Rocky Mountain Wife (4 page)

He plunked the pot onto the stovetop, letting himself picture what it would be like to have a woman like Claire. Cozy evenings, good smells coming from the kitchen, someone to smile in greeting when he walked through the door. For a moment—just one little moment—longing wedged into his heart. Once, he’d held out hope for a life like that. Now, he accepted it could never be.

With the way he’d grown up, he wasn’t fit for much else but this solitary life. He bowed his head, refusing to feel anything at all, and gave the beans a stir. He felt sorry for Claire Callahan, that was all. He was too smart to let it ever be anything more.

Wind whipped against the side of the barn, sending a chill down the aisle where Joshua gave his Stetson a toss. It landed in the shadows, and she gulped, feeling the change in the air, the tingling, metallic sensation right before lightning struck. But it wasn’t the storm that made her skin twitch and her body shiver. It was the man, rain-sodden, his muslin shirt and trousers slicked to his skin.

“Why don’t you take me up on my offer?” His baritone caressed like velvet, smooth and deep.

Her stomach twisted. She licked her lips. “O-offer?”

“You know.” He moved in, one hand cupping her arm so close to her breast she could feel her nipples harden. “Where I let you live in the house for free…for certain favors.”

Claire’s gaze slid downward, across the sculptured contours of his chest to his flat abdomen where a dark trail of hair arrowed downward. She swallowed, her fingers itching to reach out and then they were, grazing across the stretched-tight front of his trousers.

Her fingertips caressed the impressive length of his shaft straining against the fabric. She felt it jump at her touch—jump and surge, growing bigger. She cupped her palm against the head of his penis, feeling the hard ridge and fascinating curve and blunt tip. It thudded beneath her hand, beating with life, with desire.

Let go, step back, common sense told her. But it had been so long. Need rose up, wet and demanding between her thighs. She groaned, feeling the sigh move through her. She needed him there, had to know the hard feel of him pushing into her and filling her up. She’d die if she didn’t get to feel the stroke and thrum, the squeeze of her muscles around him as he swelled, ready to come.

Just once, she told herself, releasing the button of his fly. The heat of that steel sprang up, pressing against her knuckles as she released another button. He groaned as his shaft sprung free into her palm and she closed her fingers around it. Her inner muscles clamped wanting to feel that amazing thickness there, where she’d gone embarrassingly and totally wet. Panting and wanton, she let him push her back against the wall.

He was breathing hard, too. Lifting her skirt, he caught hold of her thigh and lifted it to his hip. Exposed, her female flesh swelled, dripping as she guided him there with her hand—there, where she opened for him, where the melting-hot press of his solid flesh pushed into her.

He was sweet like heaven, hot like sin. She clutched his shoulders, trying to pull him in farther but she was already coming, throbbing once, twice, a third time—

Thunder crashed so hard, it shook the bed. She opened her eyes, panting hard, her body straining to take in a penis that wasn’t there.

It was a dream. A dream!
She sat up, her body thrumming halfway to orgasm. Her breath heaved in and out. Her blood was on fire even as the cool night air chilled her skin. Shame burned through her, but it didn’t stop the achy lust in her body. Had she really been dreaming about mating with Joshua Reed? She buried her face in her hands. What a way for a widow to behave!

Claire pushed off the covers and reached for her housecoat. Stuffing her arms into the sleeves, she crossed the braided carpet she’d made as a new bride and pushed aside the curtains she’d finished making the day she learned she would become a mother.
That is who you are,
she told herself, not some sexually crazed woman grabbing a man’s penis the first chance she got.

Even if it had been ages since she’d been touched like that, since her body had known the sweet bliss of sexual climax. With a sigh, she settled onto the window seat and blinked. Was that snow? She squinted, puzzled, suddenly realizing it was hail. Big balls of it began to crash down, hammering on the roof, bouncing on the ground and crushing the vegetable garden she’d weeded just this morning.

The crops!
Realization hit her, and she squeezed her eyes shut. They would be ruined. Utterly destroyed. Well, it was a good thing she hadn’t let herself get too happy over the prospect of staying here in her home. She opened her eyes and a tear slipped out, trailing down her cheek. It was the only one she allowed to fall. The others, she kept trapped deep inside.

