Chevonne: Bride of Oklahoma (American Mail-Order Bride 46) (7 page)

L
ater that night
, Chevonne unwrapped the packages of curtain fabric in her bedroom. Her list of sewing projects was growing. She opened the top drawer of her bureau and ran her fingers lightly over the beautiful lace and silk ribbons she’d collected to use for bows and decorations on her new undergarments.

First double checking that her bedroom door was locked, she retrieved her grandmother’s lace bag from under the dressing table and spread the contents out on the bed. They were all her grandmother’s sketches--designs for a revolutionary line of undergarments, frilly, lacy, matching undergarments the likes of which no one had ever seen.

Even though they were making these new undergarments for women, Chevonne had a sneaking suspicion that men might appreciate them, too, when they saw the change in their wives when they had them on. Women would be much more comfortable, stand straighter and even be more agreeable, not to mention look more womanly.

Would Trey appreciate these undergarments?

The stray thought of him seeing her in her undergarments caused a flood of warmth to crash through Chevonne. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire.

She ran her fingers lightly over the designs, her heart tugging with longing for her grandmother. She missed her terribly, but she was on a new adventure now and she would keep her grandmother alive through these designs.

Chevonne’s eyes drifted to the window. Bright stars twinkled around the slice of moon in the dark sky. The sky looked so much bigger here than in Lawrence. She was glad she’d come to this new, untamed area.

She pushed the window open to breathe in the cool prairie night air. Outside she could hear insects buzzing. An owl hooted. The smell of the countryside filled her senses. It was so much better than the smell of wood smoke and coal dust that she knew from Lawrence. And the night sounds of a city were frightening: drunks, fights, police whistles.

She put the designs safely away then undressed and tugged her thin linen chemise over her head. She turned down the lamp and snuggled into bed under the crisp sheet. It had been a good day. She’d enjoyed her trips into town, with Celia and later with Trey. After they’d returned from town, she’d set to making the ribbon jelly, and baking the bread, and roasting the meat and potatoes for supper. She made gravy with the meat juices.

The fried eggplant came last, and it was the best of all eaten with a sauce she made, Mrs. Gillette’s Tartare Sauce. They’d ended supper with cheese she’d creamed and sweetened to spread on slices of the molasses fruit cake.

Trey had spent the afternoon installing all the roller shades around the house. She’d accompanied him to her room and watched him do the work on her bedroom windows. The shades made the house cooler than the previous evening.

The fussy ribbon jelly would be ready the next day. The layers of jelly and Blanc Mange, with varied colors and flavors, had to set well in drinking glasses in the icebox. She’d shown them proudly to Trey, and he’d laughed and called them rainbow jelly.

She’d sensed he’d been on the verge of asking or telling her something important just then, but he never did. Several times over supper she’d almost blurted out everything about her secret project, but each time she’d stopped herself. She just couldn’t risk it.

Chevonne nestled her head deep into her feather pillow and was just drifting to sleep when she heard a noise outside. Was someone out there? The noise was coming from just under her window. Why would someone be
there
?

She could only think of one reason. It was Phinneas Gulch there to steal her designs. She glanced at the bedroom door. She’d been diligent about keeping the door locked, so the only way to get a look at her designs would be to climb up and look in the window.

Scratch. Scratch.

Someone was out there directly below her window. She ran to the open window and tried to look down but hit her head on the screen. Anger surged inside her. She was not going to let anyone steal anything.

Chevonne silently unlocked her door then padded into the hall in her bare feet. She ran down the steps as quietly and quickly as she could. Chevonne was already at the bottom of the stairs when she realized she was in just her chemise, and without a weapon or slippers. The urgency to protect her grandmother’s precious designs was more important than her modesty, and she knew where she could find something to use as a weapon.

She made her way into the kitchen and grabbed a weighty cast iron skillet off the range. Silently unlocking and opening the back door, she crept around the porch to the front of the house. Chevonne wanted to catch the intruder off guard, leaping around the corner and planting the cast iron skillet where it would do the most harm.

