“But I don’t know nothing about babies,” Tressy whined. She had followed her outdoors, a smug look of triumph slowly giving way to one of dismay.
“Crank will show you what to do.”
Rose would have taken Annie with her if she’d dared, despite her own uncertain future, but Annie needed a home and Rose didn’t have one. Besides, she didn’t dare risk a kidnapping charge.
“Remember, now, you’re not to give her any meat unless it’s freshly cooked, and if her milk smells the least bit sour, open a fresh can. She won’t wake during the night, but she’ll be soaked when she wakes up in the morning. If her bottom gets red, use Vaseline, otherwise, dust her with cornstarch.” There was an edge to her voice that came from trying too hard not to cry and curse and scream out her grief.
“Rosie, listen to me, you got it all wrong,” Crank pleaded. He looked ready to weep, himself. If he did, then she would break, too, and she couldn’t afford the least show of weakness.
“Another thing, she needs new gowns, larger ones. Ruffles are all right—embroidery, too, but lace scratches. No silk, either.”
Crank nodded. “No silk, no lace. Rosie, give the boy a chance to speak his piece.”
“He spoke his piece where it counted most, to the lawyer.” Her head was high, her eyes dry, but she couldn’t quite control the tremor in her voice.
Crank patted her hand awkwardly. “It’s all a mistake. I smell Bess’s hand in this.”
“The letter stated the facts quite clearly, and Bess’s name wasn’t mentioned.”
“Who’s Bess?” Tressy put in.
They ignored her as if she weren’t even there. “Now remember, I’m counting on you, Crank. Miss Riddle admits she doesn’t know the first thing about babies. I’m not at all sure she wants to learn, but she is Annie’s aunt. We can’t forget that.”
“I don’t see how you can go off and leave that baby this way, I surely don’t,” the old man grumbled. Nevertheless, he swung her trunk up into the back of the cart. “It’s desertion, that’s what it is.”
“Crank, don’t. It’s painful enough without that. Just remember, I’ll always love you. And tell Annie, when she’s old enough to understand, that wherever I am, I’ll always love her, too.” She swallowed hard, accepted a boost up onto the seat and took the reins in her hands.
And Matt, she added silently. She loved him enough to forgive him, only not yet. Not while the hurt was so terribly fresh. If he married again—and for Annie’s sake, he probably would—then she didn’t want to know about it. He might even keep Tressy here. She was certainly pretty enough, and she was Annie’s aunt, after all.
Rose still had trouble believing he had ended their marriage without even giving her a chance. He should have told her when she’d confessed her identity. Instead, he had led her on, come to her bed—made her believe he might one day learn to love her. Not in so many words, but certainly by his actions.
Swallowing her tears, she clucked the mule into a torpid walk, praying that Matt would be delayed so that she wouldn’t meet him on the road. If that happened, and she knew in her heart that it might, then she could only hope he would have the decency to let her go.
And that she would have the good sense to nod politely instead of hurling herself at him to plead for a second chance.
She mopped her eyes with the back of her hand, braced her shoulders, and told herself this was the only way. She could hardly stay on knowing he’d taken legal steps to get rid of her.
Heat shimmered over the flat sandy road ahead like an ephemeral tide. She knew about mirages. Sometimes it seemed as if her entire life had been a mirage. A house built on shifting sands.
She had lost all sense of how much time had passed when a distant rumble of thunder made her glance up, only to discover that the sky had grown ominously dark.
Oh, Lord, she really didn’t need this. “Move, mule, or we’ll both be sorry.”
Angel continued to plod. The thunder grew louder, more constant. A few minutes later the first few drops of rain fell. “Hurry, Angel!” She had long since lost track of her umbrella, and her waterproof coat, too hot for summer wear, was packed in her trunk.
She could only pray there was a boat at the landing, ready to cast off. She would have to ask someone to carry her trunk aboard and find someone else, perhaps John, to see to Angel and the cart.
At least she had passage money. Crank had insisted on giving her that when he couldn’t talk her out of leaving. She had taken it because she had earned it. Matt had promised her a salary, which should have given her some indication of his true feelings, if only she hadn’t been so besotted. The fact that he’d never got around to paying her could be either a good sign or a bad one. Either way, it no longer mattered.
There was a sudden flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder directly overhead. Sand was blowing so that she couldn’t look up without being blinded. With her skirts swirling about her knees, she slapped the reins across Angel’s rump and shouted, “Run, you lazy creature, or we’ll both be in trouble!”
At the sound of her voice, Angel stopped dead in her tracks.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, not again,” Rose wailed. Reins in hand, she leaped down from the high seat and hurried around to see if she could coerce the mule into moving. “Don’t do this to me,” she warned. “Not again, I won’t have it.”
“Twist her ear.”
Dropping the reins, she spun around and slapped a hand over her heart. The mule made a braying noise that sounded remarkably like demented laughter.
“She hates it,” Matt said calmly. He had ridden up silently, appearing suddenly through the mist of rain and blowing sand. “You climb back aboard and I’ll twist it, but be prepared. She might take off at a gallop.”
