It seemed like she was going to be okay. Physically.
He’d read enough on the internet, though, to recognize immediately that the emotional scarring could be worse than the physical pain. If that were true, he had no idea what to do. He couldn’t really imagine anything worse than the pain and the blood, but the crying that she had done this evening had ripped him raw.
It hurt almost as badly that she didn’t want him to touch her.
Any time before when he’d been hurt emotionally—he wouldn’t even have admitted that he was hurt—he’d just go and work it out. Something hard. Like digging up a septic tank. Changing tires on a tractor. Painting the barn, with a toothbrush. Okay, so he hadn’t ever actually done that last one, but he’d been tempted to hand one to Spencer when he’d gotten home from school. Thankfully the boy had been outside with Bill until dark and had been satisfied with Boone’s answer of “she’s sick” when he’d asked where his mother was.
But Boone couldn’t go outside and work while Roxane was inside, crying.
The cold air felt good. Sharp and hard on his feet, especially, but good in the way it gave him something to fight against. Something to win against.
He didn’t have a problem thinking about the child they’d lost. A daughter, if Roxie were right, as she was so sure she was.
It was easy to picture her in heaven, laughing and running around with the other children. According to the numbers he’d seen while looking it up, because how could he not, three thousand children per day joined her.
He wasn’t a heaven scholar, but he did think that time was maybe different there. But he had no doubt where his child was. It was almost a blessing to think of her safe in the arms of Jesus. He’d be a better father than Boone, anyway.
But being a good husband was what concerned him now. He felt like he was failing.
Maybe Roxane blamed him for the miscarriage. The last words she’d spoken to him had been asking him to carry her in. Other than yes or no when he offered her water and food.
He could only pray that tomorrow was different.
Chapter 18
By Tuesday, Roxane was out of bed. The pain had stopped at least. Physical pain.
Rationally, she knew the hormones were messing with her head, so she felt she was better off not saying anything than saying a bunch of stuff she’d regret.
Like the miscarriage was Boone’s fault. It wasn’t true. She knew it. But she still wanted to say it. To blame him. To have a place to vent her anger.
Thing was, she knew he’d take it. She could scream at him and say as many hurtful things as she wanted, and her husband would stand and take it. As sure as she knew her name, she knew that to be an indisputable fact.
Maybe that was why she couldn’t do it.
With a lot of effort, she was able to act almost normally for the few hours per day that she saw Spencer.
Otherwise, she avoided Boone. He went to bed with her. But she couldn’t stand for him to touch her. Not for comfort, not for warmth, not for anything. She wasn’t sure why. Hormones making her crazy probably.
Rationally, again, she could see it was wrong, but she couldn’t keep from feeling like she couldn’t stand to be touched.
How did one come to terms with the death of their child? How could she just keep on living like nothing had happened? Like the life had never been there?
The pregnancy calendar she’d had on her phone mocked her every morning with a notification and a short fact about her baby’s development.
The bib that she’d picked up on an impulse buy at the feed store the last time Boone and she had gone in for supplies lay faceup on her dresser. It had a picture of a green tractor and said, “My daddy drives a Deere.” It had hit all of her pregnancy-hormone-induced buttons, and she smiled every time she looked at it.
Not anymore.
There were the messages on social media asking how she was feeling and how her morning sickness was going and the worst, a text from her friend who’d just been here that said she had a gorgeous husband and their baby was sure to be beautiful.
She’d stopped carrying her phone around.
The entire thing was just too painful.
But the Monday a week after her miscarriage, her physical symptoms were all but gone and she had to pull herself together. There was a Thanksgiving feast happening at Sweet Water on Saturday, and she was responsible for making it happen. So she put her chin up, dug in, and got to work hanging and arranging the decorations that Boone had helped her make over the last month or so.
“NEED ME TO HELP?”
Roxane couldn’t believe Boone was still offering. She’d declined his help every time he offered, three or four times a day, every day since she started working on Monday. It was Friday lunch time, and he was still offering.
“No thank you,” she said tightly, not looking at him. She didn’t understand why he wouldn’t just leave her alone. She didn’t want to feel anything for anyone. Feeling things for people meant pain, and she’d had enough of that to last her a lifetime.
Boone was a nice man, but she didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to work with him, and definitely didn’t want him touching her. She might break.
“Talk to me, Roxie, please?”
They were in the big ballroom. The same room where her brother had chosen the love of his life.
She hadn’t even told her family she’d lost the baby.
The entire town knew about her pregnancy, thanks to Boone’s big mouth at the auction, but no one knew about the miscarriage.
Unless Boone had told people.
She adjusted a burnt orange ribbon on the cornucopia she and Boone had made before her child had died. “Did you tell anyone?”
“Do you hate me so much you can’t look at me when you’re talking to me?” he returned.
“I don’t hate you.” Her answer was rote and automatic, but still true. The emotions she felt for him were strong, and they weren’t hate. Maybe she hated what she felt. Hated feeling anything.
“Then why are you punishing me?”
