An Amish Man of Ice Mountain (The Amish of Ice Mountain Series Book 2) (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nine days later, Mary and Jude were to return to the mountain with their new baby, Rose. Priscilla had spent many joyful hours in the interim getting their home spic and span and ready for the new baby. She’d even coaxed from Ben Kauffman every bit of his skill at mixing paint, and managed to walk away with an old rose color that she painted the guest room in the Lyons’ home. She now stood in the middle of the beautiful baby room with a handful of the community’s women as they admired their own handiwork in free-painting roses and rich vines and leaves about the walls at Priscilla’s urging.

Sarah King, Edward’s girl, was particularly adept with the paintbrush, but she chewed on a fingertip worriedly as she surveyed the décor.

“What’s wrong?” Priscilla asked in an undertone.

“Although we Mountain
Amisch
are more liberal about arts and crafts—I don’t know if the bishop would approve such paintings—they might be graven images.”

Priscilla opened her mouth to soothe the girl when a buoyant male voice broke into the conversation.

“Well, I say it all looks great!”

Priscilla blinked in surprise as Edward King strode through the door, followed amazingly by an ebullient Mama Mary Malizza, from the Bear Claw Inn.

Edward gave Sarah a quick hug, then turned to catch Priscilla close. “Sister-in-law,” he murmured in her ear, “remind me that I owe you a dance in Joseph’s presence.”

Priscilla watched Sarah’s plain cheeks flame a rosy red as she spoke to her intended. “But, Edward, I thought you were in Texas . . .”

“So I was, sweet Sarah. But the King family seems to have taken several hits recently, as well as several blessings. So, I swung by my old job to pick up some gear and convinced Mama Malizza that this mountain air would aid her asthma.” He gestured in introduction to Mary Malizza, who laughed in return.

“Just call me Mama, everyone, as it might get confusing with Joseph and Edward’s sister being Mary too. I brought a thermal blanket for the new baby. Where is she?”

“Here,” said a quiet voice, and everyone turned in unison to see Mary Lyons standing in the circle of Jude’s arm, her tiny baby nestled close.

Edward pulled Priscilla to the back of the room as everyone else gently moved forward to make much of the newborn.

“What’s wrong?” Priscilla asked, sensing some pent-up energy in Edward’s electric blue eyes that reminded her forcefully of Joseph.

“Nothing . . . Where’s Joe?”

“You answered too quickly, and I suppose you have no intention of telling me, but Joseph went to bring your
daed
over.”

Edward’s handsome face clouded. “How is Dat?”

Priscilla shook her head sadly. “I don’t know . . . At times, his breathing eases but then . . . I can’t tell you for sure.”

“All right,
danki
for the truth. I’ll go and catch up with Joe on his way over.”

Priscilla lifted her eyes to where Sarah stood, looking at the baby. “Perhaps Sarah would like to walk with you.”

Edward followed her gaze, then shook his head. “Later, maybe . . .”

Priscilla watched as he excused himself with easy finesse from the room and wondered how two brothers could be so different—Joseph was all purpose and plan in movement while Edward had the casual lithe grace of a big cat.
But
—she smiled to herself as she went to hug Mama Malizza—
there were definite benefits to purposeful movements . . .

Mary Malizza moved among the
Amisch
women in somewhat of a daze. She felt out of place in her loud floral top and blue jeans, and the hike up the mountain had aggravated her asthma. She’d had to use her inhaler, which always made her feel jittery afterwards. But she knew that it was the pervasive sense of peace and order that hung over the house that made her feel the most nervous. Back at the Bear Claw, things were always hopping, and there wasn’t a lot of time to think. Here, everyone moved with quiet purposefulness and Mary could hear her own thoughts like raindrops on a tin roof.

“Hi ya, I’m Martha Umble.”

Mary looked down at the elderly
Amisch
woman. She was gray-haired and slightly bent at the shoulders, but there was strength of purpose about her stance and a keen look in her faded brown eyes.

“I’m Mama Malizza . . . but you can call me Mary.”

“Can you make homemade spaghetti sauce?” the older woman asked bluntly.

“Yeah . . .” She grinned. “You think because my name is Italian that I can cook good? Isn’t that what you’d call prejudice?”

Martha shrugged. “Not if you can cook.”

“I can cook.” Mary laughed, suddenly feeling more at ease.

“
Gut
. . . I get sick and tired of cooking. You can
kumme
home with me, and if you’ll cook a few days, I’ll show you a swell time on the mountain.”

“Sounds fair, but what about your man? Won’t he mind?”

“Hmm? The bishop
. . . nee
, he eats what’s put in front of him.”

Mary raised her brows. “The bishop, you say? Well, ain’t he important?”

Martha smiled wryly. “He thinks he is, but then, so do most men.”

Mary laughed out loud and knew she’d made a friend.

Joseph finished giving his
daed
his medicines and was ready to start out the door when a brisk knocking sounded.

“Anybody home?”

Joseph recognized his
bruder
’s voice and opened the door in amazement. He caught Edward close in a back-slapping hug. “What are you doing here?”

“
Ach
, I thought there were enough things to
kumme
home for, so I—”

“You came because you think I’m dyin’,” their
daed
said quietly. “Well, I guess maybe I am.”

Joseph watched his
bruder
take in the shrunken frame of their
fater
and met Edward’s worried gaze with a faint nod.

Edward bent and hugged their
dat
then stood back with his hands on his hips. “Daed, you’re not dying as long as I’ve got breath to pray for you, and that’s a fact. Now, let’s take you and old married Joe over to meet Rose Lyons . . . and she’s a beauty, I promise.”

