Dorothy Garlock (27 page)

She would be horrified if she knew what he was thinking. Good Lord, man! You don’t want much—only the moon and the sun. Owen held himself rigid, struggling to retain control over his suddenly trembling limbs and swollen, throbbing sex.
Thank God for the catalog!

A thick silence fell between them, this one heavy with emotions only Owen understood. Ana bowed her head over her knitting. The only sound in the room was the swish of pages as Owen absently turned the pages of the catalog. From time to time Ana glanced at the dark head bent over the book and he took furtive glances at the slender hands working the knitting needles. It finally occured to Ana that he was probably waiting for her to go to bed. She carefully folded her knitting, secured it with the needles and placed it on the table.

“Goodnight, Owen.”

“Goodnight, Ana,” he murmured.

They avoided each other’s eyes as she passed him. In the bedroom Ana lit the lamp and closed the door. She leaned against it, not sure if it was relief or disappointment she was feeling.

He had said
goodnight.

A
fter
Soren left the kitchen, he stood on the porch and waited for Owen to blow out the lamp. Soren wondered if his cousin would go to his room or join his wife in the parlor. There was no doubt in his mind that Owen was thoroughly smitten with this fair-haired woman he had married. Hell! Imagine falling in love with your mother-in-law! But sure as sin, that’s what Owen had done. His eyes were drawn to her constantly—that is, when he was sure she was unaware of it. Soren sighed in exasperation.

Owen was the most decent man Soren knew. But was he so boring that he bored his new wife to distraction? He was as tongue-tied around her as a youth who had just discovered girls. Soren chuckled. Maybe when they were alone he was different. God, he hoped so. He sure as hell deserved some happiness after living all those years with old Eustace Jamison, the meanest old son-of-a-bitch in the county, not to mention having to put up with Esther.

Soren was sure that Ana was not indifferent to his cousin. Now there was a woman—not for him, but perfect for Owen. It was still a mystery to him why Owen had married Ana’s stepdaughter, a girl not even as old as Lily.

Lily.
Just thinking her name caused his heart to beat faster. Soren’s eyes turned toward the Knutson farm. He stepped down from the porch, but instead of heading for the small house he shared with his father, his steps took him out the gate and across the moonlit field. He was acting like a love-sick calf, he admitted to himself. But the thought didn’t cause him to turn back.

This was the third night in a row he had walked to the Knutson farm, stood in the shadows beneath the trees, and watched the house. The first night he had heard old Jens yell for Lily to bring him and Procter another jug of whiskey. She had come out from the kitchen, lifted the slanting door, and gone down into the cellar to draw the whiskey from the barrel Jens kept there. Why he hadn’t stepped out and spoken to her he didn’t know. The second night he hadn’t caught sight of her, but tonight he was determined not to let the opportunity pass if she came outside the house.

Since the morning he and Owen had brought Esther home, he had been unable to get the vision of Lily’s white face and fearful brown eyes out of his mind. She was so small and so alone with so much responsibility resting on her thin shoulders. Being the bastard daughter of a woman like Hettie was more than any young girl should have to endure. Now she had to watch over Esther, who was acting as crazy as a loon, and endure old Jen’s pushing that slob of a Procter at her. It might be enough to push her over the line and cause her to give in to Procter. The thought of his beefy hands pawing her young body was gut-wrenching.

Something moved in the kitchen, and Soren straightened from his leaning position against the tree trunk. The screen door opened and Lily came out onto the back porch. She stood for a moment looking at the moon while Soren waited, holding his breath for fear she would go back into the house. To his utter relief, she stepped off the porch and walked slowly down the path toward the outhouse. Soren’s heart began to gallop like a runaway horse as he moved out from under the tree and hurried across the garden to the board fence where he could intercept her when she came back up the path.

How in the world was he going to let her know he was there without scaring the life out of her?

The screen door slammed again. Soren froze alongside the fence. Procter’s large frame was silhouetted against the light. He went to the end of the porch and stood there fumbling with the front of his overalls. Soren heard the unmistakable sound of water hitting the ground as Procter relieved himself. The crude bastard! He knew Lily was outside and didn’t even bother to go around the house. If he followed her to the outhouse, Soren swore he’d brain him with a stick of stove wood!

With his eyes on the man on the porch, Soren waited, tense and ready to do what he swore he would do. Procter came back to the middle of the porch and leaned his shoulder against a post. He was facing the path to the outhouse. Just when Soren had decided that he would risk being seen and dart around the corner so he could call to Lily, Jen’s loud slurred voice came from inside the house.

“Procter! Ain’t ya done pissin’ yet? C’mon, let’s finish up this hand.”

Procter shaded his eyes with his palm as he peered into the darkness. “Ya, ya,” he called, but made no move to go back inside.

A long minute passed. Procter stepped down off the porch.

“Air ya comin’ or ain’t ya?” Jens yelled.

“Ya, I’m comin’.” A vicious snarl graveled Procter’s voice. He turned, grabbed the porch post, pulled himself up, and stomped into the house.

Soren let out a sigh of relief. As he moved swiftly around the corner, he saw Lily’s slender form beside the outhouse. She was standing as still as a stone amid the hollyhocks that grew beside the building. She had been waiting for Procter to go inside. Now she started up the path toward the house. Soren called to her softly.

“Pssst! Lily. Don’t be scared. It’s me, Soren.” At the sound of his voice the young girl froze like a frightened doe. “I’m over here by the board fence.”

For an instant he thought she would run. Then she moved toward him.

“Soren?” she whispered.

“Yes. Don’t be scared.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. I knew I’d not be welcomed at the house.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Grandpa wouldn’t like it. Is something wrong? Has something happened to Uncle Owen?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I wanted to see you, talk to you.”

