Eden Page 11

  He nodded, watching for the trace of fear he knew would be apparent, and was not surprised when she inhaled sharply.

  “I never slept in a bed with a man, John. When old Jacob tried to crawl in with me, he scared me something fierce. I didn’t want him to touch me, no how.”

  John considered the girl who had only hours ago promised to “love, honor and obey” him. And his words were ones guaranteed to bring about her acquiescence to his bidding.

  “You told the preacher you’d obey me, Katie. Remember?”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth tightened as if she wanted to speak but feared his wrath should she allow the words to pass her lips.

  “What is it, Katie? Tell me what you’re thinking.” He spoke mildly, measuring his words, softening his tone, knowing she was tensed and ready to bolt, should he allow it.

  “Did that mean I have to do whatever you say, John? That ‘obey’ part of the wedding.”

  He only nodded, waiting for movement from the small, tensed body before him. But to his amazement, she seemed to relax before his eyes and her gaze lifted to touch his.

  “Are you telling me you want me to get in your bed now, John? Shall I get undressed?”

  He nodded. “Put on your nightgown, Katie, and then get under the sheet. I’ll be in there with you in a couple of minutes. I’ll just bank the fireplace and make sure the cookstove is ready for morning.”

  “All right.”

  So easily she did as he asked, so immediate was her response, he was stunned. He’d thought to find her stubborn, at least reluctant to sleep in his bed. Instead, she had turned and entered the bedroom and lighting a candle, pushed the door halfway closed before she readied herself for sleep.

  He heard the water poured from the pitcher into his china washbowl, heard the sound of a cloth being squeezed out, the dripping of excess water signaling her preparation for washing herself. And he closed his eyes, thinking of the soft curves that would receive the touch of the cloth she used. The urge to open the door was great, but he clenched his fists and stood before the fireplace, waiting for some signal that she had finished her nighttime routine.

  He’d seen her, many times, the bedroom door ajar behind her as she made ready for the night. Watched the door she left partway open as she bustled about behind it, doing his best to imagine the flurry of preparation she underwent. And then watching as she came out, garbed in the white gown he’d bought her at the general store, her face flushing as she caught his gaze on her. Her short walk to the sofa where she’d been sleeping was generally fraught with haste, for she did not feel comfortable with his eyes touching her in her nightgown.

  That it was totally unrevealing, that he stood not a chance of glimpsing her through its fabric was not the issue. It was a nightgown, and she felt uneasy with only that single layer of material between the two of them. As if her mind were an open book, and he had been given the right to read each page, he knew her thoughts.

  And in knowing, recognized that his responsibility tonight was to assure her of her safety in his bed. She would be frightened, of that there was no doubt, for her only exposure to a man had been the hated Jacob Schrader, and John had no wish to be associated with that man in any way.

  He rapped lightly on the bedroom door, standing half-ajar, giving him only a view of his bed, and heard Katie’s soft whisper. “Come in, John. I’m ready to climb into bed now.”

  He did as she had given him leave, entering the room, leaving the door open to catch the heat from the kitchen, lest she be cold. And then wondered at his own judgment, as he recognized that cold might be his ally tonight, that perhaps if Katie was chilled, she would curl close to him, seeking his warmth.

  But the deed was done, and he would not second-guess himself. She was sitting on the side of the mattress, her eyes wide, the thoughts that filled her mind all too apparent to his view. And then, as if she bowed to his edict, she slid her feet beneath the sheet and quilt and curled up on the farthest spot on his mattress.

  “Close your eyes, Katie. I’m gonna get undressed now.” His words were a warning she heeded, pulling the sheet and quilt up to cover her head. He undid his shirt, then his trousers, pushing them from his body with a single movement, leaving him clad only in his drawers and stockings. A quick movement allowed him to shed those two small bits of apparel, but his drawers he kept on, fearful of frightening her beyond redemption should she catch sight of his masculine arousal, or perchance feel it prodding against her body.

