August (Prairie Grooms, #1) (18 page)

He straightened. “You’re, you’re not?”

She shook her head. “I am sorry, I ... it’s just that ...”

He backed away a step and put his hands on his hips. “Well, now, doesn’t that beat all? A man has to wait ... well then, Mrs. Bennett, that means there’s only one thing to do!”

She tensed at his voice rising in volume. “What ... what’s that?”

“Go take care of the horses, while you make us some tea.”

“Tea?” she said, exasperated. “You want me to make you a cup of ...?” She stopped, realizing what he was doing. He knew she was frightened – and was letting her take her time.

He smiled, knowing that she knew. “Of course. I’d like to enjoy a cup of tea with you before we ... retire for the evening.” He raised one eyebrow in question. “You
can
boil water, can’t you?”

She would’ve blanched, had she not been aware he was teasing her. “Yes, I can boil water. Is the stove hot?”

He laughed. “It will be. Let me stoke it and add some wood, then you can do your job while I do mine.”

She let go a sigh of relief. She might be married to this man, but that didn’t mean she knew him completely, or that she wasn’t going to have to get used to his ways. She followed him into the kitchen, and watched as he added wood to the cook stove and got it going again. Then he smiled, and left without another word.

After he was gone, Penelope glanced around the kitchen. August really had seemed to have thought of everything. There was a sturdy table against the wall with three chairs. The fourth was near the kitchen door. The stove wasn’t very large, certainly not as large as the one out at the Triple-C, but it would serve for their needs. In fact, it could probably heat most of the house. A hutch graced another wall, containing plates, bowls, cups, everything she would need. And instead of having to go outside for water, there was a pump with a surrounding catch basin built right into a corner of the floor. That would certainly be handy for cold winter mornings, she mused. He even had pretty yellow curtains in the windows.

“I must say, Mr. Bennett,” she said aloud, “you do have good taste.” With that, she set about making her new husband his cup of tea.

T
hey sat in the parlor, teacups and saucers in hand, and sipped. Even the parlor was charming, and Penelope wondered why she hadn’t paid closer attention when he showed her the house a few days before. He’d wallpapered the room in a pretty yellow pattern with tiny rose buds. The tea set, too, was beautiful, and she wondered if he’d had help from some of the women of the town in picking it out.

She smiled. He was clearly far from being the big, tough, uncouth cowboy she’d expected – if anything, he was closer to being a gentleman farmer like those she’d known in England.

“This tea is excellent,” she commented.

“I know.”

She looked at him. “I wasn’t aware you were an expert on tea.”

“I’m not. Credit to Sadie Cooke on that score.”

“I see. And who helped you decorate the house?”

“No one.” He set his cup and saucer on a small table in front of the settee. “I did this myself,” he added with pride.

She looked at him in shock. “You decorated this all on your own?”

“Of course. Don’t you like it?”

She glanced around the room. “I adore it, August, I really do. It’s charming. The whole house is.”

He put an arm around her. “I knew the woman I married would love it. You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“That you’re the right woman.” He bent down and gently kissed her forehead.”

She was vaguely aware that her teacup and saucer were no longer in her hand. He’d taken them from her and set them next to his on the table.

He wrapped her in both arms and held her against him, her head titled back in such a way that her lips were at his mercy. “So, here we are,” he drawled. “Just a married couple sipping tea in the evening.”

She swallowed hard. “Mm-hmm,” she managed.

He lowered his face to hers. “And what do you suppose we should do now?”

She swallowed a second time—a miracle really—her mouth had gone completely dry by now. All she could do was blink.

He smiled wolfishly. “I have something in mind, Mrs. Bennett ...” he whispered, then nipped at her ear lobe. She jumped in his arms. “A little skittish?” he said against her ear.

“A ... a bit, yes. I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to ... to ...”

“To what?” he asked, his voice a rasp. “To this?” He nibbled and kissed his way from her ear down her neck and to her shoulder.

“Ohhhh .... my goodness ...”

“Oh yes ...”

“Mr. Bennett ...” she gasped as his hands began to roam.

