Authors: Parting Gifts
He lifted his eyes from the page and studied the tranquil scene before him, regretting for a moment that a fire wasn’t needed in the hearth. How cozy it would be in the winter to hear the snap of burning logs, smell the smoke rising up the chimney, feel the warmth permeating the room. He wondered if Charles would be here then, to enjoy the family he’d created.
Yawning, Taylor struggled to her feet and toddled over to Charles. He lifted her onto his lap and pressed her head into the crook of his arm. Hannah scooted across the floor, placing herself against Maddie’s skirt. Maddie stopped reading in the middle of a sentence, placed the book on the table beside the chair, and reached for the child. Hannah eagerly took her place on Maddie’s lap and curled against her side. Maddie lifted the book and once more brought Tom Sawyer’s adventures to life.
Aaron was stretched out on his stomach, his chin digging into his palms, his elbows pressed against the hardwood floor. He glanced over his shoulder at Jesse. Smiling, Jesse flicked his head back and dropped the journal onto the floor. Aaron scrambled up and sat on the settee beside him. Jesse resisted the urge to pull the boy against him, to hold him as securely as Charles and Maddie held the girls. Aaron had definite ideas about how a boy his age should be treated, and his ideas didn’t include cuddling or affectionate hugs from his uncle. Jesse stretched his arm across the back of the settee.
Aaron chewed on his bottom lip as his gaze darted between Maddie and Jesse. When his gaze returned to him, Jesse raised a brow. Aaron squirmed before revealing in a hushed whisper, “I’m thinking I like her, Uncle Jesse. Jest a little. You reckon that’s all right? You think Ma would understand?”
Jesse looked across the room at the contentment on Charles’s face, the daughter who had fallen asleep in his arms, the woman who from time to time lifted her gaze from the pages of the book and smiled at Charles. Then he looked at Aaron. “Yes, I think she would. I happen to like her, too.”
“You do?”
Jesse nodded.
Aaron chewed on his lip once more. “A little or a lot?” “A lot.”
Aaron bobbed his head once before settling in against Jesse’s side and turning his attention back to Maddie and the story. “Yeah. I’m thinking I might come to like her a lot, too.”
The grandfather clock in the parlor rang the first of eight chimes. Maddie read the final words of the chapter and quietly closed the book. She glanced at the sleeping bundle of joy nestled within her arms.
“I guess it is about time for bed,” Charles said as he stood, careful not to waken Taylor.
Maddie set the book on the table, then shifted her body and scooted to the edge of the chair.
“I’ll get Hannah,” Jesse said as both he and Aaron got to their feet. He crossed the room in sure, long strides and dipped down to take the sleeping child from Maddie’s arms. He was slow in taking her, waiting until Charles left the room. “I’ll get your bath ready,” he finally said quietly as he lifted Hannah into his arms and strode out of the room.
Maddie had just finished braiding her hair when Charles returned from making sure everything was secure. She had changed into her nightgown and pulled her wrapper snugly around her. She was certain he wouldn’t suspect anything when she made her nightly ritual of checking on the children one last time. She thought he probably appreciated the few minutes alone when he got ready for bed.
He sat on the bed and heaved a sigh as he removed his boots. “Lord, I feel like a herd of horses trampled me today.”
Turning slightly in her chair, she studied him. He looked worn, as though his burdens had increased. She was suddenly very glad that she had a surprise to give him. Anxious to share it with him, she stood and walked to the door. “I’m going to check on the children one more time.”
Charles smiled at her as she slipped out the door.
Maddie tiptoed across the hall and quietly opened the door of the bedroom across from the one she shared with Charles. She peered inside. A low fire burned in the hearth, not enough to heat the room, but enough to keep her from shivering when she finished her bath. A wooden tub sat before the fire, the misty water emanating a flowery fragrance. Glancing quickly around the room, she noted that it had indeed been decorated for a fairy princess. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, and walked to the tub. She dipped her fingers into the warm water.
