For the remainder of each day, Rafe staved off boredom, entertaining Maggie with a host of restful activities. He watched romantic movies with her one afternoon, taught her to play poker the next, and then, on the last day, piled her bed high with decorating catalogs so she might choose a theme for Heidi’s bedroom and Jaimie’s nursery.
As much as Maggie appreciated his thoughtfulness, though, what really touched her were all the silly, incredibly sweet things he did. He frequently telephoned her on a separate line from another room in the house to engage her in ridiculous conversations. Talking on the phone, he explained, was an essential part of dating. Sometimes they simply teased each other about silly things. At other times, they exchanged information about themselves, sharing stories from their childhood or relating their most embarrassing moments. Maggie learned that his favorite color had once been blue, but that his tastes had changed recently and now he loved brown—the exact color of her eyes. His favorite meal was a steak and a baked potato, slathered with butter, sour cream, and fresh chives. His favorite song was “The Way We Were,” his favorite movie The Yearling, his favorite book Where the Red Fern Grows, and his pet peeves warm beer and wet toilet paper.
Because she knew his time might be better spent tending to ranch business, Maggie felt guilty about all the hours he wasted on the phone with her. When she suggested that he might use the time to begin familiarizing her with the bookkeeping system, he insisted that silly phone conversations were a courtship ritual every woman should experience. He also maintained it was far easier to speak openly on the phone than in person, and since he wanted to learn all he could about her, it seemed a small price to pay. Maggie thought he was a little crazy, but it was the very nicest kind of crazy.
One morning during her confinement, he invited her “out” to breakfast and escorted her and Heidi to the kitchen where he whipped up one of his “famous Kendrick omelets.” The following evening, he invited her “out” for a candlelight dinner and movie. It didn’t matter that going out with him was actually only a short trek from her bedroom to another part of the house. It didn’t matter that his omelet fell or that the steaks were a little charred. No, what counted to Maggie was that he cared enough to make the gestures.
On her first day of freedom from the bedroom, Rafe took her to town to see Dr. Kirsch for a follow-up exam, after which she was given another ten-day round of antibiotics and told she was recovering nicely.
“You can resume your usual activities,” the physician told her with a kindly smile, “the only exception being that you shouldn’t breast-feed your son until you finish your course of medication. I’d suggest you wait at least two days after taking the last dose, just to make sure it’s entirely out of your system.”
Maggie felt as if she’d just been released from prison. She wanted to throw back her head and shout that she was well. As though Rafe sensed exactly how she felt, he flashed her a huge grin as they left the clinic and headed down the busy sidewalk. His breath formed puffs of vapor in the chill air. “Becca’s watching Jaimie. No reason to rush home. Let’s celebrate.”
Sidestepping with him to avoid a collision with an oncoming pedestrian, Maggie laughed and shrugged. “How can we celebrate?”
He curled an arm loosely around her shoulders, the spicy scent of his aftershave teasing her senses. “How about an early lunch downtown and then shopping till we drop?”
“Shopping? For what?”
He cast her a mock frown. “For what? Mrs. Kendrick, need I remind you that your wardrobe is sorely lacking?”
“I can’t pay this much!” she whispered later when they entered a women’s apparel shop and she saw the price tag on a blouse he liked.
“Sweetheart, money isn’t at a premium anymore, remember?”
With numb fingers, Maggie checked some other garment tags, and the least expensive blouse she found was eighty-nine dollars. One was two hundred forty-nine dollars, and it was plain cotton. Oh, God. Rafe wanted to buy her several tops, and at these costs, he would blow a thousand dollars before she could blink.
A tight, airless feeling filled her chest. If he broke it off with her, she still wanted to reimburse him for all the money he’d spent. On a waitress’s income, it would take her forever to settle the debt unless she put a cap on expenditures.
“I admit I need clothes, but this is highway robbery,” she insisted. “Isn’t there a K Mart or Wal-Mart in Crystal?”
