Rocky Mountain Wife (6 page)

“We’re doing all right.” Lucy’s eyes pinched with sadness even as her chin hiked up a notch. “We’re together and that matters.”

“Maybe I can drop by and we’ll talk—” Claire offered, but Lucy shook her head, holding up one hand to stop her.

“No, if you come by, we are going to talk about good things. Interesting things.” Lucy waggled her brows, shooting a glance at Joshua who’d retreated back a few steps to allow them more privacy.

Claire could feel his presence like the powerful blast of an inferno. Her thighs went damp. She began to sweat beneath her bonnet.

“See you later!” Lucy slapped the reins and her beautiful mare took off, stepping prettily down the road. Claire watched her go with a sense of concern. Lucy had lost a brother in last September’s firestorm. It had devastated the Bellasario family.

Life was fragile, she thought, untying her bonnet ribbons. She’d always assumed she and Clay would grow old together, spending all their days yet to come being sweet to one another. But now that was gone. She felt at a loss, adrift, as if she had nothing to hold onto.

“I figured I’d have some good news for you.” Joshua called across the driveway, hand to his hat brim, wide shoulders braced. The corners of his mouth turned downward, grimacing. “I never thought they might turn me down.”

“You mean, you can’t take over my ranch?” Air wedged in her throat painfully. She felt the world tip, like she was losing the ground beneath her feet.

“No.” Joshua turned away, staring out at the ruined fields. The ice had fully melted and puddles winked in the sunlight like false hope. “The bank president said no when I offered to take over the payments. He said the mortgage isn’t transferable.”

“Can’t he make an exception?” Her voice sounded thin, battling disappointment. Her footsteps padded softly in the grass behind him. “Especially since the bank loses money on a foreclosure. They’ll never sell it at auction for the mortgage amount.”

“I pointed that out to everyone in the bank who would listen, but it didn’t make a difference.” He blew out a sigh. His chest felt heavy. “You don’t know how bad I want this land. There’s not a better section in the entire county, and Clay took good care of it. It’s a farmer’s dream.”

“I know. He loved this land.” She hung her head, staring at a dandelion in the grass. “I guess that’s that. It’s over. Thank you for trying, Mr. Reed—”

“—Joshua,” he corrected. He plunged his hands into his trouser pockets, took a breath and found the courage to say what was at the back of his mind. “You’re going to have to get used to calling me by my first name, if we’re going to be married.”

“What?” Her head snapped up. She looked at him, her sky blue eyes full of shock.

“It’s the only solution.” His heart skipped a beat. A man like him didn’t marry. A man like him had no business even thinking about it. But he squared his shoulders, knowing the woman standing beside him was out of options. “I don’t want to let this land go. A place like this is what I’ve been dreaming of my whole life. You don’t want to lose your home. The banker did say the loan isn’t transferable, but as your husband I legally assume your debts.”

“But I don’t want to marry you, Mr. Reed.” She shook her head forcefully, her slender hands fisting until her knuckles turned white. “Ever since Clay died, I knew deep in my heart that I might have to find someone to marry me and run the ranch. But it isn’t something I can bear to do. No matter what, my heart belongs to my husband. It always will. I can’t be a wife to anyone.”

“I hear the pain in your voice.” He let his gaze roam over the fields he wanted so much. Then he considered the woman with tears in her eyes and agony on her pretty face. Unexpected softness welled up, filling the hollow places in his chest. Places that had been empty for so long.

He’d never had anyone to care for. He felt awkward. He didn’t know what to do about her pain.

“I’ll just be truthful here,” he told her. “I’m not the marrying kind. I don’t see why we have to make this anything more than what we need. I get the land, you get the house. That’s all this will ever be.”

“Just in name only.” She worked her bottom lip, as if she was thinking it over. “This is the strangest proposal I’ve ever had.”

“I won’t argue with you there. You can say no, but you’ll lose everything. I don’t want to see that happen.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and swept off his hat. The sun was coming out, shining like a thin veil through the desolate clouds. “The real truth is, I don’t want Oliver Sanders to get this place. I’d have to have him for my new neighbor.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I can’t blame you there. He is an odious man.”

