Plots and Pans (37 page)

“Well, that didn’t clear anything up. For the second time, I’ve heard you mention things like”—Jess held up a fist, thrusting up a digit for each point she made—“taking on our lives as a team, giving our best to build a future, making my papa proud …” She paused. Making Papa proud was a good way to get her to agree to just about anything, but this time it wasn’t enough.

Jess cleared her throat, clenching the points of his proposal as though she could crush them. Then she started anew.

“You didn’t mention anything about love, wives, or marriage.” Jess paused to look from her upraised fingers to her would-be husband, noting with satisfaction the chagrin on his face.

“So tell me, Tucker. Are you proposing an improved partnership?” Jess crossed her arms, creating a barrier between her and whatever answer he came up with. “Or are you proposing marriage?”

N
ow came Tucker’s turn to stare without offering any answers. A whole herd of responses stampeded in his skull, but he couldn’t get a grip on anything to pull him out of the hole. Every single idea he caught hold of would dig him deeper.

Arguing with Jess wouldn’t get him anything but a headache. Besides, the woman made a solid case. Some fellows could polish a proposal slick enough that women slid into their arms.
But me?

“I’m not good with lovey-dovey language and decked-out declarations.” For some reason, this manful admission didn’t smooth things over.

“You certainly don’t strain yourself with trying.” She spoke with those starched syllables—the ones that meant trouble.

“Yeah?” Tucker didn’t like where this was headed. “Well, I haven’t practiced this.”

“You should have practiced before you asked!” Her words weren’t so crisp around the edges anymore. They tilted together with the passion he found so appealing. No mealymouthed mouse, his Jessalyn.

“Do you want a man who soft-soaps his speech to win women over?” he challenged, refusing to retreat. “I may not talk sweet, but I stand by what I say.”

She gave a quick, sharp nod to acknowledge his honesty before prodding her horse to the riverbank and leaving him standing midstream—alone.
All washed up?

Tucker shrugged off the dismal notion and chased her right up to the scant shade of a scraggly oak. He might’ve lost control of the conversation, but he’d get things headed the right direction again. Women always had something more to say, and Jess in particular loved getting the last word.
We’re not done yet
.

“I do trust you to stand by what you say. So, to be fair, I’ll give you the chance to say it better.” Jess raised a hand and made a circular “carry on” sort of motion.

“Whatever I say next is bound to be as bad as before.” If honesty was the only good point he could claim in this conversation, he’d make the most of it. Much as he wanted things settled between them, a little time might make her anticipate his next try—which would be a darn sight better than today.

“Since I’m not improved enough yet, we can take this whole thing off the table, ride back to camp, and avoid each other for the rest of the trip. I can get one of the men to bring me my food and coffee.”

“No you can’t.” Her jaw angled forward in defiance. “You won’t find a single soul on the whole crew who’ll take on the responsibility for your coffee. I’ve seen bears trapped in cages that snarled and swiped at folks less than you do every morning.”

By now she should know it’s just the way I wake up
. Suddenly Tucker remembered his short-lived concern about her unnatural cheerfulness. He considered for a minute, then dismissed the notion that he’d proposed to a woman who’d spit in his coffee.
Nah. She wouldn’t
.

Tucker’s relief drained away immediately.
Except she thinks I didn’t actually propose
.

He offered the ultimate sacrifice, hoping the depth of his devotion made an impression. “I could make my own coffee.”

His spirits sank to the soles of his boots when she didn’t immediately refuse, but looked like she was considering leaving him coffee-less and without consolation. Even worse, after everything that came before, Tucker knew he’d have to stand by what he said.

“Maybe.” Jess looked far too thoughtful for it to bode well. “It might do you good to go without the one thing you seem to depend on.”

“Is that what you think? That coffee is the only thing I depend on?” No wonder she had reservations about his desire to get hitched.

“Maybe not the only thing—but certainly the first thing.”

“Wrong.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We both know you like to be in control of everything, but depending on yourself doesn’t count.”

