Short Straw Bride (Harlequin Historical) Read online

  She looked around the kitchen, seeing beyond the grime to the future, a future that she and Luke could build together, here in this house, on this land. For the first time in her life she was settled in one place. She wasn’t an unwelcome guest in her uncle’s home anymore. She had a home of her own, a place to put down roots. She had her dream.

  Her smile faded slightly as she considered that a husband who loved her had always been a part of her dream. But love could grow, and good marriages had been built on less than what she had with Luke. Or so she hoped. He desired her. Innocent as she was, she had no doubt of that. And if she provided him with a comfortable home and, God willing, children, who was to say love couldn’t come of such things?

  Her hopeful mood lasted until the noon meal. She’d spent the morning cleaning the kitchen, scraping three years’ accumulated grime from every surface, then scrubbing everything with strong lye soap and a heavy scrub brush. It was going to take more than one morning’s work to get the room really clean, but she’d made a dent in the job.

  At least the larder was well stocked. Her husband and brother-in-law might have let the housekeeping slide but apparently they hadn’t forgotten to eat. The state of the kitchen was testament to the fact that someone had been cooking in it, she thought, grimacing at the abundance of evidence left behind.

  At midmorning she paused in her cleaning long enough to get a pot of stew started. That done, she got down on her hands and knees and began the monumental task of scrubbing the floor. By noon the kitchen was almost up to acceptable standards, the stew was done and a huge pan of biscuits was ready to go in the oven. She’d taken a guess at the amount of food necessary to feed half a dozen hungry cowboys and then she’d doubled her estimate.

  She slid the biscuits in the oven, then went outside to ring the bell to call the men in to eat. By the time they’d washed up, the biscuits would be out of the oven, piping hot and flaky. She hoped they wouldn’t take too long washing. Biscuits were at their best right out of the oven.

  Her fingers were shaking a little with nerves as she quickly untied her apron and reached up to smooth her hair, patting hopefully at the eternally unruly curls around her forehead. This was her first test as a wife—well, maybe not her first test, she amended, blushing a little. But this was her first public test, and she wanted everything to be just right.

  Eleanor was pouring coffee into thick cups when the squeal of the back door’s hinges announced the arrival of the ranch hands. The room was instantly filled with large, masculine bodies. They crowded into the kitchen, smelling of sweat and manure.

  She saw immediately that she needn’t have worried about the biscuits cooling while the men washed up. The idea of using soap and water before eating was apparently hers alone. They appeared in her newly cleaned kitchen wearing whatever dirt had attached itself to their persons during the morning. Luke and Daniel entered last, and she was relieved to see that they’d at least washed the dirt from their hands, but they hadn’t bothered to wipe their feet. In a matter of seconds the floor looked just as it had before she’d scrubbed it. “Sure smells good, ma’am.” The words came from a tall, skinny young man, who looked barely old enough to shave. He gave her a gap-toothed smile.

  “This is Gris Balkin,” Luke said as he sat down at the head of the big oak table. “Slim White. Shorty Danvers. Joe Small.”

  Eleanor had already lost track of which face belonged with which name. She smiled and nodded as each man dipped his head in her direction and sat down at the table. She turned to pull the biscuits from the oven, sliding them into a big earthenware bowl, pleased to see that they were lightly browned and looked exactly right.

  She turned back to the table and stopped dead, her eyes widening. She’d set the heavy pot of stew in the center of the table and put a big ladle beside it. The ladle was bypassed in favor of a more direct method. She watched as Shorty—or was it Gris?—served himself by dipping his bowl into the stew pot. Gravy dribbled across the table as he set the bowl in front of him and proceeded to lick his fingers clean where they’d apparently been dunked in the stew.

  She waited in vain for someone to say something about this amazing display of bad manners. But since the other men were quickly following suit, in obvious appreciation of this expedient method of serving, it was hard to know just who should utter the necessary reproach. Trying to conceal her distaste, Eleanor edged up to the table and set the bowl of biscuits next to the stew.