She did. Rose hung on, getting thoroughly drenched as the clouds overhead unburdened themselves. Riding beside her, his shoulders hunched against the driving rain, Matt indicated a narrow road that led toward the sound. Rose followed his direction, not daring to admit to herself that she had half expected to meet him again. She had told herself that a clean break was the best way, but the break wasn’t clean, it was ragged and hurtful, the kind of wound that took forever to heal.
He pointed to a large shed with a lean-to shelter off one side. Dismounting, he led both animals under the shelter, then reached up before Rose could move away and swung her down from the cart. Neither of them spoke a word, but as her body slid down past his, she was reminded vividly of the last time he’d lifted her to the ground. Now, as then, no matter how miserable she was, his touch was all it took to set her aflame.
Removing herself from the steadying hands that clasped her shoulders, she drew in a deep, tremulous breath. Behave yourself, Augusta Rose, don’t even think what you’re thinking!
“Come inside, the rain’s starting to blow in under the roof.”
Not that either of them could get any wetter than they were, but there was hardly enough room for two animals, a cart and a stack of lumber. Besides, it was impossible to remain aloof when she was as aware of his wet clothing as she was of her own. Of the way his shirt, all but transparent now, clung to his body, the intimate details she remembered so well clearly visible. The bronzed skin, the darker nipples, the swirls of hair surrounding them still darker.
Matt sucked in his breath, tugged his wet shirttail from under his belt to hang loose about his hips. Rose plucked her clinging skirts away from her body. “Come inside,” he said. Holding the wide door open, he ushered her into a gloomy space that smelled of some spicy wood. “The floor’s just sand, but there’s a pile of shavings over in the corner. We might as well sit down until it slacks off. You can start by explaining where you were going in such a hurry.”
Rose sat because she wasn’t certain how long her knees would support her. But just because she sat, that didn’t mean she had to explain. If anyone was owed an explanation, it was she.
He sat beside her—close, but not quite touch
ing. She crossed her arms over her breasts and struggled against feelings of anger, hurt and embarrassment. She was experienced enough to deal with each of those emotions separately, but when they all came together, it made it difficult.
And when they were distorted by sexual awareness, it made it impossible.
Matt moved closer. He leaned over and raised his voice over the sound of the drumming rain. “You saw the letter, didn’t you?”
She didn’t reply, didn’t have to. He knew.
“I should’ve brought it with me, either that or taken time to explain, but I wanted to get hold of Dixon and get the paperwork started.”
She turned to stare at him, only to find that he was too close, so close that even in the dim interior she could see the depth of his eyes, the way his mouth shaped itself when he was uncomfortable.
She was uncomfortable, too, and so confused she hardly knew what to say. “What paperwork? I thought that was all done. Didn’t your lawyer handle everything?” Shivering in her clammy clothes, she tried in vain to ignore the man beside her, but his warmth reached out to envelop her, tempting her to seek shelter in his arms. The elusive scents of salt and sunshine, horses and healthy male sweat, mingled with the fragrance of juniper, were far more intoxicating than any fine perfume.
Robert had favored a heavy cologne, one more reminder, as if she’d needed it, of the many differences between her two husbands. “Rose? I’m sorry you found the letter. I’d like to explain.”
“What good would it do? Yes, I read the letter.” She refused to implicate Tressy. “The words were perfectly clear. You might have told me before I—that is, before you—”
“Took you as my wife.”
“That you did not,” she quickly denied.
“That’s what I did, Rose, whether you want to believe it or not. It didn’t start out that way, I’ll admit, because when I first found out you were the woman I’d married, I wanted to make you pay for all the nights I’d lain awake thinking about you in your bed just down the hall. All the times I had to turn away to hide the shape I was in. And then to find out that all along, I’d had every right to want you. You were my wife.”
“Then the letter was wrong? Mr. Bagby lied, and you didn’t ask him to annul the marriage?”
Matt shifted uncomfortably beside her, his arm brushing against her own. “I did, but like I said, I’d just found out how you deceived me. The trouble is, I’d already started loving you, but since I thought I was married to a woman who had disappeared without a trace, there wasn’t one damn thing I could do about it.” He shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “The only excuse I can offer is that I was still mad as hell when I got home.”
He had already started loving her?
Her heart swelled in her breast, but Rose had learned to be wary. “Then where does Mr. Dixon fit in? Wasn’t Bagby’s word good enough for you?”
He grimaced. Even in the dim light that filtered in through the single high window, she could see that much. Lifting her hand from her lap, he began absently stroking her wrist with his thumb. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not very good at explaining.”
“I’d noticed. You’re used to issuing orders and then going about your business, certain you’ll be obeyed without question.” Her wrist was beginning to tingle, but she didn’t withdraw it. She was beginning to tingle in other places, as well.
He had the nerve to grin. “Guilty as charged. But you see, I didn’t know if we were married or not until I got the letter. By the time I found out we weren’t, I had to do something, fast. You might be—that is, we might have made us a baby, and if that’s the case, then the sooner we put this marriage back together, the better.”
She made herself take the time to consider his words. “In other words, the first time you married me it was for Annie’s sake. Now you want to marry me again for the sake of the baby you think I might be carrying, is that what you’re saying?”
