Anita Mills (27 page)

“She was. She was afraid I wouldn’t remember everything, so she wrote it all down until she was too weak to write anymore. There were pages and pages of it—she filled three housekeeping journals for me.”

“I would’ve liked to have read them.”

“Well, I’ve still got all of them packed away in a box. I used to get those journals out and read them when things were bad, and I’d know if she could take the time to write all that down as sick as she was, I could do it. When we left North Carolina, Jesse wanted me to burn them—he said we didn’t have any room for anything we didn’t have to have—but I sneaked them into a box with the towels, anyway. They just meant too much to me to let them go. It was the same way with Mama’s Bible. He said we didn’t have any use for more than one, but she’d written down all the births, marriages, and deaths in hers and Daddy’s families in it, and I’d kept it going, so I wasn’t about to part with that either. That’s why I wanted to bring it today. It’s like having them with me.”

He reached for her hand, covering it with his, thinking how small it was. “Laura, I’m going to do my damnedest to take care of you and Jessie—as long as I’ve got breath in my body, it’s not going to be like that anymore. I don’t want you scrimping and saving and doing without, and it’s my job to see you don’t have to. You’re going to have what you deserve.”

“Just don’t treat me like Jesse—please,” she said, looking up at him. “He said he wanted me to have a big, fine house, a fancy carriage, things like that, but it was him that wanted them, and whenever things went wrong between us, he’d always throw it up to me that he was working himself to death for me. I don’t want to live like that, Spence—I’ve got nothing against having things if they’re what
we
want, but I want us to work together for them—I want us to be partners, Spence. In everything. I don’t want to be left out, then blamed for something I didn’t do. I don’t want to be left by myself on some pedestal, and just get dusted off when you happen to think about it.”

“I want to take care of you, Laura.”

“I’ve got to think that what I do means something, too—even if it’s just cooking and sewing and keeping the house clean. I spent too many years alone, and then I got myself a husband who didn’t want to talk to me—he and Danny’d get together and make plans for me, thinking they were
my
plans, too, but they weren’t. I’m not saying I didn’t love Jesse, or he didn’t love me—it’d be a lie to say that—I’m saying I wish he’d just listened to me sometimes.” Taking in a deep breath, she exhaled heavily. don’t guess that makes much sense to a man, does it?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got to be respected, Spence. Nobody ever loved anybody more than Mama and Daddy loved each other. Maybe they went through hell on this earth and everything was a struggle for them, but they did it together. I saw it, and that’s what I want.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ve always appreciated honesty, Laura.”

“No, I’ve got myself half a deal. I didn’t mean to make a speech just now, but since I did, you’ve got a turn coming, too. I’d like to know what you want from me.”

“I’m a man—the things I want are pretty simple.”

“Food on the table, clean clothes, and a clean house?”

“Well, I’d like that, too,” he admitted. Sobering, he looked into the depths of those beautiful eyes for a long moment. “What I want most is a woman who loves me, who wants me to touch her, who wants to wake up beside me. I want you to want me as much as I want you, Laura.”

She felt the lump rise in her throat. “Heart, body, and soul,” she answered huskily. “You won’t ever have to ask for that. You’ve got yourself a deal, Spencer Hardin.”

“Anything else you feel like settling here and now?”

“Children. If you’re thinking because I had a hard time twice before, I won’t want anymore—well, you’re wrong. We’ll have Josh and Jessie, I know, but we’ve got to have at least one more to tie them together and make them feel they belong to both of us. Then they’d each have blood in common with a little brother or sister. And two would be even better, because from what I’ve seen, an even number of kids makes for less quarreling.”

“You don’t plan on leaving much to chance, do you?” he teased her, grinning.

“Well, it’s up to God to decide whether they’re girls or boys. All I can do is tell him I’d like one of each.”

He reined up in front of the half-finished company store and tied the traces to a rusty nail at his feet. “You probably won’t want to wake up Jessie yet,
so I’ll just go in and ask where we can find the preacher.”

“His name is Farrell, and he’s got the last tent before you’re out of camp.”

“Yeah, but they’re starting to build now, so he could’ve moved.”

“I don’t think that’s likely.”

