Unforsaken (9 page)

She flinched at the feel of his hands on her shoulders as he tried to apologize. “I shouldn't have asked you that, but Tom is a good friend of mine."

"I—” Olivia fought the tremble in her voice. “I understand."

His thumb traced the taut muscles at the base of her neck and she shuddered at the intimate touch. “Hold on,” he told her.

"Hold on?"

"To the ropes,” he explained, guiding her hand to the knotted ropes on either side of the swing. Gently, he drew the swing back against him, letting her back rest against his chest for just a moment, and nudged the swing forward.

When she made no complaint, he gave her a firm push that sent her sailing over the worn ground. Olivia gasped at the feel of the breeze on her face and held on to the ropes for dear life. Just when she felt unsteady, he caught her and said, “This time, point your toes."

She did, and the swing carried her higher than she would have thought possible. Holding tight to the ropes, she let her head tilt back slightly but enough to see the clouds peeking through the green canopy of oak leaves. She felt giddy, light as a feather, and all that held her to the earth was the hard wooden seat and the feel of his hands on her back as she pushed higher and higher still.

At last, the swing slowed and he caught her, gently bringing the swing to a stop. She was breathless and held tight to the ropes, not trusting her legs enough to stand just yet. Taking her hands, he helped her to her feet and drew her near, brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

The touch of his lips against her skin sent shivers racing up her arm and along her spine. He studied her face for a moment before lowering his mouth to hers, barely brushing her lips with his own. Olivia tensed, knowing the kiss would be a dreadful mistake.

As if to reinforce her foreboding thoughts, a clap of thunder startled them both and she pulled away immediately. “Oh, goodness. We'd better get going before the bottom falls out."

He caught her by the hand and drew her against him, not waiting for her consent, and kissed her. Just as before, she was helpless to resist the waves of desire that rippled through her. She knew she should pull away, forbid him to touch her, and she would loathe herself later for not doing so.

He sensed her retreat and drew her closer, his arm circling her waist, and he deepened the kiss. Her lips parted beneath his and she raised a hand to his cheek, shuddering as her senses were bombarded by the taste, the scent and the feel of him. The feelings were new and enticing yet achingly familiar.

His lips left hers and found the sensitive flesh just below her ear. Olivia gasped at the gentle graze of his teeth along her throat, his breath hot against her skin when he whispered, “You're no old maid, Olivia. We both know that."

She stiffened at his words, uncertain if he was mocking her or insinuating an unspoken claim on her. With as much dignity as possible, she extracted herself from his arms and pinned him with a cool, disdainful look. “Do you really think I need to be reminded of that? Especially by you?"

Just as she turned back toward the porch, heavy raindrops began to pummel the ground. Sarah was still sleeping on the pallet, and Olivia once again began to gather up the remains of their picnic. “We'd better get going if you're going to see me home before nightfall."

A sudden boom of thunder drowned out his reply and startled Sarah from her peaceful nap. Abandoning the task, Olivia hurried to reassure the child that everything was fine. “Come on, sweetheart, let's go back to my house."

"We'll have to wait out the storm.” Matt scaled the steps, his shirt splattered with dampness. “There's no sense in the three of us getting soaked for the sake of your pride."

No sooner than he spoke, the lightning flashed across the sky and thunder shook the columns of the porch. “Let's get inside."

The screen door slammed shut behind them, and Sarah flinched in his arms but remained asleep. Olivia moved about the kitchen warily and removed her hat and gloves.

"I'm sorry about this—"

"Don't apologize.” She waved off his concern. “It can't be helped."

"The storm was sudden, and I doubt we would have made it before the road washed out."

"It's all right,” she insisted, but her restless pacing betrayed her apprehension.

He wasn't looking forward to having her stay overnight any more than she was, but it couldn't be helped. “I need to put Sarah in her bed."

Olivia glanced up and nodded.

"I'll be right back."

