Pistols and Petticoats (A Historical Western Romance Anthology) Page 5

  He thought about what she'd told him, about Ruari. It was good she'd been in love once. That he wasn't stealing that from her. Because he could never love her. He could never risk that again, regardless of his all-too-male response to her.

  It had simply been too long since he'd had a woman. Any woman.

  He heard her get in bed, saw the lamp go out. With a resigned sigh, he got up, washed his hands and face in the sink, rinsed his mouth with baking soda and turned down the kerosene lamp. Then, he went to join the woman he'd married, in their bed.

  She didn't stir when he came in, but he suspected she was waiting for him. He undressed to his long johns and slid between the covers beside her.

  Ethan eased back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, thinking that a man who takes a bride by mail damn well ought to get a pamphlet of instruction along with her.

  He turned his head as his eyes adjusted to the dark. He could hear her breathing. She was still awake, her braid flung on her pillow, inches from his face. The scent of lavender reached him. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

  Her arm brushed his. It might have been an accident, but he doubted it.

  After a long silence, she said into the darkness, "Ethan?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Goodnight."

  "'Night," he answered, but sleep didn't find him for a long time.

  Chapter 6

  And that's how it went for the next while, the sleeping beside one another without touching. He spent most of his time visiting patients during the day, and when he finally came home at night he'd fall into bed, exhausted.

  In bed, tension pooled between them like the moonlight, and they both tossed and turned far into the night. Violet wrestled between wanting him to kiss her and praying he would not. It was certainly easier to keep him at a distance in her heart if he kept his distance in her bed. Sometimes, she just wished he'd do it already. Get it over with. But that was foolish, too.

  So, one night, when she woke up from her first deep sleep in days, to the sound of Ethan's nightmare, she turned to find him thrashing in bed.

  Sweat sheened his skin and his breathing came hard and fast. She rested her palm on his chest and softly spoke to him. It took a minute for him to leave the dream and come fully awake, but when he did, he jerked upright and dragged his hands through his hair.

  "Sorry. I thought I was—"

  "Shhh," she told him, stroking his arm. "It's all right now. You're here. It's over."

  He swallowed hard, embarrassed to be caught dreaming, she knew.

  "Sorry," he said, and slowly he lay back down on the pillow, calming his breath.

  "I used to have nightmares, too," she told him, leaning up on one elbow. "It was the war, wasn't it?"

  He closed his eyes and nodded. In the middle of the night, all souls are naked.

  She didn't ask his permission. She simply rested her head on his shoulder and tucked her arm around him. She could feel his heart slam against the wall of his chest and against her arm.

  Surprise tensed him for a moment, before he finally rested his hand atop hers and gave her a grateful squeeze. Before too long, they fell back asleep that way.

  From that night on, the line down the middle of the bed began to blur.

  * * *

  During the day, she tried to distract herself with Ella, learning to tame the cast iron cooking stove, burning more meals and rearranging the house. Ethan was polite about her cooking, but when he was home, he requisitioned the cooking chores so they wouldn't starve.

  Rarely did an opportunity pass, over the next few days, for Ella to insist on reading her book. She would pore over it near the fireplace in the evenings and insist that one of them read it and re-read it to her before bed. She took it everywhere she went, like other girls would a doll. But Violet allowed her to do it because, in her mind, a book was better than a doll any day.

  Every now and then, Ella would climb into Violet's lap and cuddle up for no particular reason. With Ethan vanishing from their home most days, Ella had no one to turn to but her.

  And Violet took full advantage of that time, going for walks, building Ella's blocks with her, and visiting Charlie Harris's stables to pet the velvety noses of the horses he kept and visit the litter of puppies his dog had delivered this summer.

  Once, Ethan had brought her a hatful of blueberries he'd picked on a hillside. Assured sustenance, no doubt. She wheedled the location out of him, and the next day she and Ella went berry picking together. The child ate more than she saved, but it was a memory Violet inscribed in her diary as precious.