“I don’t count myself.” Irritated at this glimpse of how she saw him, Tucker realized they had a lot of ground to cover before he’d propose again. “For the record, even if I did, I wouldn’t count myself before coffee, since I’m near ‘nough useless in the morning without it.”

She chewed on the inside of her lip as she tried to solve his puzzle. The longer it took, the more it aggravated him until he cast his gaze heavenward with a silent prayer for patience.

“Oh!” She noticed his glance upward. “Faith! You rely on God before coffee and before yourself.”

“I try to. Sometimes when something rubs me the wrong way, I react on my own terms and take charge before turning to prayer. I’m working on it.”

She drew a sharp breath, staying silent for a beat too long before replying shortly. “Something we have in common then. I’ve never been much for prayer, but I’m working on it.”

“Not one for prayer?” It surprised him, but now that she mentioned it, Tucker realized she didn’t volunteer for or request prayer.
How did I not notice this, Lord?

“No.” Jess withdrew, wrapping one arm around her middle. “Never seemed to do any good when I asked for Mama to get better or Papa to bring me home, so I stopped asking God for things and started questioning Him instead.”

“What changed that?” Some of the tension in her shoulders eased at his gentle response, and Tucker realized his botched proposal might still provide an opportunity to reach her heart.

The intensity of her gaze belied Jess’s shrug. “Papa’s death, the memories once I got home, the way Aunt Desta and Ralph and you and Ed drag God into everything.”

“I’ve seen you reading by the light of the campfire.”

“Papa’s Bible.” She lowered her lids, thick lashes hiding her eyes. “I wanted to bring a part of him with me on the trail and try to find a few answers along the way.”

“Anything you want to talk over, I’m here. I won’t have all the answers, but by now you know I’ve got strong opinions.” He hoped to make her laugh, but had to settle for a small, swiftly lost smile.

“Another thing we share.”

“Many marriages have been built on smaller patches of common ground.” he pointed out.

“Many marriages are miserable,” she shot back. “Are you willing to settle for that?”

“No. That’s not what I want for or from my wife.”

“What do you want?”

You
. Tucker didn’t say it aloud, afraid to sound flippant when he felt anything but. “I want a marriage centered around shared faith, caring, and trust as we build a life together.”

“Shared faith …” She caught the clincher right away, but seemed more thoughtful than afraid. “Biblically, marriage usually means the man takes control.”

“Marriage isn’t about control,” he countered.

“But you
are
controlling, Tucker. Even your proposal was all about how you wanted to handle the ranch and our lives.” Her words were getting clipped again. “You’d be the type of husband to want a biblical wife, and we both know I’m not the submissive sort.”

Tucker heard the fear behind the accusation, and it softened his response. She wasn’t trying to insult him—she was being honest. And if he were to be honest, he’d given her cause for concern.

“The man is set as the spiritual head of the household, but if you look closely, that’s because he’s supposed to show his wife the same depth of self-sacrifice Christ showed the church.” He paused to see if she understood, but she didn’t speak, just circled her hand in a motion bidding him to continue.

“Christ died for the church. If a husband is willing to live out that commitment every day, it means he puts his wife’s needs above his own.” He struggled to reassure without pressuring her.

“Is ‘putting her needs first’ another way of saying ‘decide what’s best for her’—like you’ve been trying since I first rode up to the Bar None?”

Tucker saw her jaw clenching again and hurried to finish. “I proposed a partnership, not a dictatorship. When you arrived, I didn’t know how independent or capable you were then. All I knew was I couldn’t stand to see you hurt. Just like with the barbed wire.”

She didn’t reply, but he saw her rubbing a finger over the palm of her glove, as though retracing his touch from memory. A small gesture, but just enough to give him hope.

“Something on your mind?” he encouraged. Anything that gave her pause and possibly put him in a positive light was worth nudging her to share.

“Just wondering …” The dreamy expression slowly sharpened as she looked from her hands to focus on his. Her glance flicked upward, brushed his, and skittered back to his hands. Then she spoke softly, words just above a whisper. “Did that count as us holding hands?”

