Was this affection? No, it was just … just…
Well, maybe it was affection of a sort. She hadn’t met a kinder man than Nolan. That’s what it was. This was just kindness.
“Pepper?”
A hard tap to her shoulder jolted her thoughts away from the thumb Nolan was circling against her skin.
“Huh?” She turned to Celia.
The young lady looked at her like she was crazy. “Spencer wants the pepper.”
It took a second, but she realized she was holding the pepper with a death grip. And she didn’t even like the spice. “Oh.” She pushed the shaker across the table so the boy could grab it.
She couldn’t bear to look down at her plate, where she’d probably sprinkled everything with pepper, including the canned pears.
Jacob glanced from her plate back to Nolan. “Do you want me to take your scythes home with me to sharpen?”
“If you don’t mind, we can’t sharpen blades as well as you can.”
Nolan’s hand moved off her arm, and she released her breath. When his fingers skimmed across the skin above her dress’s high collar, she shot up. “Anyone want dessert?”
Spencer’s eyes lit. “We get dessert before we’re done eating?”
Annie made a noise that resembled a choked chuckle. “Not you, but that’s an advantage of being grown up. You can eat whatever you want whenever you want.”
Jacob piled green beans onto his plate—which was still full.
The amount of time she’d thought passed evidently hadn’t. She looked at her own plate, swimming in peppered gravy. “Uh, I just thought I’d ask since I have to set it out.”
Which was the stupidest thing she’d uttered so far, considering dessert was blackberry pie. Jacob had already stolen a pinch of the crust.
“The cream, I mean.” And now she was obliged to put out cream … hopefully they liked warm cream.
She had to get out of this chair. If she didn’t, Nolan might slide his fingers down her back or, heaven forbid, rest his hand atop her thigh, and she’d probably squawk like a chicken.
Jacob took a glance at Nolan before returning his gaze to her. “I think we’d all like cream with our pie—once we’re done.”
She gave him a sharp nod and then nearly tripped in her effort to get out of her chair.
Gah! How much more of a fool could she make of herself?
In the kitchen, she took a second to catch her breath, and then headed out the back door to get the honey-sweetened whipped cream from the cellar.
On her way, she pulled a rag off the clothesline. Inside the musty little cellar buried under an earthen mound, she dropped to her knees and pulled the cream from the ice water she’d set it in to stay cool. She wiped the jar with the rag and pressed the damp cloth against her neck.
Could cold water make a blush disappear?
How was she going to go back and sit next to Nolan without instructing him to keep his hands to himself so she didn’t end up choking on her food?
She couldn’t without making a scene—and she certainly didn’t need to make another.
She sucked in several deep breaths. She could do this. She just needed to keep her attention on dinner and their guests. Not Nolan.
Squaring her shoulders, she pushed herself off the ground and forced herself back to the house.
She had an entire plate of gravy to choke down.
Jacob pushed his plate away before he’d finished his pie. Nolan took another bite of his. He’d rather have had cream, but Corinne had brought it in so early it’d melted. Poor girl, one thing after another kept messing up the dinner she’d worked so hard to prepare. But even without cream, it was good. Maybe Jacob didn’t like blackberries.
His friend picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth. “Why don’t you and I get your scythes so we can head out?”
He was ready to leave? Nolan looked out the window. The sky was still bright. “Sure, they’re in the lean-to.”
Annie popped up from her chair and took her plate to the sink, her pie also half-finished.
Spencer, however, seemed in no hurry. His dessert was swimming in melted cream, and by the way he licked his spoon after each bite, he’d probably lick his plate, too, if his momma wasn’t looking.
Jacob stood and Nolan looked around. Had he offended them at some point during dinner? He got up and headed for the back door, glancing over his shoulder to be sure Jacob followed. As soon as they stepped outside, he turned to his friend. “Did I do something to upset you?”
Jacob’s brow furrowed. “No.”
“Good.” Nolan descended the stairs before continuing, “Before you leave, could you help me stretch my leg so we can skip tomorrow?” Weeks ago, he’d gotten Jacob to agree to help him follow the doctor’s order. Three times a week wasn’t enough to make Doc Ellis happy, but it was something. He did what he could on the other days, but with Jacob and Annie leaving to consider buying polo ponies from a ranch in Nebraska, he needed to get one last good stretch in.
“Why would you want me to do that now?” Jacob looked even more confused.
“Why wouldn’t I, considering you’re leaving the day after tomorrow?”
He slowed behind him. “Annie and I figured we ought to head home as soon as dessert was over.”
But they hadn’t actually finished. “Why? I was hoping for a chess rematch.”
Jacob cleared his throat. “Uh, we gathered your wife wanted alone time.”
Nolan shook his head as he started for the lean-to again. “She spends hours alone every night in her cabin. She’s not so desperate for quiet she’d pass up visiting with your wife. Besides, you and I—”
Jacob smacked Nolan’s shoulder. “Alone time with you, you dolt, not Annie. Have Corinne do your stretches.”
