The Heavenly Surrender (14 page)

“
Stand clear of Juan Miguel, Genieva,” he growled, wagging a warning index finger toward her. “Do ya understand me?”

“I suppose so,” she conceded, miffed.

“I’m going over there to check on things,” Brevan announced as he started for the door.

“
Brian’s capable of protecting Lita, Brevan. She’s his wife,” Genieva spat.

“I’ve no doubt of it. But a man can always use assistance when trouble comes, Genieva. And by the way,” he added, taking hold of her chin firmly so she was forced to meet his glare. “Ya’re my wife, lass. So you’ll do as I say. Ya stay far away from Juan Miguel,” he ordered. He turned—the front door slamming behind him as he left.

Chapter Six

Genieva thought often of the anger provoked in Brevan when she had told him of her meeting with Lita’s father. She had sensed it was a matter no member of the family wished to discuss. So, naturally her mind began to concoct many different reasons for Brevan’s hatred toward the man. Perhaps Juan Miguel had treated Lita badly as a child, Genieva mused one day sometime later as she carried bucket after heavy bucket from the creek to the cornfield. Yet Juan Miguel had seemed quite charming. Then again, people who treated others badly often did appear pleasant outwardly. Perhaps Juan Miguel harbored some immoral vice, such as gambling—or maybe he was too friendly with liquid spirits. These same thoughts had presented themselves time and again to Genieva’s mind over the past few days. It frustrated her, but as always she sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and tried to put it from her mind.

Genieva poured the bucket of water on a thirsty yet thriving corn sprout. She and Brevan had worked diligently each day, and often late into the night, watering the corn and gardens. Wiping the perspiration from her forehead, she stood straight and arched her back—aching mercilessly from carrying the heavy buckets.

“Get a move on, lass,” Brevan ordered as he approached from behind her—a bucket in each hand. “The sun will be settin’ soon, and we’ll be doin’ this in the dark again, we will.”

“I have to have a moment to replenish my strength, Brevan,” Genieva said. “I won’t be worth my weight if I collapse here in the field, now will I?”

“Ya don’t weigh all that much to begin with, Genieva,” he grumbled, dumping his buckets and turning toward the creek once again.

Genieva was not in a mood to nurture his sarcasm. She turned, intending to meet him headlong in a verbal battle—knowing she was worth far more than any other woman he could have been saddled with. Yet as she turned, she found herself staring at three approaching horsemen—her argumentative words stuck in her throat.

All of the men on horseback wore sombreros—similar to that Juan Miguel wore when she had met him. The three men reined in before Brevan. Genieva noticed Brevan’s broad shoulders already rose and fell with angered breathing. Upon having a closer look at the men, Genieva instantly recognized the one in the middle—the one mounted on a tall bay. He was the stranger from the orchard.

“Get off me land, Cruz!” Brevan shouted.

“Mí amigo,” the man from the orchard greeted. He smiled, flashing a dazzlingly white set of teeth. “Mí hermanos and me have only just come back from to see our querida hermana.”

“Then what are ya doin’ here? Ya know ya’re not welcome on me lands,” Brevan growled.

“Joaquin, Mateo, and me…we wanted to see your esposa,” the man explained—his eyes lingering on Genieva. His gaze was not that of proper admiration, and it sent a chill rippling down her spine.

“Ya’ve seen her already, Cruz…and once is too many a time,” Brevan growled.

The man named Cruz chuckled slyly and continued to speak to Brevan. “And you,” he said, nodding in Brevan’s direction. “We hear you had a little accident in your field, hombre.” The man chuckled again and added, “But you…you’re a big man. You’re tough, no?”

“I’m bigger and tougher than you’ll ever be, Archuleta,” Brevan mumbled. The threatening intonation in both men’s voices frightened Genieva. These were polite words being spoken by men who hated each other. Archuleta, Brevan had called him. Was this man akin to Lita as well?

“Come, Cruz,” one of the other men urged. Genieva noted this man didn’t smile as the other two did. His expression was one of concern and doubt. “It’s time we went for home.” Though this man looked the image of Cruz in every physical respect, there was a definite difference about him. Genieva noted this man lacked the wicked glint to the eye that his brother’s held.

