Lorraine Heath (11 page)

An image of hair the color of midnight, eyes a deep blue flashed through her mind. Her first love. Every man before Brett had been in awe of her beauty or her father’s position. But Brett had taken her down off her pedestal, had made her feel touchable.

She had been in the stall tending her horse. She turned around and found him towering above her. Without a word, he’d pressed her against him, his mouth opening to devour hers. She’d whimpered and his arms had tightened around her. Before Brett, she’d been kissed by young men whose tongues had dashed around her mouth without the courage to touch anything. But Brett had touched everything, every nook and cranny, exploring her mouth, slowly, deliberately. It had been pure heaven.

“I remember him.” She sighed wistfully.

“First loves are hard to forget,” Zach admitted. “I think no matter how many times a person falls in love, the first love and the last love are the only two that really matter. Now you had some curtains that needed hanging?”

Nodding, she walked into the house. For her, the first love and the last love were one and the same.

Frank sat straight in his saddle, his chest swelling with pride. Ruth had slowed her horse down to a trot and then to a walk, for which he was extremely grateful. Traveling at a slower rate allowed him to gaze upon her beauty. And Lord, she was beautiful.

Only one thing was spoiling the moment. There was no one to see him with this woman by his side. There was nothing but open space between the Rocking R and the
Triple Bar. He wished they could detour through town.

Twilight was setting in as they arrived at Ruth’s house. Ruth dismounted before Frank had a chance to help her. Then she was hurrying up the steps to the house. Frank rushed after her, grabbing her arm. She jerked free and glared at him. Frank smiled.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go riding with me sometime.”

“I just went riding with you.”

His smile grew. “Yeah, I know. And I thought it was kinda pleasant. Thought maybe you’d like to do it again.” “No.”

The smile left Frank’s face. “Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re a boy.”

“I sure as hell am not. Hell, I shave every day!”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to get inside.”

Dumbfounded, Frank watched as the door closed, taking her away. He tromped down the stairs and mounted his horse. Ruth was nearly as beautiful as Reb. He wondered how Jake had managed to make Reb love him. He thought of the way Jake looked at Reb, the way she looked at him. The man made her feel special. Frank smiled. He’d just have to think of a way to make Ruth feel special.

Laughter escaped Rebecca’s throat as she pressed both palms against her aching side, trying to ease the spasms brought on by the antics of the cowboys preparing themselves to ride into town. She wondered why they had even bothered to bathe when they were coating themselves with all the dust they were stirring up. Jake was smiling, shaking his head, and she wondered if he wanted to go with them. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him go off on a Saturday night when they had lived in Kentucky, but then she hadn’t really paid that much attention back then. The dust settled and the two of them were left, moving towards the chores that awaited them without speaking.

Life had settled into a pleasant routine. Each day, she and Jake would ride the range, keeping a watch on the cattle, inspecting the progress of the barbed-wire fencing
that was being strung up with mechanical stretchers. Their journey was slowed because of Rebecca’s expanding girth. Jake would pick up their meals from the cook and they would eat together at the rough oak table in their house. They’d discuss plans for the ranch, Jake’s desire to build tanks to catch the rainwater, windmills to pull up the water that the earth hoarded like a miser deep below. He had been toying with the idea of growing his own hay so he could feed his cattle if the winter turned harsh. It was a novel idea in a state known for its mild winters, but Jake didn’t trust Mother Nature and didn’t want to be dependent on her moods. Rebecca greeted all his ideas with excitement and enthusiasm, adding a few ideas of her own, suggesting he lease some of his land to farmers who would use part of their land to plant, harvest, and bind the hay that Jake wanted.

On Saturday afternoons, they did what they were doing now—washing their clothes. Jake scrubbed them in the big wooden tub and handed them to Rebecca to drape over the line he had strung up. The first time he had dipped her undergarments in the water, he had turned beet red, and though she had offered to wash her own things, he had insisted he do his share.