Joshua wouldn’t want the land now. Not when the crops were ruined.

Dawn came darkly, hiding the new golden light behind thick rain clouds. Although the hail had stopped hours ago, the returning rain had yet to melt the carpet of ice from the fields. Joshua planted his hands on his hips, gazing across the Callahan’s vast acreage of destroyed crops to the rise of the land in the distance, where his home sat. The day had barely started and yet, it could not be more bleak.

Everything was lost. Every plant, every sprout, even every weed. His chest tightened with disappointment. This was a hard blow.

Well, he couldn’t stand here all day. He splashed across the field and into the barn, where Claire’s lone milk cow mooed plaintively. It echoed in the barn, a lonely sound.

“I know just how you feel, girl.” He spotted a pail, clean and set out for the morning chores on top of the three-legged stool. He grabbed both and let himself into the cow’s stall. He poured her a little grain and hunkered down at her flank.

“Mr. Reed?” Surprise filled the voice that traveled down the aisle. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Milking your cow. Is there a law against it?” He reached for the animal’s teats and squeezed, stripping the milk from them. “Is there a law against walking into your neighbor’s barn and doing their chores?”

“If there isn’t, there should be.” Claire swished into sight bundled up in a warm coat and hat.

“You look ready to go calling on friends in town.” He didn’t know if that amused him or annoyed him.

“This is my lightest wool coat. I suppose it is a little fancy for barn chores.” She bit her bottom lip, worrying it between your teeth. “Really, what are you doing here? Didn’t you see what happened to the fields?”

“I saw.” Almost terse, he kept his head down and his hands working. Milk zinged into the pail. “Go back inside, Claire.”

“Funny, you’re always telling me to go in the house.” A glint of humor sounded in her voice, but it couldn’t overcome the sadness. “The crops are gone. Are yours too?”

“Yes,” he said steadily, as if the world wasn’t close to coming to an end. “It’s early enough in the season that I can replant. It’ll be a big job and that will mean a late harvest, but it can be done.”

“Does that mean our deal is still good?”

“It’s better than good. There’s one thing you need to learn about me. I don’t go back on my word. I stick it out until the end. Sorry, but you aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

“I see.” She almost smiled. She was purely grateful. Relief surged through her, leaving her as shaky as she’d been last night when she’d woke up in bed wet and dreaming of sex with him. Her gaze slid sideways to the barn wall where in her dream they’d been, well, rutting.

Embarrassment scorched her, and she stared hard at the ground, trying to drum the memory out of her head.

“I hope you weren’t up all night worrying.” His baritone dipped with a touch of kindness. He sat with his cheek against the cow’s soft flank, balanced on her three-legged stool, looking far too tough and gargantuan. Her womb fluttered.

Stop that,
she told herself.

“No,” she answered his question. “For the first night in a long time, worry didn’t keep me up. The storm did.”

“Me, too. Once I heard the hail I knew we were in trouble. But since I had most of the night to think everything over, I’ve decided it’s not all that bad.” He stopped to glance beneath the cow, checking her udder. “If it was later in the growing season, it would be another story.”

“I can help you with the replanting.” She felt awkward watching him do her chores. She stepped into the stall. “Here, let me finish up. You haven’t milked a cow before, have you?”

“It’s been a long time. When I was at the orphanage.” He didn’t budge from the stool. “I’m almost getting the rhythm back.”

“And missing the bucket every third or fourth time.” The words came out more harshly than she meant, because it was hard not to remember another man who sat there, doing her morning chores. That was Clay, always doing for her, always caring. Grief sliced a path through her heart. Shaken, she grabbed the side of the stall.

“Are you all right?” Joshua towered over her, concern carved on his square, angular face.

She blinked, aware of his nearness. He smelled good—like warm, clean man, soap and hay. Last night’s dream came back to her, and she wondered if his shoulders would feel as hard in real life.

Okay, she was wondering if another thing was as hard too.

