“I’ll check on the bath water,” she said as she turned toward the bedroom door. She felt a sadness settling over her. This was the closest they’d come to an argument in all these weeks. She’d gotten spoiled, she supposed. No married couple got along one hundred percent of the time. Everyone fought occasionally. She shouldn’t be afraid to disagree with Gavin. This thing with Patrick and being afraid she would leave him—it was all tied up with the way his mother left his father. That was why he couldn’t admit to loving her. He was afraid to love. A man so strong, so brave in every other way, but when it came to his heart, he was a coward. She dragged the washtub into the kitchen and began filling it with steaming hot water, all the while wishing she was smarter about men. There had to be some way she could help him see that her love was enduring, that it was forever. But how? How did she break down those barriers? Patience, she thought as she heard the bedroom door opening. She had to have patience. He was acting like a damn fool, and he knew it. Rachel was his wife. She’d
broken off with Patrick of her own accord. She’d willingly accepted his proposal. He had no reason to doubt her sincerity. She loved him. She’d told him so in more ways than mere words. Gavin stood in the bedroom doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, watching as she dumped a kettle of boiling water into the tub. The steam was causing her hair to spring into curls around her face and ears. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, and a fine mist made her skin glow in the lamplight.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” he said softly.
“I guess I’m just tired.” Her smile was wistful.
“Your bath is ready. Get in. It’ll make you feel better.” She was right. A hot bath to soothe his tired muscles would make him feel better. He crossed to the tub, dropped the towel on the floor, and stepped into the water, sinking down into the tin bath until all but his head was submerged. He closed his eyes and felt his muscles begin to relax. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before he heard her moving about the kitchen. He opened his eyes in time to see her lifting another kettle of hot water from the stove.
“Move your feet,” she instructed. He pulled his knees toward his chest and watched as she poured the water into the bath. She set the kettle on the floor beside the tub and swirled the added hot water with her hand. Her fingers brushed against his leg, and he felt a prickle of awareness. Her touch always did that to him. Turning away for a moment, she picked up a bar of soap and came to kneel beside him. She glanced toward him, her expression uncertain, as if asking permission. When he made no response, she lifted his arm and began to move the soap over his skin, slowly working up a lather. He’d never had anyone bathe him before. It was more intimate, more pleasurable than he might have imagined. Her touch was light, almost nonexistent, yet he would have sworn he could feel her heartbeat through her fingertips. She moved slowly, causing him to shift and lift with only the gentle pressure of her hand or glance of her eyes. He was unaware of the cooling water. A new, more enjoyable tension replaced the old. He could get use to such treatment, especially when he could feast his eyes on Rachel, her dress damp and clinging to her breasts.
“You know what you need, Gavin?” Rachel whispered, breaking the silence with her husky voice.
“What?” He could think of one very particular thing he needed, thanks to her ministrations.
“You need a dunking.” With that, her hands landed on top of his head and she pushed him beneath the water. He came up sputtering.
“What was that for?”
“Your hair must be wet before I can wash it,” she answered in feigned innocence.
“And do you know what you need, Rachel Blake?” He raised an eyebrow but hid the wicked grin that would have hinted at his intent.
She shook her head.
“You need a dousing.” He grabbed her before she had a chance to move away, pulling her into the tin bath with him. Water splashed over the sides of the tub and spread across the kitchen floor, but neither Gavin nor Rachel were aware of the mess they had made. Nor would they have cared if they’d known.
Chapter Thirty-Eight Gavin rode out with Stubs and Jess at the crack of dawn that May morning, as they had every morning for the past week. The round-up had started. The spring counting of the calf crop. The branding. It was hard work that didn’t wait for birthdays or anything else. Rachel wasn’t sure if Gavin had remembered today was her birthday. She suspected he had, since he’d told her he would try to be back earlier than usual. But she really didn’t care if he’d forgotten. She had the best gift of all already, and she was going to surprise him with it when he got back. She smiled as her hand lingered over her flat stomach. She was certain now that she was pregnant. She’d missed two monthly flows. By her calculations, she would be holding Gavin’s child by Christmas. Who would have thought she would be wishing for the season of snow when spring had only just begun? She pulled the cake from the oven and set it aside to cool, then tasted the soup that had been simmering for an hour. She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Would she have time to change her clothes and fix her hair before he got back? She wanted to look her very best when she told him the joyous news. Rachel wandered across the main room and opened the door, stepping outside. An azure canopy spread from horizon to horizon without a single cloud to mar its blue perfection. The cry of a falcon, circling overhead, was added to the buzz of a bumblebee hovering over the flowers that bordered the south side of the house. She could hear the children’s laughter coming from the barn loft. She knew they were busy planning a birthday surprise of their own. She hugged herself, as if to contain the happiness that was close to overflowing. It all seemed so perfect, too wonderful to be believed. She saw the horse and rider from some distance away. She recognized Patrick and was ashamed for wishing he hadn’t come. She knew Gavin’s insecurities about Patrick hadn’t been swept away simply by the two of them making love in a bathtub, and neither of them had mentioned the Irishman’s last visit again. She drew a deep breath and silently scolded herself. You’ve got no reason to be unkind to Patrick. He’s your friend and Gavin’s too. Gavin’s got to realize it. That’s all. She waved as the horse trotted into the yard.
“Hello, Patrick.”
“Hello, lass. It’s a beautiful day for a birthday, and I’ve come to wish you a happy one.”
“Thank you.” Patrick dismounted.
“I’ve also come to speak with your husband about a matter of some importance.”
“He’s not here, but I expect him in the next hour or so.”
“Would you mind my waitin’? “Tis rather important that I speak to him.” Rachel wondered what could be so important but decided against asking. If he wanted her to know, he would tell her. She opened the door.
“Of course I don’t mind if you wait. Come inside. I’ve a cake to frost.” Patrick stood in the middle of the main room, his eyes moving slowly over the interior of the house before returning to Rachel.
“You’ve made the place feel like a home again.
“Twas that way when Charlie and Dru and Gavin first lived here. Always a happy place.” She wished she could ask him to tell her more, but again she refrained. It didn’t seem right to ask Patrick the things her husband should tell her. She would have to be satisfied with waiting. Perhaps it wasn’t even important for her to know. After all, she and Gavin were building a new life, one entirely their own. And when their child ……. Her gaze drifted off into space as her hands slipped to her stomach in that centuries-old manner of pregnant women, a cradling, protective gesture. This child was this product of the joy she shared in Gavin’s arms. She couldn’t help but believe it would at last convince her husband not only of her love for him but his love for her. Surely he would be able to put the pain of his past behind him, once and for all.