Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (4 page)

All for her.

Maybe by then, he’d be able to get the tent of a nightdress off of her.

Bunching his hand around the hem of Lydia’s nightgown, Ben rucked the endless yards of fabric over her hips as best he could. When her legs were finally bared, he took a moment to appreciate the lustrous red curls that covered her woman’s mound
. Lydia trembled beneath him as he slowly slid his fingers through the triangle of downy hair. Satisfied that she was wet enough, Ben rolled on top of her, maneuvering his hips between her parted thighs.

The instant he did,
Lydia whimpered, her body rigidly tensing beneath him.

“Shh. It’s all right,
Lydia. I’m not going to hurt you.”

In too much of a hurry
to shuck his breeches, Ben thrust into her, surprised, and discouraged, not to get very far.

Sweet Jesus,
she’s as tight as a virgin. .

Teary-eyed,
Lydia put a balled fist to her mouth. At seeing her obvious distress, Ben pulled back, worried that he’d unintentionally hurt her. Taking hold of her by the wrist, he tenderly kissed her knuckles. Then, gently opening her balled hand, Ben thread their fingers together.

With a
garbled cry, Lydia immediately yanked her hand away from him.

What the hell
?!

Thunderstruck,
Ben held up a slender gold ring. “What’s this, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“It’s my . . . my wedding band,” Lydia stammered, unable to look him in the eye.

But I didn’t put a ring on your finger.

“Damn you, Lydia.”
Overcome with a jealous rage, Ben rolled off the bed and lunged to his feet. “What were you planning to do, close you eyes and pretend that you were fornicating with your dearly departed first husband?” When Lydia made no reply, he contemptuously tossed the gold ring between her sprawled legs.

Still in a state of arousal,
Ben quickly buttoned his trousers. Finished with that, he snatched his boots in one hand, and his shirt in the other. About to take his leave, he, instead, leaned over the bed.

“Do you know what I think?
I think that you’re so damned intent on being a lady that you long ago forgot how to be a woman. If ever you knew,” Ben added, unconcerned if he gave offense. “Get a good night’s sleep,
Mrs. McCabe
. We’re clearing out of here first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lydia lay
on the bed unmoving, tearfully watching as Ben slammed the door in his wake.

God help
me. I fear that I have made a grievous mistake.

One that she could not undo.

“Your husband is raring to go. And if you know what’s good for you, Mrs. Strong, you’ll hurry along before he comes to his senses and leaves you behind.”

At hearing that mocking admonition, Lydia spun on her heel and watched as her brother-in-law Spencer McCabe stormed into the parlor. “There is little chance of Mister Strong departing without me,” she retorted.

“I wouldn’t be so cocksure
if I was you, Lydia. I happen to know that your new husband slept in the barn last night. And I’ve got me a sneaking suspicion that’s because he got kicked out of
your
bed.”

“
I refuse to listen to such impertinence.” Lydia sidestepped around Spencer as she made her way to the door. Mercifully, they were alone in the room, no one else privy to his uncouth remarks.

“Not so fast.” Spence
r grabbed her by the elbow, stopping Lydia in her tracks. “You’re right. I was out of line. I’m sorry.” A sheepish expression crept into Spencer’s amber-colored eyes as he released his clasp on her.

Lydia accepted
her brother-in-law’s apology with a curt nod of the head. Theirs had always been a stormy relationship, the two of them forced to live through a hellish nightmare when the three eldest males of the McCabe clan had been gunned down in cold blood in that violent, brutal spring of 1857. ‘The killing season,’ as it came to be called, had been a blood-splattered spate when Kansas jayhawkers and Missouri bushwhackers had waged a fearsome to-the-death war with one another. In the aftermath of that tragic episode, she and Spencer had been so mired in their individual grief that they’d been unable to comfort one another.

“He’s a good man, Lydia.”

“So was your brother James. Or have you forgotten?”

“I would have thought that after so many years, you’d finally see fit to get on with your life. Any other woman would be thanking
God Almighty that they’d found a father for their child. Not to mention, a man who can warm their bed at night.”

“My bed doesn’t need warming,”
Lydia snapped, annoyed with his gall.

Spencer pushed out a deep breath as he wearily shook his head.
“For eight years now, you’ve been wearing those widow’s weeds like a badge of honor. Don’t you think it’s time to put the past behind you and don a new set of clothes? I’ve got a fair notion that’s what Jim would have wanted you to do.”

“Leave my husband out of this.”