She had to traverse the front of the house and come around the corner near Trey’s study. Didn’t he hear the noise? He must be a deep sleeper. Chevonne came to the corner and raised the cast-iron pan up, then took a deep breath and sprang around the corner.

Crash! Smash!

The loud sound of metal clanking against metal assaulted her ears just as thick ropes snagged at her ankles, coiling around them, throwing her off balance.

Chevonne pitched forward, the skillet flying out of her hands, landing on the ground with a thud.

The last sound she heard was the twang of brass symbols clashing together as she fell face first into the dirt.

T
rey shot
awake and out of bed as soon as he heard the clamor outside. His trap had worked! He grabbed a shotgun he had at the ready and ran out the front door. He was fully dressed since he’d fallen asleep while lying down to muse over a problem with his adhesive.

Would he find Phinneas Gulch ensnared in the ropes he’d woven into a trap?

He skidded around the corner, the shotgun braced against his shoulder. “Hold it right there!” His heart plummeted at what he saw.

Chevonne lay in the dirt, her legs tangled in the ropes. She was twisted in an unnatural way. His chest tightened when he noticed she was wearing only a flimsy linen chemise. Beside her sat a cast iron frying pan.

What in the world?

As he stared at her, she wriggled up into a sitting position and looked at him, her eyes growing big with fear when she saw the gun pointed right at her.

Trey set the shotgun down and went to her. “What are you doing here?”

Chevonne struggled to get free of the tangle of ropes. “I heard someone outside and I came out to catch him.”

Trey frowned at her. “In your nightdress with a frying pan?” He looked in surprise at her bare feet, so silky and well-formed.

Chevonne glanced down at her state of undress. Her cheeks turned crimson. “I was more concerned that there was an intruder.”

Trey freed her ankles of the ropes, pausing to admire how slim and smooth her ankles were. “Are you injured?”

“I’m not sure.” She grimaced as she wiggled her left ankle. “Maybe. What is all this?” She gestured towards the metal cans and ropes.

“Sorry. I probably should’ve told you. It’s an alarm of sorts. You know, in case anyone tries to break in the house.”

Chevonne frowned at the various things on the ground then her eyes lit up. “You mean you are testing an alarm invention?”

Trey hadn’t really thought of it that way. But now that she mentioned it, a home alarm would make a good invention. Of course he’d have to refine the design, but with some thought, he might be able to come up with something workable.

“Yes. That’s it.”

“What a great idea. Too bad we didn’t catch the intruder.”

Trey looked around. “That’s right. Who was out here? Did you see someone?”

“I didn’t
see
anyone, but I heard scratching and ...”

Scratch. Scratch.

Chevonne pointed in the direction of a clump of wild flowers from where the sound was coming. “Like that!”

Trey stifled a laugh. He picked up a rock and tossed it at the flowers. A fat raccoon scurried out and lumbered off toward the barn.

“You mean it was just a raccoon?” Chevonne struggled onto her feet, swaying as she tried to put weight on her ankle.

“Yep.” Trey put his arms around his city girl to steady her. The flimsy material of her chemise left little to his burning imagination. He suddenly felt like someone had stolen the breath out of his lungs.

Chevonne looked up at him with an expression of complete trust. Her golden-red hair flowed down to her waist in long silky waves. It took all of his restraint to not run his fingers through it.

“Can you walk?” His voice was hoarse.

She took a tentative step, collapsing against him. “I guess not. I don’t think it’s broken, just twisted. I need to rest it and put a hot compress on it.”

With one swift motion, Trey picked her up in his arms. She was as light as a feather, her body soft against his, curvy in all the right places. He tore his attention from her curves and focused on not tripping on the ropes.

He carried her back into the house, over the threshold and up the stairs to her room. Trey hesitated at her door, glancing in at her bed and knowing instinctively he probably shouldn’t go any further.

