Mail Order Mistletoe (Brides of Beckham Book 17)

by Kirsten Osbourne

  He opened his eyes and looked down at her. "Yes?"

  "Would it be wrong of me to take your shirt off? I want to touch you."

  He shook his head. "We're married. Nothing we do, as long as we both want to do it, is wrong."

  "Oh." She thought about that for a moment. "Well, I want to take your shirt off and touch you. Do you mind if I do it?"

  He chuckled. "I don't mind one bit. In fact, I'm sure I'll like it."

  She carefully unbuttoned each of the buttons at the front of his shirt. "Do you think I'm too forward?" she asked as she applied herself to the task.

  He shrugged. "Maybe, but I like it." He liked watching her face as she slowly exposed more and more skin. "Do you want to touch me?"

  She nodded, pushing the shirt off his shoulders.

  He stood up, pulling the shirt out of the waistband of his pants and dropping it to the floor. He sat back down on the couch, and she smiled, her hands going to the muscles she'd just uncovered. "You're so strong. I can feel it even through your clothes."

  He smiled. "I thought you were calling me weak earlier when you mentioned how thin I am."

  She laughed. "Weak? You?" She shook her head, touching him reverently. "I could never call you weak. I'm amazed at how strong you are." As she ran her hands over him, she wondered how her bare skin would feel against his. She'd liked his hand on her breast, so would she enjoy his skin against her breasts?

  She decided not to be shy. She could find out very easily if she liked him to touch her. She knew he wouldn't complain.

  Lars was startled when she jumped to her feet, but he watched as she swiftly unbuttoned her blouse, pushing it off her shoulders and onto the floor. She reached behind her to untie her corset laces, and then she dropped the garment he'd been so annoyed with just moments before onto the floor as well. She removed the only thing remaining, a thin petticoat that covered her top half, and set it on the sofa.

  His eyes grew wide. His little bride was much bolder than he'd expected her to be. His gaze was immediately drawn to her breasts. They were perfect. Small, but her nipples were a pretty pink that made him want to taste them. He reached out, and his thumb flicked one of her nipples, and she blushed.

  "I thought it would feel better with no clothes between us, and I was right."

  He grinned. "You like it when I touch you?"

  She nodded, her eyes serious. "Very much. I feel all tingly when you kiss me, and I was sure the tingling would get even worse if you touched my bare skin." She sat down facing him on the sofa, just like she'd been. "I was right."

  "I like it better with no clothes between us as well."

  "I want—" She broke off, certain that she was being much too forward, and he was going to get angry with her any moment.

  "What do you want?" He was fascinated by her excitement over touching him.

  "I want to feel your chest against mine." She felt her face flaming, and she was sure she was blushing profusely, but she kept her eyes on his.

  He smiled. "I want that too." Catching her waist in his hands, he sat back against the sofa, and pulled her astride him, so they were facing one another. Her breasts were flattened against his chest as he caught her lower lip between his teeth, nipping at it gently.

  She sank into his kiss, her lips parting. Her hands stroked his bare shoulders, and she wiggled a little against him, liking the feel of his hair-covered chest against her nipples. She knew she was doing things her mother would never approve of, and she had to keep reminding herself she was married to this man.

  His hands moved to her hair, and he began to quickly remove pins from it. Her long hair fell out of the bun she'd contained it with, and he combed his fingers through it. "I love your hair," he whispered against her lips.

  She sighed, her fingers going to his hair as well. "I like yours, but you need a haircut. We'll do that soon."

  He grinned. "You're going to cut my hair?"

  "If you'd like me to." Her mother had always cut her father's hair, so she was pretty certain that was common practice.

  He nodded. "I'd like that. I like to feel your hands on me." Taking a deep breath, he said exactly what was on his mind. "We have two choices right now. You can either go upstairs right now and go to bed, or you can go to bed with me. If you sit on me like that for even another minute, I'm going to drag you off to my bed, whether that's what you want or not."

