Duncan's Bride (9 page)

“Unless I have a nervous breakdown in the middle of it.”

She wasn't joking. He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, feeling the softness of it. It was beginning to make sense. A woman who reached the age of twenty-eight still a virgin had to have a strong sense of reserve about being intimate with a man. The way she'd kissed him had set him on fire, but this final step wasn't one she took easily. She preferred to gradually get used to this powerful new intimacy, rather than throw herself totally into the experience expecting stars and fireworks.

He picked her up and put her on the bed, then turned out all the lights except for one lamp. Madelyn would have preferred total darkness but didn't say anything. She couldn't stop staring when he stripped off his jeans and got into bed with her. She had seen male nudity before: babies and little boys, men in clinical magazines. She knew how the male body functioned. But she had never before seen a fully aroused man, and Reese was
definitely that. She lost her hope for nothing worse than discomfort.

He was a big man. He leaned over her, and she felt totally dwarfed by the width of his chest and shoulders, the muscled power of his body. She could barely breathe, her lungs pumping desperately for quick, shallow gasps. By her own will and actions she had brought herself to this, placed herself in bed with a man she didn't know.

He slid his hand under her nightgown and up her thigh, his hard, warm palm shocking on her bare skin. The nightgown was pulled upward by his action, steadily baring more and more of her body until the gown was around her waist and she lay exposed to him. She closed her eyes tightly, wondering if she could go through with this.

He pulled the nightgown completely off. She shivered as she felt him against every inch of her bare body. “It won't be horrible,” he murmured as he brushed her lips in a gentle kiss. “I'll make certain of it.” Then she felt him close his mouth on her nipple, and the incredible heat and pressure made her moan. She kept her eyes closed as he stroked and fondled her body until gradually the tension eased and she was pliable under his hands.

Her senses couldn't reach fever pitch. She was too tired and nervous. He slid his hand between her legs and she jumped, her body tensing again even though she parted her thighs and allowed him the intimacy. His long fingers gently parted and stroked, probed to find both the degree of her readiness and the strength of her virginity. When his finger slid into her she flinched and turned her head against his shoulder.

“Shh, it's all right,” he murmured soothingly. He
stretched to reach the bedside table and opened the top drawer to retrieve the tube of lubricant he had put in there earlier. She flinched again at the cool slickness of it as his finger entered her once more and moved gently back and forth.

Her heart was slamming so hard against her ribs that she thought she might be sick. He mounted her, his muscled thighs spreading hers wide, and her eyes flew open in quick panic. She subdued the fear, forcing herself to relax as much as possible. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I know you wanted it to be better than this.”

He rubbed his lips over hers, and she clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt his hips lift and his hardness begin to probe her. “I wish it were better for you,” he said in a low, taut voice. “But I'm glad you're a virgin, that this first time is mine.” Then he started entering her.

She couldn't prevent the tears that scalded her eyes and ran down her temples. He was as gentle as possible, but she didn't accept him easily. The stretching and penetration of her body was a burning pain, and the rhythmic motions of his body only added to it. The only thing that made it bearable for her was, perversely, the very intimacy of having her body so deeply invaded by the man she loved. She was shattered by how primitively natural it was to give herself to him and let him find pleasure within her. Beyond the pain was a growing warmth that promised much more.

T
HE ALARM WENT
off at four-thirty. She felt him stretch beside her and reach out to shut off the insistent buzzing. Then he sat up, yawning, and turned on the lamp. She blinked at the sudden bright light.

Unconcernedly naked, he went into the bathroom. Madelyn used the privacy to bound out of bed and scramble into her clothes. She was just stepping into her jeans when he came out to begin dressing. His eyes lingered on her legs as she pulled the jeans up and snapped them.

Surrounded by the early-morning quiet and darkness, with only the one lamp lighting the room, looking at his naked body seemed as intimate as the night before when he had entered her. Warmth surged in her as she realized that intimacy had many facets. It wasn't just sex, it was being at ease with each other, the daily routine of nakedness and dressing together.

As he dressed, he watched her drag a brush through her hair in several swift strokes, restoring it to casual order. Her slender body bent and swayed with a feminine grace that made it impossible for him to look away. He remembered the way it had felt to be inside her the night before, the tightness and heat, and against his will his loins responded. He couldn't take her now; she would be too tender. She had cried the night before, and every tear had burned him. He could wait.

She put the brush down and began plumping the pillows. He went over to help her make the bed, but when she threw the tumbled covers back to straighten the bottom sheet, she saw the red stains smeared on the linen and went still.

Reese looked at the stains, too, wondering if she had any pleasure to remember as he had, or if they reminded her only of the pain. He bent and tugged the sheet loose and began stripping the bed. “The next time will be better,” he said, and she gave him such a solemn look that he wanted to hold her in his arms and rock her. If she had wanted it, he could have brought her to pleasure in other ways, but she had made it plain she wasn't ready for that. He wondered how he would be able to retain his control if she did give him the total freedom of her body. That one, restricted episode of lovemaking hadn't come close to satisfying the surging hunger he felt, and that was the danger of it.

