Prairie Wife (13 page)

***

Another two weeks went by, bringing colder temperatures and frost.
Coats and caps and gloves came out of storage, and a supply of firewood was
laid by.

Amy was adding salt pork to a pot of beans one afternoon when
there was a tap on the kitchen door. No one ever bothered to knock; their home
was accessible all hours of the day and most of the evening. Puzzled, she
walked to the door and opened it.

Rachel Douglas stood on the back porch, a frayed coat pulled
around her girth, her nose red from the wind.

"Come in," Amy urged, taking her sleeve and drawing her
inside.

Rachel pulled a scarf from her head and stuffed it in the pocket
of her coat along with her wool mittens.

"It's so good to see you," Amy said.

"I'm here to work." A hesitant smile brightened her
features.

"Work?" Amy asked, puzzled.

"Your husband hired on Jack. But I'll earn my own keep."

Jesse had hired Jack Douglas. Amy had seen the Douglases in
church, but she and Jesse hadn't discussed them since the day of the picnic
when they'd first met them. She had had no inkling that Jesse needed another
hand.

The door opened again and Jesse ushered Jack inside. "Amy,
you know the Douglases," he said. "Jack's hired on."

"I can earn my own keep, too," Rachel insisted.

"Any duties Amy has for you will be of her choosing."
Jesse addressed Amy again. "I set the boys to cleaning up the soddy a week
or so ago, laying up wood and such. If you and Adele could rustle up blankets
and a few homey things, it'll make a nice place for Jack and his missus to
stay."

Amy nodded her agreement.

"Amy and her folks lived in the sod house before this house
was built," Jesse told Rachel. "And Amy and I lived there for a time
when we were first married. It's not fancy, but it's dry and warm."

Rachel had tears in her eyes after she exchanged a look with her
husband. She turned to Amy. "Thank you."

"Your husband's a fine man, Mrs. Shelby," Jack said in
his crisp English accent.

She looked at Jesse. "Yes, I know."

Jesse seemed embarrassed by the praise and led Jack back outside.

Mrs. Barnes came upon the women then and Amy introduced Rachel.

"Hang your coat," Amy said. "After dinner, we'll
get the soddy all set up for you. You'll get by just fine out there."

Leda Bentley had been right about Rachel's skills in the house.
She dove right in to help with meal preparation, and what she didn't know how
to do, she asked about and learned.

"We have crates of cabbage in the root cellar that I want to
get made into sauerkraut," Mrs. Barnes told her. "You can help me
with that tomorrow."

Rachel smiled with satisfaction. Amy planned to limit the girl's
activities due to her condition, but she sensed how important it was that
Rachel feel she was pulling her own weight. She wouldn't take that away from
her. There were plenty of light duties that would keep her busy and be a big
help at the same time.

At dinner, Jack proudly joined the men at the table. He'd already
been dubbed "the Duke" because of his accent, and he took the ribbing
good-naturedly.

That night, with the Douglases tucked away in the cozy little
soddy, Amy sat by the fire in the parlor, sewing. Her hands fell idle. Jesse's
words that afternoon had dislodged a memory she'd been unable to stuff away
again. She couldn't shake what he'd said about their first months and years of
marriage.

This house had just been built; she and her parents had spent only
a few weeks living in it. Jesse had moved from the barn to the soddy. After
their wedding, they had retreated to the privacy of the sod house. They'd spent
their wedding night there, and all the nights that followed... until her
parents had decided to give them the big house and live at the homestead.

Amy pictured the young couple staying in the sod house now,
preparing for bed, relishing the seclusion. She saw Rachel in her nightgown,
her belly swollen with their child—and her rock of a heart betrayed her again.

Her throat felt thick and she could barely swallow.

Amy looked down to see she'd gripped the fabric so hard that the
needle had pierced her thumb. The drop of blood that glistened there reminded
her of Jesse cutting his hand and saying he couldn't feel it.

Standing, she grabbed a shawl and stepped out on the back porch.
Light spilled from the barns and the boardinghouse as usual. Across the expanse
she saw Pitch carrying a bucket of water.

"Pitch?" she called.

He stopped in his tracks. "Ma'am?"

"Ask Jesse to come up to the house, will you, please?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Amy went back inside and fed a log to the fire. She rubbed her
hands together and was lost in the flicker of the flames when she heard a
floorboard creak behind her.

She turned to find Jesse in his sheepskin-lined coat. "You
needed somethin', Amy?"

"Sit down. I'll get you coffee and a slice of peach
pie."

He removed his coat and sat in the side chair. The rocker, Eden's
personal throne, was still in the kitchen. After Amy brought his dessert, she
perched on the ottoman before the fire. The room seemed unseasonably chilly
this evening.

Jesse ate slowly. "I like your peach pie the best."

"I know."

He finished and set the plate on the floor. His gaze traveled the
room and stopped on her clock. "Your clock ran down."

"I didn't really need it," she said. "It's a bother
to keep it wound."

"I s'pose those families are enjoyin' their eggs,
though."

"I suppose they are."

"You asked me to come in so you could feed me?" he asked
finally.

"No." She arranged her skirts and finally looked at him.
"I wanted to thank you. For hiring Jack."

"Why should you thank me?"

"We see less stages through the winter, Jesse, I know you
didn't need the help."

"It'll work out. Deezer and one of the others are heading
East for the winter."

"Okay. So you didn't do it for me."