  Meg bit her lip in indecision. "I think I should go upstairs. I—I need another day or two."

  He sighed, catching her waist and putting her on her feet in front of him, silently cursing himself. He could have made love to her if he hadn't asked, and he knew it. He stood up, kissing her one last time, and feeling her press against him. "Goodnight, Meg."

  She sighed as he hurried from the room. "Goodnight, Lars," she said to the empty room.

  Chapter Eight

  When Lars came into the house with the milk and eggs the next morning, he put his arms around Meg from behind, kissing the side of her neck. "Hey no kissing when I'm messing with hot things! Remember?"

  "I remember no kissing if I was going to put either one of us in danger. No?"

  Meg felt hot enough she wouldn't be surprised if she'd been burned, especially where his lips were against her neck. She didn't think that would be an appropriate thing to tell him though. "Don't make me spill!"

  He wrinkled his nose when he looked at what she was making for breakfast. "Oatmeal?"

  She grinned. "Trust me. It's not your mother's oatmeal. It'll keep you warm while you work in the cold wind today."

  "I'm going to come home for lunch," he told her.

  "You are?" She turned in his arms and her gaze met his. "You don't have to."

  "I remember how lonely Olga used to get while I was out working. She'd beg me to come home for lunch, and I did every day, even when it was inconvenient." He took a deep breath. "It's convenient for me to come home, and I crave the company. I'll be here for lunch." The truth was, he enjoyed spending time with her, and he realized there was nothing wrong with that.

  She smiled, resting her hand on his shoulder. "I'd like that."

  He leaned down and kissed her, his lips telling her how he'd missed her when she'd gone up to her room the night before. "I finished all my plowing yesterday, so I could always spend the day in bed. Of course, I'd need company for that."

  She thought about it. She wanted to make him happy, but she really did want to get to know him better first. "We'll do that soon."

  "How did I know you'd say that?" He kissed her again before walking over to sit at the table. "Bring me this delicious oatmeal you've made."

  She knew he was being sarcastic, but her oatmeal really was good, and she was excited for him to try it. She'd added a generous amount of butter, cinnamon and brown sugar. She wasn't terribly fond of oatmeal, but it was an inexpensive breakfast, good for cold days, and when she'd put all of the extras on it, it was downright good.

  She opened the oven and took out the toast she'd made to go with the oatmeal, piling it onto a plate. She served them both a generous helping of the oatmeal. She took him his cereal and the plate of toast before serving him his coffee. She got her own coffee and her oatmeal and went over to sit across from him.

  He'd already eaten two pieces of toast by the time she sat down, but she could tell he hadn't even tried the oatmeal.

  "My oatmeal really is good. Try some." She glared at him until he picked up his spoon.

  "I was hoping for pancakes." He made a face like a petulant child as he held the spoon in front of him. He didn't want to eat oatmeal.

  "You said you'd eat anything I cook," she said, frowning at him.

  "Yes, but I didn't think you'd make oatmeal!" He ate what was on his spoon, his face changing as the flavor hit his tongue. "This is good!"

  "I told you to trust me!" She shook her head. "I know what you like. If it's sweet, you'll devour it!"

  Lars reached out and took her hand in his. "Thank you for learning my prefere
nces and caring what they are. I still prefer pancakes, but this is a good breakfast for cold days."

  She smiled. "I will try to make a variety of different things, but you'll get pancakes pretty regularly."

  "That's all I ask."

  *****

  While he was working, Meg got the basement cleaned to her satisfaction and rearranged all the jars on the shelves so she'd know where everything was. The kitten played happily at her feet while she worked.

  After she finished, she made lunch, and made a dozen muffins as a dessert for lunch and a snack for him to take in the afternoon. She didn't have any fresh fruit to use, so she made cinnamon muffins that had brown sugar and cinnamon topping.

