Her Safe Harbor: Prairie Romance (Crawford Family Book 4) (17 page)

Jolene covered her mouth with one hand. “My God,” she said
and shook her head. “You may tell me anything you need to tell me or tell me
nothing at all, Jennifer.”

“I am tired now,” Jennifer said as she stood. “You asked me
earlier if Zeb and I had corresponded. He wrote me many letters until I
returned them all to him and asked him to not send any more. How I regret that
I stopped him! Some days I lived for his letter, as it felt as if it were the
only thing keeping me from losing my mind. I had nearly memorized them I’d read
them so often.”

“You never wrote back?”

“Just the once, asking him to not send any more.”

“But, why?”

“I’m not sure. But I’ve come to talk to him now. Perhaps we
can correspond again.”

“Oh, darling. Don’t let time, or anger, or fears keep you
from what is precious like I did. Let him into your heart. He has not been
himself for missing you.”

“Good night, Jolene. I am glad I am here to meet Andrew and
see you and Max and Melinda. I was happy to meet Bella, too. I was very, very
glad to see Zeb with my own eyes, and touch his hand when we parted. Be
assured, I’m determined to be happy. I will not have that man win from the
grave.”

* * *

Zeb straightened his hair, hat in
hand as he stood on the doorstep of Max and Jolene’s home the following day,
Bella by his side. He’d been so shocked to see Jennifer last night that he’d
acted like a fool, like a young buck with no self-control rather than the chief
of staff to an important U. S. senator, writing law and bills for consideration
at the Capitol. But the sight of her . . . it did things to him. Things that no
woman before, or ever, did to him. He was happy as the next man to view a
beautiful woman, to speak with a lively, intelligent one and be pleased. But
this was not just an appreciation of the senses, of sight and sound and
fragrance. She encompassed all those things and connections unseen as well,
where only instinct guides a heart. The only thing left to do was to convince
her of that, to remain steadfast and let her know what she meant to him with
his words and deeds.

Zeb waited as the housekeeper sent word abovestairs that
they’d arrived. Within minutes, Jennifer and Jolene came down the steps and
exchanged pleasantries. Jolene took his sister by the arm and climbed in the
Shelby carriage. They waved merrily and drove away, leaving Jennifer and him alone
and silent.

It hit him in that moment that he was happy, in her company,
to be near her or speak to her, especially to kiss her. He smiled at her.

“Would you like to take a walk? Or we can take a ride in my
carriage? What would you like to do?”

“Either would be fine, but it is a bit warm for September.
The breeze on a carriage ride would be pleasant.”

“A carriage ride it is then,” he said, helping her into her
seat and touching her hand as he did, eliciting a glance in his direction.

“It is wonderful to be back visiting Jolene and Max. I’ve
missed Melinda and have spent the morning in company with my new nephew,
Andrew,” Jennifer said as she looked around at the buildings they passed on the
streets.

“I’ve been fortunate to be invited often to their home and
have maintained a relationship with Melinda. She is dear to me. I live close by
and sometimes show up when I know dinner is about to be served.”

She laughed. “Where do you live, Zeb? Are we close by? I
often think of the story you told about Jolene finding you a house and spending
quite a bit to furnish it.”

“The bills were a shock but she was right. I needed an
address in a good neighborhood, with staff to help me,” he said. “There it is
up ahead. With the white shutters and the white door.”

“How lovely,” she said as the carriage slowed, and turned to
look at him. “May I see the inside?”

“Yes, of course. Smithers is there and my housekeeper as
well to act as chaperones,” he said and came around the carriage to hand her
down. “Are you sure you’re comfortable? Being alone with me? When you sent back
my letters, I assumed you . . . I don’t know what I assumed, only that you
didn’t want to see me again. I was very happy you agreed to spend some time
with me today but I would never presume—”

Jennifer stopped him with a finger to her lips. “I’d like to
talk to you, but I’d rather not do it publically or when there is a possibility
of interruption. May we go in?”

Zeb led her inside and handed his hat off to Smithers.
“Please,” he said as he opened a door at the back of the wide hallway. “This is
my study, and there are two comfortable chairs near the window, courtesy of
your sister.”

They sat in companionable silence, looking out the window at
the shrubbery and late-blooming flowers in the small garden behind his house,
until she turned in her seat to him.

“Um, I must . . . tell me about what you do for Max.”

