She touched his cheek. "I know you're tired."
128
He shivered, chilled by the heat of her caress, and squeezed his eyes shut. It was true; he was tired. So goddamn tired . . .
She took hold of his wrist. In a gentle but firm motion that brooked no resistance?even if he had been able to summon the strength for it?she led him toward the copper tub already half-filled with water.
"Get in," she commanded. "I'll get more water."
He shouldn't do it. Of that, he had no doubt. He knew also, and the knowledge caused a sinking feeling in his stomach, that he was going to do it. He was too exhausted to fight her. With a ragged sigh and a hopeless prayer, he climbed into the tub.
Warm water curled around him, lapped gently against his stomach and thighs. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting his arms dangle over the tub's metal
sides.
Amarylis shuffled quietly toward him. She stopped by the side of the tub. Tensing, he waited for her to say?or do?something.
She added water to his bath. The falling stream drove between his legs in a gush of powerful heat. His eyes flipped open, but she was already gone. He twisted around and saw her standing at the stove.
Leaning tiredly against the metal rim, he closed his eyes again.
"Jack?"
He heard her saying his name, but her voice seemed to be coming at him from the end of a long, dark tunnel.
"Jack, wake up."
He blinked awake and lurched to a sit. Water sloshed against his chest and splashed over the sides. Feeling like an idiot, he glanced up at her. She was standing beside the tub, holding a bucket of water and a bar of soap. "Yeah?" he said cautiously.
129
"I'm going to wash your hair."
He shook his head. "No, thanks."
"You'll notice I didn't ask a question. I made a statement. I'm going to wash your hair." She moved behind him. He heard the metallic clank of a bucket hitting the floor, then the telltale thump of bone on wood as she kneeled.
The moment her fingers touched his scalp, he groaned. He tried desperately to sheathe his emotions in ice. But it was a useless attempt. At the whisper-soft circling of her fingertips in his hair, he shivered. Need and desire merged into a single, red-hot response and sent fire shooting into his groin.
"Relax," she said in a soothing, soft-edged voice he'd never heard before. "Relax." She said the single word over and over again. "Relax ..."
He drifted on the gentle tide of her voice, feeling the fear and anxiety drain from his body. The night just past seeped from his memory and was forgotten.
By the time it was over, Jack was more relaxed than he'd ever been in his life.
"Come on," she said quietly, helping him to his feet. Like a sleepwalker, he allowed himself to be led into her bedroom. She handed him a clean pair of long Johns and a towel. Wrapping himself in the warm towel, he peeled out of the wet underwear and slipped into a new set.
When he was done, she took his hand again and led him toward the bed. Her bed.
One look at her bed and Jack's sense of well-being and relaxation vanished. He stiffened, yanked his hand out of her grasp. "That's your bed."
"Tonight it's yours," she answered. She turned back the coverlet and gestured for him to get in. "I'll sleep on the couch."
130
He shook his head and started to draw away. "I don't think?"
"Good. Now, get in."
They stared at each other for a long time. Later Jack
would wonder what it was he'd seen in her eyes, wonder
if it was simply another manifestation of his weakness.
But right now, in this instant, he saw a woman he'd never
seen before. A gentle, caring woman who wasn't trying to
hurt or destroy him. Someone who simply wanted to help.
"Please," she whispered. "You're tired."
She was right. He was too tired to fight her now. He
could wage the battle tomorrow; maybe he could even win
it. But that was tomorrow. Tonight he needed sleep.
He crawled into bed and pulled the coverlet tight to his chin. She kneeled beside the bed and began to stroke his unshaven cheek. The quiet, even strains of her breathing caressed his lips.
"Why are you doing this?" he murmured. "Because you need it."
He didn't know what he expected her to say, but that wasn't it. He searched her eyes for some hint of cruelty or irony or playacting. In the dark brown depths, he found nothing but compassion. It left him utterly speechless.
"Where were you tonight?" she asked, still stroking his cheek.
He winced at the question. / don't know. God help me, I don't know. The truth almost slipped out; he wanted to tell this woman who was his wife and yet wasn't. This woman who touched him with a softness he'd always ached for and never known. It took all his inner strength to say, "Out."
She seemed to sense his anguish. "It's okay. Jack. Just go to sleep. Shh. Shh."
He closed his eyes. The last thing he remembered was the velvet-soft stroking of her fingers against his cheek.
131
* * *
The next morning dawned bright and hot. Tess hiked her skirts up to her thighs and straddled the small chair, scooting closer to the table. An array of jars was spread out before her. Beside her, a book lay open to a page titled Fruits and Vegetables: A Canner's Guide.
Today, by God, she was going to teach herself to can. She flipped open the instruction book and turned to the section on preserves. She was concentrating so hard, she almost missed the sound of a wagon driving into the yard.
Visitors.'
Tess flew out of her chair and raced to the window, flinging the flimsy curtain aside. A wagon rolled up in a cloud of dust. The driver tossed down the reins to Jack, who tied the horse to the railing alongside the chicken coop.
Jack pushed the hat higher on his head and smiled up at the small, hunch-shouldered man sitting alone in the wagon. The man doffed his hat, revealing a nearly bald head that reflected the hot spring sun.
