Rocky Mountain Wife (19 page)

“Tempting to stay,” he said, taking the last sip of coffee and rising from his chair. “But if I do, I’ll never get the lower field irrigated.”

“I suppose I can survive until tonight, that is if you want to—”

“I do,” he answered before she could finish. He grabbed his hat, stuck it on his head and reached for the doorknob. He was always going to want her that way. He bobbed his head in a silent goodbye, shuffling his feet forward to carry him out the door.

When he looked over his shoulder, she was standing there staring back at him. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. His wife and his heart.

“Ma!” Ivy came running out of the Danbury’s house the instant Harold had drawn the wagon to a stop. “Ma! Guess what?”

“What?” Just seeing her daughter looking so happy put a smile on her face.

“Cassie’s ma says she can stay over next week!” Ivy nearly squealed and so did the white-blond little girl dashing out of the house behind her. Both girls skidded to a stop at the wagon, eyes shining. My, what fun they must have had.

“That is very good news.” Claire reached down to take Ivy’s satchel. “Cassie, we would love to have you. What is your favorite supper?”

“Fried chicken!” The sweet girl replied promptly. “And biscuits, too.”

“Excellent. Then that’s what we will have for such important company.” Claire grabbed her daughter’s hand and helped her onto the seat.

“Oh, Claire!” Mrs. Ella Danbury rushed out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron skirt. “I didn’t hear you drive up. You didn’t have to come fetch your girl. We would have been happy to drive her home.”

“I was already out and about, but that’s kind of you. How is the replanting going?” she asked, gesturing out to the fields that were freshly furrowed. The Danbury’s fields had been destroyed by the hailstorms, too.

“We’re just lucky it’s not later in the season or we wouldn’t have a hope of crops this year.” The strain showed on Ella’s face.

“I know just how you feel.” Claire nodded sympathetically. Farming life was not easy, and there were no guarantees.

“My husband says he’s tempted to let grass grow and just raise cattle on the land, the way Mr. Sanders does.” Ella pointed across the pretty front lawn and well-kept flowerbeds to the land across the road. Cows grazed, lowing softly to one another. “At least a bad storm wouldn’t come along, ruin our crops and force us to start all over.”

Claire nodded, shivering as if a winter’s wind had touched her. Maybe it was just the thought of Oliver Sanders. That would give anyone a chill. “I hope the planting goes well. Thank you for having Ivy over.”

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Danbury!” Ivy piped up politely.

“It was our pleasure,” Mrs. Danbury said kindly. “Be sure and come again, Ivy. Claire, I hear congratulations are in order. You’ve re-married.”

“I, uh—” She stammered, unprepared. News of her wedding had already spread?

“Mama?” Ivy’s voice went thin.

“It must be such a relief for you. Best wishes, Claire.” Ella Danbury smiled warmly. “I wish you happiness. Take care, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, thank you.” Trembling, as cold as ice, she sent Harold trotting down the drive. She hadn’t expected folks to know. Which made no sense, of course, people would hear. She simply hadn’t thought that far.

“Mama? That’s not true, what Mrs. Danbury said.” Ivy sounded stubborn, but tears stood in her eyes. “It’s not true. You’re married to Papa.”

“Yes, I’ll always love your father, honey.” She felt as if she were cracking in two. How on earth did she explain? “Mr. Reed really isn’t taking your father’s place. He’s helping us keep our home by working our farm.”

Ivy bit her bottom lip, thinking that over as they rolled down the rutted, dusty road. Claire didn’t know how to explain, and she did feel guilty. Joshua had taken over Clay’s fields. Now he’d replaced Clay in her bed.

Heaven help her, but she never wanted that part to end.

They drove in silence beneath the hot afternoon sun. As she went, she noticed acres and acres of abandoned fields, the short wheat that had once been growing was broken and dead. Cattle now grazed on what used to be the Smith’s yard. A horse and rider stopped, turning toward the road to face her. Oliver Sanders raised his hat to her.

She shivered and tore her gaze away, staring hard down the road and urging Harold to go faster. Ice tingled down her spine. She didn’t like that man. Not one bit. Now he owned both land across the road from her and on the north side of her property. She stayed cold, even when the hot wind puffed against her.

