A Bargain Struck (Choc Lit)

by Liz Harris

  ‘I know that he wants me to go,’ she said quietly. ‘This is your Pa’s house, and a wife likes to please her husband.’

  ‘That’s not why you’re doing it. Martha’s ma, she’s real quiet now. She thinks everything Mr Carey thinks and if he wants her to do something, she really wants to do it just because he wants her to do it. But you’re not like Martha’s ma. I’ve seen your face. Even though you’ve got that red mark all over it, I know what you’re thinking. If you don’t want to go, why are you going? You should speak plain to Pa like you speak plain to me.’

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re saying this, Bridget,’ she said, standing up, ‘but I know that I don’t want to continue this conversation. Anyway, it’s time that I had my bath. It’ll soon be dark and the men will want to be able to come in for their meal so I must be quick.’

  Bridget put her feet on the floor and stood up. ‘I’m going to my room and I’m gonna look at a book.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. You’ll find some of the books I brought from Omaha on the shelf over there. Why don’t you take a look at them and see if there’s anything you’d like me to read to you. I could read to you after dinner.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘If you like.’ She started to walk past Ellen, and paused. She ran her finger along the edge of the table. ‘Ma used to read to me. I miss her.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Ellen said quietly. She put her hand on Bridget’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t,’ Bridget said. She shook Ellen’s hand off, and ran into her bedroom.

  Ellen lay back in the warm water and shut her eyes.

  When she’d first gotten into the tub, she’d heard faint sounds of movement coming from Bridget’s room, but the sounds had gradually died away, and she was guessing that Bridget had either fallen asleep after her week in school, and the long walk there and back each day, or she was engrossed in her book.

  She’d wake her, she decided, when it was time for them to eat. But for the moment, she was glad to have a short time in which to relax. With Connor and Aaron outside, finishing off for the day, and Niall in town, there was no one around to disturb her solitude. To have a few quiet moments before a day that was going to be long and stressful was very welcome.

  First thing the following morning, she’d be going into town in the wagon with Connor and Bridget, taking with her the dress she’d be wearing for the wedding and her best rough-straw bonnet. She’d also be taking her sewing things.

  Once they’d bought the necessary supplies for the homestead, they’d have something to eat in the roadhouse, and then Connor and Bridget would leave her at Oonagh’s house, and she’d remain there until Niall came at the end of the evening to collect her. So from the time she got up until the time she got back home, she’d be surrounded by people, and for the most part they’d be people she hardly knew.

  She was dreading the day.

  Maybe, she thought, she should do as Bridget had suggested earlier that evening, be more honest with Connor about her feelings.

  She sank low into the tub and looked up at the ceiling as the warmth of the water crept around her. It was funny, Bridget speaking to her like that, she thought, and she stretched out her arm for the soap.

  As she rubbed the soap into her washing rag, her mind raced back to the days when she was with Robert. She stopped what she was doing. The soap slipped through her fingers into the water.

  Leaning back, she rested her head on the rim of the narrow tub, and she let herself remember how Robert used to slide the soap-filled cloth across her back; along her arms, first one, then the other; how she’d stand before him and he’d bring the cloth slowly, very slowly down the length of her body, and let it fall to the water. She could almost feel again the touch of his fingers against her damp skin, his caress. And her body ached for him.

  She pulled herself upright in the tub, her knees close to her chin. She shouldn’t be thinking like that. Robert and the things they used to do together belonged in the past. Her future lay with Connor. The kindness that she’d received from him was far more than she’d dared hope for when she’d left Omaha, and she should be grateful for what he was able to give her, and not waste her time yearning for something she’d never have again. Bridget had told her that she should be more honest with Connor, and thinking in such a way about Robert was hardly being honest with Connor in her thoughts.

  She retrieved the soap, picked up the cloth, rubbed the soap into it and started to wash her leg. Then she started to soap the other leg, and suddenly paused, frowning. Thinking back again to what Bridget had said earlier on, it really was strange the way in which she’d spoken to her. Not so much what she’d said, but why she’d said it.

  Being only eight, Bridget was too young to understand the requirements of a wife and she’d see things in the stark way that a child did, so it wasn’t surprising that she was mistaken in her way of looking at things. But it was the first time that Bridget had spoken up in a way that wasn’t rude. She had openly said what she thought, and in a conversational way, not in a confrontational way. She had seemed to be trying to tell her to do something that would help her to be happy. It was almost as if she was beginning to see her as a person in her own right, and wanted Connor to see her as such, too.

  She rubbed the soap vigorously across the cloth again. She was probably reading too much into Bridget’s words. She didn’t know what had gotten into her that evening, first of all thinking about Robert in the way that she had, and then imagining that Bridget was starting to accept her into the family. All it had been was a few short sentences from a tired girl.

  She finished washing, returned the soap to the dish and slid as far under the water as she could to rinse herself clean. She shivered. The water was getting cold. Glancing up at the window, she saw that the afternoon light was starting to fail. She must quickly get dressed and set the table. She’d set the table herself and not disturb Bridget until she absolutely had to.

