The Forever Man(56)

Johanna shook her head, then spoke, unable to remain silent in the face  of his self-condemnation. "I doubt you could have stopped her, Tate.  I'll bet she felt guilty for hurting you so badly."

"Not nearly as guilty as I felt."

"She was unhappy, Tate. You couldn't be held responsible for that. We're  all accountable for our own happiness. We have to find it where we can,  and from the sounds of it, Belinda didn't bother much looking."

"She was a far sight from happy, honey. I just don't know how I inspired  such hatred in her. And I didn't want to admit that anyone could detest  me the way she did, I suppose. The worst part of it is, I'll never know  if her drowning was an accident that day, or if she threw herself into  the river on purpose. And I've lived with that guilt ever since it  happened. I guess I've felt like this scar she gave me is my penance for  making her life so miserable."

"Penance? Hardly! We only do penance for sins committed, and you never  set out to do anything but good for Belinda. Besides … " Johanna's fingers  escaped his grasp and ran lightly over the scar again. "I think it  makes you look kind of mysterious and-oh, maybe dashing and dangerous."  Her words splintered into laughter as she caught sight of his  disbelieving grimace.

And then his frown dissolved into a crooked smile as he beheld the woman  he'd married. She'd shattered his gloom, and he relished her ability to  lighten his darkness. "You wait right there, Mrs. Montgomery, while I  put this horse away. I'll tend to you in just a minute." His eyes swept  over her as he spoke, his agile fingers making quick work of buckling a  halter on the mare.

Quickly he led the bay to her stall, his gaze barely faltering from its feminine target as he worked.

"Maybe I'd better run to the house and get some supper put together,"  Johanna said, peering out the door through the spring shower.

"Maybe you'd better stay right here and deal with your husband," Tate  said, his long arm capturing her and pulling her from view of the house.  "Get on up that ladder," he said, pushing her toward the steps leading  to the hayloft.

"Whatever for, Mr. Montgomery?" she asked innocently.                       
       
           



       

"This time there'll be no room for excuses, Johanna. There's no Bessie  across the hallway, no Timmy with a bellyache, and no supper to cook.  That bunch in the house are on their own for the next little while. You  and I have a score to settle."

She laughed, glancing at him over her shoulder, a luxurious sense of  security enveloping her. His dark eyes spoke a silent message, their  gray depths darkening even as she watched. And then he was pressing  against her as she climbed, his hands sliding beneath her skirts to  clasp her calves, slipping to above her knees and then to her ankles  again. She slowed her progress, enjoying the seduction of his touch, and  he nudged her upward, easing her over the edge onto the wide planked  floor of the loft.

There he lifted her, carrying her several feet, to fall with her against  a fragrant pile of hay from their last harvest. "The day we hauled this  stuff to the barn, I thought about making love to you up here," he said  against her ear.

She shivered at his words, at the damp pressure of his mouth as it moved  against her throat. He clasped her tightly, rolling her beneath  himself, and she opened her legs to welcome his weight against her body.  Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth across her throat, his teeth  touching her skin, where the top button of her dress gaped open.

"I'm so hungry for you, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice a groan as  he suckled at the tender flesh. His fingers made a path for his mouth to  follow, opening buttons, folding back the fabric of her dress, tugging  down the beribboned edge of her chemise until he found the prize he  sought

Her hands lifted to his head, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.  "Tate … I was jealous of Bessie," she confessed, needing to wipe her mind  clean of the blemish.

"Bessie is … I'll only say you had no reason, honey," he told her, his  cheek resting against the swell of her breast. "If I'd wanted her, I  could have had her years ago, before I married Belinda. I suppose I owe  her for being so good to my boys, but I never wanted her. Not the way I  want you, Johanna. The way I've wanted you since the morning I saw you  walking across the meadow with a frown on your face and the sunlight in  your hair."

"You wanted me then?" she asked, her eyes alight with pleasure at that piece of news.

"Yup!" He chuckled, the sound muffled against her breast. "Since the  moment I saw you. I talked you into our bargain, but I hoped from the  beginning I'd not be held to it for very long."

"This wasn't part of it," she reminded him. "In fact, if I remember right, you said you didn't want a woman in your bed."

"No, sweetheart. I said I didn't want an unwilling woman in my bed. All I had to do was get you to be willing."

"It didn't take you too long, did it?" she asked, tugging at a stray  lock, eliciting a grunt from him as he lifted to tower over her.

"It seemed like forever," he vowed. "And let me tell you, these past two  weeks have seemed like forever. Can we forget all the things we said,  that night we quarreled? I'm sorry I didn't tell you what you wanted to  know a long time ago, Jo. And I'm sorry I haven't explained my plans to  you better. It wasn't fair to expect you to sit back and let me run the  show without asking questions. Please trust me, Jo."

"I do," she said simply, and just that easily she did. "I love you, Tate  Montgomery." She wiggled against him, her eyes closing as the familiar  rush of desire caught her unawares. So quickly he could fan the flames,  so easily her heart was moved by his words of need, and so readily she  willed him to woo her with his touch.

"I've needed you for days, Jo."

He lifted over her, and she opened her eyes, her lids heavy, as she  gazed at him in the dim light of the hayloft. Husky, with a seductive  lilt, her words coaxed him. "Well, far be it from me to make you wait  any longer, Montgomery."





"What do you suppose Pa and Miss Johanna are doing in the barn, Aunt Bessie?" Pete asked, peering through the window.

Bessie stirred the pan of oatmeal on the stove, refusing to look to  where the boy's attention had been focused for the past half hour or so.  "Probably doing the chores," she said sharply.                       
       
           



       

"I don't like oatmeal for supper," Timmy whined. "Miss Johanna fixed it once, and Pa didn't like it, either."

"Well, tonight you'll eat oatmeal," Bessie told them, stirring more  vigorously. "I have to pack my bag after supper and get my things  together."

"Are you leavin' tomorrow?" Pete asked, turning from the window.

"Yes!" Barely suppressing a shudder of distaste, Bessie looked around  the comfortable kitchen. "I'm looking forward to my nice running water,  turning on a faucet instead of having to pump every drop that comes into  the house."

"Miss Johanna doesn't mind," Pete said idly, moving to sit at the table as he awaited his meal.

"Well, maybe she's a better woman than I am, then." Bessie's laugh was scornful.

"She don't make kites, but she's a good mama," Timmy chirped. "She loves us."

"She's not your mama," Bessie said adamantly.

"Yeah, she is," Pete told her. "We don't call her that, but she's still our mama."

Bessie sniffed, lifting the pan and carrying it to the table where the  boys waited. "Sit down on that chair right, Timmy. Push your bowl over  here, Pete." Silently, she ladled the thick porridge and poured yellow  cream into each dish. She scattered sugar over the steaming mounds and  pushed them before the waiting children.

"There now," she said, giving one last glance out the window through the  gathering darkness, toward the open barn door. "Eat your oatmeal."





Chapter Twenty


The sewing room had changed, with no trace of her mother remaining.  Standing in the doorway, Johanna was aware only of the scent of Bessie  Swenson, the memory of the woman's flamboyant, stylish wardrobe and the  trilling laughter with which she'd bedazzled the males of this  household.

"Out you go, Aunt Bessie," Johanna muttered beneath her breath, marching  into the room Bessie had occupied for two weeks. Her mouth set in a  victorious grin, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Johanna set about  putting it to rights. Sweeping vigorously, she had managed to set up  quite a cloud of dust when Tate poked his head in the doorway.