Joe's Wife (7 page)

"I know it doesn't look like much right now," she said apologetically. "We've had to let some things go in order to care for the stock. The fellas try, but, well…"

"It's the best place I've ever lived, ma'am," he told her honestly. "I'll do all I can to take care of things now."

She smiled then, a genuine smile of reassurance. "I believe you will, Tye. If I didn't believe that, well, we wouldn't be here right now. Neither one of us."

Meaning she'd have been put off her ranch, and he'd still be trying to earn enough money to buy an acre or two. This way they each had what they wanted.

It would be a fine place to bring Eve to, as well. Maybe he should have told Meg about the child before they'd gotten married, but there just hadn't been the right time. Working extra hours for the ring and these clothes had seemed the imperative need at the time. He had no idea how he was going to find the words to tell her now.

Besides, there would still be a little time for her to get used to the idea—he hoped. He hadn't checked on Lottie for several days, so he really wasn't sure about her condition.

Tye picked up his belongings, stowed them in the attic and changed into work clothes. No time like the present to get down to business.

Meg hated herself for the sense of relief that had accompanied Tye's decision to sleep in the attic. She should have spoken up, shouldn't have allowed him to postpone the inevitable. But she'd gone along. And the fact that she'd been unable to fall asleep that night was likely due to guilt over his uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.

She rose early and prepared breakfast as she always did. Gus, probably allowing them privacy, hadn't ground the beans or started the coffee, which added another task to her routine.

Tye appeared from outside with Gus and Purdy. The two hands hung their hats and took their places beside each other on a bench. Tye stood awkwardly to the side.

Meg placed a hot plate of skillet cakes on the table, then realized he was waiting for her to assign him a seat.

"There." She gestured to a single chair at the end. The chair where she usually sat. The chair that had been Joe's.

Tye stood behind it.

Gus and Purdy dug into the food without hesitation.

"You don't have to wait for me to sit," she said, realizing his intent. "I jump up and down a half-dozen times during a meal."

Tye seated himself.

Meg poured coffee, then sat to his left.

No one said much as they ate together, their first morning in this new situation. Meg tried to make it seem natural but knew she wasn't fooling anyone.

Tye ate more slowly than the ranch hands. And he didn't eat half as much as most men she'd cooked for.

She tasted everything to make sure she hadn't made a mistake in her haste. It all tasted fine to her. "Everything all right?" she asked hesitantly.

He looked up from his plate, his deep blue eyes vibrant in the morning light that streamed through the long kitchen windows. "Everything's just fine, ma'am. Thank you."

Meg glanced at Gus, and he met her eyes only briefly, then popped his last bite of ham into his mouth, downed his coffee and stood.

Purdy followed, going for his hat.

"We've just got enough time to change." Meg said, folding her napkin.

Tye laid down his fork and sat still.

"Tye?" she asked curiously.

Gus and Purdy tromped out the door with a screech of hinges.

"You don't want me to come to church with you," he said. It wasn't a question.

"But of course I do. I always go to church."

"I don't."

She had started to get up, but she eased back down on the bench. "Aren't you a God-fearing man, Tye Hatcher?"

"Yes, ma'am. But for your sake, I fear God's good people more."

"What do the others have to do with it?"

But she knew. She might not understand, but she knew how he'd been treated in town his whole life. She hadn't seen firsthand the rejection his mother had received after he'd been born, but she'd lived in this town as long as he had, and she'd seen the way he was snubbed.

"I warned you how people would react," he said softly. "No one came yesterday, did they?"

At that, she did stand, her posture rigid and perhaps a little defiant. "That is
my
church, Tye Hatcher. I've gone there since I was six years old. And you're my husband. I don't intend to let a few narrow-minded attitudes stop us from going." Those people couldn't ignore her forever. They hadn't shown up at her wedding, but she'd be hanged if she'd let them control her comings and goings in town or her attendance at her place of worship.

A few syrupy bites of a skillet cake remained on the plate he stared at. "I'll come if you ask me to."

Was it unfair of her to ask this of him? No. She wasn't about to leave Tye behind like one of the ranch hands. "I'm asking."

He stood, his long legs pushing back the chair. "I'll change."

Chapter Five

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H
e stood near the wagon when she exited the house. He wore the same dark trousers and white shirt and tie he'd worn for their wedding, his revolver holstered to his hip and his hat pulled low. But even with his eyes shaded, she knew his gaze followed her from the back steps appreciatively. It warmed her to know he was looking at her in a way no man had looked at her for a long time. But it startled her that she liked the feeling.

"I'll take a step up," she said, when he appeared uncertain of how to assist her.

Immediately, he made a step of his laced fingers, and she pulled herself up to the seat. Tye brushed his hands together and seated himself beside her.

They didn't have much to say to each another, but she soon learned that theirs could be a comfortable silence if she relaxed her thinking. As man and wife they would have many rides like this, plenty of time together, and all the years ahead to get to know one another.

