He couldn’t understand why he was so piqued by it. It wasn’t as if he cared what she did so long as she didn’t intrude on his life too much.
“Do you have any bed linen?” she asked.
“I do, and I put clean sheets on the bed this morning before I went in to meet you.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry for not being what you thought. Don’t worry, I’ll leave without causing a fuss when it’s time to go. You can trust me.”
Truth be known, he didn’t trust himself, a problem he hadn’t foreseen. Why wasn’t she a hag, then he wouldn’t get this churched up feeling in his stomach every time he looked at her?
Once she left the room, he threw a log on the stove to keep it hot. Pancakes would be great. He tried to divert his thoughts from Jennifer. Was she even now feeding the baby? He had seen her creamy white breast when the kid had lifted his head and had been tempted to push him away and latch on to the nipple himself if it hadn’t been for the snake.
He swore under his breath. What was wrong with him? He tried to think of Roseanne and couldn’t even remember what she looked like. The only picture flitting across his brain was of big blue eyes, milky white skin and corn colored curls.
“Get a grip on yourself,” he muttered as he prowled the room. Finally, he decided to go out and chop some wood to release pent up energy and hopefully chase away these crazy thoughts swirling around in his brain.
With determination to work off this craziness that had suddenly overtaken him, he snatched up the axe from the wood box, strode toward a couple of large tree branches needing to be cut up. He stripped off his shirt and wielded the axe fiercely. Sweat soon poured out of him. He would chop until he dropped if necessary. Don’t go getting any fanciful ideas about wanting anything more than household chores from Jennifer he told himself. And there was the kid, too.
How old would little Laura be now if I hadn’t let her die? Nine, maybe ten. He still had nightmares about it. How could a man be so stupid as to leave a three-year old child playing in a creek on her own while he ducked back to the house to fetch a towel to dry her off? Guilt still weighed him down. He wasn’t fit to be in the same room as a child now.
He had never been particularly close to his brother and this had ended their relationship forever. He could barely raise the axe above his head when he finally stopped. Gathering up an armful of wood, he carried the axe with his free hand and started toward the house.
Jennifer stood on the porch watching Clay work. Stripped to the waist, his muscled arms were tanned as was his chest, where droplets of perspiration dripped off the whorls of dark body hair. He was certainly a fine figure of a man.
Stop thinking like this she scolded herself. Samuel is hardly cold in his grave and she was admiring another man. “He’s your husband,” a little voice whispered inside her head. “But not in the true sense of the word,” the voice of commonsense argued.
“I’ve made you a cup of coffee,” she called out.
“Thanks.” He strode toward the porch carrying his shirt and axe in one hand, a pile of wood in the other. “I’ll wash up before I come inside.” Dumping the logs on the porch he went over to the well to fill a bucket with water.
Jennifer returned inside. It seemed somehow too intimate to stand and watch him washing his body.
Sam was having a nap. It would only be a short one. He would be too hungry to sleep for long. Tomorrow she would have to check and see if Clay had any vegetables. She liked to give the baby at least one meal of vegetables each day. For the moment she would have to make do with some of the oatmeal she had brought with her to make porridge, as her English parents called it, for the baby. It would fill his little belly, along with a few pieces of chopped up pancake mixed with egg yolk. Clay didn’t have any tea; she couldn’t find it if he did. It would have to be weak coffee for her.
He sauntered into the kitchen wearing his shirt, his hair wet and flattened to his head. It was as straight as sticks and needed a cut to her way of thinking.
“Where’s the….” He glanced around.
“Sam is having a nap before supper, the journey tired him out, me too,” she confessed.
“Yeah, you do look tired. It was a big undertaking for a woman to come all this way on her own with a baby in tow.”
“Why do you have to be so dismissive of Sam? He’s only a baby, he’s never done anything to you.”
“Look, Jennifer.” He sat down at the kitchen table and took the coffee she handed him. “I had a bad experience with a child a few years ago.”
She laughed. “Did it pee on you?”
“No. I….I, well you might as well know. I killed her.”
Her hands flew to her face, the breath hitched in her throat.
“I didn’t murder her if that’s what you’re thinking,” he hurriedly added.
“What happened?” She took his hand. His knuckles were bleached white.
He took several shuddering breaths. “Laura was my niece. She was three years old and my brother and his wife got me to mind her while they drove into town. I was staying with them trying to mend a long running family rift.” His eyes darkened with sorrow. “I let her drown.”
Her head jerked back. “Oh, no.”
“I should have watched her all the time, instead I went inside to get a towel and when I got back, she’d drowned.”
“It was a tragic accident. If you weren’t used to children….”
“My brother and his wife blamed me for it, and since the funeral, I’ve never seen or heard from them again. I blame myself. How could a grown man be so stupid and careless,” he berated himself.
“It was a tragic accident, you’ve been blaming yourself for all these years, it’s time you stopped. You’ve punished yourself enough.”
“No, it’s not enough. I deserve to suffer for the rest of my life. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You have to. God would have. It wasn’t as if you did it on purpose. You can’t let one careless mistake ruin your whole life.”
