Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) (11 page)

His shaving kit was upstairs in the lavatory.

“Let me take the towel you have around your hair,” he asked. “Let it down. I want to touch it, run my fingers through it. I’ll comb it through for you. I’ve always wanted to comb a woman’s hair—
my wife’s
hair.”

She shivered, but surely in the fading heat of such an unseasonably warm afternoon she really wasn’t cold, was she?

“Richard— I don’t want to do this.”

He couldn’t have been more stunned, doused, than if she’d dumped a bucket of cold bathwater over his head.

This.

I don’t want to do… this.

He could play dumb, and the Neanderthal in him had to try. “You don’t want me combing your hair?” He caressed a thumb over her full lower lip. “I’ll be gentle.”

He’d show her infinite gentleness, through every moment of their marital consummation, if she’d just give him a chance.

She leaned further back, effectively distancing herself from his touch.

Ouch
.

It took focus and self-control, but he eased away from her. He nearly shivered in the early night breeze coming through the raised window sash.

If the lady asked him to stop, he’d stop. Good breeding had impressed that upon him from the earliest of ages. If a lady asked him, then a young boy, to stop raising his voice inside, he stopped. If a lady asked him to stop calling on her, he stopped.

If his lady wife informed him
she didn’t want to do this…

Why not?

Worry tiptoed through the gaping hole where his heart— or maybe his manhood— used to be. Had someone hurt her? This feisty, self-possessed, determined woman? This girl who protected her twin and had somehow provided for them both, despite challenges and threats and living hand-to-mouth?

A woman who faced down her brother-in-law, a man twice her weight— likely
more
than double— and extracted a solemn promise to treat her twin sister with courtesy and protection in her absence?

She’d been
magnificent
.

Tenderness softened his disappointment and he wanted nothing more than to embrace her, rock her slowly, and assure her no one would ever hurt her again.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze. She didn’t want his touch, and he didn’t know why.

Pain sliced bone-deep. Moments ago, he’d reveled in the glory of her touch, her kisses, her spontaneous passion for him and the unbelievable spark between two people who still didn’t know one another well but wanted to.

Eventually they would.

That had to be enough, for now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”

He waited, hoping she’d say more.
Tell me why not, Sweetheart. Talk to me.

She remained silent, so he tried a simple question. “Did I do something wrong?”

Maybe his hands had wandered, maybe she thought him fresh. “Something you didn’t like?”

He’d have to take this slowly. And he would… if she ever let him touch her again.

“No.” She looked at him then, directly in the eye, as if all embarrassment had been banished, shoved aside, dealt with.

He
loved
her strength.

She even smiled, a little. “You’re rather accomplished at kissing, Mr. Cannon.”

That didn’t sound like a compliment. “Don’t know much at all, Mrs. Cannon, but I figure it’s instinct.”

“I see.”

“My instincts are finely honed when it comes to you. You’re my wife.”

Maybe she just needed a little reminding. They had every right to explore their passions. His ring was on her finger. He had a certificate from the church, all recorded with the Territorial government. She was
his
.

His to protect, to safeguard, to love.

“Indeed I am.” She drew in a deep breath as if to fortify herself.

He braced, sure he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say next. If he learned about some idiot, some man or gang of men in Massachusetts, he’d round up a vigilante posse, he’d…

“It’s all so overwhelming. So new.” Her tremulous smile struck him like a kick to the gut. “Would you mind, very much, if we stopped there? I’d be so much more comfortable if we took this slowly.”

Chapter Nine

“
I’d be so much more comfortable if we took this slowly.”

So much for kissing her to distraction. Disappointment tasted bitter, indeed. Far more bitter because she’d told him no, twice.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“….more comfortable if we took this slowly.”

“Just how slowly?” He tried to hide his exasperation. Hands on hips, he faced her, forced his breathing to slow, pretended this— this
roadblock—
was just another business setback.

Only right now it felt like this was
the
most important business merger of his career, of his
life
.

And because she mattered to him, because the beginning of this atypical marriage would set the tone for the coming months and years and decades together, he’d be wise to ensure they began well.

If he’d learned anything by watching his aunt and uncle, marriage was all that two people chose to make it.

Adam had been right in all his talk about choosing love, choosing romance, choosing to fall in love with his mail order bride. Richard, too, could choose the very best of marriages.

“I don’t know.” Her hands tightened on the towel. “A few weeks? A month or two?”

Months?

Not on her life.