  While Ella napped, she referred to Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management to help her reorganize the piles of chaos in Ethan's house and to rearrange the furniture.

  She'd been quite pleased with the result, but that night, Ethan had returned home late and tripped over a displaced ottoman in the dark. She rushed in and found him lying on his back on the parlor floor, cursing. She clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight, trying to contain her completely inappropriate laughter. She failed utterly.

  He asked her to kindly stop redecorating his life.

  Of course, she didn't.

  The next day, she painted the front door red. She had noted in Mrs. Beeton's book that red was a sign of welcome on a front door, and she secretly hoped Ethan would stop being such a stranger.

  They were forced to appear for supper at Hattie and Matthew's that night with Ethan's palm covered in red paint. Luckily, Matthew had turpentine at the ready.

  Violet made a mental note to herself to post a warning sign next time she painted.

  She began to make friends in the town with the respectable wives of shopkeepers, Hattie and Maeve particularly. Hattie had two young boys a little older than Ella, and the three children adored each other already. She and Hattie would sit on a quilt in the long grass near Hattie's house and watch the children play. They'd talk, usually about inconsequential things.

  But one day, as she handed Violet a homemade cookie, Hattie asked how she and Ethan were doing.

  Violet took a bite of her cookie and stared out at the children. "We're fine," she told her. "You know. As you might expect."

  "I'm not sure what I'd expect as a mail order bride," Hattie admitted. "You're braver than me."

  "Not brave," Violet told her. Maybe, in fact, it was cowardice that had brought her here. Maybe she'd been too afraid to go out and find her life, and she'd settled for half a life, instead.

  "He wasn't always like he is now," Hattie said. "So withdrawn. He didn't deserve what Suzanne did to him. It was terrible."

  Before Violet could ask what she meant, Hattie went on as she smiled at the children. "But that Ella. He did what few men could or would have done, not knowing for sure if she's even his."

  Violet almost choked on her cookie. "What?"

  Hattie turned to Violet, stricken. She blushed deeply. "I-I'm sorry. Oh my God, I shouldn't have said anything. I was sure he'd told you."

  "Told me what?"

  "Because it never mattered to Ethan one way or the other. He loves that child. And she adores him."

  "What did his wife do to him? I only know she was killed in a coach accident. And that Ethan still loves her."

  "Oh, Violet. Forgive me. I shouldn't have said a thing. But I can't believe he hasn't told you." She threaded her hands together against her mouth. "I doubt it's love he feels for her anymore. If anything, it's bitterness. Suzanne was leaving Ethan and Ella when she was killed in that accident. She'd run off with another man and was going back East. Without the burden of her child. Ethan was never sure when the affair began, but she certainly played him for a fool."

  Violet stared at Ella, happily hopping beside Hattie's boys. Her heart broke a little for both of them. And the missing pieces of the puzzle that was Ethan began fitting together. "I didn't know," she said.

  "Thank God for Ella. She saved him." Hattie took Violet's hand. "And she adores him."

  It was true. If there was any quest
ion of her parentage in Ethan's mind, he'd put it aside. He adored her. When he was home, she would shadow him like a little puppy. Sometimes, Ethan took Ella with him on visits. Ella would sit beside him in the buggy, happy as a child could be. Even Ethan looked happy.

  On those days, loneliness invaded Violet, and she kept herself busy scrubbing floors, rearranging bookshelves or taking long walks in town.

  Once she wound up at Ethan's abandoned house. The one Maeve's customer had so willingly gossiped about.

  Guiltily, she peered through the filthy glass windows. Indeed, it was mostly finished on the outside, but the inside was still raw wood and sadly vacant, if one didn't count the nests of squirrels and other creatures she could see through the dirty glass. There was a granite river rock fireplace that was beautifully made and looked ready to warm the whole house. And a wide hallway, leading to rooms she couldn't see from the porch.

  It seemed as if he had just stopped, mid-build, and piles of flooring and other supplies still sat, unused, in the middle of the main room.