  Lunch was generous slices of ham, in a sandwich, warmed in the oven. She had a feeling Lars would enjoy that with the muffins.

  She was still a bit puzzled by his change of heart, but she was pleased. He was acting as if he was courting her now and that was what she'd been after all along. He hadn't brought her flowers or any special candy, but his praise and holding her hand at breakfast had been just as good coming from him.

  She was setting lunch on the table, right around half past twelve when he walked in the door for lunch. He waited until her hands were empty, grabbed her to him and kissed her, whispering words she hadn't realized she needed until that moment. "I missed you this morning."

  The words surprised Lars, but he realized he'd been feeling them. When he stopped thinking of her as an enemy trying to take his wife's place in his heart, it became easy to care for her. She was cheerful, loving, and a hard-worker.

  Meg wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down for another kiss. "I missed you too. It was a long morning alone."

  He just held her for a moment. "Stop wasting my time, woman! I'm hungry." The twinkle in his eye told her he was playing, and she was happy to find the playful side of him. He hadn't shown it much yet.

  "Then sit down and eat, you big oaf. There's no one stopping you!" She winked as she said the words, so he would know she was teasing him back.

  He chuckled, enjoying her playfulness. It was very different than his marriage with Olga had been. Once his first wife had lost a child, she'd become very sad, having a hard time caring about anything. She'd perked up every time she'd found out she was carrying another baby, and then become sadder than ever when she lost it. He knew through the last pregnancy that if she lost that baby, she would probably die with it. Her heart broke a bit more with each one.

  He shook his head, pushing the sad memories away and sat down at the table, looking at the hot sandwich in front of him. "Is this the ham from last night?"

  "Yes. I try to use up anything that's left before making something else. I'll make a soup tonight using beans, carrots and the hambone."

  He took a bite of his sandwich, studying her as she flitted around getting everything onto the table. "Have you always been this frugal?"

  Meg shrugged. "I guess so. I wasn't raised in a household with a lot of money. Often my mother would bring home what was left from her employer's table and make it into new meals for us. It's how I learned."

  "I appreciate it. I have had many struggles with money, and a farmer never knows whether the crop will be a good one or a bad one. Making things stretch is good for us." At that moment, they didn't have money problems, but that could turn at any time. Better for her to always live as if they had nothing than always live as if they had plenty.

  She watched him throughout the meal, enjoying his pleasure in simple things like sandwiches. She planned to bake more bread that afternoon, feeling like the bread they were eating was getting a bit stale, but he ate every bite without complaint.

  When he finished, he pushed his chair back as if to get up, but she held up a hand, going to the work table and getting the muffins out from under a towel she'd placed over them. "Don't you want dessert?"

  He looked down at the two muffins on a plate in front of him and smiled. "What is this?"

  "Cinnamon muffins. Have you never had them?"

  He shook his head. "They are not a Norwegian food." He pinched off a bite and put it into his mouth, his eyes closing as he savored the flavor. "These need milk."

  She poured them each a glass of milk, and got a muffin for herself. She couldn't express how happy it made her when he liked what she made to eat. Was she falling in love with him?

  She was startled by the thought. She'd only known him for a few days, most of which he'd been very sour toward her. Yes, he was handsome, but she didn't think of herself as a woman swayed by an attractive man.

  He watched her, wondering at the emotions that were on her face. Something had stunned her and she seemed almost upset. "Is something wrong, Meg? Did I upset you somehow?"

  She shook her head. "No, I'm fine." Her mother had once told her that she would know she was in love if she couldn't imagine a life without a man. She knew she could survive without him. Why, she could get a job teaching or doing any number of things. But she could no longer see her life without him.

  Meg lost her appetite pushing the muffin away. What was she going to do? She loved him, and he still—well, he'd just quit thinking of her as the enemy. How in the world was she going to make him fall in love with her too? There was nothing worse than a one-sided love. Better if there had been no love at all.

  She got up and started the dishes, doing them mechanically.

