Montana Bride (19 page)

She slid her arms around him until there was not one teeny-weeny bit of space separating them, so she could feel the heat of him and almost hear his racing heartbeat. His warm breath teased her ear, and she felt his voice all the way to the soles of her feet when he said, “This feels good.”

It did. It really did.

“Good night, Karl,” she murmured.

“Good night, Hetty.”

She fell asleep with her head pressed against his chest, listening to the sound of his lonely heart.

Over the next few days, Hetty made her way through all of Karl’s letters. Even though it was phrased in different ways, one hope appeared in every one:
I’m looking forward to the two of us sitting in front of the fire in the evening sharing our thoughts.

Clearly, Karl had sought more from a mail-order bride than someone to bear his children. Which was a good thing, because Hetty was still desperately avoiding that shattering moment when Karl might discover the truth.

But she loved lying in bed at night with Karl’s arms around her as she fell asleep. She hadn’t realized that by performing an act so Karl would feel less lonely, she would feel less lonely herself.

It was plain from his letters that Karl wanted more than a physical relationship with his wife. Hetty figured there was no reason why she couldn’t begin sharing a bit of conversation with him before they retired for the evening.

Since she’d come to the valley, Hetty had been spending her evenings with the children, instead of Karl, because it was so easy to talk with them in the guise of caring for them, and so difficult, because of all the lies she’d told, to speak with Karl about anything at all.

Tonight, that was going to change.

The only problem was, Hetty had absolutely no idea what she should talk to Karl about. She couldn’t tell him about her past, so discussions about her family were taboo. She was also intimidated by Karl’s education and intelligence. What could she possibly tell him that he didn’t already know?

Miranda had described both her behavior and Hannah’s as flighty and scatterbrained, and her past actions seemed to confirm that. So she couldn’t imagine what she and Karl Norwood would ever find to talk about. He was so smart. And she was so…pretty.

But Hetty was determined to try.

Dinner was over and the dishes were done. Grace had agreed to get Griffin into bed. Hetty’s palms were sweaty, and her heart was racing. She’d taken special care to tame her hair in a sedate bun at her nape, although several curls had already escaped at her temples. She took off her apron, laid it across the back of a kitchen chair, then shook out her skirt to rid it of any flour from the biscuits she’d made for supper that might have caught on the hem.

Karl was already sitting in one of the two willow rockers in front of the fireplace in the parlor. If Hetty hadn’t read his letters, she would never have realized that he’d been wishing all this time that she would join him there.

As though she did it every night, Hetty crossed to the empty rocker beside him, sat down, and began rocking. Too late, she realized she should have brought something with her to hold in her hands, like one of Griffin’s socks, which eternally needed to be darned. She knotted her empty hands in her lap, so Karl wouldn’t see how they were trembling.

He glanced in her direction, but instead of speaking his head remained bowed, and he continued reading the book in his lap.

Why hadn’t he said something? Where was the desire for conversation he’d written about in his letters?

Hetty bucked up her courage and asked, “What are you reading?”

He turned the book so she could see the tiny print. “It’s Dickens.”

Hetty had heard of Charles Dickens, but she wasn’t familiar with much of his work. She didn’t want to show her ignorance, so she replied with a neutral, “Oh?”

He smiled sheepishly and said, “It’s
A Christmas Carol.”

Hetty sighed with relief. “Oh.” That was a story she knew.

“I thought it might be nice to read it to the kids in the days leading up to Christmas.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Hetty had a feeling that neither Grace nor Griffin had experienced the joy of listening to a story being read to them before the fire. The Wentworth children had often gathered together in the evening to hear their father read, and those were some of her fondest memories of her childhood.

Hetty glanced sideways at Karl. It seemed he’d been plotting ways to get everyone together in the evening, not just her. She felt the tension ease from her shoulders.

She kept rocking. And waiting. But Karl seemed content to read his book. Hetty wondered petulantly if he’d used those sentences about conversation in front of the fireplace to fill up his letters because he didn’t know what else to say. He certainly didn’t seem inclined to talk.

When neither of them had said anything for a while, Karl asked, “Would you like something to read?”

“No. I’d like to talk.” She heard the brusqueness in her voice and inwardly cringed. This was supposed to be a loving gesture, not armed combat. She was grateful when Karl closed his book and set it aside on the table between the two rockers. She attributed the look of concern on his face to the sharp tone of her voice when she’d spoken.

He focused his brown eyes intently on her blue ones. “I’m listening.”

That was no help at all. That meant Hetty had to talk. What should she say? Should she ask him a question about his day or talk about hers? She pursed her lips and dived in. “How are things going on the mountain?”

“Better than I expected,” Karl replied. “I think I finally convinced Buck—he’s the giant you met that first day—that bruising faces is not the best way to get the loggers to work harder.”

Hetty smiled. “How did you do that?”

“You don’t want to hear about my work. I can tell something is troubling you. Is there some way I can help?”

He could help by answering her question, Hetty thought crossly. He’d written in his letters that he wanted to talk, and now getting him to talk was like pulling teeth.

“I was wondering if we could have a Christmas tree. At Christmas, I mean.”

Karl smiled. “Of course. My mother always made a point of decorating our home in Connecticut. Garlands on the banisters. Pinecones on the mantel. A tree that reached almost to the ceiling, with beautiful colored-glass balls.”

“That sounds a lot like my home growing up,” Hetty replied.

“Where was that?”

