Big Sky Rancher (17 page)

“So I've heard.” He dropped his heavy pack on the floor and crossed his arms across his chest. “I came to judge for myself.” And wasn't that a stupid thing to say? Almost guaranteed to rile her out of her composure.

It did. “You're not welcome here, Lucas.”

“I have a key to room three and a signed receipt.”

“Where'd you get them from? The last room I rented was to Alexander Stone.”

“That's my partner, Sandy. He came here representing me, and took the room for me. I was pretty tied up at the mine.”

“Well, you can just go back to the mine,” Jennifer told him. “You don't have a room in our house.”

“Ah, but I do,” he said. “And if I have to, I'll go get the sheriff to prove the point.”

Jennifer looked him with blue eyes that shimmered. Not with tears, he hoped, for he didn't think he could deal with her in a crying mood. “Jen, I want to live where you do, eat at the table with you and if I can't do it back at the farmhouse, I'll do it here.”

“That's all you want?” She looked doubtful, he thought, and he didn't blame her.

“For now,” he said, modifying his aim a bit.

“I don't want any trouble, Lucas. You can stay here, but
only because I'm afraid the sheriff would side with you, and I don't want my other boarders to be wondering about our ethics. I'll admit I rented the room to Alexander Stone in good faith. But the man didn't tell me he was representing someone else.”

“It's a common way to do business here,” Ida said from where she stood at the stove. “Lots of the miners have a legal representative, and if two men are partners, they're each allowed to speak for the other.”

“Come on in, then.” Jennifer looked like a cloud about to drop its contents over his head, but she spoke nicely. “Your room is at the top of the stairs, right across—” She broke off and he watched as a look of fear touched her eyes.

“I'm not here to demand anything of you, Jen.” He picked up his pack and chanced another glance in her direction. “I just want to be where you are.”

Her jaw tightened and her cheeks were pale, bloodless it seemed. “Supper will be on the table in fifteen minutes. Don't be late or you might not find much left over.”

L
UCAS MOVED IN
.
Toting his pack up the stairs, he glanced toward the top of the long flight to see Jennifer watching him. She stood in a doorway just across from the room designated as number three, and he could not resist giving birth to the smile that curved his lips upward.

“Right across the hall, Jen?”

Again she looked like a thundercloud just awaiting the right moment to dump her load of rain on his head, and he reached the top of the stairs before she spoke.

“Not my choice, Lucas. That I'll guarantee you.”

“I believe you.” He nudged open his door with his shoulder and walked inside. He'd felt safe in leaving it ajar after his first scant inspection of the premises, and had gone to get his belongings in anticipation of a good night's sleep. Now he wondered just how much sleep he'd get, his own bed just twelve feet or so from Jen's, with but two walls between them.

As if she read his mind, she tilted her chin upward and followed him to the doorway of his room. “My room is locked at night, and Susan is a light sleeper. Not to mention that the dog sleeps in there with us. Don't be thinking about visiting me.”

“Wouldn't even suggest such a thing,” he said, grinning, even as he spoke the lie. For it was exactly what he'd thought, right off.

“You've managed to insinuate yourself into this place, Lucas, but that's as far as it goes. Our marriage is over. I won't go home with you, and I won't allow you any of the rights and privileges of a husband while you're living here in
my
house. I hope we have an understanding about that.”

He laughed. “You may have an understanding, Jen. But my plans are somewhat different. I'm your husband, no matter where we're living. And you can be certain that every other man in this house will know how things stand by the time breakfast is over in the morning.”

“Don't cause trouble for me, Lucas.”

He thought it sounded somewhat like a warning, and at the same time he heard it as a plea for his understanding. He preferred the warning.

“I'd like to cause a lot of things to happen where you're concerned, Jen, but none of them add up to trouble.”

She stepped back from his doorway. “I hope you'll find your room to be comfortable. Sleep well.” Giving him a final view of her backside, she opened the door opposite his and then closed it behind her. The urge to follow gripped him and he gritted his teeth against the compulsion he felt to snatch her up and keep her in his own bed until morning. The thought of a nightlong exploration of that lush set of curves and hollows made his mouth water, and he sat on the edge of his bed, fighting the arousal that would not be conquered.

“Soon, Jen. Soon.” The words were low, a whispered promise he had every intention of fulfilling.

 

L
UCAS WAS RIGHT
, she found. By the time the line of miners left the kitchen, lunch pails in hand, they were properly subdued, their eyes lowered as they thanked Jennifer for their
lunches, complimented Ida on the breakfast she'd served, and then made their way out the back door.