“I’m not punishing you. I’m working through the stages of grief.” That was a total crock. She might have known what the stages were at one time, but she wasn’t working through anything. She was protecting herself.
“Couldn’t we work through our grief together?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the pleading in his tone.
She didn’t deserve his kindness nor his patience. Maybe she’d feel better if he actually got angry at her. Probably not. It would only give her ammunition to use against him.
“What grief? You don’t seem to have any,” she snapped at him, moving to the windowsill and the fall-colored leaves that were arranged there. Her accusation was unfair. Just because he wasn’t acting like her didn’t mean he wasn’t grieving. She’d seen his face when they heard the heartbeat. His hand had been held protectively over their child when the first pain started. She knew he grieved.
He put his hand on the windowsill, directly in her line of vision. Her hands stopped, but she didn’t look at him.
He slapped the windowsill. The crack reverberated in the huge ballroom. Roxane flinched.
“I lost my child and my wife. How can I not be grieving?”
She pointed at his face. “Your eyes are dry. I’ve seen you smile. And you walk around like you don’t have a care in the world. If you’re grieving, I’m a moon rock.”
It wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t fair. He didn’t have to show his grief like she did. She didn’t expect him to. He wasn’t dealing with her hormones, either, or the body that still wasn’t fully healed. But she couldn’t keep from striking at him.
He didn’t break down in sobs. His eyes didn’t even water. He stared at her in stony silence.
His jaw jutted out. “I see my child running on the golden streets of heaven. I see her playing with other children and asking Jesus if it’s time yet. I don’t want to die, but when I do, I’m gonna wal
k through those gates and she’s gonna come running. She’s gonna wrap her arms around my legs and squeeze tight, and she’s gonna say, ‘Welcome home, Daddy.’ She’s gonna have your amazing eyes and that stubborn chin and that aristocratic nose that you put in the air every time you have something hard to do, and maybe she’ll have my smile and maybe a dimple, and I’m gonna pick her up and hug her for the first time ever. I’m gonna admire the child that we made together and hold her and get to know her. And all the pain of now will be worthwhile when I see her innocence and joy, and I’ll see clearly then what I only guess at now, and I’ll know that there was no better place for her to grow up, no more love or care or protection that she could have had, even if it meant that I had to wait a little longer to meet her than I wanted.”
He slapped his hand on the sill, not as hard this time, before he turned. “I’m going to haul hay bales.”
His boots clicked on the floor as he walked out.
Tempted to turn and watch him go, even more tempted to run after him, Roxane turned to her left. Mrs. Stryker was standing in the doorway that led to the courtyard.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, walking slowly in. “I heard a big crack and came in to see if you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” Roxane said automatically.
Mrs. Stryker kept walking, and she didn’t stop until she had her arms wrapped around Roxane. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t know.”
Roxane couldn’t do anything but hug her back, clinging to the older woman, the mother of her husband.
“When?” Mrs. Stryker asked, her arms squeezing and feeling good and solid.
“Last Sunday night.”
“Oh, my poor, brave girl. You’ve been hurting all week and working anyway.” She patted her back.
Roxane had known she wouldn’t be able to take the comfort. Not without completely falling apart. She sobbed in Mrs. Stryker’s arms for a long time.
Mrs. Stryker didn’t say anything more, and Roxane didn’t need her to.
When the door opened and Spencer’s voice called out, she couldn’t believe the time that had flown by.
“I need to talk to him.” She pulled away from her mother-in-law.
Mrs. Stryker nodded. Roxane expected her to prompt her to go to her husband and talk to him, too, but she didn’t need the reminder and Mrs. Stryker didn’t give it.
Roxane hurried to the kitchen where Spencer was digging in the fridge. “Hey, honey. I’m glad you’re home.”
He turned, a carrot stick in his mouth. His brow puckered. “Were you crying?” He slowly chewed while fear started to cross his face.
“I was.” She walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “The baby that I was carrying went to heaven and will grow up there.”
His nose wrinkled. “Why?”
She could only answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
“Why are you crying? Heaven’s good, right?” He put the rest of the carrot in his mouth.
“You’re right. It’s good.” She wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. “It just seems like it’s far away sometimes.”
He nodded, chewing, eyeing the pies and other desserts that lined the counter. The refrigerator was bursting with prepared food as well, and Mrs. Sprouse and the two women Roxane had hired would be up before dawn and in the kitchen, cooking.
Roxane knew what her limitations were, and her talents were best suited for decorating and setting up the tables in the ballroom.
But everything that needed to be prepared was ready.
And she had some apologizing to do to her husband.
“Mr. Bill said I could help him clean the barn in case any of the guests wander out there tomorrow.”
“That’s fine. Change your clothes first.” Roxane took one last look around the bustling kitchen, waved at Mrs. Sprouse, and walked out. She needed to find Boone.
It wasn’t hard.
He was standing in front of a red car talking to the blond waitress.
There was a part of Roxane that still felt fragile. Like she needed to hide and heal.
But there was another, bigger part that knew the waitress to be a threat. So she didn’t retreat to lick her wounds that still felt raw but rather strode out of the door and down the path to the car.