  “Biscuits!” One of the men—Slim?—greeted the addition with a pleased exclamation. The fact that his mouth was full did nothing to dim his enthusiasm.

  The level in the bowl dropped instantly as hands flew across the table, snatching at the golden brown biscuits.

  “Hot damn.” The man who spoke began tossing the steaming biscuit back and forth between his hands, trying to cool it. “They’s hotter than a witch’s—”

  “Gris!” Luke’s snapped reprimand held a stern warning. He jerked his head in Eleanor’s direction.

  Reminded that there was a lady present, Gris flushed a deep shade of red. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. McLain.”

  Eleanor managed a weak smile to indicate her forgiveness for his language. If she’d thought that being reminded of her presence might have a beneficial effect on the men’s manners, she was disappointed. While she watched, one of them picked up his bowl to slurp the gravy that remained in its bottom and then promptly dipped it into the stew pot for a second helping.

  From the way the men were eating, she wondered if it wouldn’t have served just as well to throw a raw haunch of meat into the center of the table and let them devour it like a pack of wolves. Certainly, wild animals couldn’t have shown fewer table manners.

  It didn’t seem to have occurred to anyone to say grace, but then she couldn’t really see the point of asking the Lord to bless the scene she was witnessing. Hands flew across the table, silverware clanked against bowls—thank heavens it was good, solid china; the sheer force with which they stabbed at chunks of meat would have shattered anything less sturdy.

  They slurped their coffee and talked with their mouths full, at least when they weren’t shoveling food into those same mouths. And shovel was the operative word. They ate with a speed that might have been flattering if she hadn’t suspected that they’d have done the same with boiled shoe leather.

  Her husband and brother-in-law were marginally better. At least they didn’t stuff food into their mouths with their fingers, she thought. But then Daniel wiped his mouth on his sleeve and the smidgen of relief disappeared. She could only watch in awe as the mound of biscuits and the huge pot of stew were devoured in no time at all.

  She’d never seen anything like it, and if there was a good side to the spectacle, it was that they were gone almost as soon as they arrived, nodding to her as they left the table, one or two mumbling a thank-you as they tromped out the door. Luke lingered behind the others.

  “That was a fine meal, Eleanor.”

  “Thank you.” She summoned up a smile.

  “Are you settling in all right?”

  “Yes.” At least, she had been until now.

  She wanted to say something about the scene she’d just witnessed but she couldn’t find the words. Just a short while ago she’d been feeling so hopeful about the future but, looking at him now, she was reminded that he was still a stranger to her, no matter what intimacies they’d shared the night before.

  “I’ll take your trunks upstairs tonight. Unless you need them sooner.”

  “No. Tonight will be fine.”

  Luke hesitated, looking for something else to say. When he’d thought about marrying, he’d assumed he’d bring his new wife home, get her settled and not give much more thought to her. But he’d damn near lost a finger this morning because his mind was on his bride instead of the balky cow he’d just roped.

  Looking at her now, he couldn’t say just what it was about her that had made it so hard to keep his mind on his work this morning. It wasn�
�t that she was a raving beauty, because she wasn’t. But there was certainly something to be said for hair that was never quite tamed and eyes as big and soft as a fawn’s.

  Remembering the way her eyes had turned almost black with passion, Luke felt arousal stir in his gut. His jeans suddenly felt constricting and he had the urge to forget all about the work waiting to be done and take his wife upstairs to bed.

  He could kiss away the dusting of flour on her short, straight little nose. And from there, he was only a whisper away from her mouth. That full lower lip of hers had haunted him since the first time he’d seen her. And now he had reason to know that it tasted every bit as good as it looked.

  “If there’s nothing you need, I’ll be getting back to work,” he said abruptly. If he didn’t get out of here, he wasn’t going to be able to resist the urge to kiss her, and once he kissed her, he wouldn’t have bet a plugged nickel that he’d get out of the house anytime soon.