Somehow, Lucas had let them know that Jennifer was
his
property, and as such was totally off limits to them. Since none of the men had ever been other than polite and appreciative of her efforts, she would not have realized Lucas's effect on them, had they not failed to meet her eyes as they bid her a good day upon their departure.

At least two or three of the men were prone to ask about supper before they left in the morning, as if they relished the thought of good food during the drudgery of their days. Today was different. Lucas had instilled the fear of God in them. Except for Cole Weston, who seemed to be enjoying the sight of Lucas defending his territory.

“Don't work too hard, Miss Jennifer,” he said nicely, accepting his lunch pail from her hand. “Looks like you've got a load of washing to do.”

“Nothing more than we can handle, Mr. Weston.” She smiled up at him, aware that the man had eyes for her, that his interest was obvious to Lucas. And if a smile in Cole's direction was enough to make Lucas squirm, she'd aim it at the handsome man daily.

Lucas appeared in front of her, his own hand outstretched. “Thank you for packing my sandwiches, ma'am,” he said. “I'll be thinking of you when I eat them.”

“I'm sure you will.” The thought of layers of newspaper between slices of cold roast beef made her smile. She'd given him something to chew on, and his thoughts would not be kindly, she'd warrant.

The laundry went well, with Helen doing her share of scrubbing on the board. Jennifer hung countless pairs of trou
sers on the line, filled another with towels and pillowcases, and then placed the clothing in the parlor, spread over the furniture where the men could sort and find their own items of apparel. Had they marked their clothing in some way, she could have sorted them herself. As it was, the task was theirs and she knew from past weeks that they would not grumble.

And then she picked up a shirt she recognized, held it in front of her and imagined the body it would mold itself against sometime in the next few days. Lucas looked well in this shirt, she thought. The blue stripes matched his eyes. And with that thought, she dropped it to the sofa, as if the very fabric had burned her fingers.

“Something wrong?” Helen asked from across the room.

“No. Just got a case of the dropsy,” Jennifer answered, picking up the shirt and shaking it out before she folded it and placed it atop a pair of Lucas's trousers. It seemed his clothing gravitated toward her hands, for she found that she recognized his things among the rest of the men's without hesitation.

Stockings and smallclothes were stacked beside his trousers. Shirts were folded and placed on top and she stood back to view the results. None of the other clothing they'd sorted and folded resembled the neat piles she'd made of Lucas O'Reilly's belongings.

Helen pointed at the results of Jennifer's work. “Those belong to Lucas?”

Jen felt her cheeks turn rosy. “Yes. I recognized them and put them together.”

“Too bad you can't just carry them up to your room and let them share space in your chest of drawers, Jen. Lucas is a good man. You're lucky to have married him.”

“If he's so wonderful, I can't imagine that he'd have had to send away for a bride.”

Helen laughed. “He wouldn't have, given the number of women here who'd have given an arm and leg to have him. But there was something about Lucas that yearned for a woman who was different. He probably thought he'd find someone very special when he applied to that agency.”

“And was disappointed when I showed up on his doorstep, so to speak.”

Helen shook her head. “I've seen the way he looks at you, Jen. He's not disappointed. Not one little bit. The man is smitten with you. Maybe he doesn't even know it himself, but I can tell.”

“Well, I'm not
smitten
with him,” Jennifer said. “I'm just waiting till I have enough money on hand to get on a stage and head East again.”

“Somehow, I don't think that's gonna happen. I suspect Lucas will win you back long before you have enough in your account to get past St. Louis.” Helen laughed at the thought. “You'd be a fool to pass him up. And you don't look like any fool I've ever seen.”

Jennifer set her lips in a thin line. She picked up a shirt and folded it quickly, well used to the chore after weeks of doing laundry for a houseful of men. “He can just go whistle for a wife, as far as I'm concerned,” she said. And then wondered at the sting of tears as she turned toward the doorway, gathering up Lucas's clothing from the sofa as she went.

It fit into his dresser drawers with space to spare, and she wondered about the scarcity of his belongings. His bedroom at the farm held two drawers of small clothes and stockings,
another of shirts and a fourth of trousers. He'd apparently left a good share of them behind.

The memory of that room, the wide bed it held, the night she'd spent there in his arms, filled her with a warmth she could not deny. She bowed her head, lifting one hand to wipe at the tears she'd not been aware of until this moment. The face in the mirror in front of her was filled with sadness, loss and remorse. She'd found she needed more than Lucas would—or could—supply.

She would not be a mere bedmate to Lucas O'Reilly. Nor would she be his maid or mistress, content to pick up behind him and lavish him with affection.

