In Want of a Wife by Jo Goodman

Author:Jo Goodman [Goodman, Jo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-05-05T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Jane lifted the covers and inched sideways. The quilt around her shoulders bunched uncomfortably. Morgan was suddenly there to take it away. He tossed it toward the foot of the bed. Jane let him because she realized she was no longer cold. Every inch of her skin was flushed with that peculiar sort of heat that had its source inside her. Her toes curled. She slid down until she was lying on her back. She barely noticed that in this new spot the sheet under her was cool. She set her arms on either side of her but outside the blankets. She wriggled once to get comfortable and then she was still. Actually she was stiff.

She stared at the ceiling, waiting for Morgan to do something. When he didn’t, she looked at him askance. He was sitting hipshot on the edge of the bed, turned slightly in her direction. His fingers hovered over the fourth button on his shirt. The three above it were already unfastened. Watching her appeared to have arrested his movements. She had no idea why.

He said, “You have to breathe, Jane.”

Her chest fell as she released the one she had been holding. “I hadn’t realized,” she said. “I expect it won’t be the last time you will have to remind me.”

“You’re anxious.”

It wasn’t a question, but she confirmed it nonetheless. “Yes. I cannot precisely pretend I have experience when I so clearly do not. Quieting my nerves is out of the question.”

“Then stop trying. Your heart will not explode no matter that it feels as if it might. Breathe.”

She sunk her teeth into her bottom lip, nodded. This time her nostrils pinched slightly as she took a deep breath through her nose.

One corner of Morgan’s mouth curled upward. “Perhaps a drink.” He started to rise, but Jane struck out with an arm and stopped him.

“No. It is always possible that I will regret it, but I prefer to be clearheaded.”

“Are you going to take notes?”

“You are not amusing.” But her primly set mouth and the fact that she was breathing easier hinted that she thought differently. Jane turned on her side and folded the pillow so her head was angled upward. She watched him finish unbuttoning his shirt. “When did you sit for the photograph you sent me?”

“About three months before my personal notice was published. Why? Do you think I’ve changed since then?”

“No. Your appearance is the same. Very fine, I would say.”

Morgan turned his head as he shrugged out of his shirt.

“Did I embarrass you? I did, didn’t I? It is no good denying it. Your coloring gives you away. Did you curse your red hair growing up? I’ll wager you did, but it’s quite beautiful, you know. It is—”

Morgan tossed his shirt over Jane’s head and leaned forward to yank off his boots. Behind him, he heard her sputtering as if he had pitched a bucket of water at her. He also could hear her laughter bubbling under it. That decided him. He dropped his boots so they landed one at a time with a recognizable thud.

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