Carolyn Davidson (5 page)

The boy sat down on the wooden pew again, his hands hanging between his knees, his face dark with displeasure. Beside him, Timmy yawned widely and swatted at a lazy fly that had settled to rest on the pew in front of him. He waved his cap at it as the insect circled once over his head, and then cast his attention at the dust motes that floated in the brilliant sunlight from a nearby window.

“Have you told them?” Johanna asked quietly, shifting from one foot to the other as she waited for the church to empty.

Tate’s nod was quick, his look a warning as three women made their way back up the aisle to where his family waited.

“Why, Johanna Patterson, it’s sure good to see you here this morning,” Esther Turner sang out loudly. “Thought you’d forgotten the way to church.”

Selena Phillips turned an exasperated glare on the woman. “You know Johanna hasn’t got a horse and wagon these days, Esther. It’s bad enough she walks to town and back all week.” She turned wise blue eyes on Johanna, and said quietly, “I’m so glad to see you today, Johanna. You’ve been a stranger lately.”

Marjorie Jones adjusted her feathered hat, settling it a bit forward on her head and touched her top lip with the tip of her tongue. “I hear tell there’s gonna be a wedding today. Anybody you folks know?” The look she threw at her friends was all but triumphant. That she’d stolen a
march on them was obvious from the surprise they didn’t even attempt to conceal.

“You’re gettin’ married?” Esther squeaked. “You and this gentleman here, Johanna?”

“Well, land sakes alive,” Selena said breathlessly. “As I live and breathe, you couldn’t have surprised me any more if you’d tried, child.”

“We only just decided yesterday,” Johanna said, aware of the warmth of Tate’s hand on her elbow. And then that hand slid around her back and rested on the far side of her waist, allowing the whole length of his arm to press against her shoulder blades and ribs. She caught a quick breath and glanced at him. He was beaming at her, almost as if he were a genuine groom, anxious for his wedding to begin.

“Miss Johanna and I are just waiting our turn,” he explained to the three ladies. “Soon as the preacher gets finished with his goodbyes out front, he’s going to come back in here and marry me to this lady. Me and my two boys, that is. She’s agreed to take on the three of us, and try to get us straightened out a bit.” His smile was wide and his eyes were warm with humor as he offered his explanation.

“Well, I never…” Esther spouted. “You’re going to marry up without any fuss at all, Johanna?”

Marjorie set her jaw. “Don’t know why your friends can’t be here, too.”

Selena Phillips bent closer to where Johanna stood. “Perhaps you’d rather do this privately, Johanna. You’ve always been a quiet girl.”

Johanna shook her head. “Yes…I mean, no, I don’t mind if you want to be here for the wedding, Miss Marjorie. You too, Miss Esther. And you,” she said finally, reaching to touch Selena’s arm.

“Kinda sudden, isn’t it?” Marjorie asked, her eyes narrowing as she turned to the man who’d set tongues wagging’ for the past hour or so.

“I’m Tate Montgomery, ma’am. And I’ve been known
to make quick decisions in my life. This one promises to be the best idea I’ve ever had. Miss Johanna has agreed to be my wife, and I’d like to invite you and your friends here to watch us do the deed.”

“You new in town, Mr. Montgomery?” Esther Turner chirped.

“Pretty much so, ma’am. But I’m well established already. The bank has my money, so I guess I’m on my way to being a solid citizen. I’ve got an account started at your husband’s store, Mrs. Turner. And here I am in church. What more could you ask of a man?”

Behind them, boots clumped up the aisle, and an impatient voice heralded a new arrival to the group. “Mrs. Jones, I’ve got your boys in the wagon. If you don’t want to walk home, you’d better be on your way.”

Marjorie turned to face her husband. “There’s to be a wedding, Hardy. Bring the boys back on in and wait, why don’t you?”

His keen eyes scanned the small group. “You the groom?” he asked sharply, pinning Tate with his stare. “You marrying up with Fred Patterson’s girl?”