“Is it warm enough?”
She twirled around, only now seeing Jesse’s silhouette in the shadows. “Do you have to do that?”
He stepped out into the light. “Do what?”
“Sneak up on me.”
“I’m clear across the room.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “I think you just enjoy watching me jump.”
His smile was as warm as the water as he ignored her rightful conclusion and approached her. “Is it warm enough?”
“Yes, it’ll do nicely. Thank you.”
Reaching out, he took the hand she’d dangled in the water and brought it near his lips. She felt his breath fan her fingertips.
“You should always smell like this,” he said quietly before releasing her hand. “Enjoy your bath.”
He strode across the room, opened the door slightly, and halted. “You should wear your hair down.”
Maddie watched him slip out of the room and heard his steps fade as he descended the stairs. She crossed the room and quietly opened the door. The hallway was empty. She heard a distant door downstairs open and close. She hurried across the hallway and stepped into the girls’ room, then crossed over to their window. She slipped her fingers between the curtains and peered through the tiny opening she’d created, gazing into the yard that surrounded the back of the house. She watched Jesse walk slowly across the yard, his head bent, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his trousers. He stopped, glanced back at the house, then disappeared into the thick grove of trees.
She stood for long moments thinking about him: the way he had looked sharing a confidence with Aaron on the settee when he thought no one was looking; the warmth, the gladness she’d felt when she’d realized he’d been waiting for her in the Princess room. The loss she’d felt when he’d left the room. The greater loss now that she knew he’d left the house as well.
She retreated to the Princess room. She slipped off her clothes and lowered her body into the tepid water, only then realizing how long she must have lingered across the hall. She eased into the water until it lapped at her chin and the delicate scent surrounded her, reminding her of her quest to make her husband happy, a quest shared by one equally anxious to make Charles happy.
When the water grew cold, she rose, stepped from the tub, and dried off with the warm towel that had been set on a chair before the fire. She put her nightgown on and, carrying her wrapper, walked back across the hall to her own room.
Disappointment assaulted her when she saw that Charles had fallen asleep. She eased into bed, trying not to disturb him. Her surprise suddenly seemed insignificant. She remembered Jesse saying to wear her hair down and slipped out of bed. She loosened her braid and brushed her hair until it flowed smoothly down her back. Perhaps the surprise would be as nice for Charles when he awoke in the morning.
She returned to bed, lying on her back, her fingers intertwined across her stomach, her eyes focused on the ceiling. She did not want to lie in bed with her husband and think of his brother, but her mind seemed intent on traveling its own journey.
She remembered the sight of him as she’d stood watching the play of his muscles as he’d moved the tree from their path, the width of his shoulders, the way his back tapered down to meet his narrow hips. She remembered the strength of his embrace, tempered with gentleness, as he’d held her. The tenderness of his smile as he’d reminisced about Charles.
In the hotel room, Maddie had only vaguely understood when Charles had explained about giving other women nothing of equal value in return for their sacrifice. But this afternoon when she’d watched Jesse’s powerful body tamed, when she’d felt his comforting embrace, she’d glimpsed the magnitude of her sacrifice.
Taking a deep breath, Maddie stepped off the back porch. The coffee sloshed over the side of the cup she held in her hand. She halted, steadying her hand, steadying her nerves. She heard the resounding thud and crack as Jesse chopped the wood. Regaining her composure, she walked to the side of the barn and stopped when Jesse came into view.
His back was to her, his shirt hanging loosely over a nearby bush, his hat resting on top of it. His bronzed back glistened with the sweat of his labors as he swung the ax into a hunk of wood, brought the wood to the stump, worked the ax free, and with one deliberate swing, split the log into two pieces. Bending over, exposing a narrow band of white flesh as his pants strained with his movement, he picked up the pieces and tossed them onto a large pile of split logs before swinging his arm yet again and claiming more wood.