“Joaquin is a wise man,” Brevan agreed. “I want no trouble from you this day.”

The one named Joaquin tipped his sombrero to Genieva, and she nodded. This man meant them no harm. She was certain of it.

“We go, McLean,” he said, and he turned his horse. The third man did the same—obviously intending to leave. Cruz paused, however. He leaned forward, staring lecherously at Genieva as his grin broadened.

“Cruz!” Joaquin shouted. “Apúrate! Ándele!”

Cruz Archuleta turned his mount at last, glancing at Brevan once more with an air of superiority, causing Genieva’s own anger to heighten.

When they had gone, she shouted, “Enough!” Brevan turned to face her, and she lunged at him, taking hold of his shirt in her tiny fists. “What is going on here, Brevan? I have a right to know!”

“Nothin’,” he answered.

“Don’t lie to me anymore,” she demanded. “What is going on? The man named Cruz...he’s the one from the orchard. And he implied...did he have something to do with spooking the mules the day you were hurt? Are these men Lita’s family as well? Answer me, Brevan! I have a right to know what’s going on here!”

“Lita is a fine woman,” Brevan responded through clenched teeth. “But her family, her father and her brothers…they are not the kind of men I want on my lands.”

“
Why?”

“It’s all ya need to know, Genieva. They cause trouble, and I’ve no time for trouble,” he answered.

“I know, I know, I know!” Genieva whined. Fatigue had gotten the best of her patience. “I know! You don’t have time for anything other than your work and this land and your apple trees and your corn. I know. You drive me mad with saying it all the time! I don’t need incessant reminding of how you have no time for anything else but this farm.” She watched as Brevan’s eyebrows arched in surprise at her outburst. Turning over one of the empty buckets she had just dropped to the ground, she sat down solidly on it. Folding her arms across her knees, she rested her weary head on them.

“I’ll forgive ya for yar snappin’ ways ’cause I know ya’re tired, but…” he began.

“Oh, don’t be so benevolent on my account, Brevan,” she snapped again. “I agreed before I married you to work like a mule, so I know I don’t have any right to complain. Still…I’m sick to death of hearing about how you have no time for trouble, no time for silliness, no time for supper, no time for sitting still, no time for…”

“
No time for you, ya mean to be sayin’,” he interrupted. Genieva looked up at him, her mouth gaping open indignantly, as he continued, “Ya’re miffed because I don’t spend me time courtin’ after ya the way Brian and Travis do Lita and Brenna. And now that Lita’s got her wee bun, yar female side is thinkin’ of children and…”

“What do you mean, my ‘female
side,’” Genieva shouted, standing and glaring daringly up at him. “And don’t flatter yourself by thinking every woman on the earth dreams of having your children, Brevan. I believe there will soon enough be plenty of your…your lineage toddling around town! Don’t lump me in with the women who found you literally irresistible!”

Instantly, both by her own conscience and the look of disgust and betrayal apparent on Brevan’s face, Genieva was awash with guilt. Why had she been so hateful to him? Yet she knew why. It was because he had been too close to the truth, to hitting the proverbial nail on the head. He’d stumbled on the truth of it all, and she’d snapped back hatefully because of her own pride. Of course she wanted his attention! Of course she wanted his affection! It was only natural when you loved someone to covet these things from them.

“That was cruel and slanderous, Genieva,” he mumbled. The set of his mouth, the lack of spark to his eyes told her she had committed a grievous error in battling him with such hurting words.

“I’m sorry, Brevan. I’m just so tired. I’m sorry. Please don’t…” she began. But he looked away to some point above her head as his jaw clenched and unclenched angrily. Panic began to engulf her, and she took hold of his shirt in her fists once more. “Please, Brevan. I’m just so…so tired all the time, and I say things I don’t mean. Please, don’t stay angry. Forget that I said it. You know I don’t mean it.” Reaching up, desperate for his forgiveness, she boldly took his face between her hands, forcing his gaze to meet her own.