“Just the same, I’d like to check.”

As he disappeared into the store, she leaned back against the board behind her. The snow was coming down steadily now, filling the air with huge white flakes, but in the absence of the usual wind, it made for a lovely, peaceful scene. By tonight, the countryside would be blanketed, making the little cabin seem isolated in a world all its own. As soon as she got home, she would put on supper, then play with Jessie before she fed her. She hoped the baby would be tired enough to go to sleep early.

She had two big white candles she’d been saving for years, waiting for something special to happen before she used them, and tonight she’d place them on the tables by the bed. When Spence came in from tending the animals, she’d have herself washed with that sliver of lavender-scented soap she kept in her underwear drawer, and she’d be wearing her tucked lawn nightdress with nothing underneath. It’d be a little cold this time of year, and it might shock Spence, but he’d probably appreciate not having to help her out of any extra clothes.

Closing her eyes, she relived every sensuous moment of that night almost two weeks ago, and she felt weak with the wanting again. He’d find her more than willing to keep her half of the bargain tonight and every night thereafter, whenever he wished. She wouldn’t have to lie awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there was anything left in this life for her anymore. She’d be Mrs. Spencer Hardin, his wife, the mother of the rest of his children.

“Well, you were right,” she heard him say. When she opened her eyes, he was climbing up beside her, then stowing a sack under his seat. “His name’s Farrell, and he’s right up the street.”

“What’s that?”

“Not enough, but it’ll have to do until we can get something better.”

“That’s not much of an answer.”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Smoke curled from a firepot at the side of the last tent, and Spence took it for a hopeful sign. “Looks like he’s home,” he observed, pulling up in front. Retrieving the sack, he braced a boot on the wooden block he’d nailed to the side of the wagon, and he dropped to the ground. “Hand me the baby, and I’ll help you down.” Taking Jessie, he balanced her against his hip, then reached for Laura. She missed the step and slid the length of him before she gained her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked quickly.

“Well, if you weren’t marrying me, I’d be pretty embarrassed, but otherwise I’m fine. Here—I’ll hold her.”

“No sense in passing her back and forth, is there? We’re getting along all right.” Shifting Jessie to his shoulder, he took Laura’s arm. Squinting into the falling snow, he exhaled fully. “Well, I guess this is it.”

“Right now, you look like a man about to be hanged,” she chided.

“No. I just wish it was a church, that’s all, but I guess the words will be the same.”

“I expect so.” Pausing to look up at him, she added, “You can still escape, you know.”

“Not on your life. I went through hell getting here last night, wondering if you were all right, and I’m not leaving again without you.”

“Then I guess we’d better go in.”

As they ducked under the tent flap, a man stood up. To Spence, he looked more like a gambler down on his luck than like any man of God he’d ever seen. Seedy was the word that came to mind. And the way the fellow was looking at Laura irritated him.

“Are you the Reverend Farrell?” he asked finally.

“I might be. Depends on what you’ve got in mind.”

Feeling Spence’s arm tense under her hand, Laura stepped forward quickly. “This is Dr. Spencer Hardin, and I’m Laura Taylor. We were hoping you could marry us.”

Farrell’s gaze shifted to the baby on Spence’s shoulder, and his mouth curved knowingly. “Little late now for that, I’d say.”

“She’s a widow,” Spence snapped. “I was a friend of her husband. Come on, Laura—let’s go. You don’t have to put up with this.”

“No. A shifty-eyed messenger doesn’t make the message wrong,” she declared, holding onto his arm. “Are you licensed to perform marriages, Mr. Farrell?”

“I am.”

“Of what persuasion?”

“Baptist.”

“If he is, you can bet he’s been defrocked,” Spence muttered.

“There’s all different kinds of Baptists,” she said mildly. “You can either go ahead with this, or you can tell me you don’t want to marry me.”

“Damn it, Laura, Thad Bingham would turn over in his grave if he could see the fellow.”

“Yes, well, he’s not here, and there’s not another preacher around, unless you want to go over to McPherson tomorrow.”

“It’s about time for supper,” Farrell told them, “so you’d better make up your minds. It’s a dollar-fifty if you just want the words, nine if you want a fancy Bible to go with ’em.”

