbroken, resentful at the man who’d cast her aside, and possibly still in love with the same cad—but she was not cruel enough to blame her own unhappiness on the man she’d married.

  And Leah hadn’t meant to even get that close to him. But in that low light, she hadn’t been able to make out the scars so easily, and he’d seemed ... like a man. Just a man. Nothing more intimidating than that. But even thinking of the feeling of his lips moving over hers brought goose bumps to her skin. She rubbed her arms.

  Now that she’d kissed him back, was he going to want more? That was the thought that had sent her back up the stairs so quickly. That kiss hadn’t been planned, but it didn’t change anything either. She wouldn’t have kinner, no matter what sort of relationship she had with her husband, and she didn’t want to share that man’s bed. Besides, with his injuries, he likely couldn’t have kinner either. This bedroom—this precious space—was only a formality. Their relationship would never include those physical intimacies.

  And yet that kiss ... it made her question what she thought she knew.

  Leah pulled back her sheet and blanket and crawled into her own bed. She’d been at fault down there—she wasn’t exactly an innocent. She was a woman of thirty who’d already been engaged once. She’d been kissed before, and she knew what a man’s desire felt like. She’d known what he was thinking when he looked down at her like that, his dark gaze growing intense. But even if his injuries would hold him back, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t want some sort of intimacy with her, and she should have stopped him earlier if she wasn’t willing to give it. What did he think of her now?

  And yet, as Leah closed her eyes, she could still feel the touch of his lips meeting hers....

  * * *

  The next morning, Leah awoke at dawn, as she always did in the summer months. The night had cooled off her bedroom, and she shivered a little as she pulled off her nightgown and reached for a fresh dress. Outside her bedroom window, the sun glowed over the horizon, the sky a bright pink, flooding her room in rosy light.

  She pulled out her pin box and pinned her dress into place, holding the pins between her lips as she worked. Her fingers could almost do this in the dark. It didn’t take her long to finish dressing, and once her hair was combed and wrapped up in a bun underneath a fresh kapp, she left her room and paused in the hallway.

  Jeb’s bedroom
door was open a crack, but she couldn’t hear any movement. She headed down the stairs to the kitchen and saw that his boots were gone, so he was out doing chores already. She exhaled a shaky sigh.

  Would things be different now after that kiss?

  Leah started a fire in the belly of the stove, and for the next hour she cooked breakfast and put together a lunch basket for the men to eat later on in the day. When she finally heard Jeb’s boots on the step and the side door opened, it wasn’t just Jeb who came inside, but Simon, too.

  “Simon!” It was a relief to see him—to have him here as a buffer between herself and Jeb.

  “Hi,” Simon said with a slightly bashful smile. “I thought I’d give you some space, but Jeb said—”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “You’re working with Jeb. Of course you’re eating with him, too. Consider the honeymoon over.”

  Jeb’s gaze flickered toward her, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Perhaps she’d meant that for Jeb as well. Whatever they’d started last night—it was over. She wasn’t willing to change the terms of their agreement.

  “What’s for breakfast?” Simon asked.

  “I’ve got corn bread in the oven,” she said, “and eggs and sausage. I don’t have any canned applesauce for the corn bread like usual, though.”

  That was how Simon liked his corn bread best. She’d have to buy some other woman’s preserves at the market in Abundance until autumn came and she could jar her own. Jeb would have the many benefits of a wife—a cook, a housekeeper, a gardener, a laundress. He could be grateful for all she was willing to put into this home. Was that some guilt talking? Probably. It was also a wife’s duty to share her husband’s bed.

  The men sat down at the table, and Leah fetched another plate and more cutlery for her brother, then brought the food. She’d missed Simon, she realized as she watched him dig up a square of corn bread. She nudged the plate of eggs toward him, too.

  Jeb’s leg touched hers under the table, and she glanced in her husband’s direction. His gaze was locked on her, and she smiled hesitantly, then took the spatula from her brother and dished up Jeb a piece of corn bread, too.