Dorothy Garlock (29 page)

Ana tilted her head to look at him. He was staring up at the ceiling.

“Harriet fell hard for him. She said her love was a laughing, dancing man.”

“That’s Paul. Not much like me, I’m afraid.”

“She loved him.”

“He didn’t deserve that love.” He sounded irritated. “He should have faced his responsibilities. He wasn’t coming back to the farm,” he scoffed. “He liked city life too much. Yet he told her she would find him here. He had absolutely no intention of doing right by that girl.”

“She came here?”

“She sent a postcard telling him to meet her in Lansing—that it was urgent. I went there. She was a pitiful little wretch—young and scared. After she told me she was carrying Paul’s child, I married her and brought her home.”

“Why would you do that? She was nothing to you.”

“The child was a Jamison—a bastard Jamison. I know how hard life has been for Lily.”

“Harriet could have come home. I would have taken care of her.”

“She said she’d rather die than go back and face you. There was nothing to do but wed the girl and let everyone think the child was mine.”

“You could have told me.”

“I was prepared to dislike you. I wanted to blame someone along with Paul. I had forgotten how charming and persuasive he can be and how he would appear to a very young girl.”

“That day in Lansing you accused me of not doing my duty. I tried, Owen. Really I did.”

“I know that now. I was going to tell you the truth of the thing after the funeral. But by then I wanted you to stay. If you knew that I hadn’t fathered the child and that you had as much right to the boy as I did, I’d not have had a lever to keep you here.”

His confession stunned her.

She was quiet for such a long time that he asked, “Does that shock you?”

“Well . . . yes. I didn’t think you liked me.”

His arm tightened. Her hand, captured between his and his chest, could feel the pounding of his powerful heart.

“I was scared to death of you. I still am.”

“Why, for goodness sake? You’re much bigger than I am.”

Now he laughed silently. She could feel that, too, against her palm. She tilted her face to look at him and her nose rubbed against his chin.

“I’m such a . . . clod. You must have known all sorts of men in Dubuque who wore suits and straw hats and had fine manners.”

“Well, yes I did, but . . . they didn’t give me a second look.”

“I’ll never believe
that.
”

She wiggled her hand from under his and moved it up to the curve of his neck. Her fingers slipped into his hair.

“Are you angry that I deceived you into marrying me?” His voice was husky and anxious.

She hesitated for a moment that seemed an eternity to Owen.

“To tell the truth,” she whispered against the warm flesh of his shoulder, “I’m glad you did. So glad that I could cry.”

“Oh, Lord, Ana! Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m glad, too, that it wasn’t you who seduced Harriet.”

“Ana, Ana, I never touched that girl. I let Esther think I did, but I didn’t. I swear it.” He turned, put both arms around her and held her tightly. His lips moved across her forehead.

It was the sweetest moment of her life.

“I believe you—”

“Is there a chance for us, Ana?”

“I’d say there’s more than a chance . . . husband.”

Owen made a low groaning sound as his mouth slid across her cheek to her mouth. Her lips were soft; his were hard and insistent. Dear Lord, she was sweet. Her reaction to the kiss was instantaneous. Her lips parted, her whole body shivered, her arm crept up around his neck. A naked heat began to build in him. He wanted to be closer to her miraculous softness, to hold her against him so tightly that their flesh would become one. He breathed the fragrance of lilac from her satin-soft skin, her silky hair, and felt himself flame and harden. His legs and arms began to quake like those of a man with chills.

Ana returned his kiss with an innocent hunger. So this was what kissing was like. His mouth was hard, yet wonderfully warm and sweet. His hardness thrilled her. The rough, seeking touch of his calloused fingers, stroking her from her nape to her shoulder to cup her breast in his huge hand, sent delicious quivers throughout her melting flesh. Her body burned with a joyful, alien desire. Her eyes closed in ecstasy.

The long, hard rod pressed to her belly suddenly drew her full attention. He was as aroused as a stallion after a mare in heat! Good grief, she was about to mate with a man, and she didn’t know what to do!

“Owen . . . please!” she gasped under his mouth. “I must tell you”—he went as still as if he were frozen in place—“that I’ve never . . . that I didn’t do . . . anything like this with Mr. Fairfax.”

