Only Mine (8 page)

The intensity of Wolfe’s eyes made Jessica’s breath catch in her throat. An odd sensation trembled in the pit of her stomach, as though he were stroking her hair. But he wasn’t touching her. He was simply watching her.

With an effort, she forced herself to speak. “What verses do you know that I don’t?”

“Many.”

“Wonderful. Teach me and we’ll sing together.”

Wolfe compressed his lips against the smile that threatened to overwhelm his efforts at self-control. “The verses I know would horrify you.”

“Why?”

“They deal with Adam’s staff, among other things,” Wolfe said blandly.

Jessica looked blank. “Why would talk of Adam’s staff horrify me?”

“It’s also celebrated as a flea shooter, a hoe, a fishing rod, a drummer’s stick, a Roman candle, a branding iron, a dagger, a sword, a dowsing rod, a ramrod, a pistol and, lately, a repeating rifle.”
Wolfe’s voice vibrated with suppressed laughter. “There are other names as well. Many names. And for each one, a verse to the tune you were singing.”

Jessica frowned. “A tool for many purposes, is that it?”

Wolfe gave up the fight, tipped back his head, and laughed without restraint.

The rich, masculine sounds made Jessica feel as though she was standing close to a fire. Some of the tension seeped slowly from her. The feeling of relief was almost dizzying, telling her how much she had feared that she would never be able to make her husband smile again.

“As you say,” Wolfe managed finally, “an allpurpose tool. Fortunately, Eve was equally well endowed.”

Jessica blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Adam’s staff had its complement in Eve.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Eve had a fertile field for Adam to till,” Wolfe said gravely, “a shadowed pool for him to fish, a deep well to be discovered by his dowsing rod, a supple sheath for his knife or sword to lie within…ah, the sunrise of understanding shines pinkly on your face.”

Blushing, Jessica covered her mouth with her hands, but couldn’t prevent the sound of her giggles from escaping. Her laughter was contagious, setting off Wolfe again. Soon Jessica was laughing so hard she had to hang onto the cupboard door or fall.

Wolfe was little better off. It had been years since he had teased Jessica until they were both weak with laughter. He hadn’t known how much life had lacked until this moment.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted before he could think better of it.

“Not as much as I missed you.”

“Did you?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, blotting tears of laughter from her eyes. “When you’re with me, I never hear the wind.”

“What an odd reason to miss someone.”

“Elves are odd creatures.”

Wolfe looked at the row of open cupboard doors. “Yes, they are. Why were you going through the cupboards, elf?”

“I was looking for your coffeepot.”

“It’s on the stove.”

Jessica straightened and stared at the pot-bellied stove. She saw nothing but a battered container that looked like a tall, rather narrow pot. It was wider at the bottom than the top and had a slight flare on the rim. A wire handle stood upright above the lid.

“A coffeepot on the stove,” she said neutrally.

“Umm.”

The sound Wolfe made was rather like that of a very large, contented cat. Jessica glanced at him from beneath thick auburn lashes.

“How does this coffeepot work?”

“Quite simply. You fill the pot with water, put it on the stove to boil, add coffee grounds, boil for a time, and then add cold water to settle the grounds.”

“Ah,” she breathed, brightening. “Simple indeed.”

Jessica went to the stove, took the lid off the pot, and looked around for a pitcher of water. There was none.

“Water comes from pumps,” Wolfe said. “You
do know what a pump looks like, don’t you?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I’m not sure. Elves are unpredictable creatures. It’s difficult to be certain what they know.”

Jessica hadn’t ever used a pump, but she certainly had seen one used. She went to the sink, set the pot down beneath the pump’s spout, and picked up the long iron pump handle. She had to go up on her tiptoes to lift the handle to its fullest.

“
Wait.
”

Jessica froze, teetered, and began to lose her balance. Before she could topple and accidently bring the pump handle down, Wolfe rushed forward and snatched her off her feet. She made a startled sound.

“You forgot something,” he said calmly.

She looked into midnight blue eyes that were intriguingly close to her own, for Wolfe had lifted her until her head was on a level with his.

“What did I forget?”

“You didn’t prime the pump.”