  It didn't make sense, when he lived in that small apartment, that he wouldn't have finished this place. But it stood to reason that the abandoning of this place and his wife's death must have coincided.

  In her diary that night, she wrote:

  Even I can add two plus two to find the cost of Suzanne's betrayal of Ethan in that house. That place is haunted by her selfishness. This is not the time to bring up the house to Ethan. I'm having enough trouble simply getting him to engage in any conversation, much less one he seems bent on avoiding.

  On the topic of avoiding, why haven't I heard back from either Elliot or Chase, as I've sent them both letters? But, I suppose, their lives are full now with their own loves. I hope they are well.

  She wrote in her diary daily and kept it beside her bed. It helped, for some reason, to share her thoughts there. She'd inscribed her rules for this marriage on those pages and, unhappily, one by one, she had broken them.

  Most decidedly on the morning she found Ella perched on the washstand in the bedroom, beside Ethan's shaving bowl. She had his shaving brush in her hand and was solemnly applying foamy soap to his face.

  Ethan didn't seem to mind a bit that soap skidded over his nose, and he stuck his chin out for more as they chatted about two-year-old things. Violet felt her heart do a little flip-flop at the sweetness of it.

  Against her will, she fell a little in love with him that morning.

  After he left, she pulled out her diary and wrote:

  Rule number five: Don't be the only one in this marriage to fall in love.

  * * *

  One morning, she woke, stretched one arm out and, to her dismay, found herself spooned against Ethan. His arm was curled around her, and at her back she could feel something rather... rigid pressed up against her. She inhaled and froze.

  Oh dear.

  His breath was warm against the back of her head and his fingers were curled negligently near her breast. If she moved only slightly, those fingers would touch her breast.

  Violet held her breath, contemplating the unthinkable. If she shifted, just the slightest bit—

  The sound of little footsteps froze her.

  Ella's face popped up beside the bed, followed closely by the book Violet had given her.

  "Read the ducks," she demanded, unconcerned at seeing the two of them curled together beneath the covers.

  Behind Violet, Ethan stirred, then jolted awake. "Ella! How the devil—?"

  Taking in the situation in a heartbeat, he jerked his arm away from her and sat up in bed.

  He looked deliciously rumpled, with a rough growth of dark bristle on his jaw and his hair sticking out at all angles. Through the sleeves of his long johns, she watched his considerable bicep muscles coil and unfurl as he raked his hands through his hair. And she couldn't help but imagine what else was going on, under the covers. Namely, what she'd felt pressed against her back.

  A ripple of desire shuddered through her.

  "Read," Ella insisted, climbing up into the bed like a kitten before either of them could deny her.

  Violet and Ethan sat up and their eyes met over the little blonde-haired girl. Violet knew she should be grateful that Ella had interrupted what would have been an uncomfortable conversation by planting herself between them, but for some reason, she wasn't.

  Violet started to take the book, but Ella snatched it back. "No, Daddy read my book."

  Violet lifted one brow challengingly at him as he took the open picture book with a scowl.

  "D is for duckling," he read, "all... yellow and fluffy..."

  Ella snatched it again. "No!" she said, pushing it to Violet. "Mama and Daddy read." She reached over and placed Violet's hand on the book, then did the same for Ethan.

  Violet inhaled sharply. It was the first time she'd heard her use that word.

  Snuggled between them with a contented sigh, Ella popped her thumb into her mouth, waiting.

  Ethan flicked a look at Violet, who bit her lip but couldn't stop the smile that stole into her expression. They both read together.

  "E is for elephant, all wrinkly and gray. F is for fawn..."

  * * *

  Summer slid into autumn, and almost overnight the leaves began to turn en masse and the nights grew colder. But the days were heavenly still, with only the slightest bite to the morning air, and afternoons Violet wished she could bottle.

  On a Sunday, after attending church, Ethan took Ella to Hattie's and returned on Jigger, leading a pretty black-maned Bay mare sporting a sidesaddle.