“I have my own Bible, sir, but I’d be obliged if you’d sign the wedding, page for us.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

“You
want
him to marry us?” Spence asked incredulously.

“I don’t want to wait for tomorrow,” she said softly. “I’ve already got a big supper planned.”

The way she said it made his mouth go dry, and the pressure of her small hand on his sleeve told him he hadn’t gotten the message wrong. “It’s your wedding,” he managed finally. “If you’re satisfied, I am.”

The words were brief, the vows amounting to little more than two “I do’s” apiece, and then Farrell was signing the territorial certificate and Laura’s Bible. As he handed over the money, Spence asked the man, “You in a hurry to get someplace?”

“As a matter of fact, I am—there’s some boys getting up a poker game over at the hog ranch, and I told ‘em to count me in.”

Handing her into the wagon again, Spence told her, “I’ve half a mind to drive over to the fort, anyway. You can’t even feel married after that.”

Settling onto the seat, she took Jessie before she retrieved the folded certificate from the Bible. “Well, it’s got our names spelled right, and the seal makes it legal. And to tell you the truth, I’d rather go home than anywhere right now. But if it’d make you feel better, once we’re out of sight, you’re welcome to kiss your bride.”

As he forked hay for the two horses and the mule, Spence knew he ought to be bone-tired after an all-night ride followed by less than five hours of sleep, but he wasn’t. And he wasn’t hungry either. He’d sat across the table, watching how her hair shone in the lantern light, the way her smile lit up those beautiful eyes, thinking he had to be the luckiest man alive. Right now, he couldn’t even remember what he’d had for supper.

Today, he’d made himself responsible for a wife and daughter, and tonight he’d make himself a husband, sealing those few words he’d said earlier with his body. And, God willing, it’d be right this time, and this union would heal her pain and his anger with the balm of love and give him a measure of peace.

Maybe it already had. He didn’t hate Lydia anymore—he could think of her now without feeling much of anything. But he didn’t know how he felt about Ross yet, whether he still wanted to kill him, and he probably wouldn’t know until he found Josh. And he had the gnawing fear that might never happen. Come May, the trail would be cold, and if Ross wasn’t still in San Francisco when he got there, he might never know if Josh had gotten there alive, if Ross still had him, or for that matter, if both of them had died of cholera somewhere along the way. There might not even be a marked grave.

His thoughts turned to the woman inside, and he realized in his anger with Farrell, he’d forgotten to give her his gift. Laying the pitchfork aside, he checked the place where an Indian lance had glanced off Clyde’s flank, then rubbed some of Laura’s goose grease and turpentine salve on it. The snow crunched under his boots as he walked back, but for the first time all winter, he didn’t mind it. Tonight, he had a roaring fire, a soft feather bed, and the prettiest woman on earth waiting for him.

Inside the door, he pulled off his boots, hung his coat on the peg, and headed for the fire before Laura caught his eye, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Two candles burned by the bed, casting her shadow on the wall. Her bare arms were pale in the soft light as she brushed her shining hair. He felt his mouth go dry with desire as his hungry gaze took in her bare legs, the outline of her body under the thin nightdress.

“You’re going to freeze to death in that,” he heard himself warn her.

She turned around, and her mouth curved into a smile. “I’m expecting you to keep me warm, Spence,” she answered softly. “I’ve been saving these candles for years, but if you want, I’ll blow them out.”

“No. I’d like to see all of you,” His pulse pounding in his ears, he walked toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt. His fingers felt too big, too clumsy for the little holes. As she slid off the side of the bed to face him, he smiled crookedly. “I guess I could use a little help.”

He closed his eyes and stood as still as stone while she finished taking off his shirt. It was as though every inch of his body was acutely aware of hers. He could smell lavender on her skin, feel the heat of her hands on his bare chest, on the buttons of his pants, and he could hear her sharp intake of breath as he grew beneath her fingers. Instead of backing away, she touched him lightly, running her fingertips the length of him, sending an exquisite ripple of desire through his whole being.

“I never thought a man’s body could be beautiful, Spence,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “but you are.”