They were leaning up against the shed wall, enveloped in the incense-like aura of juniper. The thunder had grown more distant, the blue-white flashes of lightning less frequent. Wind wailed outside, driving walls of water against the outside of the shed.
“It’s a good enough reason, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure. I know I agreed to come here and look after Annie so that you could go off again, but…”
“But?” he prompted.
But that was before I learned to love you. Before I learned how not to be seasick so I could go with you wherever you went, and learned how to ride a horse so we could ride together when we came back home for a visit.
“Matt, would you mind explaining why you didn’t tell me when I confessed my own sins that you’d had our marriage annulled?”
He grimaced. “Anger. Hurt pride, I guess. I told you, I wanted to make you pay for all my sleepless nights.”
“You wanted revenge, in other words.” Hurt pride, she could understand, having suffered from it too many times in the past. Anger was a form of passion, and she knew for a fact that Matt was a passionate man.
She also knew that unlike Robert, he had both the strength of character and the maturity to control his emotions.
“You know about Annie, and how I came to have her. Those things happen, Rose, but I’ve always tried…”
He shook his head, and Rose did her best to remain unaffected by his nearness as he went on to describe his reluctance to take a wife—any wife. And then, when he’d finally overcome his reluctance, his frustration when that wife failed to appear.
“With the lesson of Billy and Murdoch’s woman still fresh in my mind, it didn’t help when I started noticing Bess’s secretary-companion. By noticing, I mean—” He cleared his throat, picked up her hand again and began toying with her fingers. “Once I got to know you better, I—liked you. As a person, I mean. I sort of looked forward to having you around.”
“You had an odd way of showing it,” she said dryly.
“That’s because—well, about the same time I started liking you, you sort of loosened up and I saw you as…well, as a woman.”
“I believe that’s called lust.” She thought he colored then, but in the dim light it was impossible to be certain. “I like you, too,” she said quietly. She would admit to that much, but that was as far as she was prepared to go.
His hand slid warmly up under her damp sleeve. He leaned closer to peer into her eyes. “Do you, Rose?”
It took a moment before she could find the breath to answer. “I—you know I do. I would never have…”
“Never have what, Rose? Never have let me make love to you?”
The tension inside was suddenly more powerful than the electrical storm outside. “To be honest, I’m not sure.” It seemed imperative to change the subject before she got in any deeper. “Wh-why were you going to see Mr. Dixon?”
He was caressing her upper arm, his fingertips rough on the sensitive skin there. “I told you, to make arrangements to marry you again. And to tell him that if he still wanted me to apply for his job, I’d do it.”
She turned so suddenly her nose nearly bumped his. “But—why?”
“Why do I want to marry you again?”
“That, too, but why would you even think of becoming a magistrate now that you’ve finally got your ship back?”
“You know the answer to the first question. It’s also the answer to the second one. Feeling the way I do, I could hardly marry you and then go off and leave you, which means getting a shore job. And Rose, you might as well know everything while we’re clearing the air. I had to mortgage the Point, and the job of magistrate doesn’t pay much, so we’ll never be rich.”
She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His hand on her arm grew still. His eyes searched her face, and he said, “Rose, say something. I love you so much it flat-out scares the devil out of me. I can’t even look at you without wanting to get under your skirts. Why do you think I’ve been staying away?”
“You love me?” She still couldn’
t quite believe it.
“Well, hell—you don’t think I’d go through all this for anything less, do you?”
“But, Matt—I learned to sail just so I wouldn’t get seasick if you wanted me to go with you. That is, I didn’t exactly learn to sail, but at least I can sit in a moving boat without turning myself wrongside out.”
“You did that for me?”
Wordlessly, she nodded. “If you marry me again, I want us to be together. I don’t really care where that is.”
He groaned. And then he said, “Sweetheart, I don’t care, either, as long as there’s a bunk. In case you hadn’t noticed, my shirttail’s been hanging out ever since we got here. Even soaking wet, with your hair hanging in rat’s tails down your back, you have that effect on me.” His voice was tender, amused and tense, all at the same time.
Rose, feeling more confident by the moment, mused aloud, “Why do you suppose it is that men ended up wearing tight pants and women the long, full skirts?”
“You want to talk about fashion at a time like this?”
“Is there something else you’d rather do while we wait for the rain to slack off?”
“Unless you happen to have a deck of cards, our choices are pretty limited.” But even as he spoke he was lowering her onto the bed of wood shavings, feeling for the buttons at the front of her dress.
Rose, buoyed by a confidence she had never before known, slid her hands down his chest to his waist, and from there to the impressive ridge pressing against the front of his trousers. When his flesh leaped in response, she closed her eyes and murmured breathlessly, “You’d better tell me now if you don’t want me to touch you here. I love the way you feel…the way you make me feel.”
“Sweetheart, you can touch me any way you want to, anywhere, anytime, but don’t hold me responsible for the consequences.”
His eyes widened, his hands suddenly grew still. “Consequences,” he repeated. “Rose…do you think—that is, are you—did we make us a baby? Is that why you’ve been sick?”
The Paper Marriage Page 22
