She continued to grope through the
darkness, moving the lantern ahead as she worked her way around the
washtub in ever-widening circles, trying to retrace her steps in
her memory. But all she could remember was Luke, there in the yard,
looking at her underwear, and then taking off his shirt. Luke,
splashing his face with water when Cora’s crude soap had burned his
eyes. She remembered the feel of his nape under her hand, warm and
firm with tendons.
Her hands were muddy and her dress was
soaked at the knees from the wet grass. There was no point in going
on—she’d have to face Luke and tell him the ring was lost. She put
her hand flat to the ground to push herself to her feet, and felt
something sharp dig into her palm. Yanking the lantern closer, she
saw a yellow gleam poking up from the mud. Thank God! With a
muffled cry of relief, she plucked the band from its hiding place
and wiped it off on her skirt.
Then she pressed the ring to her lips
and put it back on her little finger.
~~*~*~*~~
Emily bided in a borderline country, a
restless, edgy place where there waited a tall, slim man with dark,
curly hair. His torso was bared to the sun, his dungarees hung low
on his hips. He considered her with the eyes of a lover, eyes that
beckoned, drawing her closer. She stood before him wrapped only in
a bridal veil made of silk illusion, lighter than a spinner’s web,
softer than eiderdown. She walked into his embrace and his hands on
her back pressed her to his warm, naked skin, while his lips
traveled down her throat, from her ear to her
collarbone.
You’re beautiful, Emily,
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
seen . . .
His lips moved against her nape as he
spoke, his hands explored her silk-clad body, gentle, demanding,
intimate—
Emily woke with a start, disoriented
and sleepily aroused. Morning had barely broken—she could make out
only the vaguest silhouettes of the furniture. Even in her drowsy
state, the memory of her dream both embarrassed and made her long
to return to it. But something had awakened her, a
jarring—
Tata-tata-tata!
From the wall behind her came a sharp,
rattling noise.
Dear God, what was that? She’d never
heard anything like its staccato sound and it was right next to her
head. She clutched the bedclothes to her chin, her heart hammering,
and scrambled to the center of the mattress to stare at the
offending wall.
Her sleep-fogged mind grappled with a
fearsome notion. Snakes—they had snakes out west didn’t they?
Rattlesnakes. One day in class Emily had confiscated a dime novel
from one of her students. She could scarcely credit that a young
woman would have an interest in such lurid, undignified fiction,
and had delivered a proper lecture about proper reading material.
The Brontë sisters, Jane Austin, Louisa May Alcott, these authors
wrote suitable stories for young ladies. But after school, that
rebellious, wicked part of Emily had made her look at the cheap
volume. It had talked about rattlesnakes in the West.
Tata-tata-tata!
She didn’t know what one sounded like,
exactly, but there was something in the wall and she wasn’t going
to wait for it to break through and introduce itself.
She leaped from her bed and looked
around the nearly-dark room, trying to decide how to proceed.
Fumbling with a match, she lighted her bedroom lamp on the dresser
and flung open her trunk to pull out her black twill umbrella. It
wasn’t much of a weapon—the handle was nothing but Dresden china.
But it had a sharp point and it was all she had at the moment. With
no little trepidation, she peered into the corners looking for a
hole in the plaster from which the viper might escape, holding the
closed umbrella before her as if it were Excalibur. Nothing. The
sharp rattle came from the wall again. That was enough for Emily.
She could not fight a snake with her puny weapon.
The protagonist in the dime novel had
blown off the rattlesnake’s head with a shotgun after it had sunk
its terrible fangs into the leg of his companion. The friend then
died an agonizing death.
She should get Luke. He’d have a
shotgun, wouldn’t he? All farmers had shotguns, to kill things like
game and, and— At least he would know what to do. Snatching her
shawl at the end of the mattress, she threw it over her nightgown
and scurried into the hall, barefoot and still gripping her
umbrella. Pausing in front of his closed door, she glanced
fearfully at her room again as if a demon from the Pit lurked
there. She tapped on the oak.
“
Mr. Becker?” she
murmured.
No response. She knocked again, harder
this time.
From within, she heard shuffling
across the floor and unintelligible mumbling. The door swung open
and she found herself face to face with a man who almost made her
forget the main reason she’d come to him. Sleep-rumpled and wearing
only the quilt from his bed around his middle, Luke looked at her.
His hair stuck up in places and his pillowcase had left creases on
one side of his stubbled face.
“
Emily, what in the
hell—”
Emily felt her jaw drop at his near
nakedness. What had she expected, that he’d come to the door fully
dressed? She’d gotten the man out of bed, for heaven’s sake. But
she didn’t know where to let her gaze fall—to the broad expanse of
his chest, on his long muscled legs and bare feet, or on those eyes
that even now felt as if they bore through her heart and down to
her soul. That was silly, of course, a remnant of a feeling left
over from her shameful dream. “I-I’m so sorry to disturb
you.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the
window behind him and waved off the apology. “I overslept anyway.
What’s the matter? Are you all right?” he asked, his voice froggy
and utterly disarming.
She tightened her shawl and spoke in
hushed tones to avoid disturbing Rose and Cora. “There’s something
in my room.”
He glanced down at the umbrella.
“What—rain?”
“
N-no, I think it’s a
snake.”
He peered at her as if she’d taken
leave of her senses. “A snake.”
“
Yes, a rattlesnake.” She
felt fairly confident about that. She simply wasn’t equipped to
vanquish the thing. “I don’t know how it got in there, but I heard
it in the wall. Please come. We’ll need a weapon to kill
it.”
He rubbed his jaw as he considered
her. It made a sandpapery sound against his work-roughened hand. It
seemed as if he could see right through her nightgown, and suddenly
she realized that she wore little more than he did. Now she found
herself torn between two fears—that of the serpent in her bedroom
wall, and of the feelings Luke aroused in her by just standing
there, looking at her.