He looked at her, at a loss as to why she might be
interested in his work when he’d hoped they’d be able to speak about more
personal issues, but he would indulge and comfort her in any way he could. “I
write bills and proposals for laws, according to what Max is thinking in that
subject’s regard. I make sure we have enough staff to do the research and keep
up with correspondence. I befriend my counterparts working for other senators when
we need votes.”  He paused, then continued with a more detailed description as
she encouraged him to go on. Her face was pasty white, he noticed then, and she
was rubbing her hands together in an unconscious motion. “I make sure that—”

“He said I was a whore. He said he was going to make me bend
over a kitchen chair,” she said then in a rush, tears suddenly streaming down
her face.

Zeb stood abruptly, holding his hands behind his back and
doing everything he could do to keep from putting his fist through the pane of
glass ahead, or throwing the delicate Chinese vase across the room and reveling
in the crash it would make when it hit the brick hearth of the fireplace. He
took some deep, calming breaths and looked at Jennifer. Her shoulders were
shaking. She looked up at him, and her look of misery was more devastating than
anything he’d ever heard or witnessed. He was in physical pain seeing the look
on her face, knowing that his agony was nothing compared to hers.

 “I am soiled somehow, as if he had used me when he didn’t. I’ve
felt I’m not worthy of your notice,” she said through trembling lips. “I’ve
never told anyone all the things he said. I couldn’t bear to repeat them. I
couldn’t imagine what someone would think, I only knew that if I’d heard
someone else describe the same things I’d be repulsed. Even knowing the person
saying it was not the guilty party.”

“And is that why you returned my letters?” he asked and
knelt on one knee before her. He longed to embrace her, hold her until she felt
safe and secure, but he sensed that what she was saying was the reason she was
seeing him at all. That she had to say her piece. He would let her fight her
way through what she must. It was, perhaps, the only way she could be free.

She nodded. “I was not able to face you before today, did
not know if I would be able to even yet. I read your letters time and again and
they reminded me of that night, of what you’d seen and thought. But I want you
to know they kept me sane when I truly thought I might be losing my mind during
those dreary weeks.”

Zeb looked at her then until she met his gaze. “Tell me
everything he said. Tell me every detail.”

Tears spilled down Jennifer’s face, and she nodded. She put
her hands on his shoulders to pull him close and whispered into his ear every
sordid word that had plagued her over the last six months. She spoke softly,
without emotion, so close to him that his hair touched her face, and her eyes
focused on the golden strands and nothing else. She could feel his muscles contract
and tense under her fingers on his shoulder but he did not move or lift his
hands from where they lay across his thigh to touch her. She would be forever
grateful to him for allowing her to say the words that had haunted her, and by
doing so, maybe lessen their hold on her psyche.

Those words, the ugly words, that Rothchild and her own
mother had said had reverberated in her head these long months, clattering from
one side of her mind to the other, like the clapper in a massive bell. There
was silence now as she finished, quietly sobbing with the release. She sat up
and looked at him. She did not see pity, which she was glad of. He picked up
her hands and kissed the back of each one.

“You do know that you were not the one to say those things
or even think them. He was the villain, perhaps out of his mind, not that I
care as long as he is dead and gone from our lives. But he was the one to say
these words. Not you.”

“I do know that, but after that night, I felt as if somehow
I deserved his torment even knowing in my mind that I am a good person and that
no one deserves that sort of treatment. But that does not stop how I
feel
.”

“No one should have to go through what you have been
through. I admire you more than I can convey. There is little doubt that I love
you,” he said, and looked at her with resolve. “I love you. I am the one that
is not worthy of
you
. How could I be in the face of your courage and
stoicism?”

She kissed him them. Kissed him liked she had dreamed of
doing when she could hold the demons at bay. His shaking hands captured her
face. “This is the only place in the world that I feel completely safe.”

Zeb pulled her to her feet then, and pressed her to him, her
breasts against his chest and her legs entwined with his. He wrapped an arm
around her back and touched the back of her head with the other, pulling her
lips to his until they touched, and his eyes closed. Jennifer kept her eyes
open at first, confirming a moment at a time that this was Zebidiah, the man
who loved her and honored her and admired her. But there were no ghosts
threatening her consciousness, no fear, only complete trust in the man kissing
her.

His tongue licked the seam of her mouth, touching her tongue
when her lips parted. She felt his face with her fingertips, clean-shaven and
smooth, smelling his scent and loving the way she felt in his arms, feminine
and alluring when he pulled her hips to his, leaving no doubt of his physical
need for her. His eyes were open now, staring at her from under hooded brows, as
he ran a finger down her neck to her cleavage, grazing her breast with the back
of his hand. She groaned when he touched her so intimately.