It was a gorgeous day with the high plains stretching across the seemingly endless mountain valley. Foothills and the proud mountains behind them rimmed the horizon. Overhead, the sky stretched like a blue plate of glass, broken only by a few wispy clouds. Nearby, meadowlarks soared, stopping on fence rails to sing their merry tunes.

She turned down their drive, and there he was. Joshua. Just a faint form in the near distance, his head bowed, busily neatening the rows with a shovel. His shirt was off, and the sun bronzed his skin. She was too far away to see, but she knew his muscles rippled as he worked. Her fingers remembered the heat of his skin and the iron of those muscles. Oh, to be in bed with him again.

Then she realized he’d spotted her and stopped his work. He leaned on his shovel, his gloved hands relaxed, and she felt the impact of his gaze across the acres and acres of land. Was he thinking about last night, too? Had his insides melted, recalling all the pleasure they’d shared?

Smiling, she urged Harold on, taking them into the shadow of the house. She couldn’t see Joshua, and she felt bereft. She helped Ivy down and carried her satchel into the kitchen. The girl dashed upstairs to change into her play clothes, and Claire did her best not to glance out the window and search for Joshua.

Last night had changed her. Being in his arms—touched by him, loved by him—had put to rest the endless loneliness she’d felt. She wished she had it in her to give him more, but love and grief had devastated her. She wouldn’t love again. Love hurt too much. Love had devastated her heart. She couldn’t do it again.

The trouble was that Joshua deserved love. More than any man she’d ever met.

Joshua could see Oliver Sanders on the rise across the road sitting on his horse, watching Claire’s house as if waiting for a glimpse of her. It was creepy, and it was sick. Joshua still remembered the argument he had with Sanders that day he’d come to get a look at her house—and likely forcefully help himself to her.

Crimson rage blinded him, and he had to blink hard to clear the red from his vision. He’d been debating the best way to handle Sanders. Going to the sheriff was out—there wasn’t enough evidence. And let’s face it, he’d been too busy mounting Claire last night, listening to her scream his name as she came, to have stuck with his plan. The plan being to sit out there in the field at night and catch Sanders in the act.

Maybe tonight, he thought, but his cock jumped with anticipation. Who was he fooling? He would be in Claire’s bed tonight, regardless of any other plans he made. He was a man with an iron will, but the chance to be with her—to lose himself in her—was too much to pass by.

Maybe he’d take Claire to bed, ride her hard, and when she was asleep, he’d head out into the tall grass by the fence line and wait with his rifle. That ought to be a workable plan, right?

Resolved, he scooped a shovelful of rock and loose dirt from the row between the planted furrows. As he tossed it aside, he caught sight of Sanders out of the corner of his eye. The man had moved into the shadows of the house across the street—the house that had been mysteriously empty very suddenly—and had taken out a pair of binoculars. The lenses were trained on Claire’s kitchen window. Sanders’ hand moved to his belt buckle, and Joshua squinted. Was he wrong, or had the man just put his hand in his pants?

Hopping mad, Joshua threw down the shovel, stormed down the row and untied Lightning from his spot in the shade. Joshua mounted up and, bareback, rode the animal down the fence line, jumped him across the irrigation ditch and onto the main road. He’d lost sight of Sanders, but his disgust and revulsion gained momentum as he charged down the Smith’s driveway—clearly now Sanders’ property—and caught sight of the man wiping his hand, the one he’d plunged down his pants, with a red handkerchief.

Joshua saw red again. Blood red. He skidded Lightning to a stop, so furious he felt ten feet tall. Herculean. Ready to rip Sanders apart with his bare hands.

“I ought to shoot that off.” His voice boomed like thunder. “Maybe I will anyway.”

“You don’t have the guts.” Oliver Sanders wiped the last fleck of semen from his hand, folded his handkerchief and tossed it into the field. “You’re nothing but a two-bit dirt farmer, and you ain’t very good at that. One day soon I’ll have your land. All of it. That’s what you ought to be worrying about.”

“I’m only going to tell you this once.” Joshua laid his hand over his holster, where his gun was strapped to his thigh. “You stop watching my wife.”

“Or what? Threats don’t scare me.” Oliver’s eyes narrowed. His face went flat and hard, like a man who could kill without blinking an eye. Like a man who looked forward to killing. “Remember what I told you. You’re gonna lose. I don’t like competition.”