She draped his shirt over the line and turned back towards him, laughing as she did so. He was surveying the sky with great intensity and she knew he was washing some personal article of hers.

When they finished with the laundry, they cleaned the inside of the house, sweeping and dusting and straightening up. Then they went for a walk, hand in hand. When they got back, they cooked supper together. Jake brought two chairs out onto the porch, and they ate the worst meal they’d had in a while, laughing over it as they tried to remember what it was they’d fixed. They sat back quietly and watched the setting sun.

After it got darker, they washed up the dishes. Then Jake excused himself to take care of some chores. More and more often lately he claimed to have work to do in the evenings. Rebecca curled up on the sofa with a book, waiting
for his return, wondering why he was finding reasons to be away from her when he hadn’t before.

The copy of
Treasure Island
that her father had given her for Christmas the previous year lay open on her lap. But she couldn’t concentrate. She wished Jake hadn’t chosen this particular night to leave her alone. It was too quiet without the men around, and she found her thoughts drifting hauntingly more and more often to Brett.

As always, it was the rich hue of his blue eyes that came to her first. On more than one occasion, she had felt herself falling into the depths of those mesmerizing eyes. Then he would smile and she would become lost, the world narrowing down until it was only the two of them.

Even when they were surrounded by people, she’d only see Brett. Brett and his blue eyes. Blue.

The night he’d taken her into the city to watch a play, she’d worn a silk gown that matched the shade of his eyes perfectly. He’d looked so handsome in his black suit as they’d strolled through the opulent lobby, crystal chandeliers reflecting the gaslights. He’d escorted her to a private box in the balcony. Her eyes had been on him as she’d taken her seat. As soon as she sat down, she’d popped back up, and spun around. Sitting on the chair was a small wrapped package, the box adorning it flattened.

She’d snatched it up, sat down and begun to unwrap it.

“What is it?”

He’d laughed, the sound rumbling out across the balcony. “If I’d wanted you to know right away, I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of having it wrapped.”

Inside, she’d found a necklace, diamonds and sapphires more dazzling than anything she’d ever seen.

“Where in the world did you get these?”

“Royal flush.”

“You won them in a poker game?” she’d asked in amazement.

“No, I won money in a poker game.”

“And you spent it on me?”

“Who else am I going to spend it on?”

Her father paid a fair wage but it didn’t allow for luxuries.
She’d thought of all the things Brett could have bought for himself. She’d felt as precious as the jewels because he’d chosen instead to buy something for her.

He’d draped the necklace around her neck, then used his fingers to outline it along her flesh, his fingers straying down to the exposed curves of her breasts.

“I sure do like this gown,” he’d said, his voice low and deep, sending shivers racing up her spine. “Someday, Rebecca, you’ll be wearing me the way you wear this gown, next to your body, and I’ll feel so much finer than silk.”

The curtains had opened. He’d slipped his hand beneath her hair, rubbing her neck, moving his fingers around to tease her throat, her shoulders, the sensitive places behind her ears. So much of
Hamlet
had been lost to her.

And now Brett was lost to her as well. She closed the book, setting it down on the sofa, and walked out of the house.

Darkness surrounded her and a warm breeze whistled through the scattered trees. The baby moved. Already, she loved this little life growing inside her, this little life she had created with Brett. For the remainder of her years, she would be grateful to him for leaving a part of himself with her.

She wondered if Jake, if any man, could truly love another’s child as his own.

She stepped off the porch, feeling a strong need to be with Jake at that moment, hoping he would understand.

She walked across the narrow yard to the barn, realizing she had no idea where he was. She stepped into the barn, relieved to see his chestnut stallion content in the stall. She was peering in stalls, wondering where he could possibly be, when she heard the gritty sound of wood being sanded. Stepping into the doorway of the back room where extra supplies were kept, she saw him sitting on the floor, Indian style. He was sanding and blowing a piece of curved wood, holding it out to inspect it, then beginning the process over again.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Her words startled him and he jumped. Not wanting to
anger him, Rebecca threw one hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. He placed a hand over his heart.

