His gaze tracked down her body. As he had noted before, she was certainly curved in all the right places.
Aside from his concerns about her mental condition, he was pleased with what he saw. Perhaps a bit too pleased. He hadn’t wanted the temptation of a pretty wife, but it seemed to be exactly what he got. Hopefully, once she’d recovered and was on her feet, she’d handle the household chores. That was the main reason for taking a bride, he reminded himself.
The sound of a heavy piece of furniture hitting the floor downstairs jerked him from his thoughts. He closed the door and joined his family for supper.
Sunlight streamed through the east window, blinding Nate as he awoke from a fitful sleep. He laid the back of his hand over his eyes and darted a glance at his wife. Still sound asleep, from her position she appeared to have not stirred all night. His long legs swung over the side of the bed and he sat up. He leaned his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.
What had this poor girl gone through to get here? No doubt the trip had not been a pleasant one. Better yet, why would a beautiful young woman put herself through that for a husband? She must have had other offers. He shrugged at the lack of answers. Something wasn’t right, and it left an uncomfortable feeling.
God, I hope she isn’t running from the law.
He quietly washed and dressed and then checked once more on his sleeping wife before he left the bedroom.
Chaos reigned in the kitchen. Julia-Rose sat in the middle of the floor in a soaked nightgown, chewing on the strap hanging from her chair. “Mama.” She reached up with both chubby arms as he approached.
Apparently, the twins had decided to set the table for breakfast. Every place had a knife, and they’d added a spoon to Nate’s. A long trail of milk ran from the door to the table where the milk pitcher sat precariously on the edge. The jar of apple jelly Mrs. Darby had left for them lay smashed on the floor only a foot away from Julia-Rose. Mark and Matt rolled on the floor, punching each other. A bowl of eggs sat on Nate’s chair, and the twins crawled around in circles under the table, barking like dogs.
Nate put his thumb and pinky to his mouth and whistled. Five sets of eyes looked at him.
“Matt and Mark, shake hands. Luke, you and your brother get a cloth from the sink and wipe up the milk from the floor. Matt, clean up the broken jar of jelly, and be careful not to cut your hand. Mark, get that nightgown off your sister and wash her down.”
Without giving them a second glance, Nate retrieved the bowl of eggs and returned it to the pantry. He took out a container and measured oats, salt, and water into a pan and set it on the stove. With a long iron rod, he stirred the coals in the stove from the night before, and added a few pieces of wood.
“Where’s our new mama?” Luke wanted to know as he smeared the milk around.
“Sleeping.”
“Why’s she still sleepin’?”
Nate turned to four curious faces. “She had a long trip. At the moment she’s not feeling too good, and needs extra sleep. Can I count on all of you to behave and be quiet?”
Mark snorted, picked up the baby, and holding her at arm’s length, left the room.
“We’ll be good, Papa.” John and Luke held hands and studied him, their little faces serious.
“Thanks, boys. I appreciate all the help I can get. And remember to help Angel when she’s up and about, okay?”
Two identical heads nodded agreement.
After cleaning up from breakfast, he dropped Julia-Rose off with Mrs. Darby and headed to town.
Lord, I sure hope I didn’t just make the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter 4
Angel turned her battered, sore body, and pulled the covers up further on her shoulders. A door squeaked, and whispers caught her attention.
“Ya think she’s dead?”
“Don’t know. Should we poke her?”
“No.” The whisper got louder. “Papa said let her rest, ‘cause she’s tired from her trip.”
“She looks dead. If she’s dead, Papa would wanna know.”
“No, see her top part? It’s goin’ up and down. That means she’s breathin’.”
She opened her eyes slightly, peeking through her eyelashes. Two identical little boys, hand in hand, stood at the doorway.
They both stared at her for a minute. “Ya think she makes good cookies?”
“Yeah. All mamas do.”
They both edged closer. “Maybe we should wake her up, so she can git started on some.”
As one boy reached out to touch her, the other grabbed his arm. “No. Papa would be mad.”
If she hadn’t been so tired she would probably have enjoyed the conversation. But with the sound of the twins banging into things as they tried to leave quietly, she fell back into a deep sleep.
Saturdays being a half-day in his shop, Nate was home by dinnertime. Silence greeted him as he opened the door. The boys were most likely playing outside somewhere under Mrs. Darby’s supervision. No coffee sat warming on the stove, no aroma of a cooked meal wafted in the air, and the dishes from breakfast were still piled in the sink. His shoes made a cracking sound as they stuck to the tacky kitchen floor.
He trudged up the stairs, and entered the bedroom. Angel was still asleep. She had turned over, so at least she wasn’t dead.
When was the last time the girl slept?
The bed dipped as he sat at the edge and lightly touched her arm. “Angel,” he said softly.
No response.
He tried again, tapping her gently. “Angel, can you wake up?”
The young woman shifted on the bed and moaned slightly. He grinned, and shook her a little harder. His new wife shifted onto her back, and his breath caught at the sight of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Yesterday, with all the confusion, he hadn’t noticed them. She lay there, staring at him, blinking in confusion.
“How do you feel?” He shifted so he could see her better, and the movement placed his hip solidly against hers. A tingle swept through him with the connection, and he fought to ignore its meaning.
“Fine.” Barely a whisper.
He rubbed the new gold band on her delicate finger. “Are you hungry?”
She shrugged her shoulder. “A little.”
“I have soup left from last night’s supper. Do you want some?”
“All right.”
“Why don’t I leave while you get up and dress? Then we can talk.”
He rose and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “I, ah, had to take off your dress last night. It was all wet.”
Her wide eyes, over the edge of the blanket she’d pulled up, caused his words to tumble out. “But I left everything else on. Well, except your shoes and stockings. Oh, and your, ah, corset.”
