The Forever Man(34)

They'd reached for and grasped intimacy with both hands. That thought  pleased him. A tingling warmth invaded his body as he considered the  woman he'd married.

She was as prim and proper as could be, all gussied up in her  Sunday-go-to-meeting dress, covered head to toe in a hooded cape of fine  alpaca, lined with wool from more common animals than those found in  South America. He'd sent for it from a catalog at the general store, one  Esther Turner had received from New York. She'd kept his secret from  Johanna, her cheeks rosy as she shared his pleasure over the purchase.

It had been Johanna's Christmas gift, and his heart lifted as he  remembered her sigh of delight as he'd placed it around her, wrapping  her in its voluminous folds. He'd bent to kiss her, lifting the hood to  rest upon her golden hair, still spread over her shoulders in  early-morning disarray. She'd blushed, still unused to such displays of  affection.

Now those pale tresses were properly plaited and pinned into place, but  the memory of that day was one he'd tucked away. Their first Christmas-a  series of small celebrations. The tree he'd found and dragged to the  house, where they'd decorated it with ribbons and strings of popcorn and  candles on the tips of each branch.

The gifts they'd ordered from the Sears catalog for the boys and wrapped  late in the evening, hiding them beneath their bed, lest small eyes  should seek out the Christmas surprises too soon. And, best of all, the  late-night giving of that most precious gift, the loving they'd shared  in the darkness, the soft whispers, the muffled laughter, the sighs of  satisfaction and repletion.                       
       
           



       

Tate cleared his throat, aware suddenly of a telltale pressure in his  groin, his thoughts running rampant as he savored the remembrance of  bedding the woman he'd married.

"Tate?" She was watching him warily, sensitive to his shifting about on the seat. "Is something wrong?"

He slapped the reins against the backs of his team, aware he'd allowed  them to slow to a walk as his mind wandered. "Nope! Everything's right  as rain," he announced, his grin of delight a bewitchment in itself.

She responded with a faint smile, a blush rushing to color her cheeks.  "Tate Montgomery! You're on your way to church. You might consider  thinking about subjects more conducive to worship."

"Now how do you know what I've got in mind, Mrs. Montgomery?" he asked,  his eyes twinkling. "I'm just enjoyin' this fine winter morning, riding  to town with my family."

"I know that look," she announced primly, eyes once more on the road ahead, ever aware of the two small boys in the seat behind.

"Pa looks like that a lot, Miss Johanna," Pete offered innocently.

Johanna ducked her head, hiding the flush of pleasure the child's words gave her.

"Yeah, Miss Johanna," Tate whispered, reaching to take her hand. The  gloves they wore were heavy, warm against the winter air, bulky covering  for their fingers. Yet he sensed a yearning to communicate his need for  her in this small way, their hands joining.

She shifted in the seat, easing closer, her skirt brushing against his warmly clad thigh, her shoulder pressing against his.

"Cold?" He slanted her a glance, taking in the warm, rosy hue of her cheeks, the half smile curving her lips.

She shook her head. "No."

"Thinking about things more conducive to worship?" he asked, his drawl stretching out the words as he teased her.

She jabbed him with her elbow. And then lifted her chin, her delight in  the wintry sunshine, the man at her side and the memories he'd given her  all awash in her mind.

"If being thankful for what I've got and dwelling on the blessings  instead of the bad times is worshipful, then I suppose I'm about as  ready for Sunday-morning church as I'll ever be."

Tate squeezed her hand, his throat full with a rush of emotion he could  not put name to. "I'm not much of a praying man, Johanna. Never have  been. But I'm thankful for what I have, most of all for what you've  given me."

"Me? You've done most of the giving, Tate."

He shrugged. "Think so? Reckon I'd better give you a chance to catch up,  then, hadn't I?" Releasing her hand, he placed it on his thigh and  snapped the reins, the sharp crack ringing in the air. The mares  responded, their shod hooves digging into the snow that had fallen  during the night, the bells on their harness jingling apace.

