The Bridal Veil Page 23

  At last Emily lifted her head from Luke’s bare shoulder. “Just when I’d gotten the hang of gathering those damned eggs—”

  He looked at her, amazed at the language his prim wife had used. Then he threw back his head and laughed until tears came to his eyes. She and Rose laughed too, half-drunk with shock and exhaustion. “Emily, you’re one hell of a woman!” She beamed at him as if he’d told her she were the queen of the world. He shook his head and laughed again. “Thank God we’re all safe and didn’t lose anything else.” He hugged them again, then set Rose down.

  “Let’s go back to the house and get cleaned up and into some dry clothes,” Emily suggested, dragging her hand across her nose and smearing the soot.

  “I just want to check that inside wall,” Luke replied, pointing at the partially burned side of the barn. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As he walked to the barn, Luke glanced over his shoulder to see that Emily and Rose made it to the house safely. There were none so brave as his young daughter, who’d handled the pump like a half-grown man. And his city-bred wife, covered in soot and grime from his barn and his henhouse. He doubted that Cora, or even Belinda, would have fought as hard to save everything as his strait-laced, schoolteacher wife.

  ~~*~*~*~~

  Emily helped Rose wash off the soot and shampooed her hair in the kitchen sink to get rid of the smoke smell. She planned to tuck her in and then bathe too. She had just come downstairs from Rose’s room when Luke walked in through the back door. His hair was wet, perhaps from the rain. But she thought he must have washed it in the icy well water under the pump outside. His face was still smudged, though. He’d found a shirt to put on and he’d left his boots on the porch, so now he was barefoot.

  Emily was certain that she’d never seen a man so heroic, despite the fact that he was dressed only in knee-length drawers and an old shirt. Dear God, when that burning wall had collapsed, she’d been terrified for him. If he’d been crushed under it, she didn’t know how she would go on. To finally love a man and only lose him—

  That thought brought her up short. Emily loved Luke? God, she realized it was true. Every day that she’d been here, every look, every deed, had opened her heart to him and now she was in love with a man whose heart belonged to a woman buried in the cemetery. Fear and uncertainty twined themselves around her feelings.

  “Rose is in bed?” he asked, flopping into a chair at the table.

  She swallowed and then pumped water into the kettle to heat on the stove. “Yes. I hope tonight doesn’t give her nightmares. I remember how long I had them after the fire in Chicago. Our house didn’t burn but the flames stopped within two blocks of our yard. We didn’t even need to light the lamps in the house, it was so bright. And it was hot and smoky. All those buildings burning at once—“ She shivered. “I still remember it so vividly. You can’t ever get that smoke smell out of clothes. And of course, after that everything changed.”

  He stood up wearily and took her by the arm to sit her down. “Here, you have a seat. I’m going to fix us a drink.”

  “A drink—do you mean spirits?”

  “Yes, ma’am. But I’ll put yours in hot water and add some sugar and cinnamon, and you can call it a toddy if you like.”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . spirits . . . I don’t usually, ladies don’t—”

  He smiled and went to the sideboard for his whiskey bottle. “Don’t worry, Emily. I won’t tell anyone.”

  She knew that some women took a drink now and then for their nerves, or for female complaints, or for various medicinal purposes. But to just have a drink for no good reason—well, it didn’t seem right. Still, there was Luke, dressed in only his underwear and a shirt, pouring whiskey and hot water into a teacup, and fiddling with a couple of different spices from the rack over the stove. Maybe there was a good reason after all—she could drink a silent toast to the loss of her heart. And it would be rude to refuse after he’d gone to so much trouble. He handed her the cup, with a saucer, she noted, and said, “Here, see how you like this.”

  She took a cautious sip, the aromatic vapors reaching the tops of her sinuses before the hot liquid touched her tongue. The taste took her breath away. She sucked in a lungful of air through pursed lips, then pressed the end of her smoky shawl to them.

  Luke sat down across from her. “Good stuff, huh?”

  “Hoooo!” was all she could say, and she fanned her face with her hand.