“Talk to me? Why?”

“I just wanted to.”

The moonlight shone on her face. He took her hand and pulled her into the shadow of the board fence. The fear, the vulnerability in her eyes went straight to his heart. She could be so easily broken, so easily hurt. But he wasn’t going to hurt her, and, by God, he’d see to it that that rutting son-of-a-bitch didn’t hurt her either.

“Can you stay out for a while?”

“Not very long. Procter knows I’m out here.”

“I saw him. Has that slimy bastard been pestering you?” Soren drew in a sharp breath and his hand tightened on hers.

“I’m careful not to let him catch me by myself.”

“You don’t have to be careful with me. I’ll not do any of the things Esther said. You believe that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes. Esther likes to talk nasty sometimes.”

“Esther is sick in the head. Real sick. Has she tried to hurt you?”

“No. Sometimes she acts all right. But she can fly off the handle at the drop of a hat—and over nothing. Today Grandpa had Procter carry her upstairs and lock her in. He wouldn’t let me or Mama take her any supper.”

“Is she getting worse, Lily?”

“I think so. Her good times are getting shorter and her bad times longer. A lot of the time she don’t make sense atall.”

“You poor little thing.” He placed her hand on his chest. The frenzied beating of his heart was almost painful. He cupped her face in his hands, his fingers sliding into the curls behind her ears. “I wish you didn’t have to stay here,” he muttered. His voice was raw with emotion when he spoke. The need to protect her spiraled up and out, spreading throughout his body. The desire in him had nothing to do with sex, nothing at all.

“Soren—”

“Will you meet me tomorrow night?” When she didn’t reply, he whispered harshly, “You’re afraid I’ll take advantage of you! Esther has drummed that into your head, hasn’t she?”

“B-but I know you won’t.”

“I swear to God, I won’t. Please, Lily. I’ve thought about you since that day Owen and I brought Esther home. I’m not like Procter, or . . . whoever it was that took advantage of Hettie.”

Lily moved her face away from his hands, stepped back, and looked down at the ground. Soren knew immediately that he had embarrassed her. He hated himself for being so thoughtless as to mention her parentage.

“Let’s get something straight right now.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled her gently toward him. “It doesn’t mean a damn to me that . . . that Hettie is more like your . . . little girl than your mama. I don’t give a damn about your pa either, or who he was. I’m sorry as hell that some man took advantage of Hettie, but to tell the truth, I’m glad too. Look what they made—a sweet, pretty girl with soft, brown eyes and the disposition of an angel. Lily, I want us to get to know each other.”

He had gradually pulled her closer until her forehead rested on his shoulder. His heart was thumping wildly and he could feel the trembling in her body as his hands slid across her back.

“Meet me tomorrow night out by the oak at the end of the garden,” he whispered urgently into the hair above her ear.

“It might be late.”

“I’ll wait.”

“I’d better go in now.”

“Lily, don’t ever be afraid of me. I’d die before I’d hurt you.”

“I know.”

“If you have trouble with Procter, will you tell me?”

“I’ll tell you.” She was in such a state of bliss that she would have promised him anything.

Soren’s hands came to her shoulders. He held her away from him so he could look into her face.

“Go to the house, honey. I’ll watch until you’re inside.”

His hands moved down her arms to her hands. He squeezed them slightly, and reluctantly let them go. Lily moved away from him and out onto the moonlit path. She turned and looked at him, then with head bowed, went up the path toward the house.

Soren wondered at the knot of emotion that twisted his insides as he watched her go.

*   *   *

A month of busy days passed. Ana was puzzled. Her husband was a mystery to her. He still hadn’t come to her bed to demand his conjugal rights. For all he knew, she had slept with Mr. Fairfax and was no quaking virgin. Heavens! If he only knew. She was a grown-up woman in the body of an innocent girl. She was as innocent as her sixteen-year-old stepdaughter had been—maybe more so. Young people talked of such things these days. All she knew about the intimacies of marriage she had learned by reading
Dr. Hood’s Plain Talk.

Had Owen Jamison been gentle with Harriet or had he roughly taken her maidenhead, planted the seed of his son in her womb and continued to take his pleasure night after night on her young body? It was something Ana didn’t want to think about. Something she tried
not
to think about. One thing she did know and took pleasure in knowing—the man was aware of her. Suddenly, at the oddest times, she would catch him looking at her and a dull red would cover his cheeks.

Late one afternoon, Ana peeked into Owen’s workshop. She was surprised to find him there bent over the table of the cabinet he was making. He straightened as she entered, wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, and waited for her to speak.

Ana cleared her throat. It felt as dry as dust.

“I didn’t know you were here.” She purposely kept her eyes on the cabinet.

A questioning look came over his face. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I—” She cleared her throat again and looked around with curiosity. “I wanted to see how much you’d done on the cabinet.”

His mouth quirked in a crooked grin that softened his features, made more stern looking by a day’s growth of beard.

“I came in from the field early so I could work on the finish in the daylight.”

On this second visit to the workshop, Ana was just as awed as she was the first time, by the array of small tools neatly held in place by leather straps nailed to the walls and the larger tools hanging from the rafters. She was equally fascinated by the heavy carpenter’s bench with its many holes, clamps and vises, and the rough plank from which he would make a beautiful piece of furniture. Ana was unable to conceal her appreciation of his workmanship as she admired the cabinet. Owen’s craggy face creased with smiles as he viewed her pleasure.

“This is something you really like to do, isn’t it?” Golden eyes smiled into blue.

“Yes,” he admitted, rubbing his fingertips over the satin-smooth table of the cabinet which he had just oiled and rubbed to a smooth luster with fine pumice stone. “I’d much rather work with wood than farm, but—”