“In case you’re forgetting, Jim’s no longer your husband . . . Ben Strong now has that distinction. For better or for worse,” Spencer muttered as he turned to leave.

Relieved
, Lydia watched Spencer take his departure. Although she supposed that his remarks were well-intended, they were hurtful nonetheless. Having spent a sleepless night pondering her future, she didn’t need the waters further muddied with a blistering sermon on how she should conduct herself with her new spouse.

Glancing out the window,
Lydia observed that the man in question had nearly finished loading the wagon.

Unwilling
to leave the house just yet, Lydia turned full circle, slowly surveying her favorite room. Here, in this well-appointed parlor, the McCabe family had nightly gathered together to share their joys, their fears, their hopes and dreams.

Inundated with maudlin thoughts,
Lydia ran a hand over the upholstered brocade settee, the fabric special-ordered all the way from St. Louis. Her gaze next landed on the mahogany étagère with her childhood collection of sea shells, each and every one hand-picked during her family’s annual pilgrimage to Cape May. And, of course, there was her pride and joy, the pianoforte, music having always been—

Spencer was right.
I behaved shamefully last night!

Not only did she humiliate herself, but she’d spurned her
new husband in the most demoralizing way imaginable. For hours she’d lain awake on their unconsummated wedding bed, unable to forget the enraged look on Ben’s face when he pulled away from her . . . when he rolled off the mattress . . . when he stormed out of their bed chamber.

Despite the fact that
she was dispirited over their ill-fated first night, Lydia was also determined to make it up to Ben. After all, they’d been married less than a full day. Surely, he would understand that she’d been under an enormous strain; what with the hastily arranged wedding; all of the planning for the upcoming trip to Kansas; and her nervousness about sharing a bed with him.

What
her new husband may be less inclined to understand was that unfortunate business with the ring.

As God was her witness, it had never been her intention to hurt Ben.
Truly, it had been a regrettable accident. And though he would undoubtedly deny it, Lydia intuited that she’d deeply wounded him.

To insure that it never happened again, she’d packed her wedding band in the bottom of her trunk, knotted in a
linen napkin which she had, in turn, locked in a silverware box. Out of sight, out of mind.

Casting
a last, lingering glance at the parlor, Lydia reached for her black-tasseled mantle.

A
few moments later, as she stood on the front porch, she saw that the entire family had gathered on the lawn, the younger members of the household clamoring on or near the Conestoga wagon parked in the dirt driveway.

Ben gave her
only a cursory glance as he loaded a large tool box under the jockey seat of the wagon. To Lydia’s dismay, earlier that morning he’d declined to join her at the breakfast table. Forcing her to suffer more than a few inquisitive glances from those gathered around the table.

Clearly, his anger had yet to run its course.

Hearing a door open and close, Lydia turned and watched as Ben’s sister Mercy joined her on the porch. Well into her third month of pregnancy, she exuded vibrant health; as well as the effervescence that came from having made a love match.

“Did you rest well last night?”
Mercy inquired solicitously.

Lydia pulled on a black kid glove, her fingers working the row of satin-covered buttons
. While she was embarrassed by her sister-in-law’s innocent query, she was also relieved that Spencer hadn’t divulged the fact that Ben slept in the barn. At least she would be spared the shame of everyone in the household knowing what transpired the previous evening. Or, more to the point, what didn’t transpire.

“
I slept well enough,” she replied, disinclined to make the same inquiry of Mercy. She and Spencer routinely appeared at the breakfast table looking, if not rested, blissfully content.

Standing side-by-side, t
he two women watched as Ben proceeded to load a heavy wooden barrel into the wagon bed.

“The Conestoga was a
very generous wedding gift,” Lydia remarked, nodding toward the sturdy, canvas-covered vehicle.

An amused smile
hovered on the other woman’s lips. “Spencer and I decided that no one should have to make such a long trip in a rickety buckboard wagon.”

Mercy referred, of course, to the
perilous journey that she and Spencer had made through war-torn Missouri, chased all the way by a gang of murderous bushwhackers. God willing, her and Ben’s trip would not be nearly so adventurous.

Just then
, her daughter Dixie dashed across the front lawn, pursued by Mercy’s young adopted brother Gabriel. On the verge of reminding her daughter that young girls should refrain from unladylike exertions, Lydia kept silent, watching in mute wonder as Dixie sprinted over to Ben. Executing a well-schooled curtsy, she handed him a posy. For several seconds Ben stared at the flower before he inserted the colorful bloom into the button hole of his jacket; after which, he thanked the eight-year old sprite with a conspiratorial wink.

