Wolf Bride (4 page)

I chewed slowly on a sweet stem of long wheat while I mulled that over. “What do you suggest?”

“She needs to be taught to shoot. She needs a backbone if she’s going to make it out here.”

“So who teaches her that stuff?” I asked.

Jeremiah pushed me over as he stood. “Her husband does, you dipshit.”

Kristina

I tried not to laugh at my workmanship, but if I didn’t laugh I was going to burst into tears. After scouring the house, I’d discovered a full length pane of mirror glass attached to the back of Luke’s bedroom door. Even in the fading light, the dress I’d tried to sew looked atrocious. Single-handedly, I’d ruined all that fine fabric. I was in a fit of hysterical laughter when Luke burst through his door with a look on his face that said he thought I’d been dying.

“What’s wrong with you, woman?” he asked with wide eyes.

“Do you like my dress?” I asked through a giggle. I curtsied clumsily.

His stunning green eyes traveled the length of my tattered gown. Square corners of fabric stuck out here and there, and there were holes in the puff sleeves where my pieces hadn’t quite matched up. The stitches were loose and the front and back didn’t quite fit together. The corner of his lip twitched. Once. Twice, before he gave a chuckle that sent me into a fit of laughter all over again. I turned and admired my not-so-handiwork in the mirror once more. It was the least flattering, most ill-fitting dress I’d ever encountered.

“Did I cut the pieces wrong?” he asked, watching me through the mirror with a half stifled smile.

“Oh, I’m sure the pieces were cut fine, but you Dawson boys don’t seem to be hearing me when I say I really can’t sew.” There it was; the sob I’d been trying to keep in. This cloth meant something to Jeremiah and I’d ruined it forever just like I knew I would. I slumped onto the edge of Luke’s bed and cupped my cheeks with my hands.

Luke looked terrified, as most men did in the presence of a crying woman.

“I’ve ruined Jeremiah’s fabric,” I explained.

“Oh,” he said quietly. He wiped the palms of his hands on his tanned hide pants and shut the door. “He’ll understand,” he said as the bed creaked beside me under his weight.

I wiped my eyes on the deformed puff sleeve and hoped he was right.

“You seem like you have a tender heart for a…” He didn’t finish and cleared his throat instead.

“For a whore?” I was too defeated to be mad. “I was raised by a tender family and I was only a whore for a year before I came here. Not enough time to become bitter just yet.”

“I don’t really know anything about you and I’m going to marry you,” he said, sounding surprised. “I don’t even know your name.”

I held out my hand for a shake. A manly gesture, but hang it. “Kristina Yeaton. My regulars called me Kris.”

He smirked at my hand and shook it. “Luke Dawson, ma’am. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

I got a good look at his face for the first time since he’d barged in. “What in blue blazes happened to you?” I reached out and touched the open cut on the side of his cheekbone. The bruising was already making an appearance and his lip was split.

“I fell.”

“Off a building?”

He hissed air through his teeth and jerked back when my prodding got too close. There really was no use fussing over a man who didn’t care to be fussed over. I lay my hands gently in my lap and waited with an impatiently arched eyebrow. All right, if he kept staring at me like that, I was going to melt into a useless puddle and fall right through the cracks in the floor boards. “What?”

“Well, you look right pretty without all that powder on your face.” He stroked the curve of my jawline with his fingertip and my insides went warm from the line fire he created. “Your cheeks are all pink from crying and your skin’s fair.” He trailed his thumb softly over the fullness of my lips.

“Are you saying you prefer me without my war paint?”

His chuckle was deep and reverberated off my waiting ears. “I do.” Pulling away, he dug around in his pocket. “I’m sure you’ll do well enough as a wife and I’m not too picky besides.” He plucked a thin gold band from his vest pocket and slid it onto my finger. “Don’t really know how to do this but, you want to get hitched? To me?”

