Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) (9 page)

“William,” she said, turning in the bed to face him.

He was eager.  Hands were reaching for her, tugging her nightgown up while his body shifted in the bed.  “I can’t stand it much longer, Honey,” he told her, pushing closer to her.  Thick fingers pressed into her skin, pulling her thighs apart.  She closed them back. Billy Joe wasn’t giving up that easily. “All I’ve been doing for the past two days was waiting for you to say you wanted me,” his breath was hoarse.

Pecola tried to speak but his mouth found hers.  Hungry kisses rained on her as he moved over her, pulling her underpants down and her nightgown higher up. Anxious fingers probed, poked, and prodded.  He stopped when he felt no moisture.

“Damn,” he said as he rolled onto to his back.

“William....” she started.

“Good night, Pecola,” he said to her and turned his back.  Angry fists pumped at the pillow, shoving it under his head as he exhaled a deep breath.  She listened to the sound of his breathing; he wasn't sleeping.

“I need a bit more romance, that’s all,” she told his back.  “I mean, it’s not as if you were building up to it all day.  You shower, plop down, and then decide you want to jostle me up.  I don’t want our marriage to be that way...or our sex life. I want to crave you...hunger for your touch...be ready before you reach for me...William. Take the time to bring me into the story in your head... create the exposition for me....”

He said nothing.  It was his turn to pretend he was sleeping. It hadn’t been that long since he had a few dates, but they had all been more than eager and more than willing.  Ready wasn’t even an issue, but this was something new to him.  It wasn’t as if he were some cavalier cowboy, but willing women had never been an issue.
I have to romance my own damned wife?

It was silliness to him.  Plain old silliness.  An exposition. 
I will give her an exposition!  I will walk in the house with my junk hanging out and tell her to be my damned wife.  How is that for exposition?

Eventually, both husband and wife fell asleep.  Somewhere in the middle of the night, Pecola rose to find her tablet.  Furious words flew across the monitor as she wrote the angry trail bosses’ reaction to being snubbed by the widow in the wagon. 

That’s it!  William doesn’t know how to court a woman.  I will have to teach him how to love me
.  A few clicks of the mouse and the document was saved.  In her computer bag, she had some linen note sheets with the Montana Hart logo.  She stuck a note to him inside of his hat.

“How do I love thee...”

She prayed he would count the ways.

B
reakfast was quiet as the two sat at the table saying nothing to each other,  Billy Joe still simmering in his anger over being rejected and Pecola, holding onto the hope that he could see or at least comprehend what she needed for that portion of their life together.

“I’ll have lunch with the men today,” he told her as he grabbed his hat.  No kiss this morning, just her husband’s boots leaving the house headed out to do...she had no idea what he was headed out to do.

“That’s the other problem. I don’t understand his day,” she said aloud.  Easily she could shadow him for a day, but then she would only be in his way.

Instead, she did what she knew best: grabbed her laptop, opened up a video blogging channel, and watched several dozen a day in the life of a rancher clips. Each one she watched brought her closer to an understanding of his need for something soft when he came to bed at night.  At this point, she had to ask herself the reasons she was holding back.

I am holding back for the same reason I came west.  I don’t want to settle.  He can do better and I deserve better than him jumping on me and expecting me to come along. We deserve better
.

Billy Joe sat in the saddle looking more forlorn than a lost calf during feeding time missing his momma. All of the men noticed, but it was Pap who spoke up.  When the men saw the foreman bring his horse alongside Billy Joe’s, they each wandered off out of earshot.

“It’s too soon to be havin’ marriage issues, Sonny,” Pap told him.

“I don’t know, up until last night, I was certain.  Now, I don’t know,” he said to the foreman.

Pap rode along, gnawing on his chaw, taking the time to spit before he spoke again. “Sonny, I think the problem is that yer used to being Billy Joe Johnson.”

Billy Joe frowned at the old man. 
Who else was he supposed to be?
  “I’m not sure where you are going with this.”

“Where I am going is where yer head shoulda gone.  Yer so used to havin’ ever blooming flower and bud in the county swarming ‘round ya.  I garunbetcha when ya worked at the college all them little girlies with the bloom still on the flowers were throwing themselves atcha like them pan’nies wuz on fire!”

The old man spoke the truth. “Yeah, pretty much,” he responded.

“And that is yer problem!”  Pap told him with a nod of his head to punctuate his point.

“How is that a problem?”

“You ain’t ever had to work fer a woman, Sonny. You want some loving, you walk in a room, pick the one you want and they’re ready to go.  That wife of yers is a thinker,” he paused.  He spits. “Shit hell. Only a thinker would name a damned stallion Amadeus!”

Billy Joe took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. “I know, Pap, but I don’t see why I should have to romance my own damned wife.  I work. I come home.  I want to be fed, watered, and loved.”

“Are you her husband or a damned dog?  Do you want her to walk you or just yank on your dag blasted chain?  Shit hell!  A thinkin’ woman loves with her head afore her body, Sonny.  You have to make love to that giant brain of hers to get all them other parts a
lubrificated
.”

“That is not a word, Pap,” he said.

“If you want to get her wet enough to lube and f....”

“Shut up, Pap!  You have a dirty old mind,” he said, not wanting to laugh. He knew it was true.

“It ain’t as if she ain’t tryin’ to meet you half way,” he told Billy Joe.

“Whaddya mean?”

Pap pointed at his head, where a fancy piece of linen paper was stuck to his forehead.  “It seems like she left you some instructions,” he told Billy Joe.

The letters were smudged and barely readable from the sweat in his head.  Still, he was able to make out the words, “How do I love thee...”  he read aloud.