Again, she only nodded, and he turned toward the stairs without further comment. As he placed Sarah on her narrow bed and drew the faded blanket over her sleeping form, he was reminded how much he missed having her home. He couldn't ask for a sweeter child, and he felt more guilty than ever for sending her away from home, even temporarily.

At least Sarah was fond of Olivia, and, despite every attempt to appear ambivalent, Olivia was quite taken with the child. The situation would be ideal if things weren't so awkward between him and Olivia. Would his timing with her always be so bad?

He didn't regret the kiss, not in the least, and her ardent response really hadn't surprised him. Once again he'd pushed too far and said the wrong thing, causing her to pull away from him and regret her actions.

He could never have guessed that an afternoon thunder shower, sudden as it might have been, could turn into a downpour, washing out the road and leaving her stranded at his house. For the night.

The kitchen was empty and eerily quiet, and he found Olivia on the porch, sitting in an old rocking chair that creaked with the slightest movement. She glanced up at him, thankfully without wariness, and managed a slight smile.

"It's always so peaceful after a storm,” she said, by way of explaining her being outside. “They say the night air is bad for you, but I find it somewhat refreshing."

He let the door close behind him and crossed the porch to sit across from her on the swing. The old chain groaned beneath his weight, and he suspected she felt a good deal safer out here than inside the house with him.

"Olivia, I can't tell you how sorry I am about this."

"I told you before, it can't be helped."

"Coming here for the day was probably foolish, but I don't want Sarah to forget where her home is."

"No, it wasn't foolish at all,” she insisted, her voice much softer this time. “I simply had no business tagging along."

"Sarah enjoys being with you,” he told her. “And so do I."

"Oh, Matthew, don't say things like that."

Before she could look away, he saw the pain in her eyes, and he cursed himself for hurting her. Again.

"Because of what happened so long ago?” he prompted. “Or because of what happened this afternoon?"

"It wasn't that long ago,” she insisted, ignoring the second half of his question.

"Ryan knew your father would never approve of our getting married and would probably disown you if we did.” This was the first time he'd had a chance to explain things to her, and he didn't mince words. “When you didn't answer my letter, I thought it was because you despised me."

She shook her head. “The letter was three months getting here, and by then I wasn't sure where you were or if you were even still alive. Everything fell apart toward the end of the war.” She paused for a moment. “I did answer the letter right away, but it was already too late, wasn't it?"

She raised questioning eyes to his, and he knew she was ready to hear the truth. He couldn't swear to the day, but she wasn't asking specifics. Taking a deep breath, he said, “Yes, it was too late by then. I told myself it didn't matter, since your father would never have permitted us to marry."

"But he died.” Her words held more regret than accusation. “I should have let Ryan know, but I was afraid he would desert the army to come home and take care of me."

"He would have.” Matthew had no doubt of that. Ryan had no sense of reason where his sister was concerned. “He loved you dearly."

"Deserters were hanged without trial unless they were shot on sight. I wouldn't risk that happening to him."

He understood, but she was still waiting to hear the rest of it. “Three months after Ryan's death, I took a bullet in the shoulder."

She gasped. “I didn't know—"

"It wasn't serious, but it took a surgeon to get it out.” He leaned back in the swing, trying to remember just exactly how things had happened. “She was a nurse in the field hospital, and she offered to write a letter to someone for me since my arm was in a sling."

Olivia ducked her eyes, but he saw the heartache in her expression.

"When I told her there wasn't anyone,” he went on, “she asked me who Olivia was."

"Me?"

"It seems I talk in my sleep, especially when someone is cutting into me with a knife."

Olivia rose from the chair and crossed the porch. “So she
knew
about me? That we were engaged?"

"She also knew that I broke the engagement,” he added. “It wasn't her fault, Olivia. I was lonely and feeling sorry for myself. I figured once everyone knew the engagement was off, you'd have a dozen men clamoring to take my place."

A dozen men, handpicked by her father.

She stood with her back to him, and he rose to his feet when he heard her sob. “Olivia, what is it?"

"I never told anyone about the letter,” she whispered. “Not a soul."