  “There’s nothing I need. Thank you.”

  “I’ll see you later, then.” It was just that he was new to marriage, Luke told himself as he strode out. He paused at the top of the back steps, settling his hat on his head to cut the glare from the noontime sun. It was like driving a herd new to the trail; it took a few days to settle in.

  No doubt, it was going to take time to settle into being married, Eleanor thought. She dragged her eyes from the door through which her new husband had departed and surveyed the disaster that had, a short while ago, been a clean kitchen. The floor, which had been mopped less than an hour before, was coated with dirt and mud and substances she didn’t want to identify. The table was a wreck of greasy dishes and spilled food.

  She’d planned to eat after the men, but her appetite was gone. Forcing herself to move, she began clearing the table. Time, she told herself as she pumped water into a kettle and set it to heat, she just had to give it time. Hadn’t she read that women provided a civilizing influence on the frontier? Obviously, the Bar-M-Bar hands had been too long away from such influence.

  Eleanor spent the afternoon the same way she’d spent the morning—cleaning and cooking, though her enthusiasm for both was considerably diminished. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about running out of things to do, she thought with a touch of sharp humor.

  By the time the evening meal was on the table, she was too tired to care if the men ate with their feet, which was just as well because the scene was a repeat of the one at noon. She’d baked two pies, using dried apples she’d found in the big pantry. Both disappeared in a heartbeat, devoured literally out of hand since it didn’t seem to occur to anyone to use a plate or fork.

  Once the meal was finished, the hands returned to the bunkhouse, Luke and Daniel disappeared into the den to go over some paperwork and Eleanor was left with the wreck of her kitchen. Her jaw set with annoyance, she cleaned up the new mess as quickly as possible, then heated water to take upstairs so that she could wash up.

  Luke had just struck a match to light his cigarette when he heard Eleanor’s footsteps on the stairs. He promptly lost track of his conversation with Daniel. Was she going up to bed? He didn’t have to close his eyes to picture the way she’d looked the night before, with her hair tumbling almost to her hips and her dark eyes soft with innocence and passion, a potent combination. Would she put on the same nightdress? He’d enjoy taking it off again, sliding his hands under the layers of fine muslin to find the even softer skin beneath. He’d—

  “Dammit!” The curse exploded from him as the forgotten match burned down to his fingers. He dropped the match, shaking his singed hand and glaring at his brother, who was grinning unsympathetically.

  “Thought you might have forgot about it,” Daniel said.

  “You could have said something.” Luke blew on his fingertips to cool the burn.

  “Could have,” Daniel agreed, still grinning. He struck a match on the heel of his boot and lit his own cigarette before leaning forward to do the same for his brother. “But I figured you’d remember the match before it did any permanent damage.”

  “Thanks,” Luke said dryly. He heard Eleanor moving around in their bedroom, which was directly over the den, and it took a considerable effort to keep his mind from drifting to what she might be doing.

  “She’s done a lot of work.” It was obvious that Daniel knew what had distracted his older brother. “Place looks better already.”

  “Yeah.” Luke agreed absently. The truth was, he hadn’t paid much attention to what the house looked like. Somehow, after last night, he found himself less concerned with his bride’s housekeeping skills. But now that Daniel had mentioned it, he noticed that the layers of dust that had coated every surface were gone.

  “And she bakes a damn fine pie,” Daniel added. He drew on his cigarette, squinting at his older brother through the smoke.

  “Best biscuits I’ve ever eaten,” Luke said, feeling a stir of pride.

  “Can’t argue that.”

  But Luke lost the conversational train again as a floorboard creaked overhead. Was she getting undressed? Or maybe she was already undressed and was now taking her hair down, running a brush through the thick, dark curls.

  He jerked, startled, as Daniel leaned forward and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers.

