Untethered (39 page)

She laughed a little when she’d finished dressing and caught a vision of herself in the wall mirror opposite the door. She looked exactly like a vagabond—baggy underdrawers barely able to stay at her waist no matter how taut she pulled the drawstring and a shirt that hung down nearly to her knees. Truly she looked ridiculous. And that was the thought that panicked her in that moment.

Heath would return! As soon as he’d tended to Archie, Heath would return and see her looking just like a little ragamuffin! Frantically, Cricket dashed to the wash table, finding a brush there. Pulling the ribbon holding her hair in a long braid, she loosened the full length of her coffee-colored tresses and began brushing it in front of the fire. Her hair was as wet as her clothes had been, and working it to a smooth softness that she was satisfied with was an ordeal.

In fact, Cricket had only just finished brushing her hair when she was startled by the door swinging open—a drenched and dripping Heath stepping into the room.

Heath paused as if astonished—as if he’d forgotten Cricket had come home with him. Slowly he looked her up and down—from head to toe and back again—a deep frown furrowing his brow.

Cricket could tell he was even angrier than when he’d left to care for Archie. She’d thought caring for the horse would surely settle his temper, but he looked more disturbed than he had before.

Heath closed his eyes a moment, removing his hat and wiping the rain from his face and goatee. He silently tried to convince himself that he was only dreaming—that Magnolia wasn’t really standing there dressed only in his underdrawers and Sunday shirt. But when he opened his eyes again to behold the woman he loved standing in his bedroom in his underwear and shirt, he shook his head—reminded himself that she’d been forced to marry him. He knew it wasn’t Cricket’s intention to tempt him—to endeavor to lure him into taking her to his bed. He knew he had to keep his thoughts focused.

But just when Heath thought he’d built up his defenses once more—as he stripped off his rain-soaked shirt and began drying his arms and chest with the damp towel Cricket offered him—she said, “I’m so sorry, Heath.”

The emotion in her voice and the new tears on her cheeks were all the evidence Heath needed to confirm that she thought he was angry with
her
—not with Reverend Righteous and his idiot son and friends, not with the good men of Pike’s Creek that had ridden off to Lyman that morning to rescue a group of trapped miners, but with her. Cricket thought he was angry with her.

“I’m so, so sorry, Heath,” she wept. “I-I didn’t know what to do. I really thought they might kill you! I-I…”

Cricket paused in her desperate apology when Heath took hold of the waist of his drenched trousers and said, “You might wanna turn around for a minute.”

“Oh!” Cricket breathed, realizing he meant to strip off the rest of his wet clothes.

“And would you toss that other pair of drawers to me?” he asked. “The other pair there on the bed?” he repeated when she didn’t move at first.

“Oh,” she breathed again. Retrieving the other set of underdrawers Heath had tossed from the wardrobe onto his bed, Cricket stretched her arm behind her in offering them to him.

“Thank you,” Heath mumbled, pulling the underdrawers from her hand. A moment later, he said, “You can turn back around now.”

Cricket did turn around then—her breath catching in her throat as she saw him standing there in only his underdrawers.

He was rubbing his hair with the small towel in an effort to dry it. When he’d finished, he tossed the towel into a basket in one corner and looked at her. The rather boyish appearance his tousled hair gave him made Cricket smile.

“What?” Heath asked. He looked at his chest and then down at his underdrawers as if ensuring his modesty. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” Cricket said, shaking her head. Her amusement vanished as she watched him rake one hand through his wet hair several times to comb it. Once again he stood before her beautifully bare-chested, handsome as the summer days were long, and more intimidating than ever.

Remembering that she’d been apologizing to him before he’d begun to strip off his clothes, she repeated, “I’m so sorry, Heath. I’m sure it can all be worked out, and I’m sure that…” Her words were lost as emotion choked. “I feel like I can’t endure your bein’ angry with me. I-I didn’t know what else to do! I know Wyatt Stanley…and he would have shot you the second his father allowed. I-I didn’t know what to do, Heath!”

