Big Sky Rancher (13 page)

“Your family.” Jennifer stepped closer, wanting to get a first-hand view of Ida's past. “Where are they all now?”

“Scattered. A couple of the boys live here in town, but the girls married and moved away. The oldest—” she pointed at a tall youth who looked much like Mr. Bronson “—Robert is a doctor in Philadelphia. I don't see much of him. But, Belle, my youngest girl, is just a few miles from here. She has four youngsters now. She married young. They all have their own lives now.”

“No wonder you're so good with Susan,” Jennifer said, feeling the warmth of a happy family in this house. “And I can understand why you didn't want to live here all alone. It would have been difficult with no one around, after you'd shared your home with so many.”

“It was the final leaving that broke my heart, though,” Ida said. “When my mister died, it was like the sun quit shining and there was no more left here for me. I'm thinking if we fill this place with people who need a good home and decent meals and comfortable beds, it'll be a happy house again.”

 

I
T SEEMED
that the difficult part was in front of her, Jennifer thought after they arrived at home and it was time for her husband to show up for supper. For telling Lucas that their marriage was, in effect, null and void, over, as far as she was concerned, was going to create a real problem, one he would put all his energy into solving. One she was wishing with all her heart could be fixed with a simple solution. Lucas had found a place in her life and giving him up would not be easy, torn as she was between her independence and the fact that she had learned so quickly to love him. And for a moment she wavered.

And then she found that telling him wasn't going to be difficult at all, for Lucas came home from the mine with his eyes flashing fire.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he said, shouting at her from the doorway as he entered the kitchen.

“Cooking your supper.” It was, it seemed, the wrong thing to say, for the kitchen chair standing in front of him hindered his progress and he threw it across the room.

“I don't need a smart answer, Jennifer. I want to know why you're intent on making me a laughingstock in town.”

She turned to face him, suddenly aware of her precarious position. “I'm doing no such thing. I simply decided that if I'm going to be cleaning up and cooking for a man, I might as well get paid for it.”

He seemed stunned for a moment, his eyes widening, as if he could not believe what he'd just heard. And then he stalked across the room and she was trapped by the cookstove behind her and the raging male in front of her.

“You get paid. Probably more than you're worth,” he snarled. “You get free room and board and you've got a roof
over your head. What more have you earned since you've been here?”

She closed her eyes. Her importance to him was obviously at its lowest level. The man considered her as almost worthless, it seemed. In fact, if she understood his words as well as she thought she had, he was not happy with her performance as a wife.

She attempted to answer his challenge. “Not much, apparently, Lucas. Obviously, I haven't done enough to even earn your respect.”

His fist clenched at his sides and then opened, and he rested his wide palms against his hips. “Lady, let me tell you something. If I didn't respect you, you'd know it by now. I've respected your wishes, done whatever you wanted, ever since you got here. So don't go giving me that claptrap about not respecting you.”

Ida got up from the rocking chair and headed for the kitchen door. “I think the baby and I will go take a walk while you finish putting supper together, Jennifer.” She let the screen door slam behind her as she paraded across the porch and down the steps.

“I think I'd better tell you that I bought the baby some things at the general store today, and put the whole total on your account. If you want me to, I'll figure out some way to pay you for them later.”

“You know better than that. I'll gladly pay for anything she needs.” He inhaled sharply and his tone changed, becoming strident once more. “Now get away from that stove so I can talk to you.”

“I'm cooking,” Jennifer said. “I need to be in front of the stove to stir the beans and make the gravy.”

“I don't want you falling back against the pots and burn
ing yourself again.” He backed away two steps. “Come over here.”

“I'll talk to you after supper, Lucas. Now isn't the time or place for this discussion.”

His mouth tightened as if held back words that begged to be spewed out, and then nodded. “All right. After supper.”

