Jake Walker's Wife (2 page)

And maybe, he'd love her truly.

Either way, it didn't matter: There'd never be wedding bells in Bess Beckley's future. She'd vowed the day they lowered the fancy brass-trimmed casket into the ground that she'd never marry, because she didn't possess the strength to withstand the demands of such a union. She'd seen how marriage had changed the boys and girls she'd gone to school with, how it had worn her poor ma to a frazzle; if a husband and young'uns meant giving up her
self,
Bess would just as soon live out her life alone.

Besides, her father had been a fun-loving, high-spirited male while his dear Mary lived.
Since her death, Micah rarely spoke, and smiled even less. If losing a beloved spouse could so drastically alter the character of a man as strong as Micah had been, well, how could she—a woman with so few years of living behind her—even
hope
to endure pain like that?

So this year, like every other, Bess
would see to it that her so-called suitors returned home after the fall harvest, untethered, but with their male egos firmly intact. "I'm too busy taking care of Pa and the boys and the house and the books," she'd gently explain, "to be a proper wife to any man." And that much, at least, was true.

Bess sighed. Maybe, this year she'd
get lucky, and every man on the wagon would already have a wife and children back home. And, if there was bachelor among them, he'd have a lovely fiancé waiting for him.

The wagon stopped in the shade of the giant oak beside the drive, halfway between the house and the barn. Micah climbed down from the driver's seat and took her in his arms. "Bess, darlin'," he said, "you're sure a sight for
my sore ol' eyes."

"Welcome back, Pa." She'd never grow tired of their now-routine greetings. But it would be wonderful, Bess thought, to see Micah's wide practiced smile reach his eyes for a change.

Forcing the wish from her mind, she stuffed one hand into her apron pocket. "Why don't you gents get washed up over there," she suggested, pointing to the pump beside the house. "I'm sure you're hot and tired after your long ride."

All five of them quickly
climbed down from the wagon. As her twin brothers took turns introducing each field hand to their sister, Bess nodded politely. Her hope that they'd be married or engaged died, as it always did during this initial inspection.

They were drifters, every last one of them. Their eyes, dulled by years of hard luck, brightened slightly at the prospect of having a cot and three squares a day, if only for a few months. And their smiles, dimmed by a lifetime of misfortune, widened a bit as they reckoned with the fact that, in exchange for their hard work, they'd earn a fair wage. Where her father found these ragamuffins had always been a mystery to Bess. But each and every year, he managed to round up half a dozen or so misplaced wanderers, all so different, yet so much alike.

All but one, that is.

For one thing,
he'd ridden in on a horse of his own. For another, while the others loudly introduced themselves, he didn't say a word. His clothes, unlike theirs, had been recently laundered, and he stood head and shoulders above the rest. More than anything else, it was his
eyes
that captured Bess's full attention. Pale blue and darkly-lashed, they bored into hers with such fierce intensity that despite the heat, a chill snaked up her spine.

Unconsciously, she took a small step
backward, remembering the day when, for her tenth birthday, her father had taken her to Baltimore. She'd been sitting on the bench outside the bank, waiting for Micah to complete his business when a commotion down the street caught her attention. She’d raced to the corner to see what had caused all the fuss and bother. Peering around men twice her size, she spied a huge, iron-barred cage. What had Amos Parker captured for his Traveling Wild Animal Show this time? she'd wondered, wending her way to the front of the crowd. Almost immediately, the pacing, panting wolf came into view. She got close enough to run a hand through its shaggy grey coat—had she been able to summon the courage to poke that trembling hand through the bars.

Instead, Bess stared into
the creature's round, golden gaze. The moment hung like a spider web, durable, yet delicate. And like a fly in that web, she felt trapped and transfixed, because it seemed as though the beast was trying to send her a message on the invisible thread that connected their eyes and hearts and souls.

This
handsome man before her now wore the same wary, insightful expression as that beautiful, wild creature. And, just as she had during her youthful encounter with the wolf, Bess shivered.

