A Bride in the Bargain (29 page)

Joe fell asleep before she had a chance to give him the opium. She wasn’t surprised, though. He’d insisted on sitting up before the men arrived and staying up even after they left. Even now, he slept in an upright position.

He’d eaten mashed potatoes, rolls, and chicken soup. She had a suspicion, though, that Red had slipped him some chicken liver when she wasn’t looking.

Drying the last of the dishes, she stacked them on the shelves. Talk at dinner had been about Ronny’s ride to town and the retelling of a story Doc Maynard had entertained him with.

But Anna hadn’t paid much attention. Instead, she’d reflected on what Doc had pointed out earlier. She wasn’t God. She was a human being. A human being who loved her family.
Faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love
.

A huge weight lifted from her shoulders. There was no sin in loving someone. People all over the world loved each other. And that had nothing to do with the choices their loved ones made.

Papa had chosen to join the conflict knowing full well the risks. Leon had chosen to become a drummer regardless of what Anna did to hinder him. Mama had chosen to stop living long before Anna grew resentful of her mother’s withdrawal.

And Joe had chosen to chop down the chestnut in the dark and the rain. He could have just as easily chosen to go to bed. Either way, she had no control over his actions.

Removing her apron, she hung it across the handle of the oven door. If her love did not jeopardize those upon whom she bestowed it, then she was free to love anyone she wanted. Even Joe Denton.

She turned toward him. His head lay back against the pillows. A day’s worth of gold and brown whiskers covered the lower half of his face. Short, stubby lashes rested against his cheeks.

The bed linens pooled at his waist, leaving his beautiful torso exposed yet again. When she’d seen him washing, or soothed him with a cloth, or watched the doctor’s exam, she’d tried to look away or, at the very least, keep herself somewhat detached.

Now, however, she looked her fill. She looked at him as a woman who admired him. Desired him. Loved him.

He’d asked her to marry him. And not because he had to, but because he wanted to. If he had to get married, and chose to enter into a loveless marriage, then he could have married Mrs. Wrenne.

But he’d said he would sever his betrothal to her. And though Anna was certain Mrs. Wrenne would be disappointed, she knew the woman didn’t have feelings for Joe. She was clearly still in love with her dearly departed husband.

Anna turned down the lanterns and approached Joe’s bed. The fire cast his face in patches of shadow and light. “Come, Joe,” she whispered. “It’s time to lie down.”

His eyes opened, unfocused, confused.

“Lie down.” She tugged on the pillows behind him.

He scooted down, rolled onto his side, and fell immediately back asleep.

The love she’d fought and ignored and hidden burst through its barriers, filling every corner of her being.

“If you ask me again,” she whispered, tucking the covers around him, “I’ll say ‘yes.’ ”

She placed a light kiss on the top of his shoulder, then made her way up the stairs. And even though her body was tired, her soul, for the first time in years, was light.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FIVE

Red poked his freckled head inside the door. “Miss Ivey said you have to stay in bed a week.”

Joe looked up from his book,
The Three Musketeers
, and waved his friend inside. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Since when have you ever done what the doctor ordered?” Red pulled up a chair beside the bed.

“Since it suited my purposes.” He glanced at the window. “Anna still pouring coffee out there?”

Red nodded and produced three pilfered doughnuts from his jacket pocket and handed them to Joe.

Joe wasted no time in taking a bite. “Well, nursing seems to agree with her, and my time is running out. So I figured if I stayed in the house for a week, I could concentrate on my efforts to woo her.” He stuffed the rest of the doughnut in his mouth.

“Think it’ll work?”

Swallowing, Joe nodded and ate the next one.

Red leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his expression grave. “The boys have grown rather fond of her.”

“You telling me I have some competition?” he asked, eating the third.

“No. I’m telling you that if you plan on compromising her somehow in order to get her to wed you, you’re gonna have a bunch of fellows to answer to, and I’ll be at the front of the line.”

Joe lifted his brows. “I hope you’re jesting, because if you really think I’d do that, we’ll have to talk with our hands.”

Red’s shoulders relaxed. “Glad to hear it.”

“You can’t tell the boys why I’m staying abed, though. If Anna got wind of it, it would ruin everything.”

“They’re never going to believe a little bump on the head would lay you low for a whole week.”

“They won’t have any choice.”

“They’re not chuckleheads, Joe.”

“Just the same, I don’t want you saying anything.”

Anna burst through the door, gripping three coffeepots by their handles in one hand, a fourth pot in the other, an arrangement that never failed to alarm Joe.

“You can’t be through, Red,” she said. “The hot cakes are coming up next.”

He rose to his feet. “No, miss. I won’t pass up the hot cakes. I was just checking on Joe.”

“I’ll see to him. You don’t need to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried, exactly.” He gave Joe a smile. “Don’t overdo, now.”

Joe gave him a salute, then returned to his book.

He hadn’t really thought about how much work Anna did each day. Already this morning she’d scrubbed pots, bowls, plates, and cups. Now she ran hot soapy water over a dishpan of silverware, then rinsed it in scalding water.

He felt guilty watching. Especially since he was perfectly fine. He’d made it to the privy without incident. Ate everything Anna had served him for breakfast as well as the doughnuts Red had sneaked him. The lump on his head had diminished quite a bit. And his headache was nothing more than a distant throb.

He desperately wanted to get out of bed. But that would be at cross purposes with his plan. So he tried to read. With Anna slamming in and out, though, he couldn’t concentrate. Finally, he closed his book.

She’d drained the utensils and left them to dry on a cloth. Picking up a bucket of hot water, she headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I need to wash the table, sweep the yard, and start on the potatoes.”

