Jake Walker's Wife (5 page)

"
Yes," she quoted the same book, "but 'even a child makes himself known by his acts, whether what he does is pure and right.'"

The reverend's jaw sagged and his eyes bugged out. Bess felt fairly certain that her retort stunned him sufficiently, and doubted he'd discuss marriage with
her
any time soon.

The following week,
at the church social, his wife took up the gauntlet. "Don't you sometimes see your girlfriends with their little ones," Mrs. Higgins asked, "and wish you had a baby of your own?"

Years ago, when her friends began falling in love and setting up house, Bess thought maybe there was something wrong with her...that a maternal heart did not beat within her bosom, for she truly didn't yearn for a husband, a home, an infant to suckle at her breast. She'd shared her fears with the Widow Reddick, who owned the general store.

"Bess, my dear," the old woman had said, "babies and husbands are grand, and I've had a couple of each, so I know what I'm talking about. But babies spit up, and husbands, they just plain spit." The joke inspired a round of laughter to bubble from the old woman's throat, and once she'd regained her composure, the Widow said something Bess would never forget: "If you follow those young hens, they might well lead you to a fox in the chicken coop…but your heart won't steer you wrong." She'd placed a withered hand upon Bess's sleeve and added, "When the right man comes along, you'll know it.

"Now, don't you roll your eyes at me, young lady
. I'm tellin' you true! When that man comes along, you'll
want
to make a home for him and give him children. Trust me, there's nothing you won't do...for the right man."

Bess had
been eighteen when she slid that sage advice to the back burner of her memory. Four short years later, standing in the church basement facing Mrs. Higgins' judgmental stare, Bess called upon the strength it had given her. "I have, at any given time," she told the pastor's wife, "as many as ten 'babies' to cook for and clean up after, if you add the care of hired hands to the list of Beckleys. Besides, I think I'm the best judge of when the good Lord calls me to motherhood." From the look on the woman's face, Bess got the idea the pastor's
wife
wouldn't be discussing marriage with her any time soon, either!

As she replayed the all-too-recent scene in her mind, Bess's pencil hovered above the ledger book. In the blink of an eye, the memory of that Sunday,
of the Pastor and Mrs. Higgins, vanished as she thought of Jake Walker…for the hundredth time that day.

H
e had all the outward qualities of the right man...
if
she wanted a husband. Bess grinned at her own silly, romantic notions.
Why, Jake Walker is probably no more interested in you than he is in that hitching post out front
! Giggling to herself, she added,
It's not likely there's a 'hitching' in
his
future!

Still,
he
had
blatantly flirted with her, right from the start. And he
had
, after all, sought out her company, time after time. He'd hinted they were friends. Entrusted her with the one thing that she sensed he hadn't shared with anyone else: his home town, Lubbock, Texas.
Why
he'd keep such a thing such a thing a well-guarded secret paled by comparison to the fact that he'd entrusted her with the information.

Many a night, she lay awake
, hoping Jake would open up to her more. That someday he'd tell her 
why
he'd left Lubbock in the first place. If he did, would she have the strength to be the giving, loving friend he'd need?

Probably not, she thought, picturing the
far-away look that crossed his face every time family or love came up in conversation. It was as though he stood at the fringes of enjoyment, no matter how impersonal, afraid of the bonds that might develop if he got involved. Most curious of all, Bess thought, was the anger that strained his fine features as he watched the warm interaction between Micah and the twins.

Bess noticed all this, and said nothing.

She noticed all this, and went ahead and fell in love with him anyway.

Matt, Mark, and Jake had left before sunrise to mend fences along Foggy Bottom's north acres. It had been a long, hard day, and the boys gladly bedded down when Jake suggested it. They snored contentedly in their bedrolls, Jake took a deep, satisfied breath of early June night air as he stirred the coals beneath the coffee pot. After spreading his own blanket on the dusty earth, he laid back, fingers entwined behind his head, staring into the star-studded sky. As he peered through the branches of the yellow pine above him, Jake smiled, because the tree reminded him of the day, just last week, when he'd seen Bess heading for woods behind the manor house.

He'd told himself he wouldn't follow. That she probably only planned to pick wildflowers for the kitchen windowsill
, gather mulberries for a batch of sweet jam, or hunt up mushrooms for one of her savory soup stocks. Besides, he couldn't spare the time to traipse behind her as she did girlie things.

So
Jake didn't for the life of him understand it when he found himself doing exactly that.

A gold eagle
had screeched overhead, and she didn't duck or lurch with fright. A raccoon scampered across her path before disappearing into the thick underbrush, yet her steps never faltered. It took a white-tailed doe, grazing beside a scrub pine, to alter her pace. She moved slow and steady, and, speaking in low tones, held out her hand to invite the deer to share her sunflower seeds.

During his years as a cowboy, he'd
seen his share of rough-country beasts, but never had one walked right up to a body! From where he stood behind a locust tree, he could see her smiling face and knew how disappointed she'd be when the deer high-tailed it into the woods. He also knew that her disappointment would be short-lived, and that she'd likely shrug and carry on with her walk in the matter-of-fact way that was so typically Bess.

But the doe hadn't run into the woods, as he'd predicted. Instead, it stepped
guardedly—ears pricked forward and tail flicking—right up to her, and after a moment of wary scrutiny, nibbled seeds from her upturned palm. She filled and refilled her palm twice, and, much to his amazement, stroked the deer's sloping forehead!

