His mouth twisted in a reluctant grin, and his hand squeezed hers. "I'll do that. I'll do that very thing."
Tuesday-morning breakfast was usually a time of doldrums after the excitement of Sunday and Monday, with their trips to town. But today was different. This morning she'd had no sense of foot-dragging reluctance to rise and make breakfast.
This morning, she planned to set about choosing from the new catalog, and the choices offered therein were beyond her wildest expectations.
"Do you know I've never had a Sears and Roebuck catalog before, Tate?"
"They've been sending them to just about every farmhouse in the country, Jo. I'd think you'd have been ordering from one all along."
She shook her head. "My pa wasn't one for buying things we didn't need. He said there was no sense in buying just to be buying."
Tate's brow rose quizzically. "He sure had you on a tight string, didn't he?"
"I guess." She rose from her seat at the kitchen table. "Are you ready for more coffee?"
"I'm about empty," he said, pushing his cup closer to the edge of the table.
"There's something in the catalog I want to show you, Tate," Johanna said, pouring his cup full.
"Were you waitin' to get me softened up first, Mrs. Montgomery? First pancakes with maple syrup, then a second cup of coffee, and now that I'm full and reasonably content, you'll slap me with buying you a- Doggone it, woman, give me back my coffee!" He'd leaned back in his chair to begin the teasing diatribe, then sat bolt upright as she snatched the cup of hot coffee from before him.
Rosy cheeks gave Johanna a strangely youthful look this morning, he decided, his grin in full view. There was no way around it. The woman had bloomed during the past months. The somber female he'd married had, right before his very eyes, become a shiny-eyed girl.
That he was responsible for the metamorphosis, that his teasing, tender attention had brought about the transformation was a fact he was willing to admit only to himself. That he'd thoroughly enjoyed the task of bringing a bloom to her cheeks and a smile to her lips was a bonus he was more than pleased to delight in.
His bride had almost reached the place toward which he'd been subtly steering her for over two months.
His bedroom. But probably not for a while yet, he admitted to himself. Hell, she hadn't even gotten past the door, except for changing his sheets once a week. And then, he'd be willing to bet, she only scooted in and snatched up the wrinkled specimens to exchange them for the clean ones in her arms and was back out the door, lickety-split. Probably closed her eyes while she was in there-as much as she could, anyway, and still do what she'd come for.
Johanna. He sighed, watching as she brought the new catalog to the table. Prickly and stubborn, she was far from the woman he'd married in Ohio over ten years ago. Back when he thought he knew what he wanted in a wife. Thought. That was the definitive word. Now he knew.
"I thought it would be a good idea to send for this," she told him, pointing to a hand-drawn picture of the latest in wringers. A Seroco ball bearing wringer, with tub clamp. For only two dollars and twenty-four cents. The picture was detailed, showing a hand-cranked pair of rollers between which a woman could insert wet clothing and, by dint of turning a handle, squeeze the excess water into a tub below.
"Makes sense to me," he said readily.
She glanced at him quickly. "You don't mind spending the money? I mean, it's not a necessity or anything. My hands are strong, and I've never had any problem wringing out things up to now. I just thought … "
"Johanna. I said it makes sense." As if that were the last word to be said on the subject, he slapped the book. "There's no point in you working any harder than you have to. Matter of fact, why don't you get a washing machine?"
His eyes searched the page as he muttered beneath his breath. "If you need something for the house, all you have to do is say so." His finger stabbed the middle of the next page. "Now look, here's a Fulton #1, there's an Acme combination, and they have a Sears model. Pick out one of them and put in the order. Whatever you need, we'll get. If I can buy two horses, you can certainly have a washing machine, and a wringer to go with it."
"My pa always-"
His big hand moved quickly, covering her mouth. "I'm not your pa. I've come to believe that he and I wouldn't have gotten along well. If you want a wringer or a washer, or both, we'll order them for you. It's as simple as that."
Her lips moved against the rough, callused palm. "Thank you." Above the edge of his hand, her eyes were darkened, blue pools of confusion.
"Do that again." His voice was scratchy, raw and harsh, and her eyes widened at the sound.
"Do what?" she asked, her mouth tingling from the brushing of her lips against his hard flesh.
"That. Kissing my hand when you talk."
She blinked at him. "I wasn't. I mean, I didn't mean to be kissing … " She drew back and eyed him warily. "Are you teasing me, Tate?"
He shook his head. "You gave me goose bumps, Johanna. Haven't had those in years. Except for the night I saw your pretty ankles for the first time."
"You saw my-When did you see my ankles?" In an automatic gesture, her gaze flew to the hem of her skirt.
"When you climbed the stairs to go to bed." His grin came into being, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he leaned back in his chair, aware of her giveaway glance. "Sometimes, when you pull your skirt up a bit, I've gotten a pretty good glimpse of your calf where it rounds out and-"
"Stop that right now! What a way to talk!" She grabbed the catalog with both hands and with a quick movement, brought it down smartly on the top of his head.
"Ow! Dang it, woman, you just raised a lump on my skull!" His protest was issued amid a burst of laughter, which only served to aggravate her more.
"You just thought you were getting apple dumplings for dinner, Mr. Montgomery. I don't believe I'm going to have time to make them after all!" Flouncing around the table, she stowed the catalog beneath the kitchen cupboard and returned to the table.
Struggling to hide his laughter, he coughed, almost choking in the effort. "Aw, Jo. You don't want to be nasty about this, do you? Think about Timmy and Pete. They heard you promise the dumplings before they went out to feed the chickens. Would you break your promise to a child?" Backing to the door, he snatched his hat from the hook, plopping it atop his head before he reached for his coat from beneath it.
Her hands full of plates and silverware, Johanna peered up at him. "Sometime I'll really let you have it, Tate Montgomery. Not just a little bash in the head with a book. One of these days … "
His fingers halted in their task of buttoning his coat, and he froze in place. "I'm waiting for that day to come, honey. One of these days, you'll trust me enough to let loose and give me what I want. And we both know what I'm talking about, don't we?"
The color drained from her face as she heard his words, his meaning unmistakable. "We made a bargain, Tate. If you can't hold to your word for longer than two months, you're not the man I thought you were."
He nodded. "I'll hold to my word, Jo. I've never gone back on a deal yet." He turned to the door. "Make out the order, and we'll mail it in town this morning. Anything else you want, add it on to the list. If we're payin' shipping charges, might as well make it worthwhile."
Chapter Nine
"I thought all the steers were gone. Mr. Cooney said he'd rounded up all of them in September." Johanna stood just inside the barn, a frown wrinkling her brow as she watched Tate pitch hay from the loft for the horses.
"Watch out, Jo," he called to her, dropping the pitchfork to the floor below, his aim sending the implement flat against the pile he'd accumulated in the middle of the aisle. He followed it down, his feet hitting every other rung on the ladder as he came. Swinging to face her, he slid his gaze idly over her closely wrapped form and smiled, his unspoken approval warming her from within.
"It's a good thing I scoured around back there in the woods," he told her. "Mr. Cooney was either in a hurry, or he didn't go far enough. I've found another fifteen head, and a couple of cows and calves with them."
Johanna's brow furrowed. "What will you do with them? It's almost Christmas, Tate. Isn't it too late to ship them off?" she asked, wrapping her arms around her waist, hugging the warmth of her coat against her dress.