“
Emily, ma’am, we don’t have
rattlesnakes in this part of the state. Are you sure you weren’t
just dreaming?”
Yes, she’d been dreaming but not about
reptiles. “Please, I know something dangerous is there,” she
whispered urgently.
He gestured at the quilt and she felt
her face flame. “All right, give me a minute to put on my
pants.”
He closed the door and Emily lingered
in the hall, feeling awkward. She fiddled with her shawl again,
wishing that she, too, were dressed. In a moment he emerged
empty-handed, wearing only his dungarees and suspenders, and still
barefoot. Somehow, this costume was every bit as unsettling as his
quilt had been.
He nodded at her and she led the way
to her bedroom.
Emily proceeded and began poking at
the wall with the china handle of her umbrella, trying to stir up
the snake again so Luke could find it. Maybe he thought she was
being silly, but she noticed that he hesitated in the doorway and
it surprised her. A big, strong man like him, for heaven’s
sake.
“
It’s in here someplace.”
She gave the wall another tap.
Luke did hesitate but not for any
reason that Emily could have imagined. Seeing her at his door,
dressed in a thin, white gown, her long, blond braid draped over
one shoulder, had stoked fires in him that caught him flatfooted.
Now the rising sun bathed her in pale gold-pink and glowed through
her gown, outlining long, shapely legs. How long had it been? he
wondered. How long since he’d held a woman in his arms, skin to
skin, felt her welcoming softness and warmth, and covered her with
his body? Years ago, long before Belinda had died. And now, here
was Emily Cannon, his legal wife, a woman he’d told he could offer
nothing other than his home and his
name . . . jabbing at the wall with her
umbrella. What a picture. He had to chuckle, despite the images
rolling through his mind and the feelings she stirred low in his
belly.
Tata-tata-tata!
She jumped back and pointed
triumphantly at a place above the white iron headboard. “There!
It’s up there!” She turned to look at him. “Will you attack from
here or get it outside?”
Luke rubbed his chin again, trying not
to laugh outright at her proud proclamation and her question. A
body would think she was discussing a military maneuver. “Emily,
that’s not a rattlesnake.”
She backed away from the noise, her
eyes wide. “Of course, it is! I’ve read all about them. They have
big fangs that pump poison into their victims. A person dies a
gruesome, agonizing death!”
“
It’s a
woodpecker.”
She gaped at him and then
swung her gaze back to the wall. “A woodpecker! You mean a
bird
?”
“
Yes, ma’am.”
“
Not a snake?” She seemed
disappointed.
“
No,” he laughed and folded
his arms over his chest. “There aren’t any rattlesnakes around
here. It’s too cold for them. There are some down by Albany, but
that’s about seventy-five miles south.”
She let the umbrella fall to her side
and wilted a little more. “Well, of all
the . . . ”
“
That bird is just looking
for something to eat. He’ll give up after he figures out he hasn’t
bored into a tree. I’m sorry he scared you.”
“
A woodpecker,” she
repeated, plainly amazed at her own gullibility. She glanced at the
wall again. “You must think I’m just a foolish, city-born
ninny.”
He stepped closer and took her upper
arms in his hands. Her shawl had slipped to the crooks of her
elbows. “No, I don’t think that at all. I think you showed real
bravery.”
She tipped her face up to his, and the
hopefulness he saw there was almost too painful to look upon.
“Really?”
“
Sure—not everyone would try
to do battle with just a parasol for a weapon.”
Now she smiled, a bit unwillingly at
first, but then let go with a full-fledged grin that he felt all
the way to the grieving core of his heart. “It was the first thing
I could think of.”
The morning sun highlighted her brows
and lashes, and turned her eyes to jade. She wasn’t a classic
beauty, but there was something about her pink, soft-looking mouth,
her straight nose, the smooth brow—oh, a lot of different little
things that added up to make her a handsome woman. Beneath his
hands, he felt the warmth of her skin radiate through her thin
gown. It would be so easy to kiss her. She was right here, tall
enough to reach without giving him a crick in his neck, yet
vulnerable in a way that made him feel protective of
her.
Then from the corner of his eye, he
caught a glimpse of the unmade bed. It was covered with a quilt
that he’d slept under many times, in this room for many years.
Memories of Belinda gripped him like a cold hand. Along with them
came a raging sense of guilt and disloyalty to his late wife.
Instantly, he released Emily’s arms and stepped back.
“
I’d better get to my
chores. Farmwork is a dawn to dark job, and I’m already getting a
late start.”
The spell between them was broken and
self-consciously, Emily covered herself with her shawl again. “Oh,
of course. Thank you for coming to my rescue. I’m sorry I got you
in here for nothing.”
Her turn of phrase sent his mind down
a dangerous path again, although he knew she wasn’t aware of its
double meaning.
Damn it, how long would this go on?
Once again, he wished there was some way to finally put the past
and its pain behind him. To move forward instead of letting his
years drift by like dry autumn leaves. Right now, he felt stuck in
a place where it seemed that all of life’s clocks had
stopped.
Just as he was heading out of Emily’s
room, Cora’s door opened. The astounded expression on her face
would have given Luke a good laugh if circumstances had been
different. He knew very well how it looked—Emily in her nightgown
right behind him, the unmade bed, and Luke barely dressed,
himself.
“
Well, this is a cozy turn
of events, isn’t it?” Cora said, putting a last hairpin in her bun.
“And what would Rose think if she saw this?”
He spoke the first words that came to
him, not thinking about how they would sound, only that they were
the truth. “She would think that her father and stepmother share
the same bedroom, Cora.” He brushed past her and went back to his
own room to finish dressing.