"There's the water pump, right over there beside the porch," Micah
said. His reminder, thankfully, rescued his daughter. "Feel free to freshen up whilst Bess, here, gets our grub on the table."

Her brothers headed
up the short, orderly line of men who waited their turn at clean, clear water, chatting quietly, nodding, smiling.

Except for
him
....

"This here's
Jake Walker," her father said, a hand on the big man's shoulder.

Jake
Walker
. Even his name sounded powerful. "Pleased to meet you," she said, fidgeting with the ruffled hem of her apron. Difficult as it was, she tore her eyes from his and looked at her father. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, Pa."

She got an eerie 'somebody's watching' feeling as she walked toward the back porch
and climbed the steps. One glance over her shoulder confirmed it. He grinned when she reached out and missed the door handle, and despite herself, Bess grinned back. Then, feeling suddenly silly and clumsy, she hurried inside, letting the screen door bang shut behind her.

But no
thing…not pouring cool water into tumblers, nor dipping hot stew into deep crocks, not even setting steaming bowls of butter beans and corn in the center of the long trestle table blocked the memory of his penetrating stare. Something burned behind those ice-blue orbs. Something mysterious and (dare she even think it!) something dangerous.

Again, Bess pictured the wolf.

Again, she shivered.

Deep voices and masculine laughter interrupted her thoughts. "Pull yourselves up a chair, boys," Micah was saying as he took his seat at the head of the table. "Don't be shy, now. Help yourselves. Dig in and eat up."

While the others got situated, her brothers joined her in the kitchen. "Hey, there, Bessie-girl. Did you bake me a cherry pie, like you promised?" Matthew asked, kissing her cheek. "Why, I've been dreamin' 'bout it for miles."

Bess reached up to hug her younger brother. "You're big and strong as a man twice your age," she said, laughing softly, "but you don't behave a day over fourteen."

His twin, Mark, playfully shoved Matthew aside. "Maybe that's 'cause he
ain't
a day over fourteen...least not 'til tomorrow," he said, getting a sisterly hug of his own. "Will you put a candle in the center of our birthday pie, and wish us a hundred more happy birthdays?"

"Don't I always?" She gave the boys a motherly shove. "Now, get in there and eat,
the both of you, before your food gets cold, and let me worry about the birthday party...if there's going to be a party at all...."

Micah got to his feet.
"Enough tomfoolery. It's time we said the blessing and let these hungry men eat. These boys have a big day ahead of 'em tomorrow."

Mark and Matthew obediently took their seats as Bess stood in the doorway, lowered her head, and folded her hands.

"Dear Lord above," Micah began, "we thank You for our countless blessings, for our health and home and hearth. We especially thank You for our dear, sweet Bess, here, who made a tasty feast of this bounty You have so generously provided. We thank You for providing us with strong, honest men again this year, men who'll help us tend and harvest our crops. In Your most holy name, Amen."

Micah introduced h
is daughter to each man at the table, then pulled out the chair nearest his. "Come, sit and eat with us, Bess."

"Now, Pa, there'll be time enough for me to eat later," she said matter-of-factly.

Like a mama hen, Bess walked among the hands, each slouched eagerly over steaming bowls of stew. "Is it good, boys? Don't be shy now, there's plenty more!"

"Ain't you gonna set at the table with us, ma'am?" the man named Jeremiah asked.

The only chair left was the one beside her father's...and directly across from Jake Walker's. A glance was enough to tell her he'd realized the same thing, for his mustachioed mouth slanted in a wry grin.

"We'd be right pleased if you'd join us," he drawled. And without taking his eyes from hers, added, "Ain't that right, boys?"

The men stopped talking and chewing and reaching for food long enough to nod and voice their agreement. Matt, true to his nature, said, "But before you get all good and comfy, sister dear, would you mind refillin' the biscuit basket?"

"We could use more 'taters, too," his twin put in.