"You never—” He couldn't believe it. “Why not?"

"I knew ... somehow ... that you had written those words out of obligation to Ryan, and once you returned home and learned that my father was...” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged slightly. “I planned to surprise you ... at the station."

"Oh, Livvy,” he breathed, sickened to realize that every person waiting at that depot thought Olivia had come to meet her betrothed. “I would never have humiliated you like that deliberately. I certainly never expected you to be waiting for me."

"Papa would never have allowed it."

Indeed, her father had refused to allow Olivia to accompany Ryan to the station when he left for the army. If there was anything Father couldn't stand, it was an emotional scene, and God forbid one in public.

"Did you love her?” The moment the words were spoken, she desperately wished she could take them back. It was the one thing she was afraid to know.

"She was a good person,” he said without hesitation. “I couldn't leave her behind knowing she was going to have a baby."

"Your baby,” she whispered.

"Yes, my baby,” he said. “We married for the child's sake only, and Rebecca knew that as well as I did."

Olivia turned away at the mention of her name. She didn't want to see grief on his face or hear longing in his voice and know it was for another. She drew a breath and managed a strangled reply. “I'm sure you made her very happy."

"Would you be happy married to a man you didn't love?"

Her fingers dug into the wooden railing. “What makes you say a thing like that?"

"It's the truth. Neither one of us wanted the marriage, but we both had to face the consequences."

Chapter Eight

The storm had left its mark on the countryside just as the night had left its mark on Olivia. Tree limbs and debris were scattered across the yard, and her emotions were torn to shreds. Early morning fog was just beginning to vanish now that the sun was risen fully in the east, but Olivia saw nothing clearly.

Indeed, this morning she was more confused and hurt than ever before. In her mind, she envisioned a very different sequence of events. Always she'd imagined Matthew being seduced by a wanton female and forgetting all about her. Once she had her claws in him, he had to marry her and abandon Olivia.

They'd talked all night, but she hadn't had the nerve to ask him what he would have done if he'd learned she was waiting for him, with no father to stop her from marrying him. Would he have come home to her, or honored his obligation to the mother of his child?

Matthew had ridden off on horseback nearly an hour earlier to inspect the road and determine whether they would be able to travel safely today. She could only hope they would; surely Aunt Eula would be sick with worry, and Olivia berated herself again and again for not leaving so much as a note explaining her absence.

She slipped back inside the kitchen, where Sarah was finishing breakfast, and smiled at the memory of Sarah insisting that Matthew not do the cooking, confiding that he burned the bacon every time. Olivia wondered if her own efforts were any less disappointing.

"How is everything?"

"Good,” was all she would say, swinging her bare feet under the table. “I like Maddy's waffles. She puts blueberries in ‘em."

"I like them, too."

Olivia began gathering the dishes and placed them in the basin as she had seen Maddy do at home. Tears stung her eyes and she squeezed them tight, not wanting Sarah to see her upset.

We married for the child's sake.

The child. Sarah.

What would have become of the little girl if Matthew had abandoned her mother? Any woman bearing a child out of wedlock would be shunned, put out by her family, considered little more than a whore, but the child would suffer worse. Upon her mother's death, Sarah would have gone from being a bastard to an orphan, winding up in an asylum or worse.

No, Matthew had done the right thing and, glancing now at the little girl with mussed hair and syrup on her face, she was glad he had. The tight knot of bitterness she'd carried for so long cracked and something eased inside her, knowing Matthew had not wronged her. If anything, she had wronged him.

Sarah took her hand and led her across the yard and past the barn toward the chicken coop. Once there, Sarah efficiently went about unlatching the door and coaxing the chickens outside. “Here, chick. Here, chick, here."

The birds needed little encouragement and raced into the grassy area that already bore signs of their scratching and pecking. Sarah showed Olivia where the chicken feed was stored and how many scoops to pour into the bucket. After a few clumsy attempts, Olivia was able to scatter the cracked corn evenly and the chickens descended in a cloud of flapping wings and tail feathers.