Jennifer closed her eyes and ran her hands over his
shoulders, down his arms, finally touching his chest, all solid muscle, pulsing
with heat. She let her hand drift lower, testing herself, answering the
questions that she’d tortured herself with for months. She touched him then,
his sex, through his pants, feeling the long, stiff outline on her palm, and
was not repulsed or frightened as she’d worried she might be, but rather
emboldened as he drew in short breaths through clenched teeth. Her breasts were
heavy and her lower insides thrummed with anticipation and heat.

“Jenny,” he whispered and covered her hand with his.

A knock at the door sent them jumping apart, she
straightening her hair and he buttoning his long suit jacket.

Smithers popped his head through the door. “Will Miss Crawford
be staying for dinner, sir?”

“Please don’t trouble yourself, Smithers,” she said. “We’ll
be going soon, but I am looking forward to returning.”

Smithers nodded with a smile and closed the door. Jennifer
turned to Zeb and covered her mouth with her fingers. “That was very close, was
it not?” she said with the slightest grin.

“It was very close,” he said and took her hands in his. “I
cannot describe to you how happy I feel when I see you smile. You are beautiful
beyond words.”

She smiled up at him. “I think I should go back to Jolene’s.
Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Chapter Fifteen

“Tell me about your work at the
Crawford Bank, Jennifer?” Max asked as he cut his beefsteak.

“Let my sister eat before you begin your interrogation,”
Jolene said and looked at Jennifer as they ate dinner the following evening.
“He has been asking me all sorts of questions about what I did at the bank and
what you do at the bank. I told him I was little more than a hostess but I
believe you had much more demanding duties.”

“Originally, I did exactly what you had always done, and
Father was none too happy as I was still unmarried. I convinced him, though,
that it was unexceptional with O’Brien as an escort, and then one day he
brought an account packet to me that the bank’s bookkeepers were having
difficulty balancing. After that, O’Brien and I began doing that sort of work
on a regular basis.”

“You had the best marks of any of us at Ramsey, especially
in mathematics,” Jolene said and looked at Zeb. “My sister is exceptionally
bright lest you forget that.”

Jennifer’s face colored with the praise, even more so as he
continued to stare at her admiringly. “I don’t intend to forget.”

Max chuckled. “How did it occur to you that Rothchild was dipping
his fingers into company funds?”

The room was silent then, all eyes on Jennifer’s ashen face.
It took Max a moment to realize she was not answering and that his wife was
staring daggers at him.

“Why don’t we spend tomorrow afternoon shopping, Jennifer?
Perhaps Bella would like to join us,” Jolene said hurriedly. “I need at least
three new hats and shoes to match some dresses that have recently arrived.”

Zeb watched Jennifer. She was doing her best to remain calm,
and even looked up at Max with a tentative smile. He did not believe she’d said
Rothchild’s name since the night of the Hospital Soiree. She looked at him, and
he watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. He hoped it was
possible to will another person encouragement because that was what he was
trying to do with his look to her.

“Mr. Rothchild,” she said and paused. “Adjusted the
percentages the bank charged on a loan, on a particular piece of collateral,
and then hid the difference in the credit and debit columns. His assistant, Mr.
Jefferson, did cash tallies and pocketed the overage.”

“How did you ever discover it?” Jolene asked.

“It was a mystery to me and O’Brien but we found patterns in
multiple accounts and were able to follow the amounts.”

“And you are back to work now?” Max asked.

“I am. I was not convinced I would ever be able to return
but I have, and my father has turned over some significant projects to me. It
has been very challenging but also very rewarding.”

“Why am I not surprised that you, the quietest of the three
of us, are leading the way at the bank? You will be the president when Father
retires. And I for one couldn’t be happier that you will be leading our family
business into the next century. Perhaps Melinda would like to spend some time
with you there after she is through her education. I think a toast is in
order,” Jolene said, and raised her wineglass.

“Hear, hear,” Max said with a broad smile. “To Jennifer
Crawford.”

It suddenly occurred to Zeb that Jennifer would not be
leaving Boston anytime soon. His plan to ask her to marry him was now in
question. How would he honor his commitment to Max and be in the same state as
his intended bride? Then he looked at her, at her shy, proud smile, accepting the
good wishes of her sister and brother-in-law. It would not matter where they
lived, he supposed. He was in love with her and would find useful work wherever
she was and Max would have to find a new chief of staff.