“You think so?”
He looked so vulnerable her heart went out to him. For years he had been in torment for a terrible accident.
“Oh, by the way,” he suddenly changed the subject. “I read an article in the paper about a man with the name of Claymoore.”
She sat bolt upright in the chair; her hands shook.
“He was arrested a few weeks ago for fraud and false pretenses.”
“He was a criminal? I wrote to him pouring out my life story. I feel sick.”
“You had a lucky escape if you ask me. I’m not much of a catch, but I don’t break the law.”
“We’re a good pair, aren’t we?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Yeah, I guess we are.”
Sam toddled up to her. “Mama.”
“What are you doing out here, baby?” She scooped him up.
“He got up off the bed by himself?” Clay asked incredulously. “It’s a wonder he didn’t fall.”
“I made him up a bed on the floor. I was scared to leave him on the bed in case he rolled off.”
“Maybe I could make him a little bed.”
“It would have to have high sides so he couldn’t climb out.”
“I could do that. I’ve got plenty of clean straw and some new canvas, so you could make him a mattress and a pillow.”
“Yes, I could. I’m probably being over-protective but he’s all I’ve got.” All I’ll ever have.
She was beginning to like Clay and she had only known him a few hours. Yesterday she wouldn’t have thought any man could replace Samuel, but now knew, given time, Clay could. The two men were like chalk and cheese. Whereas Samuel was always laughing and joking, Clay was somber and serious. What would it take to lift the deep hurt from his eyes?
Chapter Eight
Three days after Jennifer arrived at the ranch, Clay announced at breakfast that they would go into Laramie to buy any ext
ra stores she needed.
“I’ve got a couple of chores to do first.” He stopped eating his ham and eggs long enough to say. “Will that give you enough time to get ready?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Mm, this is good.” He reached out and took a pancake. “I’ll get fat if I keep eating like this.” He rubbed his stomach.
“Once I buy a few items in town I’ll be able to give you a more varied menu,” she said, feeding Sam crumbled biscuits left over from last night mixed with egg yolk.
“He’s a messy eater.” Clay gave a grimace of distaste.
“He’s still learning. Wait until he starts trying to feed himself, it will be even worse.”
Clay gave a theatrical shudder. “I hate to think what a mess he’ll make.” He stood. “Thanks for breakfast, I enjoyed it.” He stepped away from the table, grabbed his hat off the door peg and left.
Once he was gone, Jennifer finished feeding Sam and placed him on the floor with a couple of pots to play with. He banged them together and chortled loudly. While he was occupied, she cleared the table and did the dishes. She didn’t like untidiness, never had.
Carrying Sam into the bedroom, she made the bed, washed his hands and face and changed him out of his nightclothes. “Now you’re ready for town, it’s my turn.” She tickled him under the chin.
She didn’t have much to choose from. Her only dress other than what she was wearing was the one she had worn on the coach trip. Washed and pressed it looked presentable.
Two blouses and a skirt, a couple of night gowns and undergarments, it wasn’t much, but she had saved most of the room in their luggage for Sam’s things. Maybe she could buy cheap material today and make herself another dress? Her sewing skills were quite good.
It was terrible being so poor. She hated the thought of asking Clay for money other than what was required for food. He certainly wasn’t poor like her, neither was he wealthy as far as she could tell.
After having a quick wash, she changed her clothes. She didn’t know why, but she dabbed some of her precious lavender water on to each wrist and the pulse at the side of her throat.
“Pure vanity,” she told her reflection in the mirror.
As Sam was still happily playing with the pots, trying to push the smaller one into the large one, she released the plait coiled around her head and undid it. Several quick, firm brushes and she pinned her hair up, letting a few loose tendrils curl on the sides of her face. She wanted to look pretty for Clay. “You want him to desire you,” whispered the little voice of honesty inside her head.
She wanted him to make her his wife in every sense of the word, not only because she liked him, but it would secure her and Sam’s future. It was a despicable way to think, yet she had no choice. If Clay banished them after the twelve months was up. What would become of them?
She turned away from the mirror, not being able to look at her own reflection, knowing she was thinking such selfish thoughts. It’s not as if I don’t like him because I do. More than like if she dared to admit the truth.
“I’m back,” he called out.
He had a habit of doing this. Was he afraid of striding into the house unannounced to find her in a state of undress? He was always careful not to come down from the loft bedroom if she had to get up to feed Sam in the middle of the night. He must have heard them or seen the lamplight, even though she kept it turned down.
“I’m nearly ready,” she called back, as she put on her bonnet and adjusted the ribbons under her chin.
She rescued the pots from Sam who let out a wail, which she stopped by giving him her reticule instead. Even if he could get it open, there wasn’t anything in it he could hurt himself with.
Clay had changed his shirt and wore the same vest and pants he had worn when he picked them up at the stage depot. “You look pretty,” he said with a broad grin as he hovered near the bedroom door.
When he smiled at her, butterflies danced deep within her stomach.
“You’re a handsome devil, too.”
