Katy Madison - Bride by Mail

At least she’d finally showed a bit of spunk. Obviously she hadn’t liked him discovering her in the midst of ridding herself of layers of excessive clothing. Perhaps she had been lagging behind for privacy.

A smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s mouth. Taking off those ridiculous hoops may have been the first smart thing she’d done. He gathered up deadwood, then started back.

Olivia chased around in a circle shooing the chicks into a tight cluster. With her skirt and petticoats caught in her arm, her slender ankles were visible. She took off her hat and waved it at the chicks.

She looked young and naive as she valiantly kept the chicks from foraging. They peeped and tumbled over each other. Her back to him, she slowly circled.

Great, he’d acquired a sheepdog instead of a wife.

Olivia stepped sideways and fanned her hat at a chick that dared to stray a couple of feet from his brethren. The instant she saw him, she froze.

She pulled her jacket closed and lowered her skirt, hiding her ankles. She pushed a stray strand off her forehead.

The paleness of her hair struck him. The soft-hued blond mass was twisted and woven into dozens of thin braids in an elaborate confection on the back of her head.

Wetonga had braided her hair in two braids or worn it held back by a leather band around her forehead. The first time he’d met her, she’d entered the tepee where he slept, drawn off her doeskin dress and tossed it on the ground before joining him on his bedroll. He suspected it wouldn’t be so easy with Olivia.

His throat tightened at the idea of seeing her hair down, curtaining her naked body. Picturing Olivia flushed and naked, his blood heated.

His desire for her hit him like an ax, cleaving him down to the bone. He’d spent most of the day thinking her too refined to tempt him, but he’d been wrong. Her cool beauty called like forbidden fruit. Her slender fingers, the blush that swept over her cheeks, and the span of her slender waist in his hands all thickened his blood.

But then he’d promised he wouldn’t pressure her to be his wife in that way.

He sighed. Perhaps he’d been hasty, but she’d cast a longing look toward the stage office. He’d been willing to say anything to keep her here. Which made no sense at all, since she would be more trouble than help.

“They keep trying to get away,” Olivia said.

“They’re trying to eat.” He resumed walking. “Let them roam.”

“Oh.” Her forehead furled and she bit her lip.

Jack dropped the wood near the fire pit. She hadn’t gathered kindling. “I’m taking the horses to drink at the stream.”

“A stream? May I wash?”

“If it is still light enough to see when I get back.” Jack brushed bark off his chest. “You need to watch the chicks.”

“Will you light the fire?”

“The tinderbox is behind the seat.”

Her mouth tightened and her eyes darted nervously from the fire pit to the wagon and back.

“You don’t know how to use it,” he said flatly. Could she do anything beyond look pretty?

Olivia shook her head. She flapped her hat at a chick straying beyond some larger boundary she’d set in her head.

He sighed. “When I get back, I’ll take care of it.”

He moved to the wagon, removed his rifle and set it down. He unbuttoned and stripped off the fancy new shirt.

Olivia gasped.

She studiously looked away, but her cheeks were bright.

He rummaged for his buckskin shirt and drew it over his head. “Might as well change into what you want to sleep in. It’ll be dark soon.” He remembered to gather the bucket, a sling and a hatchet before tossing buffalo hides to the ground.

If Olivia was shocked at seeing him without his shirt, it didn’t bode well for their marital relations. The chances of a lady like her wanting him were slim.

Besides, she didn’t know how to light a fire. She didn’t know how to dress for the wild and she sure didn’t know anything about caring for chickens. “Do you know how to garden?”

She brightened. “We used to have the most lovely roses and irises.”

Merde, what kind of a wife was she?

* * *

Once he was out of sight, Olivia scurried to the wagon and slid out of her lavender jacket. Hurrying, she changed into a nightgown without removing her shift and corset. While he might not have any qualms about undressing in front of her, she wasn’t ready to fling off her garments in his presence.

Chasing the memory of his broad golden-skinned chest from her mind proved impossible. She shivered.

The murky light was dimming by the minute. The shadows of the trees grew black and forbidding. Would Jack be able to find his way back? Were wild animals lurking in the deepening dusk? Or had the stand of trees swallowed him and the horses whole, leaving her all alone in this wilderness?

The chattering trees seemed to warn her this place was not like back East. As if she needed more warning. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and her heart beat in irregular jolts. The unseen animals lurking in the shadows, the impending intimacy of her wedding night and the solitude all unnerved her.

What would Jack think if he returned and found her in her nightgown? A shudder racked her body. Sleeping together when they’d barely spoken troubled her. She pulled her heavy brown-twill traveling dress over the top.

The yards of material meant to go over hoops dragged in the grass.

Only a bit warmer, she retrieved the fire-starting implements and carried them over to the pile of wood. He’d wanted her to gather kindling. She glanced toward the copse. She didn’t want to go into the darkness. Instead, she snapped off small branches from the wood he’d gathered.

After making a tight little pile of wood, she got out the flint and the metal ring.

Striking sparks couldn’t be that hard, could it?

She hit the metal against the sharp edge. A cascade of glowing orange sparks landed on her skirt.

She brushed the hot bits from her skirt, singeing her hand.

“What are you doing?” Booted footfalls thudded toward her. “Merde! Are you trying to catch yourself on fire?”

She spun around. She opened her mouth to defend herself but stood mutely. Nothing would have made sense. “I’m fine. I didn’t know how it worked.”

The horses followed him up the incline with neck-bobbing long strides. “Just wait.” Jack set down a bucket near the woodpile. “Let me get the horses staked.”

She looked down to see if she’d burned holes in her brown twill, but she couldn’t see in the dusky half-light.

How much a nuisance he found her was clear in his voice. Contributing to that impression by insisting he take her down to the water could only make things worse.

“It is too dark for me to go to the creek to wash up now.”

“There’s water in the bucket. Just don’t use it all.”

Disappointment curled through her. She’d been looking forward to the chance to thoroughly wash off the dust from the day of travel. Using her cupped palm, she took a drink and used a little of the icy water to wash off her face. Not knowing what else to do, she sank down on the woolly hide.

The chicks peeped happily from their box.

“You put the chicks in their crate?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to lose them in the dark.” Had that been wrong, too? She held very still as she waited for his response.

“Good.”

It was hardly high praise. But at least she’d done one thing right. She breathed out slowly, releasing tension.

Jack groomed the horses and threw blankets across their backs. He walked over and looked down on the wood. “What the hell?”

Olivia winced.

Jack set the broken branches to the side. He threw most of the firewood back on the pile. Obviously her efforts hadn’t been worth a darn.