She glanced up at his face, wondering if he’d been as embarrassed as she had. Not so much for herself—she was used to it after all—but for him. His left elbow was propped on the open truck window, his right hand on the steering wheel. He looked down at her, his blue eyes meeting hers briefly, then back to the road, slowing as he turned onto her street. If he felt anything at all about the situation, she couldn’t tell it from looking at him. His rough, chiseled features maintained the same stoic appearance they had from the start.
Nervously, she unclasped her hands and wiped her sweat dampened palms on her knees as the truck came to a halt and both Buddy and Tate climbed out. Indecision as to which way to go hit her, but Tate was holding his door open, waiting. She slid under the steering wheel and stepped out, feeling tiny and delicate next to him.
The door closed behind her. “Sure you won’t need more boxes than this?”
Abby glanced at the stack in the back of the truck. “No, that’s plenty.” More than plenty. She didn’t think she could fill half of what they had.
Buddy grabbed an armload of boxes from one side of the truck and Tate lifted more from the other, leaving Abby with nothing to do but follow them inside.
“What goes from the kitchen?” Buddy had paused in the door.
“Just the dishes.” And not many of those, she thought. Only the ones she’d kept after her mother died.
The teenager nodded. “I’ll start in there.”
Tate was still standing in the middle of the living room, looking around.
“None of this belongs to me, so it can stay here.” She tugged a box out his hand. “I’ll go pack my clothes.”
She hadn’t realized he’d followed her until he dropped the rest of the boxes on the floor. Silently, she opened drawers and put the contents into a box. It didn’t take long to empty them.
“Are the bed linens yours?”
“Yes.” She’d bought them at a rummage sale a year ago. The pink flowers on the sheets were faded, but the material was still serviceable. They were the only set she had.
She moved to the closet, keeping one eye on Tate. He had folded the chenille bedspread and the blanket, and put them in a box. The pillow followed, then he reached down and pulled the top sheet off. Suddenly he froze, his gaze fastened on the bed.
Abby took a step away from the closet to see what had captured his attention. When she did, it felt as though every drop of blood drained from her body. She had tried to get the stain out, she really had. As soon as he’d left that night, she’d yanked the sheets off the bed and scrubbed at the spot of blood until her fingers hurt. But in spite of her efforts, a faint brown outline remained.
Even if she could have thought of something to say, she didn’t have time. Tate raised his eyes and stared at her, an unidentifiable emotion in their crystal depths.
He turned away abruptly, stooping to pick up the box she’d already filled.
“I’ll take this one to the truck.” His voice sounded choked and harsh and Abby cringed inside. As soon as he was out of the room, she grabbed the sheets and crammed them to the bottom of another box.
* * * * *
What was wrong with him? Tate tossed the box of clothing into the back then leaned against the truck. Had he gone crazy?
He’d known what the stain was the instant he’d seen it. If he’d really thought about it, he might even have expected it to be there. What he hadn’t expected was the barrage of images it had set off in his mind. Actually, they were more impressions than images. The feel of silky smooth skin under his hands. The softness of her hair. The clean smell of soap. The way her lips had moved under his, so damn innocent, so sweet.
He groaned and dropped his forehead onto the cool metal in front of him. When the sensations had swept over him in the bedroom, his erection had been instantaneous and painful.
God. He was crazy. It was Diane he wanted, not some stranger he’d slept with one time. It had to be the virgin thing, he decided. Some primitive, testosterone-crazed part of him seemed to take control every time he thought about it. And he’d been thinking about it a lot. Every night for the last six weeks to be exact. Always with the same reaction he’d just had.
He’d never taken a woman’s virginity before so he had no idea if the emotion was unique or not, no basis for comparison. He’d never even really thought about it. Lord knows, Diane had been no virgin. Deep down, he doubted she ever had been. It hadn’t mattered. She more than made up in skill what she’d lacked in innocence. And yet there was something about Abby that drew him, something he couldn’t fight—
“Hey, I thought I was helping, not doing it all.”
Tate raised his head and looked at his brother. “I was just checking the tire. Thought it might be a little low.”
Buddy walked around the truck and glanced down. “Looks fine to me. Come on, Abby is almost done.”
Tate looked toward the house with trepidation, then nodded. “Right behind you.”
Chapter Four
The dress wasn’t much, certainly not stylish or new, but it was the only one she had. Abby took a second to run her hand over the cotton material as she hung it in the closet. Normally she wouldn’t have wasted money on it, but she’d thought she should wear one when she applied to the G.E.D. program. She’d gotten the dress and a pair of loafers at the second hand shop in town.
So far, that was the only time she’d worn it. Monday she’d wear it to get married. It was a size too big for her, but she’d loved the pale green color right away and it was one of the few in the shop she could afford. Probably because the owner had thought it was just a limp rag. But after she’d washed it and invested in a can of spray starch, the dress had turned out to be beautiful. At least, to her it was.
The sleeves where short, the neckline rounded. Empire style, a row of tiny pearl buttons ran down the front of the bodice, ending just where the skirt started under her breasts.