“You looking to become a widow? Jesus, you almost made my heart stop beating.”

“I’m sorry.” But the giggles in her voice rendered her apology insincere and he pierced her with narrowed eyes. “I really am sorry. I was just … getting lonely.”

He pointed towards a low stool in the corner. “You want to sit in here?”

“Do you mind?”

“It beats having you sneak up on me,” he said with irritation in his voice but a smile in his eyes. She plopped herself down on the stool.

“You never go into town with the men,” she said.

He jerked his head up from his task to eye her warily. “I’m a married man.”

“But even before that. I don’t remember ever seeing you go.”

He shrugged and went back to sanding the wood. “A man spends money in town on Saturday night. I was saving my money for this place.”

She stuck her hands between her knees. “You think the men are visiting that big house on the edge of town?”

“Probably,” he answered without looking up or stopping his work.

“Have you … have you ever been to a … a whorehouse?”

His eyes snapped up to hold hers. Her cheeks were flushed, and he knew she was having one hell of a time maintaining eye contact with him.

“Once … a long time back.”

“Only once?”

He gave a light shrug. “I didn’t like the way it made me feel.”

She leaned forward, her eyes wide, disbelieving. “You didn’t like the way it made you feel?”

Now the flush ran through his face, and he was the one having one hell of a time maintaining eye contact.

“Oh … not that. I mean … I liked that … it was afterwards
that I didn’t like. I didn’t like feeling like I’d had to pay a woman to want me.”

“Ohh.” She sat back up, nodding her head as though she understood. “I see.” Her brows drew together. “Most men don’t care, do they?”

“I reckon not.” He went back to sanding the wood, hoping that was the end of that subject.

Rebecca allowed her gaze to wander around the room. Harnesses hung over pegs in the walls. A saddle in need of repair sat in a corner. Except for the boxes and odds and ends stacked haphazardly at the back, the room was neat and orderly, leaving ample room for a man to work.

She turned her attention to Jake, his head bent as he worked. He’d rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. They were firm, even when he relaxed them, a product of hard work. He lifted his arm, wiping the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. She tilted her head, one way then the other picturing him in a black suit. He’d need to wear brown.

“Have you ever been to a play?”

“Once.” A teasing glint came into his eyes, and he tilted up one corner of his mouth. “A long time back.”

She smiled and leaned forward. “Did you like the way it made you feel?”

“I suppose. Made me laugh a couple of times, made me sad for a while, but in the end, it made me feel good. You like the way plays make you feel?”

She felt the heat flush her cheeks and nodded, afraid if she tried to speak her voice would sound husky and betray her feelings. She had indeed enjoyed the way she’d felt when she’d watched the play with Brett.

Jake studied her a minute and then went back to sanding his wood, for which she was grateful. She’d come in here to take her mind away from Brett, and her conversation with Jake had brought about the opposite effect. She was once again remembering the feel of Brett’s presence beside her, the touch of his fingers. She shook the thoughts away and tried to imagine what it would be like to attend a play with Jake. He’d no doubt leave her in peace to enjoy the
staged performance. For some reason, that thought left her disappointed.

She watched as he moved his large hands over the wood. She knew from experience that his long fingers felt almost as rough as the sandpaper. And yet the sandpaper left no evidence of its coarseness. Instead the wood looked smoothed and polished as though it had been caressed. She realized that Jake was indeed caressing the wood, touching it lightly, taking great care to ensure the rough texture of the paper caused no damage. His deliberate movements created a rasping sound that was as soothing as any lullaby.

“Thought you said you weren’t much of a carpenter?”

“What?”

“The night you nailed up the quilt you said you weren’t much of a carpenter.”

He pointed the piece of wood at her. “I said you could sit, not talk.”

The unexpected sternness in his voice sent her emotions reeling. She straightened her legs out, lifted her feet, then set them back down. Nodding her head, her eyes large and round like those of a chastised schoolgirl, she turned her face away.

Leaning over, he touched her knee. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.