At Tate’s smile, he nodded vigorously. “About time she found herself a man. She’s too young to be wearin’ herself to a frazzle out there.”

Tate swallowed a chuckle. If nothing else, Hardy Jones was blunt. “I’m honored to be marrying the lady. She’s agreed to be a mother to my boys.”

From her other side, Johanna heard a hushed sound that sounded dreadfully like words she’d never dared to allow past her lips. She darted a glance at Timmy and Pete. Timmy’s head was nodding, and his one foot swinging several inches above the floor. Pete was glaring at the floor, his lower lip stuck out, his face flushed and darkened with anger.

“Pete?” she whispered. Surely Tate had told him the wedding would be today, hadn’t he?

Dark eyes met hers and Pete’s mouth twisted into a pout. “I don’t need a mother,” he whispered. “I got my pa.”

“Oh, Pete!” She bit her lip. Whatever Tate had told him, it hadn’t prepared him for this. “Can we talk about this after a while?” she asked softly, leaving the security of Tate’s arm to bend closer to the boy.

“Won’t do any good.”

Johanna’s heart beat faster as she lowered herself to the pew. Careful not to touch the child, she blocked him from view of the others. “Maybe we can be friends, Pete.”

“I don’t need any friends.”

“I do.” The words were faint, spoken on an indrawn breath. Johanna had let them slip from her mouth without thinking, and only after they had been uttered did she realize the truth they held. She didn’t have a close friend to her name. Selena Phillips had always been kind to her. The other ladies in town had greeted her nicely and spoken to her politely. But never had she had a real friend.

From the far side of Pete’s sturdy body, a small, warm hand crept to touch her palm as it rested on her lap. Timmy leaned forward, in peril of falling to the floor, balancing himself oh the very edge of the seat, and smiled at her sleepily. “I’ll be your friend, Miss Johanna.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Her throat ached with unshed tears, and she blinked her eyes vigorously, lest she allow even one teardrop to fall. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

Pete roughly pushed his brother’s arm aside. “I’m your friend, Timmy.”

Johanna smiled at the younger boy, and then the smile faded as she looked up at the children’s father. His brow pulling into a frown, he bent to view the three of them.

“Everything all right, Johanna? The preacher’s coming back in. Are you about ready?”

Was she ready? Heaven knew she needed a boost of strength from somewhere. She’d just been rejected by Tate’s eldest boy, and that on top of the nervous stomach
she’d been struggling with all morning. And now it didn’t feel as if her legs were going to hold her upright.

Her lips curved into a shaky smile. “I’m fine, Tate.”
Liar,
her heart cried.

His hand enclosed hers, and he tugged her gently to her feet, then led her to the altar where the minister waited.

“Last chance to back out, Johanna,” he said so that no one else could hear.

Johanna thought of the cows he’d milked this morning, the hay he’d forked into the mangers. She remembered the easy way he’d carried furniture yesterday, his words of thanks as she served his supper. She envisioned the task of climbing a ladder to pick apples, imagined trying to tend to the herd of cattle all winter, when the west wind blew snow from the big lake. And then she swallowed her doubts as she accepted the hand he offered her.

His arm slid from around her waist, and he clasped her fingers within his own. It would be all right, she decided. It was a good bargain, this marriage she’d agreed to. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her gaze on Theodore Hughes, watching him open the small book he’d drawn from his pocket. His smile was encouraging as he lifted the cover and turned carefully to a page he’d marked beforehand. With one more long look at the couple facing him, he took a breath and began.

“Dearly beloved…”

“I
thought you’d told Pete we were going to be married today.” She hadn’t been able to look Tate fully in the face since the ceremony, and now she spoke with her back to him, her hands busy with stirring the gravy and tending the simmering kettle of beans. The vision of the small boy’s sullen face had been in the forefront of her mind, a surprise she hadn’t planned on.

“Pete’s kinda hard to sort out sometimes,” Tate said quietly. “He listened while I told him you and I were to be married, but it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and I suspect he just pretended to himself it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Did he think you were just going to stay here?”