Instead of answering, he bunched the blouse he held in his fists and just stood there, clenching his teeth and staring down at one of the buttons, which she felt fairly certain was made of 14-karat gold. For an awful moment, she feared he was about to lace her up one side and down the other. Instead, he took a deep breath, relaxed his grip on the cloth, and seemed to shrug it off.
When he turned toward her, he was smiling. He nudged his hat back, held the blouse up to see how it would look on her, and told the clerk, “She’ll try this one on.”
The clerk took the blouse to the dressing room.
“Rafe, didn’t you hear me?” Maggie whispered as he turned away to resume browsing.
“I heard you.” He regarded yet another expensive top that he had selected from the rack, then draped it over his arm. “I’m ignoring you.”
“I’ve always worked and paid my own way. I feel uncomfortable about letting someone else buy me things.”
He cut her a sharp glance. “Why don’t you say what you mean, Maggie? That you feel uncomfortable letting a man buy you things. More specifically me.”
“That isn’t it.”
“Isn’t it? You talk about paying your own way. ‘No free rides.’ But it’s so much bullshit, and we both know it. The truth is, you’re afraid I’ll insist on another kind of payback.”
With growing alarm, Maggie watched him pluck another blouse from the rack. It was the one that cost two hundred forty-nine dollars. “It’s a matter of pride. It’s your money, not mine. I’ve done nothing to earn it. I haven’t so much as washed a dirty dish or dusted a piece of furniture in your house. Can’t you understand how I feel?”
He sighed and finally stopped rummaging to give her his full attention. His gray-blue eyes delved deeply into hers. After a moment, he softly said, “Is this going to be an issue with you forever? From day one, it’s always been something. The motel room, the food, the hot plate. It’s all right to let your husband buy you things. You’re not on the payroll. You’re my wife.”
“There’s no crime in being thrifty, is there? Why throw money away? Give the extra to charity.”
“Before I left the ranch, I donated plenty. I’ll continue to do that now, and probably on a much larger scale. I’ll never waste money that could be put to better use, just for the joy of blowing it. But, by the same token, since I have the means, I refuse to count pennies when it comes to providing for my wife and child. Or for Heidi, either, for that matter. It makes me feel good, being able to buy nice things for the three of you. Is there a crime in that?”
Maggie’s gaze fell to the price tag. Her heart stuttered. “Can we compromise and find a medium-priced store?”
“Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath.
“Don’t get mad, please?”
He gave a humorless huff of laughter. “Mad? You’re hurting my feelings, damn it. I do have some, you know.” He leaned closer to avoid being overheard. “We have millions in the bank. Millions, Maggie. And you’re haggling about the prices of necessities? Why? I can think of only one reason. If there’s another I’m overlooking, please enlighten me because, otherwise, this little dialogue is a slap in the face. I’ve never demanded a thing from you. Nothing, zilch! Do you think I’m keeping a tally, saving up for an all-weeker?”
Maggie inched back to put some distance between their noses. “I told you, it isn’t that. I’m just frugal by nature and prefer to bargain-shop.”
“What’s your solution? To own one pair of jeans and one blouse? To go around looking like a beggar? People will think I’
m a cheap-ass jerk, making my wife go without while I wear a Rolex and five-hundred-dollar boots.”
“It isn’t my aim to look like a beggar. I’d just prefer to shop at a discount department store. I don’t have to spend a fortune to look nice.”
He laid the second blouse over his arm. Maggie suspected he was counting to ten. Slowly. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking out of place among the racks of feminine apparel. Tall, dark, rugged. In the leather jacket, with the black Stetson tipped back to reveal his burnished features, he was so handsome he made her pulse race.
Evidently, counting to ten didn’t work very well. His eyes glinted as he ran his gaze the length of her. “True. You’d look great in a burlap sack. But that doesn’t mean I intend to let you wear one.”
“I wasn’t planning to go with any burlap this season.” She glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one was standing nearby. “Honestly, Rafe, I’ll be perfectly happy with cheaper clothes. If I want something special later, I’ll go to work part-time and buy it myself. I’d feel better, doing it that way.”
