To Wed In Texas

by Jodi Thomas

As she had when he asked her to marry him, Karlee put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her close.

  When her legs bumped the edge of the bed, he tugged again.

  She crawled onto the bed, not knowing what he wanted.

  “Lie down next to me,” he whispered. “I don't want to be alone.”

  Very carefully, she stretched out at his side, leaving only an inch between them.

  He opened his arm, and she used his chest as a pillow.

  “Are you cold?” He placed his hand at the back of her waist and pulled her against him. She was surprised how easily she fit next to his side, almost as if they were a match.

  “No,” she managed to say while she tried to breathe. They were doing nothing improper. Nothing wrong. Yet the room seemed to have grown summer warm.

  “Do you mind keeping me company, Mrs. McLain? I don't want to be alone tonight.”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “I don't mind.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.”

  With her tucked securely against his side, Daniel drifted into a peaceful sleep.

  Karlee had never been more awake in her life. Each time she breathed, the smell of him filled her lungs. His heart pounded in her ear like a drum. His hand moved slowly from her back to the fullness of her hip where it rested peacefully.

  She told herself he was asleep, that he didn't know, or feel anything with the bandages and her layers of clothes. After all, he was a preacher.

  She twisted until she pulled his hand back to her waist.

  After a few minutes, he slid his fingers back to the fullness of her hip.

  He can't feel anything, she reminded herself.

  But an hour later, when she was finally almost asleep she could have sworn he patted her bottom lightly and spread his fingers over the curve of her hip.

  Tomorrow, wild savage, company and all, she'd have a few words about what the preacher wasn't feeling between the clothes and bandages.

  FIFTEEN

  DANIEL AWOKE SLOWLY, ONE PAIN AT A TIME. THE cool of the night had passed. He heard the first sounds of stirring in the kitchen. It was morning. He'd always liked the smell of a fire starting and coffee flavoring the air at daybreak. But today, his body ached. His head pounded and it tasted like something had died inside his mouth.

  Karlee was no longer at his side, if she ever had been. He remembered a dream of her lying next to him, all soft and warm. Her head, resting atop his heart, had been more real than dream in the quiet of night. She'd pressed her ample breasts against the side of his chest as though she had no idea how much the feel of her made his whole body aware. In the dream, he'd felt the firmness of her hip in his hand and she hadn't protested.

  In his dream, Daniel reminded himself. It could be nothing more. He wasn't attracted to Karlee. Not a woman like her. Not any woman. He'd seen her type. She was destined to be an old maid, taking care of others all her life. There was something about her that would make any man run in the opposite direction. A craziness, an impulsiveness, a freedom. His grandfather would have said she was a person not comfortable in her own skin.

  A man might never know what she would do next. That's not the kind of woman who made a good wife. Not the kind who would be a trusted friend… a partner… a lover.

  No, he told himself. He shouldn't even be dreaming about a woman like Karlee. Or thinking about her in the way he was.

  She was the type of woman who shipped herself in a trunk, or flattened a huge stranger with a frying pan… or married a blind man.

  “Morning.” Karlee's voice came from a few feet away.

  Daniel frowned. He should have heard her approaching. The dream had crossed into reality. “Morning,” he grumbled. “Is the coffee ready yet?” He was in no mood to wake up, much less face anyone.

  “I brought you a cup.” Her words grew nearer as she spoke.

  He reached out, but she was closer than he guessed. His bandaged hand swung against the hot cup. She squealed as coffee splashed over her hand and onto the sheets.

  “Oh, I'm sorry!” She backed away. “I filled it so full. I was watching the coffee and didn't see you reach up.”

  He heard the clank of the cup on the bedside table a moment before she returned to his side. She wiped up the spill and patted the sheet that covered him.

  “I've made such a mess.” She continued rubbing the stains, totally unaware his body lay beneath the depth of cotton.

  The coffee's warmth hardly registered, but the touch of her hand burned his flesh. The woman treated him with the same careless handling she must treat the rag dolls she made. Any moment, he half-expected her to be sewing new button eyes onto his head.

