Stephen’s Bride (11 page)

“Good morning, Mrs. McCoy. I’d like a word with your husband, please.” Both Mr. Traynor and Rupert stood on her doorstep.

She gritted her teeth. “He’s not at home right now, he’s working in the fields.” She began to close the door when once again Rupert stuck his foot into the opening. If she pushed hard enough she might break his foot, but even with the hatred she felt for the man, she couldn’t bring herself to cause him harm.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, we have reason to believe Mr. McCoy has been absent from home for weeks now.” Mr. Traynor looked down his bespectacled nose at her.

Had they been watching the house? This was all very strange. First the insistence on a marriage between her and Rupert, then the bank’s threat to take her farm, the missing receipts, them watching her house. What was going on?

She raised her chin and adopted her haughtiest demeanor. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I will remind you that this farm is in my name, so there is no need to hunt down my husband.”

“Pardon me, Calliope, Mr. Traynor and I are just concerned that you don’t understand that your farm is about to be taken from you.” Rupert assumed a very unlike-him helpful expression. “I’m here with Mr. Traynor to once again offer to purchase your farm with enough money to cover the unpaid mortgage and leave you a little something in order to re-settle.”

Once again her hackles were raised by his insistence on taking her farm. “I have no intention of letting anyone take my farm from me. You seem to forget that my payments are up-to-date.”

Mr. Traynor coughed and looked at Rupert. “Ah, yes. So you claim. Have you found the receipt, Mrs. McCoy?”

She fumbled for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I’m afraid with all I have to do there hasn’t been time to look for it.”

Nothing would feel better at this point than to slap the smirk off Rupert’s face. If she had any doubts before, she knew now he had something to do with the missing receipts. “Since I have so much to do, I must insist you leave so I can tend to my chores.”

A flash of something—anger?—flickered across Rupert’s face and was quickly gone to be replaced with his ‘I’m-only-looking-out-for-you’ expression. “Have it your way, Calliope. This could very well be my last offer to help you out. Once the bank takes your farm, you won’t get anything.”

“I’ll remember that.” She looked pointedly at his foot, which he removed and she closed the door.

She covered her face with her hands and leaned against the door.

What am I going to do?

Later that night she dragged herself back into the house covered with sweat and dirt from the heat and wind. Bertha was once again gone, and with the way her aged mother was feeling, she might not return at all. Faced with the chore of heating water by herself for a bath and fixing something for supper, she opted instead to sit on the sofa and stare into nothingness.

She crossed her arms over the arm of the sofa and lay her head down. Within minutes tears dripped from her eyes until she was sobbing for all the things wrong in her life. She’d driven her husband away, was about to lose the farm, had no one to turn to, and she was so tired it would be an effort to even haul herself from the parlor to make her way to her bedroom and collapse fully clothed on the bed.

Apparently she’d cried herself to sleep because she awoke to total darkness, having no idea what time it was or how long she’d slept. Her head ached and her muscles were sore. She raised her head and sniffed the air. Fear gripped her stomach as she realized she smelled smoke.

Had Rupert decided to burn the house down to get his way?

Still fuzzy from sleep, she quietly stood and realized someone had covered her with the woolen blanket she kept on the rocking chair. Confused, she glanced toward the kitchen where light from the oil lamp drew her. Tip-toeing across the room, she reached the doorway and sucked in a breath.

Stephen stood in her kitchen, his back to her as he stirred something on the stove. She shook her head to clear it, sure she was imagining things. She was chilly, thinking she should have brought the blanket with her. How she could be chilly on a warm early summer night was strange. Perhaps her nerves were getting to her again.

Moving into the kitchen, she stopped by the table. “Stephen?”

He turned and gave her the smile that always had the butterflies in her stomach dancing a country reel. “Good evening.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Is that really you?”

“Yes, Calliope. It’s really me.”

She reached her hand out to the back of the chair, then sat. “What? Why?”

He carefully placed the spoon alongside the stove and moved toward her. Taking her hands in his, he drew her up into in his arms, pulling her close, and leaned his chin on her head.