  He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, good stuff.” He saluted her with his own glass and took a drink. “A little more sugar, maybe? More cinnamon?”

  Emily shook her head. “No.” Her voice was a bit rough.

  “Take another sip. This one won’t be as—surprising.”

  She cast a doubtful glance at him but did as he suggested, and found that he was right. The taste wasn’t quite as sharp this time. And the hot water, spices, and whiskey seemed to flow through her veins, bringing warmth to her icy hands and feet. She took another taste, savoring the heat, and her tight, aching muscles began to relax.

  He propped his bare feet on the empty chair next to her and sank low in his own chair to sit on his spine. “I want to thank you for helping me tonight. I couldn’t have fought that fire by myself. If we had lost the barn—well, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Emily drank her toddy and considered Luke. He was soot-faced and tired-looking, but his eyes seemed to see through her dirty nightgown to her heart. In the distance, thunder rumbled across a faraway valley. “I don’t know much about being married,” she confessed quietly, amazed by her own loosened tongue. “I’ve read about it in books, and I’ve taught young women what those books said their duties and responsibilities will be when they become wives. I know how many forks should be set for all kinds of meals, the proper format for calling cards, and how to serve tea. I know a lot of intricate details about correct form.” She set her empty cup on the table. “But in the end, I think marriage is about a man and woman working together to build a life, promising to take care of each other, and being true to their union. It seems to me that helping my husband fight a fire that threatened our home fits into all that.”

  He gave her a thoughtful, lopsided smile that touched her soul. “I think you’re right, teacher. But I’m still grateful.”

  He drank his whiskey down in one gulp. Pushing himself upright in his chair, he got up. “How about another toddy?”

  “Oh, dear, I don’t think I should—” She was already giddy and lightheaded from the first one. It was a very pleasant feeling, but who knew what it might lead to? An awkward slip of the tongue, an embarrassing confession of her heart’s deepest secret? Her advice manuals forbade ladies from taking more than a sip of champagne at a wedding or a spoon of medicinal alcohol for those nervous problems and female complaints. She’d already broken that rule with the first toddy. Of course, fighting that fire had been nerve-wracking.

  “That’s all right. I’ll do the thinking for now.” He picked up her cup and carried it to the stove. “Now, you drink this while I get a bath ready for you.”

  She stared at him. “W-while you what?”

  “You worked hard all day, preparing food for the social, then with the fire and all, well, you deserve to soak for a while in the tub.”

  “But that’s so much bother for you to—”

  “Oh, and helping me save the barn was just a picnic in the park, huh?” He put the refilled teacup on the table in front of her and dropped his hands to her shoulders to keep her in the chair. “I’ll bring in the tub and fill it for you. Wouldn’t you like that?”

  “Yes, but . . . ” But it was so personal, it hardly seemed proper. She wished he wouldn’t look at her that way. It made it hard for her to keep her thoughts straight. He was her husband, but even in traditional marriages—which they did not have, at least not yet—there were lines of propriety and intimacy that should not be crossed. Or so Emily had read in her advice manuals.

  But a bath sounded wonderful. She
had to wash off the soot and smoke, and dragging in the tub and filling it was a big job even on easier days. After the long day and frantic night she’d put in, to just sit and soak would seem like heaven.

  Luke didn’t wait for her response. He opened the door and dragged in the oblong, galvanized tub from its storage place on the back porch. Then he stoked the fire in the stove to heat pots and kettles of water.

  “One of these years when the crops are really good,” he said, “I’m going to buy a stove with a hot water reservoir on it so we don’t have to go through this every time we want to wash.”

  He went about the business of readying her bath, pouring kettle upon steaming kettle of water into the bottom of the old tub, followed by a few pots of cold water. He even brought her a towel and a clean, white cake of Ivory soap, still in its wrapper, from the pantry. In her whole life, no one had ever waited on Emily and she wasn’t sure what to make of it now. It felt odd to sit idly while someone else pampered her.

