Time Tantrums

Prologue

Mariah

Colorado Territory—1872

Mariah Cassidy sat on the front porch and watched her husband, Frank, ride through the
gate
. The large Rocking C, the ranch’s emblem, cast a shadow across his face as he rode beneath it. His muscled thighs gripped the flanks of his huffing, black stallion, and his hat rested in that familiar rakish tilt. He certainly knew how to sit a horse.

Frank dismounted and gave the horse’s reins to a hired hand. He dusted himself off then turned and strode to the porch. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She smiled. “You were up bright and early. Would you like some breakfast?”

“No thanks. I already ate with the ranch hands, but... I might be interested in somethin’ else.”

Even after seventeen years of marriage, Frank’s innuendo embarrassed Mariah. Just a wink of one of his heavy-lashed, blue eyes made her heart flutter, but her desire for lovemaking never equaled his. She fretted about him leaving her to find satisfaction in the arms of another. Her mother had planted such deep-seeded inhibitions within Mariah that nudity made her uncomfortable. She loved being in his arms, but beyond that, her embarrassment got in the way of feeling free.

The same old thoughts niggled at her as she gazed into his face. Why didn’t she feel the same comfort with her body as Frank did with his?
Would
he be happier with someone else?
 
He deserved a wife with passion to match his own.
 
She massaged the creases in her brow.

“Mariah, did you hear me? Would you like to join me upstairs?”
 
He nodded toward the house.

She held up a silencing finger while guilt
niggled
her. “Hush. The children will hear you.”

* * * *

Taylor

Denver, Colorado—2002

Lost in thought, Taylor Morgan sat and stared at the stacks of files piled on her large mahogany desk. The sun barely peeked through the office window of the high-rise building and the dim lighting matched her somber mood. Had she remembered to kiss David before she left home
?
It seemed she was always in a hurry these days. Rushing to put on make-up, darting off without goodbyes, working late, and barely finding time for her husband—something had to change. She didn’t want a repeat of the argument she’d had with David last night.

The thud of his fist on the dining room table echoed in her head. When he expressed frustration, her body trembled, much the same as the silverware had. She’d never seen him so angry.

His words had cut through her like a knife. “We’re like ships passing in the night. All we do is work, eat and sleep. You’re so busy with your job that that’s all you think about. You don’t cook, you don’t clean... Good God, we only make love on your schedule, never mine. What if I don’t want to wait five years to have children?”

The thought of having a child made Taylor shudder. She’d labored hard to achieve the status she enjoyed at the law firm. Giving up
now
wasn’t an option. Still, what about David?
 
Didn’t he have a right to the family he wanted?
 
She felt so conflicted. What if her husband wasn’t willing to hang around until she determined the time felt right?

If only there was a way to compromise. She nodded. Making David a priority seemed a good start if she wanted to save her marriage. Tonight, she’d leave work early, go home, and make dinner. A few candles, a bottle of wine—David would be pleasantly surprised.

She picked the most pressing files from her desk and threw them into her briefcase, planning to peruse them while she cooked. Grabbing her jacket from the chair, she slung it over her shoulder and reached the door when the urgent buzzing of her intercom summoned her back. She leaned over the desk and mashed a button with her fingertips. “Yes?”

 
“Ms. Morgan,” her secretary responded, “Mr. Abernathy requests that you join him in the conference room right away. The senior partners have called an emergency meeting.”

“I’ll be right there.” Taylor plopped her briefcase back on the desk. She straightened her collar and smoothed her skirt then took a deep breath.

Maybe tomorrow, David, maybe tomorrow.

Chapter One

Mariah Cassidy awoke to whinnying horses outside her bedroom window. She rolled over, propped herself on an elbow and pushed the lace curtain aside. Despite the morning sun’s blinding glare, she saw Frank, and several ranch hands moving animals from the corral toward the west pasture. The clock in the parlor downstairs chimed seven times.

Her mouth gaped. Surely, it wasn’t that late already. Why hadn’t Frank roused her?
 
Normally she had breakfast over, the dishes washed and put away. She threw aside the colorful patchwork quilt and scooted off the bed. Where were the children?

After pulling her sage green gingham dress over her head, she smoothed it down over her petticoat and stepped into her shoes. She poured water from a pitcher on the washstand into a matching white porcelain bowl and dipped a cloth into the cool liquid. Leaning closer to the wall mirror, she inspected her face. Oh, those dratted lines and wrinkles!

