Cheryl St. John by Joes Wife

Author:Joes Wife [Wife, Joes]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2012-07-05T22:22:20+00:00

Chapter Nine

The sky overhead had turned dark and the gray underbellies of fat rain clouds hung over the landscape. Tye strode to the barn, not eager to spend time cooped up with the men yet not willing to force his company on Meg. He uncoiled and recoiled the length of new rope he’d been dragging behind his horse for weeks in hopes of loosening it up. The hemp was finally getting soft and pliable, and, satisfied, he looped it over a nail and pulled down his saddle.

Perching on a nail keg in the open barn door, he worked oil into the leather, noting the first pelting drops of rain that spattered in the dust outside. That day he’d awakened more relaxed and feeling better than he had in a long time. The memory of Meg’s eager body and their unexpectedly satisfying union left him half-aroused and more than happy with himself.

But her embarrassment and avoidance had dimmed his pleasure. What was going on now? Was she sorry? She’d been the one to suggest he satisfy his needs with her, and he never would have if he hadn’t known she’d been as eager and as ready as he was.

And the more he thought back over it, the more he was sure he hadn’t pressured her. He didn’t know which of them had actually initiated the act; it had been a gradual yet mutual joining; she had been a willing participant. He wasn’t dull enough to think he’d done anything against her wishes.

But maybe that assessment was unfair. Maybe she’d been half-asleep and not really using all her faculties for a decision.

No doubt Joe had known the proper way to make love to a lady. He’d probably never been driven by his baser instincts. Meg knew Tye had been with other women. Perhaps that dirtied him in her esteem, too.

Or maybe she hadn’t liked it.

Tye recalled her moist welcome, her eager movements, the way she clutched at him, clung to him. No, she’d liked it.

The oily rag stilled on the leather. He stared at the worn saddle. She’d liked it. His weakness for her had him aroused just remembering.

Another thought stole in to eat away at his shortlived pleasure. Maybe in the darkness of night she could pretend he was Joe. And in the daylight she had to see him for who he was.

The thought hit him like a kick in the chest. It knotted his stomach and sickened him.

He stood, grabbing up the can of oil and hurling it against a wooden beam with all his might. With a disappointing thud, the can hit the wood and fell to the hard-packed dirt.

Tye kicked his saddle and pain shot up his leg.

He limped in a circle and cursed inventively until Purdy appeared from the back room. “Somethin’ ailin’ ya?”

Tye waved him off, leaned against the doorjamb and lit a smoke. He inhaled deeply and held it in his lungs until they burned, then drew another punishing breath and finally exhaled.

Major appeared from the depths of the barn and sniffed around Tye’s ankles.

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