Maybe she looked a little militant, because Boone’s eyes widened when he saw her coming. But a corner of his mouth tugged up, and she got the impression he liked the bossy, take-charge aspect of her personality. At least a little. It was the part she tried the hardest to control, and she appreciated the fact that it didn’t seem off-putting to her husband. On the contrary, he seemed to admire it.
He also did not seem to be holding a grudge about her recent behavior.
She, on the other hand, didn’t like how close the waitress was standing, and even though Boone had told her their history, there was a part of her that had been betrayed by Bryan too many times to fully trust.
The smile on her face was obviously fake, but Roxane stopped beside her husband and turned it on the waitress, whose mouth turned down.
What was her name? “Hello, Angela.” She thought that was right.
“Hello. I was stealing your husband for a bit.” A gentle smile eased across her face. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Actually, no. We’ve got a lot going on here, and I needed to talk to him.”
Boone’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. He did, however, put his arm around her. She relaxed against his side. It felt right to be there. There was still pain in her heart, but her thinking had cleared.
“I can’t help you anyway, Angela. I’d have to drive it to hear what tapping sound you’re talking about, and you’d be just as well off going to Boyd’s Garage that just opened on the other end of Sweet Water.”
Angela’s lip came out, and her clear blue eyes filled with water. “I can’t afford it,” she whispered.
A gust of wind blew a whirl of dust across the yard. Spencer came bursting out of the house and went flying by them, yelling that he was going to help Bill.
The silence between them stretched.
Roxane waited for Boone to say that he’d look at her car. But he kept his arm around her and didn’t offer anything.
She had to assume that it was up to her to make the decision to either send her on her way or offer to try to fix it.
Even as a woman, she couldn’t tell if the tears were real. But it didn’t matter. She couldn’t see another person who needed help and not offer to do everything she could to fix the problem. Even if it were a woman her husband had history with.
“You take it to Boyd. I’ll call him as soon as you leave and give him my card number, authorizing payment on any repairs he makes to your car. In return, I ask that you not touch my husband.” She gazed pointedly at Angela’s fingers which were wrapped around Boone’s forearm.
“You two say you’re married. I don’t see rings.”
“It’s my fault,” Boone said immediately. He shifted, and Angela’s hand finally dropped from his arm. “We have a big day tomorrow, but after that, my schedule is clear.” His arm slid down Roxane’s back, and his gaze roved over her face. “Maybe you’d come with me to pick out rings?”
“Hey, Boone! I’ve got a water leak in the barn here, and I need your help.” Bill came out of the barn, running. “I’m grabbing some tools and shutting the valve off.” He disappeared inside the shed.
“I’d better take care of this.” Boone’s voice held concern, but his eyes seemed to wait for Roxane’s nod.
“It’s fine. We’ll talk later.”
He kissed her forehead then turned and ran after Bill.
Roxane hadn’t gotten to apologize, and she was tempted to yell after him as he jogged away. But she didn’t. She turned to Angela.
“I thought you just got married. Where’s your husband?”
Angela’s jaw hardened, but her eyes skidded to the side. “I caught him with one of the stagehand’s wives. We’d been married ten days.”
Her slender shoulders came up and so did her chin. “My parents would take me back, but a divorce would be an embarrassment for them.”
“Do you have family here?”
Angela’s lip trembled just slightly before she smoothed her features. “No. I just knew Clay was here, and his crew members, and they’d always treated me well.”
Roxane felt like Angela had some growing to do, but didn’t everyone? She didn’t want to be besties, not yet, but she gave her a little smile. “Is there really a tapping in your car?”
Angela’s lip pulled back. “Yes. I didn’t make it up.”
“Take it to Boyd. He’ll be fair. And I’ll make sure it gets paid for.”
Angela was quiet for a moment. “Thanks,” she finally said.
“There are signs up all over town, but we’re having a Thanksgiving meal here tomorrow, and you’re welcome to come.” She almost added, only if you can keep your hands off my husband, but she figured that would be catty, and she didn’t want to be mean.
“Thanks. The diner’s closing for it. I’ll be here.” A little smile crossed her face before she turned and got in her car.
Roxane was tempted to walk to the barn and see what Boone was doing. She realized she’d missed their time together, and she felt especially bad since she could see how much Boone had been hurting too. And she’d shut him out. That had been foolish on her part. Even if he weren’t hurting, she was his wife, and she couldn’t indulge in catering to herself and excluding him. Not if she wanted her marriage to be strong.
She could have a rock-solid marriage with Boone. It was really up to her. If she could get past her fear and be willing to trust. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been shutting him out. It hurt too much to share the pain. But her selfishness had been hurting him.
She walked past the kitchen and into the ballroom, running a hand over a perfectly set and decorated table. The decorations were done, the places set, the tables arranged at one end so people could dance at the other end. The speakers were built in, and she had the music chosen. Everything would be perfect...if she was able to fix things between herself and her husband.
Cowboys Don't Buy Their Bride at Auction Page 16
