Big Sky Rancher (10 page)

“I want to see your body, Jennifer. I want to see what he did to you.”

“I only have a bruise on my arm. Just where he grabbed me.”

“Let me see.” He would not be swayed. If a simple bruise was all she had to offer him, he'd be thankful, but his better sense told him it was more than that.

She undid the front of her gown and slid one arm from the sleeve, baring her shoulder and the upper slope of her breast. She pulled the gown up to cover her as if she realized her degree of nudity. He smiled.

“I've seen that much and more already. You have no reason to be shy with me. I'm your husband.” And then he caught
sight of finger marks on her upper arm. In two separate places, as if the brute had grasped her and then released his hold only to grip her again, digging his fingertips into her soft flesh.

“The other arm, Jennifer.” His tone was guttural and filled with a surging anger.

She obeyed, probably thinking there was no use in arguing. If she feared him, a man who intended her no harm, how much greater must have been her fright when faced with a man who cared little for the bruising he inflicted.

She held the gown against her breast, allowing him to inspect her skin, unflinching as he touched the purpling welts. His eyes darkened with the fury of a man helpless in the face of pain.

“I'm all right, Lucas. It doesn't hurt, and Ida put witch hazel on me. I won't have any marks left after a week or so.”

“That's a week or so too long, as far as I'm concerned.” He lifted her sleeves, making it convenient for her to shove her arms back into them. Then, as if it were a task he must do as penance, he buttoned her gown again and lifted his hands to frame her face. “I'm sorry, sorrier than you'll ever know. I gave that brute the chance to hurt you. I should have been with you, Jennifer. All the gold in that mine isn't worth one bruise on your body.”

“You'd better watch your step, Mr. O'Reilly. I'll begin to think you like me.” Her gaze was filled with him, the presence of the man, his mouth, eyes, the dark hair that lay in disarray on his head, the broad chest where she'd been comforted more than once. And she realized that her words might seem to him a demand for his caring. It wasn't what she wanted, and yet—perhaps it was. She
yearned
for his caring.

To know that he felt some degree of affection would sit well right now, she decided.

“I do like you.” He spoke without hesitation, the words firm, as if he had no reason to search for a reply. “Probably more than is wise, Jennifer.”

“And what is
that
supposed to mean?” The words were a puzzle and she felt unable to solve it.

“I hadn't thought to really
like
my wife, when I sent for a woman. I hadn't realized I could care for a female like you, an easterner, a woman who sought out a husband through an agency. I'd expected a different sort than the girl who arrived here.”

“You were disappointed, I know. But I didn't set out to deceive you, Lucas. The man at the agency—”

He held up a hand to halt her. “I know. I know. He made up the description of your household skills out of whole cloth. The only thing he said that was the unvarnished truth was that you were a woman of quality, more attractive than most. I guess he figured that would make up for your faults.”

She felt perplexed for a moment. “I don't remember that in the letter I saw.”

“It was in mine. Would you like to see it?”

She shook her head. “No. I believe you.” And then her mind seized on his words. “What do you mean, my faults? What faults?”

His brow twitched, a prelude to laughter, she'd learned. He did not disappoint her, for his chuckle was rich and bold. “You have a temper, Mrs. O'Reilly, and a sassy mouth. A mind of your own—” He stopped for a moment, counting his fingers as he enumerated the items he'd listed. His brow furrowed just a bit as his voice softened and his face turned sober, as if his joking were set aside.

And yet, how much of it was joking, she wasn't certain. He'd listed her faults accurately, so she added her own con
tributions to the list. “I can't cook, don't know how to make bread or milk a cow. And worst of all, I'm not much of a wife where it seems to count the most.”

“You're
my
wife, and that's what counts,” he told her. “I'll decide how inept you are when it comes to our private life together. And trust me, sweetheart, I have no complaints yet.”

“You haven't? I thought—” Perhaps it was better if she didn't think too much about their
private life.
“I thought you were disappointed in me.”

He threw his head back and laughed, not a chuckle, but a full-bodied snort of laughter that began in his belly and rose upward, erupting in a sound that could not be anything but pure enjoyment.