Tye pulled the wagon into a shaded area in the lot near the church, and this time she allowed him to place his hands around her waist and lower her to the ground. Her gloved hand touched his upper arm briefly, and the thick, corded muscle beneath the shirt made her sharply aware of his reserved strength. She glanced up.

He released her and didn't meet her eyes. His tight expression revealed his stoic determination to go through with this.
Because she'd asked it of him.

Harnesses jingled, and Meg turned to see the
Telfords
' leather-upholstered buggy drawn into the lot. She started toward it, then realized Tye wasn't beside her, and paused. He joined her, reluctantly, and she continued toward her family.

"Good morning!" she called.

Harley assisted Mother Telford from the buggy, then turned for Gwynn. The children jumped to the ground and ran ahead with noisy enthusiasm. Wilsie hung behind Gwynn, her cautious stare fixed on Tye as if he were going to suddenly pull his gun and blast them all full of lead.

Edwina adjusted her stiff black skirts, cast a reproachful eye on Tye and said to Meg, "I don't know what you're doing, bringing him here like this. As if you haven't disgraced us enough, Meg Telford, now you're flaunting this shameful alliance before the whole town!"

Meg recovered from her shock immediately. "I'm coming to church like I do every Sunday morning. It just so happens that this particular Sunday I've brought my husband with me."

"Husband!" The way she spat the word indicated she didn't consider Tye any such thing. "Joe is your husband and don't you forget it. This man is trouble, mark my words. I never thought my Joe married a stupid woman."

Edwina gathered her skirts and made a wide circle around the couple.
"Joe
wouldn't have worn his holster to church," she continued, looking Tye up and down with scorn.

"Joe wouldn't have been expecting one of the brethren to shoot him in the back," Tye said with an audacious grin.

Harley ignored him, took Gwynn's arm and led her behind his mother. Gwynn cast a regretful glance over her shoulder.

Wilsie scampered to join them.

Meg stared at the empty buggy, hurt and anger warring in her breast. Beside her, Tye waited in grim silence. Finally, she turned and met his gaze.

The hard blue stare beneath his hat brim revealed no emotion. He'd been expecting it. Had been braced for it. If a person bore insults a thousand times over, did the barbs lose their sting?

"Still want to go in there?" he asked.

Resolutely, she laced her arm though his and headed toward the building.

The drone of voices hushed as they entered the aisle. The Telfords were already seated in their pew, third from the front on the right, the pew where she'd sat with them every Sunday since becoming engaged to Joe seven years ago.

She couldn't sit with them now, she realized belatedly. She paused a few rows back and slipped into an available wooden seat. Tye sat beside her, his long thigh brushing her skirts, and stared straight ahead. He'd hung his hat on the row of hooks inside the door, so he had no brim to take refuge beneath.

A few whispered comments broke the silence.

Meg glanced around, taking note of the townspeople unwilling to meet her eyes. Friends who'd greeted her every Sunday morning since she could remember now avoided her. The ones who did look at her did so with disapproving stares.

Finally Reverend Baker walked to stand behind the pulpit, Fiona stumbled through the beginning hymn, and the congregation stood.

Meg opened the hymnal. The words and music blurred. Voices rose on all sides. She blinked, determinedly cleared her throat and joined them. Towering beside her, Tye remained silent. She extended the hymn book, and he took the other side obligingly but didn't sing.

Later, instructed to sit once again, she noticed his long fingers massage his thigh unconsciously. She glanced at him, and his hand stilled. Reverend Baker began to speak, and Tye met her eyes at last. He hadn't wanted her to see this. Hadn't wanted the same ill treatment to befall her. He'd said as much that first day in his rented room.

But she'd asked for it. She'd insisted. And she'd gotten what she'd asked for.

She couldn't help thinking that the Telfords would gather for dinner after this, as they always did, and afterward they'd sit on the wide front porch, and the children would play on the lawn. Even during the war, she'd eaten Sunday dinner with Joe's mother, sister and sister-in-law. And after his death, they'd been her strength and her only family.

Dinner! Her mind ran through the supplies she had to prepare a meal. She couldn't regret losing company for her Sunday meal. She'd gained a means to hang on to her life. They would come around, she told herself again. She hadn't changed. Nothing had really changed. They would see that.

The service ended finally, and she and Tye made their way to the back like everyone else. No one greeted them. Everyone carefully maintained a reproachful distance.

Reaching Reverend Baker, the couple received their first greeting and smile. "Meg, you're looking lovely. Hatch, I was pleased to see you in the congregation this morning."

"You're the only one."

The reverend grinned at Tye's low remark. "I hope this doesn't mean you won't be callin' on me Sunday afternoons anymore. I enjoy our talks together."

"I'll make it a point to visit," Tye replied. "Probably not today, though. I've got a lot to figure out around the place."

