Duncan's Bride Read online

  He carried the plate to the table and began eating. He was finished with the first round of pancakes by the time the second was ready. Madelyn poured four more circles on the griddle. This made an even dozen. How many would he eat?

  He only ate ten. She got the remaining two from the last batch and slid onto a chair beside him. “What are you doing today?”

  “I have to check fences in the west quarter so I can move the herd there for grazing.”

  “Will you be back for lunch, or should I pack some sandwiches?”

  “Sandwiches.”

  And that, she thought half an hour later when he’d saddled a horse and ridden out, was that. So much for conversation over breakfast. He hadn’t even kissed her this morning. She knew he had a lot of work to do, but a pat on the head wouldn’t have taken too much of his time.

  Their first full day of marriage didn’t appear to be starting out too well.

  Then she wondered just what she had expected. She knew how Reese felt, knew he didn’t want her to get too close to him. It would take time to break down those barriers. The best thing she could do was learn how to be a rancher’s wife. She didn’t have time to fret because he hadn’t kissed her good morning.

  She cleaned the kitchen, which became an entire morning’s work. She mopped the floor, scrubbed the oven, cleaned out the big double refrigerator, and rearranged the pantry so she’d know where everything was. She inventoried the pantry and started a list of things she’d need. She did the laundry and remade the bed with fresh linens. She vacuumed and dusted both upstairs and down, cleaned the three bathrooms, sewed buttons on his shirts and repaired a myriad of small rips in his shirts and jeans. All in all, she felt very domestic.

  Marriage was work, after all. It wasn’t an endless round of parties and romantic picnics by a river.

  Marriage was also night after night in bed with the same man, opening her arms and thighs to him, easing his passion within her. He’d said it would be better, and she sensed that it would, that she had just been too tired and tense the night before for it to have been pleasurable no matter what he’d done. The whole process had been a bit shocking. No matter how much she had technically known about sex, nothing had prepared her for the reality of penetration, of actually feeling his hardness inside her. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she thought of the coming night.

  She started unpacking some of the boxes she had shipped, reassembling the stereo equipment and putting some of her books out. She was so busy that when she noted the time, it was almost dark. Reese would be coming in soon, and she hadn’t even started dinner. She stopped what she was doing and raced to the kitchen. She hadn’t even planned what they would have, but at least she knew what was in the pantry.

  A quick check of the freezer produced some thick steaks and one pack of pork chops and very little else. She made mental additions to the grocery list as she unwrapped the chops and put them in the microwave to defrost. If he hadn’t had a microwave she would have been in big trouble. She was peeling a small mountain of potatoes when the back door opened. She heard him scrape his boots, then sigh tiredly as he took them off.

  He came into the kitchen and stopped, looking around at the bare table and stove. “Why isn’t dinner ready?” he asked in a very quiet, ominous tone.

  “I was busy and didn’t notice the time—”

  “It’s your job to notice the time. I’m dead tired and hungry. I’ve worked twelve hours straight, the least you could do is take the time to cook.”

  His words stung, but she didn’t pause in what she was doing. “I’m doing it as fast as I can. Go take a shower and relax for a few minutes.”

  He stomped up the stairs. She bit her lip as she cut up the potatoes and put them in a pan of hot water to stew. If he hadn’t looked so exhausted she might have told him a few things, but he’d been slumping with weariness and filthy from head to foot. His day hadn’t been an easy one.

  She opened a big can of green beans and dumped it into a pan, then added seasonings. The chops were already baking. Bread. She needed bread. There were no canned biscuits in the refrigerator. She couldn’t dredge the recipe for biscuits from her memory, no matter how many times she’d watched Grandma Lily make them. She found the cookbooks and began checking the indexes for biscuits.

  Once she had the list of ingredients before her it all began to come back. She mixed the dough, then kneaded it and rolled it out as she’d done when she was a little girl. She couldn’t find a biscuit cutter, so she used a water glass, pressing it down into the dough and coming up with a perfect circle. A few minutes later, a dozen biscuits were popped into the oven.

  Dessert. She’d seen some small, individually wrapped devil’s food cakes. She got those out, and a big can of peaches. It would have to do, because she didn’t have time to bake. She opened the can of peaches and poured them into a bowl.

  By the time she had the table set, Reese had come back downstairs, considerably cleaner but unimproved in mood. He looked pointedly at the empty table and stalked into the living room.

  She checked the potatoes; they were tender. She mixed up a small amount of flour and milk and poured it into the potatoes; it instantly began thickening. She let them stew while she checked the chops and green beans.

  The biscuits were golden brown, and had risen nicely. Now if only they were edible… Since she’d followed a recipe, they shouldn’t be too bad, she hoped. She stacked them on a plate and crossed her fingers for luck.

  The chops were done, finally. “Reese! Dinner’s ready.”

  “It’s about time.”

  She hurried to put the food on the table, realizing at the last minute that she had made neither coffee nor tea. Quickly she got two glasses from the cabinet and poured milk. She knew that he liked milk, so perhaps he sometimes drank it at dinner.

