Montana (Modern Mail Order Bride Book 2) (7 page)

“That pause almost hurts my feelings,” he confessed.

She sat up in his lap, bringing her knees closer to her chest, nearly curling her body into a ball. “Let me get my wording correct, Billy,” she told him.

“Wordsmithing is not allowed with me, especially not from my wife,” he said with no emotion in his voice. His eyes hooded to mask the concern about what she was going to tell him next.

“The pure and simple truth is never pure...,” she began to say.

“...Nor is it ever simple...  You are quoting Oscar Wilde; it must be difficult to tell me this truth,” he said with his head cocked, waiting for her reply.

She exhaled a deep breath, looking squarely in his face. “It was terrible,” she told him.

Billy Joe’s eyes were wide in shock.

“Oh, don’t pretend you are shocked.  The only thing missing from that consummation was a stick of butter to lube me up.  Honesty is what you wanted, so I am going to give it to you.” She looked him dead in the eyes.  “I am an idiot.  I had this whole romanticized notion in my head that you were going to be the rough and tough cowboy that I was going to have to tame while I learned to make butter from Bessie the cow.  In my head, I even helped old Bessie deliver the calf that we made the best friend of our boy BJ2!” Her expression was somber as she watched him press his lips together.

He could not contain it.  He burst into laughter.  A deep rumble from in his chest filled the large room when he responded with “BJ2?” He then laughed harder.  “BJ is the one thing I refused to let anyone call me ever!  I will answer to William before I ever respond to BJ. You will definitely not call our son BJ either!”

“Yeah, being called BJ is a whole lot better than passing out when shit gets too real for me,” she said with a twisted mouth. “Ha! I had the nerve to imagine myself delivering a calf.  I hurled all of my cookies simply seeing that foal being born. That thing weighed what ...100 pounds?  And watching his momma trying to squeeze it out...then I thought about agreeing to give you a child in a year... followed by the idea of me lying on a pile of hay, pushing out our first born...” she said to him.

“So giving me children is still on the table?”

“Sure, if the next time you start with the honey first...”

“What if I remove the honey altogether?”

“William,” she said with a smile using his formal name, which she liked a whole lot better than Billy. “If we could start with some foreplay it would be helpful.  You basically stripped me down, rolled me over, licked two fingers and you were headed inside to play,” she said with a frown.

“Sorry about that, but you were even prettier in person.  I had been thinking about you hard for a whole week, getting more anxious by the minute. And you showed up, you married me, and I thought you were as into me as I am into you,” he told her.

Her fingers toyed with the thick black hair. “After all the letters, a few phone calls, for me, I needed something more before you know...you jostled me up, but it’s done... we move forward...wait, you are really into me?”

Billy Joe leaned forward, his fingertips grazing her face, “You are my soul mate, Pecola, and I am yours.”

He was adorable.  So endearing in his earnestness that she initiated a kiss. A gentle kiss full of understanding. 
My husband. I actually have a husband.

She wanted him to know her thoughts as well. “I am going to be a good wife to you,” she said aloud.

“I have no doubts.”

“Can I ask a favor?”  she asked as she kissed his lips again.

“Shoot.”

“When we are alone, can I call you William?”

His lips pressed harder against her mouth, trying desperately not to be greedy, “When we are alone, you can call me Big Daddy if that turns you on, Honey.”

Pecola laughed, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“More than you can even imagine,” he said with a chuckle.  “Can I ask you favor?”

“Sure, anything,” she said hesitantly.

“Let’s limit the curse words to hell and damn if you could,” he asked her.  The idea of his wife having a potty mouth didn’t sit well with him.  It lodged like a chunk of timber in his throat the idea of their son’s first words being a common swear.

“I’m sorry.  You know, living in New York and all,” she said softly.

“You currently live in Montana. Now, let’s get some food in that belly before you pass out on me again.”

“Only if you promise not to smother me in honey once more and lick me until your tongue swells,” she responded.

“Aww shucks, you’re no fun,” he told her with some sarcasm.

“Neither is that squeaky ass bed.  Can we get rid of that thing?”

“Why?  It made me feel powerful,” he was laughing as he spoke.

“For all three minutes?”  she asked, biting her lip.

“That is cold.  Besides, I think it was at least five...and it’s not my fault that my wife is so frickin’ hot,” he waggled his eyebrows.

“William,” she touched his arm as she slowed and turned to face him.  “I can do this.  I can be a good wife to you, learn how to help you run this place, you know... bring your vision to life.”

“That’s only half of why I married you, Honey,” he said to her.

“The other half?”

“We’ll get to that in good time,” he smiled.  “Let’s eat something.  I’m starving.”

O
n the third morning of being Billy Joe’s wife, Pecola rose at the crack of dawn with him. While he showered before getting dressed, she seared a ham steak, scrambled up some eggs, and reheated two of the remaining angelic biscuits. A brimming hot cup of coffee was being placed upon the table when her husband came into the kitchen.  The surprise on his face at seeing his wife awake was evident.

Her surprise at being awake was more of a shock to her than anyone.  Once more, she had not slept well.  Each time she turned, Billy Joe pulled her in closer to him.  Spooning wasn’t the word for how he held her all night.  Every attempt to move to her side of the bed was ended by a large muscular arm that drug her back into the warm well of manliness she called husband.  At one point, she began to feel sympathy for the cartoon character that was mistaken for the bunny rabbit by the abominable snowman named George. Especially after Billy Joe turned over, smacking her hard on her ass.  This is also the reason she was awake looking like Hell had shown up and done her hair.

“I thought I would help you start this Thursday morning,” she smiled at him.

