Jodi Thomas (11 page)

She’d only had time to slice a few strips of bacon when he charged through the door and bolted to shelves over the washstand. For a moment the bright slice of sunlight made her blink, and she couldn’t see what he did in the shadows.

“What ... ?” Her question died on her lips when she saw blood staining the front of his shirt.

He didn’t look at her as he searched for something amid jars lined along the top shelf.

“Are you hurt?” Bailee grabbed his arm and pulled until he turned to her. “Carter, are you hurt?”

There was no need for him to answer. She saw it on his face. Tiny cut marks slicing into his throat and chin bubbled blood a drop at a time.

He would have pulled away and resumed his search, but she held fast to his arm. “Dear Lord, Carter, what happened?” She dabbed at the cuts with a kitchen towel.

“I was shaving.” He smiled as though realizing what a fool he must look like.

Bailee moved between him and the counter. She tried to stop the bleeding at his throat by pressing each spot with her towel. “You made such a mess, you’d think it was the first time you shaved.”

His blue eyes met hers. “It was,” he said simply.

Bailee’s hand stopped moving across his face. All she could do was stare into his eyes. He didn’t say more; he didn’t have to. She knew he’d attempted shaving because of her words. When she’d been embarrassed in the barn, she’d said she broke the kiss because of his beard.

When a drop of blood bubbled over the spot where she’d been blotting and ran across her finger, Bailee remembered her purpose. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Let me have a look at the cuts.”

He didn’t move, and she realized how close they stood to each other. Another inch and the entire length of their bodies would have been pressed together. Blood from his face had dripped in crimson raindrops on her sleeves and apron front.

“Sit down,” she ordered more gently, moving aside. “I know what you’re looking for. I saw the yarrow leaves in a jar when I was cleaning. My grandmother always kept them for cuts. She swore they closed wounds like magic.”

This time he did as she said. He pulled a chair from the table and sat.

She grabbed an old jar from the back of the cabinet. Bailee wasn’t at all sure the leaves would work. Her father ridiculed any medicine that didn’t come out of a doctor’s bag. She’d seen a medicine box on the bottom row of the bookshelf. If the leaves didn’t work, she’d see what else Carter kept that might be helpful.

Carter waited. Bailee poured cold water into a pan and moved to the table. Standing above him, she carefully worked across his face, cleaning blood off a square at a time. He’d done a good job of removing his beard. Unfortunately, in places he’d taken several layers of skin along with the hair.

Once the cold water cleaned them, most of the tiny cuts stopped bleeding; only a few stubbornly flowed. Bailee crushed the leaves onto the cuts and waited. She tried not to meet his stare, for his eyes might make her forget what she needed to do. His jaw was strong and square, a little too square for him to be thought of as handsome, but it was a nice jaw just the same. Or at least she predicted it would be once the cuts healed.

“If you’re going to take up the habit of shaving, I suggest you allow me to assist you, at least for a while. I often shaved my father. A good soap might help the blade slide easier across your face.” She was rambling as she worked, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “My father didn’t have much of a beard, but he was fond of wearing a goatee and never seemed to be able to get it right without my help.”

The cut on his throat stopped bleeding. Bailee wiped away the excess yarrow leaves and smiled down at him.

“I didn’t mind so much kissing you with the beard. Honest I didn’t. I could get used to it in time.”

She brushed his hair back from his face and felt its dampness. “I could cut your hair as well, if you like. Not that I think it’s too long or anything.” She didn’t want him to think she was one of those women who wanted to make a man over the minute she met him.

She moved her fingers into his hair, feeling its thickness. “I’m a fair barber.”

One by one she worked on the thin cuts. It wasn’t easy. The rest of his body kept getting in the way. When she stumbled over his legs and feet for the third time, he lifted her onto his lap without comment.

Bailee didn’t take the time to tell him that it was most improper for a woman to sit on a man’s lap. She had more important concems. But she couldn’t ignore the way his arm rested around her waist, almost casually, as if he’d done so a thousand times.