  The chops weren’t the tenderest she’d ever cooked, and the biscuits were a bit heavy, but he ate steadily, without comment. Heavy or not, the dozen biscuits disappeared in short order, and she ate only one. As his third helping of stewed potatoes was disappearing, she got up. “Do you want any dessert?”

  His head came up. “Dessert?”

  She couldn’t help smiling. You could tell the man had lived alone for seven years. “It isn’t much, because I didn’t get around to baking.” She put the small cakes in a bowl and dipped peaches and juice over them. Reese gave them a quizzical look as she set the bowl in front of him.

  “Just try it,” she said. “I know it’s junk food, but it tastes good.”

  He did, and cleaned the bowl. Some of the fatigue was fading from his face. “The stereo in the living room looks like a good one.”

  “I’ve had it for several years. I hope it survived the shipping.”

  He’d sold his stereo system years ago, deciding that he needed the money more than he needed the music, and he’d never let himself think too much about it. When you were fighting for survival, you quickly learned how to get your priorities in order. But he’d missed music and was looking forward to playing some of his old classics again.

  The house was full of signs of what she’d been doing all day, and he felt guilty about yelling at her because dinner hadn’t been ready. The floors were cleaner than they’d been in years, and the dust was gone from every surface. The house smelled of household cleaner and furniture polish, and the bathroom had sparkled with cleanliness. The house was ten rooms and over four thousand square feet; his fancy city woman knew how to work.

  He helped her clean the table and load the dishwasher. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her list.

  “The shopping list. The pantry has a limited selection.”

  He shrugged. “I was usually so tired I just ate sandwiches.”

  “How far is the nearest market? And don’t tell me I’m going to have to go to Billings.”

  “There’s a general store about twenty miles from here. It isn’t a supermarket, but you can get the basics there. I’ll take you there day after tomorrow
. I can’t do it tomorrow because I’ve got more fencing to repair before I can move the herd.”

  “Just give me directions. I don’t think the food situation will wait until the day after tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want you out wandering around,” he said flatly.

  “I won’t be wandering. Just give me the directions.”

  “I’d rather you wait. I don’t know how reliable the car is yet.”

  “Then I can take the truck.”

  “I said I’ll take you day after tomorrow, and that’s that.”

  Fuming, she went upstairs and took a shower. Why on earth was he so intractable? The way he’d acted, she might as well have said she was going to find a bar and spend the day in it. But then, that might have been what his first wife had done. Even if it were true, Madelyn was determined that she wasn’t going to spend her life paying for April’s sins.

  She finished unpacking her clothes, hanging most of her New York clothes in the closet in another bedroom, since she wouldn’t have much use for them now. It still made her feel strange to see her clothes in the same closet with a man’s; she’d shared room, closet and clothes in college, but that was different. This was serious. This was a lifetime.

  One thing about getting up at four-thirty: she was already sleepy, and it was only eight. Of course, she was still feeling the effects of not getting enough sleep for the past two weeks, as well as a very active day, but she could barely hold her eyes open.

  She heard Reese come upstairs and go into their bedroom; then he called, “Maddie?” in a rougher voice than usual.

  “In here,” she called.

  He appeared in the doorway, and his eyes sharpened as he took in the clothes piled on the bed. “What’re you doing?” There was an oddly tense set to his shoulders.

  “I’m hanging the clothes I won’t use in here, so they won’t clutter up our closet.”

  Maybe it was only her imagination, but he appeared to relax. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

  “Yes, I can finish this tomorrow.”

  He stood aside to let her get past him, then turned out the light and followed her down the hall. Madelyn was barefoot and in another thin gown much like the one she’d worn the night before, and she got that dwarfed, suffocated feeling again, sensing him so close behind her. The top of her head would just reach his chin, and he had to weigh at least two hundred pounds, all of it muscle. It would be easy to let herself be intimidated by him, especially when she thought of lying beneath him on that big bed. She would be going to bed with him like this for the rest of her life. Maybe he had doubts about the longevity of their marriage, but she didn’t.

  It was easier this time. She lay in his muscular arms and felt the warmth grow under his stroking hands. But now that she was less nervous she sensed something wrong, as if he were keeping part of himself separate from their lovemaking. He touched her, but only under strict control, as if he were allowing himself only so much enjoyment and not a bit more. She didn’t want those measured touches, she wanted his passion. She knew it was there, she sensed it, but he wasn’t giving it to her.

  It still hurt when he entered her, though not as much as before. He was gentle, but he wasn’t loving. This was the way he would have treated either of those other two women he’d been willing to marry, she thought dimly, as a body he’d been given the use of, not as a warm, loving woman who needed more. This was only sex, not making love. He made her feel like a faceless stranger.

  This was war. As she went to sleep afterward, she was planning her campaign.

  “I WANT TO go with you today,” she said the next morning over breakfast.

  He didn’t look up from his eggs and biscuits. “You’re not up to it.”

  “How do you know?” she retorted.

  He looked annoyed. “Because a lot of men aren’t up to it.”

  “You’re repairing fencing today, right? I can help you with the wire and at least keep you company.”

  That was exactly what Reese didn’t want. If he spent a lot of time in her company he’d end up making love to her, and that was something he wanted to limit. If he could hold himself to once a night, he’d be able to keep everything under control.