“The most odious I’ve ever met,” he agreed, surprised he was smiling too. “What do you say, Mrs. Callahan? Do you want to tie the knot?”

“I don’t see that I have any other real choice.” She blew out a sigh, clearly troubled, but a glimmer of hope had slipped into her eyes of blue. Such a pretty, pretty blue.

His chest cinched up, and he scolded himself for wanting. She was off limits. This was business only.

“We should do it as soon as possible.” The words came out clipped, because they weren’t alone. Someone was driving up the lane. He recognized the same horses and buggy he’d spotted at the bank this morning, and he went cold inside. He drew himself up, unconsciously resting his hand against the revolver holstered to his thigh. “Why don’t you go in the house? I’ll handle this.”

“Thank you, Joshua.” She reached out, her hand brushing his lightly and quickly before she hurried away, but he felt the effects all the way to his bones.

He wasn’t just attracted to the pretty lady. He was never going to stop hungering for her. This was going to be a problem since she was going to be his wife. His convenient wife.

Passion and the marriage bed weren’t part of the equation. They never would be.

Grim, he marched down the drive. He intended to send Sanders on his way.

Married. Claire’s head spun as she let herself through the front door. Her hand shook. It was a practical solution, but a painful one. One she never thought she could make.

The scent of baking bread reached her nose, and she realized she wasn’t alone in the house. “Ma? Is that you?”

“I let myself in, dear!” Ma called out, her voice echoing through the house. “I was in a baking mood, and you know I hate to bake in my oven. It’s finicky, it is, so I came over and helped myself to your stove. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I suppose I can endure it this time,” she teased, pacing toward the parlor window.

“That’s good, because I just put the loaves in. Don’t they smell good?”

“Delicious. No one makes better bread on this side of the county.” She pulled back the curtain to get a better view. There Joshua was, standing in the middle of the road, blocking Mr. Sanders. The two men were exchanging words. Mr. Sanders looked quite angry. His face went red and contoured with several swear words before he turned his horses around and drove away.

Joshua stood in the road, watching him go. His hat sat at a grim angle, his shoulders were set. Everything about him shouted power and strength.

He was so masculine, so
vital.
She swallowed. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. It felt wrong to notice him like that, when her heart was broken irrevocably. She was lonely for Clay, she knew everything that marriage could be and she’d known real love. She was not eager to enter into a false shell of a marriage. It felt hollow. It felt wrong.

But it was what she was going to do.

“I think it’s an excellent idea.” Ma’s voice rang full of cheer as she donned two oven mitts in front of the stove. “I just wish I could look him in the eye and know he’ll be good for you.”

“He will be.” Claire adjusted the knife in her hand and bent over the plate of last night’s chicken leftovers. “Joshua is the only good option I have.”

“Then we will have to make sure he’s good to you.” Ma opened the stove with a bang. “Or I’ll take a broom to him.”

“Now I know where I get it.” Ruefully, Claire cut the chicken breast on the cutting board, set down the knife and layered meat on thick slices from her last loaf of bread. She had just enough leftover chicken to make soup for supper. Her stomach was still in knots, worrying what Sanders had said to Joshua. She feared it hadn’t been good.

Ma carefully slid the bread pans out of the oven and onto the counter to cool. “When are you two getting married?”

“We haven’t talked about that yet.” Claire sliced the sandwiches in half—two for Joshua and one for her and Ma to share. “I imagine the sooner the better.”

“Today? Tomorrow?” Ma closed the oven door, looking lost in her thoughts. “Maybe the day after? That would be better. It would give us time to figure out a dress and organize a little wedding party.”

“I don’t want a party.” She heard the flat note in her voice and winced. She wasn’t ungrateful. She wrapped up Joshua’s sandwiches. “I don’t want to be reminded of my wedding with Clay.”

“I understand.” Ma’s face, marked with character lines and a lifetime of smiles, padded across the kitchen to take Claire’s hands in both of hers. “Maybe good will come out of this. Great love can come out of anywhere. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

“There will be no great love.” Claire placed the sandwiches in Clay’s old lunch pail. “I’ve already had that in my life. Something that rare doesn’t come around twice. Everyone knows that.”

