Carolyn Davidson - The Forever Man

“There’s a small room off the dining room you can have if you like,” Johanna offered. Her face grew pensive as she thought of the evenings she’d spent by herself over the past ten years, wondering what her father did in that small room, while she sat by herself in the kitchen or in the parlor.

“Is it furnished?”

“Somewhat. You may as well bring those things on in here,” Johanna said, leading the way. She went through the kitchen, into the formal dining room, which had been used so seldom that she kept the table and buffet covered with sheets. Across from the three wide windows was a door, and it was there that she headed. Turning the knob, she stepped within.

“It’s dark in here,” she called over her shoulder. “But there’s not much to trip over. My father only kept a chair and ottoman by the window, and a table for his lamp and account books.”

Tate looked around in the shadowed interior of the small room. An air of musty disuse assailed him, and he wrinkled his nose. “We need to open the windows in the morning and let in some fresh air and sunshine,” he told her, bending to deposit his boxes on the floor against one wall.

“I haven’t been in here since he died,” Johanna admitted quietly. “It was his room. I guess I didn’t feel welcome, even after he was gone.”

“You’ll be welcome, once it’s mine.” As a statement of fact, it couldn’t have been any plainer. Tate would harbor no secrets from his wife. She doubted he would leave his bedroom door ajar for her to peek inside, but this room would be a part of the house once more.

Maybe she’d even remove the coverings from the dining room furniture and use the room for Sunday dining, as they had when her mother was alive. The thought cheered her.

“This is still your home, Johanna. When I pay off your mortgage this next week, it will be in my name along with yours, but the house is still whatever you want it to be.”

She looked up at him, peering to make out his features in the dim light. “That all sounds well and good, Tate, but as a man, you have more rights than I’ll ever have. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I wasn’t pretty sure of you. As far as I know, a woman only has the rights her husband allows her, no matter what the deed says.”

“It’s a matter of trust, isn’t it? When it comes to the bottom line, Johanna, you have to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Can I trust you? To keep up the place? I suppose so. Just don’t expect more than that of me. I’ve learned to take care of myself over the years. I don’t need anyone to do for me. I’ll let you tend to the heavy work, gladly. But I’ll not come to depend on you, Tate. I’ve learned that lesson well. I’ve allowed myself to…care about people. It won’t happen again.”

“You care already for my sons.”

Spoken as a statement of fact, the words drew no argument from her. “Yes, you’re right there. They’re young and helpless. They need someone to tend them.”

“And you don’t?”

“Need someone? No, I’ve learned better.” She folded her arms around her waist, a shiver passing through her slim shoulders beneath the warmth of the shawl.

His eyes caught the movement, even in the shadowed room. “You’re cold, Johanna. Leave this for tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough to set things to rights in here.”

She walked out the door before him, her steps taking her into the hallway and toward the staircase. “I don’t hear the boys. They must have gone to sleep.” She looked up the stairway, then back at the man who watched her in the lamplight. “Good night, Tate. Will you turn out the lamp when you come up?”

He nodded, handing her the candlestick that waited on the hall table, lighting a match from the box she kept there. “Will you want the lamp lit in your room? Or will this be enough light for tonight?”

“This is fine. I only need to get ready for bed. I can do that in the dark,” she said briskly, suddenly unwilling to feel his eyes on her any longer. “I get up early, Tate. Breakfast will be ready as soon as the cows get milked.”

“I’ll be milking them from now on,” he reminded her. “I may not be as quick as you are at the job.” His grin teased her. “I may need a refresher course.”

She picked up her skirt to take the first step. “You’ll do just fine, I think. No matter, we’ll wait for you. And if you take too long, I’m still able to give you a hand.”

“I’m teasing you, Johanna. I’ve done my share of milking. I won’t make you wait meals for me. Just cook plenty. I plan on working up a good appetite in the barn.”

“I’ve fed you the past two mornings. I have a good idea about your appetite, Mr. Montgomery,” she said smartly.

He watched her climb the stairs, noting the slight sway of her hips beneath the muslin gown she wore. His eyes caught sight of her slim ankles above the low shoes she’d slipped into after church this morning. Limned in the candleglow, her form drew his gaze, her hair a fine halo in the gentle light, giving her an ethereal elegance.

“No, ma’am,” he murmured beneath his breath. “You have no idea at all about my appetite. Matter of fact, till just this minute, I wasn’t sure I had much left to speak of.” And that was the truth, he thought, his grin rueful.

“Good night, Mrs. Montgomery,” he said quietly, even as he heard the latch of her bedroom door shut.

She’d survived two weeks of marriage. Johanna mentally marked the date on the calendar, and a sense of satisfaction curved her lips in a smile. It had been a busy two weeks, too, what with making several trips to town, facing the glances of the curious the first time out. After that, it had been easier.

Even in church on Sunday, they’d been greeted by one and all, with hardly a raised eyebrow to be seen among the congregation at Johanna Patterson’s quick trip to the altar.

Tate was ambitious, she’d give him that, working from early till late. Today was no exception, breakfast barely swallowed before he hustled out the door. He’d lingered only long enough to place a warm hand on her shoulder, reminding her of a button he’d managed to lose from his shirt last evening. She’d agreed to replace it, her mind taken up with the touch of his hand, flustered by his nearness.

And then he’d been gone, leaving her to consider the strange awareness he aroused within her. He was a toucher; she’d noticed that with the boys, and he was given more and more to gaining her attention with a passing brush of those long fingers and broad palms against her arm or waist when the mood struck him.

From outdoors, a squeal of laughter and a shout from Timmy commanding his brother to “Watch me now!” caught her attention, bringing a smile to Johanna’s lips. Whatever the little scamps were up to, it sounded as if they were enjoying it mightily. Another whoop of glee caught her attention, and she left the sink, wiping her hands on the front of her apron.

From the doorway, she watched as Pete scampered from beyond the side of the barn. He carried handfuls of straw, tossing it in the air, blowing it vigorously, trying without much success to keep one piece afloat on the updraft his small lungs provided.

Johanna laughed, pleased at his carefree expression, relieved that the frown he’d worn like a favorite garment over the past weeks seemed to have disappeared.

“Watch me slide!” Timmy’s high voice demanded attention once more, and Johanna halted midway to the stove.

Slide? What on earth could the child be doing? Where was he playing? The only thing around the corner of the barn was the big strawstack.

And in that moment, she knew.

Spinning on her heels, one hand outstretched to open the screen door, she ran. From the corner of the barn, Pete caught sight of her flying footsteps, dropping the remnants of straw he held, his eyes darkening as he watched her advance.