Lord, he felt good. The familiar feel of his strength and the memorable scent of him almost had her in tears once again. She also cringed as she remembered her need for a bath. She tried to move back, but he held firm. “Did you forget something here? Is that why you came back?”

He leaned back and cupped her chin in his hand. “Yes. It appears I did forget something.”

She tried to tell herself she wasn’t disappointed that he’d returned for that reason. Although in the weeks he’d been gone, she hadn’t seen anything of his. “What did you forget?”

Lost in the mesmerizing depth of his blue eyes, she tilted her head in question. She licked her dry lips as her heart pounded so loud in her chest she was sure he could hear it.

“It seems, Mrs. McCoy, when I left here more than two weeks ago, I forgot my heart, which remained here with you.”

Not expecting that answer at all, she sucked in a breath. “What? What do you mean?”

“I love you, Calliope McCoy. Whether you want to share your life with me or not, I’m here to stay and we’ll do things your way.” He grinned. “For a while, anyway.” With that pronouncement, he bent his head and took her lips in a kiss that had her clinging to his arms since her knees had decided to turn to water.

He was home.

I’m home. And it feels right. Very, very, right.

Stephen closed his eyes as his mouth covered his wife’s. Yes. He’d made the right decision. His conversation with Rosemarie the night before had convinced him he loved Calliope and whatever issues there were between them they would work out.

Truthfully, he’d resented Rosemarie’s interference that had come with his sandwich. When she’d asked him when he was returning, he had immediately told her he had no intention of doing that.

“So your pride is more important to you than happiness?”

He’d pushed the empty plate away and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Unlike Calliope, you had no desire to make this farm all your own. You were more than happy to share with Daniel. Even to the extent of allowing him to adopt your children.”

“But I didn’t want to do everything myself. Remember, your brother happened upon me when I was near death. I was only too happy to have his help.”

“Hmm. It seems to me I remember a story about you trying to chase him off with a gun.” He grinned at her discomfort.

“But I want to talk about you and Calliope,” Rosemarie said as she stirred milk into her tea. “I know your marriage was an unconventional one, but I know you quite well, and the little bit of time I got to spend with your wife convinces me you could have a good, solid marriage if you both try.”

He’d thought about what she’d said for a few hours after he left to sleep on his straw mattress. The sun was barely over the horizon when he searched out Daniel to tell him he was returning to Calliope.

His brother had not seemed surprised, which told him Rosie had most likely reported their conversation to Daniel. With a pat on the back, and a wish for success from his brother, Stephen rode out once again, stopping at the saloon to tell Jake he wouldn’t be back.

All those thoughts drifted through his mind as he enjoyed the warmth of her kiss. He’d forgotten how good Calliope tasted, and how perfect she felt in his arms. He broke off the kiss and brushed back the hair from her forehead. “You look tired.”

“I am. I take it you covered me with the blanket?”

“Yep. You were all called up into a ball, so I assumed you were cold. I was going to wake you when the food was ready.”

She leaned around him. “What are you making? It smells good. I’m hungry.”

“I haven’t eaten since a stopped for breakfast this morning, so I visited with the butcher in town and relieved him of two steaks. I found a jar of green beans and another of peaches. Not exactly a feast, but filling.”

“I have bread I can slice up.” She moved out of his arms and sliced the loaf as he finished up the steak and beans. “What time is it?”

“Nearly nine o’clock.”

She turned toward him, the knife in her hand. “How did you get in? I keep the door locked.”

“Sweetheart, we have to have a conversation about that. I climbed into the window right alongside where you slept.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

Within minutes they were seated across from each other, both of them grinning as they gorged on the steak, beans and bread. When that was gone, Calliope opened the peaches and they ate directly from the jar, laughing as their forks dueled for pieces of the sweet fruit.

She sat back in her chair and rubbed her stomach. “I ate too much.”

Stephen leaned his elbows on the table and studied her in the soft glow of the oil lamp. She was so beautiful and he’d missed her so much. But some things had to be settled before too much time passed. “Honey, we have to talk.”