“August,” he corrected, his mouth on her ear.

“You ... you ... I ...”

“I have something to tell you, Mrs. Bennett.”

She gasped for breath as her whole body shivered. “Wh-what?” she squeaked.

He lifted his head to look at her, and his smile was the gentlest she could imagine. “Don’t be afraid.”

And Penelope wasn’t, not for the entire rest of the evening.

* * *

P
enelope opened one eye and squinted at the bright morning sunshine. She stretched, and groaned when her leg cramped. She covered her mouth with a hand, afraid she’d wake August.

But there was no chance of that. He wasn’t in bed with her.

She sat up and looked around the room. She hadn’t noticed that it was just as lovely as the rest of the house the night before; she had other things on her mind. Like what her new husband was going to do to her. She soon found out ... and had marveled at the experience. Sadie and Belle had informed her of all sorts of things that went on between a man and a woman, half of which she wasn’t sure she believed. This morning, however, not only was she a believer, she hoped to become a devoted follower!

She flopped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling while she collected her thoughts. She was married to the handsomest man she had ever met. She lived on a quaint little farm in the countryside. Her sisters were soon to be married and would be her neighbors, or at least close by. She sighed in contentment. Her life had taken a turn for the better since she’d pledged herself to become Mrs. August Bennett, and she couldn’t think of a single thing that could shake her from her happy mood.

“What’s for breakfast, Mrs. Bennett?”

All right, maybe that ... Penelope sat up, realized she was naked, and pulled the quilt up over her chest. “August!”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said from the bedroom doorway. “I’ve finished feeding the stock and my morning chores are done. And now I’m hungry. So what’s on the menu?”

She looked at him in horror. “Oh, ah ... well, let me get up and dressed, and I’ll make you ... something.” She paused before adding, “um, you do know that I ...”

“I know,” he said compassionately. “Do the best you can. And I’ll eat it, because you made it.”

She blushed, grateful for his understanding.

“Well, I have a few more things I can get done outside. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” He looked her up and down. “If not sooner.” He winked at her, spun on his boot heel and left.

She remembered that saying, and knew it meant she didn’t have much time. She jumped from the bed, found her clothes (which had been scattered all over the room in the enthusiasm of last night) and dressed, trying not to get all moon-eyed thinking about the night before. She then dashed downstairs to the kitchen.

Where doubt assailed her all over again. “Oh dear, what do I do?” She looked through the various cupboards, but found nothing but a single loaf of bread Belle had left for them. She could hardly serve her new husband only a slice of bread for breakfast – what kind of a wife would that make her?

She glanced around the kitchen again, and spied a small basket next to the back door. “Of course! I know what I’ll do!” She grabbed it, and headed outside. If Belle could gather eggs, so could she – and August’s new chickens had to have laid some by now. She hoped.

Penelope scanned the barnyard searching for August. Not seeing him, she headed for the barn. “I can do this. It’s easy. They’re only chickens, they won’t hurt ... oh, dear.” She stopped short in front of the barn and audibly gulped.
He
was in there ... Clyde, the mad rooster.

She noticed the barn was closed up save for the hayloft above. Maybe if she were lucky, Clyde wouldn’t be at home ...

She opened the door and peeked inside the dim interior. “Hello?”

Silence.

She stepped inside, gripping the basket. “Here, chickens ... come out, come out, wherever you are ...” she said weakly. She studied her surroundings, feeling increasingly foolish. She should
not
be afraid of a few hens – and Clyde was probably elsewhere. Didn’t chickens hate being cooped up inside a dusty old barn?

Penelope’s eyes adjusted to the low light, and she took in the smell of hay and straw, leather, wood, and dirt. She then heard clucking. But where were they? She glanced around and discovered the hens had taken up residence in an empty horse stall. “There you are,” she cooed and drew closer. It appeared they had set up nests, and she was delighted to find several hens settled into the straw, hopefully atop their eggs.

“Now, you don’t mind if I nick a few of these, do you?” she asked as the hens eyed her with suspicion. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me feel guilty.” She stepped into the stall.