  He caught the tea towel she dabbed with and pulled it from her. “I can clean up myself.” He knew his voice was harsh, but she seemed to have a complete disregard for his modesty. “Watch where you're patting. And, while we're on the subject, I can bathe myself from now on. There's no need for you to do it.”

  He knew she was still in the room. He could hear her breathing. She must be standing next to the bed like a statue.

  “But…”

  “But what, Mrs. McLain?”

  “But, last night…”

  “There was no last night.” He knew he was being harsh, but she'd better understand once and for all that there could never be anything between them. They might be married for the rest of their lives, but he didn't want her harboring any hope that he'd love her. He'd loved once and that was enough for a lifetime. “And in the future, I'd like to drink my coffee, not bathe in it.”

  He heard a tiny little sound that seemed to come from deep in her throat. Words so jumbled they blocked all speech.

  Then, without warning, hot coffee splashed across his chest.

  Daniel yelped and lunged forward, reaching for her, almost toppling off the bed in his haste. Growling like a wounded bear, he wiped the brew from his face with one bandaged hand. The other swung wide, trying to catch her in his net.

  It didn't matter that he had no idea what he'd do with her if he caught her. No one had ever dared do what she'd done.

  He might not have heard her enter, but he heard her stomp out of the room. No apology, no explanation.

  “Unpredictable,” he mumbled. “Temperamental old maid!” He dragged his injured leg to the edge of the bed. The pain fought its way through his anger. If he tried to follow her, he'd only hurt the wound more. She wasn't worth it. He didn't even like the woman. She was one level worse than the plagues of Job.

  “Morning, Danny boy. Wearing your coffee these days?” Wolf chuckled. “The politeness of the honeymoon doesn't last as long as it used to.”

  A dry towel hit Daniel's chest as he heard the chair beside him groan under Wolf's weight. The huge man seemed to think every chair in the house was a rocker.

  “I wanted to allow you two newlyweds some time alone before the house wakes up, but Karlee just stormed into the kitchen and told me she'd guard the savage while she fixed breakfast. From the look in her fiery green eyes, I'd feel sorry for the boy if he picked her watch to try and break free.”

  Daniel wiped off his chest, feeling the coffee grounds against his skin. “She still hasn't learned to make a decent cup of coffee,” he mumbled. “And the woman has no gentle spirit, I can testify to that. She also has no patience or understanding about a man getting up on the wrong side of the bed.”

  “Maybe you'd better learn which side is the right side, Danny, if you plan on waking up at all. Trust me, next time the cup could be a frying pan.”

  Daniel didn't get Wolf's humor. “Why couldn't I have found a kind soul to marry, with soft ways and a sweet heart? Why'd I have to pick the one woman I've ever met who might truly be insane? She's cursed, double-odd, from a family too imbalanced to notice. She's more than twenty and can't make coffee. There's something seriously wrong with a woman who can't cook. It's not natural.”

  Wolf seemed to have gone deaf.

>   “I'm an even-tempered man.” Daniel tossed the towel so hard it hit the opposite wall with a thud. He'd resigned himself to coffee grounds in his chest hair. “I never do a thing or say words to anger anyone. Why would the woman throw a cup at me?”

  “Maybe you'd better ask her. If you've calmed down enough,” Wolf reasoned.

  “I'm calm enough. I'm always calm enough.” He heard movement on the other side of the bed. “She's back, isn't she?”

  “I'm here,” Karlee answered, “with your breakfast. And I'll thank you to address me directly.”

  “I would if you'd make enough noise when you enter. I can hear everyone in this house walking from room to room, but you manage to sneak up on me again and again.”

  The front two feet of Wolf's chair bumped to the floor. “I need to be getting back to the kitchen.” He scrambled away.

  Daniel sat very still, his muscles tight, anticipating another blow. “If you're expecting me to say I'm sorry, you'll have a long wait.” He wasn't in the habit of apologizing when he couldn't see he'd done anything wrong.