“Shit hell, I know that one.  What comes next is somethin’ ‘bout countin’ right?” Pap reached for the wet note, but Billy Joe pulled it away.  “I bet she wants you to think of all the reasons why you married her...or fell in love with her...or...,” his watery old eyes were wide. “...Ways to get her
lubrificated
!”

The old man was smiling like an old goat with a brand new heap of trash in which dine.  “There’s some nice flowers growin’ on the west side of the canyon.  It’s a bit of a ride, but you can make it there an’ back by sunset.”

Riding to the canyon was out of the question since  two trails of dust were rolling over the hill, barreling at full speed toward the house.  His wife was in there all alone.  He clicked his tongue as he turned Bucky towards the trail. “Come with me, Pap,” he ordered the foreman.

The first vehicle was a delivery truck.  The second was a bearer of bad news and trouble, his brother Chad.  “Please don’t let her pass out, please don’t let her pass out,” he said silently as he kicked his heels, sending Bucky into a run. He only hoped he could get there in time.

Bucky was lathered and covered in sweat by the time he and Pap made it to the house.  The DHL truck had several boxes for his wife that she signed for with a smile.  Billy Joe knew the driver, who was staring too long and too hard at his wife.

“Kyle,” he said as he dismounted from his horse. “Stop eyeballing my wife!”

The DHL driver could not hide his surprise.  “Mr. Johnson, you are married to her?” Kyle asked with a point of his finger.

“Yes, Kyle. You have a problem with that?”

“No, sir!  My Pa always said that I shoulda gone to college to expand my mind.  I like how you think there, Mr. Johnson,” the young man said.

“Kyle, have you made your delivery?”

“Yes, Sir!  Your wife had a rush order from Sears so I wanted to make sure I got out here on time,” the young man said with pride.

“We thank you,” he told the driver.  The young man still had not moved.  He was staring at Pecola, who had bent over to see the shipping labels on the boxes, unbeknownst that a body could see clear down her shirt.

“Honey, you are giving Kyle here a free show,” he told her.  She popped upright with wide eyes looking past the delivery driver to the other man walking up.  Her eyes were on the second man although she addressed Pap.

“How are you doing today, Pap, and how is my Amadeus?”

Billy Joe grinned at her, “When did my foal become your Amadeus?”

“The moment I got to name him,” she said with a smile. Her attention went back to the stranger.  The closer the man came, the easier it was to see the resemblance between him and her husband.  Only he was thicker, an inch or so taller, and had mean eyes. Something was broken in this man.
He is my wagon master.
She began to watch his every move, the way he walked bore the ease of movement of a man accustomed to being in charge. 

The man took a seat on the front porch like he owned it.  “Billy Joe, have your gal fetch me something cool to drink,” Chad said.

Immediately, Pecola disliked the man.

“If you are thirsty, Mr. Johnson, I will gladly get you something to drink,” she said sweetly.  The first thing that came to mind was Ms. Celie. It was as if he read her thoughts.

“Nope.  I saw that movie; never mind. I have some bottles of water in my truck, I can wait a while,” he said,

Pecola changed her approach with a down south southern drawl, “You sure now, Mister?  I’s gladly fetch you a lil’ some to wet your whistle after such a long drive.”

Chad ignored her. “So it is true. You married a black woman!  You’re planning to carry on the family name with this here woman?”

Billy Joe was getting beyond irritated, “You will not come here and insult my wife.  Is there something you want?”

Chad sucked at his tooth, in the same manner, Billy Joe had at breakfast yesterday morning. “I get it and all, I mean when I was stationed in Germany, on payday weekends, me and some of the fellas would go in for some brown sugar.  All it took was a payday weekend and some Crown Royal and it was like your pick on Black Friday at the market.  I always found that the sturdy ones with the big hips gave the best rides.  But it’s those breeders you have to watch out for; they get attached and they’re just like leeches.”

Billy Joe made a move forward, but Pecola held him off with her hand.  “Funny thing, my brother said the same thing.  He’s a running back for the Jets.  He said all he ever needed was a ball in his hand, didn’t matter what type, football, basketball, soccer ball, and the white women would come running.  He also said don’t have a scout come around, then it was like watching blond mops polishing chrome with their mouths. So I guess, Mr. Johnson, it is all a matter of taste.  Whether a man chooses to pick the low hanging fruit or if he prefers a ladder to make a selection from the top of the crop is really a statement about where he stands in life, if he is standing high or if he is leaning low.”

Pap almost swallowed his chaw.  Billy Joe watched with wide eyes as she bent over in front of his brother and ripped opened the box.  Her eyes were on her husband, “William, baby, I ordered you all new everything since your stuff was all worn out.  This is my wedding gift to you,” she told him.

Billy Joe looked over in the box.  Pap had gotten off his horse to look inside  it as well.  Even Chad was peering at the contents.  She said with pride, “I bought a week and a half worth of everything.  New jeans, shirts, socks, tees, everything the same brand you like to wear,” she told him.

Chad didn’t want to admit he was impressed. His brother was never one for buying new clothes unless they were falling off of him.

Her eyes were on Chad. “I’m really not the domestic type.  I prefer to hire some very unhappy white woman with daddy issues; they will take care of everything you know. Alas, since I am unable to do that right now, and trust me, I will find one to give this house a good scrubbing, everything is going to chug along beautifully.”

His brother still had not said anything further.  “I do cook a mean beef stew and am pretty decent at something Italian, so let me know when you are planning to come back for dinner, Mr. Johnson so we can get to know each other better.”

“Nice meeting you,” she said as she grabbed the box and headed inside the house to wash everything at least once before her husband wore it.