The men talked for a moment, then they both looked uneasily toward the house.
Tess waved.
Jack gave her a tense, humorless smile.
The old man frowned for a second before he cautiously waved back.
Tess concentrated on reading Jack's lips. "Come on in and see her, Doc. She's ... different." "Doc Hayes," Tess said to herself. "Of course." She let go of the curtain and went to the door, opening it and stepping onto the porch. "Hi, Doc!" she called out, waving again and tenting her eyes against the glaring sun. "Would you like a glass of ..." She frowned. What did people offer other people in 1873? Chardonnay was definitely out. "Water?"
132
"That'd be right nice," he answered, letting Jack help him down from the wagon.
The two men walked toward the house and followed Tess into the kitchen.
"What's all this?" Doc asked, eyeing the jars on the table.
Tess pulled out a chair for him. "I'm trying to figure out how to make jam."
Both men looked uncomfortable with her response.
"Sit down, Mrs. Rafferty," Doc said.
"But your water?"
"Sit down."
Tess shrugged easily and sat in front of the doctor. "Okay. Sure."
"How do you feel?"
"Fit as a fiddle."
He frowned. "Really?"
"Really. Things are going great around here. I'm fitting right in."
"And the baby?"
Tess smiled softly. "Oh, Caleb is doing beautifully. He's already grown so much. I had a little trouble breastfeeding at first, but now it's going great."
Doc shot a sideways glance at Jack. "Sorry, Jack, but I have to ask this."
Jack nodded tensely.
Doc turned back to Tess. "Do you remember coming to me when you first conceived?"
"No."
Doc paused for a moment, as if carefully considering his wor
ds. "You wanted to ..." He blushed slightly. His voice deepened. "Well, you weren't happy about the baby."
Tess gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God. You mean I wanted to terminate the pregnancy?"
133
"Yes."
Impulsively Tess reached out and took the old man's hands in hers, squeezing his big-knuckled fingers affectionately. "Thank God you didn't." Tears stung her eyes. "Thank God."
Doc studied her, his rheumy eyes narrowed behind the small ovals of his spectacles. "What's your husband's name?"
"Jack."
"His whole name."
"Jack Rafferty."
He looked at Jack, who shook his head.
Quietly Jack said, "Jackson Beauregard Rafferty the Third."
Tess's eyes widened. "You're kidding. That's a great name."
Doc gave her hands a quick squeeze, then got slowly to his feet. "Nice to see you again, Mrs. Rafferty. Jack, walk me to the wagon."
The two men left the kitchen and headed slowly across the yard. Beneath the oak tree's huge canopy, Doc touched Jack's arm and they stopped.
Tess eased the curtain open slightly and peered at the two men, her eyes focused on their lips.
"What the hell's wrong with her. Doc?"
"Amnesia, I reckon."
"How long will it last?"
"Who knows? Could be you got yourself a new wife. Could be the old one'II be back tomorrow."
"You mean, these changes could be ... real?"
"The brain's a funny thing, Jack. Ain't nobody understands it. Damn sure not a country doctor like me."
"Damn it, Doc, that isn't good enough. These changes are killing me. She's so ... different."
The doctor patted Jack's shoulder. "/ didn't mean to
134
scare you, son. Just be patient. I'm sure she'll be her old
self in no time."
Jack stiffened. "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of." Tess let the curtain flutter back into place. Then, slowly,
she smiled. Jack was afraid of her. It was a reaction, and
it wasn't anger. The plan was working.
Chapter Ten
Savannah tucked her feet underneath her and plopped her lunch pail on her lap. Sunlight streamed through the pine needles overhead, spangling her brown muslin skirt.
Katie sat silently beside her, burrowing through her tin pail.
Savannah sat back on her heels, staring down the grassy hillside. She was so intent on her own thoughts, she didn't hear the crunching of footsteps coming her way.
"Savannah?"
She looked up with a start and found Jeffie Peters standing beside her. He was staring down at her, his lard tin clutched to his chest with white-knuckled fists. His face was paler than usual. "C'n I set with you?"
Savannah's throat seized up. Her stomach gurgled loudly and threatened to embarrass her. She opened her mouth to say no.
"Sure, Jeffie," Katie said, taking a crunchy bite of pickle.
Color rose in Jeffie's face like a wave of red paint. "Thanks!" He dropped to his knees beside Savannah and began earnestly rummaging through his lard tin.
Savannah's mouth closed with a click of teeth. Stiffening, she lowered her lashes and studied Jeffie.
He looked .. . nervous. His fingers were all fidgety and 135
136
clumsy as he peeled the thin cheesecloth away from his
wedge of cornbread.
Suddenly he looked sideways and caught her watching
him.
Heat blazed across Savannah's cheeks. She wrenched her gaze away and buried it in the ankle-high grass.
"Savannah?"
Reluctantly she glanced his way. "Yeah?"
He blushed. "I was wonderin' ... I mean, the shearin' dance is comin' up, an'?"
"That ain't for weeks," Katie interrupted.
Jeffie shot her an irritated look, then swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down his skinny throat. "Anyway, it ain't that far away, an', well ... I was wonderin' if you'd go with me." He stared at her through huge, earnest eyes.
