FIVE
WHEN SHE STEPPED ONTO THE THIRD FLOOR, KORA almost tripped over a pile of muddy clothes. Winter must have stripped as he climbed. Slowly she leaned and picked up the garments, thinking of how tired he’d have to be after riding all night. Maybe she should have just offered to let him sit down to breakfast instead of insisting he wash first.
The sunrise was still shades of purple light, but she could see the outline of Winter as she moved into the attic room. He’d removed all his clothing, except his jeans, and was standing with his back to her. Somehow, leaning over the basin, bare chested and wearing so little, he didn’t seem all that invincible. After placing the clothes in a basket she’d brought up linens in, she stood at the top of the stairs watching him.
Her new bedroom was cluttered with things she and Jamie could carry up, but it still looked more like an attic than a bedroom. Only the man before her seemed to belong in this huge room framed in windows with only miles of sky for curtains.
As she watched, he poured a pitcher of water over his head and scrubbed away the dirt. Water splashed around the washstand, making a plopping sound on the hardwood floor below. Kora let out a cry as moisture spotted the wood, already badly in need of polishing.
Winter’s body stiffened at her outburst. He grabbed a towel and turned to face her. A worried frown darkened his already stormy expression.
When he saw where she stared, he said in a tone more of explanation than apology, ‘‘I’m sorry about the water. I guess I’m used to washing in the tub at the washstand. This little basin is pretty, but it doesn’t hold much. I could scrub up-’’
‘‘I’ll move a larger one up,’’ she whispered more to herself than him. ‘‘And maybe I’ll put a rug beneath the stand.’’
‘‘Don’t go to any trouble.’’ Winter wasn’t sure what to say. She was doing her best to be a wife, but he didn’t know how he was supposed to act. Did he thank her for doing what she thought was her job? Or did he get angry at the way she’d ordered him around downstairs like he was a guest who didn’t know how to act inside the house… Her house, he reminded himself… at least for six months. He’d told her she was the one to set the rules; the least he could do was follow them and not start a war over the first one she laid down. He could clean up before sitting at her table, and he could use the porch like the others from now on. It was foolish to bring water up two flights of stairs when he’d washed outside all his life.
He widened his stance and waited for her to look up. Win knew his voice hadn’t sounded kind, but she should at least realize he was trying. Marriage was probably like getting a new horse; they’d both have some adjusting to do. He watched her, wondering how long it would be before they’d be comfortable with each other. He was a good provider; she seemed to be a hard worker. What more did they need to make the marriage seem real?
Slowly her gaze climbed from the floor up his body. He noticed she reddened slightly as she focused on the top of his jeans where he’d left the first button undone. Her breathing quickened as she looked over the flat line of his stomach and the wall of his chest. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she’d never seen a man barechested, up close. Her blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.
Not knowing what he should do, Winter rubbed the towel over his chest and continued to watch her. Her gaze followed his action as though her eyes and the towel were connected. He’d never given much thought one way or the other to his body, but now he felt himself wanting to grab his shirt. He suddenly felt exposed before her. What bothered him most was that he couldn’t tell if she liked what she saw. Her expression more resembled one of a woman observing a freak at the circus for the first time than a wife looking at her husband. Everything about her seemed to want to turn away, but she continued to stare.
He looped the towel around his neck and straightened slightly, as he buttoned the top button of his pants. Her eyes followed his actions closely. Winter gripped the towel ends with his hands and waited for her to make the next move. If she wanted to look, he’d allow her the time. After all, she had a right. He found himself wondering if she’d offer him the same opportunity.
Slowly her gaze reached his eyes, and she drew in a sudden breath as though what she saw frightened her even more than the sight of his body. Before he could react, she’d stepped away into the blackness of the stairs.
‘‘Kora,’’ he almost yelled. ‘‘Kora, what is it?’’
Only her voice reached him. A hesitant voice that seemed to be making up words even as she spoke. ‘‘I came up to… ask you where… you store your shirts.’’
Winter took a step toward the open stairwell. ‘‘In the study,’’ he answered. ‘‘But I can get one as I go down.’’
‘‘No, I’ll bring a shirt up.’’
Just as she moved down another step, Winter’s hand reached out and closed around her arm. ‘‘Wait!’’ he ordered as he joined her in the darkness. ‘‘Don’t be frightened.’’
He could feel her trembling. Her skin was soft, but icy with terror.
‘‘What is it, Kora? Why are you so afraid of me?’’ He felt like the freak had just broken through the ropes and jumped into the crowd. ‘‘You’ve no need to be.’’
She reminded him of a trapped animal, afraid to move, afraid even to cry out. She pulled away, not enough to break the hold, but enough to let him know that when he opened the trap, she’d be gone.
He loosened his grip and stepped closer. ‘‘You don’t have to be afraid of me, Kora. I’m your husband. I swear I’ll never hurt you.’’ Could she really think him some kind of monster? Surely she wouldn’t have married him if she had. He would rather have Jamie’s threat of knives than Kora’s sudden fear. Maybe she was afraid because she knew Jamie wasn’t near enough to step between them. Didn’t she know if he’d wanted to be close, Jamie couldn’t stop him?
He guessed it wasn’t uncommon for men to strike their wives, but it wasn’t in his nature. If only she’d believe him.
‘‘Kora, I-’’
‘‘Let go of my arm,’’ she whispered so low he wouldn’t have heard the words if there had been another foot between them.
Winter didn’t want to let go. He knew she’d back away. He wanted to face whatever problem or fear she had. But he couldn’t frighten her more. He could almost hear her heart pounding and taste her panic in the air between them. Slowly his fingers loosened. He let his hand brush the length of her arm before he released her.
She darted down the stairs. ‘‘I’ll bring you a clean shirt.’’
Winter stared long after he’d heard her footsteps hurry away. All night, when he’d thought of her, he’d never thought of her being so afraid of him. She’d been shy at the wedding, but not this. After all, she was a widow. She’d already had one man in her life. Surely he couldn’t be all that different?
He was waiting for her on the landing when she returned. With a silent nod, he thanked her and pulled on the shirt as he followed her down.
The cowhands were already seated at the table. Jamie was smiling at each one, reminding Winter of a pickpocket sizing up the wealth of each man’s purse. Most of the hands were too tired and hungry to pay much attention. They were far more interested in the food she carried than the invitation in her eyes.
Walking to one end of the table, Winter pointed to an empty chair next to the one he chose. ‘‘You’ll join us?’’
Kora hesitated, then took the seat. ‘‘Only if Jamie does also.’’
He looked up at his sister-in-law. ‘‘Will you?’’ He silently hoped she’d take one of the empty places at the opposite end.
‘‘I will if you’ll make that man you call Cheyenne sit down, too!’’ Jamie shouted over all the others. ‘‘I want him where I can see him. The man’s got murder in his eyes every time he looks at me.’’