“I’m f-fine.” As fine as she was ever going to be. She took a step back and rammed her spine against the wall. Just like last night, she thought, when she’d imagined having his erection in her hands and her leg hiked around his bare hip.

If only it had been real,
a part of her thought. A bad, bad part of her. The part that had been lonely for the physical intimacy of love for years and years.

“Let me finish up the milking. I’m almost done.” He moved away, unaware of her thoughts, a man focused on the work to be done. “I saw the chicken coop over in the corner. I’ll take care of them too.”

“Did you learn how to gather eggs at the orphanage, too?”

“I learned how to get every last egg without getting my fingers pecked. I reckon I still know how to do it.” He squatted down, draining the last bit of milk from Polly’s udder.

“You don’t have your own cow or chickens?” she asked.

“Didn’t want to go to the trouble or the expense.” He supposed a woman like her in her fancy clothes and comfortable house might not understand. “I saved every penny I could to buy my own land, and once I had my place, I’ve been saving for a bigger one.”

“I’ve never met anyone who’d been in an orphanage before.” She crossed her arms over her chest, watching him carefully instead of going into the house like he’d ordered her to. “How long were you there?”

“Isn’t that a little personal?” He straightened up, hefting the full bucket out from beneath the cow.

“Sorry, I was just wondering.” She reached for the bucket, wrapping her slender hands around the handle. Her skin grazed his, sending fiery little skittles of sensation up his hands and into his blood. “I confess it. I am nosy, but maybe I should know more about you if we’re going to be, well, partners of sorts.”

“Partners?” He raised an eyebrow at that, trying not to breathe in the soft lilac and warm scent of her. She smelled good. Wonderful.

“I’m a stubborn woman, so you may as well give in to me now. Saving the farm is going to be a joint venture and don’t even think about arguing with me.” A hint of indignity rang in her voice as she hiked up her chin, took the bucket from his grip and sailed away. “You have no idea how terrified I’ve been trying to figure out my future. You’ve given me a reprieve, and I won’t let you down.”

“I never thought you would.”

“Good. When you’re done with the chickens, please bring the eggs right into the kitchen. Just knock and come in.”

“As you wish.” He shook his head, reaching for the pitchfork to clean the stall as she hurried down the aisle, not sure he liked Claire at all. Maybe not even one bit. But he had seen the shadowed emotion in her blue eyes. Her gratitude was sincere.

And she was stronger than she looked.

At the barn door, she turned around to give him one last glance, her gaze soft and kind, and emotion hit him like an anvil to the chest. He spun away, digging into the soiled straw with the pitchfork, tangled up with emotions he didn’t understand at all. He’d never felt anything this powerful before. Maybe it was caring. He didn’t know.

He didn’t want to know.

He got to work, pitching and cleaning, keeping busy until every bit of barn work was done. Then he headed to the house with a small pail of fresh eggs, debating the merits of leaving them on the back doorstep and staying clear of her. He lifted his hand to knock and spotted her through the window in the door.

Incredible,
he thought.
Just incredible.

She stood at the stove with her honey-blond hair pulled back into a single braid that trailed down her slender back. Her green calico dress grazed her full breasts and perfectly curved hips, skimming over her long legs like a dream. She held a wooden spoon in one hand, her cheeks pink from the heat of the stove as she chattered away to someone out of his sight. With the faint bell of her voice ringing like a melody and lamplight spilling over her, she looked like home. Like everything he’d ever wanted.

But he’d given up on that. He knew it couldn’t happen for him. Not with the way he’d grown up. He was better at being on his own. Alone was all he knew. It was what he was good at. So he set down the pail, gave a light knock and walked away in the rain. He’d turned the corner before he heard the door open, and her gentle voice call out his name.

It was a call he had to resist. He’d given up on dreams. They were nothing but a waste of time.

Claire scooped up the small pail of eggs and closed the door. Her face was damp from the rain. She felt a strange disappointment that Joshua hadn’t taken her up on her offer. She’d intended to cook breakfast for him. But he’d rushed away without so much as a word.

Perhaps that was for the best, she realized, considering how many times she’d thought about what was in his trousers.