“Counts,” Tucker confirmed without hesitation. She needed it to count, and that meant he needed it, too. Besides, he’d carried the memory of her sweet, sun-warmed skin since that morning. He hadn’t forgotten, and that meant it shouldn’t be discounted.

“Otherwise, you proposed—almost—when we haven’t even held hands.” Jess didn’t look so sure. “I don’t know… .”

“I do.” He cut in, not letting her think her way around it. That “almost” stung.

“You would say that, though, wouldn’t you? Without even taking time to think it over!” Jess pulled her hands apart, clenching them into fists. Fighting his attempts to reach her.

“I don’t need to take time when I’ve been thinking about that morning almost every day since.” Tucker saw her startle, fists easing and eyes widening. He pressed his advantage. “The memory marked me as much as your hands mark you.”

“What do you mean?” Curiosity warred with a sudden vulnerability in her gaze, making him want his words to reach out and reassure her, since he couldn’t.

“The man in me noticed your soft skin, warmed from the sun. How delicate your hands seemed in mine, how finely God made you.” Tucker saw her glance back at her hands, as though searching for what he described. “But I also noticed your scars, signs of skill earned with hard work. Your hands show the same supple strength I’ve seen in you from the start.”

Silence, brittle as glass and every bit as transparent, separated them. But Tucker saw the way Jess stared at her gloves, toying with the edges as though impatient to yank them off. As though she wanted to see what he’d seen when he touched her.

“Is that why you held on, even when I tried to pull away?”

“Yes. Notice that I didn’t let go of you then.” He leaned as close as he could, given the circumstances. “And know that I don’t plan to let you go now.”

“No?” She sounded so hopeful and hesitant it wound his heartstrings a little tighter.

“No,” he promised. “I’m never going to change my mind about wanting you for my own.”

“Oh.” Something between a gasp and a sigh, the breathy sound made him smile. “That’s better.”

“Good.” Tucker sent up a sincere prayer of thanks that he’d somehow turned the tide.

Suddenly she shot him a saucy look. “Until now, your attempts at romance fell so short they couldn’t see over a sway-backed burro.”

She wants romance!
He could’ve thrown up his hat and hollered. Of all the things she could’ve been thinking about, he couldn’t imagine a better beginning. Unless he’d courted her properly to start with, but from where he sat, things looked good.
Good, but a bit too far away
.

“I can work on that.” He tried not to sound too eager as he nudged his mount forward, closing some of the distance between them. “Why don’t you slip off those gloves for starters?”

It would’ve been awful romantic if she whipped off her gloves, tucked her hand in his, and let him stroke the back with his thumb while they talked.

Instead she edged her horse—and herself—farther away. “It’s more than holding hands!”

“I’d be happy to hold more!” Not hiding his enthusiasm for the best idea he’d ever heard, Tucker followed hard on her heels and leaned forward. Holding her close, maybe stealing a kiss …

“That’s not what I meant!” Exasperated and enticingly breathless, Jess stayed beyond his reach. “There’s more to courting than holding hands, holding close, or holding tight!”

“I thought the whole point was finding someone you wanted to hold on to for the rest of your life.” For the first time in the conversation, Tucker got the impression he’d said the right thing without even trying.

Jess visibly softened, her lips curving in a small smile and parting to let loose a chuckle. “Someone to hold on to … or at least someone I’m happy to see every morning when he heads for my coffeepot.”

Tucker let his laughter join hers, relieved he wouldn’t have to make his own coffee and rejoicing in the return of her good humor. “I’d do a lot more to start courting you, Jess.”

“I worked that out when you offered to take responsibility for your own brew.” She shot him one of those special smiles.

Inspired, Tucker made a vow: “Tomorrow morning, I’ll start proving myself.”

W
hat on earth’s gotten into that man?” Desta rounded on Jess the minute Tucker walked away the next morning. “Nary a grumble or a mutter this morning, even before he made it to his mug.”

“Tucker’s trying to be a better man.” Jess smiled.

“Well that’s sayin’ something, since Tucker Carmichael stands head and shoulders above most men.” Desta figured the time for subtlety had passed. If the man could transform for a woman so greatly after a single afternoon ride, he deserved to be taken seriously.