He coughed and looked away, and edged toward the door. “I brought your trunk up last night. I’ll be in the kitchen.” He waved toward the door. “Just follow the hallway to the end, and the kitchen’s right at the bottom of the stairs.” He closed the bedroom door, and wiped his forehead. Those beautiful blue eyes peering at him did something to his insides.
She looks scared to death.
Angel stared at the door, afraid to move.
This is where he tells me I’m not what he’d expected and I should pack my bags and get back on the stagecoach.
Nate’s hesitancy yesterday, when the nice women were prodding him to get the wedding over with, stung. Now he’d probably thought about it, and realized the last thing he needed was a wife who threw up on him, cried through her wedding, and fell into such a sound sleep that she needed to be carried to bed.
She glanced at the ring on her finger, and twisted it around. Yep, it was real. She had married what seemed like a decent man who was in for the surprise of his life the first time she tried to put a meal on his table. Could accidental poisoning be considered a criminal act?
Angel sighed and swung her legs over the bed. No point in avoiding the inevitable. She shivered when she put her fingers in the water bowl. Cold water. No maid had brought warm water, washing cloths and hot chocolate for her to sip as she selected her outfit for a day of shopping and visiting. Nevertheless, she used the cold water to clean her teeth, and wash up.
The next issue was finding a dress. She rummaged through her trunk, and found one less wrinkled, but definitely not the style the women from yesterday wore. How would Mr. Hale react to seeing her in the yellow silk gown with a bodice trimmed in white lace? The puffed sleeves called for her short white kid gloves.
Not too helpful when slopping the hogs.
She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart, and ran sweaty palms down the skirt to smooth the wrinkles. A quick glance in the mirror over the dresser confirmed what she’d feared. Her hair was a tangled mess, and despite all her hours of sleep, the skin under her eyes looked puffy.
Her gaze drifted over the room reflected in the mirror. His bedroom. Well, hers too, now. Drab olive green walls with brown and green print curtains. A sturdy oak bed, a worn cherry wood dresser. The quilt was a red and blue plaid, and could use a washing. Her stomach jolted.
That would be my job.
Nothing matched, making for a dizzying effect. One oil lamp sat on a small table next to the white pitcher and bowl she’d washed with.
An indentation on the pillow next to hers raised goose bumps on her arms. He’d slept beside her. Interesting. She’d spent her first night in bed with a man, and she’d slept through it.
Nathan Hale was indeed, as he described himself, not hard to look at. His wavy, dark blond hair hung over his forehead, and skimmed his collar in the back. Although just awakened from sleep, she’d been aware of his square-jawed face, and hazel eyes. His broad shoulders had blocked out the sunlight when he sat next to her.
Curly, dark blond hairs had poked out from the open collar of his white shirt. He’d shoved up the sleeves, revealing tanned, muscular arms, feathered with light hairs. His strong fingers had slid over her wedding band. How would it feel to have those fingers touching her, caressing her in sensitive places? Deep in her woman’s spot, something clenched.
Her experience with men was limited to a few kisses stolen in the moonlight, and hands that groped in dark carriages at night, which she’d slapped away. But this was different. This man was her husband, and by law had the right to do more than grope.
She swallowed and glanced again at the bed. Of course, once he discovered her lack of housekeeping skills, she’d most likely be on the next stagecoach back to New York. She pushed the thought from her mind.
Finished with her ablutions, Angel smoothed the covers on the bed and left the room.
Nate stood at the stove, his back to her, stirring something she assumed was the soup. “Go ahead, and take a seat,” he commented over his shoulder as he reached for a clean bowl from the ones stacked alongside the sink. Expertly, he poured the soup, placed the dish and a spoon in front of her. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the pantry, sliced a couple of pieces, and laid them on a plate in the middle of the table. Then he dished soup into another bowl and set it across from her.
He sat down, and after saying a brief prayer began to eat. He reached for a piece of bread, and looked at her. Their eyes met.
“Too hot for you?”
“No. No, I haven’t tried it yet. What kind of soup is it?” She glanced at the red liquid with vegetables and pale chunks floating around in it.
“It’s one of Mrs. Darby’s. She does that a lot. Cooks a meal and leaves it. It’s something with codfish. Try it.” He pointed at her bowl with his spoon.
Angel took a sip of the soup, amazed at how hungry she was. She selected a piece of bread, and not seeing a plate to place it on, held the bread in her hand as she ate the soup. A strange way to have a meal, with the stickiness and crumbs still on the table. Since she was so hungry, she just ate, and didn’t dwell too much on the surroundings.
The soup was thick and flavorful. Even Cook’s soup wouldn’t surpass this fragrant dish. It seemed such a long time since she’d eaten a meal. The bread was moist and delicious. Mrs. Darby was an excellent cook.
Nate got a second bowl for himself, and sliced more bread. He looked at her with raised eyebrows, the soup ladle in his hand. “More?”
She shook her head. As hungry as she’d been, she still found herself full after one serving. Angel pushed the empty bowl away, and regarded him. His face and body was relaxed, content. He appeared to be a man who took the rolls and punches as they came. She guessed with five kids, he would have to be that way.
Her fingers itched to reach out and push back the hair hanging over his forehead. He grinned at her with straight white teeth, a small dimple marking his left cheek. Her heart sped up and a slow warmth began to creep up from her middle.
Flustered, she looked away and studied the room.
Obviously a family with children lived here. Shoes, dirty socks and toys were scattered about. One of the kitchen chairs had a couple of small pillows on it, with a strap dangling down the side.
Must be where the baby sits for her meals.
Once finished with his soup, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his muscular arms over his chest. His gaze settled on her for a couple of beats before he spoke. “I’m sorry we got off to a bad start yesterday.”