“You’ve seen her already?” Joseph asked.

“Yep . . . they’re all home. And you’ll be surprised to see who I brought with me, Joe. Now, let’s go.”

Joseph followed, grateful for his
bruder
’s presence and strength. It was
gut
to have family to lean on when things were changing and Edward, despite his wild behavior on the rigs, now appeared to be every inch a well-dressed
Amisch
man.

 

 

Priscilla trailed her fingers in the warm tub water she had prepared after a busy day of visiting and good cheer. Edward was to stay with Mary and Jude and the baby, and the bishop’s wife had taken an inexplicable liking to Mama Malizza and had taken the woman home with her to extend hospitality for the impromptu visit.

Priscilla had started preparing the bath as soon as Joseph headed out for chores and now, as she heard his footsteps at the door, her heart began to pound in her throat. She’d loosed her hair and wore a simple, breezy nightgown that she’d cut down a bit from one of Mary’s generous gifts so that it almost resembled a long slip.

There was no doubt that she was enjoying the so-called control that Joseph allowed her in their bedroom relationship. But, so far, she’d only worked up enough courage to ask for random kisses and having him take off his shirt. She wanted tonight to be different, though, and had discovered the delicious pastime of fantasizing about her husband in her plans for the evening.

Joseph stopped short when he came into the bedroom and looked at the filled, steaming tub. She’d added some orange slices and a few sticks of cinnamon so that the whole room had taken on the air of a scented sauna as the night air through the window screen mixed with the bathwater’s heat.

“What’s all this?” he asked softly.

She smiled at him. “Your bath.”

“My bath?”

Was it her imagination or had his handsome face flushed a bit in the shadowed light of the single kerosene lantern?

“Yes, yours. Do you remember the first time I ever saw you? I think you’d just left the bath . . . you had a single hand towel . . . well, you know.”

“I do indeed.” He cleared his throat a bit. “So . . . you want me to undress?”

She nodded, managing to keep her composure. “
Jah
. But slowly, please.”

“All right.”

Priscilla screwed her hands into the light top quilt on the bed and leaned back a bit. She felt the need to appear casual, but she really wanted to hide her eyes with embarrassment at her bold request.

But Joseph seemed perfectly composed as he lowered his suspenders and began to slide pins from his shirt front. He looked straight at her while he did it, his long fingers working with grace and ease in the half light. The pins made tiny pattering sounds on the dresser as he dropped each one, and she restlessly tightened her grip on the quilt as he eased his blue shirt off.

I can do this
, she told herself.
He’s my husband . . . the husband of my heart.

He dropped his shirt on the floor and then reached for the hooks and eyes in his black pants. She felt pinned by his gaze, like a butterfly on a golden shaft, and she forced herself to focus on his eyes as he finished undressing. He stood before her—large, beautiful, so completely male, and she found she had to start twice to speak her next request.

“Please get in the tub, if you would.” She wished she didn’t sound so breathless, but he obeyed without comment, sloshing water over the sides as he eased his big frame inside the metal tub. She was glad now that she’d chosen to drag the larger tub instead of the hip bath to their bedroom, because it meant that he was probably more comfortable, able to stretch out his legs.

He lifted an orange slice from the water and arched a dark brow.

“Scent matters to me,” she said simply and he nodded, dropping the slice back in the water. He watched as she moved from the bed to slide to her knees beside the tub. She took a sponge from the pile of items she’d assembled beforehand and drew a deep breath. “I want you dripping wet, Joseph King, so that you have to lick at the water running down your face like you did that day at the hotel.”

He smiled and she suppressed a surprised shriek when he suddenly arched his back and dunked his head backwards into the water, splashing her in the process. He came up seconds later, his dark hair clinging to the nape of his neck and the sides of his face. He held her gaze as he put out his tongue and caught the water that ran past his cheekbone. Then he dropped his eyes to her damp gown and she had to resist the urge to cover her breasts with the sponge. But instead, she motioned for him to lean forward and started to diligently scrub the broad expanse of his back, wondering vaguely what she’d got herself into . . .

Joseph was doing sums in his head—triple digits and more—anything to keep from thinking about the languorous feel of the water, the ache of his mouth, and his wife’s purposeful touch down the length of his spine. He closed his eyes when she’d finished and leaned back in the tub.
Now what? More gentle kisses when what I really want is
. . . He thought for a moment.
When what I really want is to do whatever she likes . . .
He opened his eyes to look at her, attentive and willing to wait and see what she asked for next.

“Put your arms behind your head,” she said, inadvertently dampening her gown more with the sponge she tightly held.

“All right.” He pillowed his head on his bent arms, resting on the back rim of the tub, and waited, feeling wonderfully vulnerable and intrigued.

She leaned forward, unknowingly giving him a rich display of full, rosy breasts, and then she used her hand instead of the sponge to cup a handful of the water up around his throat and another across his chest. He shivered at the satiny feel of her hand and the heated water and held his breath when she bit her lip and trailed her hand across his belly.

“Does it hurt?” she asked faintly.

“What?”

“The—the swelling. I’ve no idea how you must feel when your body . . . well, does that.”

“It feels
gut
but there’s an edge to it,” he said after a moment, marveling at her innocence and wanting to curse Heath once more from the face of the earth.

“An edge?”

He nodded. He longed to touch her but kept his arms in place. “When my body reacts like this—it’s because I want you, to be with you—sometimes it can become painful if there’s no release for a long time.” He stared at her hard, wondering if he was making sense to her.

“And do you . . . do you need that release now?”