A sigh quivered through him. “Jesus, my Lord! Don’t scare me like that.”

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“Not
that.
I want to ask why, but I won’t. I don’t care. I’m so glad!” He laughed a low, happy laugh and hugged her until she thought her spine would crack. “We’ll learn together. I’ve been with a few . . . ah, women, but they don’t count.” His lips took up the kissing again, covering every inch of her face.

They were totally absorbed in the pleasure of new discovery when Baby Harry let out an earsplitting cry that could only be a cry of intense pain. Within seconds Ana was out of bed and lighting the lamp. She rounded the end of the bed scarcely aware that Owen had swung his feet over the side and was sitting there, a look of confusion on his face.

Ana picked up the screaming child and cuddled him to her.

“Sshhh . . . don’t cry,” she crooned. “Oh, honey, what’s hurting you?”

“What’s the matter with him?” Owen asked anxiously, trying to make himself heard over the child’s screams.

“He’s drawing his legs up and his tummy is hard as a rock. I think he’s got colic.”

“What’s that?”

“Pains in his tummy. He may have sucked air after he emptied his bottle. I try to watch and take it away as soon as he’s finished. Sshhh . . . baby. Oh, darling,” she cooed, as the little face puckered, and he let out another loud cry of pain. “I know you’re hurting.” Ana walked back and forth, patting the baby’s back. Owen stood. When she turned, she ran up against his bare chest.

“What can we do for him?”

“I’ve read about colic in the
Common Sense Medical Book,
but I don’t think we have any of the things they suggest.”

“What do they suggest?” He walked beside her while she paced.

“A little Jamaica ginger in brandy, or opium, which I will not use.” she said firmly. “If we had a syringe, we could give him an enema. Do you have castor oil?”

“Not that I know of.”

“The only other thing I know to do is to put warm cloths on his tummy and get him to drink warm water with a little salt in it. It should make him vomit.” Baby Harry continued his loud, lusty cries even when Ana cradled him in her arms and swung him back and forth.

“Do you want to fix it, or do you want me to?”

“I’d better do it. You take Harry.” She transferred the baby to Owen’s big hands and watched him lift the child to settle him on his shoulder. “Press his tummy to you and pat him on the back. It’s gas that causes the pain. Sometimes the gas will come up with a force that will make him throw up; sometimes it goes the other way.”

“There, there, boy.” Owen began to walk and to pat. “We’ll get you fixed up soon, and you can get back to sleep.”

“You can pat harder than that.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“He’s already hurting. The jarring might bring up some of the gas.”

Ana went to the doorway and looked back. Her eyes and Owen’s met with sweet familiarity. She stood before him in a thin nightgown, her hair loose and hanging down her back. Owen wore only a pair of drawers that rode low on his hips and stopped at his knees. Yet it didn’t occur to Ana to be embarrassed. She was thrilled by the deep blue, velvety look absorbing her.

“I’ll hurry. You can jiggle him a little, Owen,” she said and disappeared into the dark hallway.

The picture of him stayed with her while she lit the lamp on the kitchen table and shook down the ashes in the cookstove to find a few hot coals. She had never seen a man in so few clothes. His arms and legs were as powerful as the limbs of a giant oak. Muscles corded his great shoulders and his chest that narrowed to a sinewy middle without an ounce of superfluous flesh. The soft down on his chest was only a shade lighter than the thick hair that curled down over his forehead. Ana felt the strength leaving her as she thought of how she had lain pressed tightly to him from her head to the soles of her feet.

Owen had not been the one who seduced her stepdaughter.

In a daze of joy and disbelief, Ana added kindling to the coals. With the bellows that hung behind the stove she supplied the air that caused the flame to erupt. After placing the teakettle directly over the fire, she sprinkled a few grains of salt in the baby’s bottle. When the water was lukewarm, she filled the bottle and hurried back to the bedroom.

Ana paused in the doorway. Exhausted from crying, the baby was making small mewing sounds as it tried to sleep nestled against Owen’s broad muscular chest. Ana felt a sudden, delicious rush of joy. He was magnificent. She was utterly in love with this man, the real man behind the rough exterior. He was good, sweet and kind. He had married Harriet so that he could take care of her.