“You told half the town today that you love me, that you had no intention of looking at another man, no matter what he had to offer. Did I quote that right?” His hands rested on his hips now as he faced her and she felt foolish, as if she'd sealed her fate with the size of her mouth.

“Kind of,” she said finally. “It's a pretty loose quotation, but you have the gist of it.”

“You love me? Right?”

“That's what I said.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Maybe comparatively speaking, when I thought about feeling anything for Kyle, and then considered you.”

“Now what the
hell
is that supposed to mean?”

“Don't curse, please. I don't like to hear it.”

“You'll hear worse than that if you compare me to that bastard again. I've damn well treated you nicely, and now you act like you had a hard time choosing between me and some
dude from New York, who wasn't worth a minute of your attention.”

She was stunned at his accusation. “I didn't say that. I never even thought it. Not for a minute.” She felt battered by his words, insignificant in front of him, and stepped back lest he touch her again. The bed was directly behind her and she sat down on the feather tick.

“Jennifer.” He reached for her, his frown intense, as if he feared she were hurt. With a total lack of finesse, he lifted her into his arms and held her.
Finesse
wasn't the most important thing in the world, she thought as she felt his solid, lean strength holding her against him. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

“I'm all right. I just lost my balance.” She winced as her arms ached from his handling and he set her aside.

“Now what did I do? Hurt you again?” His eyes were sharp, focusing on her body first, then sweeping up to her arms. “I grabbed you, didn't I?”

She leaned on him again and, to his credit, he wrapped his arms around her, steering clear of her bruises. “Just hold me tight, will you, Lucas?” Aware that she hovered on the edge of tears, she inhaled, lest she dampen his shirt again. Crying seemed to be a habit of hers, one she refused to use to her advantage.

“I'll hold you all night.” The words were solemn, almost a vow, and she accepted them as such.

“Thank you. I think I need to know you're here. I missed you while you were gone.”

“I'm going into town in the morning to find that New Yorker, Jennifer. I hope you won't be angry if I mop the floor with him.”

“He has the baby with him.” Her remembrance of Kyle's words struck her. “Be careful he doesn't hurt her.”

“The baby? Your neice?” He leaned past her to pull the
quilt and sheet back, then fluffed her pillow. “He won't hurt her. I'll see to it, sweetheart. Now, will you crawl into bed?”

She obeyed, not about to argue with him, unable to think of anything else but curling up in his arms. She watched as he undressed, turning her head aside as he reached his smallclothes, and then felt the bed sink beneath his weight. He pulled her into his arms and she went willingly. “Put your head on my shoulder,” he said, coaxing her with soft tones. “I want to kiss you, Jennifer. Is that all right?”

“You've never asked before,” she reminded him. “But I don't mind. Truly, I don't.”

“I'm done with pouncing on you, honey. From now on I'm going to behave myself and bide my time. If you think enough of me to tell the whole town you love me, then I'm willing to wait till you're ready to be my wife.”

“It wasn't the whole town, only that row of old gentlemen who sit on the benches in front of the stores, and half a dozen ladies who came out of the general store to listen to all the fuss.”

“That row of old gentlemen are the biggest bunch of gossips you've ever laid eyes on, Jen. By now, everyone in town knows what you said, and the ladies are all aflutter with the story. And the men are envying me, every last one of them, except maybe the preacher, who seems pretty well smitten with his own wife.”

She turned her face into his chest and giggled. There was no other word for it. And she hadn't giggled like a child for more years than she could remember. “I didn't say I was
smitten.
” The words apparently amused him, for he laughed again and then squeezed her.

“I know what you said, and I can't tell you how pleased I was to hear it.”

She tilted her head back and looked up at him. “Really? You were pleased?”

“You have no idea. Now,” he said, smothering a yawn, “tuck yourself right back here and snuggle up.”

She did, willing to obey, not considering for a moment that his tone was overbearing, that his arms held her as if he took possession of her very self. For tonight she was willing to be his possession, his wife.

And the truth of the matter was, she
did
love him, more than she'd ever thought possible. It just might not be wise to repeat that again, though. He was arrogant enough as it was. No sense in giving him anything else to gloat over.