His actions were fluid, purposeful. Maddie had always thought poetry was restricted to words written upon a page, flowing smoothly, but watching Jesse work, she realized poetry existed in many forms. The rhythm of a man’s body, the rippling of his corded muscles as he labored could be as poetic, as pleasing as a well-written poem, could evoke emotions that touched one’s heart.
“I brought—” She stepped back as he spun around, his chest heaving with his exertions, his arm hanging loosely by his side, the ax held with the grip of his strong hand. With his free hand, he combed the damp hair back from his brow, his expression unreadable. She extended the tin cup. “I brought you some coffee.” She took a small step forward. “Since the coffee wasn’t made this morning when I went to the kitchen, I assumed you hadn’t had any.” She advanced another step. “I didn’t want you—”
“To spend the day in a foul mood?” he asked, raising a brow and one corner of his mouth.
She nodded, grateful for the slight teasing tone in his voice.
Jesse took the coffee, his fingers brushing against hers, taking note of the trembling cup, not certain if it was caused by her or him. He gulped some coffee, regretting that action as the steaming dark brew burned his tongue and scorched his throat. But the brief moment of pain served to take his mind off things he didn’t want to be thinking about: the reason for the pale blue half moons resting beneath her eyes, the reason she looked as though she hadn’t slept much during the night.
He didn’t want to acknowledge the envy coiling around his insides like a rattler preparing to strike whenever he thought about his brother lying in bed with this woman. He’d spent most of the night standing by the creek, watching the muddy waters, alone with his thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to be sleeping in his bed where the sounds of passion might ease out of one room, whisper along the hallway, and enter unwelcomed into his dreams.
He lifted the cup. “’Preciate it.”
Maddie’s gaze strayed to the damp hairs on his chest, the sweat visible beneath. How could she find something like sweat so appealing on this man? She lifted her gaze back to his. “I wanted to thank you for preparing the bath.”
A slight breeze rose up and brought the scent of forget-me-nots hovering around Jesse. He wondered how she could smell so fresh after a night of what was certain to have been unbridled passion. If she had come to him, smelling so sweet, her hair cascading around her …
He downed the remainder of the coffee, wishing it would bum his thoughts away as easily as it burned his tongue. Holding the cup out to her, he watched her small, delicate hand take the cup from his larger, coarse one.
“Yeah, well …” He turned back to the pile of wood he’d decided to tackle that morning in hopes of relieving the frustration that had haunted his night. “Any time you want a bath, just let me know, and I’ll haul the water up for you.”
“The surprise is over. I’m sure in the future, Charles won’t mind doing it.”
He slammed the ax into a piece of wood. “Charles doesn’t need to be hauling stuff around.”
“But Charles is my husband. He should—”
“He’s the owner,” Jesse said, turning on her. “I do the labor around here. He takes care of the books. If you need something lifted or some work done, you tell me.” He set the wood on the stump, worked the ax free, and brought the ax down.
Maddie watched the manner in which he worked, as though he was trying to drive something away. Probably her. “I don’t want to ask things of you. I don’t want you to resent my presence.”
“I don’t resent your presence,” he said as he buried the ax into another log.
“Did you stay away at night before I came?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his grip on the ax tightening.
“I heard the clock downstairs chime four times before you came to bed.”
Sweet Lord. Had Charles kept her awake all night making love to her? He plowed his hand through his hair knowing he would have done the same thing. If a man could get easily drunk just gazing into her eyes, what in God’s name would he feel buried deep within her? “I had something on my mind and couldn’t sleep. I walked down by the creek. Time got away from me. It had nothing to do with you.”
She lowered her gaze and then peered at him through her thick, golden lashes. “Texas Rangers aren’t supposed to lie.”
And this Ranger couldn’t very well tell her the truth, either: that he’d wanted to stay in that damn room and watch her bathe; had wanted to sponge the scented water over her body, lift her, smelling of forget-me-nots, from the water, carry her to the bed, and sip the glistening drops from her body.
