Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time Jeremy climbed out of the tub, he felt limp. The entire bathing experience was an odd affair. He'd never experienced a continual shower of warm water. There was hair wash in a bottle, and two kinds of soap hanging on a string over the tile floor of the shower area. He'd chosen one with a pleasing sandalwood essence. Of course, then he'd soaked in the tub and probably washed the pleasant scent off, but the hot water had worked magic on his sore back and shoulders.
He dried with one of the towels rolled in a basket, and put on clean clothing. A fresh-smelling man's robe hung on a hook and Lizzie had told him to use it when and if he liked, but it seemed too odd. He didn't bother with shoes, and walked barefoot back to the house, where Lizzie was working on a supper that smelled like heaven. It was fried pork of some kind and he didn't know what else.
“Just leave those on the porch,” she said, looking at his dirty clothes. “I'll wash them tomorrow.”
“You don't have toâ”
“I'm glad to do it. I do little enough for you,” she said as she turned back to dinner preparations.
For a moment, he was at a loss for the right thing to do, but then he went back to the porch and left his dirty clothes in a pile before going back inside.
“From now on, leave them in the laundry house and I'll get them back to you,” she said nonchalantly.
The words caused a thrill that he tried to disguise. “Can I help?”
“You can have a glass of wine and keep me company.”
He blew out a breath. “I don't know. That's asking a lot.”
She laughed and poured wine into two fancy crystal goblets. “We're down to the last few bottles, so we should enjoy it.”
“I'll bet when your father passed, this place got cleaned out of most of the wine that was left.”
“I understand quite a bit was taken.”
“What smells so good?”
“Pork chops.” She carried both glasses with her and handed him one. “Smoked by none other than Miss April May Blue. Is there anything the woman can't do?”
He grinned and raised his glass. “To the amazing Miss Blue. In fact, to both of them.” She smiled back at him, touched her glass to his, and it made a clear pinging sound that he'd remember for a long time. They sipped, and the wine tasted good to him. “These are pretty glasses.”
“I found them in the back of a cupboard. On their side, wrapped in flannel, behind a pot of lard. Thank goodness,” she said, starting back to her preparations. “Otherwise they would have been taken too, I'm sure.”
As he took another drink, he realized how much easier it had become between them. Natural. Almost like he belonged here. If only he was that lucky.
“Did you enjoy your bath?”
“I can't believe how much I liked it. I never would have guessed.”
“I know. Lionel was definitely on to something.”
“You called him Lionel?”
She froze for an instant. “I know,” she said after a moment's pause. “It's strange, isn't it? I didn't always call him that. But . . . sometimes,” she finished weakly.
He noticed the tension in her body. “Did Jake and Rebecca know their grandfather?”
“No.” She turned and went back to her dinner preparations. “Unfortunately. No.”
He wanted to ask more, but he heard the kids approaching. Instead, he walked to the table and sat. The instant the kids appeared, Jake smiled to see him, while Rebecca went right to setting the table as if she didn't see him there. So much for the progress he thought they'd made. “You want some help with that?” he asked her.
“No,” she replied without looking at him. “Thank you,” she added stiffly. She placed cloth napkins in a neat folded rectangle at each place and then placed a fork on top of each. “Did you wash before you got in the tub?”
Lizzie looked at her, aghast at the impertinence, and the look was not lost on Rebecca.
“I did,” he said easily, hoping to diffuse the strain in the air. “I like that contraption. What about you, Jake? You like it?”
Jake nodded.
“You should answer when someone asks you a question,” Lizzie reminded him gently.
“Yes, sir,” Jake replied, his gaze dropping.
Lizzie was meaning to help, but she wasn't. She handed Rebecca a plate filled with cut-up meat, and Rebecca carried it to her brother before returning for hers.
“Do you want to fill your plate over here?” Lizzie asked Jeremy.
“Sure,” he said, rising again.
“I can cut up my own meat, Mama,” Rebecca stated.
“All right,” Lizzie agreed. “I guess I'm just used to doing it.”
“But since Paâ” Rebecca began and then broke off. “But since I'm older now.”
“I agree,” Lizzie said. “You are old enough.”
Jeremy had been filling his plate, but he heard the dialogue with puzzled interest.
It was a fine supper, as usual, followed by apple turnovers with a drizzled white icing on top. “Why don't I do dishes,” he said when supper was over. “You can go have a bathâ”
“No,” she said, rising. She picked up several dishes and carried them to the sink.
Jeremy noticed Rebecca studying him quizzically.
“Papa saysâ,” Rebecca began, before breaking off again and looking at her mother.
Jeremy looked, too. Although Lizzie's back was to them, she'd frozen.
“He died,” Rebecca said quickly to Jeremy.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry. But what did he used to say?”
“That doing dishes was a woman's work.”
“Maybe he thought men weren't smart enough to figure out how to do it.”
Jake giggled, and even Rebecca grinned after losing a diligent struggle not to.
“But I know how to do them,” he continued. “I grew up doing them with my sister and I do my own dishes now.”
Lizzie turned around. “Why don't you two go get ready for your baths,” she said to the children, “and you should go relax,” she said to Jeremy. “Please. You've worked hard today.”
He wasn't sure if he was being dismissed or she was merely being polite. Her smile seemed real enough and there was a blush to her cheeks. Of course, she was used to doing things herself, although he would have been happy to help. More than happy. He stood, accepting the dismissal. “Thank you for supper.”
“You're welcome.”
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Jeremy went to the study and looked over the book selection on the shelves. He picked out a few of the volumes on wine-making and made himself comfortable, first lighting a fire in the hearth and then turning on lamps to read by. One book was more interesting than the others and soon he went in search of paper and a pen and began making notes.