He laughed. “If we stop flattering each other, we can leave if you’re ready. What are you doing with pots in the bedroom?” He glanced at her hand.
“Oh, I gave them to Sam to play with while I got dressed.”
He stared at her his startling green eyes unwavering.
“He didn’t do any damage to them,” she hurriedly reassured him.
“I’m not worried about a couple of old pots; doesn’t he have any toys?”’
“No, I couldn’t bring any toys except his teddy bear. I just didn’t have the room in our luggage.”
“Maybe I could make him something to play with if you tell me what.”
“He loves blocks.”
“I could easily make some of those.” Sam toddled out of the bedroom still clutching her reticule.
“I’ll just put the pots in the kitchen then we can go.”
“Don’t worry, leave them here.” He waved his arm around. “Let’s go.”
She rested the pots on the armchair and picked the baby up. “Do you lock your door?”
“No, only close it. Who would come here?”
She followed him out to the front porch and stepped over to the buckboard. Clay plucked Sam out of her arms and stood him on the ground while he lifted her up. His large hands almost spanned her waist. He leaned into her, his breath fanning her face. “You smell good,” he whispered in her ear as he deposited her on the seat.
He turned away to pick up Sam and hand him over to her before striding around to the other side and climbing into his own seat. “Giddup.” He flapped the reins to get the horse moving. It was warm even though it was only mid-morning as the sun had plenty of heat in it.
“It’s going to be a long hot summer,” he predicted with confidence.
They lapsed into silence, although not an unpleasant one. It gave her a chance to glance around at the passing countryside. Something she had been too nervous to do on her way here. It was pretty in a rugged kind of way. Trees grew intermittently in places and cattle dotted the pastures. In the distance, tree covered mountains had a purplish/greyish tinge. Would the highest peaks be covered with snow in the winter she wondered?
You’re a restful person to be with,” he suddenly said. “I don’t like women chattering in my ear all the time.”
“I’ve noticed you’re not much of a talker, or is it only me?”
“I’m not much of a talker.” He grimaced. “I’ve led a solitary life for a few years. My uncle only spoke when he had to. His wife being killed affected him for the rest of his life. They had only been married a short time and she was in the family way, so he lost not only his wife but his child as well. He led a lonely, solitary life until I came on the scene.”
She touched his hand. “Maybe that’s why he wanted you to marry so you wouldn’t end up like him.”
“Maybe.” He frowned. “It was a stupid stipulation.”
“But the Will says you only have to stay married for twelve months, giving you a way to get out of it if you want to.”
“He shouldn’t have done it. Playing God and ruining a man’s life.”
She snatched her hand away. Clay thought she had ruined his life. That really hurt.
“Don’t worry, when the twelve months is up, I’ll leave.” Sam took this opportunity to reach over and swipe at Clay’s face.
“Can’t you control that kid?”
She grabbed Sam’s hand. “He’s only a baby.”
“So, you keep saying.” His hand clenched on the reins. All her hopes of him softening toward the baby were dashed. He resented her and Sam. Why did this knowledge hurt so bad? He had never led her to believe he would grow to like either of them. They were a necessary evil to ensure he kept his ranch. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Chapter Nine
After a fraught journey, with no further words exchanged between them, they reached the outskirts of Laramie. Clay couldn’t belie
ve the way he had lashed out at Jennifer. He was letting his fear of kids and Uncle Bob’s stupidity distort his way of thinking.
She was a pretty gal, friendly, competent and hardworking, so what in tarnation was wrong with him? He was starting to have feelings toward her, and it scared him witless. There, he’d admitted it to himself. He was beginning to think it might not have been such a bad idea to forget any annulment and make her his wife in every way. He sure was attracted to her if his body’s reaction to her was anything to go by. Could it possibly be love? More likely lust.
He cast a sideway glance at her. She clutched the baby on her knee and stared straight ahead. The sadness and hurt in her eyes cut him to the core.
He pulled the buckboard up a little distance away from his usual spot outside the mercantile and jumped down. Why, on the one day he decided to drive into Laramie, everyone else did as well?
He lifted the baby down first and he stood on his tottery little legs hanging on to Clay’s leg as he reached for Jennifer.
“What’s a pretty gal like you doin’ with him,” said a flashily dressed young man lounging outside the barber shop.
Clay itched to punch him in the mouth. “She’s my wife,” he snarled. “You keep away from her.” He picked up the baby and linked arms with Jennifer.
“Not your kid, though.” The man cast a leering grin at Jennifer and Clay was hard pressed not to draw his gun. “Shut your mouth.”
“Wanna make me?”
“Please.” Jennifer tugged at his arm. “I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble. Come on.”
They started walking away.
“Which whorehouse did you buy her from. I’ll double the price you paid.” Clay pulled back toward the man.
“Clay!” She pulled him along. “He’s not worth it.”
He stifled a swear word. One thing he knew for certain, Jennifer was a decent, virtuous woman and for any man to cast dispersions on her morals burned him up. He wasn’t normally a violent man, but he felt like ripping the lowdown varmint limb from limb.
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