He tossed the sheet to the floor. “I'll do the morning chores while you cook breakfast.”

Madelyn nodded. As he went out the door she called, “Wait! Do you like pancakes?”

He paused and looked back. “Yes, and a lot of them.”

She remembered from her earlier visit that he liked his coffee strong. She yawned as she went downstairs to the kitchen; then she stood in the middle of the room and looked around. It was difficult to know where to begin when you didn't know where anything was.

Coffee first. At least his coffeemaker was an automatic drip. She found the filters and dipped in enough coffee to make the brew twice as strong as she would have made it for herself.

She had to guess at the amount of bacon and sausage to fry. As hard as he worked, he would need an
enormous amount of food to eat, since he would normally burn off four or five thousand calories a day. As the combined smells of brewing coffee and frying breakfast meats began to fill the kitchen, she realized for the first time what an ongoing chore just the cooking would be. She would have to become very familiar with some cookbooks, because her skills tended toward the most basic.

Thank God he had pancake mix. She stirred up the batter, searched out the syrup, then set the table. How long should she give him before she poured the pancakes on the griddle?

A heaping platter of bacon and sausage was browned and on the table before he came back from the barn, carrying a pail of fresh milk. As soon as the door opened, Madelyn poured four circles of batter on the griddle. He put the milk on the countertop and turned on the tap to wash his hands. “How much longer will it be until breakfast is ready?”

“Two minutes. Pancakes don't take long.” She flipped them over. “The coffee's ready.”

He poured himself a cup and leaned against the cabinet beside her, watching her stand guard over the pancakes. It was only a couple of minutes before she stacked them on a plate and handed it to him. “The butter's on the table. Start on these while I cook some more.”

He carried the plate to the table and began eating. He was finished with the first round of pancakes by the time the second was ready. Madelyn poured four more circles on the griddle. This made an even dozen. How many would he eat?

He only ate ten. She got the remaining two from the
last batch and slid onto a chair beside him. “What are you doing today?”

“I have to check fences in the west quarter so I can move the herd there for grazing.”

“Will you be back for lunch, or should I pack some sandwiches?”

“Sandwiches.”

And that, she thought half an hour later when he'd saddled a horse and ridden out, was that. So much for conversation over breakfast. He hadn't even kissed her this morning. She knew he had a lot of work to do, but a pat on the head wouldn't have taken too much of his time.

Their first full day of marriage didn't appear to be starting out too well.

Then she wondered just what she had expected. She knew how Reese felt, knew he didn't want her to get too close to him. It would take time to break down those barriers. The best thing she could do was learn how to be a rancher's wife. She didn't have time to fret because he hadn't kissed her good morning.

She cleaned the kitchen, which became an entire morning's work. She mopped the floor, scrubbed the oven, cleaned out the big double refrigerator, and rearranged the pantry so she'd know where everything was. She inventoried the pantry and started a list of things she'd need. She did the laundry and remade the bed with fresh linens. She vacuumed and dusted both upstairs and down, cleaned the three bathrooms, sewed buttons on his shirts and repaired a myriad of small rips in his shirts and jeans. All in all, she felt very domestic.

Marriage was work, after all. It wasn't an endless round of parties and romantic picnics by a river.

Marriage was also night after night in bed with the
same man, opening her arms and thighs to him, easing his passion within her. He'd said it would be better, and she sensed that it would, that she had just been too tired and tense the night before for it to have been pleasurable no matter what he'd done. The whole process had been a bit shocking. No matter how much she had technically known about sex, nothing had prepared her for the reality of penetration, of actually feeling his hardness inside her. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she thought of the coming night.

She started unpacking some of the boxes she had shipped, reassembling the stereo equipment and putting some of her books out. She was so busy that when she noted the time, it was almost dark. Reese would be coming in soon, and she hadn't even started dinner. She stopped what she was doing and raced to the kitchen. She hadn't even planned what they would have, but at least she knew what was in the pantry.

A quick check of the freezer produced some thick steaks and one pack of pork chops and very little else. She made mental additions to the grocery list as she unwrapped the chops and put them in the microwave to defrost. If he hadn't had a microwave she would have been in big trouble. She was peeling a small mountain of potatoes when the back door opened. She heard him scrape his boots, then sigh tiredly as he took them off.

He came into the kitchen and stopped, looking around at the bare table and stove. “Why isn't dinner ready?” he asked in a very quiet, ominous tone.

“I was busy and didn't notice the time—”

“It's your job to notice the time. I'm dead tired and hungry. I've worked twelve hours straight, the least you could do is take the time to cook.”

His words stung, but she didn't pause in what she
was doing. “I'm doing it as fast as I can. Go take a shower and relax for a few minutes.”