"Why don't you come to the Circle T for dinner next week?" Meg asked eagerly.

"I'll do that," the reverend said, and shook Tye's hand.

Meg smiled up at Tye. He settled his hat on his head, and they crossed the side yard, pointedly ignoring rude stares and whispers.

Tye made a step of his laced fingers, and she climbed onto the seat and tied her bonnet beneath her chin.

She'd been the prettiest woman there, just as she'd always been the prettiest woman anywhere in Aspen Grove. Tye wished he could be proud to have her beside him. But she hadn't married him for any reason he could take pride in.

He'd borne the indignities of his birth and his mother's status his entire life, and he detested her observing it. He would have done just about anything to avoid her seeing how unkindly people could behave, and never for anything would he have allowed her to suffer the same if there was any way to prevent it. He'd come here for her.

Because she'd asked him. And, he admitted to himself, he knew he'd never deny Meg anything she asked.

She'd taken his arm in front of the whole town. She'd acknowledged him, sat by him and—Lord help her—married him. He perused her now and she surveyed him back.

She wasn't ashamed to have married him.

For the first time he allowed himself to look into the honeyed depths of her eyes without wondering what she was seeing when she looked at him. She had a peaches-and-cream complexion with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that she probably hated, but that were nearly unavoidable working every day on a ranch.

He loved the saucy turn of her nose and the bowed shape of her pink lips. Her hair smelled like violets, and its scent fluttered on every breeze within six feet.

Now, only a few errant curls were visible beneath the bonnet, but he knew the exact hue, like rich honey, and could only imagine the heady texture.

Tye realized he'd worked himself into an embarrassing state simply by looking at her, and he tore his gaze away and fixed it on the rumps of the plodding horses. He wanted a cigarette bad.

The Circle T, she'd called it, he remembered as they rode in. Not "the ranch," not "our place," but "the Circle T."

"T" for
Telford
.

He let the horses stand long enough to change his clothing, then led them into the barn, brushed them down, gave them grain and water and turned them into the pasture.

Tye stood with one boot on the bottom rung of the fence, watching them graze with the other horses, and rolled a smoke. A robust liver-colored chestnut in a separate corral caught his eye, and he couldn't recall ever seeing a horse like it before. He pinched out the match, slid it into his pocket and inhaled tobacco into his lungs.

His own horse, a black with speckled white hindquarters, galloped over to where he stood and nudged his shoulder. Tye stroked his forehead. He'd purchased the horse after the war and ridden him home.

"Don't let the missus catch ya doin' that," Purdy said, coming up beside him and indicating his smoke.

Tye acknowledged the advice with a nod. He hadn't imagined Meg would take too kindly to the vice.

"Slack season's nearly over," Purdy said, referring to summer, with roundup and calf branding growing near.

"Plenty to do before roundup," Tye replied. "Thought I'd go up in the hills this week and get some pine poles for a fence to make a south pasture."

"Want help?"

"Be glad for it."

Purdy nodded.

"What breed is that dark chestnut stallion?"

"Don't know." Purdy shrugged. "Joe sent him and two mares home whilst he was gone."

A bell rang then, its clamor echoing across the pasture.

"Dinner on Sunday?" the old man questioned, his gray eyebrows raised.

"You don't usually have Sunday dinner?"

"The missus is generally gone until late afternoon. Gus cooks for us."

Of course. Her Sunday routine had been shot to hell by his presence. Tye squeezed off the fire from his smoke and dropped the cigarette into his pocket. "Well. Let's see what it is."

Tye was unaccustomed to so many meals and so much food. He'd already eaten her breakfast, so he prayed he could do another meal justice.

He and the hands washed at the pump outside, entered the kitchen, hung their hats … and stopped in their tracks.

The table had been spread with a pressed white linen cloth and set with vine-and-flower-bedecked china, the edges of the cups scalloped, the plates set neatly at the end where they'd eaten that morning. A clove-studded ham graced a platter, a bowl of creamy mashed potatoes beside it, and butter melted into a bowl of steaming greens. The cut-glass salt and pepper shakers with the silver lids had been filled and added to the setting.

"What are you gaping at?" she asked the gathering of men, carrying a bowl of gravy. "We're starting our own Sunday tradition."

Tye and the hands seated themselves.

"Tye, slice the ham and serve us, please."

He picked up the knife and serving fork and did as she asked, placing a thick slice of meat on each plate. The bowls were passed, and before long he had a plateful of food to work his way through.

He ate slowly, not remembering the last time he'd eaten ham, but he'd never tasted one so succulent. She'd made a thin, dark, salty gravy, pure pleasure to his unaccustomed palate.

The hands took seconds and dashed through their meal, Purdy excusing himself and Gus getting up to start scrubbing pans.

Tye glanced up to find Meg finished, watching him.

He laid his fork down.