Nolan cocked his head. Corinne had certainly been out of sorts this evening, but she’d told him several times how much she’d looked forward to Annie’s visit. “Remember, her hands aren’t strong enough—”
Jacob let out a disbelieving puff of air. “Who cares if she’s any good at it?” Then he looked at Nolan as if he were trying to shoot some message into his brain by narrowing his eyes at him.
“But, the doctor—”
Jacob’s eye roll stopped him.
Oh, Jacob thought…
How was he going to explain without actually explaining? “I think you’ve misunderstood.” What had Corinne done to make them think she wanted to be alone with him?
She clearly didn’t, as evidenced by her leaving a room as soon as he stepped into it. “She and I … well.”
Goodness, he couldn’t explain. Her reasons for remaining platonic were not his to tell. And that she’d said they could be intimate if he remained unfeeling toward her—he wasn’t going to tell anyone that, no matter how good a friend.
“Don’t worry about us.” Jacob laid a hand on his shoulder. “We aren’t upset to cut dinner short. If the honeymoon’s just started—”
“But it hasn’t. She’s not interested.” How he could tear his tongue out! Why had he said that? “I mean…”
What could he tell Jacob? He’d say nothing to besmirch her reputation. But if he could frame it as his own failure… “It’s that she uh, doesn’t enjoy herself romantically.”
A small groan escaped him. That had sounded worse than he’d expected. “The thing is, I won’t put her through something just to, uh, please myself, so we … are…” Why on earth was his mouth still running! But if he ended in the middle of a thought, Jacob might assume something even more unflattering. “So, for the foreseeable future, we’re nothing but business partners.”
Jacob shook his head as if he didn’t believe a single word he’d heard. “What I saw during dinner was not business partners.”
Nolan looked away and shrugged. “I’m not going to pretend she doesn’t drive me insane whenever she’s near, but if pushing for more makes her miserable, I’ve promised—”
“Are you willing to do whatever it takes
to make her happy?”
Nolan looked back at his friend. “Of course.”
“Then what’s keeping you from doing so?”
“It’s not me. She’s … she’s closed down.”
The silence between them got awkward as Jacob sized him up.
Jacob usually had good advice, and something inside him wanted to know every thought his friend was thinking. Yet the agony of receiving advice he couldn’t implement might drive him even further toward madness. “Look—”
“I was lucky.” Jacob’s voice wasn’t loud enough to cut him off, and yet, his softly spoken words and the way he fidgeted made Nolan’s heart thump harder.
His friend cleared his throat and looked past him. “As you know, Annie was married before. We’ve only talked about this once because I wasn’t interested in the details, but her first marriage started as you’re describing. She didn’t … enjoy herself. Evidently, they were at odds for the first few years because of it.”
Goodness, and he’d thought the beginning of their conversation had been awkward.
With redness crawling above Jacob’s collar, it seemed he wasn’t the only one feeling they were treading dangerously toward sharing too much information.
And yet … was there hope? “So, that’s not a problem anymore?”
Jacob’s droll grin made Nolan’s stomach sink. He’d probably never have reason to sport such a sloppy expression.
He fisted his hands. He had no right to be jealous of his friend’s marital bliss. Corinne was doing everything he’d requested of her.
Jacob’s lips wriggled a bit. “I’d say she’s quite happy now, but I was lucky—as I said. Evidently, it took Annie and Greg years to figure out how she could be happy, in that regard.”
“Years?”
Jacob shrugged. “After she got desperate and confessed her unhappiness to Leah, some advice Leah gave her helped turn things around. Why don’t you have Corinne talk to Annie or Leah, whoever she’s more comfortable with?”
What was he supposed to say? Corinne, pudding pie, I think you should talk to Annie about the marriage bed. Jacob says she enjoys it. If his cheeks had been hot before, they were hot enough to fry an egg now.
Ducking into the lean-to to retrieve the scythes, he turned to hand the first one to Jacob, shaking his head. “I doubt Corinne would ask anyone about that.”
Jacob took the implement from him. “I could suggest Annie bring it up.”
“Please, don’t.” He could barely force the words out of his mouth, his throat was so dry. If Corinne found out he’d even hinted to Jacob about her reasons for not marrying in truth, he could kiss any hope of returned affection goodbye. “I mean, she’d be embarrassed to find out I talked to you about this. If the right time presents itself, I’ll encourage her to talk to someone, but that might never happen.”
Jacob stared at him for a moment, then let out a noisy exhale. “I don’t think I can share much more without my own wife being displeased.” He gathered up the three scythes. “I’ll get these sharpened before we leave for Nebraska and leave them in our lean-to since we won’t be out this way again before we go. You can pick them up whenever you want.”
He turned and headed for the house.
“Hey, wait,” Nolan called out. “Could you…?”
When his friend looked back, he couldn’t finish his request for Jacob to reconsider stretching his leg tonight. “Never mind.”
He’d run out of options. Either he had to accept his wife’s help, or hire that nurse he’d always told his father he’d rather have than a wife.
How wrong he’d been.
Chapter Thirty
Corinne buckled up Buttermilk’s breeching, finishing off hooking the horse to the wagon, and looked out the barn’s wide open doors.