Tate shook his head. “Who knows what a child thinks? He seemed happy enough with being here, I agree. I doubt he’d thought about my marrying again. We’d talked before about finding someone to watch after both boys.” His voice softened. “To tell the truth, Johanna, till I caught sight of you, I hadn’t worried too much about remarriage. I was willing to settle for a housekeeper.”

“Until you saw me, or my farm?”

“Both, maybe. I just knew this was the place I was willing to put down roots. Don’t ask me how I knew. I couldn’t
tell you. Any more than I could say why I knew you’d be a woman I could marry. I gave you a whole string of reasons why you appealed to me as a mother for my boys.” He tilted his head and eyed her knowingly. “Maybe I just wanted to make it permanent, like you said, so you couldn’t change your mind and skin out if the going got tough.”

Johanna’s spoon circled the skillet slowly, swirling the thickening gravy in a methodical fashion, a task she could manage without a whole lot of concentration. It was a good thing, too, because her thoughts had been in a swivet since the moment Tate Montgomery planted his mouth against hers, sealing their bargain before God and man.

She’d expected him to graze her cheek, or maybe the corner of her mouth. Just to make things look right. What she hadn’t expected was the warmth of his lips, or the soft brush of them against her own before he found the spot he wanted to land on, or the impact of the male scent of him in her nostrils. She’d inhaled sharply when his mouth touched hers, thereby stamping the smell of his shaving soap and the aroma of freshly washed hair and skin on her mind.

It had only lasted a second or two, that kiss he’d given her with such ease and assurance, but the memory of it was still causing her to doubt her sanity.

She’d been kissed before, more thoroughly and at greater length. She’d been seduced by a man who was fairly knowledgable at the game. Her body had known the possession of that man, had shrunk from his greater strength at the end, had endured the rending of her flesh as her innocence surrendered to his taking.

Yet none of that had touched her inner heart as had the warm caress of Tate Montgomery’s kiss. It had spoken to her of commitment, as if in that one gesture he’d taken on her problems, her debts, her worries and her woes. She’d felt, for that moment, safe and secure, with his hands clasping
her forearms, his head bent low to salute her with the wedding kiss. She’d felt like a bride, almost.

Tate had held her arm in his grasp, guiding her past the women who would have gushed their well-wishes and words of advice in her ear, had he given them more of a chance. As it was, the two of them had made their way down the aisle and out the door within minutes of the short ceremony. Tate had gathered up his boys on the way and piled them into the back of the wagon with an economy of motion Johanna could not help but admire. The man knew how to make an exit, she’d give him that. As if he recognized her unwillingness to make small talk, he’d taken charge in grand style. They’d been on their way home before the preacher cleared the doorway, ushering the remnants of his flock before him.

“You going to stir that gravy all day, or are we going to get to put it on our potatoes?” Tate had left his seat at the table and walked up behind her.

“It’s done.” Her voice was downright normal, she was pleased to note. Her hands made all the right movements, picking up the pot holders, serving up the vegetables, pouring the perfectly smooth gravy into her mother’s china gravy boat and then placing everything on the table. All without looking once at the man who watched her every movement as if he were trying to see beneath her skin.

“You’re all upset about this, aren’t you, Johanna? We need to be comfortable with each other. We can’t live in this house like two strangers.”

“I don’t see how it can be any different, for now at least,” she answered, pulling the oven door open, rescuing the biscuits in the nick of time. “We are strangers.”

The woman who’d been dancing around in his mind for two days had taken to ignoring him ever since they repeated their vows, two hours ago. He’d thought to hear her making small talk while she cooked, maybe tell him about the people who’d hung around to watch the impromptu wedding.
She could even have told him about the farm. Hell, he hadn’t even known how many head of cattle she had till he went looking for himself. Her “not many” had led him to think there were no more than a half-dozen young steers and milk cows in the pastures. The herd he’d tracked down in the far pasture last night numbered at least thirty or so. Accompanied by the rangiest, most worn-out bull he’d seen in a month of Sundays.