Jake stood, ignoring the dull squeal of his chair as it grazed the polished pine-planked floor. In an instant, he was beside her, one big hand pressed lightly to the small of her back. "Y'all just settle down there, Miss Bess. I'll fetch the biscuits and the 'taters for you," he said, pulling out her chair. Then, with what looked suspiciously like a sly wink, he added, "Is it all right if I call you Miss Bess?"

She forced herself to look away from his tantalizing smile and focused on her father. "'Miss Bess' indeed!" she repeated, grinning as she put her hand on Micah's shoulder. "Tell him the rules, Pa."

Micah cleared his throat and blotted his bearded face on a napkin. "We don't stand on ceremony around here, Jake. While you're at Foggy Bottom, you're family. I'm Micah. That's Matt and Mark. And this is..."

"
…just. Plain. Bess," she finished.

Jake
leaned close and whispered into her ear, "Nothing plain about you, if you don't mind my sayin'."

The nearness of him and the boldness of his statement caused her to inhale sharply. It amazed her that even after the long ride from Baltimore to Freeland, he smelled like fresh hay and bath soap. His compliment echoed in her mind. She'd always seen herself as quite ordinary, especially when compared to her mother's dark, natural beauty. But the way
Jake looked at her made Bess feel anything
but
plain.

Not knowing what else to do, Bess dashed into the kitchen to fetch the biscuits and potatoes. When she returned,
Jake was still standing where she'd left him, beside the empty chair. He took the bowls from her, put them unceremoniously on the table, and returned to his own seat. "So, will you be joining us, Just Plain Bess?" His words, his gentle smile, even his voice belied his flirtatious attitude.

For a reason she couldn't explain, her heart fluttered in response. "I...I think I'd best get busy scrubbing those pots and pans instead," she said, heading back into the kitchen. "If you gentlemen need anything," she added over her shoulder, "just whistle."

Before she even reached the kitchen pump, Bess heard the sweet, soft imitation of a songbird. Grinning, she wondered which of her ornery brothers had done it.

"Say,
Jake," one of the men said, "when you're finished chirpin', how 'bout passing the peas?" As she listened to the chorus of male laughter, Bess pumped water into the dishpan.
Oh, you're going to have to keep an eye on this one,
she warned herself, adding hot water from the kettle.

A mighty close eye....

***

Hours later,
Jake lay back on his bunk, trying to remember when he'd last felt as contented. The bedsheets beneath him smelled like sunshine and spring breezes. Beside his cot, a three-drawer bureau. He'd only needed the top one to stow his gear. A man on the run had to travel light, for he never knew when he'd be hitting the road in a hurry.

Smiling, he patted his full belly. Yes, his stay at Foggy Bottom w
ould be pleasant, all right...though six months was a long time to stay in one place. Did he dare risk it?

He stared into the darkness for a long time, hands clasped under his head, thinking about Bess. She was beautiful, with a waist so tiny he could
likely encircled it with his hands, and feet so small he wondered how they held her upright. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder, even in the high-heeled boots that had peeked out from beneath her lacy petticoats as she'd scampered up the porch steps.

Would
her hair feel as soft as it looked? Frowning, he tried to come up with a word that described the luxurious color.
Chestnuts,
he decided after a moment.

And those eyes, big and round as a fawn's.
Jake didn't think he'd ever seen longer lashes. The sadness in her eyes confused him, though; Bess had a rich daddy, brothers who adored her, a home that was more mansion than house.
What on God's green earth does
she
have to be sad about
?

Surely
she'd never felt the hot sting of the buckle end of a belt, or spent days locked up in a dark root cellar. Certainly Micah had ever forced her outside on a cold, windy night to teach her to appreciate the roof over her head, and Jake didn't suppose she'd ever been forced to memorize Bible verses when she got the wrong answer on an arithmetic problem, or stand in front of the entire congregation and admit she'd gone fishing rather than attend mid-week services. She probably didn't know what it was like to sit at a food-laden table and not be allowed to eat because she'd nibbled at the crust of a pie without first asking permission....