He couldn’t seem to stop staring at her features. She was so beautiful. And yet so natural. His gaze slipped down to the blue dress she wore and he felt his throat go desert dry. He would never forget that moment when he’d realized she wasn’t just Lydia, his young and curious shadow, but that she was a woman. Sixteen and very much a woman. The understanding had shaken his world off its axis.
How had she gone from a young girl traipsing around in britches to the young woman she’d become at sixteen? The woman she was today—caring and loving and able to hold her own?
“I can hardly blame you for trying, but we made a deal,” he said, forcing his thoughts back to the conversation. “And the Lydia I knew from five years ago was not one to go against her word.”
“I won’t go against my word,” she defended, squaring her shoulders in the most adorable and stubborn way. “And by the way…the Lydia you knew five years ago is not the woman you see now.”
He met her challenging gaze. “I realized that the minute I saw you—I mean, after I discovered it was you.” He would never forget the overwhelming feeling of relief at seeing her again. And the cruel sense of irony that she was completely out of his reach.
“So, what happened over the past five years, Lydia?” he braved, determined to find some kind of opening into her heart.
“That’s just not something I’m going to discuss with you, Jeb. Sorry.” Her brow furrowed in focus as she carefully spread salve on the cut below his right eye.
He grasped her hand, stilling her nurturing touch. “Well…if ever you feel like talking, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”
A lengthy silence hung between them. Several minutes ticked by as Lydia set her undivided attention on cleansing and tending his battered hands.
Over the years he’d dreamed off and on of Lydia. And each time he’d wake wishing he could see her again.
Here she was now…her tender ministrations reaching into the depths of his soul. There was a tangible, almost divine connection with this woman. And he knew she felt its power, too. He could see it in her eyes, sense it in the tender way she responded to his touch, and feel it in that certain caring way she had with him.
“Does that hurt?” She smoothed salve over his raw knuckles, her soft touch reaching clear down into his heart.
“I’m used to it,” he finally said.
He’d been fighting every couple weeks for the past six months. He’d fight again tomorrow night, too, although he wasn’t sure how wise that was so close on the heels of last night’s fight. Going the full rounds wouldn’t be an option—he’d have to knock his opponent out early on. With the windfall of promised earnings, the bank might just reconsider giving him a little more time.
“You get tough skin when you do the same thing long enough,” he added, knowing how callused and thick his hands and areas on his face had gotten from scarring.
How callused he’d become toward his father.
And how callused he’d become toward God. He’d been struggling to find God in the midst of the turmoil, remembering how Lydia’s father had often talked of faith, but he just couldn’t seem to find his way. It was as if he couldn’t go beyond the thick wall protecting his heart—just like Lydia.
“There’s one problem with that, Jeb.” She wiped her hands on her apron.
“What’s that?”
After slipping the medicinal supplies into her apron pocket, she looked at him. The intent way she peered deep into his gaze, as if searching for some kind of well-kept secret, as if maybe there was something about his character that provoked suspicion, made him slightly uncomfortable.
And oddly defensive.
Lydia hugged her arms to her chest. “Tough skin makes it almost impossible to feel anything—at all.”
Chapter Five
On a long yawn Lydia glanced at the small clock on her nightstand, bathed in the moon’s pearly light filtering through the window. It was well after one o’clock in morning, and if she didn’t go out to the cabin now, like she’d been planning for the past several hours, she might fall asleep and her chance would be gone with day’s light.
She secured the thick white robe Sass had given her over her white cotton nightdress. Holding up a barely lit lantern, she tiptoed through the house, careful to avoid certain creaking floorboards on her way to the front door.
Honestly, she was tired of all of this sneaking around, but tonight she had no choice. If Jeb was serious about cleaning that cabin tomorrow, then she was determined to get the box of letters out of there before he happened upon them. She simply would not risk those pieces of her heart landing in his hands.
Nearing the front door, her thoughts drifted to last night, when Jeb had ridden off in spite of Sass’s pleas to stay. The scene had swallowed her attention and since then, she’d been doing what she could around the house just to keep her mind from running to some dramatic and far-fetched conclusion.
She’d tried broaching the subject of Jeb with Sass, but each time the housekeeper would expertly shift the conversation elsewhere. Lydia didn’t know what to think of the tactic except that the woman must be fiercely loyal.
Lydia didn’t need to know what was going on with Jeb. Except that she had an emotional investment in this ranch—after all, her daddy had died on this land.
With stealthy precision, she opened the front door, turned around and carefully latched it without so much as a faint click. Relieved, she gave a huge sigh.
“Going somewhere?” Jeb startled her.
“No,” she spurted out as she whipped around to face him. She pressed a hand to her chest. Gathered in a deep breath. “I mean…maybe. I was just stepping outside to—to go for a walk.”
He sat on the porch swing, his arm draped in a lazy way over the back while the moon showcased him in filtered white light. And he had the audacity to smile at her, the devastatingly handsome grin tipping one corner of his still swollen mouth, doing nothing to ease her erratic heartbeat.
