Heartbreak Creek (29 page)

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Authors: Kaki Warner

BOOK: Heartbreak Creek
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But then again, Maddie had said men liked women to be somewhat forward.
Somewhat forward.
What the dickens did that mean? Surely he wouldn’t expect her to take her clothes off and prance around
bare naked
? Just the thought of it gave her the shivers. But not necessarily
bad
shivers.
“It smells like a flower garden in here.”
With a startled cry, Edwina clasped her hands over her chest and whipped around in a slosh of soapy water.
Declan stood beside the screen, that hungry look in his eyes.
“W-what are you doing?”
“Waiting my turn.” His gaze dropped to the tub. “Unless you think there’s room for both of us in there.”
In this tub? Both of them? Naked?
Stepping forward, he began loosening the buttons on his shirt.
Edwina watched in astonishment as he undressed right there in front of her, the whole while rambling on about the well, and relating some amusing thing Sergeant Quinlan had said, and telling her to be watchful because R.D. had seen cougar sign again at the creek, and complimenting her on her fine peach cobbler.
She scarcely listened, entranced by the unveiling before her.
First the hat, then the shirt. Seeing that the stool was covered with her discarded clothing, he leaned against the wall for balance as he wrestled off one boot, then the other. Then he started on his trousers.
Edwina watched, knowing it wasn’t proper but unable to look away.
The trousers slipped down his long legs.
Her mouth went dry. Her heart pounded beneath her crossed palms. A distant part of her mind couldn’t believe she was sitting here watching a man undress in front of her.
It made her feel bold and a little bit nasty. And tingly. All over.
No wonder men enjoyed their peep shows so much.
He was magnificent. Perfectly proportioned despite his height. She had seen naked men before—well,
a
naked man. But Declan was so different from Shelly. So much more . . . male.
And still he talked, his voice receding into a distant, buzzing drone in her head, unmindful of the fact she had stopped listening, stopped breathing, and could only stare in heart-pounding anticipation as he started on his drawers.
She suppressed an insane urge to giggle. How did he even keep them up with such narrow hips?
Ah . . . that’s how.
Definitely more than Shelly.
Only dimly aware that he was no longer speaking, she let her gaze drift up his long, sturdy body, and wondered how this perfect man could actually be her husband. The man with whom she would share her life. Her bed. Her body.
Her skinny, un-pointy “stick” of a body.
Oh, God.
“You getting out or not?”
Her gaze met his. He was smiling, his head cocked to one side, his dark eyes glittering in the yellow lamplight.
“Oh, Declan,” she wailed.
Then, clapping her hands to her face, she burst into tears.
Fourteen
W
ell, that’s deflating,
Declan thought, grabbing for his drawers.
He’d thought since she’d been married before, he wouldn’t have to worry about shielding her delicate sensibilities. He hadn’t expected her to be so upset by the sight of a man’s naked body, even one as big and clumsy and oversized as his.
Christ.
Now he’d scared her.
Feeling awkward and embarrassed and every bit the “big lump” she’d labeled him, he quickly pulled on his drawers. Then he stood there, wondering what he should do.
He didn’t want to leave. If he did, that would be the end of it. And he wasn’t ready to give up on this woman.
He hunkered beside the tub. “Ed, what’s wrong?”
She sniffled behind her hands. “You wouldn’t understand.”
He tucked a damp curl behind her ear. “Try me.”
“You’re so beautiful.”
Beautiful?
What the hell did that mean?
Joe Bill was right. Ed was definitely crazy.
Lifting her head, she brushed away tears with the backs of her hands. “See? I knew you wouldn’t understand.” She began splashing sudsy water on her puffy eyes. “And I’m—
ow
, that stings.”
He handed her a towel. “And you’re what?”
After blotting her eyes, she passed back the towel and wrapped her arms around her raised knees to hide her chest from his gaze. “Nervous.”
“About what?”