  “So will you,” she answered.

  “Then I suspect, Mrs. McLain, we will have very little to say to one another in the future.”

  “I suspect so,” she snapped. “Would you like to eat your breakfast or wear it?”

  A smile fought its way through Daniel's anger, despite his efforts to keep it down. “I'll eat it. And I'll have another cup of coffee. My cup's around here somewhere, or at least the dent of it is still here.”

  He sat up in the bed, pulling the sheet around him. “I've night shirts in a trunk in my study, if you don't mind bringing me one. I might look more presentable dressed in it than bare-chested.”

  She sat a tray beside him. “I don't mind.”

  Unsure how she meant the words, he heard her cross to his little study and open the old trunk he used for a footstool when reading. Her step was so light he couldn't help but wonder if she'd practiced it since childhood. If so, he imagined she surprised a great many people in private conversations. That might explain why she was passed from place to place so often.

  But of late, he could think of a few other reasons as well. The idea of shoving her in a trunk and shipping her back crossed his mind.

  She returned before he managed to swallow the first bite of a flour-crusted biscuit. The half left in his fingers crumbled. He could smell the eggs and wondered if they were encased in a crispy layer, burned beyond taste as usual.

  “Would you like me to help you put on the shirt?” Her voice could have frozen the Mississippi.

  “No, thank you. If you'll just lay it on the bed, I can manage from here on.” The coffee actually tasted good as it softened the biscuit in his throat. “If you'll close the door, I think I can bathe without help.”

  “All right.”

  That was it then. They'd settle into the politeness of strangers.

  The moment he heard the door click, he set the tray aside and stood, letting the sheet fall away from his bare body. Careful not to put any weight on his leg, he hopped the few steps to where he'd heard her get water. As he'd expected, a bucket stood beside the washstand.

  He felt for the washcloth and soap. The scissors, he guessed, might be near, for he'd heard her lay them again and again on the night stand while she sewed. His fingers patted the corner of the table. Her scissors were exactly where he'd thought she left them.

  Carefully, he cut the bandages from his hands. The burns felt healed enough to take the air. It was time to let his skin breathe.

  Ignoring the pain, he dipped the rag into the cold water and began to wash. Jefferson was warm enough to swim in the river most of the year. He'd give a great deal to float in the water now, for hard as he scrubbed, he couldn't feel clean with cold water and hard soap. The smell of the fire still lingered on his skin.

  The cool morning breeze dried his flesh as he worked down his body, rubbing away coffee grounds.

  When he finished, he hopped back to the bed and felt for his nightshirt. He'd never liked the things, but since the twins needed him in the middle of the night, he'd taken to wearing one. That way he didn't have to search the darkness for clothes while one or both of them cried upstairs.

  The sheets were twisted and damp with cold coffee, but he couldn't locate the shirt. His large hands spread out, searching.

  He straightened slightly, planning to hop further along the length of the bed. As his hand moved in the air, he touched cotton. The night shirt seemed to be floating in front of him.

  Daniel stiffened and took the shirt from her hand. “Thank you,” he managed to say. Every ounce of his being wanted to turn around and run. But he was just as bare from the backside and, with his leg, all he could have managed was a hop. He figured a hopping nude man might look fairly ridiculous.

  “You're welcome,” she answered as formally as if she'd just handed him a songbook in church.

  He knew she was grinning. He could feel it.

  Daniel squared his shoulders and mustered enough dignity to put on his shirt. She'd watched the whole time he'd bathed. Watched him boldly, like no woman would watch a man. He'd heard his mother say once that she'd never seen his father completely nude. Even when he'd bathed and she washed his back, he had the decency to cover his private parts.

  He pulled the shirt down. He had no private parts. She'd seen all of him. And from the time he took bathing, she'd stared for quite a while.

  “If you can stand on that leg a few seconds more, I'll change the sheets.” The polite coldness was back in her voice.

