Carolyn Davidson (11 page)

She’d spoken out of turn, Cassie thought, spilling out all that about her mother. Her face flushed and she backed from the porch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. You don’t need to hear—”

Clara Tolliver held up her hand, halting Cassie’s words. “Don’t apologize. You’re right The child has more than a lot of young’uns do in this world. I guess when it’s one of your own, you just want everything to be right and proper. When you and Will have your babies, you’ll know what I mean. Being married and making a home…all that’s important, doing the right thing.”

Right and proper. The right thing. Cassie heard the words, flinching as they burned into her mind. She’d almost belonged to Will last night. And the night before, too. And
here his mama thought they were married and things were right and proper beneath her roof. And they were about as wrong as two deceitful people could make it.

If it was up to her, she’d tell Clara Tolliver right now how things were, but she wasn’t sure she could hold up under the shame of sleeping in Will’s bed for two nights already without being married to the man…and his mother knowing about it.

And if she knew anything at all, it seemed Will had other things on his mind this morning. He’d apparently put their wedding on the back burner, him out there pulling up rotten fence posts and putting in new ones as fast as Many Fingers could set them in place. Between the two of them they were shoveling dirt and banging nails and boards together to beat the band.

“You all right, girl?” Will’s mother voiced words of concern as she peered at Cassie. “I suspect talking about your mama got you all upset, didn’t it?”

Cassie mumbled a reply and took the egg basket, willing to grasp at the older woman’s explanation. “I reckon so, ma’am.”

She made her way to the chicken coop, Maggie skipping ahead. The child chattered on about the rooster, then told Cassie to watch where she walked so as not to carry hen poop into the house. By the time they’d steered clear of the setting hens and gathered up a full basket of eggs, Cassie found herself in a better frame of mind, smiling at Maggie’s instructions.

Will might have decided to put off the wedding for a while. Maybe, as her mother had told her a couple of years back, if a man got what he wanted up front, he wasn’t in any hurry to tie the knot. Like a farmer who wasn’t about to buy the cow if he could get the milk free.

She closed her eyes, remembering the look on Will’s
face as he’d hovered over her on the bed. Her cheeks were warm as she recalled his mouth, open and hot against her throat, his hands filling themselves with her breasts.

And if that wasn’t making love, she sure didn’t know what it was.

The shoring up of the pasture fence took longer than Will had estimated. For three long days he and Many Fingers worked at the task. Evenings found them sitting at the kitchen table, the overhead kerosene lamp burning brightly as they inspected their hands for any sign of wood that might have become embedded in their fingers during the day.

Will’s daddy had always said that infection followed if wounds weren’t cleaned right off. Will knew that if he hadn’t been so cussed stubborn he’d have worn gloves all day long. But the chore of taking them off every time he needed to hold a nail in place or use his hammer was a time-waster. And time was a thing he was running short of.

Cassie sat next to him, chewing on her lip as she took on the chore of inspecting Will’s fingers the third evening. Sewing needle in hand, she carefully pierced his tough skin, seeking the elusive bit of wood he’d pointed out. Carefully she washed it with carbolic soap, drying it before she rubbed a bit of salve into the small wound.

His eyes were intent on her, admiring her nimble fingers, her deft handling of his injuries. In the glow of the lantern her hair gleamed, the heavy braid she had pinned atop her head alive with varied hues, from darkest honey to the rich brown of a mink’s pelt. Her forehead was smooth, her cheeks flushed with some unknown emotion as she worked, holding his hand within her own.

He bent his fingers, capturing hers for a moment, and
she looked up in surprise. “Don’t smear that salve, Will. I want it to soak into your skin.”

“Your hand is like a little bird in mine,” he said quietly, noting the contrast between her narrow fingers with their smoothly rounded nails and his own rough, callused skin. “I’ve captured it, Cassie.” His fingers enclosed her hand easily, and she allowed it, her fist almost hidden in the depths of his grasp.

“Like you’ve captured me, Will?” she whispered, her eyes on his tanned fingers and his wide hand with a tracing of dark hair over its back.

He chuckled. “Have I? Captured you, I mean?”

Her gaze rose to meet his. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m living in your home, sleeping in your bed. I’m wearing the clothes you bought me, and every day I live here is a lie.”

His smile vanished, and his grip on her hand tightened. “Come along, Cassie.” Tugging her from her chair, he circled her waist with his other arm and headed for the hallway where the stairs climbed to the second floor.

In silence they walked up the bare treads and down the hall to where Will’s bedroom door stood open. Reluctantly she allowed him to steer her ahead of him into the room, and waited as he closed the door behind them.