“I’m just trying to be hopeful for you, dear.” Ma squeezed, her touch full of comfort before letting go and stepping back. “I’m worried, but he’s saving your home. He’s keeping a roof over my granddaughter’s head. I suppose that makes him my champion.”

“Yes.” Claire filled a water jug and capped it. “I will always be beholden to him. Go ahead and eat, Ma. I’ll take this out to Joshua.”

“Look how hard he’s working in the fields. That’s something. It’s promising.” Ma nodded her approval, turning to study the figure of a man in the distance, like a shadow against the rolling plains. “Oh, and I’ve taken in more mending. I should be able to help out a little bit more around here—”

“No, Ma. I won’t take your money, and I won’t have you working so hard.” Claire was adamant about that. “Now pour yourself some milk and sit down. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Fine, that will give me time to plan your wedding.” Ma pulled out a chair at the round oak table. “Don’t worry, I’ll do as you wish, and there will be no wedding party. But we can still make it nice. We’ll start new traditions. How’s that?”

“We don’t need new traditions.” Claire smiled stubbornly, yanking open the lean-to door. She bounded through the doorway, into the shadowed lean-to and down the back steps.

Warmer weather met her as she plowed through the fallen grasses and past her ruin of a garden. All those vegetables destroyed by the hail. But Joshua was right—it was still early enough in the season, and they could replant. It wasn’t ideal, but it could be done. She’d just have to focus on that.

Every step she took brought her closer to him. His back was to her as he rode a sulky plow behind his team of draft horses, his back straight and his long legs braced, the reins looped loosely in his capable hands.

Big, rough hands. She stared at them and shivered deep inside. What would it be like to feel them on her flesh? Would his touch be as rough as his calloused hands or gentle? Her heart leaped, skipping several beats, and she felt her body respond. Her breasts swelled as if aching for his fingers on them.

Stop that, Claire.
She frowned at herself. Hadn’t she vowed not to think like that again? Or was it a lost cause?

“Claire.” He startled, turning around, surprise cutting pleasant lines into the corners of his eyes. He stopped the horses with a low, rumbling “Whoa,” before tipping his hat to her respectfully. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Just like I didn’t expect you to start working the fields.”

“I hope you don’t mind. I helped myself to Clay’s plow.” He looped the reins on the plow and hopped to the ground. “It was easier than bringing mine over.”

“What’s mine is yours.” She lifted a slender shoulder in a strained shrug. “Or it soon will be.”

“True.” His gaze slid to the pail and jug she held. “You didn’t bring that for me.”

“No. I thought the horses might like a couple of chicken sandwiches.” A dash of humor made her blue eyes sparkle. “It’s lunchtime, or hadn’t you noticed? You’ve made so much progress already.”

“I figured there’s no time to waste. I’ve got to harvest a decent crop from this land or I won’t be able to make the land payment in October. Catching up on your mortgage is going to take all my savings.” He felt grim about that. He wasn’t a gambling man, but this was a bet he had to take. “Want me to turn the sod over in your garden so you can replant?”

“That would be nice of you.”

“I’ll do it this evening when I’m done in the fields.” He swept off his hat, taking his time at it because it gave him something to look at besides her. Blond curls brushed against the side of her face, caressed by the wind, and emphasized her fragile beauty. He ached looking at her.

“I wish there was something more than just plain sandwiches. I’m all out of cookies.” Strain tightened the corners of her mouth, stealing her attempted smile. She held out the pail and jug, as if the offering wasn’t good enough.

His throat went tight. He didn’t know how to tell her no one had made lunch for him in more than, what, twenty years? Maybe longer. For a spell, when he’d come of age, he’d worked on a ranch as a stable boy and ate in the bunkhouse—three meals a day. But there had been no one to care. He didn’t need anyone to.

He didn’t know why her gesture touched him. She handed over the jug and pail, taking care not to let their fingers touch.

Fine, he got the hint. She was a lady, as proper as they came with her pretty manners and quiet dignity. Clearly she wanted to make it clear—hands off.

Fortunately, it was what he wanted, too.

“Plain sandwiches are just fine,” he assured her, clearing his throat to make sure he kept the emotion out of it. “It was thoughtful of you. Thanks for going to the trouble.”