L
UCAS HEADED FOR TOWN
early in the morning, after breakfasting on a cup of coffee and a piece of bread. “I won't be long. Just want to look around to see if your brother-in-law had the good sense to leave on the morning train.”

“If he did, he took the baby with him,” Jennifer said sadly. “I'd hoped to see her.”

“How old is she?” Mrs. Bronson apparently had an interest in the child, too.

“Almost a year old. She was the image of her mama. even when she was born. I'd like to know what kind of care she's getting from Kyle, given his slapdash methods of fathering during those first few months. I kept track of her as best I could, talking to his neighbors and such. Right up till I left to come here.”

Lucas bent to kiss Jennifer's cheek. “I'll find out. One way or another.”

He made good time, his horse fresh and ready for a run. The morning train was pulling in from the west as he reached the station and his quick scan of the platform gave no evidence of a stranger waiting to climb aboard.

“Damn fool must have stuck around.” Lucas felt a surge of pleasure as he considered the confrontation that might
occur in the next little while. The hotel was his next stop and the desk clerk waved a hand in welcome.

“You got a stranger here?” Lucas was tempted to turn the book around to look at the names written there, himself, but thought better of it.

“Man came in yesterday, totin' a young'un and causin' trouble in town, I hear. I suspect you're here to talk to him, Luc. But do your talkin' outside, if you please. I just paid a pretty penny to fix this lobby up. All new furniture and a nice new carpet. I'm not lookin' to have it bloodied up once you get your hands on that fella.”

“Where is he?” His blood pumped through his veins as Lucas recalled the vivid bruising on Jennifer's arms. Anger was a harsh companion and he'd shared company with it all through the night. Now, just thinking of his wife and her fragile, feminine body being the target of some scallawag's cruelty made him shudder with anticipation.

He wanted nothing more than to satisfy his thirst for revenge by planting his fists in the culprit's face. “Where is he?” he repeated, his voice rough.

“In the dining room. Sitting all by himself. Don't know what he done with the little girl, but he's alone, eatin' his breakfast.” The clerk's face held a degree of disgust. “I didn't hear her cryin' or makin' any fuss when I went up and listened at his door. Maybe she's sleepin'.”

Lucas nodded and turned away, intent on gaining the threshold of the restaurant. Seated at a number of tables, hotel guests and townsfolk in search of a good breakfast, ate in an almost silent ritual. The sheriff sat alone near the window and Lucas wondered for a moment how that gentleman would respond to his plan of action.

And then it didn't matter, for he caught sight of the only stranger in the room, a dapper man with his hair carefully combed, his suit pressed and his shirt pristine. A sight to behold, Lucas thought sourly. He'd change that in a hurry.

With one hand he lifted the man from his seat, even as he spoke the hateful name out loud. “Your name Kyle?” Eyes bulging, the man nodded, and Lucas lifted him to his toes and headed for the door.

“Here now, Luc. What you up to?” The sheriff erupted from his chair and crossed the dining room, his hand on his gun.

“This son of a pup insulted my wife and left bruises on her.” His words were an accusation in themselves and the sheriff paused, as if he considered the reason for Luc's actions.

“I can't let you go killing the man, Luc,” he said. “No matter how mad you are. And bein' the mayor don't make a difference, either. That's cold-blooded murder. You came in here with criminal intent. And I can't allow mayhem in this town, no matter how much the fella deserves it.”

“I didn't do anything,” Kyle managed to squeak just before Lucas dragged him to the doorway and across the lobby. Lucas pushed the wide doors open and the man found himself on the sidewalk, Lucas hands holding him upright.

“You hurt my wife.” The words were accusation enough, apparently, for Kyle blanched and shuddered.

“She belongs to me,” he said in a confident tone that was likely false.

“Well, I've got news for you, fella. I'm the one who married her and it's my house she's living in, and my bed she's sleeping in, so I'd say you don't have any chance at her.”

“She's from New York. She belongs in the city.”

“She belongs right here. With me.” And with that, Lucas
released Kyle from his grasp, only to swing his right arm in a wide sweep, catching Kyle's jaw with a crushing blow. The man hit the sidewalk and groaned.