With a brushing of the towel across his collar, she finally met his gaze. “There now. You weren’t as wounded as I feared. If you’ll remove that shirt, I’ll soak it in cold water.”

She would have stood, but he held her tight. His gaze studied her closely. Pretending she didn’t notice his arm about her, she began unbuttoning his shirt. “It’s never good to let blood set in cotton.”

His free hand moved to her neck and pulled the strings holding her apron. Slowly his fingers slipped down the front of her dress, crumpling the top of the apron to her waist. When he passed over her breast, she made a little sound of surprise.

He stopped, his hand cupping her fullness, his blue eyes searching her face.

Bailee knew she should pull away, or say something to let him know that his actions weren’t proper. But she reminded herself that he was her husband, and though his touch was bold, it was not at all unpleasant.

Her silence challenged him.

This time his fingers didn’t just pass over. This time he felt of her, warming her flesh even through the layers of cotton.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his solid arm, telling herself she’d demand he stop in a minute. One minute couldn’t matter. For a short time she wanted only the unexpected pleasure of such an intimate encounter.

He shifted her body and placed his elbow on the table, gently pushing her into the circle of his arm. She made no protest as she nestled into the warmth of his embrace, loving the way he held her as though she were fragile.

Suddenly he lowered his mouth to cover hers and tasted her cry of surprise.

His lips parted, claiming her mouth more boldly than he had in the barn. His hand moved along the side of her body in a hesitant caress.

She didn’t move as his kiss turned gentle and searching. His hands migrated over her, stroking her with a caress that said he’d never touched a woman. He ended the kiss and moved his lips to her throat, tasting her skin. He buried his face into her hair and breathed deep, almost as an animal finds his mate by scent.

She moved within his arms, thinking she should pull away. But he held her securely as he raised his head and looked down at her with searching eyes.

When he returned to claim her lips once more, there was a hunger in his kiss, a need far deeper than curiosity in his touch.

Bailee felt dizzy, surrounded. Frantic, she fought for control. She shouldn’t behave like this with a man she hardly knew.

With a sudden movement she broke the kiss and sat up.

For a moment there wasn’t enough air in the room for her to breathe. She held the top of her apron up as though she’d been nude beneath it and not fully clothed. His blue depths held a question, but how could she explain? She’d been the one who’d started the kissing, started the touching. He’d obviously had no experience with women. He was only following her lead. Done what she’d showed him to do.

Only what he’d done was far more than a kiss, far more than a light caress. She’d only meant to show him what married people do, a light kiss that was meaningless. But what he’d begun was more. He’d begun a mating.

“I have to start your breakfast while you change your shirt.” She moved off his lap. She wanted to add that she truly didn’t think married people did such things before breakfast and certainly not with the sun shining in through an open door, but she couldn’t bring herself to find the words. She wanted to scream that loving belonged in the dark and nowhere else.

Suddenly she needed air. She couldn’t face Carter. He hadn’t said a word, but the questions were in his eyes. She grabbed a bucket and hurried outside. The three mangy mutts who lived under the porch didn’t bark as they had when she arrived, but they watched her from their shady retreat.

“Do these dogs have name?” Bailee snapped, trying to think of something but the way Carter had kissed her.

“No,” he answered simply.

Bailee had to talk about something. Somehow she had to get the day back to normal or his touch would be the only thing on her mind all day. “Well, I think they should have royal names to make up for their mangy appearance.” She pointed at one. “Henry the Eighth.” Another poked his head out from under the porch. “And King Solomon.”

She heard Carter moving about the kitchen and hurried on out in the sunshine. She didn’t want to face him until her face had cooled.

At the well she sat the bucket down and took several deep breaths. She had to get control of herself. She wasn’t some animal, and she wasn’t married to one. Carter might not talk much, but he could certainly understand every word she said. She’d just have to sit down and talk to him about what was proper and what was not. Her behavior had been outrageous. Allowing him, no
encouraging
him.