Then he turned her to face him. It was getting dark rapidly outdoors, only enough light remaining in the room to outline the furniture. Her features were softened by the dim light and he bent to peer into her face.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten what I told you?”

She shook her head.

“I’ve been taking care of the fence for three days, Cass. Keeping those mares in the pasture is about the most important thing there is to do right now. We have a new colt in the barn tonight and three more mares look like they’re about ready to drop any minute.” His hands on her waist
were firm and he tightened his grip, as if he would get her attention.

She looked up, her chin set stubbornly. “All I know is that you haven’t talked to me for more than two minutes at any one time for the past three days. If you’ve decided not to go through with a wedding, I don’t mind. I just need to know what’s the next most important thing on your list of things to do. After horses, that is.”

“Damn, you can get me mad faster than anyone I’ve ever known,” he grumbled, sliding his hands to her back and jerking her against his body. He lowered his head, his lips capturing hers before she could evade him, his low growl of frustration making her shiver with anticipation.

He’d been so careful to leave her alone for the past three nights, sleeping on the edge of the bed, keeping his hands to himself, using every ounce of discipline he could muster. And now she had the nerve to insinuate that he was paying more attention to the horses than he was to her.

The sad part of it was, she was right, he admitted to himself. His sigh was lost in her mouth as he sampled the sweet taste of her. She was acquiescent in his embrace, neither seeking release from his arms nor returning the pressure of his lips against hers. He lifted his head and looked at her, smiling as the tip of her tongue traveled the distance from one side of her mouth to the other.

“You’re really mad at me, aren’t you?”

“I think you’ve got that wrong,” she told him. “You just told me that I can make you angrier than anyone you’ve ever known.”

“Yeah, but I get over it in a hurry. All I had to do was kiss you and I felt better.”

She was silent in his arms and then she pushed at him, seeking release.

For a moment, just a few seconds, he held on, loath to
loose his hold, yearning for the warmth of her body against his. And then he thought better of it. His arms dropped and he watched as she walked across the floor to the wardrobe.

“You goin’ somewhere?” he asked, leaning against the door.

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised mockingly. “With you standing in front of the door? Hardly.” From within the depths of the wooden cabinet she drew forth a pale garment Looked to him like her nightgown and its matching flannel robe.

“Going to bed now, Cassie?” If she thought he was going to let her settle down for the night without getting things resolved between them, she was in for a surprise.

“It’s getting dark out,” she said crisply, waving at the window where the gray of twilight had turned to the gloom of night.

“Let me light the lamp,” he said, moving to the table next to the bed where a kerosene lantern rested.

“Don’t bother. A candle will do. I don’t need much light to get undressed.” Already behind the screen in the corner of the room, she was out of sight.

The candle on the dresser was almost on its last legs, he decided. About enough light for them to get into bed before it sputtered out In the hallway, beyond the bedroom door, he heard Maggie’s small voice, his mother’s deeper tones hushing the child, and then the closing of the door across the hallway.

He sat in a chair to take off his boots, the glowing candle on the dresser beside him. From behind the screen came the soft sounds of Cassie’s disrobing. In a matter of seconds she pushed back the folding barrier, carrying her discarded clothing over her arm. A basket in the corner held soiled laundry and she added her armful to the collection, then
came to stand by the dresser where he waited, and leaned forward a bit to peer into the dimly lit mirror.

Her arms rose to unpin the circle of braids she’d worn all day and he watched as she began the task of dismantling the thick plaits. Her fingers moved rapidly up the length of each, until a waving mass of dark hair covered her shoulders, spilling past her waist Her brush worked slowly through the strands, her arms stretching to their utmost.

She bent then, from the waist, tossing her hair to hang in front of her, the ends touching the floor. His eyes were filled with the picture of beauty before him. Something his father had read aloud once from the Bible nudged at his memory. Something about her hair being a woman’s crowning glory.

He could readily understand how the writer had come upon such a theory, if the woman he’d been looking at had come anywhere near the vision in this room, he decided. If ever there was a crowning glory to behold, Cassie was its rightful possessor.

And as soon as he managed to get things in order, he’d have the rest of his life to watch her perform this ritual every night.

She finished her task and, with a slanting glance in his direction, blew out the candle. He saw her shadowed form turn toward the bed, one hand outstretched to find the bedpost as she hesitantly made her way through the darkened room. From the window starlight and moonglow combined, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he watched her shed her robe and settle down in the bed.