Jake was the first to join him. He came in smelling clean and wearing his pajamas, and plunked himself down in front of the hearth with a wooden puzzle, which he dumped out unceremoniously before beginning the process of putting it back together.
Rebecca looked in the room and then left, but soon returned with her own paper and pencils. She sat at the table in the room and began to draw. “We're going to church tomorrow,” she said after a few minutes.
“That's nice,” Jeremy returned.
“Do you ever go to church?”
“Used to. Not so much anymore.”
“What are you reading?”
“About making wine.”
She thought about it. “Why do grown-ups like wine?”
He looked up at her. “Not all of them do, but some do. They think it tastes good.”
“Do you think so?”
He nodded. “I didn't used to, but now I do.”
“Are you going to try to make it?”
“I don't know anything about it yet. That's why I was reading.”
It grew quiet again, but it was a comfortable quiet. He went back to reading, Rebecca went back to drawing, and Jake continued laboring on the puzzle. Lizzie disturbed the silence a little after eight when she came in and told the children it was bedtime.
“I'm not tired,” Rebecca complained.
Lizzie sighed with exasperation. “That's what you say every night, no matter how tired you are. Now, scoot.”
The children trudged rather than scooted out, and Lizzie gave him a look before following them, although the look wasn't easily read. In fact, he had no idea what was going through her head. He was aware when, after seeing the children to bed, she retired to her room. He gave it a few minutes, wondering if she'd come back and join him, but she didn't. He took his book, turned off the lamps, and went to his room.
The soft knock on the door later surprised him as much as it had the first night, although this time he was sitting atop the bed reading, still wearing his shirt and pants. He set the book aside once more. “Come in.”
The door opened and she stood there in her robe again. “May I?” she asked softly.
“Of course.”
She shut the door and came toward him slowly. “I'm sorry, I . . . I've never done anything like this before.”
She was trembling, so reaching out and taking her hand was pure instinct. “What?”
“This,” she said. “Us.”
He pulled her closer and she sat facing him. “Are you having second thoughts?” he asked reluctantly, fearing the answer.
She shook her head slowly.
The relief he felt was overwhelming. “I'm glad.”
“I'm glad you're here,” she admitted, blushing as she said it. “I like you being here.”
He squeezed her hand gently. “I like it, too.”
“That kiss you won,” she said quietly.
“You want to take that back?” he teased. She smiled and ducked her head, but he tipped her face back up with a finger until her gaze met his. She shook her head and her eyes glistened. His gaze raked over her flushed face and rested on her lips before he leaned forward to kiss her. First her lips, and then her warm cheeks, and then her lips again. Her eyes were closed, her breath coming fast. She clutched his arms, followed his movements, matched his pace. Again, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and along her jaw.
“Jeremy,” she whispered.
“What?” he whispered back. He kissed the side of her neck, and then her earlobe, and felt her jerk slightly, followed by the softest of sighs. It was an intoxicating reaction. This was the same woman who'd claimed she'd felt dead. Well, so had he, and for probably a lot longer than she. But no more. Or, at least, not tonight. His hand stroked her breasts and her nipples strained toward him. He teased one between finger and thumb and her lips parted in a gasp. It was the perfect opening and he took it, pressing his mouth to hers for a deeper, thrusting kiss. Her hand closed around the back of his neck and an intense tremor went through him. He wanted to take her, but he also wanted to suffer this strange ecstasy of longing, too.
She pulled away and stood. For a moment, he feared she would leave, but she slipped her robe down a bit, revealing bare shoulders. He got up as well, and unbuttoned his shirt. He could smell her feminine heat and it caused his pulse to pound. He pushed her hair back and caressed her shoulder. How had he never noticed how lovely a woman's shoulders were?
She was trembling but she let the robe slip lower, and he relished each inch of skin. He ran his fingers over her arms and it seemed to him that he'd never touched skin before. She let the robe fall fully and she stole his breath, she was so beautiful. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hungrily, aware of the surreal quality of the moment.
He took off his pants and gently eased her onto the bed. “Tell me how you like it.”
“I've never liked it,” she admitted in a low voice. “This is a new experience.”
The words were gratifying, but more than that, he saw her desire. He wanted her badly, but, just as badly, he wanted to please her. He kissed her until she was kissing him back, offering her tongue and writhing with need. When he entered her, her breath caught and she pushed against his chest. “Should I stop?”
She shook her head.
He moved slowly until he realized she was moving with him, her body no longer resisting his. Her hands were splayed open on his back, and he could feel the tension in them. He began to move faster and she moaned. Her hands slipped down his back to his buttocks, feeling the movement. He buried his face in her hair, struggling to maintain control, but when she cried out and her body jerked with release, it sent him spiraling into an orgasm that left him gasping.
When he curled beside her, he was slightly dizzy. He reached for her hand and held it in his, watching as her chest heaved. There was a sheen of perspiration on both of them. He wanted to say something, but what? He wanted to thank her, but what if she took it wrong? As an insult? That's when he noticed the tears in her eyes. “What's the matter?” he asked softly.
“N-nothing.”
She rose up on an elbow, as if preparing to leave, but he couldn't let her go. Not like that. “Did I hurt you?”
She wiped her eyes and sniffed. “No. I swear.”
“Then what is it?”
She shrugged. “I liked it,” she admitted in a tremulous voice.
He didn't understand. If it was true, why was that upsetting?
“I never liked it before.”
He stroked her hair. “I never liked it so much before.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Really?”
He nodded. “Swear.”
She relaxed and allowed him to pull her close. He liked the feeling of holding her like that, their bodies warm, slightly sweaty, sticking together after making love. He listened to her breathing and hoped she'd stay. He was just beginning to drop off when she pulled away. “Don't go,” he said in a husky voice.