  On the edge of the mattress, he reached to her, his hand warm against her arm, and his words were meant to soothe her fears. “I won’t take up much room, Katie, but I’m used to sleeping alone and if I crowd you, you’ll have to scold me and make me move over.”

  She laughed softly, as he had intended she should, and then as he slid beneath the sheets next to her, he heard the indrawn breath she tried to conceal with a cough. He felt her weight scoot even farther from him and with a sigh, he spoke her name again.

  “Katie. Listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you, or even touch you if you don’t want me to. Just let me hold your hand. All right?” Unmoving, he lay on his back, awaiting her decision.

  It was not long in coming, for she slipped the sheet over her shoulder and offered him the slender length of her fingers, her palm touching his forearm. “You can touch me if you need to, John,” she offered. “I know there’s a lot more to being in the same bed than just sharing the sheets. I heard too many times when Jacob was giving Agnes a hard time of it, and she’d holler at him and make a fuss.”

  He chuckled softly and took her fingers between his palms. “I won’t give you reason to holler at me, Katie. Or make a fuss, for that matter. I only want to be next to you and maybe help keep you warm.”

  “Oh, I’m warm enough,” she protested. “This nightgown is right warm, good heavy flannel.”

  He smiled, aware of her tension, willing her to trust him, needing her to seek him out beneath the bedding. And knowing that such a thing was probably not going to happen tonight.

  In that he was right, for she turned from him and held herself away from his body’s warmth. He felt the shiver she could not conceal, knew that she was chilled by the night air, the cracks in the logs allowing cold to seep into the room.

  “If you let me, I’ll keep you warm, Katie,” he offered, his tone nonchalant, as though it mattered little one way or the other, and knew he had succeeded somewhat in his ploy when she scooted back toward him in small increments, an inch at a time, until their bodies were almost touching.

  “That’s better, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let me put my hand on your side here, and we’ll both be more comfortable.” And as he spoke the words he lifted his hand from his grip on hers and curved his palm around her waist, turning her from himself. Then, easily, neatly and with no other movement to reveal his need of her, he placed his big hand on the bend of her waist, feeling her indrawn breath as if she acknowledged his claim on her flesh.

  And indeed she had, for Katie stilled at the touch of a male hand on her body and closed her eyes. “I know it’s you back there, John, but it feels funny to be having your hands on me.”

  And yet, she craved the warmth of that broad palm, knew for a moment the comfort of his hand bringing heat to that small portion of her body. And she relaxed, softening herself to sink farther into the feather bed.

  “I’ll be right here,” he whispered. “All night long, Katie. I’m not going away. I’ll just keep you warm. All right?”

  She nodded, not able to speak, for her throat was dry, the words she tried to form stuck somehow in her craw, as if she were mute. A soft chuckle from the man behind her was a comfort, one she had not thought to hear, for he did not mock her fear, but accepted it as a part of her femininity. And how she knew that was a conundrum, but yet it was true. John would not mock her, only understand her as well as a man could.

  And for that she was thankful, easing herself another inch in his direction, until she felt the
heat radiating from his long form behind her, knew the comfort of being safe and secure within the boundaries of his bed. For John had promised not to harm her or cause her to fear him.

  And if she could believe nothing else in this life, she could count on John Roper keeping his word.

  KATIE’S EYES FLEW OPEN, her heart in her throat, sensing that she was in a strange place, and not knowing her whereabouts this morning. Before her was a window, beyond the glass was the barn and a flurry of movement as men came and went through the wide doors.

  And if she turned, John would be behind her, for he had slept with her in this bed last night. She held her breath, turning her head, seeking his face, and felt an overwhelming disappointment when she discovered the other side of the bed was empty, John’s pillow against her back, the covers tucked over her neatly.

  “John?” As if he might be somewhere in the cabin, she called his name, even as she recognized that he would be out with the hired hands, doing his morning chores. And it was time and past for her to be out of bed and making his breakfast.