  “Well—” He gestured in the general direction of the hallway. “I guess I’ll just go on upstairs and get washed myself,” he said, suddenly seeming almost as awkward and bashful as she felt. “Don’t worry about bailing out the tub. I’ll take care of it in the morning when I get up. It’s too heavy for you to lift, anyway.”

  Emily heard his footsteps on the stairs and she was left alone with an oil lamp and her bath. When she stood, she was surprised to find herself a bit unsteady, but she got her balance and stripped off the smoke-ruined shawl and nightgown. There would be no saving them. Just as she’d told Luke, the smell would never come out, no matter how many times she washed them.

  Stepping into the hot water, she sank into its warmth to let it cover her shoulders. She barely noticed the corrugated bottom of the tub, which she usually found uncomfortable. Heated from the inside as well as the outside, she breathed a satisfied sigh.

  Emily wasn’t sure how Luke felt about her, but right now, her barefoot farmer seemed like one of King Arthur’s knights.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Luke stood at his mirror in dry drawers, shaving by the light of his lamp. This was such a dumb thing, he pondered, shaving at midnight, but he had a plan. And if that plan went as he hoped it would, a shaved face would be a necessary part of it. He’d already washed himself off once at the pump and then finished the job here at his washstand.

  Plying a virginal woman with alcohol to get her into his bed probably wasn’t the most noble deed he’d ever committed. But, what the hell, it wasn’t the worst, either. He wanted to make love with his wife and he suspected that she’d be a little nervous. He knew he was. His insides were jumping around like a drop of cold water bouncing across a hot stove top. Night after night he’d lain awake, knowing that only a wall separated them, just a few feet of flooring.

  But night after night, he’d wrestled with Belinda’s ghost, as well. She’d risen in his dreams to accuse him of breaking his promises to her, of letting another woman into her house. In his nightmares, she hadn’t moved her mouth when she spoke, but he’d heard a voice just the same. Cora’s voice. Strange that when Cora moved out, the dreams stopped. He’d decided that Belinda wouldn’t care what he did. Death was a final break with the living and whatever fate awaited departed souls was known only to them. In the meanwhile, Luke had Emily living under his roof as his legal wife.

  And he wanted to make her his wife in fact.

  Just thinking of her sitting in the old galvanized stock tank that they used for a bathtub set his pulse to racing. In his mind, the tank became a fancy copper tub, like he’d once seen in the window of a hardware store in The Dalles. Emily’s long, pale hair would be draped around her in wet hanks, covering some places and letting others peek through. Her milky skin would be pink from the hot water, the lather from her soap would make it smooth like velvet dipped in cream. He imagined crystal sheets of water flowing over her as she rinsed away the bubbles, streaming over her breasts and belly—

  “Goddamn it!” He muttered another curse and pressed his thumb to the nick he’d gouged in his chin with the razor. That was what he got for not keeping his mind on what he was doing. Hell, one wrong slip and he might take off his whole head, picturing Emily in her bath.

  He managed to finish with no further mishaps. Just as he was wiping his blade on the towel around his neck, he heard the creak of soft, bare footfalls on the steps. He glanced at his bed, and then once again at his reflection. At least his chin had stopped bleeding.

  “Emily?” he called softly and went to his open doorway.

  She stood there in the light of the lamp she carried, poised for flight like a deer.

  Luke swallowed hard.

  She wore nothing but her towel.

  It covered just her torso, leaving her arms and most of her long, slender legs exposed. Her hair was towel dried, and twisted into a rope that hung over the front of her shoulder.

  She clutched her flimsy covering to her, and the pulse pounding in Luke’s head almost drowned out her words. “Oh! I—I didn’t want to put on my dirty nightgown after my bath. I thought you’d be asleep and—” She seemed torn between making a dash for her own bedroom or running back down the stairs.

  Luke stepped forward, took the lamp from her hand and set it on a corner table. She smelled of soap and water and a sweetness that he’d never known on any other woman. Not even Belinda.

