Daniel's Bride, page 25
“Your son,” Jolie replied, without missing a step, “might well be a daughter. And before I make any promises, Mr. Beckham, I want one from you.”
He arched one eyebrow and studied her suspiciously. “Such as?”
“Such as, you have to swear by all that’s holy that you won’t go near the saloons and have truck with women like Pilar.” The force of Jolie’s conviction carried her past the wall of trepidation that so often kept her from challenging Daniel.
Her husband considered her statement for entirely too long a time, it seemed to Jolie. “A man has—”
“Don’t you dare say a man has needs!” Jolie interrupted, in an outraged whisper. “So does a woman, and the freedom to trust her husband is one of them!”
Daniel reared back slightly and grinned, pretending she’d struck him. Then he was serious again. “As long as you’re a proper wife to me,” he said, “I’ll be a good husband to you. That’s as close to a promise as I care to get.”
Jolie was by no means satisfied with his answer, but it was still a night of breathless jubilation. Daniel had changed his mind about sending her away and, with any luck at all, he’d grow so attached to Gemma and Hank that he wouldn’t be able to let them go, either. She reached up to open a button of his shirt. “I’d be interested to hear your idea of a ‘proper wife,’ Mr. Beckham,” she said.
The warm, hairy flesh of his chest quivered almost imperceptibly under her fingers as Jolie undid yet another button. “Jolie … ”
She continued unbuttoning Daniel’s shirt until it gaped to his midriff, and he made no effort to stop her. When she pushed the fabric aside and brazenly flicked a masculine nipple with the tip of her tongue, he let out a low groan.
“Tell me about proper wives, Daniel,” she teased, in a purring tone, making a little circle of kisses around the taut nubbin. “What do they do?”
Daniel’s big hands gripped her shoulders, and he pressed her to the bed with a gentle ease, her legs dangling over the side of the mattress. In a single motion, he stripped away her nightgown and tossed it aside, and her partially braided hair unfurled like a glistening banner across her breasts and belly.
“They give,” he said hoarsely. “They give and they take and they give some more.” He peeled off his shirt while he was kissing her, while he was claiming and exploring her with his tongue, but later she had no recollection of how he shed the rest of his things.
He gripped her ankles in his hands and knelt beside the bed, murmuring that the lamplight looked like spilled honey on her skin. When he began to taste that honey, to savor it, Jolie was utterly lost.
Her heels delved deep into the mattress as she raised herself to Daniel in fevered offering, and he enjoyed her without hesitation. Finally, he turned her, so that she was kneeling, and made her ride the tip of his tongue into the very core of creation. He weighed and fondled her breasts with his hands while her body performed its ancient dance of pleasure and surrender.
Jolie was still responding long after the peak of satisfaction had been reached, and Daniel allowed her that sweet interlude. He stretched out on the bed with her, holding and caressing her while she floated through the different stages of descent.
When she was utterly relaxed, Daniel settled himself between her thighs. They both knew she would ignite like a brushfire the instant he entered her; no matter how thoroughly he’d attended her beforehand, Jolie always went wild when their bodies were joined.
That night was no exception. What was different, however, was that Daniel made no effort to muffle her cries of ecstasy as he usually did. It was an interval of enchantment, a time out of time.
There was a chill in the air the next morning, and a shifting layer of snowy fog lingered over the land long after Deuter had taken Gemma and Hank off to school in the wagon.
Daniel had apparently finished the morning chores when Jolie carried a jug of cream to the well house for chilling. He followed her, and lifted her skirts, and tended thoroughly to her pleasuring. The cold, dank air turned to tropical heat as Jolie moved in concert with the ancient rhythm.
Around midday, Verena Dailey dropped by in her buggy, a large basket at her feet. “Let’s go and greet these new neighbors I’ve been hearing so much about,” she called to Jolie, who was scattering feed for the chickens. “I know I could make their acquaintance on Sunday, but I can’t wait that long.”
Smiling, Jolie nodded and hurried into the house to get one of the two rhubarb cobblers she’d baked that morning.