 

J
ENNIFER CARRIED
S
USAN
upstairs and put her to bed, the routine almost an exact duplicate of the night before. She sat beside the baby, propping pillows on either side of the child, so that she couldn't roll off the bed, and then waited until Susan was sleeping, her fist in her mouth, her small body relaxed in the middle of the big bed.

Finding her way to her own bed took more strength than Jennifer possessed tonight. She dreaded the coming confrontation with Lucas, knowing that the man had a point, that his anger was not entirely unwarranted. It seemed even Ida was siding with him. But, Jennifer could not budge from her stand, no matter how upset he was. No matter how much Ida tried to impress on her the danger in what she'd planned.

“Now, let's have it.” Lucas was waiting for her and the door was barely closed before he took his stand. “I'm sick of hearing secondhand from men in town that my wife is the topic of gossip.”

“Gossip?” She was astounded that her activities could be construed as cause for gossip.

“Yeah. What else would you call it? Mrs. Lucas O'Reilly is about to open a boardinghouse for miners. She's gonna leave her happy home and set herself up in business.”

“‘My happy home.'” She repeated his statement and smiled. “Maybe that's the problem, Lucas. I'm not happy
here. I've been a failure as your wife and I know it. I work hard, harder than I've ever worked in my life.”

“That wouldn't be too difficult to accomplish, I'd think. From what I've seen, your life was a bed of roses before you got here. I doubt you did anything more strenuous than combing your hair in New York City.”

“Well, thank you very much.” Recoiling, she thought she caught sight of remorse in his eyes.

“I'm not trying to give you a hard time, Jen. I'm just trying to figure out what you want from me. What do you expect me to do? I've gotten you some help in the house, and Ida Bronson is the best there is. I've given you a free hand at the general store, within reason anyway, and I've been patient.”

“Patient isn't a word I'd use in connection with you.” Jennifer spoke quickly and then wished she had the words back, as Lucas's eyes narrowed.

“You don't think I've been patient? Well, let me tell you, lady, I'm about the most patient man you'll ever find. I've been sleeping with you for weeks, and I've yet to find any comfort in your body, except for a few kisses, and those weren't often freely given.”

“That's not true. I've kissed you numerous times. And I've slept all curled up beside you every night.”

But I haven't given you my body.

That thought sounded in her mind and she turned from him. She'd been wrong to deny him his rights, and yet it frightened her to think of a man's hands on her, to consider his strong fingers clasping her tender flesh. She was beyond the age of most brides, but perhaps this was part of the reason. She'd
been pursued as a young girl, but never been tempted to allow a man's touch upon her person.

Now, Lucas, unless she was mistaken, seemed about to overcome her objections and do as he wanted with her.

His next move proved the point, for he picked her up in his arms, as easily as if she weighed less than nothing, and she knew for a fact that she was a bit plump in the hips and in no way could be called skinny, although Lucas had seemed to have that opinion of her. And now, he held her close, looking down into her face with an expression like that of a man set on pleasing himself.

She was dumped onto the bed and his hands were busy, undoing her buttons and tapes, pulling her clothing from her and tossing it hither and yon, with no care for the bits and pieces of undergarments and smallclothes she wore. In less time than she could have imagined, he'd reduced her to a shivering bundle of naked femininity, and the shivering was not due to a chill in the air.

But rather to the man who hovered over her with anger and lust in his gaze.

He took off his own clothing, and she did not protest his actions, knowing it would only cause a fuss that would be audible in Ida's bedroom across the hall. She held her fears close and watched him. He had the art of undressing down to a science, she decided, ripping his boots and stockings from his feet and tossing them aside, then shedding shirt, trousers and drawers in less than a minute.

“Now, who's supposed to pick up your mess in the morning?” she asked, pressing home her point. “I'm nothing but a maid here, and I can earn money cleaning up after men in a boardinghouse, Lucas. Men who will no doubt appreciate me.”

“I'm about to appreciate you, ma'am,” he muttered, falling to the bed beside her.

