Rocky Mountain Wife (14 page)

“Joshua?” The gentle melody of Claire’s voice sailed on the ever-present breeze.

He straightened up, whipping around to see her picking her way along the fence line, a small basket slung from the crook of one arm. Her hair was down in twin braids, bouncing over her round breasts. She was beautiful with her slender hourglass figure and her summery dress fluttering around her ankles. A sunbonnet framed her lovely face, and she looked so appealing, his fingers twitched. He wanted to brush those soft tendrils away from her big blue eyes and plant his mouth on hers one more time.

In truth, he wanted to lay her down in that bed of hers and touch her the way she’d been touching herself.

“I brought your lunch.” She held up the basket. “You look too hot, Joshua. The sun is too intense. You need to take a break in the shade.”

“I’ll be fine.” He wasn’t used to anyone fussing over him. He swept off his hat and tromped over to meet her. “You don’t have to feed me every meal, you know.”

“I’m your wife. That’s what wives do.” Dark circles bruised the delicate skin beneath her eyes, but her smile shone bright and polite. “Not to mention, as your business partner I don’t want you collapsing from the heat or losing momentum because you’re hungry.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I accept.” He didn’t want her to get into the habit of caring for him like this. “That smells good.”

“Chicken sandwiches and some sweet tea.” She handed over the basket. Tension pinched the corners of her eyes. “There’s a jug of water in there, too. Make sure you drink up.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” Words seemed to stick in his throat, so he didn’t say more. “I’ll bring the basket in when I’m done.”

“Bring it with you when you come for supper. I picked up a roast in town today when I was looking for work.”

“Work?” He nearly dropped the basket.

“You are not going to provide for me and Ivy.” Her chin went up.

“Actually, I am. That’s what I agreed to do when we met in the church and exchanged those vows. Remember?” He found himself smiling at her.

“Oh, I remember quite well, thank you. I’ll be working at the dress shop three mornings a week.” A dimple cut into her cheek as she winked at him. “I’m just lucky that Miss Simpson was short an employee. It’s not full-time work, but it’s enough to put food on the table.”

Their gazes met, and he felt the impact rock through him. The tension returned to her face—the set of her jaw, the pinch around her eyes and the way her lips compressed as if she good and well remembered that kiss and was unhappy about it.

It was nearly all he could think about. Desire built, firing him up. He couldn’t explain why every single time he saw her, he wanted her even more. She was a fever in his blood.

“Remember what I said about the sun.” She turned on her heel, breaking the hold she had on him. Her braids snapped as she walked briskly away. “I don’t want to have to come out here searching for your dead body when you don’t show up for supper.”

“If I do succumb to heat stroke, I’ll have the good sense to bring myself in out of the field first.”

“Good to know you have some common sense.” She shot a small smile over her shoulder, and there was softness in her eyes. She studied him one last time before hurrying away.

He wanted much more than a business relationship with her. Much, much more.

He pulled out the cloth napkin from the basket, uncovering two small crocks, two wrapped sandwiches and a half-dozen sugar cookies. She was too good to him, and it got to him. No one, not since he was a small child, had ever treated him this well.

She was special to him. That was a fact he couldn’t deny. His chest warmed with great tenderness. He wasn’t starting to fall for her, was he?

In the parlor, Claire carefully folded the pair of lace gloves and set them in the hamper. She covered them with a dust cloth before closing the lid. There. All of her wedding things were packed and ready to go back to her friends. Her heart warmed, remembering how wonderful they had been on that difficult morning.

“Claire?” Ma’s voice echoed through the house. The kitchen screen door squeaked open and slapped shut.

“In here.” Claire lugged the hamper off the ottoman and carried it to the entryway. “Did Ivy come in with you?”

“No, she’s still hanging upside down from the maple tree.” Ma rounded the corner looking chipper. “I swear that girl reminds me so much of you at that age. Always swinging and climbing on things. I was worried what kind of lady you would grow up to be. Maybe a circus performer.”

“Then Clay showed up, and I forgot all about the circus.” It had been an old joke of theirs from her childhood, and it felt good—wonderful—to laugh again. All the warmth of her memories of Clay’s tender courtship seemed to brighten the day. “I suspect Ivy will turn out all right.”