“Dressed in that?” He quirked one eyebrow.
His moonlit face, battered and bruised and swollen, tugged at her compassion.
“I didn’t feel like changing.” She clutched the lantern handle with both hands and stood ramrod straight. When a wave of self-consciousness crowded in on her, she counted her blessings that the nightdress and robe covered her from her neck clear to her toes. “I certainly didn’t imagine that you’d be out here.”
“So…why were you sneaking?”
“I wasn’t sneaking,” she nearly snorted, feeling strangely like she’d been caught red-handed.
“Inching the door shut and tiptoeing isn’t sneaking?” As casual as you please, he folded his hands in his lap, that grin of his still there on his face.
“I didn’t want to wake anybody.” Lydia swallowed past the thick lump in her throat. “What are you doing up so late, anyway?”
He rested his booted feet on the porch floor, easing the swing to a stop. “Funny…I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“You weren’t here for dinner,” she half accused, telling herself that his comings and goings weren’t any business of hers. “Sass was worried about you.”
His easy grin faded some. “I had chores to catch up on and a fence to repair so the cattle didn’t get loose.”
For a moment she felt bad for pressing him. But how could she not with the way he’d returned home looking like he’d been drug beneath a wagon?
Sweeping her hair to one side, she fingered the strands, wondering if he was hurting more than he let on. “You couldn’t sleep?”
“Sometimes when I’m done with a busy day I like to sit out here in the peace and quiet.” Prying the lantern from her hands, he turned the knob and set it down. “I just haven’t made my way to bed yet, that’s all
.”
She stared at the lantern, watching as the flame faded to black, wishing she had something to hold again that would be some kind of barrier between her and Jeb. She felt ridiculous for succumbing to this kind of timidity. After all…she’d grown up with Jeb. She’d been his shadow for as long as she could remember.
Shoving her wayward focus to the night’s skyline, she admired how the moon’s soft and gentle light bathed the rugged landscape in a certain mysterious and raw kind of beauty.
“It is beautiful out here,” she whispered.
“It sure is.”
The still and quiet that hung between them suddenly felt so…so comfortable, so warm and so real. She stepped over to the railing, fingering the worn wood as she indulged herself in the awesome sight. “I forgot how brilliant the stars are. Chicago is full of lights—they’re everywhere. It’s a city that never sleeps.”
“Did you enjoy that?” The porch swing creaked as he shifted. “Living in Chicago, I mean?”
“It was so different.” The moment she turned to face him, she knew she’d be better off going back inside. But she longed to stay, wishing to capture this moment in time. The brilliant night sky. The quiet. And Jeb.
She peered at him, committing to memory every little thing about him…his attentiveness despite the heartbreaking way his swollen eyelids hung weighted over his dark eyes. The perfect way the moon highlighted every firm and manly angle of his face. The significant way his shoulders, broad enough to bear the biggest of burdens, filled the porch, giving her a tangible sense of protection.
“Lydia…” he prodded, as though he somehow sensed she was lost in thought. “Chicago…did you like it there?”
She gave her head a shake, hoping the small response would rattle her good sense back into place. “It took just two months for the newness of it all to wear off. Then I was missing home—or at least the only home I’d ever known.”
“Care to join me?”
She stared at the porch swing, noting how compact the seat was and how broad-shouldered Jeb was. But even so, she moved over and sat down without so much as one protesting word.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
She nodded, lifting her chin a notch, and trying desperately not to notice the instant warmth spreading through her at his nearness.
“So what made you leave Chicago, anyway? Other than missing the west? There must be something more than just getting a job at the hotel that would make you travel all the way out here.”
“I wanted something more for my life,” she responded, praying her vague answer would suffice.
“And what was that?” He gave the porch swing a gentle push off. “It’s not as if you were in the streets every night causing a ruckus, right?”
She scowled at him. “Of course not. It was the fancy parties and the fancy dresses.” She pictured the countless social galas she’d attended. “Every woman desperate for a man to swoon over and marry.”
His right eye, which hadn’t swollen shut, grew wide as he peered at her. “But everyone enjoys a party. Surely all of that couldn’t have been that bad.”
She sighed. “Every so often was fine, but at least once every few weeks there was some big to-do. The social gatherings were so very overrated. They may as well have been weddings for the fuss my aunt made over going.”
“I can see your point there,” he conceded, resting his hand a breath away from her shoulder, sending a quiver inching through her entire body. “But what about the fancy dresses? All women love a fancy dress.”
“I’m not all women.” She was nearing dangerous territory—very dangerous territory—with the heady warmth she was experiencing at his nearness. “I do enjoy getting dressed up from time to time, but I also treasure my comfort.”
“That’s for sure.” Jeb’s low chuckle settled around her like a warm embrace. “You ran the ranch in britches and shirttails.”
She couldn’t help but smile remembering how carefree she’d felt as a young girl. Life had changed so very much.