“Maybe it would be best if I slept in the guest room, just for a few weeks—”

He had to put a stop to that crazy talk, right now. “We already agreed to begin as we mean to go on. We’re both going to sleep in our own bed. That doesn’t mean I’ll take what you’re not ready to give.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“Sweetheart, I promise you something with all the solemnity of a husband’s promise. I understand you’re hesitant.”

She looked up suddenly, as if surprised by compassion coming from his mouth. She must’ve seen what she needed to see because she relaxed, visibly. As if tension had been soothed from her muscles.

Maybe, if he tried, he could ensure she did feel more at home, more at ease. They both wanted that, didn’t they? “You’re right, my dear. We’re mostly strangers. Man and wife, who need time to become well-acquainted, to learn to trust one another.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

He approached, glad when she didn’t flinch. He took her hands in his, surprised at how dry and rough they’d become since her bath. He drew his thumbs over her knuckles, found them cracked. “You’re not accustomed to Utah’s arid environment, are you?”

She lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “No.”

“I can fix that. I have just the thing.” He opened a cabinet door, looked carefully through the contents and at last found a bottle of Palmer’s lotion.

It took some doing, but he managed to urge her upstairs and into their bedroom. “Have a seat there on the vanity seat, Sweetheart, and let me see to your dry skin. It looks like it hurts.”

He poured a bit of the moisturizer into his palm, rubbed his hands together to warm the concoction, then gestured for her to put her hand in his. After only the slightest of hesitations, she slipped her left hand in his, the one bearing his ring. A plain gold band, devoid of gemstones.

His ring.

He dropped to one knee at her feet and worked the lotion into her hand, taking extra care where her skin had split in the desert’s nearly unbearable dryness.

Something about the simple ministration felt wonderful. Soothing to him as well as to her.

He might need to wait a while, an undetermined length of time before he might fully enjoy marital relations, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t persuade her to find herself ready quite a bit earlier than she might have assumed.

Sudden optimism lifted his spirits. He’d never seen himself as a seducer of women, but the thought of seducing his wife was suddenly irresistible.

This time of night, no one was anywhere near the telegraph key, which suited his purposes just fine. He paused in the deep, dark shadow cast by a faint sliver of waning moon, watching a spell. Just to be sure.

Maybe five minutes passed without hide nor hair of another person noticing him. So he turned the knob and let himself inside.

He knew code well enough, could send a message only those in the know could understand. To anybody who shouldn’t be listening in, it’d sound like a couple of love-sick operators sending poetry down the wire.

Dratted clever if he did say so himself.

He transmitted the brief signal, waiting for a come-back.

Seconds passed, then more like a full minute.

Irritation flashed. What had the fool gone and done? Fallen asleep? Wandered off to water a bush?

He’d try once more, and if the soldier didn’t come back like he was supposed to, somethin’ just might happen to him. He wouldn’t see it comin’, but it’d happen, just the same. Maybe he’d know in his last seconds of life he’d been snuffed, maybe not.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

Hello, sweet pea.

The key clacked in dots and dashes.

Seconds trickled past. Finally, the clatter came back.
Missing you.

A rush of jubilation, like the first few minutes after an expensive shot of liquor, warmed his veins and provoked a smile. The correct station identified.

Men like him didn’t usually smile, but with the stars lining up as they were and nobody around to witness him grinning, he allowed it.

Just this once.

Missing you more,
he keyed, slipping in the instructions only a rare few would comprehend. The soldier at the other site was one of ‘em.
Can’t wait to kiss you by light of the full moon.

‘Course, full actually meant new, and the new moon was on its way, the darkest night of the month. And
light
had a special meaning all its own.

Now all this little love note needed was a confirmation, a nod from the other end, a commitment to follow orders.

Less than a second passed before the response came a clickety-clacking over the wire. He’d done good, selecting a soldier with Morse Code.

Kiss me goodnight. Once, twice. Maybe thrice.

He leaned back, tipping the rickety chair on two legs and grinned. Confirmation achieved.

Three, two, one.
Boom
.

An offer he hadn’t expected.

This was gonna be
good
.

He’d just taken the key to accept the offer when
Kiss me at sunrise
, plain as day, tripped in.

A tidbit of intelligence he’d not anticipated, at least not yet. He laughed aloud, would’ve given a hoot and a holler if he’d thought no one would hear him. But given the crowded nature of this camp, bodies everywhere, he bit down on the shout of jubilation.