The blank look Jessica gave Wolfe told him that she didn’t know what he was talking about. He started to set her down, but her small, warm waist felt too good between his hands to let go of just yet.

“See that pitcher of water next to the pump?” Wolfe asked.

The deepening of his voice ruffled Jessica’s nerves in a way she liked without knowing why. She nodded. He shifted her suddenly, turning her away from him. The breathless sound she made was lost in his words.

“Pick up the pitcher, elf.”

She leaned across the counter, and in doing so, pressed her bottom into the cradle of Wolfe’s
thighs. He closed his eyes and told himself to put her down. Instead, his hands tightened around her, savoring the supple warmth of her against the ache of male hunger and need that had concentrated between his thighs.

“Now pour the water into the opening at the top of the pump,” he said a low voice.

The motions Jessica made pressed her more intimately against Wolfe’s hungry flesh. Water splashed and danced, shimmering in the lantern light. Belatedly, Wolfe remembered what he was supposed to be doing. He shifted Jessica again, holding her against his body with one arm while the other worked the handle of the pump. Soon water gushed out of the pump’s spout and into the coffeepot until it overflowed.

“That,” Wolfe said, letting Jessica slide down his body until her feet touched the floor, “is called priming a pump.”

Ruefully, he acknowledged that the pump wasn’t the only thing that had been primed during the lesson, but he could hardly blame Jessica for that. She hadn’t known what she was doing when she pressed her backside against his groin until he could feel the very feminine flare of her hips beneath all the folds of cloth in her traveling dress.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

For an instant, Wolfe thought Jessica was referring to the change that had taken place in his body while he held her; then he realized she was talking about the pump. He opened his mouth to answer, but the thought of explaining to a wide-eyed elf the intricacies of suction, pressure, and pumping involved in the mechanism—while at the same time his body was on fire—defeated Wolfe.

“Think of it as a religious ritual,” he said finally.

Jessica tilted her head back to look up at him and realized anew just how large her husband was. Yet being held by him hadn’t frightened her or made her uneasy in any way. In fact, it had been very nice, as had seeing his eyes so close to hers and feeling the warmth of his breath on her cheek. The hard strength of his arm supporting her had been even more appealing, as had been the power and motion of his body as he worked the pump. Soft sensations shimmered through her at the thought of being held that way again.

“A religious ritual,” Jessica repeated in a dazed voice.

“I must have unpacked the parrot along with your sidesaddle.”

Laughing softly, Jessica shook her head. “Priming the pump is a religious ritual, and you unpacked the parrot with my sidesaddle. Oh, Wolfe, do you think our wits were addled by the long trip?”

“Very likely.”

For a moment she looked into the dear indigo depths of his eyes. The delicate shimmering sensation in the pit of her stomach strengthened.

“You do the most curious things to my stomach,” Jessica said in a husky voice.

“Nausea, loss of appetite?” Wolfe guessed wryly.

“Far from it. You make me feel as though I’ve swallowed golden butterflies.”

The innocent admission forced Wolfe to close his eyes, for if he kept looking at Jessica he would reach out and trace the delicate curves of her upper lip with his fingers first and then the tip of his tongue. It had been difficult enough to keep his hands off her; it would be impossible if she kept watching
him with wondering, luminous eyes and talked of the first, delicate tremors of passion awakening within her untouched body.

Desire beat in harsh waves through Wolfe, but he remained motionless. He didn’t trust himself to touch Jessica. If she responded to an outright caress with the laughter and honesty she had just shown, he wouldn’t stop caressing her until he was sheathed within her.

Then the marriage would be all too real. She would be bound for life to a halfbreed mustang hunter, and he would be bound for life to a girl who was afraid of being a woman.

“I think,” Wolfe said distinctly, opening his eyes, “it’s time to get on with teaching you how to make coffee. There’s too much water in the coffeepot. Pour the extra into the priming pitcher. And next time, fill the pitcher first.”

“Why?”

“Because if it’s dry when you go to pump the next time, you have to walk to the spring for water before you can get any water from the pump.”

“I must pour water in the pump before I can pump water out.” Jessica shook her head. “That hardly makes sense.”

“Most rituals don’t.”

“What if I pump without adding water first?”