It might not have sounded so, but sitting here in my ruined dress with damp tear tracks still on my cheeks, a good looking man giving me compliments about the way I looked, and an offered gold ring was just about the most romantic thing I’d ever witnessed—and it was happening to me.

There was no reining in my smile. “Okay. Yes.”

I was staring at the new band on my finger that said I belonged to a man when he spoke again. “I owe you an apology.”

“What for?” I breathed, holding the ring up in the light.

“The wolf last night.” The deep green of his eyes searched mine for a long time, like he wanted to tell me everything that had ever been. “I should’ve been there to keep you safe,” he said.

“I didn’t tell anyone about the wolf, so how did you know about it?”

His gaze was tortured and the words sounded torn from his throat. “They’re a problem around here.”

He stood to leave but hesitated at the door. “We’ll take the dress into town. There’s a dressmaker there who can fix it. I’ll take you tomorrow, if that sits well with you.”

I nodded, and he left me sitting on his bed with more questions than when he’d entered.

The smell of frying chicken was enough to pull me out of the comfort of Luke’s room. The horrendous dress fell from me like it couldn’t wait to escape the woman who’d ruined it, and I avoided looking at the sad pile of fabric while I wiggled back into my immodest garments.

I’d skipped any kind of luncheon in my concentration on not stabbing my fingers to death with a sewing needle and was nearly ravenous. Jeremiah stood over the iron skillet feeding it flour covered strips of poultry and humming softly. He wore a cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tanned pants with suspenders showing. His boots were lined up neatly by the door. Such an odd sight, an imposing man cooking in the kitchen like a common woman. I supposed they hadn’t much choice through the years than to learn to cook with no woman around to fill their bellies. I didn’t know him from Adam, but from what I did gather about Jeremiah, he would make a fine brother-in-law.

With hands scrubbed clean in the sink, I turned and said, “Well, show me how to fry chicken.”

He was a patient teacher who let me do most of the work and by the last of it, only two pieces were inedible. Triumph. Sitting across the table from Jeremiah over two plates of steaming food was a test in self-discipline. The man’s face was torn up even worse than Luke’s was. Oh, he fell all right. They both did. They fell all over each other’s fists. Ridiculous, squabbling men.

“Go on and eat,” he said, while I sat waiting with hands clasped in my lap. “Luke won’t be hungry.”

Jeremiah ate with single-minded tenacity, and slowly, I picked up my fork and ate with one eye on the door.

Luke didn’t even spare a glance for us as he bustled into the house with a pail of milk. Without a word, he began to strain it through a layer of cheesecloth and into another bucket.

“A man your size should be eating much more if you’re going to keep up your strength,” I said.

Luke only grunted.

Maybe he just needed a little enticement. “I made it myself. Why don’t you just try a small piece of fried chicken? I’ll make you a plate.”

His face went positively green. “Let it rest, woman.”

“Are you unwell?” I knew all about the stomach gripes. The cook back at the bawdyhouse had been an unsanitary little beast and not overly worried about cooking the meat all the way through for me and the other girls.

“No, Kristina. I just ain’t hungry is all.”

Even angry, I liked the way he said my name with his deep, velveteen voice.

The evening stretched on and brought a darkening sky. With the setting of the sun came my unease. I’d been thinking about that wild wolf all day. My heart seemed determined to focus on its ferocious teeth and the sound of its snarl caressing the back of my bare ankles. No way was I replaying that little scene. I might not be a smart or educated woman, but I paid attention and didn’t make mistakes twice. That trick kept people like me alive and kicking long after people expected me to. One hurried trip to the outhouse later with a sharpened stick and my heart skipped a beat with relief when I closed the back door behind me. I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the door and puffed a sigh of relief.

“We have a soaking tub if you want to use it,” Luke said from right behind me.

I jumped and stifled a screech, but he acted as if he didn’t even notice he’d practically scared the living daylights out of me.

“I hear womenfolk like to take their time about cleaning, so I can bring it into your room if you want.”