She hung it in the virtually empty closet and pushed it all the way to one end so it wouldn’t get wrinkled. The rest of her clothes were already put away in the chest. How much longer would she be able to wear them, she wondered, and what was she going to do when she couldn’t? She couldn’t ask Tate for money. He was already planning on paying all the medical bills.
The muted sound of voices drifted up from the floor below as she turned to survey herself in the mirror. In a little over a week she’d be two months along, but so far, her stomach was as flat as it had ever been. As far as looks went, no one would ever know she was pregnant.
She glanced toward the bedroom door, then grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under her shirt, turning sideways as she eyed her now swollen shape. She looked like a watermelon with sticks in both ends. It sure didn’t look like she was going to be one of those women she’d read about who got more beautiful when they were expecting.
Abby pulled the pillow out and threw it back on the bed, then leaned closer to the mirror. Nope. Not a sign of any glowing going on there. Instead, her skin looked pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. Not that she’d ever been remotely beautiful before. Her face was too narrow, her eyes too big. And they were brown. Plain old brown. It would be nice if the baby had Tate’s eye color. They were such a wonderful blue.
The thought of Tate had her scurrying for the door. He’d said he was going to put the groceries away while she unpacked, but that was her job. It was what he was marrying her for and she wasn’t going to give him a chance to find any fault with her.
* * * * *
“I think I like her.”
Tate glanced up at his brother’s words. “Abby?”
“Yeah.” Buddy pitched a loaf of bread at him. Tate caught it, then put it in the pantry. “She’s a little on the skinny side, but kind of pretty, you know? She’s awfully nervous, though.”
“Give her time. She’s just not used to us yet.”
“I guess you’re right. But then, the idea of being tied to you for life would probably make an iron statue
nervous.”
Tate paused, rolling that thought over in his mind. For life. Right now, he was having trouble thinking past Monday. He shook his head. “Truthfully, she didn’t seem real thrilled at the thought. It took a lot of talking to convince her. I had to make it sound like she’d be doing us a favor.”
Buddy leaned back against the cabinet. “I wondered what all that cleaning stuff was about this morning.”
“I think she took me a little too literally.” He stopped in the pantry door. “She’s got a lot of pride, Buddy. If she thinks we’re getting married just for the baby’s sake, she won’t do it.”
“Aren’t you?”
Tate looked down at the apple in his hand. One bite had been taken out of it. He shoved it back where he’d found it before answering. “No. I’m doing it for her too. No one should have to live like she’s been doing. You saw that house. And there was no food. None at all.” He hesitated. “I might not be doing it if it weren’t for the baby, but she needs help. Even more now than she did before. I’m the only one around who can do it.”
“Have you told Diane yet?”
Tate shook his head. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone until I have a chance to talk to her. I know there’s no way to keep it secret forever in a town this size, but Diane at least deserves to hear it from me.”
“You got it. And if it’s any consolation, I think you’re doing the right thing. Abby needs you even if she won’t admit it. Diane doesn’t need anything but a mirror.”
“Buddy—”
He cut off the warning abruptly as footsteps sounded on the stairs. Abby rushed into the room and came to a sliding stop as she looked around.
“Oh. You’ve already got them put up. I was going to do it.”
“There wasn’t that much. Only took a second.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll start supper.”
Buddy straightened. “Don’t fix anything for me. I’m going out.” He raised an eyebrow at Tate. “If I can have the truck keys?”
Tate fished them out of his pocket and handed them over. “Don’t run all the gas out. And if you do, fill it up before you come home.” Saturday had been Buddy’s night to use the truck since he’d gotten his license. Friday night was his. At least it had been. He supposed that was going to change now that he was getting married.
“Don’t I always?” Buddy took the keys and started out of the room.
“No, you don’t. And be home by midnight,” Tate yelled at his retreating back.
“Okay, okay. I won’t forget.” His words were muffled as the front door slammed behind him.
Tate glanced at Abby, suddenly uncomfortable. She was taking a pan from the cabinet and putting it on the stove.
“Is spaghetti okay?” She spoke without looking up.
“It’s fine. Is there anything you want me to do?”
“No, I can do it.” She got the meat out and dumped it in the pan, setting the burner for medium heat.
Tate stuck his hands in his pockets as he watched her work. Buddy was right. She was pretty in an elfish kind of way. She reminded him of those paintings of the scraggly kittens with big eyes. The ones that made you want to take the animal home and feed it, clean it up and give it a warm place to sleep. For life. Buddy’s words rang in his head again, but he pushed them away. He couldn’t afford to think about that right now.
“Did you call Pete and tell him you quit?”
“Yes, although I’m not sure it was a good idea. I could have worked for a few more months before he found out and I need the money.”
“Abby, you don’t need the money. There’s an envelope in the top drawer of my desk with cash in it for household stuff. If there’s anything you need, just get it.”
This time she looked at him, her eyes even bigger than normal. “I can’t do that! It’s your money.”