“We may be strangers, Johanna, but we’re married. We need to talk about a few things.” Beneath the genial words lay a tone of voice that had caused people to sit up and take notice over the years. He wasn’t surprised to see her shoulders straighten and her spine stiffen. She’d gotten the message. Tate Montgomery was ready to set this marriage in motion. He would not suffer her silence any longer.

Johanna placed the pork roast on the table, careful to put it squarely on the hot pad that would protect her wooden tabletop. He watched as her gaze flicked over each bowl and plate, aware that she was assuring herself that her meal was ready for consumption and that each plate and fork and napkin was squarely in place.

And still that pair of blue eyes avoided his. Staring at the second button of his white shirt, she told him dinner was ready, her voice low and controlled, her unease apparent only in the pulse that fluttered in her throat.

He took pity on her. Johanna Patterson was having second thoughts, and his masculine presence in her kitchen had not helped matters any. His flat demand for a conversation had not set too well with her, either, if he was any judge. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, she was about to bolt And that he couldn’t allow.

“Jo.”

Her eyes widened, sweeping from the middle of his chest to his face, as if the diminutive of her given name had shocked her. She blinked, her attention on him fully for the first time since they’d left the church.

“I’m not pushing for any intimacies between us. I just want us to talk and act like families act within the walls of their home. Can’t you just pretend I’m your brother or your uncle for the next hour or so? Talk to me like you would a man you’ve known for years, like you and your pa used to talk at mealtimes.” He watched her closely, noting the faint flush that rose from her high-collared neckline.

“Pa and I didn’t talk much, Tate. We didn’t have a whole lot to say. Pa wasn’t the same after my mother died.” She spoke slowly, the words halting, as if she hesitated to admit the lack of closeness she’d felt with her father.

“You don’t have any relations hereabouts? You didn’t have folks in for Sunday dinner?”

She shook her head. “I fed the thrashers. Out in the yard, under the trees. Once Selena Phillips came out to see me, right after my mother died. Pa told her we didn’t take to having folks hanging around. She didn’t come back.”

A wave of sympathy for the woman he’d married hit Tate with the force of an afternoon storm. She’d been alone here for years, living with her father, but as solitary as any human could be. Suddenly the wall of bristling, cutting words she’d thrown up between them at their first meeting made sense. Johanna Patterson was more than a lonely woman. She was hurting, and wary of any advances.

“Is it time to eat?” Timmy’s treble voice through the screen door broke the silence that had fallen in the kitchen. His nose pushing up against the wire mesh, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light inside.

“Come in, boys.” Johanna smiled at them, welcoming their presence. She could cope with them, talk with them, serve their food and get through this meal with a minimum of contact with their father. She watched as Pete pulled the door open, stretching the spring as far as he could, waiting for his brother to step inside, then allowing the door to slam
behind him. His eyes lit with a degree of satisfaction as he darted a look in her direction.

“Don’t let the door slam next time, Pete,” his father said firmly.

“Yessir,” the boy replied, ducking his head deliberately as he spoke.

“Your hands clean?” Tate asked, frowning at his eldest son.

“I washed mine, Pa,” Timmy volunteered, holding up the items in question, his palms still wet and glistening.

“Pete?”

“They’re clean, Pa,” the boy mumbled. “We used the pump outside.”

Johanna pulled out the chair to the right of her own. “Sit here, won’t you, Timmy? Take the chair across from your brother, Pete.” She clasped her hands before her, watching as the boys did her bidding, aware of the man who stood across the table, his own hands clasping the back of his chair. Finally she felt herself snagged by the strange warmth of his gray eyes.

“Sit down, Johanna. Everything looks fine. We need to eat before it gets cold.” He waited for her to take her place, not allowing her to attempt retreat.

