Jake Walker's Wife (35 page)

"What are you smiling about, pretty lady?"

In place of an answer, Bess held out her hand. And, as always, Jake instinctively wrapped it in his own. It wasn't necessary to look away from the children to know what she would read in his eyes if she turned her face toward him, and the mere thought of it swelled her heart.

"Johnny," she scolded gently, "don't climb so high. How will you ever get down?"

"Aw, Gramma," Mary Ann's four year old son complained, "don't be such a worry wart. I always get down, don't I?"

"Yes, yes you do."Sighing, she shook her head. "That namesake of yours is such a tease!" She squeezed
Jake's hand. "He's so much like you, it's terrifying."

Jake
chuckled, returned the squeeze. "And he's stubborn as the day is long, so there's more than a morsel of
you
in him, too...."

Standing, Bess stooped, kissed his cheek, then walked to the porch rail to stare into the yard. How many nights had she leaned against this same banister, looking past the sea of grass that separated the house from the river? How often had she peered into the darkening sky, ears tuned to the distant wail of the wolf?

It wasn't so very long ago that she'd come up with an explanation for the beast's mysterious and sudden disappearance. What she'd been hearing hadn't been a wolf at all, she convinced herself, but Jake's wild, wandering spirit, calling to her, pleading with her to wait for him.

If she’d
shared her theory with anyone, they'd have thought her daft, but how else was she to interpret the fact that she'd heard the lamenting cry every night while Jake had been gone...and hadn't heard it, not even once, since he'd come home again, home to stay?

Hours later, after the grandchildren had been bathed and tucked into their beds, Bess and
Jake said goodnight to their children, who'd come home to help them celebrate. Leaning on the rail surrounding the balcony outside their room, she glanced at her husband, slouched in the bentwood rocker that had been her father's, whittling a toy truck for their grandson.

He'd been a doting grandpa, a loving father, right from the start. Mary Ann and her sister Susan
had always adored him, and their brothers, William—named for Jake's father, and Micah, named for hers—felt the same way.

"
Now
what are you smiling about?" he wanted to know.

She faced the yard once more, where her mother's birch trees continued to thrive in soil that everyone had been certain would kill them, where the red roses Bess had planted on her first anniversary still bloomed bright and bold from spring thaw to first frost.

Suddenly, Jake was behind her, sliding strong sure arms around her waist. "Tomorrow's the big day," he whispered into her ear.

"Every day I've spent with you has been a big day," Bess replied, leaning against his chest.

He kissed her neck. "I love you, too."

She turned, wrapped her arms around his barrel chest. "Seems like just yesterday we were married."

"In a sense," she said, "it was."

"
It's been twenty-five years!"

Bess nodded. "I know, I know, but I've come to the conclusion that I was born to be your wife. Every morning, when I wake up beside you, it's as though I'm seeing you for the first time, and I fall in love with you all over again."

He hid his face behind one big hand. "Aw, I bet you say that to all the cowboys...."

Pursing her lips, she said, "You know better. There's never been anyone but you."She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "You know that porcelain vase in the dining room?"

"The one on the mantel? With all the chips and cracks?"

She nodded. “
Before I met you, I was like that vase, fractured and nicked. And then you came along, filling all the gaps with your love, the way rainwater fills crevices in clay soil. You softened my hard edges, made me stronger, and whole, and—“

"Remind me to send a prayer of thanks to your daddy."

Looking up into his face, Bess raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I like that!
I'm
the one who cooks your meals, cleans your house, raised your children, and—“

"
—and keeps me warm at night," he said, pulling her closer. "Let's not forget how good you are at keeping me warm at night...."

"
—and keeps you warm at night," she continued, her voice softly flirtatious. "I do all that, and you're thanking my
pa
?"

Jake
kissed the tip of her nose. "Well, without him, you wouldn't be here, now would you?"

She
harrumphed. "Isn't that just like a man. Mama did all the work, and Pa gets the credit!"

His quiet laughter rumbled against her chest, and Bess tilted her face to accept his
kiss. In one smooth move, Jake lifted her in his arms and followed the swath of moonlight that slanted across their room, gently depositing her on their feather mattress. Then, standing beside the massive four-poster, he shook his head. "I'll never get my fill of looking at you, Bess," he rasped, "not even if I live to be a hundred."

"
Jake!" she scolded. "The children!"

"They're too busy being children to even notice we're gone," he said. "Besides, their parents are within shouting distance. They're fine…which is more than
I
can say…."

She'd been calling him '
Jake' since the day he arrived at Foggy Bottom. Only in the privacy of their room did she speak his given name.

Bess
whispered it now: "Walker...."

He
stretched out beside her, pressing kisses to her temple, across her cheekbones, on the tip of her nose. She knew what he was waiting to hear, and when the time was right, she would say it, just as she'd been saying it for twenty-five years.

It was like a ballad between them, music that beg
an after their wedding and continued to this very night. She snuggled close, her fingers combing silver-streaked blond locks from his forehead. Yes, it was time to sing the last note in their song, to say the words he so needed to hear. Propping herself on one elbow, she kissed him, then kissed him again.

"I love you, W.C. Johnson," she said, her voice filled with strong, abiding warmth, "and I always will."