Enoch was hammering industriously in the barn when the two women arrived in Verena’s rig. Mary came out of the house straight away, with a shy smile lighting her face and her children clutching at her skirts.
Jolie made introductions, and Mary accepted the basketful of preserves from Verena, as well as the rhubarb cobbler from her sister-in-law, seeming sincerely pleased. The three of them were chatting happily when Enoch came in to wash his hands and eye the cobbler with undisguised interest. As always, that mischievous light was dancing in his eyes.
He was properly presented to Verena, and she was charmed by his good looks and easy manner.
“We’ll be expecting you and Daniel for dinner Sunday, after church,” Mary said, as Jolie and Verena were preparing to leave. “Please say you’ll join us as well, Mrs. Dailey.”
Verena smiled and accepted graciously.
“There’s nobody like a Southerner when it comes to winsome manners,” the older woman observed, as she took up the reins of her buggy. “That Enoch could smile the garters right off an old maid, and Mary makes a person feel like she’s just been living for them to come calling.”
“They’re nice people,” Jolie said, but she couldn’t help the way her mind shifted to Nan. She wondered if her friend had really gone and moved into Mr. January’s household as planned.
“But?” Verena prompted gently, confident as she guided the single horse pulling the rig.
“The Culleys were fine folks, too,” Jolie said, twisting her hands together in her lap. “They were happy, just like Enoch and Mary are now.”
Verena nodded her understanding of Jolie’s sentiments, but her words were typically practical. “There are some things we have to accept at face value, Jolie, trusting that it will all come right in the end. I reckon the good Lord figures there’s a lot we plain don’t need to know, and I’d guess He’s right.”
Jolie was beginning to comprehend Daniel’s reserve more clearly; something inside her feared taking the risk of caring for Enoch and Mary and their little family the way she had for Nan and Joe Culley. Life was so short for some, and fragile as a wisp of dandelion fluff. “I believe Daniel and I are going to have a child,” she announced, in order to shift her mind to happier things.
“When?”
“Sometime in May.”
With a smile, Verena nodded. “You’ve been good for Daniel,” she said. “From the glow I see about you, Mrs. Beckham, the pair of you have been getting along for once.”
There was a quiet, fragile happiness unfolding inside Jolie, though she knew her marriage would never be the stuff of storybooks. “We’ve been getting along,” she confirmed, looking away to hide the slight blush rising in her cheeks.
The days that followed were some of the most joyous Jolie had ever spent. While Daniel and Deuter prepared the fields for spring, she cooked and cleaned and sewed. Her stomach grew rounder and Blake Kingston was trundled north to Fort Deveraux because the army wanted a word with him about some horses they were missing. She and Mary formed a fast friendship.
The only thing that really troubled Jolie during that blissful period was the fact that Nan had indeed taken up residence in Mr. January’s fancy house. Every time Jolie had tried to pay a call, the doll-size Chinese houseboy Ira had brought in from San Francisco had come to the door with a note that said Mrs. Culley “wasn’t receiving.”
Jolie’s life was full and busy and, after a while, she left off the visits because they were always unproductive.
By the time the end of October rolled around, and the first flakes of snow came wafting down from a gray afternoon sky, Jolie had almost forgotten that Rowdy Fleet existed. She was driving the buckboard to town to meet Gemma and Hank in front of the schoolhouse when the outlaw rode out from behind a stand of poplar trees fronting an abandoned homestead and blocked her way.
Instantly, a mist of perspiration covered Jolie’s skin, but she was damned if she’d let that devil’s house pet see that she was scared. She raised her chin and the forty-five hidden beneath the folds of her skirt in simultaneous motions.
Rowdy laughed as he looked down the steady barrel of the pistol. “Fiery lady like you almost makes a man yearn for the honest life,” he said. If he was afraid, he was hiding his fear as well as Jolie was hers. His horse moved fitfully in the rutted path Daniel and the others generously referred to as a road, perhaps sensing some agitation in its master. “Where did he hide the money, Mrs. Beckham?”
Jolie wrinkled her nose, forgetting her fear for a moment of true bewilderment. “Where did who hide what money?”