  When he came into the cabin, she was at the stove, turning pancakes with the metal tool she’d found atop the range. A pan of bacon sizzled on the back of the black stove and a small pan emitted the scent of syrup, bubbling next to the griddle.

  “I tried to put together some hot syrup for your pancakes, John,” she said brightly. “But I don’t think I got it right. Berta told me how to make it the other day and she must have left me some of the flavoring, for I found it in your pantry.”

  “I can show you how to do that,” he offered. “My mama used to make it all the time with maple flavoring and sugar and water. Can I help?”

  She turned to him and her smile was wide. “I’d be ever so glad to learn how your mama did it. We never had syrup when I was living at the Schrader place.” Her laugh was harsh. “We were lucky to have pancakes, let alone anything to put on them.”

  “Well, you can have all the syrup you like living here, sweetheart,” he promised, and then made a production of demonstrating his skill at mixing the ingredients and putting the small saucepan over the heat till it came to a boil. Katie watched him, praising him for his skill and he bantered with her, making her smile, then chuckle at his antics.

  She turned from him then and his approach behind her was slow and careful, not willing to startle her with his presence, yet wanting her to become accustomed to him. His hand touched her shoulder and he peered over it to see what she was cooking, watching as she turned the pancake in the pan, pleased to find that she softened beneath his touch, as she turned her head to smile at him.

  “You’re as sweet as that syrup, I’ll warrant,” he said softly. “I can smell your soap right here by your ear, Katie.”

  She turned her head and his lips touched her forehead lightly. “Yup, right here, too,” he said, his lips nuzzling that spot.

  “I’m not sweet,” she replied, as if she must protest his words. “No one ever in my life said such a thing to me.”

  “Well, you’ve never in your life had a husband before, Katie Roper. And since I’m the man in charge here, I can say anything I want to, and all you have to do is listen.”

  She turned the pancake one more time and then slid it onto a plate in the warming oven. “I’ll listen to anything you tell me, John, but I don’t have to believe it.”

  “Well, you’d better believe me this time, girl, for you’re one sweet specimen of womanhood, and I’m proud as I can be that you’re my wife.”

  Her head tilted back a bit and she lifted the other pancake hastily from the griddle, as if she feared for its safety. “Don’t get me all flustered while I’m cooking, John. I’ll be burning your breakfast if you’re not careful.”

  He laughed softly, kissing the small ringlet that dwelled against her temple. “I wouldn’t want that to happen, Katie girl. I’m a hungry man this morning.”

  “Well, sit yourself down at the table and I’ll feed you then,” she said brightly, sliding the plate from the warming oven, then adding four slices of bacon to the offering she’d readied. Four pancakes were piled high and she placed the plate on the table and, using his knife, placed a goodly portion of butter on top of the steaming cakes.

  She quickly poured a cup of coffee and John looked down at the meal she’d completed for his comfort. “Are you going to eat, too?” he asked, looking back at the stove for her plate.

  “Soon as the next pancakes get done,” she said, pouring batter onto the steaming griddle. The remaining bacon in the pan was taken up to drain on a piece of brown paper and she watched as bubbles formed on the sizzling cakes. Within a minute, she had flipped them over, exposing the brown side and allowing them to complete cooking. She poured coffee into a second mug and settled it on the table, then turned to take up her breakfast.

  “I’ll make you some more if you like,” she said readily, eyeing his plate, already half-empty.

  “After you’ve eaten yours,” he said firmly. “I want you to sit down while they’re still warm.”

  She did as he said, spreading butter and pouring syrup from the small pan onto her plate. And then with a smile that warmed him, she cut a bite and lifted her fork to her mouth. “I’m glad Berta thought of the flavoring for the syrup,” she said. “I’ll need to see if she brought vanilla over for me, too. I like to put a good swig of it in my cakes when I bake. Makes them taste right fine.”

  John swallowed the bite he was relishing and grinned at her. “You’re gonna bake me a cake? Are you going to frost it, too?”

