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* * *
Lucille already had supper going when Leonard arrived home an entire hour earlier than usual.
“Smells good,” he said walking into the kitchen. She looked him over, assessing in a moment that he’d had a long day. His face, handsome no matter how haggard he looked, was drawn. His lips were thin yet still quite kissable. She watched him cross the kitchen and felt his hand slip around her waist, drawing warmth from her body as he leaned forward and kissed her.
Given how much bickering they’d done lately, it was a pleasant change. She opened her mouth to allow more of him to enter her, then licked her lips when he pulled away, tasting him on her tongue. She could not help but smile.
“You’re in a better mood than you look,” she said, not meaning it as an insult, just a statement of fact. If she hadn’t known him and had just seen him on the street, she’d have thought he was in a foul mood, yet his kisses indicated otherwise.
“Was work good?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I fixed the telegraph machine.”
“That’s good,” she said, turning back to the stove. She waited with her breath held to see if he might come up behind her and kiss her neck the way he had for the first couple days after they were married whenever he’d found her in the kitchen. She began counting the number of days since their ceremony on her hand and was shocked to discover it was less than a fortnight. She felt as if they’d been married for ages already.
“How was your day?” he asked, growing quiet. “Did you see any more of Irene?” She turned to look at him and saw him watching her closely. For a moment, she thought he was studying her, the way a detective might study someone they were trying to size up.
Her spine tingled and she turned back around so that he wouldn’t see the look on her face. She wasn’t frightened of Leonard, but that didn’t mean she was always comfortable being around him. When he’d walked in on her and Irene this morning, she’d nearly fainted thinking he’d heard every word they’d said. She still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t, despite what he’d told them. It would certainly explain the way he was looking at her right now.
“I invited someone to dine with us this evening,” he said, still quiet. “Is there enough food?”
Thanks to Irene, they had plenty. Her friend had gone not just to the general store but the bakery and butcher as well. She’d returned to Lucille’s with her arms full of enough goods to last them the next week. By then, Marshal Decker ought to be long gone and she could do the shopping herself. None of that, however, meant she was in the mood for dinner guests tonight.
In fact, she’d been hoping for a quiet evening alone with Leonard. She thought that spending some time together, perhaps reading to each other after dinner, might be just the thing they needed to get their marriage back on track. Not that it was off track—not really. It was only that she wanted no more bickering, no more eavesdropping, and no more suspicion.
“We’ve got enough food in the cupboards and such,” she said choosing her words carefully, “but I’ve only prepared enough for the two of us. Who did you invite? Amos and his wife?”
He shook his head. “Just someone I know from work. Couldn’t you throw a little more onto the stove? You needn’t worry about doing anything fancy with it.”
She bit her bottom lip, wishing he’d consulted her first. Lucille’s mind was tired. The bickering between her and Leonard had taken its toll on her, as had her constant worrying about Marshal Decker being in town. She didn’t want to be bothered entertaining others.
“Can’t we make it for another night?” she asked him. “Supper’s almost ready as it is; if I throw anything else on now it won’t finish cooking at the same time and half our meal will be cold.” She hoped that sounded reasonable to him because it was the best her tired mind could offer by way of an excuse.
“That’s all right,” he told her, and for half a second she thought he was relenting about their dinner guest. Then he said, “We’ll make do with whatever you’ve already prepared. We’ll just split it three ways and each take smaller portions.” He paused a moment. “Actually, give me the smallest of the portions and give yourself and our guest a bit extra.”
She pursed her lips, irritated. What was so special about this guest? Why could they not make it for some other night?
“Is it Curt who’s coming?” she inquired. He shook his head, much to her annoyance. “Who else do you work with besides Curt and Amos?” Her voice was growing tense.
“I never said I worked with them, only that I know them from work.”
“Why won’t you tell me who it is?”
He shrugged, seeming to be at a loss for words. “It’s a surprise.”
She arched an eyebrow, wondering why the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. She turned away from him angrily, stirring the soup she’d prepared for their first course harder than she meant to. It splashed onto her arm, burning her and making her jump.
Suddenly, Leonard was holding her arm gently in his, checking it over. When he saw she was all right, he kissed it tenderly before letting her go. His fingers came around behind her and scraped the back of her neck as if brushing down those hairs that insisted on standing like soldiers. She shivered, dropping her spoon on the stovetop.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
He kissed the back of her neck, just once, and her whole body shook. “Are you cold?” he asked. “It feels warm in here to me.”
“I’m not cold,” she said. His hand was on the back of her neck again, massaging her, his lips just brushing the tips of her ears. His touch was hot but also unnerving. Small tingles began in her toes working their way up her legs and to her thighs. She was afraid that if he kissed her again, she might melt right there in front of the stove.
“The hairs on your neck are standing up,” he said.
“They always do that,” she told him. “It’s one of the many odd things about me.”
He finally took his hand away, replacing his fingers with his lips. They brushed over her skin, making her whole body shudder with pleasure. The more his lips touched her, the warmer she got. Her head began to feel light.
She turned to face him, their mouths pushing against each other. Hot breath whispered against her face. “You would tell me if you...” He stopped, his words catching in his throat.
“If I what?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Never mind. We don’t have a lot of time. I told him to be here at six.”
She checked the clock and realized it was already half past five. “Go and get ready then,” she said, giving in. “I’ve got thinly sliced roast I can cook up quickly to fill out the meal. I’ll do that then finish setting the table.”
He disappeared into the other room and she hurried about her business, wondering why he was being so coy about his dinner guest. It almost seemed like he was deliberately hiding something from her. She worried it had to do with her and Irene and determined to get to the bottom of it later.
Just before six, there was a knock on the door. She went to answer it, smoothing down her dress as she did so, and felt her heart stutter as she pulled the door open. Marshal Decker was standing there. His tiny black eyes stared back at her as her mouth broke into an “O” of surprise.
“Hello,” he said. “You must be Mrs. Overton.”
She quickly shut the door and locked it.
* * *