Rowdy spat, and the gesture was rife with furious frustration. “Kingston. He stashed the five hundred dollars we got from the bank in a barrel in your barn. I went back to get it, and every cent was gone.” Ignoring Jolie’s pistol, he drew his own and cocked it. “The two of you planned this, didn’t you? You and Blake. He talked a lot about the both of you starting over someplace else, and that money would have made a mighty hefty stake.”
It was news to Jolie that Rowdy and Blake had hidden the loot from the bank robbery on Daniel’s property, but the discovery did explain why the two of them had kept coming back the way they had. They’d been checking on saddlebags full of federal notes.
“Whenever Blake started talking about making a life with a woman, he was just dreaming,” she reasoned, with a tranquility she certainly didn’t feel. “You knew that long before I did, Rowdy. And you also know he’d never trust me enough to tell me where the money was. He obviously planned on cutting you out and keeping everything for himself.”
A muscle flexed under Rowdy’s stubble of beard. “He won’t get away with this.”
Somewhere, Jolie found the audacity to shrug. “Looks like he’s already done that.”
The noise of an approaching wagon made Rowdy’s horse downright jittery, and its rider waved the forty-five threateningly. “I’ll be hiding in them trees over there. You tell whoever’s comin’ that you’ve seen me, and I’ll drop ‘em right before your eyes. And as soon as I’ve pulled back the hammer again, I’ll shoot you, too.”
Jolie swallowed. Rowdy had killed at least once before, and she knew he wasn’t making an idle threat, like some men would. “All right,” she agreed, and held her breath as he rode toward the shelter of the popular trees.
After a moment’s hesitation, she realized it would look strange for her to be just sitting there in her wagon, square in the middle of the road, and whistled softly to get the horse moving again.
Enoch’s buckboard came over the rise only an instant or so later, and he drew up alongside her as the two wagons came abreast. A wispy layer of gossamer snow glistened on the boxes and bags in the bed of Enoch’s rig and along the brim of his hat. His grin showed teeth every bit as white as the flakes tumbling down around them.
“If you’re going after Hank and Gemma,” he said, “don’t trouble yourself. They’re over at the mercantile with Daniel, chewing on peppermint sticks while he stands around the fire jawing about the best time to plant.”
Jolie’s smile was a bit thin and brittle; she was too conscious of Rowdy lurking only a few yards away to carry on a normal conversation. The outlaw was probably thinking about shooting Enoch through the heart or the head, just for the sport of it. “I’ll just go along and join them,” she said, in a voice she barely recognized as her own. “I need a jug of molasses and some blue thread anyhow.”
Enoch touched the brim of his hat, released the brake lever he’d been holding with one booted foot, and drove off. It took all Jolie’s strength not to turn and watch him go, and her entire body was stiff with tension as she got her own rig moving again. She expected to hear a shot at any moment.
By the time Jolie brought the buckboard and the big draft horse to a stop in front of the general store, the snow was falling in earnest and she was shaking like a feather in a high wind.
She entered the mercantile, huddling inside her heavy woolen cloak, her cheeks stinging from the cold, and sought Daniel out with her eyes. He was standing next to the stove, drinking coffee and listening politely while Elden Small went on about the good old days before things got so “derned modern.”
Her lips formed his name, but she never knew for sure whether she’d spoken aloud or not. She didn’t always have to, with Daniel; oftentimes, he heard things she was only thinking about voicing just as if she’d said them aloud. The phenomenon worked in reverse, as well.
His brows knitted themselves together for a moment, in a ponderous frown. Then he set the metal coffee mug on top of the potbellied stove with a clank and approached.
“What is it?” he asked, his hands closing around her elbows, supporting her, feeling blessedly good and strong. “Jolie, what’s happened?”
She imagined herself telling Daniel about her encounter with Rowdy Fleet and was immediately filled with new fear. If she breathed a word of what had happened, Daniel would rush right out to track the outlaw down. Despite his formidable physical strength and substance of character, Mr. Beckham would be no match for such a man; he could never comprehend Rowdy’s devious ways and animal cunning.