Rising from the chair, he undressed, padding to the bed in his long underwear. He’d give a bundle to drop those, too, but he’d have to wait a few days for that pleasure. The bed sank beneath his weight and he felt Cassie roll a bit in his direction.

“As soon as those mares drop their foals, we’ll take a short trip, Cass,” he said quietly, his hands stacked beneath his head. Waiting for a reaction, he closed his eyes, the weariness of his long day’s work tugging at him.

“I’m sure you’ll let me know your plans when the time comes,” she answered. And then turned to face the window.

“Don’t give me your back tonight, Cass. I’m too tired to have another fuss with you.”

She was still and silent for a few seconds, and then rolled back to face him. He reached out, his fingers clasping a handful of her hair as he touched her shoulder. “Come here,” he said tugging at her, his hand easing behind her back.

Cassie shifted in the bed, the mattress his friend as she rolled toward him. Her breasts were soft against his ribs as she lifted her head to rest on his shoulder. Nestling there, she shifted, forming her body to his side. Then she sighed, a whisper of sound that was sadness and acceptance combined, if he knew anything about Cassie Phillips.

“It will all work out, honey,” he told her, nudging her closer with the hand that pressed against her back.

“We’ll see,” she answered, and with that enigmatic reply he had to be content.

“Y
ou goin’ to church, Will?” Clara Tolliver dished up breakfast with a generous hand, and Sunday morning’s offering looked to be an exceptional display of her cooking skills.

Will eyed the overflowing plate before him, wondering if he hadn’t better eat first and answer later. That his mother would whisk away his meal was dubious, but her tone of voice lent doubt to that theory. Unless he missed his guess, she was expecting an affirmative answer.

The thought of the mare he’d left only minutes ago, obviously in the beginning stages of labor, made up his mind, and he shook his head firmly.

“I don’t dare leave with that mare ready to drop this morning, Ma,” he said firmly. Fork in hand, he readied himself to make short shrift of the meal before him, lest he dally over his food and not be nearby when the bay he’d penned in a box stall was at the end of her labor.

“You didn’t pray yet, Uncle Will,” Maggie reminded him.

He placed the fork on the table, aware of Cassie’s smothered laugh beside him. Coffeepot in hand, she paused to fill his cup and then made her way around the big table to
pour the dark, steaming brew into the oversize mugs Clara Tolliver used in her kitchen.

“Why don’t you pray, Maggie,” Will suggested

“We hafta wait for Grandma and Cassie,” the child told him primly, folding her hands and pursing her rosy mouth.

“We’re ready, Maggie.” Sliding into her chair, Clara motioned Cassie to do the same and then nodded at the small child who appeared to be directing the proceedings.

Lowering her head, she spoke the words Will had heard at the table for all the years of his youth. His father had spoken them, and he remembered waiting impatiently for the ritual to be at an end, his appetite always at the ready.

“How about you, Cassie?” The older woman’s question had been expected, but Cassie dreaded the answer she must give.

Entering a church would almost be sacrilege, she’d decided, what with the sham marriage she and Will had been living in this house. She’d not be able to hold up her head in God’s house, her guilt weighing heavily on her soul.

“I think I’d better not today,” she said softly, unwilling to meet the older woman’s eyes. She bent over her plate and sawed her fork through a sausage. “By next Sunday, things should be more settled. I’ll plan on going then.”

As excuses went, it was decidedly weak, but Clara accepted it with a nod, only glancing shortly at Will as if to judge his reaction. He looked up at Cassie, unsmiling, his hesitation brief before he spoke.

“Want to come out in the barn and watch with me, Cass?”

It was the branch she’d sought and she grasped it eagerly. “Yes, I’d like to. Do you think it will bother the mother to have me there?”

He shook his head. “Naw. A mare usually gets in a
world of her own when she’s birthing. Like all her energy is on doin’ what she has to do and gettin’ it over with.”

“Can I come, too?” Maggie asked hopefully.

Will shook his head. “Maybe another time. You need to go with your grandma to church this morning.”

The child subsided with grace, eating her breakfast, only a longing look in Cassie’s direction revealing her disappointment.

She was a dear child, not only in mood and temperament, but in her manners and cheerful acceptance of her circumstances, Cassie had decided after the first day or so. That any mother could go off and leave such an innocent behind was more than she could comprehend. The hours she had spent with Maggie had only reinforced the bond that had sprung into being that first day.

A wistful yearning for the day when she would have a child of her own was at the forefront of Cassie’s mind. To have someone love her with the unstinting devotion she’d felt for her own mother was a temptation she found impossible to resist That Will cared for her was almost a certainty. That he might come to love her was possible. But a child…ah, that was a promise of heaven here on earth.