  “You burn yourself again and you’re not going to be fit to handle a rope,” Daniel said as he crushed the butt out in the ashtray on the desk.

  Luke flushed, annoyed with himself for becoming distracted again. Dammit, what was it about her that made it so hard to put her out of his mind? Mercifully, Daniel refrained from commenting on his distraction, though the laughter in his eyes suggested that there was plenty he could have said, if he’d chosen.

  “The boys were planning a poker game tonight. You going to join in?”

  Luke opened his mouth to say he would and the floorboards shifted again overhead. “Not tonight.”

  He ignored his brother’s knowing grin as he said good-night and went out to the bunkhouse. But once alone, Luke didn’t immediately go upstairs. He deliberately took time to roll another cigarette and smoke it, proving to himself that, when it came to his new wife, he was in complete control. Only when the cigarette had been smoked to a stub did Luke allow himself to blow out the lamp. He climbed the stairs at a slow, deliberate pace, ignoring the steady beat of arousal that urged him to hurry.

  She was leaning over the bed to turn back the quilt when he entered the room, but she straightened and turned to look at him, her eyes dark and unreadable. She was wearing the same nightdress she’d worn the night before but her wrapper lay across the foot of the bed. As she moved, Luke saw the gentle sway of her breasts beneath the thin muslin and hunger grabbed him by the throat.

  Eleanor had planned to be in bed asleep—or feigning sleep—before Luke came upstairs. She was tired from the work she’d done, but more than that, she was no more certain that marrying Luke had been the right thing to do than she had been before she married him. And that uncertainty was all the more unsettling for the intimacy they’d shared the night before.

  But Luke had come up to bed sooner than she’d anticipated. She watched him now, wondering what he’d say, wondering what she should say in return. They’d spent so little time talking, so little time getting to know each other.

  But Luke didn’t seem to be in a conversational mood. Without saying a word, he came toward her, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked. Eleanor felt her breath catch as he shrugged out of his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. Her gaze was filled by the thick muscles of his chest. She remembered the feel of those muscles against her breasts, the sweet abrasion of his chest hair against her nipples.

  She swallowed and tried to find her voice, though she wasn’t sure what she planned to say. Luke’s hand came up, his fingers deft as he untied the ribbon that held the end of her braid. In seconds her hair was spilling over his hand. Eleanor opened her mouth—to protest?—but Luke’s lips covered hers and whatever sound she might have mad
e vanished in a sigh. Somehow, her fingers were sliding into the thick darkness of his hair, her mouth opening to invite his possession.

  Held like this, pressed so close to him, her uncertainty faded. Luke’s arms were so strong, his touch so sure. Something so sweet couldn’t possibly be a mistake, could it? And then he was easing her back onto the bed, following her down, and Eleanor stopped thinking altogether.

  Chapter Nine

  “They eat like a bunch of savages, Letty.”

  “Men are savages.” Letty’s calm response drew a quick laugh from Eleanor but it ended in a discouraged sigh.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Eleanor admitted. “I’ve read about the civilizing influence a woman’s supposed to have on men but I haven’t seen much evidence of it so far.”

  “It’s only been two weeks, Ellie. They’ve had three years to revert to behavior more natural to them. It’s going to take time and persistence to change their bad habits.”

  The two women were seated in the newly cleaned parlor of the McLain house. Letty had driven out to visit. After two weeks spent in exclusively male company, Eleanor would have been grateful to see any woman, but she was especially grateful to see Letty. She refilled their cups from the teapot that had been Letty’s wedding present to her and settled back into her chair.

  “I thought maybe just knowing I was there would make them remember their manners,” she said. “But yesterday one of the men grabbed a handful of meat off the platter and dropped it on his plate. I’m surprised he didn’t growl while he was eating it.”

  Letty smiled sympathetically. “You have to be firm with them, Ellie. Subtlety doesn’t work with men. Unless they’re hit over the head with something, chances are they won’t pay any attention to it.”