She thought quickly, desperately, and blurted out on impulse, “I went by the school to fetch Hank and Gemma and they weren’t there.”
It was a very poor lie, and Jolie knew it, but it was the best she could do on such short notice. If Enoch mentioned meeting Jolie on the road, and he and Daniel worked together almost every day, he might well say he’d told her the children were with his brother at the mercantile.
Daniel’s eyes still looked a little troubled, though he smiled. “They’re here,” he assured her quickly. “Safe and sound.”
Jolie lowered her eyes, not wanting Daniel to see that she’d deceived him, that her surprise and relief were all pretense. “Thank heaven,” she said. She meant those words with her whole heart—she and Daniel and the children were safe for the moment— and her trembling was entirely real.
“Sit down,” Daniel ordered quietly, ushering Jolie into the circle of men that surrounded the stove and pressing her into a chair. Bold as she was, she would not have dared to breach the invisible masculine boundary on her own.
It was the purest agony, enduring Daniel’s kindness while knowing all the time how utterly furious he would be if he knew Rowdy Fleet was riding free because Jolie hadn’t mentioned her encounter with him. Men thought in wholly different terms than women, she’d learned that much, and there was no reason to believe Daniel would understand that she’d had to lie to save his stubborn hide.
Through the front window, she watched the snow coming down, thick as feathers shaken from some huge pillow. When Daniel summoned the children from the back of the store—they’d been watching a litter of speckled puppies being born—Jolie gathered her scattered wits and stood, pulling her cloak tightly around her.
She’d done the right thing not to tell Daniel about Rowdy, she assured herself, over and over again, following behind her husband’s loaded wagon as they drove homeward through the mounting blizzard.
Yes, she’d definitely done the right thing.
Daniel had ridden his big draft horse to town, so he led the way home through the thickening snow, with Hank perched in front of him, gripping the saddle horn. Jolie and Gemma followed slowly in the buck-board.
As they passed the stand of poplar trees where Jolie had encountered Rowdy earlier, she shivered, not just with cold, but with remembered fear. Other emotions churned in the pit of her stomach, too … remorse for one, confusion for another.
By the time they reached the farm, snow was coming down so thick and fast that Jolie could barely make out the edges of the house.
“Take the kids and go inside,” Daniel ordered, hoisting her down from the buckboard in his usual forthright fashion. “I’ll see to the horses.”
Jolie would have preferred to stay with Daniel, despite the biting chill of that Halloween wind, but she knew her husband’s suggestion made better sense. Taking Hank and Gemma under the folds of her cloak, she hurried toward the house.
Deuter was in the kitchen, and he’d brought two enormous pumpkins up from the cellar. Hank whooped with delight, while Gemma looked at Jolie in bewilderment.
“Are we going to carve jack-o’-lanterns?” Hank cried, peeling off his coat, hat, mittens, and scarf.
Jolie was helping Gemma out of her cold-weather gear when Deuter answered.
“Yep. And we’ll make ‘em fierce-looking enough to scare off any witches or ghosts that might come sneakin’ around here tonight.”
How about outlaws? Jolie thought miserably. Would two jack-o’-lanterns frighten Rowdy Fleet away? “Daniel could use some help putting the buckboard away and taking care of the horses,” she said in a quiet tone, pulling chairs nearer the stove and hanging their snow-dampened things to dry.
Deuter wasn’t wearing his hat, being inside, but he touched an invisible brim all the same. “Yes, ma’am.”
Hank had explained something of the process of carving pumpkins to Gemma by then, and both children were so excited at the prospect that they were practically jumping up and down. Jolie settled them at the table, where they could admire the orange giants, and made hot chocolate to chase away the chill.
While the children were having their cocoa, Hank maintaining all the while that nobody in the territory would have bigger, more frightful jack-o’-lanterns than they would, Jolie peeled potatoes and sliced smoked ham for supper.
The kitchen was warm and tidy and full of good smells when Daniel and Deuter came back from the barn. Jolie’s heartbeat quickened when she heard Daniel stomping the snow from his boots on the back step.