  “It’ll only take a couple of hours to finish repairing the fence, then I’ll bring the truck home and go back out on horseback to move the herd.”

  “I told you, I can ride.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “How long has it been since you’ve been on a horse? What kind of riding did you do, tame trail riding on a rented hack? This is open country, and my horses are trained to work cattle.”

  “Granted, it’s been almost a year since I’ve been on a horse, but I know all about liniment. I have to get used to it sometime.”

  “You’d just be in the way. Stay here and see if you can have dinner done on time tonight.”

  She narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Reese Duncan, I’m going with you and that’s final.”

  He got up from the table. “You’d better learn that this is my ranch, and what I say goes. That includes you. A few words by a judge doesn’t give you any say-so in my work. I do the ranch work, you take care of the house. I want fried chicken for dinner, so you can get started on that.”

  “There isn’t any chicken in the freezer,” she retorted. “Since you don’t want me to go shopping, I guess you’ll have to change your request.”

  He pointed out to the yard. “There are plenty of chickens out there, city slicker. Meat doesn’t always come shrink-wrapped.”

  Madelyn’s temper was usually as languorous as her walk, but she’d had enough. “You want me to catch a chicken?” she asked, tight-lipped. “You don’t think I can do it, do you? That’s why you said it. You want to show me how much I don’t know about ranch life. You’ll have your damn chicken for dinner, if I have to ram it down your throat feathers and all!”

  She turned and stormed up the stairs. Reese stood there, a little taken aback. He hadn’t known Madelyn could move that fast.

  She was back downstairs before he could get the truck loaded and leave. He heard the back door slam and turned. His eyes widened. She had strapped protective pads on her knees and elbows, with the kneepads over her jeans. She’d put on athletic shoes. She still looked furious, and she didn’t even glance at him. Reese hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned against the truck to watch.

  She picked out a hen and eased up to it, scattering a few handfuls of feed to lure the bird. Reese lifted his eyebrows, impressed. But she made her move just a little too soon; the hen squawked and ran for her life with Madelyn in pursuit.

  She dove for the bird, sliding along the ground on her belly and just missing the frantic bird. Reese winced and straightened away from the truck, horrified at the thought of what the dirt and rocks were doing to her soft skin, but she jumped up and took off after the hen. The bird ran in erratic circles around the yard, then darted under the truck. Madelyn swerved to head it off, and another headlong tackle fell an inch short.

  “Look, just forget about the chick—” he began, but she was already gone.

  The bird managed to take flight enough to land in the lower branches of a tree, but it was still over Madelyn’s head. She narrowed her eyes and bent to pick a few rocks up from the ground. She wound up and let fly. The rock went over the chicken’s head. The hen pulled her head down, her bright little eyes glittering. The next rock hit the limb next to her and she squawked, shifing position. The third rock hit her on the leg, and she took flight again.

  This time Madelyn judged her dive perfectly. She slid along the ground in a flurry of dust and pebbles, and her hand closed over one of the hen’s legs. The bird immediately went wild, flapping her wings and trying to peck the imprisoning hand that held her. They grappled in the dust for a minute, but then Madelyn stood up with the hen upside down and firmly held by both feet, its wings spread. Her hands were dotted with blood where the furious hen had pecked her, breaking the skin. “Faster th
an a speeding pullet,” she said with grim triumph.

  Reese could only stare at her in silence as she stalked up to him. Her hair was a mess, tangled and hanging in her eyes. Her face was caked with dust, her shirt was filthy and torn, and her jeans were a mess. One kneepad had come loose and was drooping down her shin. The look in those gray eyes, however, kept him from laughing. He didn’t dare even smile.

  The chicken hit him in the chest, and he grabbed for it, just preventing the bird from making a break for freedom.

  “There’s your damn chicken,” she said between her teeth. “I hope you’re very happy together.” She slammed back into the house.

  Reese looked down at the bird and remembered the blood on Madelyn’s hands. He wrung the hen’s neck with one quick, competent twist. He’d never felt less like laughing.

  He carried the dead bird inside and dropped it on the floor. Madelyn was standing at the sink, carefully soaping her hands. “Let me see,” he said, coming up behind her and reaching around to take her hands in his, effectively pinning her in place. The hen had drawn blood in several places, painful little puncture wounds that were blue around the edges. He’d had a few of them himself and knew how easily they could become infected.

  He reached for a towel to wrap around her hands. “Come upstairs to the bathroom and I’ll put disinfectant on them.”

  She didn’t move. “It’s my hands, not my back. I can reach them just fine, thank you. I’ll do it myself.”

  His muscled arms were iron bands around her; his hard hands held her easily. Her front was pressed against the sink, and his big body was against her back, hemming her in, holding her. She felt utterly surrounded by him and had the sudden violent thought that she should never have married someone who was almost a foot taller than she was. She was at a woeful disadvantage here.

  He bent, hooked his right arm under her kness and lifted her with insulting ease. Madelyn grabbed for his shoulders to keep her balance. “The hen pecked my hands, not my feet,” she said caustically.