Ahead, the church bells rang, and below the steeple a steady line of  townspeople filed through the wide double doors. Tate Montgomery drew  his surrey up to the hitching rail and tied his team in place. Then,  quickly, lest they be late for the first hymn, he lifted Johanna to the  ground and hustled his family through the fresh-fallen snow toward the  church doors. Scooping his hat from his head, he felt the sun's rays  warm him, and he glanced up at the blue January sky.

There was no doubt about it. Belle Haven on a Sunday morning was a fine place to be.





February brought a series of dark days and cold nights, sending Johanna  on a trip to the attic to seek out extra quilts for the beds. She'd  always dreaded this shortest month of the year, simply because it  usually carried the nastiest weather with it. This year had been  different, she realized. Life with Tate and the boys brought with it a  share of happiness that no longer allowed the dreary days of winter to  impinge on her spirits.

A sparse ray of February sunshine cast its beam across the kitchen floor  as she ironed before the cookstove, and she moved the ironing board to  catch the warmth. Through the window she caught a glimpse of the wagon,  then heard Sheba's welcoming bark and the jingling of the bells Tate had  put on the team's harness.

In less than a minute, fresh from town, where he'd left Johanna's eggs  and butter at the general store, Tate burst through the back door,  bringing a draft of cold air with him.                       
       
           



       

Waving an envelope in his hand, he stamped his feet, checking his boots  for clinging snow. "Bessie wants to come visit She says she's lonesome  for the boys." Empty egg basket in hand, he opened the pantry door,  depositing the basket on the shelf before he sat down at the table,  Bessie's letter in his hand.

Johanna stepped to the stove, exchanging her cooling iron for another  from the hot surface, carefully transferring the flannel pad she held it  with.

"Did you hear me, Jo? We got a letter from Bessie."

"Yes. She wants to come for a visit, you said." Her face was not visible  from where he sat, but he'd warrant it was as sober as that of a  hanging judge, if her tone of voice was any indication.

"Jo? Is something wrong?" His eyes swept her form-the straight back,  where her apron was tied in a precise bow in the center of her spine,  her narrow shoulders, squared and stiff. She hadn't even offered him a  kiss in welcome. In fact, once she caught sight of Bessie's letter,  she'd turned back to her ironing, quick as a wink. And now she was  ignoring him, putting her weight behind the movement of her sadiron and  shaking out his shirt with crisp movements as she shifted it on the  board.

Something was wrong. And he'd be jiggered if he let her say any  different. He stood, shedding his coat on the chair he'd vacated and  took three steps to stand behind her.

Her head bent lower, and her iron took on a burst of speed. He bent and touched her cheek with cold lips.

"Hey, Mrs. Montgomery. Don't I get a kiss hello? After I sold your eggs  and butter and brought you the latest news from town, and even  remembered your green tea?"

Her sigh was almost silent as she nodded. Then, deliberately, she placed  the iron on the stove and dropped her flannel cloth on the ironing  board. Turning to face him, her arms lifted to curve around his neck.

"Of course you get a kiss, Mr. Montgomery. My mind was a million miles  away, I guess." She rose on her toes and placed a damp salute upon his  mouth. "That's for the green tea." Another kiss followed the first, and  he was ready for this one.

He drew it out, teasing her with small, biting caresses, holding her  against himself, lifting her with both arms around her waist. "What was  that one for?" he asked, releasing her mouth with a loud smacking sound.

"Ummm … the safe delivery of my butter-and-egg money, I guess."

"You don't have it yet," he reminded her, lifting his eyebrow in a  suggestive manner. "Let's try another little bribe here." Inhaling her  sweetness, he bent his head to her again. It held him captive, this  scent of freshness she wore. Like a blending of starch and soap, a  savory mix of apple-blossom cologne and beef stew, it filled his senses  and drew him into her orbit.