Jake Walker's Wife (8 page)

Still, he didn't want
her
to know how weak and inept he was. So he held her tight and stroked her slender back and whispered soft into her ear. "He'll be fine," was all he could think to say. "He'll be just fine."

"If he survives, he could have a limp for the rest of his life!"

Laying a hand against her cheek, he said, "I'd take on his limp, just to have a woman like you caring for me the way you care for that boy." He felt almost as helpless and useless as he had on the day of the fire....In response to her wet-eyed silence, he added, "Doc said he'd likely be all right, didn't he?"

She nodded against his chest.

"And you trust Doc, don't you?"

Again she nodded, a little harder this time.

Jake could feel her warm tears seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He held her at arm's length, and, for a moment, just looked at her. Her long, dark lashes clumped with glistening tears. With the pad of his thumb, he tenderly brushed the dampness away. He hated to see her this way, and searched his mind for a sentence, a phrase, a word, even, that would get her mind off Matt, if only for a moment. "I don't suppose there's a slice of your famous cherry pie in the kitchen...."

She blinked, and the first hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm afraid you're too late for that." Still standing in the circle of his embrace, she brightened a little more, and added, "There's peach cobbler, though...."

He didn't know what possessed him to do it, but without a second thought, Jake pressed a kiss against her lips.

And much to his delight, Bess returned it.

Almost from the moment he brought Matt home after the accident, Jake spent a lot more time in the house than the rest of the hired hands. Though all of the men took evening meals at the Beckleys' dining room table and felt welcome in the parlor or lounging in the comfortable rockers on the front porch, none seemed so much a part of the family as Jake.

It had all started days after surgery, with Matt unable to get out of bed, even to bathe. Bess had tried to bustle in to get the job done
, as she’d been doing since the boys were toddlers. Jake, who'd gone upstairs for his evening visit with Matt, had just stepped up to the bedroom door when the confrontation began….

"You can just put your
smelly ol’ bar of soap right back where you got it," the boy insisted, tugging up his blanket. "I'm fourteen years old, and I won't have my sister washin' where the sun don't shine!"

And
Bess had rolled her eyes. "Well, you can't go the whole eight weeks of your recuperation without a proper bath!"

"I'd rather stink like one of Mister Nick's hogs than have you see me
in my birthday suit."

Bess clucked her tongue and chuckled. "Why, that's just plain silly, Matt. I used to change your diapers and
—“

He narrowed his eyes and scowled. "That
’s ‘cause I was a baby and couldn't defend myself. I'm nearly a man now, and—“

"Matthew, the longer you argue with me, the colder this water is getting," she scolded, thumping the rim of her washpan.

"Doesn't matter if it's cold or hot, 'cause you're not bathin' me with it!" Matt insisted, his tone changing from big-boy bluster to little-boy whine.

She put the washpan on the bedside table and propped her fists on her hips. "There
will
be a bath, young man, and if—“

"If Matt will let me,"
Jake interrupted, leaning on the doorframe, "I'll be glad to help him clean up."

She'd looked at him with some surprise. "You?"

Matt, grinning with relief, said, "Yeah! Jake can do it!"

"
But…."

"
Bess, you've seen me rub down a horse after a hard day's ride, and what smells worse than horse sweat?"

Bess eyed Matthew slyly and crinkled her nose. "My little brother, that's what," she answered, and neatly side-stepped the pillow Matt feebly tossed
at her.

Now, remembering
the scene, Bess grinned. Jake always seemed to show up, like the white knight in fairy tales, just in the nick of time. He'd bathed Matt that night, and every night afterward until the boy's arm healed enough to do the job himself.

Bess also remembered that when Matt finally seemed ready and able to begin the exercises Doc had prescribed to get his leg back into shape, it had been
Jake's strong shoulder the boy leaned on. When the doctor said the time had come for Matt to get some fresh air, it was Jake who fashioned crude wooden crutches and taught the boy to use them, then walked slowly, patiently alongside as Matt hobbled across the lawn. Then, when the boy seemed bored out of his skull from having nothing more physical than walking to do, it was Jake who taught him to play chess.

The men teased
Jake mercilessly, their mocking falsettos calling him "Our hero!" But the serious tone behind their good-natured wise-cracks rang true. Though she never told him so, he was
her
hero. Bess thanked God every morning and every night for him, for he'd saved Matt's
life.
And, he'd been the first person since Mary to offer her a moment of compassion or an instant of comfort...or to realize she needed either.

Bess thanked God for something else, too: Finally, the boys had a
real man they could look up to!

Not that Micah didn't love his sons
. Bess knew he'd have given his life for any one of his children if need be. But, since Mary's death, he’d withdrawn from his sons and daughter, physically and emotionally. The man who once showered his family with loving affection now seemed to believe that providing materially for them was enough.

She missed the man he'd been before Mary died. Fun-loving and kind, he'd had strong
opinions about everything, and didn't mind sharing them with anyone who'd listen. Though he shared them in a thundering voice and with animated gestures, he'd never made anyone, not even the object of his opinion, feel afraid on any level.

Bess remembered the week she'd spent at the
neighbors when, because of Mrs. Cunningham's difficult delivery, Mary had volunteered Bess to help with the cleaning and cooking, and to mind the Cunningham's three children while the new mama recuperated. It saddened Bess to see the youngsters duck and flinch at Mr. Cunningham's every move, as if they didn’t know when he might have a mind to whack one of them for talking out of turn, making too much noise, or not completing a chore to his satisfaction.