“To my extraordinary younger sister. I wish you all the
happiness that I have found,” Jolene said.

“To the smartest, bravest, most beautiful banker Boston has
ever seen,” Zeb said and met her eyes.

* * *

“Where shall we go today?” Zeb asked
her as moved his carriage out into the traffic of the street. “A park? A
museum? Shopping? I am at your service.”

Jennifer looked at him, at his strong profile, and watched
his hands work the reins. He was the dearest of men, and she was feeling better
about herself than she had in ages. It was easier to smile and laugh, and all
the horrifying images she’d harbored, including the sight of Jeffrey
Rothchild’s face as he gurgled his last breath, had faded to some degree in her
consciousness. Not that she could not conjure them up if she tried, but why
try? Why not reach for happiness and normalcy? And there were things that
needed to be said between them. Things she did not remember or know that only
he could supply and other things she’d never shared with him. It was time. Time
for one less burden.

“I’d like to go to your house again, Zeb,” she said.

He turned the carriage onto his street and handed off the
reins to the all-about boy. Zeb showed her in to his study and ordered coffee
and cookies.

“Are you missing work today?” she asked.

“Not really,” Zeb said as he sat down in the chair beside
her. “Somedays I work eighteen hours a day and do so seven days a week. It is
relatively quiet now as the Senate is not in session, but Max has always told
me to take whatever time I can. So I am.”

Jennifer sat quietly, thinking about what to say, what
questions to ask, when Zeb took her hand in his, and rubbed slow circles on her
palm. She relaxed and leaned her head back against the cushion, thinking about
all the unanswered questions for them both.

“I thought about exposing Mother’s duplicity with Jeffrey. I
ached to shout it out, that my mother was a horrible person, willing to
sacrifice her daughter for her own selfishness. In the end, I could not do it.”

“I have wondered what happened between you and your mother
and father. I hoped for your sake that you would be able to come to terms with
whatever it was.”

“My mother has recovered from her surgery but her mental
state is in a decline. She sometimes calls me Julia or Jolene or Mildred, her
maid that father dismissed. She rarely comes out of her rooms and we have hired
a nurse to be with her during the day. Her new maid spends the evenings with
her and sleeps in her dressing room. I usually spell her for an hour or two in
the evening and read aloud,” she said and looked at him. “When it was all said
and done, I could not hate her.”

“I am sorry to say I am not so forgiving.”

“You should have seen my father’s face when it was all
finally revealed to him,” Jennifer said and squeezed his hand. “He marched to Mother’s
bedroom and slammed the door behind him after he had dismissed her maid. I
could hear his shouting from my bedroom. I could not stop crying. I felt like I
had torn my family apart.”

“You have held your family together.”

“I have in some ways. Father and I are on good terms and
dine together every evening. He is very protective of me now. It is a stark
dichotomy to his absentmindedness that I have lived with all of my life. He has
lost all regard for Mother. He is a dutiful caretaker, making sure the staff
manages her respectfully and kindly; however, he never visits her now.”

“She put you in danger. She is your mother and always will
be, but I cannot have your forbearance. I can’t pretend to feel any way other
than how I do.”

“I don’t expect you to,” she said. “What happened when you
arrived in Boston? I have only been able to piece together what I have heard
when Father or Jolene or O’Brien did not know I was awake.”

“What a horrible day,” he said softly and told her about the
delayed train and Hadley giving him directions with O’Brien’s help. “There was
a woman on that street who heard you shouting. She said you looked directly at
her. Do you remember?”

Jennifer nodded, feeling far away from Zeb’s comfortable
chair in Washington. “She was standing on her stoop. I screamed for her to help
me but Rothchild covered my mouth, and when I bit his hand, he slapped me. I
was dazed and terrified.”

“I would gladly kill him again for hitting you.”

Filmy images from that night played in front of her eyes.
She squeezed Zeb’s hand, her link to the current world, and took in a long,
slow breath as she saw herself desperately grabbing for a weapon, cutting her
thumb on the blade when she found it. Then Zeb was there. Flying through the
wooden door to her rescue, and she feeling as though she could no longer stand
on her two legs. “And you shot him. I had not killed him?”

“He followed you into the hallway and his arm was raised
above you, holding a bloody knife. I shot him just as he meant to stab you with
it,” Zeb said and turned in his seat to face her. “I have no regrets.”