“You know.” She made an offhand gesture that spattered him with soapy water and gave him a brief glimpse of one round, rosytipped breast. “What if it really is me? What if it’s as awful with you as it was with Shelly? What if—”
“It won’t be.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
“How?”
“Just trust me, Ed.” He showed his teeth in what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’ve done this before.”
“I’ll just bet you have.”
“Now, Ed.” Hoping to dull that edge in her voice, he reached out to give her a friendly pat. Then he froze, his hand hanging above her shoulder, unable to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.
Aware of her watching, he trailed his fingers down the long curve of her back and over the slight ridges of scar tissue that marred the smooth, warm skin. He still couldn’t get his mind around it. “Who did this?”
She tried to change the subject.
He wouldn’t let her.
“It’s not important, Declan.”
“It is to me.” His voice sounded harsher than he intended, so he tried to soften it. “Tell me.” A drop of water slid from the damp hair at her neck. He watched it run down the bumpy ridge of her spine, and thought there was nothing quite so perfect, or fragile, or lovely as a woman’s bare back. Even one crisscrossed with scars. “Who beat you, Ed?”
Her ribs expanded, then contracted on a weary sigh. “My mother.”
It was a minute before he could speak. “Why?”
“Most of the scars are from the time I spilled a jug of milk.” She smiled sadly. “I got off easy. Pru was scalded.”
Declan flinched at the words. “By your mother? On purpose?” He remembered the pale markings on the Negro woman’s wrist, like the dark skin had been bleached of color. “Why would she do such a thing?”
“Pru tried to intervene. I tell myself it was an accident, that the pot slipped. Maybe it did.” She shrugged, as if this atrocity, this brutality toward two children was of no consequence. “It was a long time ago.”
Declan realized his hand was shaking and pulled it away. “How long?”
“I was six. Pru, seven. Can we not talk about this anymore?”
“Sure.” Feeling slightly sick and not nearly as amorous as before, Declan stood. Taking a towel off a hook, he wrapped it over his drawers, then walked over to the cabinet where his shaving mug and straight razor rested.
He knew he should say something, but he was so furious he didn’t trust himself not to start yelling. To calm the anger churning inside him, he lifted the leather strop hanging beside the cabinet and began to sharpen the blade of his razor.
Goddamn her.
What kind of mother would do such a thing? And what kind of father would let her?
Behind him, he heard a sluice of water as Ed stood. The soft scrape of her foot when she stepped out. The rustle of cloth as she dried off. He focused on the razor, dragging it back and forth, back and forth, while he searched for words.
“I’ll never hurt you, Ed,” he said, without turning.
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry that happened to you.” He sensed movement and, lifting his head, saw her behind him, wrapped in a towel and gazing back at him in the small mirror over the cabinet. She looked so sad.
“They disgust you, don’t they? My scars.”
He released the strop. Watched it swing back and forth on its hook. Carefully set the razor beside the mug. Then he turned.
And in that moment of turning, everything changed. As if he’d stepped out of himself and, looking back, saw all his finely wrought rationalizations and justifications as the poor crutches that they were.
This wasn’t about needing someone to help with the chores and his children. Or about wanting a woman in his bed. Or using one woman to help him forget his guilt over another.
It was about ending the loneliness that seemed to choke off a little more of his hope every day. About letting go of doubt, and distrust, and the mistakes of the past.
And reaching for Ed.
The idea brought on such a swell of panic for a moment he couldn’t take a full breath.
“There’s nothing about you that disgusts me,” he said. And because he was afraid to let her see the need and fear in his eyes, and reveal to her how completely she owned him, he took her face in his big, rough hands and kissed her with all the emotion and feeling he’d been trying so desperately to keep safely hidden.
And she kissed him back.
“Ed,” he said, and tried to pull her towel away.
“No.” Anchoring the cloth to her chest, she stepped back, a smile tugging at her lips. “Bathe first. I can see the dirt.”
He started to argue with her but changed his mind when a new idea presented itself. “You can watch, if you’d like.”