Mary and the children flinched around Micah...but only because they never knew when he might be inspired to
tickle or pull them onto his ample lap for a big hug, a noisy, wet kiss, or both! Even as a young girl, Bess had seen the difference between Mr. Cunningham and her pa.

With Mary at his side, Micah had been a man of unbounded faith. Nothing worried or frightened him. Once, when a severe thunderstorm destroyed an entire corn crop, he's simply shrugged and said, "Well,
we can thank the Almighty that we had us a good potato crop this season." By comparison, just last week, when the skies over Foggy Bottom darkened, he paced from window to window, peering outside and sighing, stroking his grey beard. "What will become of us if those winds flatten the corn?"

Oh, he put on a mighty show for the farm hands, standing tall, strutting like a
Bandy rooster, bellowing orders with the sure clear voice of a man in charge. But alone in the manor house, where no one but his daughter could witness his grief and misery, Micah's voice trembled with doom and gloom.

Bess hoped the burden of grief would one day lift from her father's shoulders.
If only Pa would look around him
, she'd tell herself,
he'd see he's surrounded by hundreds of things to be thankful for:
He had his own good health. The farm had been productive, even in the worst of times. The boys were healthy—why even Matt's injuries were healing faster than Doc had predicted!—and Bess had never suffered so much as an ingrown toenail. His employees were honest and hard-working and devoted to their boss.
What more could he ask
? Bess wondered time and again.

She loved her father. But his behavior these past years had been slowly chipping away at the respect and admiration she'd felt for him while her mother was alive. Most of all, she pitied Matt and Mark, for they needed a father who was a pillar of strength, who could give them security, comfort, and a man they could imitate as they grew from fine strong boys into good decent men.

He hadn't been there for her, either. Take the night of Matt's surgery, for example, when she'd been forced to assist Doc Beck and comfort Matt and Mark, and Micah, too. If it hadn't been for Jake that night....

Bess sighed.
She'd stepped into Mary's shoes quite willingly. After all, Mary hadn't chosen to leave them. Micah, on the other hand, had
chosen
to leave them, emotionally. And if the truth be told, his kind of leaving hurt far worse. There wasn't a blessed thing anyone could do to bring Mary back, but Micah...Micah was
alive
!

She resented his helplessness.
Bess
missed her mother, too, yet her father's grief had forced her, barely twelve at the time, to take on his responsibilities in addition to Mary's. If Bess had refused to assume those roles, bills would have gone unpaid, fields wouldn't have been plowed or seeded or harvested....

Many times, it took all the strength and self-control she could muster to keep from telling him, face to face, exactly what she thought of his self-pitying, hang-dog ways. Ironically, Mary saved him even from that: "Your pa and me, we're just flesh and bone," she'd said, "and from time to time, we'll make mistakes, some of them big ones. When we do, it'll test your mettle, Bess my love, because that's when you'll find it hardest to treat us with respect
as our Father commanded."

Bess sighed deeply and set aside her exasperation toward her
pa. Her mother had been right, after all; Bess reminded herself that the Fourth Commandment didn't say "Honour thy father and thy mother...
if
they deserve it...."

She'd all but given up hope on Micah.

And then Jake came along.

Bess sat in her window seat and stared into the darkened yard. A wistful smile on her face, she hugged the
candle wicked pillow to her chest and sighed. Yes, she'd given 'I love Jake' a thought or two, but she'd quickly dismissed the feelings as silly, immature infatuation. Too many people depended on her, needed her, and she had neither the time nor the inclination for romance.

At least, that had been true in the past.

Jake's kiss had changed all that.

Bess put her fingertips to her lips and closed her eyes. Her heart swelled as she remembered the way his mouth lightly grazed her chin, her cheeks,
the way his big strong arms wrapped around her and gathered her close, making her feel safe and warm...and womanly.

If a man as handsome and available as
Jake had taken a romantic interest in her, why, maybe she wasn't so plain and unattractive after all! She'd waved away such thoughts in the past, telling herself that the sins of pride and vanity had put them into her head in the first place.

Surrounded by the steady strength of his embrace, he'd told her, without words, that it was all right to need others, at least once in awhile
. To
take
occasionally, instead of always giving. Until now, she'd been the family's sole source of strength. In all that time, she hadn't allowed herself to express fear or worry, sadness or grief. How could she cry over typical girlish concerns when it had become her responsibility to be mother, father, and friend to her brothers...and Micah's confidant and rock as well!

Bess believed that when
Jake wrapped her in that sheltering hug, he'd said in his quiet cowboy way that he loved her. Smiling, she remembered the Widow Rennick's advice, and freely admitted how very ready she was to be loved.

***

Jake was a man who'd spent most of his adult life out of doors, so the long hours he spent under-roof, visiting with Bess and her brothers had been hard for him at first. But each passing hour, he felt more comfortable, until it seemed as natural and normal as breathing…until he couldn't stay away from the house. Though he’d thoroughly enjoyed playing checkers and chess with Matt and Mark, Jake admitted the real reason he wiled away so many hours in the manor house: Bess.

He thought of her day and night. And that surprised him, because though he'd courted a few women in his years on the run, he'd never felt even the faintest stirrings of emotional involvement toward a one of
them. Jake remembered how he'd occasionally donned white shirt and black string tie, and escorted the prim and proper daughters of wealthy ranchers to fancy parties. He'd courted town girls in practically every city he'd visited. Spooned with the flirty girlfriends of other ranch hands. Why, he'd even bedded a few…but only if they'd invited him to, and only with the understanding he'd soon be on his way....