Owen turned, saw her, and flashed her a shy grin.

“He’s trying to sleep.”

“Did he throw up?”

“No. He wet a lot and did something else. Phew!” The look of chagrin on his face made her laugh with her eyes as well as her mouth. With his hand on the baby’s bottom, he held him out so that she could see his wet chest and the baby’s soaked nightgown.

“Maybe we won’t have to give him this salt water,” Ana said, picking up a blanket and spreading it on the bed. “Lay him down. I’ll clean him up.”

“Will you clean me up too?” His eyes teased her. His smile was beautiful.

“You’re a big boy—”

Baby Harry awakened and let out another ear-splitting scream. He drew his little legs up, then stiffened them out. Ana put the nipple in his mouth. At first he refused the slightly salted water. Then finally he began to suck.

“The water in the teakettle should be hot by now. Put some in a washdish, Owen. We’ll lay a warm wet cloth on his tummy after I clean him up.”

It was almost dawn when Baby Harry fell into a peaceful sleep. Ana lay down on the bed with the child in her arms and Owen covered her with a sheet. She had rocked the child for hours. Owen had applied the wet packs, kept the teakettle filled, and carried the soiled napkins to the tub of water on the back porch.

When Ana awakened, the sunlight was streaming in the windows.

*   *   *

“Do you want to go to church?” Owen asked as Ana prepared breakfast.

“I don’t think we should take Harry out in a crowd for at least another week.” She glanced at him and saw the relief that slumped his shoulders. “Why, shame on you! You’re relieved you don’t have to go.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t take Harry out for the rest of the summer.” Smile lines tilted the corners of his mouth, and a teasing light shone in his eyes.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You can’t use Harry for an excuse not to go to church all summer.”

“Another month?” he asked hopefully and laughed, a genuine laugh that made lights dance in his blue eyes.
He was different this morning.
A tingling sensation rippled down her spine.

“Next Sunday.” Her voice was firm, but she was smiling up at him. Her face took on an animation that almost made him forget what they were talking about. “We’ll go next Sunday. I’ll have a dress ready by then.”

“Good Lord, Ana! You’re not going to put the boy in a
dress.
”

“Of course, you silly man. Did you think I’d take him to church in overalls?”

She turned to dip the butter from milk she had churned the night before. While the water was heating to make mush for breakfast, she worked the milk out of the butter with a wooden paddle. Owen took the fresh buttermilk to the cellar and emptied the milk they hadn’t used into the slop bucket for the hogs.

“Violet McCalister sent word by Uncle Gus, when he took brooms to the store, that the Busy Bees will meet next week,” Ana said when Owen came back to the kitchen with a fresh bucket of water. “They’re going to plan the Fourth of July celebration. Harry and I will go. I don’t want the ladies of the town to think I’m a snob.”

“There’ll be no danger of that after they get to know you.”

She watched him lift the bucket and fill the reservoir on the side of the stove. She knew the statement he had made about her had been inadvertent. It was a lovely compliment.

“Will you be entering any of the contests?”

“Why? Are you wanting to see me make a fool of myself?”

Her eyes swept him from head to toes and giggles burst from her lips. “I can hardly wait to see you try to catch the greased pig.”

Owen’s laughter joined her. “With this bum leg I’m not very swift on my feet, but one year I won the pie-eating contest. Another year I won the watermelon seed-spitting contest and brought home a jar of pickled peaches.”

The vision of him toeing the line, spitting watermelon seeds, brought forth spasms of girlish laughter. Their eyes met and held. Ana thought she had given up feeling girlish, but here she was feeling as young and giddy as a school girl. Owen was an enchanting companion now that he had let down his guard. His banter and smiles came as easily as Soren’s. He was enjoying himself, too.

He leaned his hip against the washbench, cocked his head to one side, and grinned at her.

“I can see that I’m going to have to prove to you that I’m a real watermelon seed-spitting champion.”

“Stop bragging and bring up some of those lemons from the cellar. We’ll make a crock of lemonade today.”

Ana’s heart began to do crazy things—like fluttering, leaping, pounding, racing. She smiled into his eyes, turned and pressed her hand against that thing going wild in her breast. Mercy me! How long had it been since she’d blushed? The world had suddenly become bright and beautiful.