Fire on the Plains (Western Fire) (8 page)

“Why? So that I can become a ‘burden’ to Spence McCabe?”

“‘Pride goeth before a fall,’” Lydia retorted, her green eyes angrily snapping to life.

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that because of your insufferable pride, you would let us starve rather than—”

“Nobody’s going to starve!
” Ben roared, unmindful of the fact that they were standing at his stepfather’s gravesite. “And hell can freeze over before I’d stoop to taking charity from my sister and her husband. They’ve got a full house to feed. They don’t need us showing up at the doorstep looking for a hand-out.”

“Need I remind you, that it is my doorstep, as well?”

Ben resisted the urge to reach over and shake some sense into Lydia. “And have you forgotten, wife of mine, that on our wedding day you lost all of your privileges in the McCabe household?”

From the deathly pale look on Lydia’s face, Ben could see that
the thought hadn’t previously occurred to her.

Putting his hands on his hips, Ben
then taunted Lydia further by saying, “When you married me, you effectively severed all of your ties to the McCabe family. Which begs the question: why in the blue blazes
did
you ask me to marry you, anyway?”

“I told you already. I . . . I married you because . . . because I had need of a husband.”

“Is that so?” Ben lifted a booted leg several inches off of the ground. “Why don’t you go ahead and pull the other one while you’re at it.”

“This is hardly a laughing manner,” Lydia replied
tartly.

“Do I look like I’m laughing? Maybe you should have informed me
beforehand
that this was going to be a marriage in name only?”

Lydia regally lifted her chin. “Would that have affected your decision to marry me?”

“It most certainly would have, and you know it! Do you think I’m happy being saddled with a frigid woman still mourning a dead man?”

Looking as though the wind had just been knocked clean out of her, Lydia stared at him, her breasts rising and falling with each
sharply-drawn breath. Then, with a haughty sniff, she turned and walked away from him.

Furious, Ben strode after
his wife, cinching a hand around her arm to pull her to a halt. Using more force than was necessary, he yanked Lydia back in his direction. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Surely, you’ve
said all that needs to be said.”

“That’s right, I have. Now, it’s
your
turn to talk.”

“I have nothing to say
to you.”

“Which has been the problem all along,” Ben
railed, his anger spiking precipitously. “I want to know, and I want to know
right now
: why did you ask me to marry you if the thought of sharing my bed is so distasteful to you?”

When Lydia made no move to answer,
Ben grabbed hold of her other arm and shook her, ready to do whatever was necessary to get a straight answer from her. “Tell me, damn it!”

“If you must know . . . I . . . I didn’t think the situation through to . .
. to its inevitable conclusion,” Lydia replied haltingly.

Releasing his hold on her, Ben swung his head back and laughed, long and hard.
And bitterly
.

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“Do not mock me, sir!”

“Why not? You made a mockery of me on our wedding night.”

“I did no such thing!” Lydia exclaimed vehemently.

“The hell you didn’t!”
Ben yelled right back at her. “You laid on our wedding bed, and all the while you dreaming of another man.”

“That’s not
—”

“You made a damn fool out of me,
that’s what you did,” Ben interjected, not in the mood to hear Lydia’s false denial. “And let me tell you, it’s the last time you’ll ever make a fool out of me.” He emphasized the point by pressing the tip of his forefinger against his wife’s collarbone.

To his surprise, Lydia contritely bowed her head. “I am truly sorry for . . . for what happened on our wedding night. You are my husband. And as such, you have a right to . . . to properly consummate our marriage vows.”

“And what about James McCabe? Where does he fit into this consummation? Hmm?” Grasping Lydia by the chin, Ben forced her to look him in the eye. “I don’t know about you,
Mrs
.
Strong,
but I happen to think that it’s a little crowded having the three of us in the same bed.”

With lightning quick precision, his wife slapped him in the face.

Just as quickly, Ben hauled Lydia into his arms, locking her in a smothering embrace.

“I think it’s time that I availed myself of a few husbandly rights,”
Ben muttered before he captured his wife’s lips in a brutal, thoroughly demeaning kiss.

Not giving a thought to finesse,
Ben laid siege to Lydia’s mouth, forcing her lips open, taking from her what she had refused to give to him on their wedding night. Repeatedly jabbing his tongue into her mouth, Ben mimed the marriage act as best he could, using his lips and tongue to cruel advantage. Then, groaning with pent-up need, he palmed her buttocks, crudely anchoring her lower body against his.

Hearing
Lydia’s whimpered protest, Ben suddenly shoved her away from him. Somewhat guiltily he then turned his back on her as he labored to catch his breath.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hightail back to the wagon,” he said over his shoulder
. Sexually aroused, he feared that the sight of her flushed face and kiss-swollen mouth would prove more than he could handle.