A confusing rush of emotions hurtled through Savannah. For no reason at all, she felt like crying. "I can't."
"But?"
Savannah's mouth trembled and turned down. "You know my mama. I couldn't even if ..." "Even if what?" She swallowed the lump in her throat and said quietly,
"Even if I wanted to."
"Oh." Jeffie carefully wrapped up his crumbling cornbread and plunked it back in his pail. Slowly he got to his feet. " 'Bye," he said, then turned and walked away.
Savannah stared at the ground through the stinging haze
of unshed tears.
"Maybe you should talk to Mama," Katie offered. "She's been sorta ... nice lately."
Savannah's pent-up breath released. "What would I say? She wouldn't understand what's wrong with me."
"There ain't nothin' wrong with you," Katie answered defensively. "You're perfect."
137
Savannah gave her baby sister a weak smile. "Thanks. Now, eat your lunch."
They lapsed back into a companionable silence. Savannah tried to concentrate on eating, only eating and nothing more. But Katie's words came back to her time and again.
Talk to Mama.
If only I could, she thought.
She bit into her slice of bread and chewed tiredly. Of course she couldn't talk to Mama; there was no doubt about that. It had been years since she'd even tried. Mama would just tell her what she already knew: She was acting plum crazy around Jeffie Peters. There wasn't no chance at all Mama would tell her what she really wanted to know.
Why she was acting that way.
Craaack. The ax slammed into the thick log and split it down the middle. Jack paused, backhanded the sweat from his brow, and realigned the half log.
As he raised the ax again, he heard a strange sound. He paused, listening.
A sweet sound rode the gentle spring breeze, underscoring the gay chirping of the swallows and finches careening overhead. The song was at once familiar and unfamiliar, with a strange stop-and-start rhythm, as if the words had been memorized but never actually heard before. But the voice?ah, the voice?now, that was something he'd never forget.
He turned slowly, knowing as he did that it was a mistake.
Amarylis was sitting on the porch swing, singing Caleb the strangest version of "Rock-a-bye Baby" he'd ever heard. The wistful strains of her song brought a bittersweet smile to Jack's mouth. No wonder the song sounded strange; she'd never sung to her children before.
If only. The thought was there before he could stop it.
sw, ?
138
If only she were really the loving, gentle soul she appeared right now. He thought about the bath, remembering the almost narcotic sense of peace it had given him to be ministered to by her. For a few short moments it had been like the old days, when he'd trusted her with his soul and crawled eagerly into her bed. When he hadn't been afraid.
She looked up suddenly and saw him. Their eyes locked, his narrowed and filled with a longing he couldn't dislodge, hers wide and filled with joy. She smiled brightly and waved him over.
He shouldn't go; he knew that. He should turn his back on her and keep cutting firewood. But he wanted to go. Just this once. The ax slipped from his hand and hit the dirt. Shoving the Stetson higher on his brow, he sidestepped the pile of half-chopped wood and headed toward her.
She was still smiling when he reached the porch.
"Hi," she said quietly, scooting sideways in silent invitation.
He stared at the empty space beside her. Damn, it
looked inviting....
"Have a seat," she said when he didn't move.
He swallowed thickly and forced his gaze to her face shouldn't...."
She smiled. "I won't bite."
The look in her eyes drew him like a magnet, stole his free will. Before he kne
w it, he was climbing the steps and sitting down beside her. The porch swing creaked beneath
his weight.
He stared out across the rolling, sheep-filled pasture, his eyes riveted ahead, his hands balled in his lap.
Silence descended between them. The hot sun bore down on him, seeping through his shirt and dampening his flesh. He waited for her to say something angry and stinging;
139
she waited for the same thing. Then they both spoke at once.
"Sure is hot?"
"Nice weather?"
Amarylis burst out laughing. It was a throaty, seductive sound that wound around Jack's vitals. "So," she said, "it seems we agree on the weather, at least."
Jack fought the urge to smile with her. Then the fact that he wanted to smile sunk in and caused a red-hot burst of anger. Damn her for being so good at manipulating him, and damn him for being such a weak-willed fool. He rammed the hat lower on his forehead and lurched to his feet.
"I ... I gotta get back to the woodpile."
She looked up at him. There was a sadness in her gaze that hadn't been there before, and he had the absurd notion that he'd hurt her feelings. "It was nice talking to you."
Jack pivoted and strode down the steps. It was all he could do to keep from running.
Later that night Tess sat at the kitchen table with Savannah. Behind them, Katie was busy burrowing through the silverware drawer.
Idly, Tess picked up her spoon and stared into it. She tried not to think about Jack right now, but it was impossible. Ever since last night, since the bath, she'd been unable to stop thinking about him. Dreaming about him. She felt like a sixteen-year-old girl in the throes of her first crush. It was ridiculous.
A slow smile pulled at her mouth. It was also exciting, invigorating, and energizing. Now she was more certain than ever that there was something special between her and Jack. She knew now why she'd chosen him, and it was more than just the heartache and fear she'd seen in his eyes as he reached out for his child. It was his capacity for