Maggie was tugging at her sleeve, her manner impatient with Cassie’s daydreaming.

“Will you, Cassie?” she asked, tilting her head to peer into Cassie’s face.

“Will I what?”

“You were gonna fix my hair for me this morning. Remember?” the child prodded.

“Yes, of course.” Cassie pushed back from the table, suddenly aware that she was the last one to finish the meal. “Get your brush and we’ll do it on the porch.”

“Go along, Cassie,” Clara told her. “I’ll clear up here before I get ready to leave if you’ll tend to Maggie.”

Will’s hand on her elbow hustled her out the screen door to the porch. He stepped to the ground and turned to face her. “You all right, honey?”

She nodded, unwilling to share her doubts and fears with him, the brilliant sunlight somehow dissipating her worry.

“I’m fine, Will. I’d rather wait till things get a little more in order before I go to church, though.”

His nod was slow. “This week, Cassie. I promise.”

She bent forward a bit, her whisper intended only for his hearing. “Only if it’s what you truly want.” She felt the rush of tears, and closed her eyes against the heated response. Coercing Will into making an honest woman out of her was far from what she had in mind, and tears would be an unfair weapon.

His hands reached to encircle her waist and he lifted her to the ground to stand before him. One long finger pressed beneath her chin and tilted it up. “Look at me, Cassie.”

It was an order she could not ignore, and she opened her eyes, allowing a single, salty tear to escape from each one. She blinked, willing the sun to evaporate the moisture swimming before her gaze.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to marry, Cass.” His words were low, softer than a whisper. “Shall I kiss you right here and now? Then would you believe me?”

“Everyone would see,” she whispered quickly, darting a look at the barn, then glancing over her shoulder at the kitchen window.

His smile lit her heart with its radiance. “I don’t care who knows how I feel about you, sweetheart,” he told her softly, in that same almost soundless undertone.

“Go take care of your mare,” she managed to say, her mouth trembling in a smile.

She watched him walk away, her eyes on the slight swagger
of his stride, the length of his legs—made to look even longer with the boots he wore. His hat sitting at a jaunty angle, his shirt fitting like a glove across his wide shoulders and his belt riding low on his hips, he was a specimen of manhood she yearned to have for her very own.

Men, in a general way, had never appealed to Cassie. Until Will Tolliver had dragged her from a swiftly moving stream and taken her under his wing. Now she could hardly envision life without his presence to brighten her days.

“Cassie? I found my brush.” Maggie nudged her, leaning from the porch to get her attention.

“How shall we fix your curls this morning?” she asked the child, turning to settle on the top step, Maggie between her knees on the stair below.

“It has to be kind of slicked back and plain on Sundays,” Maggie said, her nose wrinkling in distaste. “Grandma says we have to be proper when we go to church.”

“Well, we’ll still make you look pretty,” Cassie told her soothingly, knowing that anything else would be an impossibility.

Eben and Louise came for dinner, followed closely by Samuel and Elizabeth. Their three sons rode in the back of the wagon, tumbling to the ground like three puppies when their father pulled the team to a halt.

“Grandma, we’re here!” the tallest boy called out.

“We came for dinner,” the next oldest decreed with a grin.

The smallest boy was short and sturdy, his legs churning as he made for the porch, his words an indecipherable babble in Cassie’s ears. She scooped him up and hugged him to her bosom.

“You must be Cassie,” Elizabeth said, her skirts settling
to the ground as Samuel lowered her from the wagon seat. She looked over her brood with what appeared to be a practiced eye, if Cassie was any judge. And then their eyes meshed in an appraisal that left Cassie on tenterhooks.

Elizabeth strode toward her, and her smile scattered Cassie’s fears to the four winds. “So you’re the woman who brought Will back home.” Her arms reached to enclose Cassie in their depths.

“I guess you could say he brought me home with him. He was on his way here when he met me,” she said, inhaling Elizabeth’s scent, a blend of soap and powder that spoke of clean skin and clothing.

“Well, however it came about, we’re glad to have you in the family,” Samuel’s wife told her crisply. Releasing her, Elizabeth looked around. “Where are those scallywags? Matthew, Mark and Luke?”

From near the barn came two replies, and from within the kitchen Clara answered quickly. “I’ve got the baby, Elizabeth.”

The young mother shook her head. “I swear, it’s all I can do to keep up with them. It’s a wonder I get anything else done.”