She'd never wanted to play those roles, but now things were different. She had confidence. And Lucas had better recognize that fact. She was capable, and thus far, a success at what she'd chosen to do. If he wanted to pay good money for the right to be fed, the privilege of wearing clean drawers, so be it. She would take his money gladly, provide for him as she did the other eleven men who lived in this house, and at the same time, pretend she'd never lived in his home, had not slept in his bed, was not aching to feel his arms around her again.

With a final look at his bedroom, a last glance at the bed he'd slept in last night, she left his room, unaware that he would find her presence there upon his arrival home.

 

J
ENNIFER HAD BEEN
in his room. Not only could he catch the scent of her, that floral aura of soap and powder she wore, but as he opened his dresser drawers he saw her fine hand in the folding of his clothing, the placement, just so, of his stockings and drawers, the neatly turned-down collars of his shirts.
Even without benefit of a flat iron, they were smoothed and pressed by her hands and he smiled as he lifted one in search of the aroma of the woman he'd followed to this place.

A basin of warm water assured him of cleanliness and he dropped his soiled clothing where he stood, reaching for the laundry she'd placed in neat piles in the dresser drawers. Rinsing the soap from his body, he dried with a towel and welcomed the luxury of cleanliness, the towel still smelling of outdoors, its fragrance that of wind and summer flowers, caught in the very fibers of the fabric.

Supper was waiting, he knew, for the footsteps of a half-dozen men had gone past his door in the past few minutes, and he hastened to follow them down the stairs to the big dining room. His place was at one end of the table, Ida having decided it to be appropriate, apparently, given his relationship to her business partner.

Supper consisted of a huge meat loaf, topped with a blend of tomatoes and brown sugar, forming a tasty crust that sweetened each mouthful of meat. Baked potatoes were piled high in a bowl and green beans fresh from someone's garden had been cooked with onion and bacon before being served in a large crockery dish. A platter of fresh bread, thickly sliced and ready for butter and jam to be spread on each piece, awaited the men. As one, they eyed the table with admiring eyes.

“Y'all surely know how to cook,” Cole Weston said, his fork spearing a large potato. The meat loaf was passed around the table and when it had become but a memory on the platter, Ida rose and replaced it with another identical to it, from the kitchen.

“Lots more where that came from,” she sang. “Eat up, gentlemen.”

They did. With gusto and hearty appreciation, their com
pliments flying the length and breadth of the dining room. Lucas ate his share, seconds on the meat loaf and a third helping of green beans. Pickled beets and a salad of fresh lettuce were carried in, the lettuce coated with a milk-and-vinegar dressing sweetened with sugar.

“Never had salad like this before, ma'am,” Toby Martin said. “Sure is tasty.”

“My mama used to make it thataway,” Ida told him. “Makes a dish of lettuce more tolerable.”

“Did you pickle these beets?” another man asked, reaching for the bowl.

“Surely did,” Ida told him. “Planted, pulled and pickled just last summer.”

I have a lot to learn yet.
The thought sped through Jennifer's mind quickly, aware that Ida had years of experience on her, that it might take a long time to equal the woman's talents in the kitchen. And it had seemed so simple when they'd first talked of this house.

“I'd say you ladies are on the right track,” Lucas said from the end of the table. “You surely won't have any trouble keeping the rooms in this place full.”

An assortment of voices agreed with his opinion, and Ida preened. “Well,” she said, “it takes more than one woman to pull this load. Don't know what Jennifer and I would do without Helen to lend a hand.”

All eyes moved to that lady, who strove to be invisible on one side of Lucas. She bowed her head, her cheeks flushed at the compliment and Lucas lifted his glass of milk high. “A toast to the woman who takes such good care of us, gentlemen.”

Without hesitation, all glasses were raised, several of them in dire danger of being cracked or chipped by the vigorous
clunking together some of the men employed, and their drinks were downed as Helen blushed even more furiously.

Toby seemed quite smitten with the widow lady, Jennifer thought, and her woman's heart traveled in that direction for a few moments. Maybe Helen would be open to courtship, and if so, Toby would be a good one to offer his hand in marriage. Women being in short supply made every eligible female a target for at least a dozen men to aim for. And Helen was attractive—a bit plump, but pretty, with brown hair and big eyes that reminded Jennifer of purple pansies.

Her own desirability to these men was obvious, but Lucas had managed to keep them ever aware of his possessive nature, and they minded well their behavior around her.

Dishes were done quickly, three women making light work of the chore, and then it was time for bed. Lucas had taken on the task of bouncing Susan on his knee at the kitchen table, leaving Jennifer free for her own work, and as she took off her apron and hung it in the pantry, she heard him singing a foolish ditty to the baby.