He pursed his lips momentarily, then said, "I thought you
were worried about Jack not having work over the winter and Rachel bein'... the
way Rachel is and all."

"I don't think I was—worried I mean. But I'm pleased that
she's here safe and sound."

"You're a caretaker, Amy, no way around it."

She didn't respond, but turned to gaze at the fire once again.

"Haven't seen lights in the windows of the soddy for a long
time," he said reflectively. "Reminds me of when I used to come home
to you at night."

Amy's pulse belied a hardened heart.

"You used to have a slice of pie ready for me then,
too."

The hammering of her heart drowned out coherent thought.

"Sometimes we skipped the pie and went right to the
lovin'."

She didn't feel the chill any longer. The fire seemed to be
prickling her skin, setting her blood ablaze.

"Sometimes we didn't even sleep—"

His voice was right behind her ear, but she hadn't heard him move.
He had knelt beside her.

"We had that quilt your aunt gave us for our weddin', and
we'd lay it on the floor in front of the fire and let our skin touch everywhere
and our hearts be filled to overflowin'."

"Jesse, don't—"

"Wasn't anything could have kept me away from you for a night
then."

His breath tickled the hair on her neck and sent shivers
skittering across her flesh. Her overheated body turned to liquid.

His teeth nipped her ear gently, and she made a sound like a
newborn kitten mewling.

Jesse turned her on the ottoman so that she faced him instead of
the fire. It didn't take much urging to insinuate his body between her knees
and bring himself up against her. He cupped her head in both hands and kissed
her breathless. He tasted like peaches and promised pleasure, and it was a
seductive drug in her veins. His words were picture memories, vivid and
searing. They showed her what they'd had...what they'd lost.

As if he was afraid to give her time to breathe or think, he plied
her mouth with urgency and her senses with his inordinate brand of heady
seduction.

Jesse separated their lips, and she opened her heavy lids to look
into his eyes.

"Do you remember, Amy? Do you remember it wasn't pity or
guilt or grief back then?"

She hadn't forgotten. She had buried. Built. Abandoned and moved
on.

"If I went upstairs with you now, I'd know you were thanking
me. Just like the last time when you were pityin' me. It wouldn't be you
wanting me. Not the way I want you."

He released her and stood, letting air flow around her and chill
her once again. She sat with her skirt draped between her wide-spread knees,
her body thrumming and the taste of peaches on her tingling lips.

"Jesse," she whispered.

He turned. "'Night, Amy."

His broad form filled the doorway and disappeared.

"Jesse," she whispered again. The back door opened and
closed. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt him. Heard his voice. Tasted his
kisses. What had she done to him?

What had she done to
them?

***

Nearly two hours later Jesse pulled the cork on the next bottle.
He'd replenished his stash that week and a fresh crate had become his bedside
table. He'd picked up the last bottle to find it half gone already, and had
polished it off before he'd finished checking the horses.

This bottle was going down a lot smoother. He liked it when the
whiskey slid down his throat so easily. He tried to hold out, tried to make it
through a night without givin' in to the craving that now seemed to be in his
head and on his skin, but he was so dry, and his belly ached with the need for
just a little to soothe him to sleep.

Still, he wasn't hurtin' anybody. He didn't let his work suffer or
his morning head stop him from taking care of business. Nobody cared. Amy
didn't even really care, because when he was out here he wasn't bothering her,
and she wasn't obligated to act like a wife.

He thought he heard a pounding in his head, but he hadn't even
fallen asleep yet, so it couldn't be morning.

There it was again.

"Jesse?"

"Amy?" What was she doin' out here? He hid the bottle
under his bunk and went to let her in.

He blinked. Dark hair. A green dress. Not Amy.

"I hate to disturb you so late, but I'd be much obliged if
you'd give me a hand."

Eden.
Even her name was linked to dangerous temptation.

"What's wrong?"

"I had Adele help me into this dress this morning. It's not a
practical garment for a woman who must dress without assistance, and I'm afraid
I can't reach the buttons by myself."

"I'll— I can find Adele."

"No, no, I don't want to wake her, it's much too late. If you
could just lend your assistance ever so briefly." She turned her back and
lifted her hair with one hand.

Jesse squinted to focus on the row of tiny buttons. His fingers
were too big and blunt. Unfastening them took forever, and he just wanted to be
rid of her.

"This is so sweet of you," she purred.

The row of buttons seemed to trail into infinity. "Why don't
females... make their dresses suh
-sensible,
so they can button 'em up
the front?"

"Fashion simply defies logic, does it not?"

He had reached the end of the row of buttons, and Eden turned to
face him.

"I especially like those buckskins I've seen you wear,"
she said. "A simple little lace by your throat to loosen and you can pull
it off over your head."

She raised a hand and ran one finger teasingly across his shoulder
and upper arm. "I wondered what you looked like without your shirt."

Dimly, he realized he'd removed his shirt some time ago.

"I've watched you with the horses, seen you load the coaches.
You're very strong."

A belated warning went off in his head, deadened by alcohol, but
there just the same. This woman was trouble.

"It's not right, you sleeping out here all by yourself,"
she said. "Not a deserving man like yourself."

"I don't think... I'm not..." Wrong,
wrong.
This
was all wrong.

Eden used his confusion to inch herself forward and latch her
forearm around his neck to bring his head down to her. "A woman like me
knows how to appreciate a man."

Before her behavior registered on his sluggish brain, she kissed
him full on the mouth. Not primly, not hesitantly, but hungrily, her lips
widening over his.