“Only because she has me to guide her.” Ma winked, untying her sunbonnet. “I was a good influence on you, after all.”

“Yes, you are the only reason I turned out as well as I did.” Claire gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I have cold roast sliced for sandwiches. I told Joshua to come in for lunch. He’s so far out in the fields, I don’t want to even think about you walking all that way to take him his lunch.”

“I’m still spry.” Ma grinned. “But I appreciate the cool shade of the porch more and more the older I get. I can’t believe the progress he’s made. He must be the hardest working man I’ve ever met. Do you feel better about marrying him?”

“He wasn’t the problem.” Her heart began to ache again. Maybe it always would.

A knock rapped on the front screen door, and Joshua towered on the other side looking very rancher-like in his Stetson, blue muslin shirt and denims.

“I have your wagon hitched.” He tipped his hat to her. “Say, that looks heavy. Let me carry it.”

“It’s not that—” she began to argue, but the screen swung open and he filled the doorway. His masculine presence shrank the room. Her entire body tingled from head to toe—especially her private parts.

“I’ll just get this anyway.” He hefted the hamper handily. His dark hair tumbled down from beneath his hat, wind-tousled and sexy. Like he’d just woken up from a long nap—naked.

Maybe that’s the way he would look in my bed.
The stray thought popped into her head, and she blushed. She couldn’t help picturing him with his shirt off and stretched out on her bed, his sun-browned skin dark against her white sheets. A dark dusting of hair on his chest would trail down his abdomen, arrowing to where his thick shaft jutted—

“Claire?” A voice broke through her thoughts.

She blinked, and the entryway came into focus again. Joshua arched a brow.

“You just come out when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.” He nodded toward her and let the screen door slap shut.

She fidgeted uncomfortably, damp in an unmentionable place.

“What a nice man.” Ma sighed appreciatively. “Always a perfect gentleman.”

“Yes,” Claire agreed. A perfect gentleman. He hadn’t been the one standing there undressing her in his mind—no, that had been her. She was the guilty one undressing him. She couldn’t stop thinking about his—

“Have you two thought about having him move in here?” Ma asked innocently, slipping off her sunbonnet and carefully folding it.

“Ma! No. That’s not going to happen.” A bit of panic rose in her voice, mostly because the thought of Joshua in this house at night naked beside her, his hot, male body pressing against hers, pushing into her—

“I didn’t mean he’d move into your bedroom.” Ma sounded amused. “Goodness, I respect that you are still grieving Clay. I was thinking he could take one of the spare rooms. That way he could rent out his place. Maybe that would help with the finances and you wouldn’t have to work.”

“Ma, I don’t mind having a job.” She yanked her blue bonnet off its wall peg. “It keeps me independent.”

“You don’t want to let Joshua take care of you?” Ma sounded confused. “Isn’t that why you married him?”

“No. I married him for the house. That’s it.” She winced at the sound of those words, so hard and callous. That wasn’t how she meant it. Not at all. She just couldn’t stop picturing him naked.

Someone cleared his throat. Joshua stood in the doorway.

To her horror.

He looked strained. Wounded. He swept off his Stetson, his movements stiff, his strong body rigid. “I have the wagon hitched up for you. It’s ready to go.”

“Uh—” That’s all that came out of her mouth. The only sound she was able to make. She watched, heart pounding, regret building sharp in her chest, as he turned his back to her and retreated out the front door.

“He heard that.” Ma was distressed, coming to Claire’s side as they watched him stride quickly past the horse and wagon waiting for her at the hitching post. His step was powerful and quick.

“I know.” Miserably, Claire bowed her head, but her eyes kept watching him through her lashes, the man who was her husband.

His broad hands were fisted at his hips, emphasizing the steadfast line of his shoulders. This was the man who had saved her and her family from homelessness. This was the man who had protected her from Oliver Sanders’ unwelcome interest. Joshua had shown her nothing but kindness.

Guilt and shame gripped her hard. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know that. But does he?” Ma nodded and patted Claire on the back. “I know you are fighting to accept him in your life.”