But when she looked up, it was to see Heath frowning at her—frowning, yes, but with confusion, not anger.

“You think I’m mad at you, Magnolia?” he asked.

Cricket didn’t know what to say. Of course she thought he was mad at her. Certainly he was mad at everyone who had forced him to marry her, but that included her. So of course he would be angry with her too.

“I’m not angry with you, honey,” Heath said, striding to her. Taking her by the shoulders, his frown softened. “I’m mad at myself.”

“What?” she asked, entirely confused—entirely affected by his touch.

“I mean, sure, I’m mad at that little son of…at Wyatt…at Wyatt and his idiot friends,” he began to explain. “And I’m furious to near beatin’ the life outta Reverend Righteous. That man needs a good lickin’…more than one.” He grinned a bit and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “But most of all, I’m mad at myself.”

“At yourself?” Cricket asked. “Why would you be mad at yourself? For what?”

“For bein’ a coward,” he mumbled.

He dropped his hands from her, and she felt suddenly cold again.

“A coward?” she squeaked. “When have you ever been a coward?”

Heath inhaled a deep breath—exhaled it slowly. Still looking at her, he answered, “I’ve been a coward for almost two weeks. I figured all those…those shenanigans you allowed me to heap on you while was waitin’ for that damn posse that never came…I figured you’d just endured all that from me.” Cricket frowned, and he continued, “We come home, and you seemed so happy to be back with your daddy and
Ada
. You and Marie, Ann, and Vilma…you all settled right back into doin’ the things you used to do. And I figured…that I didn’t deserve you anyhow.”

Cricket brushed more tears from her cheeks and bit her lip with restraining more emotion as he took her shoulder again, saying, “But then Ada told me in the general store…she told me that you were cryin’ out my name in the night. And she said somethin’ else—though I don’t remember what—and it gave me hope…hope that maybe that first day I came to Pike’s Creek and stepped into the general store…” An amused smile spread across his face as he continued, “And saw your little blossom bottom swingin’ this way and that as you walked toward me…what Ada said gave me hope. And that’s why I showed up at the Cornfield Chase last night and went to work havin’ my way with you out behind Clifford King’s barn.”

Cricket shook her head. It was too much to take in—far too much to believe.

“You’re just tryin’ to make me feel better about all this today,” she whispered. Looking up into the beautiful, sparkling blue of his eyes, she added, “And anyway…even if that’s all true…it doesn’t explain why you’re mad at yourself right now instead of me.”

Heath nodded with understanding. “I suppose it don’t,” he admitted. “But see…me bein’ a coward is what found you bein’ forced to marry me just now.”

“You’re talkin’ in riddles,” Cricket told him. “Just tell me what you mean, Heath,” she pleaded.

“I love you, Magnolia,” Heath said then. “I started fallin’ in love with you that day in the general store. But you know who I am…what I’ve seen and done. It hardens a man…scares him away from dreamin’ about lovin’ the one right woman…and…and askin’ her daddy for permission to court her…or to marry her.” He released her, ran a hand through his damp hair, and laughed. “And do wanna know the worst of it?” he asked.

But Cricket knew there couldn’t possibly be a worst—not if what he’d just said to her were true. Had Heathro Thibodaux really said he loved her? Had he really said, in a manner of speaking, that he wanted to court her—to marry her?

“The worst of it is,” he continued, letting his head fall back as he stared at the ceiling, “I almost asked your daddy this mornin’. I was gonna ask him on the way to Lyman…while I was ridin’ with him over to help those men. But than that damn bull got loose again, and I had to stay behind and round him up.” He looked at her then, and Cricket saw the sincerity in his eyes—the truth—the love.

“So that’s why I’m mad at myself, Miss Blossom Bottom,” he sighed. “For bein’ too much of a coward to ask your daddy if I could marry you a week or more ago.”

Cricket smiled; she couldn’t help but smile. She smiled and let the tears of joy race from her eyes.

“Really?” she asked in a breathy whisper, pinching her own arm once more to be certain she was awake. “Really, Heath? Are you tellin’ me the truth…or are you just really tryin’ to make me feel better?”