“The mechanism wasn’t made to work dry. You’ll ruin it.”

“And your temper, too?” Jessica guessed.

“Count on it. Reno’s, too. He helped me put in the pump.”

“Is he a neighbor?”

“No,” Wolfe said. “He hunts for Spanish treasure in the desert when he’s not staying with Willow in the San Juans.”

“Truly? What does Caleb think of that?”

“He approves.”

“That’s quite, er, exceptional of him.”

“Reno is Willow’s brother.”

Jessica blinked and muttered beneath her breath, “Daunting prospect, being brother to a paragon.”

Wolfe handed Jessica the coffeepot and gestured toward the stove. When she set the pot down, water sloshed onto the black surface of the stove. The cast iron was cold. After fumbling for a bit with the stove door, she managed to open it and peer inside. Kindling was laid out in orderly array.

“Looking for these?” Wolfe asked.

Jessica straightened. He was holding out a cup full of matches he had taken from a shelf near the stove.

“You do know which end to scrape against the iron, don’t you?” he asked dryly.

“The lamp didn’t light itself,” she pointed out.

Wolfe glanced at the lamp smoking happily on the counter. “So I see. Were you planning on smoking fish over the chimney?”

“Don’t be silly. Even I know the difference between a lantern and a fish smoker.”

Jessica scraped a match over the stovetop. It broke. She took another matchstick from the tin cup.

“Besides, I’m not to blame for the smoke,” she muttered, taking another swipe at the stovetop. “I did nothing but light the lamp.” The match didn’t catch. She pressed harder and tried again. No flame jumped to the tip. “It must be the oil you use that’s causing the smoke.”

“No, it’s the wick you used. It’s the wrong length,” Wolfe explained. “If you trim it correctly, the lamp won’t smoke.”

“Then by all means, trim the wick,” she retorted.

Jessica dragged the match over the stove yet again. The head of the match caught and broke off at the same time, sending a shower of burning sulphur tumbling down her skirt.

“Blast!” she said under her breath as she shook off the sparks.

When Wolfe had adjusted the wick properly, he went back to the stove. Jessica was in the process of breaking another match in half while trying to strike it on the smooth, greasy portion of the stove’s metal surface. With a muttered word, she took a new match from the diminishing supply in the cup.

“Here,” Wolfe said, reaching past Jessica and putting his hand over hers. “Hold onto the match. Now bring it across the spot where the fire below burned the hottest. The metal is clean there. No soot or grease is left to foul the match tip.”

As Wolfe spoke, he drew Jessica’s hand beneath his over the stove in a swift, firm stroke. The match blazed instantly to life.

“See?” he said.

Jessica looked over her shoulder at Wolfe. The burning match was reflected in his eyes. The contrast between the flame and the blue midnight of his irises enthralled her, as did the straight, black length of his eyelashes and the pronounced arch of his eyebrows. The intensity and intelligence in his eyes was brighter and more alluring than even the dance of flame.

The odd, shivering sensations returned to her stomach.

“Jessi?”

“Yes, I see.”

“Do you? You look rather baffled.”

“Just a bit shocked.”

“By lighting a match?”

She smiled oddly. “No. By you. I just realized how very handsome you are.”

Wolfe’s eyes widened a fraction, then narrowed. The pulse at his throat speeded.

“I mean, I’ve always known you were handsome,” Jessica continued, trying to explain. “Everyone from duchesses to maids has rattled on about your looks for years, but I never really
knew.
It’s rather unsettling suddenly to see you as they must have seen you.”

She laughed uncertainly. “Don’t stare at me so. I feel foolish enough as it is. How could I overlook something so obvious for so many—oh!”

Jessica’s hand jerked as the match burned down to her skin. She snatched her fingers to her lips and dropped the still flaming match onto the stovetop.

“Are you all right?” Wolfe asked.

Jessica blew on her fingertips before staring at them critically. “Just a trifle scorched.”

“Let me see.”

He looked at her fingertips, then bent his head and gently ran the tip of his tongue over them. When he lifted his head again, Jessica was watching him with an expression on her face that could have been shock or disgust.

“You needn’t look so appalled,” Wolfe said curtly. “It’s only what a cat would do for a foolish kitten.”