It was late when Emaline brought the clean sheets in from the line she found strung between two trees in back of the house and remade the bed. It was dark by the time she started supper, and she was busy making up excuses to Conn why she was so late getting food on the table.
She also took the time to clean herself up, to make herself pretty for Conn. She knew she was being foolish to think he would care one way or the other. But if there was any chance Conn could be attracted to her because of her looks, she wanted to take advantage of it. She put on a dress and combed her hair back, taming the worst of the curls. She patted on a dab of powder to moderate her freckles, and returned to the kitchen to await Conn’s arrival.
It was two hours past sundown, and still he hadn’t come.
She reminded herself that he had told her he would be home after dark. But Emaline felt a deep sense of foreboding. What if someone had decided to end the truce by killing Conn? What if he had made her pregnant last night and her child grew up without a father after all?
Because of the time Conn had spent at the creek, he was later than he wanted to be completing the fence repairs. It was two hours past dark when he finished rubbing down his horse and headed for the kitchen door. He wondered if his new wife had waited supper on him. Probably not, he conceded. Better not to hope for it. Then he wouldn’t be disappointed when he had to fend for himself.
Conn stood stunned at the kitchen door. There were candles and silverware on the table and the vase that had sat empty since his wife’s death was filled with wildflowers. He could smell something good cooking on the stove. But there wasn’t a sound to be heard in the house. Where was Emaline?
“Emaline?” he called.
Emaline knew she was being silly. But the later Conn was, the more she worried. And the more she worried, the angrier she got with Conn for making her worry. So when he called to her, she rose from the rocker in the bedroom like an avenging fury and strode out the bedroom door headed toward the kitchen.
She met him in the hall and stopped so abruptly that her calico skirt whirled around her. Her fingers folded into fists that were hidden in her skirt. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “It’s been dark for hours!”
“I told you I’d be late,” Conn said, keeping the edge from his voice. After all, he wasn’t unmindful of the effort she’d gone to preparing supper.
“Late?” Emaline hissed. “I imagined you shot dead and buried.” She backed him down the hall stabbing her finger in his chest. “You knew I would worry and—”
“How the hell would I know something like that?” Conn said. “I’m not used to answering to anyone, least of all a wife.”
“Well, so you finally remembered you have one,” she snarled. “And decided to come home.”
“And I’m damned sorry I did,” Conn fired back as he stumbled backward across the threshold of the parlor. “If I’d known there was a shrew waiting for me—”
“Shrew!” Emaline shrieked. “I spent the day scrubbing and cleaning and cooking for you.”
“Nobody asked you to do anything of the sort.” Conn looked around and noticed the shine on the floor, the knickknacks on the piano and end tables, the extra pictures on the mantel. “What the hell is all this stuff doing here?” He gestured with a broad sweep of his hand.
Emaline stood in the parlor doorway, enraged at Conn’s dismissal of her efforts, of her things, of her. “That stuff is mine. I live here, too, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m entitled to have a few of my own possessions around me.”
“They don’t belong in here. I liked this place the way it was.” He quickly gathered a handful of items off the mantel and shoved them into her arms. “Get rid of this stuff.”
Emaline marched past him and slammed everything back down exactly where it had been. “No! I’ve as much right to put things in here as you do.”
“This house is mine.”
“And mine!” Emaline snapped back. “I’m your wife.”
“Much to my regret.”
“Oh, how I hate you!” Emaline said through gritted teeth. “When I think how I tried . . . What I hoped . . .”
“This was all your idea,” Conn reminded her. He was having trouble keeping his hands off her. She looked magnificent with her blue eyes flashing, her back ramrod straight, thrusting her small breasts out at him. He wanted her, and she had given him the excuse he needed to take what he wanted. “There was only one reason I married you. And I intend to do what I promised to do.”
Too late Emaline recognized the look in Conn’s eyes. When had rage turned to desire? When had hate turned to passion? “No, Conn. Not now. Not like this.”
“Right now. Like this.”
His arms closed tightly around her, and his mouth came down hard on hers. They were both gasping when he lifted his head to stare down into her dazed eyes. “Neither of us has any choice about this, Emaline,” he rasped. “As you’ve been quick to remind me, we’re husband and wife. Till death do us part.”
“You know why I married you!”
“To bring peace through a child of ours,” Conn said. “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”
Emaline bit her lower lip. Conn was wrong to demand she submit to him in this way, but submit to him she must, or else risk losing everything she had sacrificed to achieve. And though she had provoked him into showing his hand, she had learned something very important in their confrontation.
He desired her. It wasn’t love, but it was a start.
Conn knew the moment she surrendered. Her body relaxed against his, her breasts pillowing against his chest, her hips slipping into the cradle of his. Her arms, which had been buckled between them, slid up around his neck.
“All right, Conn. You win. I’ll couple with you.”
He felt a stab of desire so swift and strong it nearly made him gasp. His hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her against him so she could feel his arousal. He looked down into blue eyes that were heavy lidded. She wanted him as much as he wanted her.
Conn lowered his mouth and claimed the woman in his arms.