“I don’t care what you like. If I see you anywhere near Claire, I’ll aim for your cold, black heart. If I see you with your hand in your pants again, staring at my wife, I swear to God it’ll be the last time you’re able to grab it. Are we clear?”

“Oh, I understand you perfectly.” Oliver leaned back in his saddle, his grin tight and mean. “You aren’t the only one with a gun. Now get off my property. You’re trespassing. I’d hate to put a bullet in you. Who would protect your precious little wife then?”

Joshua’s blood turned to ice. It wasn’t his death he feared. It was what Claire would endure at the hands of this man—this monster. Men like him were predators. It was tempting just to draw and shoot, but that wasn’t who he was. He wasn’t a murderer.

But he was a defender. And he would defend Claire with his life. And if he had to kill to do it, then so be it.

“Just remember what I told you, Sanders.” He straightened his spine, sitting tall in his saddle, staring down at the smaller, softer man to make sure he got his point across. Then he whipped Lightning around and galloped away.

He had the feeling this wasn’t the end of it. Not even close.

That little nothing dirt farmer was going to have to go. Oliver Sanders watched the man turn the corner and disappear from sight, and Oliver’s ire burned. It would be a cold day in hell when anyone told him what to do.

Especially when it came to something so fine. Oliver let his gaze wander across the road where the Callahan fields shone like lush brown velvet beneath the sun. The best farming land in the county, rich and fertile. He imagined those fields green with grass where even more head of his cattle could graze. Land was power, it was wealth. Think of the money he could make off that land, especially if he never had to pay a dime for it.

Claire was going to give him that land. Oh, he wasn’t just going to corner her in that house of hers, throw her on the floor, rip her skirts and plow into her hard—so hard. That just wasn’t going to be enough.

He dug in his heels, smiling when the sharp edges of his spurs bit into the horse’s flesh and he felt the animal jump forward to obey.

That’s the way he liked his horses and his women.

“And that’s the finest house in these parts,” he said to himself, pride and satisfaction filling him. It’ll be real fine living there. He pictured himself sitting on that porch every evening this summer.

Yes, a house that fine suited him. He could move Claire and her little brat into that cottage out back with her mother. That way she’d be nice and close when his baser urges called. He had a feeling they would be calling a lot.

He made sure he was well hidden behind a bunch of bushes before he pulled his binoculars out of his saddlebag and trained them on the house. There was Claire. Her golden beauty and innocent sexuality fired him up. He imagined all the things he wanted to do to her. When he was done with her, she would know her place. She would be meek and mild, and when he stepped foot into that little house he allowed her to live in, she would know to kneel down like the bitch she was, lift her skirts and surrender to his every hard, dark whim.

Yes, he thought, sure of his plan. It was good to be the most powerful man in the county.

The faint spicy scent of the roast she’d cooked for supper scented the air as Claire made her way along the fields. The tall grasses by the fence line swayed, catching on her skirt hem as she stepped from her land onto Joshua’s original forty acres.

He had a nice place here. As she picked her way closer, she appreciated the pleasant sloping property. The fields were newly planted. The wooden fences were in perfect repair, and a small orchard shaded the back door of a small house. The siding was newly whitewashed, the lawn neatly mown. A stable downwind of the house was open to the hot breezes. His draft horses drowsed in the shade by their water tub.

“Claire?” Joshua stepped into sight, surprised, rubbing a towel across the back of his neck. He’d shaved and washed, his hair was damp and tousled. He looked less harsh, more vulnerable somehow. “What are you doing here?”

Then he spotted the food basket she held and shook his head.

“I told you not to come all this way, and I meant it. I can fix my own supper.” He came to her, put his big hands on her shoulders and rubbed.

Oh, it felt good. Comforting and gentle and solid, all at once.

“You’ve been working hard all day.” Her words held a note of emotion—a note she wasn’t comfortable feeling or revealing. “I told you before. It’s my job.”

“You do too much for me.” His voice turned intimate, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Especially last night.”

“Yes, that was beyond the call of duty.” She let her eyelids close, savoring the caress of his fingertips kneading at the tired muscles in her neck. She’d spent most of the afternoon hunched over her new sewing project. His touch felt so good. Too good. She was tempted to let him keep on touching. Hunger for him licked to life in her belly, and her womb contracted. “You are coming to my bed tonight, right?”