Joe's Wife (4 page)

With a grin, Tye pulled his tobacco from his pocket and deftly rolled them each a cigarette.

Reverend Baker took a drag and smiled a contented smile. "The only thing better than this would have been if Mrs. Baker hadn't gone 'home' quite so soon."

"I barely remember her." Tye thought a moment. "She was tall, wasn't she?"

"Aye. With the face and voice of an angel. I think that's why God called her so soon. She's part of the heavenly choir right now." He gazed upward sheepishly and gestured with the cigarette. "This is just a little afternoon relaxation, my dear, and I still never do it in the house."

A buggy slowed to a stop on the street, and Tye moved to leave.

"Wait." The reverend held up one hand. "Don't go. This is our time." He handed Tye his cigarette, and Tye pinched the fire from both and slid them into his shirt pocket.

A lone woman stepped from the wagon and, with a dart of surprise, Tye recognized Meg Telford, a beaded reticule dangling from her wrist. She gathered her black skirts and agilely mounted the wooden porch stairs. Her light floral scent reached Tye before she did. Violets.

"Afternoon, Miz Telford." The preacher rose to greet her.

"Good afternoon, Reverend Baker. Mr. Hatcher."

The minister smiled in satisfaction at her acknowledgment of Tye.

"Mrs. Telford." Tye stood and addressed her properly.

She seated herself in one of the wicker chairs and removed her stiff black bonnet. A lock of her shiny hair snagged and caressed her neck for a moment before she caught it and tucked it neatly back into place.

"Would you like some cobbler?" the reverend asked. "I have coffee, too."

"I would enjoy a cup of coffee, thank you," she replied.

Tye turned toward the door. "I'll get it."

He filled a mug from the pot on the stove and wondered belatedly if she'd like cream or sugar. He carried it out and asked.

"Oh, no, just like this is good. Thank you." She took a sip.

She and the minister discussed the morning's sermon and a particular passage from the Book of John. Tye listened.

After nearly a half hour of pleasantries, he prepared to leave. "I'd best be on my way. It's been a pleasure."

"How did you get here?" she asked.

"Walked," he replied simply.

"May I give you a ride?" she asked. "I'll be leaving now, too."

Did she think he couldn't walk? His neck grew uncomfortably warm.

"Please?"

He met her eyes and found no pity. Perhaps she just wanted to extend a gesture of friendship. He wouldn't recognize the effort if it jumped up and bit him on the butt. "Thank you."

Tye carried their mugs to the kitchen and wished Reverend Baker a good afternoon, slipping him the remainder of his half-smoked cigarette.

He assisted Meg onto the wagon seat and sat beside her. She guided the team onto
Main Street
. "You're staying at Mrs. Banks's?"

"Yes."

"I hear she keeps a nice place."

"It's clean. She cooks daily meals for those who want the cost added to their room."

She didn't say anything for a few minutes. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the cost of meals. Maybe she thought he couldn't afford them.

"Tye, I wish to speak with you about something," she said at last.

He looked over at her, thinking she had more questions about Joe. Or the war. "Go ahead."

Her cheeks were pink in the shade from her hat brim. "Is there somewhere we could talk alone?"

His mind raced. Alone? Surely she didn't mean alone. That wouldn't be right. She just meant where they wouldn't be overheard. On the Sabbath the parlor at the boardinghouse was generally filled with boarders playing cribbage.

The saloon wasn't open, but he had a key. Stupid thought.

There was a small pastry shop across the street, but it was never open on Sunday afternoons.

She seemed to be looking about with the same dilemma. She reined the horses to a halt and pulled the brake handle. She met his eyes directly. "Your room?"

Tye couldn't have been more shocked if she'd started to disrobe on
Main Street
. What on earth did she have to say that she couldn't have said on the ride here? And why did she want to say it to him? "What if someone sees you coming in?"

"I have a perfect right to visit anyone I like." She lifted her chin defensively. "I would hardly leave my horses and wagon here in plain sight if I planned on doing something shameful. Besides, we'll leave your door open."

Tye glanced from her sincere face to the practically deserted street. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure." She hopped down ahead of him, and he took a little longer, easing his foot to the ground without jarring his leg.

Tye stayed between Meg and the parlor door as they passed, preventing her from being seen, not that anyone looked up.

She walked ahead of him up the flight of stairs, and he struggled to keep his eyes from her shapely backside beneath the rustling ebony dress. A titillating glimpse of white eyelet petticoats caught his eye when he looked down. He concentrated on his hand on the banister, thought about placing one foot in front of the other. He was taking Meg Telford to his room.

In a million years, he'd never have even dreamed up this possibility. Unlocking his door, he pushed it open wide and ushered her in.

She glanced around. There wasn't much to see. His other shirt and trousers were at the laundry. His saddlebags and guns were pushed under the bed. The room looked just as it had when Yetta Banks had rented it to him months ago.