He gave her what he hoped was a teasing grin. “I’m not telling a lie.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh! My biscuits!”
Jesse watched her run off, yelling something about a meal and his need to hurry and finish his chore. He buried the ax in the log. She was his brother’s wife, had exchanged vows with Charles that she intended to honor. He’d better make damn sure he stayed clear of her.
“Maddie suggested we take the day off and go on a picnic,” Charles announced to everyone sitting at the table.
The children squealed and clapped their hands.
After wolfing down the biscuits, Jesse had been concentrating on shoveling the syrup-drenched flapjacks into his mouth so he could fill his stomach and get out before his eyes betrayed him and strayed over to watch Maddie. As he slowly lifted his gaze, his eyes lit upon her and branded into his memory the image of her sitting with her hands in her lap and her eyes fastened on her plate. He shifted his gaze to Charles.
“We hoped you’d join us,” Charles said.
Jesse looked at his brother’s smiling face, the children anxiously awaiting his answer. He didn’t want to disappoint the children, but better to disappoint them than to do something he might later regret. “I think a picnic is a fine idea, but I’ll have to pass today. I have a lot of work I need to get done.”
“Surely, the work can wait. After all, it’s Saturday,” Charles said.
Jesse eyed his brother. “I didn’t get anything done yesterday because you sent me into town. I’ll take my day of rest tomorrow like everybody else.” His fork clattered as it hit the plate, and he stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things that need to be done.” He stalked across the room, grabbed his hat from the peg on the wall, and shoved it down low over his brow before pushing open the door.
He walked to the shed, picked up his hammer and bucket of nails, and walked away from the house. Whenever time allowed, he’d been erecting a wooden fence that would separate some of Charles’s land from the land Jesse had planned to graze his cattle on. He’d wanted a safe place for the children to play so he wouldn’t have to worry about them getting hurt by an angry bull.
He reached the unfinished fence and glanced down the length of it. He hadn’t made much progress on it, and he probably had no reason to finish it now that he no longer had the means to purchase the cattle. Still, he dropped the bucket among the weeds. Then he took off his shirt and hung it on a post. He clenched some nails between his teeth, picked up his hammer, and hefted one of the boards he’d brought to this spot months before.
And he began hammering. Hammering hard and fast while the sun beat down on him.
As the day wore on. Mother Nature became a cruel mistress. She made him sweat and then teased him with the gentlest of breezes that carried the laughter of children.
It didn’t seem to matter how hard he pounded the nails into the wood, the wind and the laughter drifted around him, calling to him, tempting him.
Yesterday, he’d listened to Maddie’s laughter, enjoyed her company, her smile, but she wasn’t his to enjoy. Her eyes weren’t his to get drunk on, her waist wasn’t his to put his hands around, her hair wasn’t his to run his fingers through. Her secrets weren’t his to share.
He had no right to wonder what it was about the aging posters on the wall that had taken the color from her face, to wonder what had happened in her past to put fear in her eyes at the oddest moments. She wasn’t his to protect, his to cherish. She belonged solely and exclusively to his brother, and when he was with her, he felt as though he was trespassing on sacred ground, wanting things he had no right to want.
Mother Nature was relentless, bringing a stronger wind that carried the children’s laughter before it had time to fade. He heard Charles’s deep laughter mingle with that of his children. He leaned on the top rail he’d just hammered into place. How long had it been since he’d heard Charles laugh?
He dropped the hammer into the bucket with the nails, jerked his shirt off the post, and started walking. He had no idea where they’d gone for their picnic, but their laughter carried on the wind was a map as accurate as any that had been charted by man.
He came upon them near a bend in the creek where the trees lined the banks and the water captured the sunlight.
“Jesse!” Charles waved from where he sat beneath a towering oak tree.
Maddie spun around, lost her footing, and slid down the muddy creek bank on her backside, hitting the cold water at the creek’s edge.