He stomped up the stairs. She bit her lip as she cut up the potatoes and put them in a pan of hot water to stew. If he hadn't looked so exhausted she might have told him a few things, but he'd been slumping with weariness and filthy from head to foot. His day hadn't been an easy one.

She opened a big can of green beans and dumped it into a pan, then added seasonings. The chops were already baking. Bread. She needed bread. There were no canned biscuits in the refrigerator. She couldn't dredge the recipe for biscuits from her memory, no matter how many times she'd watched Grandma Lily make them. She found the cookbooks and began checking the indexes for biscuits.

Once she had the list of ingredients before her it all began to come back. She mixed the dough, then kneaded it and rolled it out as she'd done when she was a little girl. She couldn't find a biscuit cutter, so she used a water glass, pressing it down into the dough and coming up with a perfect circle. A few minutes later, a dozen biscuits were popped into the oven.

Dessert. She'd seen some small, individually wrapped devil's food cakes. She got those out, and a big can of peaches. It would have to do, because she didn't have time to bake. She opened the can of peaches and poured them into a bowl.

By the time she had the table set, Reese had come back downstairs, considerably cleaner but unimproved in mood. He looked pointedly at the empty table and stalked into the living room.

She checked the potatoes; they were tender. She mixed up a small amount of flour and milk and poured
it into the potatoes; it instantly began thickening. She let them stew while she checked the chops and green beans.

The biscuits were golden brown, and had risen nicely. Now if only they were edible… Since she'd followed a recipe, they shouldn't be too bad, she hoped. She stacked them on a plate and crossed her fingers for luck.

The chops were done, finally. “Reese! Dinner's ready.”

“It's about time.”

She hurried to put the food on the table, realizing at the last minute that she had made neither coffee nor tea. Quickly she got two glasses from the cabinet and poured milk. She knew that he liked milk, so perhaps he sometimes drank it at dinner.

The chops weren't the tenderest she'd ever cooked, and the biscuits were a bit heavy, but he ate steadily, without comment. Heavy or not, the dozen biscuits disappeared in short order, and she ate only one. As his third helping of stewed potatoes was disappearing, she got up. “Do you want any dessert?”

His head came up. “Dessert?”

She couldn't help smiling. You could tell the man had lived alone for seven years. “It isn't much, because I didn't get around to baking.” She put the small cakes in a bowl and dipped peaches and juice over them. Reese gave them a quizzical look as she set the bowl in front of him.

“Just try it,” she said. “I know it's junk food, but it tastes good.”

He did, and cleaned the bowl. Some of the fatigue was fading from his face. “The stereo in the living room looks like a good one.”

“I've had it for several years. I hope it survived the shipping.”

He'd sold his stereo system years ago, deciding that he needed the money more than he needed the music, and he'd never let himself think too much about it. When you were fighting for survival, you quickly learned how to get your priorities in order. But he'd missed music and was looking forward to playing some of his old classics again.

The house was full of signs of what she'd been doing all day, and he felt guilty about yelling at her because dinner hadn't been ready. The floors were cleaner than they'd been in years, and the dust was gone from every surface. The house smelled of household cleaner and furniture polish, and the bathroom had sparkled with cleanliness. The house was ten rooms and over four thousand square feet; his fancy city woman knew how to work.

He helped her clean the table and load the dishwasher. “What's that?” he asked, pointing to her list.

“The shopping list. The pantry has a limited selection.”

He shrugged. “I was usually so tired I just ate sandwiches.”

“How far is the nearest market? And don't tell me I'm going to have to go to Billings.”

“There's a general store about twenty miles from here. It isn't a supermarket, but you can get the basics there. I'll take you there day after tomorrow. I can't do it tomorrow because I've got more fencing to repair before I can move the herd.”

“Just give me directions. I don't think the food situation will wait until the day after tomorrow.”

“I don't want you out wandering around,” he said flatly.

“I won't be wandering. Just give me the directions.”

“I'd rather you wait. I don't know how reliable the car is yet.”

“Then I can take the truck.”

“I said I'll take you day after tomorrow, and that's that.”

Fuming, she went upstairs and took a shower. Why on earth was he so intractable? The way he'd acted, she might as well have said she was going to find a bar and spend the day in it. But then, that might have been what his first wife had done. Even if it were true, Madelyn was determined that she wasn't going to spend her life paying for April's sins.

She finished unpacking her clothes, hanging most of her New York clothes in the closet in another bedroom, since she wouldn't have much use for them now. It still made her feel strange to see her clothes in the same closet with a man's; she'd shared room, closet and clothes in college, but that was different. This was serious. This was a lifetime.

One thing about getting up at four-thirty: she was already sleepy, and it was only eight. Of course, she was still feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep for the past two weeks, as well as a very active day, but she could barely hold her eyes open.

She heard Reese come upstairs and go into their bedroom; then he called, “Maddie?” in a rougher voice than usual.

“In here,” she called.