Dinner was a memorable event, Cassie the center of attention for most of the meal. Eben and Samuel gave their older brother the benefit of their experience as they traded gibes, causing their wives to alternately blush and scold their husbands. That the three brothers were happy to be together was obvious to Cassie. Clara’s delight was thinly veiled, but the gleam in her dark eyes gave away the happiness the woman found in her family.

The house was silent as darkness fell, the wagons having headed for the neighboring farms before the sun set, chores waiting for Eben and Samuel. Elizabeth was older than Samuel’s twenty-five years. She’d brought Matthew and
Mark to her marriage with Samuel, Luke, the baby, being a child of their union. And yet all three were accepted into the family by Clara as if they were, in truth, her blood kin, a fact that made Cassie feel more secure than ever in her own position.

Now she stood in the barn, squinting into the dimly lit stall where the newborn filly nudged her mother’s udder, her neck stretched at an unbelievable angle in order to nurse.

“She’s beautiful,” Cassie whispered, as if to speak aloud would somehow shatter the wonder of the scene.

Will’s eyes gleamed and he shared a look of mutual delight with Many Fingers. “This makes five, and every one of them healthy,” he noted.

“Good stock,” Many Fingers said, his words, as usual, short and to the point.

“I’m taking Cassie to town tomorrow,” Will told him. “We need to do a little shopping.”

The Indian nodded. “I’ll be here.”

Cassie’s heart lifted at Will’s words. “In the morning?” For all the attraction of the new foal, the mention of Will’s intentions took her full attention.

“Early.” His gaze was piercing as Will turned it in her direction, his nostrils flaring as he examined her in the dim light.

Cassie felt a surge of heat wash over her face. She stepped back from the stall. “I think I’ll go in and get ready for bed,” she told him in a rush of words. “I’ll want to help with breakfast and gather the eggs before we go.”

His nod was silent agreement and she sensed his attention on her back as she left the barn.

Tomorrow. Will would marry her tomorrow.

As weddings went, it was short and sweet. Although never having been a guest at an actual church ceremony,
only listening quietly in a corner as her mother married Remus Chandler several years ago, Cassie didn’t consider herself a worthy judge of such events.

She and Will stood before the Methodist minister in Mill Creek. He was a tall, slender young man, whose wife was splendid in dark curls and a ruffled dress, standing up as a witness. Will was handsome in a white shirt, his tie a narrow black string, tied in a bow at his collar.

Cassie wore one of her new dresses, an everyday gingham, but new and crisp and barely wrinkled from the buggy ride. She was short of breath, her vows spoken in a low voice that sounded as if it might belong to someone else, so scant was her ability to utter the words.

“Till death do us part,” Will said firmly, his eyes locked with hers, his hands warm as he enclosed both of hers within his grasp. Solemn and looking older than the twenty-seven years he claimed, he slid a plain gold band on her left hand, easing it past her knuckle and twisting it in place.

“I don’t plan on you ever takin’ it off, Cassie,” he whispered as she spread her fingers to admire its fit.

Startled, she lifted her gaze to his and found him offering her a smile that reached the depths of his dark eyes. “This is forever, honey,” he told her quietly.

Her nod accepted his decree. A wave of tenderness for the man she had shared her vows with spread over her like the incoming tide. As if it washed away the hurts and fears of her past, leaving only a blank page upon which to write her future.

Will Tolliver had married her. As they made their farewells to the preacher and his wife, as they walked to the Tolliver buggy parked in front of the parsonage and as they rode through the small town of Mill Creek, Missouri, Cassie’s mind sang the refrain over and over.

Will Tolliver had married her. She was no longer Cassie Phillips, runaway, but Cassie Tolliver, wife.

Flashing a glance in his direction, she noted the strength of his hands on the reins, the tensed muscles in his thighs as he braced his feet against the front of the buggy, holding the mare to a rollicking trot through the main street of town. The general store on the left, the Golden Garter saloon on her right, the hotel and sheriff’s office all passed in a blur of windows and doors.

And then they were on the open road, a vista of trees ahead, a farm off to the right in the distance. The bells Will had attached to the horse’s harness jingled in time with her dainty steps, and Cassie’s heart rang with the delight of knowing she was beyond the days of being Cassie Phillips.

Only the specter of her past nudged at the edges of her mind, the memory of the scene she’d left behind the night her mother drew her last breath. Perhaps Will would not have married her had he known the truth about that night If she’d told him that Remus Chandler was dead, that her hand had held the knife, would he still have taken her with him? Or would she even now be sitting in a jail cell, or perhaps dead from a hangman’s noose? She shuddered at the thought.