Nolan was riding up from wherever he’d gone this morning, clearly in pain. He likely had no idea she could see him, hence why he wasn’t trying to hide his grimace as he adjusted himself in his saddle.
She patted Buttermilk on the neck. Her hands hadn’t hurt for days. Occasionally, she’d poke and press them, thinking she was too busy to notice how they felt, but beyond some numbness, her hands were mostly back to normal.
But the doctor had said Nolan’s leg might always hurt, even without pressure or friction sores, mentioning something about choices made during surgery.
Yet ever since the Hendrixes had come over for supper last week, Nolan had seemed determined to work twice as long, which likely meant his leg hurt twice as bad. From the look of him, that was true.
He’d told her Jacob was helping him stretch and massage his leg, but perhaps no amount of massage would make up for the strain he was putting on his leg lately.
She should’ve told him days ago she thought he was working too hard, but she would’ve had to remain longer in his presence, and lately, he’d been too hard to be with.
Every polite question about her day, every offer to get her a drink, every sincere thank you, light touch, long look, and tipped smile would make her wish she could get closer to him. She longed to spend more time asking him what he was thinking, but how could she without stirring up the attraction she was desperately trying to squash?
Despite the doorframe being a good six inches above his head, Nolan ducked as his horse entered the barn. He slowed, clicking in soft tones amid the quiet hisses that indicated his discomfort, but when he spotted her, he rammed himself upright. “I thought you’d be in the cabin.”
She would’ve been, but she’d found herself feeling guilty in light of how much he’d worked lately. Sure, she’d redesigned the coop and kept the house and took turns cooking for the hands, but as much as she tried to tell herself that was enough, he was working five times harder. Now that her hands were nearly back to normal, she couldn’t let him outwork her. “I needed to go to town.”
Nolan dismounted, obviously trying to disguise a limp.
In the dim light, she allowed herself to look at him longer than she usually did. The tension in his jaw strained his features. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she could imagine how he was looking at her—the way he had for weeks, a soft look that roamed over her face as if cataloging every freckle.
Her hand rose a fraction of an inch, the desire to run her fingers through the curl behind his ear maddeningly strong. She tucked her hand away in her pocket. “Have you seen the doctor lately?”
He stopped. “Haven’t needed to.”
She pressed her lips together. If anyone was going to tell him he was wrong, it seemed it was up to her. “I think you do. Whatever Jacob’s doing, it doesn’t seem to be helping.”
Nolan ran his hands through his hair like he did whenever she asked personal questions. “I suppose I could see the doctor whenever I get to the bank, but I didn’t want to make a trip in for just that.”
“Well, then, why don’t you go with me?” And now her hands grew clammy. Too late to retract her invitation. Her insides fluttered at the thought of sitting beside him for a couple of hours. On the other hand, driving to and from town was far less intimate than spending time with him behind four walls ensconced in lamp light. “I’m already going, and we’ve not had much time to talk lately. I’ve missed that.”
His eyebrows winged up.
Of course he’d be surprised at such an admission, considering how she’d been making every excuse to be somewhere other than near him.
“I suppose I could go along.”
“Good.” She pivoted and checked Buttermilk’s harnessing as if this were an ordinary occurrence. “I’ll make sure everything’s hooked up if you need to get ready before we go.”
“No, I’m good.”
The tone of his voice and the way he was looking at her made her think he meant something other than having no need to retrieve anything.
Once he put away his horse, he came to her side of the wagon and held out a hand to assist her.
She hesitated, not because a piece of her melted at how attentive he was, but be
cause he was in pain and she could’ve managed on her own.
To keep from offending him, she accepted his assistance but flinched when his other hand cupped her waist when she stepped onto the wheel spoke.
That hand trailed down her side as she climbed up, from hip to thigh. Against so many layers of fabric he couldn’t have felt a thing, yet one might think he’d grazed her bare skin by the amount of heat blooming in her face.
Once she seated herself, his other hand squeezed hers. She looked down, and he smiled up.
Then he walked off—as if that smile hadn’t been warm enough to cook her insides.
Seconds later, he hauled himself up onto the seat and started driving. Once they were out of the gate, he gave the horse some slack. “Mr. Lansing caught us near the back forty and paid the stud fee he owed me. What do you want me to do with your share?”
“My share?” A breeze pulled at her bonnet and she held it tighter against her head.
“Of the profits.”
“I thought I’d only be paid when the cattle were sold. You don’t have to—”
“As a businesswoman you know profit is profit. Sales generate most of my income, yes, but it’s not the only way the ranch pays for itself.”
“Oh, of course.” Then the profit from the butter she was intending to sell was partially his, too. “If I sell the butter I’m taking in today, what do you want me to do with your share?”
He encouraged Buttermilk to get back up to speed. “Put it toward whatever you see fit.”
She squirmed on the seat beside him. “If you’re splitting Mr. Lansing’s payment with me, then I don’t think it’s right I spend your part of the butter proceeds without direction.”
“I’m not worried—”
“What if I chose to spend it all on gumdrops?”
He turned slightly, one brow raised. “I guess I’d be eating a lot of gumdrops.”
She crossed her arms. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t chastise me first.”
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