“
I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had my say.”

Disbelieving what he
’d just heard, Ben swung back around. As he appraised Lydia’s mussed hair and heaving full breasts, his erection painfully strained against his trousers.

When
, a few seconds later, he caught his wife nervously eyeing his swollen condition, Ben was tempted to bare his teeth and growl. Hell, he ought to consummate the marriage right here.
Right now
. Propriety be damned.

And though
he very much wanted to put action to thought, Ben couldn’t, and for one simple reason – that damned black dress. Lydia wore her mourning gown like a battle shield; one that visibly proclaimed she belonged to another man.

“
All right. Speak your peace. But after you do, I suggest that you then get the hell out of here.”

Lydia primly folded her hands together
, settling her gaze on a spot just beyond Ben’s shoulder. “Since the Schumachers have nowhere else to go, and given that you have no intention of returning to Missouri, we must alter our future plans.”

“No kidding.”

Refusing to get drawn into another verbal tit-for-tat, Lydia ignored her husband’s barbed aside. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, “Before the war, my father’s younger brother immigrated to Texas to start a cattle ranch. Because my father intended to follow later, Uncle Avery staked a claim for each of them. But my father died unexpectedly; at which time, I inherited the claim. All ten thousand acres of it.”

“Come again?”

“I said that I inherited a Texas cattle ranch from my father.”

Ben’s
dark brows lifted, the man clearly astonished. “Did you just say that you
own
a ten thousand acre ranch?”

“No. I’m saying that
you
own a ten thousand acre ranch. As my husband, you are now legally entitled to all of my assets.”
Even if ours is a marriage in name only.

Although Lydia intended to rectify that situation as soon as possible.

Ben shook his head. Despite his thatch of silvered hair, he looked very much like a child who’d just discovered an unexpected bonanza under the Christmas tree; and wasn’t entirely certain that it was truly intended for him.

“This is certainly a, um,
interesting
turn of events. How come I haven’t heard about this Texas ranch before now?”

“If you must know, I’d completely forgotten about the ranch until today. When Papa died, Uncle Avery informed me that the land was there if I ever had need of it. Quite frankly, I never foresaw such a need arising.”

“Cattle ranching, huh?”

From the spark in
Ben’s eyes, Lydia could see that the idea appealed to him. Given the tumultuous exchange that took place just prior, she was relieved that something other than anger now tempered his mood.

“Where’s this ranch located?”

“According to Uncle Avery, it’s located near San Antonio in a place called Uvalde.”

“San Antonio!
Why, that’s almost to the Mexican border. It’ll take us at least a month to get there.”

B
attling her ire, Lydia took a deep, steadying breath. “If you have another plan, I’m listening. If not, at least spare me your disagreeable temper.”

Rubbing a hand over his cheek, a repentant look stole across Ben’s face. “I didn’t mean to yell at you like that. It’s just that . . . that nothing is going the way I planned.
I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m trapped in a powerful whirlwind that blew across the prairie without any advance warning.”

Ben’s
frank confession took Lydia aback. Particularly since she felt similarly. Although it came as something of a relief to know that they were both caught in the same tempest.
The winds of destiny, I suppose.

“I understand how you feel, Mister Strong. This is a most unexpected turn of events.”

“It is, at that.
Uvalde, Texas
.” Ben slowly spoke the last two words, as though he was testing them for wear. “I’ve heard tell that there are wild herds of longhorn cattle that roam freely across the state and are simply there for the taking.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, as well.” Lydia paused. Knowing that she needed to press her advantage, but not wishing to push so hard that Ben took offense, she said, “Before he died, my father was looking forward to immigrating to Texas
. It had always been his dream to own a large cattle ranch.”

Ben stared at her, long and hard.
A few moments later, his chest expanded with a deep, resigned sigh. “While it might be another man’s dream, even a hand-me-down dream is better than no dream at all.”

“
Und, finally, Lord, ve ask you to safely guide der Strong family to der new home in Texas.”

Jacob Schumacher’s prayer met with a gusty chorus of ‘Amens,’ Ben enthusiastically joining the fray
.

Reaching across the table,
Ben grabbed the steaming bowl of mashed potatoes and handed it to Lydia, who was seated to the right of him.

“Thank you, Mister Strong.”

He made no reply, wishing that Lydia would just call him ‘Ben,’ or even the more formal ‘Benjamin.’ It made him wonder if she used to address the sainted James McCabe in such a stilted manner.

Somehow he didn’t think so.

As he next reached for the platter of biscuits, Ben’s arm inadvertently brushed the side of Lydia’s breast.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling like a sardine packed in a tin. With thirteen of them wedged around the table,
not
touching his wife was proving a difficult, if not impossible feat.