One of the hens hopped up and took off, clucking in protest at her approach. Penelope gasped in delight when the hen sped past her, leaving behind three eggs in the straw. “Wonderful!” She reached for them, and was taken aback to discover how warm they were. The other hens watched her, clucking and making other odd sounds she wasn’t accustomed yet to hearing. “Thank you very much, my dears. You’ve been most kind to provide us with breakfast this morning.” She put the eggs in her basket, stood and smiled down at the hens. She felt almost giddy at her small triumph, and turned to go.

Clyde blocked her path.

Penelope gasped and froze.

Cluck.

She swallowed back her fear. “Is that all you have to say?”

Cluck.

“Now see here, Clyde. Yes, that’s your name, after a very obstinate chap back home. But never mind that. I need to get past. So be a good fellow, and let me by.”

Clucluck!

“I say, you’re not being very accommodating! Now shoo!” she said with a wave of her hand.

SQUAWWWK!

“Oh, Heaven help us!”

There was a flap of wings, a rush of wind, and before she knew it, the blasted chicken had flown over her head to land behind her. The hens clucked and squawked in protest at the sudden upheaval, and soon feathers were flying. Penelope screamed at the chaos, unable to see, and heard an angry shout. Hands grabbed her, and she was suddenly swept up into August’s arms and carried from the stall.

“You dang rooster,” August shouted. “I’m gonna shoot you if you don’t behave yourself!” He set Penelope down. “Are you okay?”

She gripped the basket with one hand and brushed at her skirt with another, trying to compose herself. “Yes, I think so. I appreciate your help, but I did have it all in hand.”

“Hmmm, yes, I can see that,” he said with a smirk.

“Clyde and I had a simple ... misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Clyde? You mean you
named
it?”

“Of course – a day or two ago if you must know. And I would prefer it if you’d let me handle him my own way.”

He laughed. “All that talk, just to save your pride?”

“I’ll have you know my forebears defeated the French at Agincourt, drove off the Great Pretender, and routed Napoleon’s navy at Trafalgar! I can
handle
a
rooster
!” She snapped her mouth shut, squared her shoulders, and raised the basket proudly for his inspection.

He peeked inside. “Hey, we’ve got eggs!”

“Yes, and now we can have breakfast,” she said triumphantly.

“How about that? And you gathered those all by yourself,” he said teasingly.

“As it’s my first time, I think congratulations are in order, don’t you?”

He looked at her, took her in his arms and kissed her. It was not a chaste kiss – and really, after last night how could there be any more of those? No, it was hungry – and so was he. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into a stall.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Congratulating you, of course.”

“Mr. Bennett!”

“There’s no one around but us and a few chickens, Mrs. Ben ... Penelope.”

She looked at him, the basket still in her hand. “Here. In the
barn,
” she replied, mildly scandalized.

“The chickens don’t mind.”

SQUAWWWK.

“Except maybe that one,” August said in a flat tone and sat her down. He looked over the wall into the next stall. “Mind your own business,
Clyde
.”

Penelope laughed as he turned back to her, and pulled him close. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want to ...”

Her words were cut off by his kiss, leaving no doubt in her mind that her husband
did
want to. And he was right – the chickens didn’t mind a bit.

* * *

A
few hours later, August and Penelope had eggs and bread – for lunch. He had needed to show her how to cook the eggs, and it was all they could do to make it through the lesson before he had carried her upstairs again ... this time without having to worry about an audience of poultry.

But chickens or no chickens, Penelope couldn’t be happier, and despite the fact she knew far too little about housekeeping, cooking or sewing, she was becoming quite familiar with her new husband. She knew what it felt like to run her hands over his body, and liked the way his skin felt against her own. She enjoyed his kisses, and the way he whispered to her when they made love. She hadn’t understood what love was until now, and wondered how anyone could do what they had done and not start to fall in love, at least to some degree. The act of lovemaking was just that – love-making – and her feelings for her new husband were growing as a result of it. She knew him better now, in just a day, and couldn’t wait to tell her sisters how happy she was. When she saw them again, that is ...