Tye picked up the straight-backed chair and moved it in a direct line in front of the open door and gestured for her to be seated.

She did so, arranging her skirts and holding the reticule in her lap. What did women carry in those silly things, anyway?

Tye had little experience with women of quality, and her presence in his room doubly confounded him. He deliberately avoided sitting on the bed and stood uncomfortably by the bureau.

"I have a business proposition to offer you," she stated.

He waited, unable to imagine any business Joe Telford's widow would have with him, and not even willing to guess.

"I'm having a difficult time with the ranch."

He hated that news. She'd seemed so happy when Joe was alive. "I'm sorry. Can I do something to help?"

She raised her head and looked him in the eye, unsettling him, unaccustomed as he was to having women meet his gaze. "There is. I just don't know if you'll be willing."

"What is it?"

"The Telfords are putting a lot of pressure on me to sell."

Damn! Her husband had bought a prime piece of land, and if she was offering it to him, he hadn't a snowball's chance in hell of coming up with enough money.

"I won't sell, however." Her chin rose a notch once again. "I'm determined to hang on to the ranch. Joe and I bought that place together. He sank money and time and all his dreams into making a go of it, and I'm not going to sell out just because things are a little tough. Not without a fight."

"I admire that. I wouldn't sell it if it was mine."

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

"What?"

"I have two old men and two young boys besides myself. Last year I hired a few extra reps for roundup, but I can't do it again. I've had to sell several things to keep the place going."

She knew he didn't have any money, so the only thing she could want from him would be labor. "Are you asking me to work for you? I've tried to get work everywhere, but no one will take me on."

"I couldn't pay you, Tye," she said plainly. She took a deep breath and hurried on. "What I've decided I need is a husband. That way, you'd have a stake in the place. The work you did would be to your own benefit. As you know, when a man marries, his wife's property becomes his."

He stared. Deepening pink tinged her smooth cheeks.

Slowly, he worked at assimilating her words and the idea behind them. He raised a hand to knead the back of his neck and took an unconscious step or two. "I think I'm confused here. What is it you're asking me?"

"I'm asking you to marry me."

He looked her over for some gross mistaken identity. This was Meg Telford, no doubt about it. Meg Telford in his room. Asking him to marry her. He shook his head to clear it. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Yes, I do."

"You can't. Nobody in Aspen Grove will even look at me or talk to me. You'd lose the respect of everyone in town if anyone knew you were here right now. You saw how your family acted when you talked to me in the mercantile! You can't want to marry me."

She stood abruptly. "I don't give a fig what anyone's going to say about it. I don't need this town's approval to do what I believe is right."

"You say that now, but you don't know what it's like. You don't know jack squat about how it is to have people look at you like you're dirt. You've never spent Sundays or holidays alone or seen women snatch their skirts aside so's not to touch you." He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Trust me, you'd think differently after that happened a few times."

Primly, she moved back to the chair and sat. "Anyone who would treat me like that after knowing me all these years wouldn't be worth having as a friend."

Fine talk, but she hadn't lived it.

Tye studied her perched on the chair.
Marriage. To this woman.
He couldn't keep his curious gaze from sliding to her rounded breasts beneath her starched dress, and images of sleeping with her had him moving to stand behind her.

"Ma'am, you're talking of
marriage
here. I just can't believe you've thought this through."

"I'm not an innocent young girl," she countered. "I know what marriage entails."

A delicious surge of heat teased his body. He tried to let his brain do the reasoning. "I want children someday," he said honestly. She might as well know his concerns. He wouldn't saddle himself with a woman who could give him land, only to find she wasn't willing to see to his other wishes.

To his surprise, she didn't blink an eye. "So do I. There's no reason I can't give you children."

What more could he want? Meg was the most beautiful woman in the whole damned county. She was offering to turn her land over to him, marry him and give him children.

He didn't have to wonder, "Why me?" The privilege had fallen to the only able-bodied, unmarried man in the area. Not exactly flattering.

But promising.

Very promising. And as long as they were revealing their expectations, he had more. "There's something else I want," he said.

She turned her head, but not enough to see him. "What is it?"

Tye'd come back with a plan to prove his worth to this community. The war had shown him that when it came to wearing a uniform, picking up a gun and fighting, he was as good as any man. No one he'd fought beside had cared whether or not he bore his father's name. He'd fought prejudice and ridicule in this town since he was old enough to raise his fists, and these people would only see him differently once he proved himself an equal. "I want to start a packing plant."

"A—packing plant? Like in the East?"

"Yes." He abandoned his inhibition and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, where he could look directly at her. "I listened to cattlemen the last few years. I heard their stories of losing hundreds of head while driving them or shipping them by rail, about how the cattle lost weight and brought less money. If we could slaughter them here, we'd save the trip and the hardships. We'd ship the dressed meat right out. Think how much more meat will fit in the railcars already dressed."

"What kind of investment are you talking about?"