Lucas gave him only a moment to catch his breath, then lifted him by the front of his not-so-pristine shirt and slammed his other fist into the man's nose. Blood spurted and Lucas stepped back out of the way, unwilling to wear mute evidence of his attack.

And yet he was not finished with him. His long fingers clenched the shirt collar, dislodging Kyle's tie and almost throttling the man. “Head back to New York if you know what's good for you,” Luc said and, with a mighty blow that sent Kyle flying into the street, he finished his duty.

He turned to face the sheriff, that man having followed him out of the hotel. “You want to arrest me, Joshua, you just go right ahead. Remember one thing, though. If Jennifer was your wife, you'd have done the same thing.”

Josh Tyler looked down pityingly at the man who lay in the street, his nose bleeding, his jaw already swollen and one eye turning purple. “Too bad that fella walked right into that door, ain't it?” He looked at Lucas with a grin. “Why don't you give me a hand with him and we'll let him sleep it off in a cell?”

“The pleasure's all mine.” Luc held out his battered hand to the sheriff and the other man gripped it. “There's a baby girl somewhere in that hotel, Joshua. I'm gonna take her home with me.”

“Who is she?”

“Jennifer's niece. We can look after her for a bit.”

“If the baby belongs to this gentleman—” Joshua pointed at Kyle “—then you have no legal right to the child.”

“It's a temporary measure.” Lucas felt uncomfortable telling the lie, knowing that Jennifer would not be willing to give up the child once she had her hands on her.

“All right. I'll know where to find her when this bird is ready to leave town.”

The baby girl was soft and feminine, and somehow felt as though she belonged in his arms. With an angelic smile she welcomed Lucas, snuggling against him.

She was dark-haired, petite and weighed less than a sack of groceries. Lucas carried her to his horse and settled her in the saddle, coaxing her to hold the saddle horn while he climbed on behind her. She fit on his lap and he reached for the small bundle the desk clerk handed him.

“It's all I found in the room that looked like baby clothes. If anything more turns up, I'll save it for you, Luc.”

Tilting his hat down a bit to shade his eyes from the early morning sun, Lucas smiled his thanks and turned his gelding in the direction of home. He'd grown so used to thinking of the mine and the tent he'd lived in there as his home, that it was still a novelty to consider the farmhouse as his residence.

With Jennifer there, it had become home to him.

 

S
HE'D MANAGED
to make the bed with fresh sheets and to sweep the kitchen floor, using a pot holder to pad the broom handle lest her hand rub too hard against the wood. Now she was learning the fine art of churning butter.

“How will I know when it's done?”

Ida laughed, as if she were enjoying this series of lessons she'd undertaken to give. “You'll know. When it gets too stiff for the dasher to move, it's done. And it looks to me like you're about there.”

Jennifer halted the motion of the dasher and lifted the lid. Sure enough, a firm pile of butter lay in the bottom of the wooden barrel, looking surprisingly like the pat still on the table from three days ago.

“Now we scrape it out into the wooden bowl and shape it with the wooden paddle. All the water has to be pressed out,” Mrs. Bronson warned her. “That'll set it up real good and you can form half-pound rounds from it.”

“How will I know if it's a half pound?” This whole procedure was more complicated than she'd thought it would be, and Jennifer doubted her ability to ever run a kitchen on her own.

“You'll know.” With those confident words, Mrs. Bronson brought the wooden butter bowl to the table. Together they turned out the contents of the churn, Jennifer using the wooden paddle to squeeze and form the yellow substance. Fluid gathered, a watery byproduct of her churning, and she dumped it into a smaller dish.

“We'll mix that in with the food leftovers for the hog.” Ida Bronson certainly knew her way around the place. Jennifer hadn't even known there was a hog.

She winced as her right hand cramped and she switched the paddle to the other. “Is this the way to do it?” The butter was firming up nicely, she thought, but a word of encouragement would not be amiss.

“You're doin' fine, girl. Luc's gonna be proud of you. Just don't make that hand sore or he'll be after me with the broom.”