To complicate matters even more
, he still felt guilty about the kiss that he’d forced upon Lydia up on the hillside. If his conscience hadn’t intervened at the last, he’d have taken her for sure. He’d been that randy.

And still was, his
pecker refusing to back down and call retreat. Of course, being pressed so close to his red-headed wife didn’t help matters any, his mind conjuring all sorts of prurient images.

“Hmm
?” Ben glanced at the head of the table, belatedly realizing that Jacob Schumacher had addressed him.

“I asked how many acres is dis ranch of yours?”

“It’s ten thousand acres.”

The German
shook his head in complete disbelief, a feeling that Ben well understood.

Yep, ten thousand acres
. His for the taking.

He’d
always known that there was land to be had in the wilds of Texas. He’d just never realized until now how much land. Although there was no getting around the fact that Texas hadn’t been Lydia’s first choice for their future. Be that as it may, she’d given him the chance of a lifetime.

Sweet Jesus. A
Texas ranch.
An opportunity to turn his life around.

Glancing at the head of the table, Ben noticed
that Jacob Schumacher was motioning with his fork, trying to get his attention.

“Herr Strong, do you know much about dis cattle ranching?”

“Not a thing,” Ben readily replied as he helped himself to another biscuit.

Truth be told, he hadn’t known a thing about soldiering when he first signed up either. Although ten minutes into the Battle of Bull Run, he’d become an expert on the double
-quick. He figured ranching would be no less difficult an undertaking.

“Fortunately, my Uncle Avery owns the neighboring ranch,” Lydia announced. “I’m certain that he will be only too happy to school my husband in the art of cattle ranching.”

‘The art of cattle ranching!?’ Did she really just say that?

“But your uncle doesn’t even know that we’re coming
to Texas,” Ben countered, his wife’s pat answer sticking in his craw. “Let alone that we intend to claim your inheritance.”

“
It matters naught. You are family now,” Lydia replied with an unconcerned shrug.

“Just how big a family are we talking about
anyway?”

Lydia daintily wiped at her mouth with a coarse linen napkin. “
As Uncle Avery is a confirmed bachelor, there’s no family to speak of. I simply used the word in the figurative sense.”

Ben immediately thanked the Good Lord for small favors.
One family member, he could easily handle. Had there been an entire clan of Lydia’s kinfolk, he might have reconsidered the venture altogether.

Lydia leaned toward him as she held
the serving platter aloft. “More fried chicken, Mister Strong?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Ben answered, sliding his hand under the platter to relieve her of it. As he did so, he accidentally trapped one of her hands beneath his, the brief, unexpected contact igniting a spark that sent
the blood rushing to his groin.

Setting the platter down on the table, Ben jabbed his fork into a chicken breast, spearing it onto his plate.
What I wouldn’t give to be touched by Lydia
. Really touched that is. Every hard, throbbing inch of him. Yes, she may be an ice queen who was garbed in black from head to foot, but he knew for a fact that hidden beneath that funerary gown was a lush, full-breasted body the likes of which was driving him to sheer torment. Although to his frustrated ire, the woman didn’t want a damned thing to do with him.

Raising the piece of meat to his mouth, Ben sank his teeth into it.
When, in the next instant, their arms
again
bumped together, Ben tried to ignore everything about Lydia that made her a woman – the bountiful swell of her breasts, the floral-scented water that she’d used to rinse her hair, and, most especially, the sensual curve of her lower lip, still swollen from his earlier kiss. It was all he could do not to grab one of Lydia’s lovely little hands and yank it under the table so that he could mold it around his—

“Herr Strong, are you all right?”
the lady of the house inquired.

“I’m fine,” Ben replied
gruffly, his rough tone causing Mrs. Schumacher to visibly flinch.

“Really, sir!” Lydia hissed under her breath. “Is it necessary to give everyone such a fright?”

Realizing that he’d allowed his pecker to get the better of him, Ben sank his teeth into the chicken breast he’d been working on, refusing to acknowledge his wife’s pointed glance. If he peered into those moss-green eyes of hers, there was no telling what he might do. It had been years since he’d been this sexually riled. But given that his wife still pined for her first husband, he held out no hope for any relief. While another man might be willing to overlook Lydia’s transgression, Ben refused to become her dead husband’s proxy.

Frowning slightly, Ben noticed that the two adult Schumachers were busily conversing with one another in their native tongue, each of them
suddenly casting furtive glances in his direction.

Holy hell, now what?
Wasn’t it enough that he’d agreed to deed over the farm to them?