Lydia
tore her glance from them, not wanting to embarrass her new husband in any way. Despite the tension between her and Ben, it was for
this
reason that she married him. Given what she just witnessed, she surmised that Ben Strong would prove to be a tender, kindhearted stepfather.

Although she
wasn’t all that surprised. Last night, Ben had demonstrated a gentler side.

Not for the first time, she recalled
that his mustache had felt as soft as silk damask against her face when he kissed her. Then, when he touched her breast, he’d been especially careful not to hurt her in any way. In fact, she’d found her new husband unexpectedly tender, much to her dismay. Resigned to letting Ben exercise his husbandly rights, Lydia did not expect, nor desire, anything beyond the perfunctory.

While their wedding night had been lamentable, no doubt she could mitigate it with an apology and a show of good will.
Henceforth, she would dutifully submit to her husband, endeavoring to make him a good wife, a good companion, and a good partner.

Modestly lifting her serge skirt several inches, Lydia made her way to the wagon. Suspecting that Ben might be in an ill-humor, she’d carefully selected her attire. It was not enough to act like a lady, a woman must always str
ive to look like one, as well.

Her new husband took one glance
at her ornately trimmed traveling suit, and promptly gave a dismissive grunt. “You gonna be comfortable in that get-up?”

The brusque query
took Lydia aback. Given that he wore a ready-made corduroy jacket which he’d paired with his uniform trousers, she deduced that Ben Strong had a poor eye for fashion.

“I don’t see that my attire is any of your concern,” she
snapped, admittedly peeved.

“It’ll be my concern if I have to listen to you yap about your corset bei
ng strung too tight.”

“I can assure you
that
will not happen.”

“
See that it doesn’t.”

Growing more incensed by the second, Lydia tightly clasped her gloved hands together.
“And what would you have me wear, trousers and a vest?”

Ben negligently leaned a hip against the open tail gate
. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Anything that wasn’t black would be a welcome change.”

“I will have you know that this traveling suit would be the
envy of any fashionable lady,” Lydia informed him.

Her husband’s gaze roamed the length of her person, finally settling on her black-clad bosom. “Guess you
’ve never heard about Lady Godiva’s traveling suit.”

Choosing to ignore his rude jest,
Lydia said, “Most men would be pleased that they had a wife who took such care with her appearance.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, most men aren’t married to a black-suited widow
woman. I just assumed you’d lose the mourning rags once we exchanged ‘I dos.’ Evidently, I figured wrong.”

Unable to rein her temper, Lydia stamped her booted foot on the ground. “I will not stand here and let you demean me in such
—”

“Y’all about ready to leave?”

At hearing that, Lydia spun around, startled to find Spencer and Mercy standing only a few feet away, their arms casually slung around each others waists.

“Goodness, but you took me by surprise,”
Lydia gasped, one hand splayed over her pounding heart.

“Somebody had to,” Spence
r remarked, a knowing grin on his face. “You appeared to be getting a mite fractious.”

Lydia’s cheeks
burned with heated color, humiliated to think that their altercation had been overheard. Having been married less than one full day, she was already acting with all the decorum of a Boston fishwife.

As s
he stole a quick glance at her husband, Lydia was annoyed to see that Ben had rudely turned his back on her while he made a big to-do of packing the wagon.

“Have you seen Dixie?” Lydia inquired, masking her discomfiture as best she could.

Smiling indulgently, Mercy nodded toward the front of the wagon. “I believe that she’s already laid claim to her seat.”

Accustomed to a quiet life, her daughter’s excitement over the upcoming trip knew no bounds.

The time for taking their leave fast approaching, Lydia
turned toward the house, touched to see that their combined families had formed a long receiving line. Affectionately hugging both Mercy and Spencer, she made her way to the queue of relatives, the finality of the moment weighing heavy on her heart. In just a few moments, she would climb onto the Conestoga wagon, leaving these familiar environs far behind.

Reaching into her dress sleeve, Lydia extracted a lace handkerchief
, using it to dab at her moistened cheeks. Once she’d made herself presentable, she embraced each and every member of the family.

When she’d concluded her farewells, Ben wordlessly stepped toward her
. To her surprise, he gently took hold of her elbow as he ushered her over to the wagon. Not giving her time to protest, he secured his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the wagon seat. He then stepped around the team of horses and took his place at the helm.