She hesitated, like she might even consider it, which started his heart thudding again. Then she shook her head. “I have to braid my hair.”
“Leave it down.”
“It’ll be a mess in the morning.”
“Then braid it after.”
That imp’s smile, even as color inched up her neck. “After . . . later?”
“Go. I’ll be there in a minute.”
She left the room. Fled, was more like it. Like she was shocked at her own self. Or him. He had no idea what went on in that head of hers.
Beautiful,
she’d called him. Big Bob Brodie, the carnival bear. Beautiful. The notion made him smile. Definitely crazy.
He bathed in record time. Minutes later, hair dripping, and wearing a towel that didn’t hide his eagerness for his wife, he stepped around the screen, smelling like a rose bouquet.
She was standing at the moonlit window in her white gown. When she heard him come in, she turned and walked over to stand on the opposite side of the bed. She held out her hand. “Will you use this?”
He stared at the small packet in her palm, not able to make it out in the shadowed moonlight. “What is it?”
“A rubber thing that prevents babies. I can’t remember what it’s called.”
Declan was a little shocked that she even knew about such things. “Where’d you get that?”
“Lucinda. Will you wear it?”
He’d rather not. Just getting the damn thing on was enough to quell a man’s enthusiasm. And why would she want him to?
Then he remembered that conversation they’d had several days ago, when she’d told him about her mother’s madness and her fear of passing down to her own children that tainted blood.
“Have you ever hit a child, Ed?”
Her hand dropped back to her side. “I hit Freddie Helmsworth when he called Pru a mean name. And my brothers a couple of times.”
“I mean, as an adult. Have you even wanted to hit a child?”
“Many times. Your son, most recently. But I never would.”
“Then why do you think you’d beat your own?”
She didn’t respond.
So he pushed harder. “I don’t think you have it in you. But if it ever came to that, I’d stop you. Like you stopped me from taking Joe Bill to the woodshed. That’s what parents are supposed to do. Protect their children. Even from each other if need be.”
He saw her stiffen and knew she’d heard the unspoken criticism. “Daddy didn’t know.”
How could he not?
But Declan didn’t say it. If she wanted to hold on to that illusion, he’d let her. She’d suffered enough betrayal.
“Just because your mother was crazy doesn’t mean you’ll be.”
“Is that a risk you’re willing to take?”
He would take any risk for this woman. But he wasn’t going to admit that. Not yet. “Do you want children, Ed? If you don’t, that’s all right.” Which was a lie. He liked children. He would be proud to have one with Ed’s blue eyes, and her joy and energy and odd sense of humor. “But if we have children, I’ll watch out for them. And you. Always.”
She made a small sound. He didn’t know what it was until he saw her reach up and wipe her fingers across her cheek. “Yes, I want children.”
He let out a deep breath, not aware that he’d been holding it in. “Then put that thing down and let’s get started.” Whisking away his towel, he climbed under the quilt.
She didn’t move. “You’re sure, Declan? I know I’m not some sturdy farm—”
He had to laugh. “Christamighty, Ed! Will you just take off your gown and get over here?”
She jumped under the covers.
“You still have on your gown,” he reminded her.
“Oh. Of course.” Without lifting the quilt, she removed the gown, shoved it to the floor, then lay back, arms at her sides, covers to her chin.
He thought of her nervousness and her timid kisses, and the shock on her face when he undressed. “You’re not a virgin, are you, Ed?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good.” Rolling toward her, he put his hand on her breast.
She almost bolted upright. Then lay stiffly back, her heart hammering beneath his hand. “Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“I know. You just startled me is all. Please continue.”
She was wound as tight as a cheap watch. He could feel her trembling, feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Trying to calm her, he stroked his fingertips across her cheek, then down her neck to her shoulders, taking his time, talking softly about how soft her skin was, how smooth, how beautiful she looked in the moonlight.
Gradually, she relaxed. When he touched her breasts again, she tensed, but he kept at it, slow and calm, until she gradually began to give.

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