A
few moments later, Herr Schumacher said, “Herr Strong, ve vill keep der kinder tonight.”

“What’s that you say?”

“Your little one.” Jacob Schumacher nodded his shaggy head in Dixie’s direction. “Ve vill keep her for the night.”

Mystified
, Ben shook his head. “But why would you want to do that?”

The German grinned broadly.
“Because young lovers need der time alone. Right, Mother?” He turned to his wife, waiting for her to second his statement.

Ilsa Schumacher girlishly giggled. “Ja, dis is true,” she said with a nod, gesturing to her brood of eight children.

“Thank you. That’s an excellent suggestion,” Lydia replied as she placed her napkin beside her empty plate. “I’m certain that Dixie will be far more comfortable sleeping inside the house.”

Disbelieving what he’d just heard,
Ben turned and stared at Lydia.
Does she enjoy making me suffer?
Evidently, so. Because even though they’d just been given free rein to fornicate the night away, he knew that Lydia had no intention of delivering the goods. At least not in a package that appealed to him.

Bushwhacked,
Ben slapped his napkin on the table before rising to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to the horses for the night.”

“Is there a problem
, Mister Strong?”

Ben stared at the large feather tick mattress shoved into the front corner of the wagon bed, the quilted coverlet and fluffy pillows looking far more inviting than he’d expected
. Because the Conestoga was parked in the farmyard, it would be impossible for him to sleep under the wagon and still be able to save face come morning.

“I’m just frustrated, that’s all.”

Lydia hung a lantern off of a hook, the flickering light throwing the inside of the wagon into areas of honeyed illumination and inky shadows. “What exactly is it that you find so ‘frustrating’?”

Stooped over so
that he wouldn’t bump his head on the wagon bows, Ben thought it was best
not
to answer the question just put to him. While there was no denying that sleeping in a bed would be a sight more comfortable than sleeping on the ground, it was going to make for a long, sexually frustrating night.

Damn Jacob Schumacher and his good intentions, anyway.

Still struggling to make sense of the situation, Ben sat on the edge of the bed. Absently rubbing his hand over his right shoulder, he stared at the buff-colored canvas that was stretched taut over the hickory bows, the irony of his predicament hitting him full force.

Well, at least
I’ll get to see my wife attired in something other than funerary black.

That thought, alone, was worth a
humorless chortle or two.

Standing beside the bed, Lydia peered down at him, a glacial expression on her face.
“Just because you’re frustrated, it does not give you cause to smirk at me.”

Ben jackknifed off the bed, cursing under his breath when he bumped his head on a wooden bow.

Smirk at her?
At the moment, there were a number of things that he wanted to do
to
her and
with
her, but smirking was not on the list.

Placing
a hand over his heart, Ben assumed a theatrical pose. “Oh, dear wife of mine. I am not smirking at
you
. Heaven forbid.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the intimate confines of the wagon. “I’m smirking at the cruel twist of fate that has taken me from one hellish war right into the midst of another one.”

“A cruel twist of fate? Is that really how you see our marriage?”

The pain in Lydia’s eyes cut Ben like a knife.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Lydia didn’t deserve that kind of ridicule. Not by a long shot. Christ, he ought to be taken out and flogged.

“
That was a, um, ungentlemanly thing for me to say.” Worried that he’d hurt her feelings with his scornful antics, Ben awkwardly wrapped his hand around Lydia’s wrist. “First of all, it’s untrue. And secondly . . . well, I don’t know about you, but I’m looking forward to starting a cattle ranch. I never did much care for farming.”

His unplanned confession clearly surprised her.
“But you . . . you’ve always been a farmer, have you not?”

Ben let
his fingers slip away from Lydia’s wrist. Nodding his head, he said, “As was my father and his before him. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t entertain thoughts of doing differently.”

In fact, w
hen he was a younger man, he’d often dreamt of leaving the plow and striking out on his own. Unfortunately, there’d always been someone depending on him to pull that plow. Except for the four years he spent in the Union army, he’d only had but two choices in his life: farm or starve. Now, thanks to Lydia’s inheritance, he could journey down a different path.

Which meant that Lydia didn’t deserve being tongue
-lashed. If she wanted to keep this a strictly platonic marriage, he’d do his best to keep his trousers buttoned and his hands to himself. He owed her that much, at least.

Opening
a trunk, Ben snatched a clean towel out of it. Then, careful not to bump into anything, he made his way to the back of the wagon.

“Mister Strong, where are you going?”

“I’m going to wash up before turning in for the night,” he said as he vaulted over the tail gate. “Don’t bother waiting up for me.” Maybe if Lydia was all tucked in with the light doused and the blanket pulled up to her chin, he could just crawl into bed and pretend that she wasn’t there.