It bothered her to be thirty-five—especially being wed to the most handsome man in Colorado. But aging was inevitable, so she hurriedly finished washing then pulled her long auburn hair back and twisted it into a bun. In the privacy of their bedroom, Frank loved seeing her hair down, but for housework and all the other chores around the ranch, it wasn’t practical or acceptable. She tucked a wayward strand behind her ear then hurried off to the kitchen to start breakfast.

The Rocking C kept everyone in the family busy. Callie helped with the washing, cooking and cleaning, and Jacob fed the chickens, cleaned the barn and did whatever else his father determined. Whatever time left in the day was devoted to studying at home. The closest school was hours away.

Mariah walked by her fifteen-year-old daughter’s room, surprised to see Callie still sleeping. Was Jacob up?
 
Why in the world had Frank left them in bed? He usually maintained strict rules about the children getting their chores done in a timely manner. Puzzled by his behavior, Mariah stuck her head in the doorway.
“Callie dear, time to get up.
We have things to do.”

With the same red hair, green eyes and fair complexion, she reminded Mariah of herself when she was younger.
The
 
marked
difference: a spattering of freckles across her daughter’s nose and cheeks, and Callie hated them. Jacob had twice as many, but they looked cute on a ten-year-old boy.

Her daughter rolled over and squinted, her eyelids heavy from sleep. Pushing her quilt away, she stretched her arms over her head. “Be right down, Ma.”
 
Her words slurred in a yawn. “Soon as I get dressed and comb my hair.”

Mariah went into Jacob’s room. The usual mess littered the floor: clothes strewn about, boots left where he walked out of them, and the odor of a youngsters sweat and dirt lingered in the air. She crossed to the bed and ruffled his curly red hair. “Jacob... Jacob, wake up. Pa expects you to get your chores done. We’re going into town today. Remember?”

Jacob swatted her hand away. “Ah Ma, can’t a fella get any rest around here? As soon as I smell breakfast cookin’, I’ll get up. ‘Sides, I got plenty of time to get my chores done.”

Mariah left him still snuggling beneath his quilt and looking angelic. She chuckled as she went downstairs to the kitchen. “Can’t a fella get any rest?”
 
Where did he come up with such things?

She pulled a heavy cast iron skillet from the oven and plopped it atop the stove—a surprise gift from Frank. He’d ordered it from the mercantile catalog then drove the wagon two days to pick it up and bring it back in time for their anniversary. She enjoyed being married to such a thoughtful man, and thankful she didn’t have to cook on the hearth anymore. Of course she wasn’t the only one to reap the benefits; her family did, too.

The bacon turned crisp and brown, and eggs
sizzled
sunny side up in hot grease. Mariah cupped her mouth. “Callie, Jacob, come down. Breakfast is almost ready.”
 
She pulled biscuits from the oven.

Her daughter stumbled into the kitchen, still half-asleep. She stifled a yawn while she held out her plate for Mariah to fill.
“Smells good, Ma.
Sorry I slept in this morning. I stayed up late reading my history primer.”

Mariah smiled. “You’re excused. At least you have a good reason for being sleepy. I like that you’re eager to learn.”

 
Jacob was another story. Getting him to study was like milking a stubborn cow. Nothing but predictable, he'd race down the stairs at any moment, following his nose. As anticipated, he entered the kitchen like a whirlwind. Unruly curls hung past his eyes, and his shirt gaped from improper buttoning. He snatched up a plate and stood behind his sister, peering around her. “Don’t eat all the bacon, Callie.”
 
He gave her a shove.

 
“Jacob!
 
There’s plenty to go around. No need to act like a heathen.”
 
Mariah stifled a grin, wiped her hands on her apron, and knelt in front of him. “When are you going to learn to fasten your shirt the right way?” Her fingers worked to redo his buttons. “And stop fidgeting!”

"But, Ma…."

 
Before he protested his starvation, she rose, filled his plate and set it on the table. "Sit and eat!"

Deciding to skip breakfast, she settled for a cup of coffee from the pot Frank had left simmering at the back of the stove. She filled a mug with the aromatic brew and sat down with the children.

“Callie
honey, when you’re through eating, get
the kitchen cleaned up, and Jacob, before you go outside,
please
clean your room. It’s worse than the pigsty outside.”

“Smells like one, too,” Callie interjected.

Mariah raised her brow. “Never
you mind
, Callie, just eat and keep your comments to yourself.”
 

Jacob stuck his tongue out at his sister.