Brevan resisted her tugging at his face only for a moment, and when he did meet the pleading of her eyes, he was instantly astonished. Her eyes, deep green only moments before, were a pale blue. A grayish, steel blue he had learned indicated a torment of some sort within her.

“I’m only tired, body and mind, Brevan,” she continued to plead. A deep guilt struck his heart—guilt at working her so hard—for he knew he did it so she was ever out of his way. It was the only way to keep his thoughts from straying to her constantly. She was so adorable, so beautiful—so desirable. He knew he must keep his head about him where she was concerned, and hard labor was the only thing he knew to do it.

Brevan grinned sympathetically at Genieva, and she felt suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortable at having talked to him so revealingly—at having touched him. Quickly she dropped her hands and her gaze from him.

“Do yar feet hurt then, lass?” he asked. Genieva frowned, puzzled by his question. “Yar feet. Do they pain ya now?” he repeated.

“No more than every other inch of my body,” she muttered, as she began to sit down on the bucket once more. She gasped, surprised when he reached down and lifted her into his arms, striding determinedly toward the orchards. “What are you doing? Put me down,” she whined, struggling—but only slightly—for it was ever so heavenly being held in his arms.

“Sore feet are bad, they are. They make the rest of yar body ache. If ya can relieve the ache in yar feet, ya can relieve the rest of it,” he informed her. Abruptly he stopped at the edge of the pond and sat her on the ground. Quickly, before she could begin to argue, he pulled off her boots, then sat down next to her and removed his own. He swiftly pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside.

“Brevan…I told you…I hate water. It frightens me. I’ll feel worse than I do now if you force me to…” she argued. But Brevan was obviously feigning ignorance because he pulled her to her feet and began struggling with the button at the waist of her skirt. “Brevan!” she reprimanded, slapping him smartly on the hand.

“This cumbersome cloth will drag you to the bottom, it will,” he argued, slapping her hand in return. “It’s gettin’ dark enough that I can’t see me way well anyway. And besides, I’ve seen ya in yar unmentionables before.”

Before Genieva could argue further, she felt her skirt drop to the ground. She barely managed to retain one of her petticoats with one hand as Brevan lead her into the water with the other. The water was still warm from the hot rays of the day’s sun, and it did feel soothing on her tired feet. As the water lapped up against Genieva’s chin, she gasped and reached out, taking hold of Brevan’s broad shoulders. She shivered with delight as his hands encircled her small waist, pulling her against the protection of his capable body. She could not help but gaze in wonder into his face—for she usually only saw it from a position below him. But as she looked directly into his eyes—their faces on an even level because of his supporting her in the water—she marveled at the beauty of his physical combination.

“I’m sorry I said those things, Brevan. I really am sorry. I have to know that you’re not going to hold my behavior against me. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise,” she confessed to him.

Brevan was again captured by the color of her eyes. The moon, showing itself fully over the horizon in that moment, cast its bright white light across the pond’s surface. That light reflected in Genieva’s beautiful, now violet eyes.
Why this color now?
he wondered.

It had been nearly two weeks since Brevan had kissed Genieva first in the orchard and pond and then in his room when he had been incoherent. As she studied his face now, so close, so tantalizing, the moisture in her mouth increased tenfold. She let her eyes linger for a moment on his mouth as it dipped below the surface of the water—as he spit a drizzle of water out when he bobbed up. So badly did she want him to kiss her that she feared she might just reach out and take the kiss—no longer able to resist doing so.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, realizing the day must end and that she must escape him or make a fool of herself.

“I heard ya. I just think ya need to stew in yar own juice a minute, lass. For it was a cruel thing to say to me,” he reminded her. Genieva felt his hands leave her waist as they slid to her back, holding her even more firmly against the strength of his body. “I work ya too hard,” he muttered as his eyes seemed to intently study her every feature. “I do. I admit that to ya. And I’ll try to be more thoughtful of it from now on. But,” he paused, and Genieva felt an anxiety rise in her chest. “But why do ya think I fathered Amy Wilburn’s baby, lass? And don’t deny it…for it’s all too obvious that ya do.”

Genieva cast her gaze to the water’s surface for a moment. Yet when he cleared his throat with impatience, she looked back to him.