went hysterical at the sting of a little honeybee? Would Wes have to plow all day, then come home and take care of the house too? Would he have to bring Kim breakfast in bed each morning?
At one time, actually while he was living under the domineering rule of his brother, he looked forward to someone leaning on him. Kim didn’t lean, she lay down most of the time.
And when he kissed her! Kim would say, “You may have two kisses tonight, Wesley.” She’d purse her lips tightly and go smack, smack, then give a coy little laugh, as if she’d done something improper and highly suggestive, and move away from him.
For a while those prim little kisses and that suggestive little laugh had enticed him. He’d believed what she wanted him to believe—that when she let herself go she was going to be uncontrollably passionate. But somewhere along the way he’d stopped believing her. He began to imagine that even after they were married she’d still be saying, “You may have two kisses tonight, Wesley.” Or maybe as her husband he would be allowed three.
Once, he’d tried to force her to some passion, but she’d pulled away from him, frightened, and when she recovered herself she chastised him as if he were a little boy she planned to spank.
He didn’t try again after that—and he stopped taking his nightly dose of kisses, if they could be called that.
And the more he pulled away from Kim, the more aware he became of Leah. He became aware of her quiet efficiency, how she handled what could have become crises. And her generosity was unbelievable. Nothing was too much for her to do. She asked little of anyone but gave very much.
The longer they traveled together, the more Wes grew to like her. He wasn’t sure exactly when he made his decision to keep her—perhaps it was a gradual one—but he knew he’d rather marry Leah than adopt Kim.
He’d wanted to tell Leah right away but somehow he sensed she might be a little reluctant to embrace him with open arms. He couldn’t figure out why she might be, because he was, after all, giving her what she wanted, but who could understand women’s minds?
So he’d thought about it a long time and decided he needed to get her into a situation where she had to depend on him—if there was such a situation. Leah was so infuriatingly competent that he wondered if he could make her need him.
Then when they’d had the mud wrestle—he smiled at the memory—he’d found out about her fear of the lonely forest. And so of course that was where he arranged to take her.
And just as he’d predicted, basing his guess on the odd workings of women’s minds, Leah had turned stubborn when he’d told her she could stay with him. Give women what they wanted and damned if they didn’t decide they wanted something else!
Now here they were, all alone, and Leah acted as if she couldn’t stand him. If he lived a hundred years he’d never understand women.
But she’d come around. If need be they’d spend months alone in this forest; he planned to court her, woo her, win her. Maybe he could even get her pregnant again. Now that wasn’t a bad idea at all. If she were swelled up with his child, surely she’d give him less trouble. They’d get back to Sweetbriar and his farm and there’d already be a child on the way.
Oh Leah, he thought, looking across the dying fire toward her, no woman could ever resist a Stanford man when he set his mind to winning her.
With that decision made, he turned on his side and went to sleep.
Chapter 15
Leah woke with a sense of dread. The forest was still and by the look of the moon it wasn’t very late—but something was deeply wrong. Quickly she turned her head to look at Wesley. His eyes were open and there was warning in them. She obeyed his silent command and lay still while she watched him inch his rifle a little closer to his body.
“No need for that, mister,” came a voice from behind Leah that made her go rigid. She’d never thought to hear that voice again; she had prayed never to hear it again.
“We’re just travelers like you and the lady,” the voice continued.
Leah lay still as out of the darkness came a tall, skinny body. In the moonlight she could see a bearded face.
Slowly, making every move count, Wesley sat up, the rifle never out of his hands. “Who’s with you?” Wes asked in such a sleepy voice that Leah looked sharply at him, then noticed the alert look in his eyes.
“Jus’ me and one of the boys. Mind if I have some of your coffee?”
The thin man didn’t wait for an answer but knelt by the lukewarm pot. He didn’t bother looking in Leah’s direction.
He wouldn’t, Leah thought with anger. Her brother Abe had never had much use for women unless there was ransom money involved. Years ago, after Abe had kidnapped Nicole Armstrong, he’d disappeared off the face of the earth, and none of the Simmonses had heard from him again. Now he was a great deal thinner, years older, but Leah had no doubt he was her brother, probably up to no good, and Wesley was right in staying near his weapon. But perhaps if Leah let her brother know who she was he’d leave them alone.
“I’ll get you a cup,” she said loudly, eyes on Abe’s narrow back in its worn black coat. She wasn’t sure, but she believed he tightened at the sound of her voice.
Moving quickly, she threw a handful of branches on the dying fire and urged it into a light-giving blaze. With slow deliberation, she poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him across the flames.
He looked at her for only an instant and Leah wasn’t sure he recognized her. After all, when Abe left she’d been only fourteen, and since then she’d grown into a woman and her manners and speech had changed greatly. But Abe’s face hadn’t changed much. It was still narrow, with close-set black eyes and a big nose that looked like some bird ready to attack from its perch on top of a dirty, scraggly beard.
“I’d like to see your friend,” Wes said.
Abe turned to Wes, again ignoring Leah. “He’s just a boy, no harm in him, but if you want to see him…Bud, come on out here.”