“You can put me down here. I think I can hobble the rest of the way in,” Chevonne said in a breathless voice.

He put her down gently, taking care to hold on while she found her balance. She lingered in his arms, standing in front of him with only a whisper of electrically charged air between them. Trey gently wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek with his thumb.

She looked up at him, a sea of emotion flickering through her green eyes. Trey’s thumb lingered on her cheek, then drifted down to trace the delicate line of her jaw before flickering over her creamy white shoulder and down her arm, his fingertips delighting in the exquisite feel of her silky skin.

She stumbled toward him and he caught her, pulling her close. He knew it was a mistake. Her warm body pressing against his broke the dam of his restraint. His hand tightened around her waist and he lowered his head tentatively at first, and when she didn’t protest, he brushed his lips against hers.

Her sigh of satisfaction encouraged him. He deepened the kiss, angling her head so that he could taste more of her. Trey pulled her tighter against him. His blood coursed hot in his veins as he kissed her as he’d never kissed any woman before.

T
he warmth
of Trey’s lips and his spicy scent that filled her senses sent shivers of delight through Chevonne. She’d been kissed before, tentative little things by tentative little city fellows. It was never like this. This made her dizzy with desire.

She clung to Trey’s shoulders and felt the world spin. A coiling of warmth worked its way through her body, causing unfamiliar but very pleasant sensations.

Gram had told her about the delicious sensations the right man could give to a woman, but Chevonne had never imagined anything like this. Thoughts of her grandmother tugged at her consciousness. Her heart was urging her to give everything to Trey, but her mind reminded her she had her grandmother’s secret project to consider. She was so close now, she couldn’t let Gram down. Being an Oklahoma rancher’s wife and being a businesswoman just couldn’t mix.

She splayed her palms on his firm, wide chest, and felt the thud of his heart. Reluctantly, she pushed away, breaking the kiss and their tight embrace. Her breath came in short gasps as she stared up at him.

His grey eyes darkened. “I’m so sorry ... I didn’t...” He released her abruptly and she stumbled back, causing him to have to snake his arm around her waist again to keep her from falling.

This time, to Chevonne’s dismay, or was it relief, he kept a good six inches of space between them. “It’s okay.” She stepped away slowly, testing her ankle to see if it would hold her weight. She took a little hop into her room, holding onto the doorway for support. “I think I can make it on my own.”

Trey glanced in. Was he looking at the bed? Chevonne’s cheeks flamed, her heart thudding with nerves. Or was it desire? She had an urge to flee into her room and hide behind the locked door until she could sort these new feelings out.

Trey shoved his hands into his pockets. “Okay, then. If you think so.”

Chevonne backed into the room, holding on to the door. “Sorry about messing up your alarm contraption.”

“Huh? Oh, right. No problem. I just hope you didn’t get badly hurt.” Trey glanced down at her ankle.

Chevonne eased the door closed. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Night.”

“I’ll get a hot compress... and set it outside your door.” He turned toward the stairs.

She closed the door, whooshing out a breath as she leaned against it. Her ankle throbbed, but that was the least of her worries. Her hand flew to her lips, still warm from Trey’s kiss.

Her mind reeled in confusion. Chevonne hobbled over to the bed and glanced at the dressing table under which she’d hidden her grandmother’s bag.

Should I trust him, Gram?

She was answered by the hoot of an owl, reminding her of what had her up in the middle of the night in the first place. Phinneas Gulch.

Had that really been a raccoon outside her window? Trey had run out with his shotgun. Why would he have done that? What or who had he expected to find in his trap? Was it really an invention he was testing?

She wasn’t quite ready to trust the man with her secret.

Chevonne had the feeling that things between them had changed. The marriage was supposed to be one of convenience. But then he’d kissed her. Now she had a strange feeling when she thought about him that was anything but convenient.

Did Trey feel the same way?