“Speaking of dresses…” He cleared his throat. His hand, big and work worn and bandaged, rested on her shoulder, sending a tremor shooting straight through her. “You looked beautiful in the dress Sass made for you. As beautiful as you did the day you left this ranch.”
His sweet words sent her pulse ricocheting through her veins. She grappled for her emotions, but they churned in her soul like pieces of straw whipped about in a violent wind storm.
She would not allow herself to lose herself over this man. Not now. Not ever.
So why was she plagued with that heady, I’m-falling-in-love feeling?
“Was there ever a man that made you swoon, Lydia?” he had boldness enough to ask.
“What?” she choked out, sure he must’ve just heard her thoughts. Had she been talking aloud and didn’t even realize it?
Her whole body shuddered, and not because she was cold. The shameful truth was that sitting next to Jeb the way she was, hearing his sweet words and feeling his mind-numbing touch, she felt as if she’d been baking in the sun for the past hour.
She chided herself for not being able to exhibit a little more decorum. To make matters worse…Jeb, in that gentlemanly and kind way of his, tenderly pulled her to his side as if to lend her his warmth.
“Better?”
No, it wasn’t better. It was worse. Far worse. But how could she tell him that? The last thing she wanted to do was to let Jeb know how much of her heart was still pining for him. He’d rejected her once, all those years ago. She would not put her heart on the line again.
“So about the swooning…” he probed again, his tenacity like a maul-ax to her resolve. “I’m sure there’s been some man you’ve swooned over—and could’ve married?”
How could he ask such a question?
Didn’t he remember the heartfelt sentiments she’d poured out to him five years ago? That she loved him? Had always loved him? And that they were meant to be together? She’d nearly begged him to make her his wife, any pride and dignity a sixteen-year-old young woman could possess, carelessly thrown aside.
Her stomach flipped and churned with the putrid memory of his rejection. She felt sick. Disgusted. Saddened.
How could he have been so hurtful? And yet, so kind and considerate as he was now? What was it about this man that could send her falling from aversion to love within seconds?
The lazy way he brushed his thumb over her shoulder did even more devastating things to her insides. And to her resolve.
She dragged in a slow, long breath and willed her out-of-control emotions to calm. Edging away enough to think, she tried to remember why she hadn’t wanted to see him again. And why she shouldn’t trust him. And how things on the ranch just didn’t add up—the run-down condition, the lack of help and Jeb’s late-night jaunt into town despite Sass’s pleas otherwise.
Was there a reason to be suspicious? She’d never known Jeb to be of a shady character. In fact, she’d always admired him for his steadfast integrity and work ethic. Her father had said as much, too.
Maybe she was just looking for something to hate him for. Something she could pin on him in order to permanently douse the feelings she had for him.
“There was a man I’d swooned over…at one time,” she finally answered, fearing he’d ask again. She wasn’t about to lie to him, but there was no way on the face of this beautiful earth that he’d ever know that that certain someone had been him.
* * *
“He must not have been worthy of you,” was all Jeb could manage to say.
How could any man look past Lydia? She was beautiful both inside and out. Surely, she’d had dozens of men clamoring for her attention and her hand in marriage.
Jealousy lassoed him and bound him tight in no time flat
. He pulled his head to the side, his collar suddenly feeling constricted in spite of the fact that he’d loosed the top two buttons.
“I really should be going to bed,” she breathed, threading her hands together in her lap.
“I thought you were going for a walk.”
Her long and forced and unladylike yawn, tipped his mouth in a grin. “I suppose my walk will have to take place some other time.” She fingered the soft fabric of her white robe, made almost iridescent by the moon’s pearly light. “Although…I’ll be heading back into town tomorrow.”
“Where will you be staying?” Jeb bit back the truth—she had no place to go.
She snapped up her attention to him as he turned toward her. “What do you mean? I told you, I’m staying at the boardinghouse.”
“Lydia…” He set a finger beneath her chin and urged her to look at him.
“What?” When her sweet, warm breath fanned his cheek, every nerve ending in his body came to life.
“I know that Mrs. Gussman doesn’t have room until next week,” he uttered, his gaze moving slowly over her perfect features.
Her face was no more than a foot from his, and the urge to plant a soft kiss on those full lips of hers was almost more than he could bear. The space between them sizzled with attraction, and he knew—he knew—she had to feel it, too. Her eyelids draped heavy over her eyes and her breathing came all soft and short. And he was almost certain he could hear her heart’s rapid beat.
But then her eyelids shot open as if he’d just slapped her across the face. She pulled back. “How would you know? Have you been checking on my—”
“If you’re thinking that I was doing some kind of investigation into your situation, Lydia, no.”
She raised her chin a notch. “I don’t want to be beholden to anyone, Jeb.”
Even though he had a sick feeling that that anyone was him, he shrugged it off. “I’m sure you don’t. I trust that you have your reasons. And I trust you, Lydia. We’ve always trusted each other. Right?”
Brides of the West: Josie's Wedding DressLast Minute BrideHer Ideal Husband Page 21