His serious look had her sitting up straight. “Before we do that, I really need a bath. When I came in from the fields before I was exhausted, starving, and in need of a nice, hot soak.”

“I tell you what. I’ll heat your water and fill the tub, you clean up the dishes.”

“Thank you. I was dreading having to do that chore.” She stood and cleared the table, pumping water into the sink and pouring water from the tea kettle.

Stephen dragged the bathtub in, and set it up near the warmth of the stove. “Where’s Bertha?”

“Her mother took sick again. I don’t think she’ll be able to stay here much longer.” Calliope dried her hands on a towel and draped it over the dishes she’d just washed.

“Your bath is almost ready. Turn around and I’ll help you out of your dress.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You intend to stay here while I bathe?”

He walked across the room and took her gently by the shoulders. “If I stay, I’ll wash your back.” He kissed her neck. “And your hair.” He nibbled at the soft skin under her ear. “Turn around.”

She flushed at his words, but turned anyway. He loosened the buttons on the back of her dress and pushed it off her shoulders. Next he unlaced her corset, then untied her shift and let those drift down as well. The garments pooled at her feet, leaving her in only pantaloons. She might have felt as though she needed a bath, but the scent of her body enticed him. The light floral scent that came from her hair as he loosened her bun so the curls fell around her shoulders was like an aphrodisiac.

He felt her shiver as he drew down the last piece of clothing. He nuzzled her neck. “Better get into the tub before the water cools off.”

After climbing in and making a soft sigh that hard him hardening even more, he picked up the washcloth. “Move forward.” He proceeded to wash her back, then slid his hand down to minister to her breasts. When he moved even further, she took the cloth from his hands. “I can do the rest.”

He chuckled and grabbed a cup from the sink to wash her hair.

***

Calliope closed her eyes as Stephen poured the warm water over her head, then massaged her scalp with strong, measured strokes. Still reeling from his unexpected return, she completely forgot about the crisis with the farm. But for now, she pushed it aside, she was enjoying his attention too much.

“That feels so good,” she hummed.

“Once we’re done here, there are many other things I have planned to make you feel even better.”

She shivered, remembering the last time they’d made love. This time she promised she wouldn’t run him off because she was frightened. Nothing was more frightening than the problem she was facing now. It would be so much better to face it with Stephen by her side.

He’d said he loved her. She believed him because she’d come to realize the last week or so that she loved him as well. And once you’ve admitted love for someone, trust had to follow. And yes, she trusted him.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he said, “All done. Stand and I’ll dry you.”

She should have been embarrassed to stand naked before him, water dripping from her body, but with the look in his eyes, she felt like a goddess rising from the sea.

His eyes darkened as he laid a towel over her shoulders. “You are so beautiful. So perfect.” He ran the towel over her body, then without warning, dropped it to the ground and scooped her into his arms. His long legs ate up the distance between the tub and the bedroom. The entire time his mouth covered hers.

He placed her on the carpet in front of the fireplace where a small fire was burning. When had he done that?

“Dry your hair while I take a fast bath.” He turned to leave and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t get dressed.”

She felt wanton, sitting on the floor, combing her hair with not a stitch of clothing on. From the other room, the sounds of splashing and whistling reached her ears. She grinned, butterflies in her stomach waking up.

Her hair had dried somewhat, and was only damp when Stephen entered the bedroom, a towel draped around his hips. His curls fell over his forehead, and he gave her that slow, sexy smile as he strolled across the room. Her mouth went dry and she dropped her brush.

Oh, my.

He pulled her to her feet and slid his hands up her arms to cup her face in his strong hands. “I’ve thought of nothing but this for the past two weeks.” Bending his head, his mouth covered hers hungrily, his tongue slipping in to touch, to taste.

She could sense his arousal pressed against her, and needing the feel of skin on skin, she tugged the towel separating them and it dropped to the ground. How could she have forgotten the hardness of his body, the tightness of the muscles that bulged under her hands? Did she really think she could live the rest of her life without this?