Jennifer laughed, which apparently was the purpose of the woman's gibe, and then set to work, scraping out a portion of butter and forming it in her palms into a credible imitation of Mrs. Bronson's work of just a few days ago.

She'd completed the task when she heard a horse, its
whinny loud outside the screen door. “Lucas.” She jumped up and hastened to the doorway, looking out at the man who sat astride his gelding, a small bundle across his lap.

“I brought you something, Jen. Come take a look.”

“Susan.” The single word was a plea, a cry of triumph and the aching sound of a woman's heartbreak.

“Here you go, Jen.” Lucas bent from the saddle and handed her the small form, a doll-like creature dressed in white batiste, dark hair curling, almost in imitation of the woman who held her. He watched as the child lifted a tiny hand to pat Jennifer's cheek, and then the small voice spoke a single word.

It was enough to wring tears from an old reprobate, and since Lucas had no aspirations to that position, his vision blurred, his throat tightening with emotion as he coughed, as if to belay the tears that begged to fall from his eyes.

Two small arms crept around Jennifer's neck and she laid her head atop that of the child she held. “Thank you, Lucas.” It was a simple phrase, yet the import was enormous, holding a wealth of meaning, all of it directed at Lucas.

Jennifer turned, seeking a seat on the edge of the porch, and still the child clung. Jennifer stifled the cry of pain that tore at her heart. If only she could be mother to this child. If only Kyle would disappear from the face of the earth. She bit her lip, holding Susan close. And then she looked up at Lucas.

“Where is he?” There was no need to be more specific.

“Hopefully he'll be on the evening train back East. Right now he's resting in a cell in Joshua's jailhouse.”

“The sheriff arrested him?”

“Not exactly.” Lucas seemed uncomfortable with his own answer and Jennifer watched him as he dismounted in a graceful movement. He approached and she frowned, her sharp
gaze taking note of his hands, both of them grazed and scuffed, with traces of dried blood marring the surface of his knuckles.

“What did you do to him?” Her heart beat rapidly, fearful that Lucas might have gotten into a fix because of her. “You didn't break the law, did you?”

Lucas shook his head and grinned. “I don't know of any law that says a man can't defend his wife's reputation and guarantee her personal safety. I just did both.”

“You did?” And just what had he done? Her gaze flew again to his hands and she motioned him forward until he stood almost knee to knee with her dangling legs. She touched his right hand, then the left, running her fingertips over the scratches and traces of dried blood.

“You hit him, didn't you?” And more than once, it looked like.

“Yeah, I hit him, Jen. Off the sidewalk and into the street. He won't be messing with you again. I'll guarantee it, sweetheart.”

“I don't see any bruises on you, Lucas.” Her keen eyes scanned his face, seeking any trace of another man's fists.

“I don't have any. He didn't have a chance to throw a punch. And the sheriff watched the whole thing. Took Kyle off to a cell and sent me home. I went in to the hotel first and picked up the baby for you.”

“Thank you.” She repeated the phrase and again knew that it was not sufficient. Not for the overwhelming blessing he'd granted her, the safe delivery of her sister's child.
Susan.
A child she yearned to keep for her very own.

“Got any food in that kitchen?” Lucas asked. “I'm ready for something to eat, as soon as I do a few chores.”

“Of course. Come back as soon as you're done.” She
scooted from the edge of the porch and climbed the steps to the back door. “Ida, come see what Lucas brought home to us.”

A smiling face greeted the newcomer as Ida took the child into her arms. “Aren't you just the cutest little chick to ever hatch from an egg?” The words were soft, whispered into a tiny, shell-like ear, and Susan cuddled closer to the ample bosom.

“I'm not so well equipped as you, I fear. She seems to like her resting place.” Jennifer subdued a pang of envy as she watched Ida charm the child with a few phrases and a series of pats on her back and kisses on her forehead.

“She'll like you just fine,” Ida said soothingly, and as if to prove her point, Susan reached for Jennifer, almost lunging as she sought the shelter of her aunt's arms. “See. What did I tell you? I don't know how you could leave her behind with that brute of a father, though.” Ida frowned.