“The potatoes? But breakfast just ended.”

She smiled. “Your loggers eat a lot of potatoes. Almost a pound per man.”

“Per day?”

“Per day.”

He frowned. “My garden doesn’t have that kind of supply.”

“I give Red a list of things I need every Saturday before the boys go to town.”

Joe knew she did that, of course, but he’d never paid much attention to her list. A pound per day, per man. That was a lot of potatoes to prepare.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

The question surprised her almost as much as it did him. “Perhaps. We’ll see how you feel.”

Then she was out the door.

Half an hour later, the two of them had massive bowls of potatoes in their laps—him on the bed, Anna in a chair beside him. He eyed her bowl. She was on her second-to-last potato and he’d barely made a dent.

He quickened his pace. Anybody who could bring down redwoods ought to be able to peel a few potatoes faster than some puny female.

He nicked himself, sucked on his finger, then resumed his task. “What’s after the potatoes?”

“I scrub the floor.”

“And after that?”

“I eat breakfast.”

He stilled. “You haven’t eaten yet?”

“No. I don’t like to eat until I have time to enjoy it.”

He glanced at the stove. There was nothing on it.

“What do you eat?”

“I have a plate of cinnamon rolls and bacon set aside.”

“What about eggs and doughnuts and potatoes and oats and hot cakes?”

Standing, she shook peelings from her apron. “I’m not a lumberjack, Joe. A cinnamon roll and a couple of slices of bacon is all I need.” She noted his four peeled potatoes and raised a brow. “Is that all you’ve done this whole time?”

He scowled. “Don’t you have a floor to scrub?”

Smiling, she set her potatoes on the table and swept up the peelings. He continued to work as she tossed a bucket of hot soapy water on the floor, then switched back and forth with her broom. By the time she’d rinsed the floor in the same manner, he was finishing his task, careful not to let any peelings fall from his bed to her clean floor.

“Thank you,” she said, collecting the bowl.

“You’re welcome.” He snagged her fingers. “You smell good.” He wondered if she’d made a sachet with the twinflowers she’d dried.

Blushing, she fiddled with her watch pin. She wore the blue gingham today, her hair bound in the back with a ribbon to match. “You going to eat something, now?”

She nodded.

“Will you sit by me while you do?”

Hesitating, she glanced at his chest. “Will you put your shirt on?”

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “I was hoping to shave first.”

“I’m not sure that’s such good idea. What if you get lightheaded standing up like that?”

Pretending to consider her words, he let out a long sigh. “Yes. I suppose you’re right. It sure does itch, though.”

She glanced at his shaving instruments. “What if I hold the mirror for you? Then you could shave right here.”

He brightened. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, eat something first. Then, we’ll give it a try.”

Anna tried to hold the mirror still, but she could not completely suppress the tremors besetting her. Always before, she’d taken only surreptitious peeks at him when he shaved. Now she had front-seat viewing.

The tangy smell of his shaving cream hung like a cloud around them. He angled his head to one side and painted white, frothy lotion on his cheek, jaw, and neck.

Dipping the brush back in the bowl, he glanced up at her. “Is your arm getting tired?”

“No. What about yours?”

He hesitated. “I’m all right.”

But he wasn’t. She could see that the entire affair was taxing his strength. She bit her lip. She should never have let him help with the potatoes. Clearly it had been too much. And now, after he’d sharpened his razor and mixed up his lotion, he could barely lift his arm.

She lowered the mirror. “Perhaps it would be best if I did that for you.”

He considered her offer for a long moment, then handed her the brush and bowl.

With an air of unconcern, she whipped up the lather and began to spread it on in long, straight strokes.

He placed his hand over hers. “Circles. It’s better if you swirl it on in circles.”

He demonstrated, guiding her motions, then released her. The tips of his fingers brushed her arm on their way down. Bumps covered her skin and the hairs on her arm rose.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No. Yes.” She swallowed. “A little.”

He kept his eyes on hers. She kept her eyes on what she was doing. Finally, she set the bowl and brush down, then reached for the razor.

Frowning, he eyed the blade. “Have you ever done this before?”

“No. Never.”

He pressed himself back into the pillows. “Maybe I’d better do this part.”

“You can barely lift your arm, Joe.”

“I’m feeling better now.”

She
tsked
. “I can do it. How hard can it be?”

“It’s not hard, exactly, but it does take a steady hand and a smooth touch.”

“I can do it.” She placed a finger on his chin and lifted.

The closer she came with the razor, the more alarmed his expression until his eyes rolled like a spooked horse. A giggle bubbled up from inside her.

He grabbed her wrist. “Stop. Your hand shakes when you do that.”

Her giggle turned into a laugh. And the more she tried to stop, the more tickled she became.

He wrenched the instrument from her hand. “Hold the mirror. I’ll do it myself.”

“No,” she gasped, clutching her side. “I’ll stop. I will.”

He raised a brow, sending her off into another round of laughter. When she finally settled down, he was trying to hold the mirror with one hand and shave with the other.

She grasped the mirror. “I can do it.”

“No thank you.”

She shook her head. “For a big, strapping fellow, you sure are skittish.”

“I happen to value my jugular.”

She smiled. “I value it, too.”

Heat leapt into his eyes. All humor fled from her, replaced with something just as likely to give her unsteady hands, though.

He released the mirror.

She gently took the razor from him. Touching his chin with her finger, she lifted.

“Start from the bottom and come up.” Joe's fingers closed around her wrist. “Don’t press too hard. The edge of that is extremely sharp.”