  She stood up, water coursing down her body, and stepped over the rim of the tub on to the floor. Strands of hair stuck to the back of her neck, and she raised her arms to push the wet hair back into the loose coil pinned on top of her head.

  The door swung open, and Connor came in.

  He exclaimed in surprise, stopped short and took a step back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be done. I’ll go.’

  She lowered her arms and stood facing him. Rivulets of water ran down her skin and pooled on the floor at her feet.

  ‘I’ll go,’ he repeated, gripping the door handle, his knuckles white.

  He stood still, staring at her. Then he lowered his eyes from her face.

  Trembling beneath his gaze, she started to lift her hands to hide herself, but she stopped, let them fall to her side and stood motionless.

  She heard him draw in his breath.

  A wave of deep longing swept through her body, an overwhelming yearning that made her weak at the knees. Unable to stop herself, she took a step towards him.

  He raised his eyes to her face, and they stared at each other, their breathing loud in the silence of the room.

  He released the door handle, pushed the door shut with his foot, and walked forward.

  Her heart missed a beat. Raising her arms, she crossed them in front of her chest.

  He stopped inches from her. His clear-blue eyes never leaving her face, he moved aside first her right hand, then her left. For a moment he held both of her hands in his, then he gently lowered her arms to her side.

  Her every nerve tingled as his eyes touched her skin.

  ‘I’ve never seen you like this before,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘You are beautiful, Ellen.’ He looked back into her face. ‘Really beautiful,’ he repeated, his voice full of wonder.

  She shook her left arm free and put her hand against her damaged cheek.

  He caught her arm and lowered it again.

  Lightly, he ran his fingers down the ridges of her scar. She tried
to pull back, but his hold on her was firm.

  ‘More and more in the past few weeks when I’ve looked at you,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ve seen a woman who’s made my house into a place that I look forward to entering each night, and who looks after my daughter with kindness, and I’ve been thankful for both these things. But until this moment, I hadn’t seen how beautiful that woman is.’

  The weight of his gaze fell on her face, on the whole of her face, and she closed her eyes as he ran his fingers along first her upper lip, then her lower lip. Then he slid his hands slowly down the curve of her body to her stomach. They lingered there. She gave a sigh of deep pleasure, and opened her eyes.

  ‘You know how much I wish to see this rounded,’ he murmured, rhythmically circling her skin. ‘I’m thinking that this is something we should work on right now.’

  ‘I think so, too.’

  He put his arms around her and pulled her close to him.

  His jeans rough against her soft skin, she felt his body hard beneath the denim. A wave of anticipation shot through her, and she put her hand to the buckle on his belt.

  ‘Is that you, Pa?’ Bridget’s voice came from the bedroom.

  They gasped, and stepped quickly back from each other.

  ‘Pa! Is that you?’

  There was a thump as Bridget jumped from her bed to the wooden floor.

  Ellen reached for her towel.

  With a heavy sigh, Connor eased his jeans away from his crotch and started to walk past Ellen towards Bridget’s room. As he went by her, his arm brushed hers, and he stopped. For a moment they looked deep into each other’s eyes, then he continued walking out of the kitchen.

  She wrapped the towel around her and went quickly towards their bedroom.

  ‘We were about to wake you, Bridget,’ she heard Connor call through Bridget’s door.

  As she pushed their own bedroom door open, she glanced towards Bridget’s room.

  Connor was standing outside at the closed door, staring at her. Their eyes locked. Then with a rueful grin, he turned away, knocked and went in to Bridget.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ellen ran her fingers through the pieces of material in her basket, checking that she had everything she needed for the sewing bee, then she put her box of sewing equipment into the basket and placed the dress she was going to trim with lace that evening very carefully on top of it. It was the best of the dresses she’d brought from Omaha, and the only one that would really be suitable for the occasion.

  She ran her hand slowly across the vivid green material of the dress. It had been Robert’s favourite. The colour brought out the green-gold flecks in her eyes, he used to say. Every time that she’d looked at the dress since his accident, she’d heard his words and she’d been certain that she would never be able to bring herself to wear it again. And she’d felt sure that she’d never again want to wear a dress in a colour so striking that it would attract attention.

  In fact, she’d been so confident that she’d never wear it again that she’d tried to throw it away on several occasions. Each time, though, she’d found herself unable to discard something that reminded her so much of Robert, with the result that she still had the dress in her possession, and as she’d nothing else to wear for the wedding, she’d decided that she would put it on again.

  She obviously wouldn’t feel in it the way she used to feel when she wore it with Robert, but if nothing else, it would send a strong message of defiance to anyone at the wedding who stared openly at her when she encountered them. If Connor could accept her appearance, so could they.

  But more important to her than that, the fact that she was prepared to wear such a dress told her that for the first time in more than two years, she was beginning to feel like a woman again.

  And that was due to the evening before, to the feelings that Connor had roused in her. To the emotion she’d seen in the depths of his eyes.

  While she’d been waiting for him to join her in bed, she’d wondered if he’d follow his usual custom of leaving it a few minutes, then raising her nightdress and entering her, or if he’d seek to recapture the mood they’d been in at the moment when Bridget had interrupted them. She’d even half-wondered whether to leave off her nightdress. But when she’d thought back to the dinner they’d had after her bath, to the lack of any special glance from him, any word, or anything to suggest a change in their relationship, she’d decided against it. It might not be the right thing to do; not without him first suggesting it.

