Читать книгу High Plains Wife - Jillian Hart - Страница 10

“M ariah!” Rayna Ludgrin’s knock echoed through the warm house the next Monday morning and was followed by the squeak of the hinges. “Mariah! Are you in here? I’m a little early, I know. Some of your dishcloths got mixed up with mine. I’d best return them while I’m here, or I’ll forget all about it.”

“Good thing, because I have some of yours.” Mariah sprinkled water on the collar of Nick’s blue muslin work shirt. “How much did the dance bring in?”

“We topped last year’s in donations.” Rayna bustled through the door like a whirl of gaiety and dropped a neat pile of a dozen dishcloths on the crowded table. “Oh, you look busy. Your business is growing.”

“It’s improving.” Mariah had told no one, not even her closest friend, how hard it had been making ends meet. “Have you heard from Betsy? She was dancing with the gunsmith when I left.”

“Betsy ought to be here in a few minutes. She’d never miss our weekly tea time. Speaking of Friday night’s event, what about you? I saw you waltzing in Nick Gray’s arms.” Rayna helped herself to the tea water simmering on the stove. “It was the talk of the dance.”

“Hardly. It was one waltz.”

“Yes, but did you see the way he looked at you?”

“I did happen to notice. That’s why I’ve vowed never to speak to him again.”

“Mariah! If you keep this up, you’ll never marry.”

“Marry? What does that have to do with Nick Gray? Oh, sure, you mean his act of pity. He danced with me out of his conceited, self-centered sense of obligation.” She blinked hard and stabbed the point of the iron into the seam of the muslin’s narrow collar. “So, he must have chosen a wife by now. Those children of his need a woman’s care. Who’s the lucky bride?”

“I have no idea— Wait, I hear Betsy. Why, Betsy, good morning.”

Mariah’s hands stilled for a shocked moment. What was wrong with Rayna? Why was she avoiding the subject of Nick Gray?

“Good morning, or, well, a few minutes to noon.” She waltzed in, looking happy as a lark in a pretty blue calico dress with a matching bonnet, balancing a pink bakery box in her gloved hands. “Guess what? Zeke asked me to go driving with him on Sunday.”

“He’s a good man, Betsy. I’m glad for you.” Mariah set the iron in its stand. Maybe this romance would work out for Betsy, but what about Nick Gray?

He’d proposed to someone else.

Pain pierced like an arrow into Mariah’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t let her feelings show. Keeping her chin high, she turned the shirt on the edge of the board, smoothing the fabric until it was perfect.

There. Another shirt done. She folded it precisely and laid it on the stack of others.

It’s all right. You didn’t expect he really wanted to marry you. But that didn’t stop her heart from breaking or the disappointment from welling up like a geyser. She hadn’t realized how much she wished Nick’s proposal had been a real one.

Blinking hard, she set the iron aside, her work done for now. She had a few hours to spend with her friends. This afternoon she had more garments to iron and deliveries to make.

Nick Gray’s choice of bride was not her concern.

It was just as well. She was content with her life. Look at all she’d accomplished. Rayna was right—her laundry business was beginning to flourish. The fund-raiser had been a success. She had friends, her own house, and her independence. What more did a women need?

“A good man.” Rayna waggled her brows as she gathered china from the corner hutch. “Betsy, did you hear what Mariah said? He’s a good man, she said of the gunsmith. What did you mean by that?”

Mariah blushed as she snatched the stack of plates from Rayna. “Just what I said. Zeke is a good prospect for a husband. He’s an honest businessman. He’s kind. He makes a good wage. I think you ought to let him court you, Betsy.”

“That’s what I’m going to do.” Betsy smiled. “Rayna, did you hear what Mariah said? She said a man who’s a good prospect for a husband is honest and kind.”

“Huh! Mariah, just goes to show what you know.” Rayna winked, sharing a private grin with Betsy as she gathered small plates from the high shelf. “Mariah has never been married, so we’ll have to forgive her ignorance.”

“Hey! I’m not ignorant!” Mariah protested, used to the ribbing of her friends. “I can’t imagine why you two think marriage is such a joy—”

“Not a joy,” Betsy corrected. “A pleasure.”

“Oh, yes, it’s that.” Rayna nodded, blushing. “Oh, the pleasure.”

“You two, I’m shocked at you. To think I call such lusty, indecent women my friends.” Laughing, too, Mariah grabbed the bread plates from Rayna, stacked them on top of the china she already had and marched toward the dining room, pushing through the glass door.

Really. They were talking about intimacy, and as embarrassed as Mariah was, she was more curious.

“Me? Indecent?” Rayna blushed harder. “Why, I should hope so.”

“That is what I miss most about being married.” Betsy sighed with longing, the fondness in her voice unmistakable. “Charlie was a thoughtful man. Oh, and so tender. As much as I miss him, I miss that tenderness with a man. That intimacy.”

Mariah set the plates on the lace-covered table, alone, listening to her friends in the other room, voices low, talking of marriage with such fondness. Remembering how thrilling it had felt to be held in Nick’s arms, snug against his chest, made her wish for the first time that she knew what her friends were talking about. What true intimacy with a man felt like. Was it that wonderful? Was it special to be so loved?

Yes, it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Longing filled her so sharp and sweet, tugged at the cold edge of her heart like spring’s first sunshine on frozen tundra. What she would give to know that wonder. To be treasured and held like that. To have Nick hold her in that special way.

He doesn’t want you, Mariah. Nick would marry someone else, just as he had last time, and the man she’d loved forever would be out of her reach. The same man that her father had sent away when she was young and halfway pretty, when she’d had a chance of being loved.

Now that chance was gone for good. Mariah could see her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She didn’t like what she saw. Hers was the stark, unhappy face of a woman who looked older than her years.

That’s not me, she thought. It couldn’t possibly be.

But it was. Time had changed her on the outside. There was no doubt about it. She couldn’t go backward. She really didn’t want to. It’s just that… She sighed. The longing within her was the sixteen-year-old schoolgirl she used to be, who had never stopped loving Nick Gray.

I hope his new bride, whoever she may be, makes him happy. He deserves that. And his beautiful little girl, with those wonderful gold curls tangled and falling everywhere, she deserved a kind mother. Mariah ached, remembering the child. Remembering how hard Georgie’s small fingers had held tight with a mountain of determination. So fragile and dear and amazing.