Hetty’s mind raced to decide whether she could tell the truth. Could she talk about the long-ago past and not get caught in a lie? “Chicago,” she said at last.

“Do you still have family there?”

Hetty shook her head. “They’re scattered to the four winds now.”

“Sounds like you miss them,” Karl said.

Hetty turned away to face the fire, so he wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “I do.”

“How did you end up in Cheyenne?” he asked.

Hetty took the leap and told the truth. “I came west on a wagon train.” To keep him from asking more details about her past, she said, “What made you decide to study botany, of all things?”

He laughed. “That’s a long story.”

She looked into his eyes and said, “I have all the time in the world.”

He looked thunderstruck, as though it had just occurred to him that here she was, fulfilling his dream of what married life might be like with his mail-order bride.

“I have a better idea,” he said.

Before she could ask what it was, he stood up and took the few steps to reach her. He caught one of her hands, pulled her to her feet, and said, “Let’s continue this conversation in bed.”

Hetty was startled into laughter. She almost blurted,
I thought you wanted to spend evenings talking to your wife in front of the fire.
Clearly, after surveying the situation, her highly intelligent husband had come up with a much better idea.

He grabbed the lantern and led her eagerly toward the bedroom, talking nonstop. “Did I ever tell you Dennis’s father was the head gardener on my father’s estate? I think I spent more time with Mr. Campbell than Dennis ever did. Mr. Campbell talked about trees and shrubs and flowers as though they were animate objects.”

Hetty was still trying to figure out what
animate objects
were as Karl raced on.

“One summer he planted pink peonies along the terrace and had me keep a record of when the buds appeared and how large they grew and when they bloomed. Have you ever seen a peony, Hetty?”

Hetty was so entranced with what Karl was saying that she never noticed that, the whole time he was talking, they’d been undressing in front of each other. That was something they definitely hadn’t done before.

Hetty flushed when she realized she was wearing nothing but her chemise and a skirt over her pantalets. She was in the act of unbuttoning her skirt, which would have left her in nothing but her pantalets. She raced to the wardrobe, grabbed a nightgown, and pulled it on over her head without putting her arms in the armholes. She removed the rest of her clothing within the concealment of the long flannel nightgown, listening raptly to Karl the whole time.

Karl was apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d stripped down to his long johns in front of her. “I think peonies are the most beautiful flower God ever made. Layers and layers and layers of petals. My mother used to say, with considerable disgust, that all those petals just made more places for the ants to hide.” He grinned. “She never allowed a single one of those beautiful peonies into her house.”

“What a shame,” Hetty said. “If they’re as beautiful as you say they are.”

Karl grabbed her hands, which she’d finally poked through the armholes of her nightgown. “You can’t imagine, Hetty. And the smell of them. Intoxicating!”

Hetty had never seen Karl so exuberant. His excitement was infectious, and she smiled back at him. “Will you plant some peonies here, Karl?”

He looked surprised at the proposal. “The growing season is short, but I don’t know why we couldn’t.” He hugged her and said, “That’s a great idea, Hetty. I would never have thought of doing it if you hadn’t suggested it.”

Seeing peonies through Karl’s eyes had made her want to hold one in her hand, to examine its many petals, and to sniff its intoxicating scent—watching out, of course, for the ants!

Hetty realized Karl was still holding her close and that she could feel the male part of him, hot and hard against her body. How had he become aroused? All they’d done was talk!

Hetty wasn’t sure what she should do now. She wasn’t ready to do more than hug, but she didn’t want to break the wonderful mood Karl was in. So she simply stood where she was. She slid her arms around Karl’s waist and pressed her breasts against his chest as he leaned his bristled cheek against her neck.

“I’d forgotten how lovely the peonies were,” Karl murmured against her throat. “Thank you, Hetty, for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, Karl.”

He took a step back and let her go.

Hetty tried not to look at the part of him that was now very obvious behind the fly of his long johns, but her glance flickered there long enough to see that he was fully aroused. He must have noticed her looking, because he turned abruptly and said, “The room is cold, Hetty. Get under the covers. I’ll put out the lantern.”

Hetty hurried around to her side of the bed and slid under the covers. The sheets were icy, and she shivered as she pulled the blanket all the way to her chin.

Karl added a few more logs to the fireplace, then put out the lantern before joining her in bed.

Hetty lay on her back staring at the flickering shadows on the log ceiling, wondering whether they would continue their conversation in bed, as Karl had suggested. Or not. And whether he would take her in his arms as was their custom now. Or not.

Hetty waited, but Karl remained silent. And a mile away on the other side of the bed. She was afraid she knew what he was thinking, but she decided to ask anyway.

“What are you thinking, Karl?”

“You don’t want to know what I’m thinking.”

“Yes, I do,” Hetty persisted.

She felt him turn on his side toward her. “Come over here, Hetty. Where I can hold you in my arms.”

Hetty hesitated maybe half a second. Then she practically threw herself into his embrace. Karl actually grunted as their bodies made solid contact. She snuggled close, her nose against his throat, breathing in the scent of him, which she thought must be as intoxicating as the peonies in his mother’s garden.

“I always dreamed of moments like this,” Karl murmured.

“Lying in bed together, you mean?”

“Sharing memories. Making memories.” He chuckled and said, “I’ll never forget the look on your face when you realized you were half undressed and I was standing right there in front of you. Did you know I could see the outline of your nipples right through your chemise?”