A soaking tub? Hmm. That actually sounded heavenly. As much as I’d appreciated sponging off in the bedroom last night, there was still a healthy layer of travel grit that would only come off with time in a tub and a thorough scrubbing with a horse bristle brush. I’d have said so, but I really was trying to be more ladylike.

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you,” I said instead when my heart had stopped trying to eject itself from my throat.

The soaking tub was small but I easily fit into it if I curled up my knees. It was tarred in the cracks to prevent leaks and we didn’t bother warming the water up. Luke offered, bless that man, but I was too tired to wait the hour it would take. Tepid water would do just fine for me. I loosed my wild curls and washed them with lavender hair soap. After I was finished cleaning my tresses, I scrubbed and rubbed my sensitive skin until the water turned brown and my hide shone like an eggshell in the sun.

What was the point of putting my nightdress on? My bedroom door was closed, and not once during my stay had either Dawson brother so much as looked in my room. I cuddled into bed, all sparkling clean like I’d just been minted, and wearing nothing but the clothes I’d been born with. Almost before my head even hit the pillow, I fell asleep.

The slumber that followed was glorious, right up to the point where Luke shook my shoulder as I lay on my stomach floating around in dreamland somewhere.

“Kris, wake up,” he said gently.

I was so deep into that sleep, I couldn’t even remember where I was or who was staring at me with grinning green eyes. The soaking tub, still filled with my dirty water in the middle of the floor was an unpleasant reminder of my surroundings. My hair had dried overnight and likely resembled the mane of some wild animal and I jerked a glance to make sure my backside was covered up by the linens. It was, thank my lucky stars.

“Do you know you’re sleeping with not a stitch of clothing on?” Luke asked through a grin.

“What are you doing in here?” I’d be more embarrassed if my previous occupation hadn’t given me nary an ounce of modesty. And really, most of me was covered up except for my back and legs. It could’ve been much worse.

“I want to show you something,” he said.

The stars still twinkled through the window pane and the rooster was still probably fast asleep among his hens.

I plopped my face back into the pillow and mumbled, “I don’t know why you don’t require sleep, Luke Dawson, but I do. I need it. I’ll be terribly grumpy without it and lash out at you without warning. Are you sure you still want to drag me out of my warm bed right now?”

“I’ll take my chances.” Damn that smile in his voice.

I turned far enough to glare at him, but his interest seemed to be taken with the curve of my backside against the sheets.

“You mind if I at least get dressed before we go gallivanting off on whatever unwelcome adventure you have planned for us?”

He waved his fingers regally. “Be my guest.”

Really? “Turn around at least!”

He did so easily enough, and it wasn’t until I was dressed that I realized he was facing a small mirror that stood over the washbasin on the opposite wall, and could likely see everything from my hips up. I wacked him in the back of the head with my pillow but he only laughed and gallantly bowed as he opened the door for me.

As infuriating as the man was, he did offer his arm when I hesitated on the back porch.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” he said.

His confidence was infectious and I took his offered arm gratefully. I still scanned the area the lantern touched, but the fealty of a big strapping man with a foot long hunting knife visibly sticking from his belt sure made me feel safer.

“You know,” I said, “you really shouldn’t see me in that state of undress until we’re married.”

He frowned slightly and looked at me like he couldn’t tell if I was teasing. “I put a ring on your finger that says you’re mine. Far as I’m concerned, we’re good as married.”

“When are we planning on making our little union official?”

“As soon as the circuit preacher comes through town again, which should be any day now. Jeremiah sent for him the day we picked you up in town. You should wear your hair like that more often. You look like some wild, fierce thing.”

He could douse the lantern and my inner glow from that unexpected compliment could light the clearing. I’d always liked my hair fine, but never had anyone else said anything nice about it. “Well, it wouldn’t be proper to wear it down and whipping around in town with all those high fallutin’ ladies and their pearl hairpins, now would it?”