  Lars was unsure of what had just happened, but he was suddenly worried. It was as if she had been lit by a candle from the moment he met her, and all of a sudden someone had blown the candle out. He didn't want to imagine life with her as melancholy as Olga had been. He couldn't live that way again.

  He got up to leave, kissing her cheek on his way out the door.

  "Wait!" she called.

  He turned, hoping to see her face lit up like it usually was. Instead, she held out his lunch pail. "I put two muffins in there so you could have a snack later," she said, her voice mechanical.

  He took the pail. "Thank you."

  She nodded as he left to return to his work.

  Chapter Nine

  Lars went out to the barn carrying the lunch pail Meg had given him. Something was wrong with her, and he didn't know what. Already she was worming her way into his heart. Her upbeat attitude made a difference for him after the sadness that permeated Olga for years before her death.

  He had taken on her sadness once she died, almost feeling as if it was a vigil he must carry on to keep her alive in some way.

  Yes, there had been necessary sadness right after her death, and after the death of their son, but it was time for him to move on with his life. Time for him to be happy. His sweet bride was so good for him, and he knew he needed to do what he could to keep her happy.

  He didn't think it could be the Dakota prairie that was bothering her, because then she'd have been upset when he got there. No, it was something to do with him. He wanted to get her a nice gift to make her feel better, but it was a three hour trip into town and back by horse. That was too far.

  He saw one of the blocks of wood he kept there for his whittling and picked it up, turning it over in his hand. He couldn't pick flowers in November, but he could make her something just as nice. He found a knife that he used to cut bales of hay for the horses and sat down on a bale with his back to the barn wall. How long could it take to make a sweet surprise for his bride?

  He closed his eyes for a moment and thought about what he wanted to make her and smiled. Yes, she would like it.

  *****

  Meg did her chores in a bit of a daze that afternoon. How had she fallen in love so quickly? She'd thought she was more practical than that.

  She baked a cake for him, knowing he would be thrilled for the sweet treat after supper. No longer was she willing to try to make him love her with food. No, she would wait for it to happen naturally if it ever did. But how could it? He obviously still loved his Olga, the woman he'd married young and emigrated with from Norway.

&nbs
p; She sang softly as she worked, a song of unrequited love that her mother had always sung on days she was sad. It felt good to sing the old Irish tune, and she felt less alone in the world.

  When the bread had been baked and the soup was boiling on the stove, she sat at the table in the kitchen darning all of her husband's socks. She couldn't find a single pair without a hole in them, and she'd already noticed he needed new boots. When he bought them, he would surely get blisters.

  She wished she had some yarn so she could knit him some new socks, but that was something she would have to get from the mercantile in town. She wondered if Lars would let her take the wagon to get some yarn and some yard goods so she could start making Christmas presents for him.

  The whole while she worked, she sang sad song after sad song, realizing they were making her feel better quickly. She had a voice that was clear and pretty, and she knew it, having taken many singing lessons from the pastor's wife of her church when she was younger. The lessons were grueling, but she'd been a willing pupil, always enjoying singing for her congregation.

  She looked up when the door opened at five, thirty minutes earlier than he usually came in. She jumped up, dropping socks everywhere. "Oh, I'd have cleaned this up if I'd known you were coming home earlier than usual today. I'm so sorry!"

  He shook his head. "You did nothing wrong. I—I spent the afternoon making you a gift instead of working."

  Meg stared at him in disbelief. Why, Lars seemed almost shy to her, something she'd never seen from him. "You did?"

  "Close your eyes," he said, seeming much younger than his years to her. It was almost as if he was—well, as if he was trying to court her. Was that possible?

  She closed her eyes and waited, wondering what he could have possibly made her while he was outside all day. She felt a soft kiss brush across her lips, and she smiled. A kiss that sweet was a perfect gift.

  He took her hand, watching her face to be certain she didn't open her eyes, and put his carving into it. "You can look now."