T
he next day
, Chevonne awoke to the smell of bacon frying. Bacon? Was someone cooking? How late was it? She lurched out of bed and the zing of pain in her ankle reminded her of last night's escapade.

And of Trey's kiss.

Last night the kiss had been exhilarating but this morning, in the light of day, Chevonne wasn't exactly sure what to make of it.

Leaning on the bed for support, she tested her ankle. It wasn't so bad—painful but she could hobble around on it. She wrapped it tightly before getting dressed. She then carefully maneuvered herself down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Trey was at the range on which a skillet of bacon sizzled. Eggs cooked in another skillet. Griddle cakes were cooking on the range's griddle.

It was breakfast time. She'd slept so late. Her adventure the night before must have really taken it out of her.

"This smells delicious," Chevonne said.

Trey turned, his face lined with concern. His eyes flew to her ankle. "Should you be on that?"

Chevonne shrugged. "It's not that bad. I can manage."

He was at her side in a second, pulling out a chair and carefully helping her into it. He pulled out a second chair and lifted her foot, gently setting it on the chair. His fingers lightly probed her ankle that was wrapped snuggly in a strip of muslin, sending jolts of feeling up her leg.

"Does that hurt?" he asked.

"Not too bad," she managed to answer.

"It's not swollen. Try to stay off it today." Trey turned back to the stove. "I didn't want you to have stand at the range on that ankle, so I fixed breakfast."

She saw that he had a tray ready to bring her breakfast in bed. Chevonne watched Trey fill two plates with griddle cakes, eggs and bacon. He then set the table with the cloth and napkins, and everything else that was possibly necessary. He poured her a cup of fresh coffee, set her plate before her, and then sat down across from her.

"I didn't realize you could cook." Chevonne cut off the whites of her eggs with her knife and spooned the yolks onto Trey's plate.

"I've had to fend for myself for some time now." Trey put his whites on her plate. "A guy learns a few things." He smiled and added, "And your Mrs. Harland gave me a hand with the griddle cakes."

Chevonne saw her
Cookery for Beginners
book open on the countertop. His easy smile made her thoughts return to the previous night's kiss. She studied his face as he hungrily ate his griddle cakes that he'd drenched in maple syrup and butter. His face was all strong lines and deep tan. He must have shaved since his chin was baby smooth.

He looked up at her and their eyes locked.

Chevonne could not look away, and her every nerve strained to reach out to him. Looking into his eyes she felt dizzy, like she was being pulled down deep into his soul. She wondered if he was seeing the same thing in her eyes. Or would they tell him that she was hiding something? She looked away, overcome by guilt.

They ate breakfast in silence.

Trey finished the last of his food then offered, "I'll clean up. Do you want me to get you situated in the sitting room?"

Panic rippled through Chevonne. She was afraid if she got close to him he might kiss her again, or she might kiss him. It was better to keep a distance.

"No. I'm fine, really. I'm going to go back up to my room anyway to work on fixing your mother's reticule and to run up the curtains for the house. My right foot can work the treadle."

Trey's eyes narrowed. "Back up the stairs?"

"I can make it." Chevonne pushed herself up from the table and hobbled toward the door to prove that she could, indeed, make it.

Trey followed her. "Those stairs are steep. I'll stay here just in case."

Chevonne grasped the railing, put her good foot on the first step and pulled herself up, then repeated it for the next step. Her ankle ached, but going up the stairs was easier than she'd thought it would be. She got to the landing and turned to see if he was still there.

At the bottom of the stairs, Trey was still watching her. "Looks like your ankle is healing up fine. If you're well enough tomorrow, we could go into town and meet my family for church."

Church? Chevonne hadn't even thought about whether Trey attended church or not. He'd asked her religion in one of his letters, and they found that they were compatible. At home, Chevonne and Gram had not missed a Sunday, but after Gram passed, Chevonne lost heart. Well, she had a new life now and it was time to get back on a spiritual track.