And the thought had passed fleetingly through her mind. Only the presence of the two children made it feasible for her to eat with any pretense of ease and affability. She waited while Tate bowed his head and asked a brief blessing on the food, then busied herself with fixing Timmy’s plate, cutting his meat and watching as he took the first bite. As she’d noticed yesterday, his chin came only inches above the tabletop. Now he tilted it to ease the passage of his potato-laden fork as he aimed it toward his mouth.

“Would he do better with a pillow under him?” Johanna asked.

“I thought maybe a chunk or two of firewood would work,” Tate said with a grin.

“I can kneel, Pa,” Timmy volunteered cheerfully. Depositing his fork on the table, he scrambled to his knees and leaned back on his heels. “This will work good,” he announced, setting to with renewed energy, now that he could reach his food more readily. “I was hungry, Miss Johanna.”

For the first time in days, Johanna’s mouth curled in genuine humor. The child’s glee was infectious. “I’m glad you’re hungry, Timmy. I like to cook for hungry men.”

Across the table, Pete ate slowly, as if he begrudged every bite passing his lips. His eyes were downcast, his fork held in his fist like a weapon, his whole demeanor morose.

Johanna watched the older boy from beneath her lashes as she ate, wanting desperately to speak his name, to have him look up at her with open, cheerful good humor, yet knowing she must not infringe on his mood. His was about as far from a good mood as east was from west, and she wasn’t about to get him in trouble with his father.

“Did you bring in everything from the barn, Pete?” Tate’s query was pleasant, as if his son’s ill will were not apparent.

“Yessir, it’s on the porch like you told me.” Green beans disappeared between his teeth, and he chewed diligently.

“Me too, Pa. I brung my stuff, my pillow and everything.” Timmy’s grin encompassed the table and all three of his companions. “When can we bring in the beds and stuff we brought?”

Johanna’s head lifted, her gaze meeting Tate’s abruptly. “You brought furniture with you?”

He nodded. “Some. I wasn’t sure what we’d need. I didn’t even know where we were going. I brought a supply of tools, too, some I didn’t figure I’d want to have to replace. The boys wanted their beds and the feather ticks their aunt Bessie made for them, and some trunks I made them.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she said, thinking of the big double bed she’d outfitted with clean sheets in her old bedroom. “We could have brought their things in last night.”

“We had enough to do last night, what with getting your mother’s room all fixed up for you.”

“Well, I’m sure we can get the boys’ things into the house after dinner and get them settled in. They’ll want to put their clothes away in the wardrobe and dresser.”

“Most of my stuff is dirty. Pa has to wash it,” Pete said gruffly. “We didn’t stop to do the washing for a long time.”

Tate’s smile was teasing. “I wasn’t going to tell Miss Johanna about that till tomorrow, son. There wasn’t any sense in scaring her off the first day. It’ll take half the morning to scrub out the pile of things we’ve managed to accumulate.”

“I’m used to laundry. My scrub board works real well,” Johanna said obligingly. “Bring your things on in and put them in the washroom.”

“You wash indoors year-round?” Tate asked.

“Pretty much. It gets cold here early on. We’re not far from the big lake, and when that west wind blows, I don’t enjoy being out in it, up to my elbows in wash water. My father built a washroom for Mama when he built this house. It’s bad enough I have to hang things outside in the winter. Mama used to carry them up to the attic sometimes, when the weather got real bad, and string a line to put them on.”

“What’s wrong with a rack behind the stove?” Tate eyed the space between the cookstove and the wall, measuring it in his mind.

“I never thought of that. I didn’t know they made such things,” Johanna said.

“I can put one together for you. It won’t hold everything at once, but things dry pretty good. Beats standing out in a cold wind, with a wet sheet flappin’ in your face.”

“Pa! Can we have pie now?” Timmy was plainly tired
of the talk of laundry day, and his voice was querulous as he attempted to change the subject. His plate was empty of food, his fork still held upright in his hand, and his eyes were glued to the apple pie sitting on Johanna’s kitchen cupboard.