Romancing Olive by Bush Holly

Author:Bush, Holly [Bush, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2011-10-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Jacob lay awake in the bed beside the crib and thought of Olive. He had not been able to vanquish the vision of Olive in his arms, even as Jack had droned on and on about her house as he helped his friend hitch his wagon. Jacob closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep, when a picture of Olive, slowly revealed itself. He squirmed, as the image formed, wondering if she had the long thin legs, he envisioned. Her skin would be the milky color, maybe even paler, of her face and he knew it would be as soft. She had full breasts, he could tell, as he held her against him and he swallowed, thinking those breasts, high and soft, rose tipped, he imagined, were just feet away, covered in thin cotton. Jacob ached as he laid still, and the throbbing beat a drum roll to his head.

He stood slowly, to not wake the children and padded softly to the kitchen. He knelt in his long-john bottoms and reached under the sink to a bottle of whiskey he hadn’t touched since Margaret’s death. As he knelt and held the bottle, his thumb moved slowly over the faded yellow paper of the label. Jacob had nearly finished the bottle in the days following Mark’s birth. It had numbed the hurt briefly, but the pain blew back with a vengeance when he sobered. His shoulders shook with a laugh when he thought of Margaret’s scolding when he occasionally drank. He smiled, ruefully, hearing her threats and he realized this was the first time he had remembered Margaret and not felt tears in the back of his eyes. Their time together had been good, wonderful, in fact, but she was gone and he faced a life without her. The question that remained was whether would he live a full happy life or would her death ever overshadow anything good. He took a swig, still squatting, and knew his sweet wife would not want him to miss a moment of joy for his grief.

“Oh, Margaret,” he murmured to the bottle and the night air.

* * *

Olive stood in her nightgown, under the drape of the curtain and watched Jacob drink and heard him call his wife’s name. She turned quietly, hoping not to intrude, but the swish of the curtain dropping brought Jacob’s head around.

“Olive?”

She peeked around the curtain and saw Jacob stand, bare-chested. His was tall, wide and cut through with muscles and sinew. A smattering of blue-black hair, held her eyes and the milk she had sought to ease her to sleep was forgotten.

“I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither. You want a nip?” Jacob asked and held up the bottle.

She inched into the room. “I don’t drink alcohol.”

* * *

The light from the window in Olive’s room answered Jacob’s question. Long, lean, shapely legs revealed themselves, shrouded in a mist of white, coming together at her hips. He stared, unable to move his gaze from the spot where those legs joined.

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