“No.” His voice was quiet. “It’s our money. You’re going to be my wife. Anything that belongs to me belongs to you, too.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, feeling like a clumsy giant next to her. It was a miracle he hadn’t killed her when he… He yanked his mind back from that topic real fast, trying to stifle his body’s immediate reaction.
“Do you have a copy of your birth certificate? We’ll need it for the marriage license.”
Abby turned back to the stove and gave the contents of the pot a quick stir. “Yes. I had to have it for…” She halted and her face turned red.
Tate looked at her in curiosity. “For what?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s upstairs with the rest of my things.”
He pulled his hands from his pockets. “Well, if you don’t need any help, I guess I’ll go work on the tractor until supper’s ready. You can stick your head outside and yell. I’ll be in that shed next to the barn.”
“Okay.”
Just as he started by her, she turned and reached for a spoon. Their gazes met and Tate stopped. “I know you’re nervous right now and everything seems strange. It does to me too. But it will get better, Abby. I promise.”
Mutely, she nodded and he turned and walked out the door.
* * * * *
Abby stepped out onto the back porch and started down the stairs when the dog appeared around the corner of the house. She froze. He was even bigger and meaner looking in the daylight than he’d been in the dark. His coat was shaggy, a mottled brown and black.
He stopped and stared at her for a second, then came closer, his gait stiff-legged, his tail unmoving. She held her breath while he circled her, sniffing her legs, not letting it out until his tail began a gentle waving.
“Nice dog?” At her words, the tail movement increased and she patted him on the head. Maybe he wouldn’t rip her leg off after all. Trying her best to ignore him, she started hesitantly for the shed. The dog fell in behind her.
Both doors were open on the metal building, but the heat inside was oppressive. The roar from the engine of the monstrous tractor was deafening in the enclosed space and diesel fumes filled the air.
She paused in the door, looking for Tate. It didn’t take her long to find him. He had the side panel of the tractor open and was leaning over the motor, tinkering with something. At some point, he’d pulled his shirt off and it was lying draped over a huge tire. A thin sheen of sweat coated the bronzed skin of his back, glistening with each flex of muscle as he moved.
Abby swallowed hard, and suppressed the urge to run her hands over that back. She could still remember what it had felt like that first time, vividly. For a while, the ache of loneliness had eased a little. She’d felt connected to someone for once in her life, even if it hadn’t lasted long.
“Tate?” She couldn’t hear her own voice over the noise and he didn’t even look up. She moved closer and tentatively put her hand on his arm, jerking it back hurriedly when he straightened abruptly, banging his head on the folded-back metal of the engine cover.
His mouth moved as he faced her, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying. He shook his head, then reached back inside the motor. The noise died, leaving her ears ringing in the sudden silence.
“Sorry. I guess I didn’t hear you yell.”
There was grease on his hands and he pulled an orange shop towel out of his back pocket and wiped them off. But that wasn’t what caught Abby’s attention. His chest was covered in a light sprinkling of black hair that tapered into a vee where it disappeared into the top of his jeans.
Suddenly realizing she was staring, Abby lifted her gaze. He was watching her and the heat rushed to her face in a solid wave of embarrassment. “Supper’s ready,” she blurted.
He nodded. “I need to wash up first. Grab my shirt, okay?” He held his hands up to show her the grease, then went through a side door she hadn’t noticed.
Was she supposed to follow him? Apparently. Holding the shirt by the collar, she stepped through the door. There was a spigot on the side of the building, the water spilling into a tin tub below it. Above it, a
wooden board perched on several nails, holding more shop towels, soap and a broken piece of mirror.
Tate plunged his arms into the water, then picked up the soap and started scrubbing while Abby watched, fascinated. She’d never seen a man built like he was before. The patrons of Delly’s usually sported pot bellies that stretched the buttons on their shirts to near bursting. The ones that didn’t were so skinny a light breeze could blow them away.
There was nothing skinny about Tate. His stomach looked like a washboard. Everything about him seemed larger than life.
Something poked her on the thigh and she tore her attention from Tate to look down. The dog was back, looking up at her expectantly.
“I think he likes you.”
“Really?” She glanced at Tate. “How can you tell?”
“He’s usually pretty standoffish with people he doesn’t know.”
She patted the animal on the head again, this time with more assurance. “What’s his name?”
“Don’t guess he has one. We just call him Dog.” He rinsed the soap from his arms and reached for a towel.
“Does he ever come in the house?”
Tate dropped the cloth into a bucket that sat next to the tub and took his shirt from Abby, pulling it on, but not bothering to button it. “No. He’s too dirty.”
He’d only taken two steps toward the house when he stopped and put one hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Look.”
The touch sent heat shimmering through her and set her stomach in motion again, but obediently she followed his pointing finger.
At first, the only thing she saw was what appeared to be a wad of mud stuck up under the eaves of the shed. Then there was a flurry of motion and three tiny heads popped from a hole in the side, mouths open wide. A slender bird with sharply pointed wings poked something into one of the mouths before swooping off again, feathers flashing in the sun.