“A better start to the morning would have been a little jostling before I left the bed,” he grinned, accepting the cup of coffee.

“You’ll do better with the scrambled eggs,” she told him. She held onto the robe she wore, cinched tight about her waist with a corded tie, for mental support. The cup she held had no coffee since it was her intention of heading into the guest room to go back to sleep on a bed that didn’t complain every time a body moved.

He ate in silence, never taking his eyes off of his new bride.

“What?” she asked with a sleepy frown.

“You are a mighty fine-looking woman, Pecola Johnson,” he told her.

This was the first time she’d heard her new name. “Pecola Johnson,” she repeated. “I like it.”

He cut a bit of the ham steak and shoved it into his mouth. “Can I ask you something, Honey?”

Words were not her friend before the sun came up; Pecola only nodded her agreement. Maybe she should have waited until after lunch to answer her husband.  He barreled on wanting to know, “How long before...I mean...when do you think we should start working on making some babies?”

Had she been drinking something this would have been the perfect point to spit it out across the room. “I’m sorry. I am still asleep.  What?”

“Are you still taking a contraceptive or was our first time together possibly the start of our new family?” he asked, looking her squarely in the face.

Her lips were pressed tightly together when she answered him.  “I am still taking something,” she confessed. Her eyes were down when she responded.

“How long are you going to continue to take it?  I mean it has to get out of your system and all,” he told her.

“True.  The marriage contract states the child has to be conceived in the first year, so technically, we can begin trying in August,” she hoped her words would reach his heart instead of simply his ears.

“Why so long?”

“I want a few months to dig into this life, focus on your vision, and get it off the ground and moving in the right direction.” Her words were not flying.  She took another approach. “Selfishly, I want you to myself before I have to share you with someone else.  I want time to fall head over heels in love with you.”

He stopped chewing.  He made a loud sound as he sucked at his tooth. “Fair enough, but can we agree that you will stop taking the contraceptive at the end of May?”

She wasn’t so sleepy that she was unable to negotiate. “Can we compromise and I stop taking it at the end of June?”

“Mid-June.”

Pecola watched him finish the meal, rising from the table to wash his plate in the sink.  Firm butt cheeks filled the seat of the worn out Wranglers. Powerful thighs carried him back to the table as he sat and pulled on his boots.  It did not escape his notice that she had not responded.

With measured steps, booted, he walked over to her end of the table, taking her by the hand and tugging until she was standing. He pulled at the cords of her robe, allowing the material to fall open and expose the cute little pink nightgown he wanted to rip off her body so he could have her on the kitchen table. Already he was late, but this was important. Heirs to the Johnson land were important.

A warm hand went to her belly, pressing softly into the firm flesh. “The next generation of Johnsons on this land in the new year is critical to
our
vision.  You are the bearer of my future. Everything that I am. Everything that I shall be is dependent upon you bringing forth new life on this land.  We...,” he paused. “...cannot afford wasteful minutes waiting for romanticized ideas about you falling head over heels in love with me. The love you have that got you across this country and into that marriage bed shall have to suffice.”

Those nurturing eyes were looking at her.  The thick black hair was shiny as he bent to his knees, lifting the nightgown to plant small kisses upon her belly. When he rose, his hands went to her face. “The idea of your belly swollen with my son chokes me up inside, Honey. Falling head over heels is easy when you let go of the fantasy and connect with the man.”

Pecola swallowed hard.  He grabbed her hand and placed it upon him real low, the worn zipper of the jeans pressing through the fabric into her hand. “With this, I can create a life that will grow inside of you,” he said to her.  He moved her hand inside of the worn blue shirt that had a hole in it. “I can also use this to spark life that will burst out of you to fill this home.”

The words were powerful pellets hitting her in the face like little sprays of desire. The saliva was coagulating in her throat as she tried to process the cleanliness of his words fueled by the passion in his voice. Those fancy words in his letters were what made her yearn at night to be beside him. ‘Our vision’ from those kissable lips in the breaking of the daylight touched something inside of her.  The litanies she’d made in the middle of the night to whatever deity could hear her concerns of whether or not this man was the right choice or not, had been answered.

“Okay,” she managed to get out.

“Okay what, Honey?”

“Okay to whatever in the Hell you want, Big Daddy,” she said to him.

He kissed her hard on the mouth before picking up his Stetson off the rack, reaching for the back door. “Get some sleep. I shall see you at lunch time,” he told her.

A nod of his head accompanied the tilt of his hat and he was gone. Since she was not going to be able to curse in his presence, there was nothing to stop her from saying what she thought in an empty house.

“Holy fuck balls!” she yelled out loud. “What a man!”

S
omewhere after 9 am, Pecola rose from the guest bed and dressed in a soft pink, loose-fitting dress to start her day for the second time. This go around, the coffee cup in her hand was full of hot chicory coffee that was strong enough to put hairs on her butt yet also good, eye-opening and robust. She placed a warmed piece of ham inside a sliced biscuit.  Today, Pecola was determined to go out the front door to see the front of her new home.

“If I were kidnapped, I wouldn’t even know how to get home, let alone know the house looks like,” she said as she opened the front door.  The first steps onto the front porch were as marvelous as stepping onto the back one; the beauty of the land was awe-inspiring. She walked into the largest front yard she’d ever seen in her life and rolling fields of wildflowers danced across the verdant landscape.  A long, winding dirt road meandered across the property and seemingly dropped off into the middle of the horizon.  The white picket fence only went part way down the lane, whereas the mountains seemed to encapsulate the land around the yellow home, almost hugging it in a protective embrace.