“Nor I. Did the police come?”

He nodded. “I spent several days at the station answering
questions. Hadley and O’Brien followed me to Jefferson’s house that night and
knew I’d gone to the station house. I was able to get word to Jolene through
them of my whereabouts. I did not want you to think I’d deserted you.”

“Why did the police hold you? Surely they knew about my
injuries.”

“Most likely because I wouldn’t say a word to them. They
didn’t know if I was the perpetrator or the defender.”

Jennifer shook her head. “But why? Why not just tell them
everything?”

“It wasn’t my story to tell. You were concerned about the
bank, about your family. I was not going to say anything that might cause you
distress. Eventually they spoke to the woman who heard you shouting, and then
your father came.”

“Father?”

“He told them everything. I asked him if he was concerned
about the bank’s reputation and he said very clearly, ‘The bank be damned.’”

“I had no idea. I was too terrified to leave my bed for
days. When there was a loud noise from the street or the kitchens, I hid in my
dressing room, and then someone would get O’Brien and she would coax me into
bed and sit with me until I slept.”

“She has been a good friend.”

“She has. It’s strange, how one’s emotions can overtake
reason. I knew he was dead. I watched him die but every time someone knocked on
my bedroom door, I thought it was him. My mind played tricks on me.”

“But you are healing. I can see that.”

“I am. I am much better for seeing and talking to you. You
are far too kind.”

“No. There is no such thing as too kind,” he said and sat
forward, elbows on his knees, staring out the window. “And I’m in love with
you. Do not feel any obligation to reciprocate. My love is freely given to you
without expectation,” he said with a quick glance over his shoulder.

“But I denied your advice, wise advice, and put you and
others in danger. I did not listen to my sister or even my own good sense. I
worry I am not worthy of any regard. This mess was of my own making.”

“I forgive you,” he said with a smile as he stood and
offered her his hand. “Come. Let us go to a park or a shop or somewhere we are
not concentrating on grim times. We are alive and well. Our troubles are behind
us, and we have both learned something about ourselves.”

Jennifer laid her hand in his and looked up at him. “I
have
learned something. Something momentous.” His image shimmered before her and she
smiled. “I have learned to listen to my own heart and follow my own sense. I
hear it speaking to me now.”

“What is it saying to you?” he whispered and pulled her to
her feet.

“It is saying that you are the man of my dreams. The one who
will keep me safe in the harbor of your arms and love me even at my worst and
my weakest. It is saying you are the most honorable man of my acquaintance. The
type of man who I would want to build a life with. It is saying I love you.”

Zeb pulled her close, flush against him, with one arm around
her waist and one on the nape of her neck. Holding her still and tight with a
fierceness she’d never seen from him. He stared at her lips and then claimed
them, roughly impatient and tender in the same stroke. He growled and ran his
hand down her back and pulled her bottom tight against him. He broke the kiss
and touched his forehead to hers.

“Put me out of my lovesick misery and marry me. Please.”

“Yes,” she said, and nodded. “Yes. I will marry you.”

* * *

Jennifer was not certain if she
would ever become accustomed to watching her husband wander around their
bedroom without a stitch of clothing on. Not that she did not love looking at
him; she did. He was broad shouldered and all long, lean, corded arms attached
to a chest with a line of horizontal shadow for each rippling muscle. Long
legs, now walking toward her. He had said a resounding, clear, and loud “no”
when she’d suggested early after their wedding that many married couples had
separate bedrooms and dressing rooms.

“What are you thinking about, darling?”

“That you have not a drip of shame in your veins,” she said,
and undid the bow of her robe, pulling it off and hanging it over the bedpost.

“And why should I,” he said as he jumped on the mattress,
pulling her down beside him and capturing her legs with his and snuggling her
ear. “We are in the privacy of our own room. We are married adults.”

She watched as his eyes hooded and he followed his finger as
it made a slow descent down her neck and to her breast, stopping just shy of
its peak. He looked at her then in the way he did that made her breath come in
gasps and her body ache to be covered with his. She was a wanton in his arms,
she admitted, and there was nothing in her history or experience to compare to
how she felt when she was with Zebidiah in their bed. There was a carnal need
that she’d never felt before, and while she was glad that their wedding night
had been in a room with only candlelight as they’d touched each other with
trembling hands, she was equally glad to know that their mutual sexuality
brought her comfort with no fear or shame, and that the more she experienced
with her husband, and he with her, the more ravenous and knowing they were with
each other.