Bending at the waist, Aaron released a raucous laugh. “Uncle Jesse didn’t even clear his throat, Miss Maddie!” Imitating an otter, he lunged for the steep creek bank, sliding on his stomach, headfirst into the water. He came up spluttering and tossing his head around, his thick hair sending out droplets of water.
Maddie was struggling to climb the muddy bank when Aaron cupped his hands together and splashed her.
“Aaron Lawson!” She slid back into the water and advanced on Aaron, splashing him until he yelled for mercy.
Jesse dropped down beside Charles. Charles chuckled. “They’ve been doing that most of the afternoon, ever since they dug the rocks out of that area so they could slide without getting bruised or cut.”
Jesse watched Aaron and Maddie plop down on the creek bed, their laughter subsiding as they regained their breaths. She wore a pair of Charles’s pants, the legs rolled up to her knees, a rope keeping the pants around her waist. An old shirt was plastered to her body. Her bare toes stuck out of the water and her ankles were covered by the murky brown water.
Where the creek bank eased gradually to the water, the girls played in the mud with tin plates, cups, and tarnished spoons. Taylor stood, holding a plate, and waddled over to Charles. “Eat pie, Pa.”
Leaning back, Charles pushed out his stomach and scratched it. “I’ve had four already, Taylor. Think you’d best share this one with your Uncle Jesse.”
Jesse bestowed upon his brother a menacing glare as Taylor offered her creation to him. Gingerly, he took it, held it beneath his nose, and sniffed. “Smells good. Why don’t you run on and make me another one while I eat this one?”
Taylor’s brown eyes flashed with delight as she scurried to the muddy bank. Jesse scooped the mud out and flung it aside. Then he looked at the black mess coating his fingers.
Charles leaned forward. “Hannah! Don’t go in the water!”
Jesse quickly wiped his hand on the back of Charles’s shirt and smiled triumphantly as Charles voiced his objections to being used as a towel.
Drawing up a knee, Jesse rested his forearm on it as his fingers toyed with a tall weed. “You know those reward posters that McGuire keeps tacked on his wall near that corner he uses as a post office?”
“Yeah.”
“The sight of those posters seemed to upset Maddie yesterday.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Jesse stilled his fingers, his dark eyes scrutinizing his brother. “You’re not?”
“No. Her father and brother were killed during a stagecoach holdup. Maybe she recognized the men who did it.”
Jesse jerked up the weed and tossed it aside. “She mentioned that her brother died in her arms. Do you know when this happened?”
“A couple of weeks before I met her. Their deaths apparently left her with no means to provide for herself.”
Jesse winced under the flaying Charles delivered with his direct gaze, a gaze that provided redemption for Maddie’s presence in a brothel, a gaze that stated clearly that Jesse would have known had he bothered to ask why she had lowered herself to seek refuge at Bev’s.
“You think they were passengers on the stage?”
Disbelief washed over Charles’s face. “Well, hell yes. What else would they have been?”
Noncommittally, Jesse shrugged a shoulder. “She just seemed unusually frightened, that’s all.”
“I would imagine so. Wouldn’t you be if you saw a likeness of the man who killed your father and brother? Maybe she’s afraid he’ll come after her.” Charles bolted upright. “Do you think he would?”
Jesse shook his head. “If he’d had concerns about her causing him trouble, he’d have taken care of her when he killed her brother and father. On the other hand, if he’s not already wanted for murder, she could serve as a witness.”
Charles slumped back against the tree. “That’s the Ranger in you talking now.”
Smiling, Jesse stretched out on his side and rested up on an elbow. “Maybe.”
“Uncle Jesse!” Aaron cried. “Come slide with us!”
With exaggerated emphasis, he swept his head from side to side.
“Come on! It’s safe!”
Charles punched his shoulder. “Go on. Spend this afternoon being a young boy again.” “You do it.”