  “Emily . . . ” She still looked as if she might bolt. “Emily . . . ” he repeated. “You’re beautiful.” And it was a simple truth. In his life, in all his experience with women, he’d never seen anyone as captivating as this tall, willowy female dressed in just a towel. The pulse thumping in his brain sent echoes through the rest of his body and straight to his groin. But rising within him, just as strong and hard, was an awe, a reverence, that Emily Cannon, decent, loving, steel-spined, and almost painfully attractive, was his wife. What if he’d sent her away that day on the dock? What if he’d been damn-fool enough to let Cora chase her off?

  All the smooth charm he’d used on those other women in his youth was forgotten. He hadn’t loved them, but he’d loved Belinda, and now he loved Emily. The realization was both startling and a relief. He could care for someone again. He’d assumed that he had no room in his heart for anyone except his first wife and his daughter. That thought had haunted him these last few weeks, almost as much as Belinda’s ghost had. It foretold a dreary future, one that he probably deserved. But damn, didn’t a man also deserve some reward for changing his ways and working hard from sunup to sundown to make a home? Was it asking so much to love and be loved in return?

  But he must win a place in Emily’s heart. Words failed him—he’d always found his tongue tied when it came to expressing his feelings. That wasn’t especially surprising, given the way he’d grown up. He’d learned to take his whippings without making a sound or shedding a tear. If the old man saw a hint of weakness, he’d flay Luke and his brothers with his belt even harder.

  How could he tell Emily how he felt about her? Almost involuntarily, as if a heavy hand had landed on his shoulder and pushed, he dropped to his knees before her. If he looked foolish, he didn’t care. Laying a light touch on her forearm, he asked, “Emily, will you be my wife?” He let his hand drift down her arm to take her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

  She looked into his face. “But, I am your—“ Then she stopped. “Oh . . . ”

  Luke leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Emily’s knees. She thought they might buckle from shyness and surprise. Here was Luke Becker, her big, strong husband, a man wanted by every available woman in town—and perhaps even some who were unavailable—and he kneeled at her feet like a supplicant, begging for her favor.

  He looked up at her again, that raw flame flickering behind his eyes. “Will you?”

  She drew a breath. “Yes, Luke. Now and always.” This promise meant so much more than the one she’d made in Judge Clifton’s office. Now she was pledging her heart an
d soul. That day, she’d given only her word.

  Luke rose to his feet and with no warning, picked her up in his arms. “I’ve been waiting for this night for weeks,” he muttered against her ear, sending delicious shivers over her. Even in the face of her butterflies and the thrill of anticipation, she couldn’t ignore the fact that in his embrace, she felt as light as swan’s down and as delicate as the silk illusion of her bridal veil.

  He stopped in the doorway to his bedroom and pressed a fevered kiss to her mouth, hot, soft, and demanding. It was nothing like the other kisses he’d given her. This one seemed to consume her breath, and made her heart thunder along all of her nerves.

  He shut the door with his hip and carried her to his bed. Rain pelted the windows and she could just make out his silhouette as he loomed over her. The mattress sagged under his weight and she could feel the heat of him next to her even though he did not touch her. He kicked off his drawers and flung them across the room.

  He covered her with soft, moist kisses, working his way down her arms and, dear God, up the insides of her legs. With each kiss, her heart gained another ten beats and her breath grew shorter.

  At last she felt his hand at her waist, on top of the towel. “I’ve been looking forward to unbuttoning all those buttons of yours and unbraiding your hair,” he said, his voice husky. “That will have to wait until tomorrow night, I guess.”

  His hand slid up from her waist to cover her breast, and a quiver of fear and excitement sizzled through Emily. She turned her face to his and he claimed her mouth with his once more, this time outlining her lips with his tongue. With one finger, he untucked the top edge of her towel and unwrapped her as if she were a gift. She remembered the crude comments she’d overheard at the general store about young Luke’s prowess with women. She had nothing to compare this to, but suddenly her nervousness fell away. At this moment, all the hurts and slights in her past no longer mattered, and lying naked in Luke’s arms seemed honest and right.