“Maybe you’d be happy with cheaper clothes,” he conceded, “but I wouldn’t. I can afford to buy you nice things. I want to buy you nice things. As for you earning the money yourself, if you’re talking about waiting tables, even mention doing that again, and I’m going to make Hiroshima look like a cap gun going off.”
Maggie refrained from pointing out that he seemed pretty close to detonation already.
“You wanna go to college? Fine by me. Wanna pursue a career? Fine by me. I’ll never try to hold you back. But as God is my witness, it’ll be over my dead body that you ever wait tables again, letting some trucker pinch your butt so he’ll give you a better tip. Got it?”
“I never let anyone pinch my butt to get a better tip!” she cried, her voice carrying the length of the store. She no sooner spoke than she winced and felt fiery heat rush to her cheeks. She saw the clerk poke her head out of the dressing room to gape at them.
Rafe rubbed his jaw, looking sheepish. “Low blow. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t.” When he focused on her again, his eyes had begun to twinkle, all trace of anger gone. “This is one for the record books. I’m fighting with my wife in one of the classiest joints in town.” He cocked a dark eyebrow. “Please tell me you don’t throw stuff or break things when you get pissed. The clerks in here give women lessons on how to put their bras on right.”
A startled giggle erupted from Maggie. This man. Sometimes she felt as if he had attached invisible strings to her emotions and that he could play her like a well-tuned harp. There was nothing funny about this. Why in the world was she laughing? Relief, she guessed. He seemed willing to declare a truce, and she couldn’t help but leap at the offer.
“There’s more than one way to put on a bra?”
A mischievous grin slanted across his mouth. “Let’s go home and I’ll show you.”
“Like you know? As I recall, you flunked Bra Clasps 101.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t know my logistics. Susan came in here sometimes, and she gave me a blow-by-blow account.”
“Really.”
He leaned close. “No push-and-stuff allowed in a place like this. You bend forward and gently ease into the cups. It’s the only way to get a proper fit.”
She couldn’t quite credit that they were having this conversation, let alone in a public place. “That cinches it,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We have to find a discount store. I’m a ‘push-and-stuff’ gal.”
“Married to a guy who’s doing his damnedest to ease you into some decent clothes. Get used to it.”
“I’m trying.”
“Good.” His voice went low and husky. “Seriously, Maggie. Oregon’s a community property state. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine. That means my money is your money. You insist on paying me back for every cent I ever spent if we end up splitting the sheets? Fine by me. You can pay me back out of your half of our assets.”
“That isn’t what we stipulated in the agreement we signed. The little black book, remember? Keeping a tally, and me paying you back with my own money.”
“That may have been your take on it, but it wasn’t necessarily mine. Where in that agreement did it say ‘your own money’? No waiting tables again, period, end of discussion.” He chucked her under the chin. “Just relax and enjoy shopping. Please?”
Maggie knew when she was beaten. She either had to let him buy her clothes, or they would get in a huge fight. Since he was more than a little frightening when he got really angry, she opted to take the easy way out. “All right. But in my opinion, these clothes in here cost the earth. I could happily ease into cheaper ones.”
“But you’ll look so beautiful.” He leaned down and kissed the tip of her nose. “Think of it as your gift to me. I’m the fellow who has to look at you.”
Put to her like that, Maggie applied herself to the task of choosing a wardrobe.
By the end of the afternoon, he had bought her everything from ranch clothing, purchased at a spendy Western-wear store, to day clothes and evening wear from elite women’s apparel shops all over town.
When Maggie attempted to avoid the lingerie department in the last store they visited, he chuckled and steered her directly toward it. Her face went scalding hot when he began holding up lacy, scantily cut panties and bras, glancing at her as if he were trying to picture her wearing them. He also selected several sexy nightgowns and draped them over the sales counter. When he noted her worried expression, he waggled his eyebrows, winked, and then whispered, “I firmly believe in the power of positive thinking.”