"I'm sure I will be able to make it. I wouldn't want your parents to think I was some kind of heathen." She grinned cheekily. "Especially not your mother."

Trey laughed. "Mom will come around. She's not as bad as she seems."

Chevonne pulled the key out of her pocket and bent down to unlock her door. Glancing down the stairs again, she caught Trey still watching.

"Thanks for cooking breakfast," she said, then she unlocked the door and hobbled into her room.

It had been a nice gesture for Trey to cook breakfast. Chevonne couldn't help but notice that he didn't mention the kiss. That was a relief. Or was it a disappointment? She wasn't sure, and it seemed like she wasn't sure of much of anything anymore, and that bothered her tremendously.

Did he even remember that he'd kissed her? It had probably meant nothing to him. Gram had told her that men were usually more experienced by the time they reached a marriageable age. Chevonne realized that Trey had probably kissed lots of other women but the thought sent a pang of jealousy straight to her heart.

Shoving away her feelings for Trey, she hobbled over to the chair before the sewing machine. This was only a marriage-of-convenience, Chevonne reminded herself. It was just as well that Trey was not interested in turning their marriage into a real one. The last thing she needed right now was to start falling in love with her husband-of-convenience.

T
rey watched
Chevonne close the door. The sound of the key turning in the lock echoed down the stairs. Was she locking it because she was afraid of him after his behavior the night before? But the door had been locked when she got to the room.

Trey couldn’t think of any good reason for the room to be locked when Chevonne wasn’t in it. Did she think he would go through her things? Did she have something to hide?

He didn’t recall seeing anything suspicious in there the night before. Then again, he couldn’t recall much from the night before except the kiss. His heartbeat kicked up a notch remembering how her soft, warm lips had felt against his.

Chevonne hadn’t mentioned the kiss at breakfast. He’d been half afraid she wouldn’t speak to him, but she’d acted as if nothing had even happened, which, Trey had to admit, bruised his ego just a bit. Had the kiss not affected her as much as it had him? Or maybe she was too embarrassed to even talk about it.

He’d spent half the night kicking himself for not having more sense. He’d acted like some kind of animal that attacked anything in a thin nightdress. Trey’s body reacted to the thought of Chevonne in her nightclothes. He spun away from the stairs hastily.

Feeling like this about his wife of convenience was not in his plan. Of course, he should never have kissed her in the first place, but he couldn’t take it back now. The memory of the searing kiss and the feelings that surged through him every time he thought about it was going to make living in the same house with Chevonne awkward. Not taking things further was going to be very difficult.

With any luck, Chevonne would never mention it and they could both forget about it, eventually. He was sure she wanted the same type of unemotional marriage he did. Although, the flush in her cheeks, the look in her eye and the way her body had melded into his last night seemed to indicate differently, at least for a few moments.

The project. That’s what he should be focusing on.

As he turned toward the study, the mason jar of flowers in the foyer caught his eye. It was homey and cheery and he had to admit he did like that nice little touch. Glancing around, he saw for the first time how bare his house was. It was a
house
but not a
home
.

His mind started picturing what it might look like as a home: a cozy sofa and chairs in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, the hearth warm and glowing... and Chevonne curled up on the sofa next to him.

He shook the image out of his head. Those kinds of thoughts were dangerous. But he did appreciate the nice touch of the flowers and how she’d been cooking his meals, and fixing his mother’s reticule, and now sewing the curtains even though her ankle hurt her. He wanted to do something nice to repay her, and he knew just the thing.

The other day she’d wanted a bath but hadn’t seemed keen on using the tub out on the porch. The more Trey had thought about it, the less keen he was on her using it out there with his ranch hands so close. He’d come up with a design that required the canvas. He’d work on that now and surprise her with it before supper.

As he headed out to the tool shed, he tried to shake the image of Chevonne in a sudsy tub out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to waste precious time daydreaming about his
wife
.