  He didn't trust words, all he could do was nod. There were a few hundred things he thought about saying to her. She was no lady to stand silently in a room and watch him. A respectable woman would have made her presence known.

  Maybe she wasn't insane, but she'd surely drive him over the edge at this rate. What kind of wife watches her husband?

  Then it hit him… probably every one with the exception of his mother. What Karlee had done was a normal act. She'd stood near while her wounded husband bathed after he'd told her he needed no help.

  “I'm finished.” She touched his arm lightly. “The bed is ready.”

  She was close, very close.

  “Would you like me to help you?”

  He brushed the edge of the mattress. “I can manage.” He sank down, slowly moving his leg into place. “In truth, I think I'll go back to sleep. I feel as though I've walked miles.”

  He didn't protest when she helped him straighten up and tucked him in. Then she was gone, as silently as she'd appeared.

  Daniel closed his eyes and decided the dreams of the night were not nearly as frightening as the reality of waking up.

  SIXTEEN

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS PASSED IN A HAZE FOR KARLEE. Since the savage now lived in the kitchen, and Adam had set up a cot in the dining room, she spent most of her time in Daniel's parlor room with the twins. The little house seemed to shrink smaller with each tick of the clock.

  When Daniel drifted into sleep, she'd move the twins upstairs to play in their room, or to the porch. But the days were cloudy, and it rained off and on all week. The girls seemed happiest near their father. So the area around Daniel's bed became their play area and her sewing room.

  She'd always loved playing with fabric, making dolls from scraps of material. When she'd been with the aunts they'd made fun of her pastime so she'd only been able to work early in the morning or late at night after they'd gone to bed. Now, she could work as the twins played without anyone criticizing her.

  Her only time alone seemed to be late at night when she slipped onto the porch for a few minutes. One evening, she saw an old woman in rags standing across the street just out of the lamp light's glow.

  Karlee watched her for a while, but the old woman didn't move. From her clothes Karlee guessed she must be one of the many Germans who lived by the lake. Wolf told her most of them were good people who'd paid all they had for land in Texas only to discover they'd been
swindled and left in the port towns with no money and no way home.

  On impulse, Karlee walked across the street and joined the old woman. For a while they just stood, side by side. Finally, Karlee asked, “It looks like rain tonight.”

  “Yes, it does,” the woman answered in a thick accent.

  “Have you a place to stay.”

  The woman shook her head.

  Karlee felt as though she were wealthy for the first time in her life. She smiled. “I'm the preacher's wife and I have been greatly blessed. Too much, I think. So much so, I waste some of what I have. And I think that is a sin.”

  “A sin,” the woman agreed.

  “Would you please help me, dear lady? I have guests so my house is full, but the barn is empty. Would you be willing to stay there? It's clean and dry and I know of a room hidden away.”

  The old woman thought about it. “Me and mine?” she finally asked.

  “You and yours,” Karlee answered. “Thank you. You do me a great favor, Madam.”

  “Ida,” the woman answered. “My name is Ida. And you are welcome, Mrs. McLain.”

  Karlee went back into the house knowing what she'd done was right. She curled into the chair in Daniel's room and fell asleep.

  Daniel managed to keep his bad moods to himself since the morning he wore his coffee. The polite coldness that somehow developed between them grew into a constant. Much as he seemed to hate it, he was dependent on her. But he allowed her to do nothing for him that he could do for himself.

  She no longer wrapped his hands but continued to change the bandage on his leg. Thanks to Adam's expert care, the wound was healing fast. Each time she touched his leg she felt his muscles tighten, but he didn't say a word. The knowledge that she embarrassed him made her hands linger longer. She told herself that it was for the best. The more she touched him the more comfortable he'd become with her near. He couldn't jump every time she came close for the next thirty or forty years.

  Wes's wife, Allie, spent the greater part of most days trying to talk to John. Finally, he stopped fighting the ropes and allowed her to feed him. But he still showed no sign of listening to a word she said. Her determination that he was her brother, John, seemed equaled only by his desire to be full Apache.