  “Frost it? With what?” she asked, obviously stymied by his query.

  “You make icing out of some sort of fluffy sugar and a chunk of butter and a bit of milk,” he said easily. “I used to watch my mama make it when I was a boy. She put some sort of flavoring in it, too. Maybe it was vanilla. And then she’d spread it over the cake, once it was cool. She used to make some other sort of icing, cooked it in a pan on the stove, and then whipped it up before she put it on.”

  His thoughts went back readily to the childhood he’d all but forgotten, only the movements of the girl before him bringing back memories of his home and the mother who had made life so enjoyable for her family.

  “I never made any icing, John, but I’ll try. I’ll ask Berta how to do it.” As though she would go to any lengths to please him, Katie smiled and offered to do as he would have her.

  He sensed her willingness and his words were encouraging. “Well, if you just keep on the way you’re going, I’ll be a happy man. You’re a good cook, Katie, and you sure can clean up a storm, and my clothes have never been so well cared for. I’m a lucky man, sweetheart.”

  Her face softened and her voice was but a whisper. “I’m the lucky one, John. And I know it as sure as I know my own name. I’ve never had it so good in my life, and I’m thankful to you for making my life such a pleasure.”

  That she could be happy with so little, that her wants were so few, was a puzzle to John, and yet, he knew that she spoke the truth. Katie was happy with him, and it would be in his own best interests to keep her that way.

  He pushed the thoughts of his youthful marriage from him, determined to concentrate on Katie alone, to give her every chance to please him. He’d not planned this situation, but events had brought it about, and he’d be less than a man if he complained and grumbled about his fate.

  AGAIN, HE AWAITED THE completion of her nighttime ritual, the time when she washed and prepared to climb into his bed, and rued the fact that the bedroom door kept his vision from her. “You about done in there?” he called out, his impatience showing in the tone of voice he employed. And then winced as she answered with a fearful tone.

  “I’ll just be a minute more, John. I’m putting on my nightgown right now.” And then after a moment’s silence, she opened the door, casting him a glance of apology. “I didn’t mean to be so long. I had to take care of something.”

  He walked closer to her and his words were soft and coaxing. “Will
you let me make love to you tonight? I want to be your husband.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, wishing she knew the secret knowledge he held within himself, hoping against hope that he would share with her the meaning of the words he spoke. That making love, as he called it, would be as pleasurable as the feelings his hands drew forth from her body right this minute.

  “You don’t have to know a thing, love. You only have to let me love you. I want to make you happy, Katie. I want to make you my wife instead of just keeping you a bride.”

  “I am your wife, John.” She was confused by his words and she felt near tears suddenly.

  “No, Katie. Right now, you’re my bride. I’ll ask you tomorrow morning if you know the difference. If being my bride is the same as being my wife.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she murmured. “But I’m willing to find out, if it’s what you want of me.”

  John felt his grin widen as he lifted her from her feet and carried her through the doorway into the room where he had spent the past weeks alone, with her just twelve feet away, but totally separate from him. Where he intended to show her the pleasure her tender body was capable of.

  “I know how to walk, John. I’ve been doing it for a lot of years. Put me down.”

  Impatience shimmered through her words. Although it would have been a simple matter to quiet her protests—a glance through narrowed eyes would do it, he thought, or even the speaking of her name in a tone less than gentle—he could not bring himself to use those cruel devices to control her.

  Instead he stood her on her feet just inside the bedroom and pulled her against himself, not making any attempt to hide the aroused state of his masculine parts. Whether or not she would feel them against her belly, he didn’t know, nor did he worry overmuch about her reaction to it. For he knew, deep in his heart, that this girl was not aware of the changes in his body being any part of his reaction to her.

  She was as sheltered as a newborn babe when it came to men. Though she’d known the dark, cruel side of Jacob Schrader through his violence and beatings, hopefully she had been spared his sexual attentions being turned on her. Perhaps he got his fun by beating on her, John thought with a flare of hatred toward the man.