“I don't want you to do this.” Her voice was thin, without inflection, and she felt a sense of hopelessness that made her almost immobile.

“I'm tired of doing what you want, Jen. This is going to be an example of what I want.” He reached for her, pulling her closer, and she winced as his fingers touched the bruises left by Kyle so short a time ago.

“Are you going to be a wife beater? Or just a man who takes what is his, no matter who he hurts?”

He snarled at her, a word she flinched from, and then he smiled, a feral look of triumph lighting his features.

“I'm not apologizing for my language or my actions, lady. I'm not planning to beat you. I'm just going to be a husband tonight, and if you never speak to me again, at least I'll have known just once what you might have been to me.”

“You mean a real wife?” It was a whisper of disbelief.

“Yeah. We might have had a good marriage, might have found pleasure in this bed, but you wouldn't have it, would you?”

“Pleasure? For whom? I've never heard of any pleasure for a woman in circumstances like these.”

“You might be surprised at what occurs in a marriage bed when two people care for each other, when a woman is warm and willing.”

“I'll never know, will I? I'm neither warm nor willing, Lucas. And tomorrow, you'll remember I said those words. I hope you regret this for all the days of your life.” She laughed, a bitter sound as she considered her hope for his future. “Although, now that I think about it, I doubt you will.”

“I don't plan on regretting anything that happens here tonight. I'm planning on celebrating my marriage, and if you find some small bit of joy in it, I hope it haunts you, knowing what you might have found here with me.”

He bent lower over her and took her mouth in a kiss that seemed to have no ending. His lips were firm, his tongue a weapon as he invaded her mouth and ravaged where he willed. Even though she tried to evade his kiss, he held her chin with one hand. She was pinned beneath him, obviously providing him with some sort of satisfaction.

And then his mouth softened against hers, his tongue withdrew from the battle he'd instigated and his hands framed her face, holding her in front of him with a tenderness that made her want to weep. This was the Lucas she'd known, the gentle man who kissed her warmly and held her carefully, cherishing her.

And then he raised himself above her, even as his mouth traveled across her throat, tasting her skin, suckling the soft flesh beneath her chin. Her breasts were the focus of his attention next, and he held one cupped in his palm, then touched the crest with the tip of his tongue. She jerked, surprised by the strange heat that cascaded through her body.

“You like that, don't you?” His whisper was hoarse, guttural, as if he'd lost his breath, and then he suckled her, his mouth opening wide to enclose as much of her breast as he could hold. She stiffened beneath him, afraid of his passion.

But there was more, for his hands sought out all the secret places on her body, those soft, womanly areas where no man had trespassed before, where she was as virgin as the day she was born. He traced each curve, each hollow, every line of her hips and thighs, and then his concentration narrowed and his hand softened its touch.

“Don't fight me, Jen. I don't want to hurt you.”

She stifled a sob, for she feared the pain of his invasion would go beyond the physical. She felt violated already, subdued by this man who took her without her choice, who made of her body a thing to be used without care.

Except that he did care. Even in her despair, she recognized that fact. He could have been cruel, for his strength was more than sufficient to overwhelm her. He could have already pierced her maidenhead, for there was no doubt in her mind but that he was capable of doing just that with little effort.

And then, as if he knew her thoughts, those same hands softened in their explorations, his fingers careful as they touched tender flesh, and she knew a moment when pleasure rippled through her. Her body stilled as if waiting for the next move of that hand, the next rotation of his fingers, there where she was vulnerable and exposed to his touch.

He did not disappoint her, for his whispers coaxed her even as his movements tempted her, and she was drawn into a whirlwind of sensation that seemed inescapable. Indeed, she had no thought of escape, but reveled in the ecstasy of giving him what he asked of her.

And then he was over her, between her thighs, and she felt a stab of fear as he looked down at her. The candle had burned low, but he was more than visible, his expression fierce, his cheekbones prominent, his mouth drawn back, exposing his teeth.