Heathro Thibodaux grinned. He reached out, taking a strand of her hair and twisting it around his finger.

“Oh, honey…I
know
I can make you feel better,” he flirted.

“I know you can too,” she flirted in return, blushing from the tips of her toes to the tips of her hair. “But do you mean all that? It wasn’t just a story you made up to try and make today seem less…less insane? Y-you’re not plannin’ on waitin’ until my daddy gets back and then makin’ this all go away?”

“Sugar, why would I want this all to go away?” Heath asked.

Cricket quivered as he put his hands at her waist—as he slid them to her back, pulling her close to him. With only Heath’s loose-fitting shirt between his hands and her skin, his touch was all the more exciting to every sense she owned.

“I really do love you, Magnolia,” he mumbled. “Are you truly gonna stand there, knowin’ all that has gone on between us…whether spoken or not…are you truly gonna stand there wearin’ nothing but my underwear and pretend that you don’t already know that?”

Cricket inhaled a deep breath as she fought to build her courage. She thought of what she’d told Marie not so long ago—that if she weren’t willing to fight for something she loved—something or someone like Hudson—then she didn’t deserve to own it. And how thoroughly, how desperately, and how absolutely she wanted to own Heathro Thibodaux—and wanted him to own her.

Tentatively, Cricket reached out, placing her trembling palms on Heath’s broad chest. “Not anymore, I guess,” she managed. She looked away from his handsome face, studying the breadth of his shoulders and the smooth bronze of his skin.

Heath chuckled. “Not anymore, huh?” he asked. “So you’ve known all along that I was in love with you, is that it?”

“No,” Cricket answered. “I hoped all along that you would…from the moment I first saw you in the general store that day. Then I dreamed you would…from the moment I hopped up on the stupid waterin’ trough and tried to kiss you.” She looked up into his eyes then—his beautiful blue eyes so mesmerizing and filled with promise. “Then after that night in the barn with you…that’s when I started prayin’ you would love me…because I’ve loved you for so very long, Heath.”

Heath gathered Cricket against his warm, solid body. The heat of his skin acted like a soothing balm to her, and she melted to him.

He kissed the top of her head, whispering, “I love you,” into her hair.

And she pressed her lips to the warm, bronze skin of his chest, whispering, “I love you, Heathro Thibodaux.”

Heath held Cricket there for a time—simply held her—reassuring her of his love with his words and affectionate caresses.

Then, as the fire burned warm and comforting in the hearth—as the sun set and the rain began to fall with a romantic sort of gentleness instead of an angry flood—Heath drew Cricket away from his embrace, asking, “How’s that burn healin’ up?”

Cricket frowned, puzzled. “Burn?” she asked.

“That burn you got when that outlaw Boone put his lit cigar to you,” he explained.

Cricket thought it somewhat odd that Heath should think of the cigar burn in that moment. But she shrugged and answered, “Fine, I suppose.”

“Let me have a look at it,” he said.

Cricket tried to pull the collar of the buttoned-up shirt she wore down far enough for Heath to see the wound—but it wouldn’t stretch the length it needed to. Therefore, she quickly unbuttoned the top three buttons of the shirt, pulling the collar and shirtfront aside to reveal the healed but still pink burn below her left shoulder.

“See?” she said. “It’s healin’ up just fine.” Cricket giggled as she studied the burn a minute. “Must’ve been that medicinal spit of yours that you…”

Her words were lost when she looked up to see Heath smiling at her with triumph.

“Why are you grinnin’ like that at me?” she giggled.

“Well, darlin’,” Heath said, sending goose bumps racing over Cricket’s arms and legs as he tugged the fabric of his shirt she wore to better reveal the burn, “it’s just ’cause you’re so conveniently gullible sometimes.”

Cricket quivered as Heath bent, placing a soft, lingering kiss to the burn. She gasped as she felt his hand slip beneath the fabric of the shirt to caress her shoulder before traveling to the back of her neck as his mouth scattered lingering, moist kisses at her throat and chin.