  Violet stared down from the upstairs window, confused.

  "Like a ride?" Ethan called up. "Or am I mistaken that you said you liked riding?"

  Clapping her hands over her mouth, she laughed. "I do! Oh, Ethan!" She hurried down the stairs to the street and reached up to pet the velvety muzzle of the horse he'd brought along for her. "She's beautiful. Blue Bonnet, right? She's one of Charlie's horses."

  The mare ducked her head against Violet's hip for a pat.

  Ethan raised a brow. "Charlie said you two knew one another."

  "She's one of Ella's favorites. Mine, too. But what about Ella? Where is she?"

  "Happily picnicking with Hattie and Matthew. It's Sunday. You deserve a little time off. You comin' or not?"

  "Well, I do have bread to burn and cookies to mangle, but I suppose I could manage to squeeze a ride in to my busy schedule," she said with a laugh, and stepped into his hands.

  It was a perfectly glorious day, with a sky so blue it shimmered. Aspens climbed the rocky hillsides to where pines alone covered the mountains. The scent of the blackjack and yellow ponderosas drifted down into the valley on the crisp breeze.

  They followed the old road, then veered off onto the trail into the aspens until they reached a long, open meadow that led to the banks of Clear Creek.

  "Last one to the river does the dishes tonight!" she called as she nudged Blue Bonnet from an easy walk to a full gallop.

  Ethan grinned and gave Jigger his head to follow her. And he was a horse that didn't like following.

  Though Ethan hadn't expected the breakneck dash, with Violet giving her mare the entire bit, the sight of her ahead of him triggered a rush of some emotion in him. Excitement? Fear? He'd never seen any woman ride like her before, as if she were born on a horse. Especially perched on a skimpy little sidesaddle.

  Nevertheless, they tore across the meadow, the warm wind tugging at their clothes and hair.

  He felt oddly alive to be riding this way, and he had no real desire to get ahead of her and miss the thrill of watching her.

  At the river, she pulled the horse to a skidding stop, just feet from the edge of the water, beating him soundly.

  Her cheeks were flushed and pink and she was laughing. "Looks like I'm going to have to cook something really messy tonight," she said, patting Blue Bonnet's sweaty neck. "Maybe something with melted cheese or blackened sugar."

  Ethan grinned and
hopped off Jigger, grabbing Blue Bonnet's reins. "I should have remembered you rode racehorses."

  He reached up to help her down, fitting his hands around her waist.

  "Ahh, you let me win," she accused, laughing, putting her hands on his shoulders as he lifted her down. "Jigger's three hands taller than my horse. And he's a beast about falling out of the lead. I can tell."

  She hesitated a moment before removing her hands as his lingered on her waist. Her eyes had a sparkle in them he had never seen before. "Nope. You won fair and square. Jigger must be feeling lazy today."

  She sighed, walking the mare down to the edge of the water to drink. "So am I. Shall we sit for a bit?"

  After watering the horses, they ground tied them and let them graze as he and Violet sat on the grassy bank and watched the current of the creek tumble over rocks and boulders.

  For while they didn't speak at all, content to allow the late summer sun to pour over them. They both followed the steady, random progress of a yellow leaf that floated down the river, colliding with rocks as it went.

  "I've never seen a woman ride like you do," he said finally. "Hell-bent and fearless."

  She cocked her knees and wrapped her arms around them. "Oh, I'm terrified, really. But that's what I love about it."

  This woman. "That doesn't make any sense."

  She chuckled. "I suppose not. I've never really made sense to many people."

  "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant," he said, pausing to reformulate his words. "You're... brave. Not just riding that mare. Coming here, leaving everything you knew, was brave. Marrying a complete stranger took real courage."

  The leaf dipped below the surface of the water, only to pop up yards down the way.

  She shrugged. "There is a lot in my life I can't control. And then there are some things I can choose. Like running Blue Bonnet across that field as if I might never get to do it again. Or leaving my old life behind and coming here to marry you. To be a mother to Ella."