Grinning
now, he shook his head. He shouldn't have been surprised. Only the day before, he'd seen her in her rose garden, crawling around on her hands and knees, playing what appeared to be a game of hide-and-seek with a rabbit no bigger than her hand. And a few days before that, as she hung freshly-laundered sheets on the clothesline, a chickadee perched upon her shoulder…and stayed there even as she added quilts and embroidered pillowslips to the low-slung rope.

As a boy, his mama had read him
Snow White
. The pretty, dark-haired princess in the fable was so sweet and kind that even the birds and animals recognized her goodness. Bess, with her creamy skin and chestnut brown hair, reminded him of that fairytale princess. So lost in thought was he that Jake never saw the deer meander back into the woods. Never saw Bess turn toward him. Never noticed her head in his direction.

"
Jake Walker, just what do you think you’re doing behind that tree?"

Her sudden appearance had startled him. He thought he'd hidden himself well, but
there was no denying that she had him, dead to rights. He'd pocketed both hands and tried to come up with a reasonable explanation for his presence, but found himself speechless as she crossed both arms over her chest, wicker basket dangling from one wrist.

"Are you spying on me?"

"'Course not," he'd said.

"
Then…if you followed me because you thought I'd get lost, I'll have you know I could maneuver these woods blindfolded."

Fire and ice, his Bess.

Your
Bess? What in tarnation are you
thinking
, man!

Now, as he
laid on the cold ground, staring up at the inky sky, the picture of her, standing there, chin up and shoulders back in proud defiance, made him smile.
She's some woman,
he told himself.
Some fine woman
. Feminine and delicate, she made every other female he'd known—and there had been many—seem like boys by comparison. Unlike them, Bess refused to use her feminine wiles to get her way. She did not weep or whine or behave in coy and flirty ways. Instead, she faced life head-on in a straightforward manner. He liked that. Liked it a lot.

At the thought, his smile faded.
Where's your good sense, you hang-tailed coyote
? Bess was sweet as molasses, and the years had made him bitter. She was innocent as a newborn, and he'd been convicted of cold-blooded murder. She believed a little good lived in every being, and life had taught him that the opposite was true. She had a doting father and brothers who thought she'd hung the moon, while the only family he'd ever known were cold in the ground...or cold and abusive. Surrounded by the warm arms of family and friends, she'd learned trust and love. Smothered by anger and bitterness, Jake had learned hate and mistrust.

They were as different as a mountain lion and a kitten.
Even if she had a mind to marry—and how many times have you heard her say she
doesn't
—she deserves a man who's a long sight better than you, Walker Atwood!
Besides, if he stayed too long in one place, the marshals would catch up with him, for sure.

Jake
wanted a home. A wife and children. Wanted those things as much as the next man. But thanks to his Uncle Josh's testimony in court, he'd live out the rest of his days—however few that might be—alone. Long ago, he'd resigned himself to his sorry fate. But it didn't mean he had to like it.

He faced his biggest dilemma to date:
He'd fallen in love with Bess Beckley, and was powerless to do a blessed thing about it. Because to share a life with her, he'd have to tell her
everything
, and having Bess know about his black past scared him even more than the prospect of dying at the end of a rope.

Jake
rolled onto his side and tugged the scratchy brown blanket closer to his chin, trying to concentrate on other things. Like chores. The weather. It had worked in the past, and he trusted it to work now.

The height of the moon told him it would soon be midnight. He'd warned the boys
that they'd rise before sunup and head out to repair the east-boundary fences.
Practice what you preach,
he thought;
if you don't get some shut-eye soon, you're gonna have a powerful grouch on all day.

He closed his eyes and tried to snooze.

Jake's muscles and joints ached from his long, hard day of riding the fences, and despite rawhide gloves, his hands and forearms were scratched and pock-marked from stretching miles of razor-sharp barbed wire and replacing rotting posts.
You're getting soft
, he scolded, groaning as he rolled onto his back again.

Suddenly, he felt as ancient as Bess's father, though Micah was easily sixty and
Jake hadn't lived thirty years yet.

Yes, he felt old. Old, and tired, and more alone than he'd ever felt in his life.

***

"You gonna sleep all day?" Matt asked, nudging
Jake's boot with the toe of his own. Jake yawned and blinked. "You better have a pot of coffee boilin'," he growled, "or you're gonna pay for that kick."

The boy snickered. "Coffee's been perkin' for half an hour. Thought for sure the smell of bacon fryin
g would rouse you."

Jake
levered himself up on one elbow. In the months he'd been at Foggy Bottom, he'd grown quite fond of these two young men. Either could have harbored a grudge against him for getting the job their father should rightfully have given to them. Instead, they'd bluntly admitted they'd accumulated neither the talent nor the wit to run the farm. It seemed they sensed they could learn plenty from Jake…if they'd let him be their teacher. So they followed him, like adoring pups, waiting for whatever scraps of knowledge or advice he tossed their way.

And he'd taught them plenty since arriving at Foggy Bottom. They'd always been hard-working farm boys, but now they could cut a calf from a herd and hog-tie a heifer with the best of men. When he'd arrived, Matt and Mark could hold their own on horseback, but lately
—partly because they tried to mimic his style, and partly because they'd developed a heap of self-confidence—they sat taller in their saddles.

Jake
got to his feet and rolled his bedding into a tight cylinder. As he stowed it among his gear, he thought back several weeks, to the conversation he'd had with Micah:

"I've got to thank you for what you've done for my boys," the old
er man had said. "Since their mama died, I've sort of thrown myself into my work; gets my mind off missing Mary."

When
Micah stared off into space, Jake realized the man wasn't focusing on the dense pine forest, the contented cattle that grazed in the field beyond it, or the brown-board fences that hugged the property on all sides.