  She’d certainly made the correct decision about the nightdress, she thought, picking up the empty coffee mugs from the table and carrying them into the kitchen. Despite her hopes, last night had been no different from all of their other nights together.

  No, she was wrong – there had been a difference, she thought, suddenly stopping, the mugs in her hand. As he’d raised himself on top of her, she’d looked up into his eyes and seen a grim determination that hadn’t been there on any night before.

  He was holding himself back, she’d thought in surprise, and she’d wondered why that should be. Being married and in the privacy of their bedroom, they should be able to go where their feelings took them. His instinct earlier had clearly been to want more, and he must have seen that she felt the same way, but then why deliberately hold himself back?

  Unable to answer her question, she’d lain awake in their bed, watching him while he slept, and she was still unable to answer the question in the light of the new day. But nevertheless, something had changed between them the evening before. She couldn’t say how she knew it, but she did.

  She’d never been more certain of anything than that.

  She put the mugs down in the kitchen, went back to the living room, picked up her basket, carried it over to the door and put it next to the drum which contained the tubs of butter that she planned to sell in town. Stepping back, she looked at the group of items clustered by the front door. She’d be so glad when the sewing bee was over and she was back at home.

  Going back to the kitchen, she opened the door. ‘Bridget,’ she called out, untying her apron as she stood in the doorway. ‘Come and wash your hands. It’s almost time to leave. If you want to see Martha in town, that is.’

  ‘I’m coming.’ Bridget’s voice came from behind the henhouse. ‘I’ve just found some eggs that I missed. Don’t go without me.’

  Leaving the door open for Bridget, she went back into the kitchen. Her steps slowed as she passed the place where she’d been standing the night before when Connor had come in. The floorboards were still wet. She stepped into the centre of the damp patch and stood there. Her mind went back to the look she’d seen in Connor’s eyes as he’d gazed at her body, to the longing she’d felt in his touch, and a tingle ran down her spine. Her skin broke out in goosebumps.

  Would he seek to come upon her again like that? she wondered. She put her hands to her stomach and drew her breath in deeply. How she hoped that he would.

  Steam rising from their nostrils, the two horses whinnied as Connor led them out to the wooden rail in front of the shed. He stopped by the two leather harnesses he’d earlier slung over the rail, and began to rig the first of the horses. When he’d finished, he dropped the reins to the ground and moved to the second horse.

  ‘There you go,’ he said finally, putting his arm around each horse’s neck in turn and stroking its nose.

  What had that all been about last night? He ran his hand across the chestnut coat of the second horse. Where had those feelings of his come from? He was furious with himself. Ellen was never meant to be a threat to his memory of Alice. How could she be, looking as she did? But since last night, all he’d been able to think about was Ellen – Ellen; not Alice.

  And that was the last thing he wanted.

  He wanted a child and he hoped that she’d soon have good news for him, but he had never wanted the feelings – feelings that he knew from night after night of loving Alice – that could go along with the act of getting that chil
d. Those feelings belonged to Alice alone – Alice who’d lost her life in trying to give him a son. He’d be betraying her if he let himself think about anyone else in the same way.

  Yet that was the way in which he’d thought about Ellen when he’d seen her standing there, ghostly in the failing light. And beautiful.

  He hadn’t even noticed her injury. He’d seen only her naked body, water trickling down her bare skin, tracing curves that he hadn’t seen until that moment. A sudden, powerful urge had kicked him with force in his groin, and he’d wanted to reach out and touch her, every inch of her.

  All thought of self-restraint gone from his mind, he’d pushed the door shut behind him and had stepped forward.

  A soapy warmth had risen from her, and that special scent of a woman, and he hadn’t been able to keep himself from running his hands across her skin, her soft, soft skin. Desire, a stranger to him for more than a year, had swept through him and all but knocked him off his feet.

  That Bridget had called to him at that moment was something he’d ever be grateful for. If she hadn’t … Well, he didn’t like to think of what might have happened if she hadn’t.

  It wasn’t just Alice’s memory he would have been betraying; it would have been unfair on Ellen, too.

  He was highly satisfied with the bargain he’d made with her. His side of the bargain had been to give her a home; hers had been to run the house, look after Bridget and be a good mother to any children they might have together. But that was where their arrangement ended. Both had honoured their agreement, and he would have been wrong to ask more of her than that.

  When she’d allowed him to look upon her last night, and when she’d responded to him in the way that she had, reaching out for him as she’d done, she would have been acting out of wifely duty, but that wouldn’t have been what she sought, or expected, from a relationship based on mutual advantage and convenience.

  He and Alice had had years together in which to develop deep feelings, but he and Ellen hardly knew each other. Most of the time since she’d been there, he’d been outside the house and she’d been in the kitchen. True, in the evenings they would sit and talk awhile, and both seemed to enjoy their conversations, but that didn’t give him the right to go beyond the understood boundaries.