When she finally got control, she filled the bucket with cool well water and turned back toward the house.

Carter stood in the doorway wearing a clean shirt and staring straight at her. His blue eyes spoke of a need so great she almost yelled for him to be quiet.

As she walked past him, he lifted the bucket from her hand and asked, “What’s the third one’s name?”

For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about. “The third. He’s not near as royal as the other two.”

Carter smiled. “How about Cromwell? Almost a king.”

Bailee giggled and agreed. Her silent husband was talking, and there was far more to the man than she might have guessed.

T
HE SUN SPARKLED IN BAILEE’S HAIR AS IF DIAMONDS were tied into the strands. Carter decided it looked blacker in the morning light of this, their third day together.

He’d worked late the night before, getting her wagon in shape. They hadn’t said more than a few words to each other over supper, but this morning he’d kissed her when he’d returned from shaving.

She’d looked surprised, but accepted his advance willingly. She was a strange woman, this wife of his. Bossy, definitely bossy. And beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful anyone would notice at first, but the kind that grew with time. With contact. He smiled. When he touched her, her cheeks reddened, and she lost that control she fought so hard to maintain.

Carter crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. As before, she’d felt the need to fetch water when she’d stepped from his embrace. He’d followed her outside and was now in no hurry to stop watching her.

She reached the porch before looking up. The blush still stained her face, but her forehead was lined in thought and her lips held tightly to a frown.

He didn’t have time to react to the sudden storm that raged across her features.

She charged the three steps as if advancing on a hill in full battle gear. “I don’t think we should be kissing like that in daylight.” The words exploded from her in rapid fire.

Carter only lifted one eyebrow in question. He was rather hoping it might become a habit in their marriage.

Bailee held up her hand as if needing to fend him off. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it. I won’t lie about that. And not that there’s anything wrong with what we did. After all, we are rightfully married. But I don’t think it’s proper.”

Carter nodded. After all, she was setting all the rules—at least for twenty-six more days. He stepped aside. When she passed, he lifted the bucket from her hand as he had before. With the brush of his fingers against hers, she jumped away.

Without looking at him, she hurried around making breakfast. In less time than he thought possible, she placed a plate of eggs and bacon on the table. As he took his chair, he noticed the last slice of bread rested on his plate. Carefully he tore it in half and passed one piece to her.

“Oh, no, that’s all right. I don’t need any.” She tried to hand it back, but he wouldn’t take it.

The loaf he always bought once a month had lasted three days. He usually tried to eat it slowly enough to make it last and fast enough so that the final piece wouldn’t go stale. Bread was the one luxury he allowed himself on his monthly trips to town.

“You like bread?” she asked. “Even this bread from the general store?”

He nodded. This “bread from the general store” was all he could remember. The preacher’s wife bought loaves each week from Willard’s store the year he lived in town. She claimed she would never waste the time to make her own. She allowed Carter one slice a day, never more. Vaguely he remembered his mother making biscuits. He’d tried it a few times over the years, but all he’d been able to make was a mess.

They ate in silence. He thought of telling Bailee where his rooms were below, but he wasn’t sure what she’d do. When Mosely brought her wagon by, she’d invited him inside, something Carter would never have thought of doing. Underground was his sanctuary. He’d have to trust her completely to take her there. If she told anyone, he’d not only lose his privacy, but the only place in his world where he felt safe.

When he stood to leave, she said “you’re welcome” as if he had just thanked her for the meal. Something that had never occurred to him. She might have cooked the bacon and eggs, but he’d slaughtered the pig and raised the chicken. He’d even bought the bread they’d shared.

Carter shoved on his hat and stepped outside, figuring she should be the one thanking him. The three yard dogs jumped to attention as he reached the end of the porch. They were smart animals who knew his first chore after breakfast was to feed them.