“My heart just keeps dying when I try.” The truth tore at her.

“I understand.” Ma’s voice broke, full of love and pain. “But you’re going to be all right. Trust me. There is room enough in your heart.”

Claire’s vision blurred. She gave her mother a hug and held her for a moment too long. It was hard to let go. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Ma. Do you and Ivy have big plans?”

“We have an exciting afternoon in store. Ivy and I are going to play fort in the backyard.”

“Sounds fun. I’ll leave you to it.” Claire slipped outside into the heated day. With a wave to her mother, she crossed the porch, clomped down the steps and skidded to a halt.

Joshua sat on the wagon seat, waiting for her.

“No.” The word popped out before she had time to think about it. “No. You’re not driving me.”

“You might not want me for a husband, but you’ve got me.” His voice rang firm. “Driving their wives around is what husbands do.”

“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“I never said you weren’t, but I mean this as a courtesy to you, a sign of respect.” Although he sat there as strong as a mountain range, he somehow looked self-conscious.

Oh, I wish I could take back those words.
Claire slipped her hand in his much larger one. If only she could ignore the fierce pulse of her inner muscles the moment their skin touched.

Trying to pretend she wasn’t tingling between her thighs, she settled onto the seat next to him. Relieved when he let go, she busily smoothed her skirts over her ankles, trying to appear prim and proper when all she could remember was how hard she’d come fantasizing about him. “What about the field work?”

“I’m taking a break.” Without another word, he gathered the thick leather reins and sent Harold in a brisk walk down the drive. Wildflowers nodded in the breeze and the sun brightened, making it a flawless day. “Don’t worry. I’ll get everything done.”

“I’m not worried.” The words seemed to catch in her throat. “I’m sorry for what I said back in the house.”

“Don’t be. It was just the truth.” He read the sincere apology on her sweet face. He wondered how much sleep she’d gotten last night. Couldn’t be much, judging by the dark smudges beneath her eyes. She looked pale and, as she glanced down the road, troubled by things, and an intense urge rose up within him. He wanted to do his best by her. He wanted to fix her troubles. Most of all, he wanted to be sure she was safe. He’d felt that prickle of icy warning on the back of his neck a few more times when he’d been out in the field this morning.

He was a cautious man, so he didn’t mind driving her where she needed to go.

He cleared his throat. “You were just saying it like it is. I know you married me to keep your house. That was our deal.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have said it like that. As if you had no other value, because that’s not true.” She looked up at him with kindness in her eyes.

He could eat up that kindness. He was a tough man, some called him cold. Growing up the way he had, feelings hadn’t mattered, most of all his. But the way she looked at him, it melted something inside him.

“You are a good man, Joshua. That’s an incredibly valuable thing to be.” Her words sounded so sincere.

Words that got to him. Just dug right in.

Fight it,
he told himself.
Fight it with everything you’ve got.

He wasn’t going to care any more for her than he already did. It would be foolish. Disastrous. It was a one-way street.

“I have this fight in my heart.” She paused, her hand lighting on his knee. As if unaware of the contact, she continued on, her face marked by sadness. “I have been grieving Clay so hard.”

“I know.” He choked the words out, fighting his reaction to her touch. He imagined what it would be like if she slipped that hand up his thigh, trailing the denim to where he was getting hard for her.

“But I find myself respecting who you are,” she continued. “Even liking you. But—”

“I know. You can’t forget what I did. Neither can I.” His caring for her tangled up in his chest, a knot that could never be unraveled. “I should apologize for kissing you.”

“Oh, that.” She waved her hands, turning pink. She stared at the countryside passing by.

So many crops had been devastated by the thunderstorms and hail. He wasn’t the only one furrowing and planting his fields. He waved at a neighbor who looked up, a handful of seed in one hand.

The tangle in his chest remained.

“Just forget it. That’s best.” She fidgeted on the seat. “Let’s just leave it behind us. Although, you are a good kisser.”

“Am I?” He smiled at that. He didn’t know how that was supposed to make him feel. Her hand remained on his knee, resting there. “You’re pretty good yourself.”