Maggie laughed in spite of herself. “Positive thinking?”
“Trust me,” he whispered. “I have no intention of making you wear any of this. Not anytime soon, anyway. You can stop looking so worried.”
“I’m not worried,” she popped back, a little amazed to realize she meant it. Rafe might contemplate making love to her, but she was coming to trust that he would never force her into anything until she was ready. It was such a wonderful feeling, knowing that.
During the following ten days while she finished the last round of medication, they slipped into a pattern, Rafe spending the giant’s share of each day outdoors with Ryan, Maggie staying inside, caring for her son. On most afternoons when twilight descended, Rafe came in from the stables, grabbed a quick shower and shaved, then spent the remainder of the night with her and Jaimie and Heidi.
On those evenings, Ryan often joined them for a casual dinner in the kitchen, which afforded Maggie an opportunity to become better acquainted with her brother-in-law, who proved to be a tease and as nice as her husband.
Afterward when Heidi and the baby were down for the night, Rafe always took Maggie for a long walk along the lakeshore, weather allowing. She had never seen anything so beautiful or fairy-tale perfect as the frozen lake and the snow-swept woodlands when all was bathed in moonlight. The windows of the house glowed lantern yellow through the stands of snow-laden fir and pine, the smell of wood smoke from the chimneys seasoned the mountain air, and when the wind blew in over the towering snowcapped peaks that hugged the basin, she likened the sound to angels whispering. The serenity of the setting soothed her, and she gradually came to see why Rafe loved the ranch so much.
During those walks along the lake, they sometimes talked or cavorted playfully in the snow, but at other times, they said little, merely sharing the night sounds of the wilderness. Either way, Maggie learned something new about her husband during each stroll. He was fiercely protective of her, often grasping her elbow or looping an arm around her shoulders to prevent her from slipping on the ice. He was also innately gentle, never forgetting his strength even when they horsed around.
On the three evenings during that time when they dined out alone, he treated her to candlelight dinners at what she called “dress-up restaurants” where the men were required to wear suits and the women wore cocktail dresses. On those occas
ions, Maggie was glad he had bought her beautiful clothing, for it was becoming more important to her with each passing day that her appearance should please him. She never wanted him to compare her to one of the other women they encountered and find her lacking.
The food served in these establishments was so fancy Maggie couldn’t pronounce the names of half the dishes. Ashamed to admit ignorance, she bluffed her way through and frequently had no idea what she might be ordering. On one such occasion, Rafe’s eyes filled with twinkling laughter when he saw the expression that crossed her face when she learned the appetizer she had ordered was snails. He came to her rescue by telling the waiter that he had ordered the escargot, not his wife. Maggie suspected that his trading dishes with her was a monumental sacrifice. He didn’t appear to be overly fond of snails himself. But to save her embarrassment, he ate them.
After that when they visited a restaurant, he gave her obscure guidance by mulling over the menu selections aloud. Pinot Noir? A bit too dry. Tonight his palate called for a wine with just a touch more sweetness. What cabernets did the house have on hand? he would ask the waiter.
Maggie realized exactly what Rafe was doing, but he carried it off so unobtrusively that she didn’t feel humiliated. She became adept at surreptitiously watching every move he made. She draped her napkin over her lap when he did and soon learned by observation that the bowl containing water and a lemon wedge wasn’t to drink and that the itty-bitty fork wasn’t used for salad. The one time he glanced up and caught her emulating him, he winked and mouthed, “I love you,” making her feel incredibly special when he might have belittled her instead.
It had been so long since a man had shown any concern at all about her feelings. Her father had, certainly, but many years had passed since his death and Maggie’s memories of him had long since faded. For seven endless years, Lonnie had polluted her life, day in and day out.
By comparison, Rafe was wonderful. From the beginning, he’d been unfailingly generous, giving her so very much. Yet he’d never demanded anything of her in return, except that she marry him, and on that count, Maggie absolved him, believing with all her heart that he’d done it to protect her. Now he was her lawful husband, with every right to possess her, and he held off.