The Farmer's Wife Read online

  “I promised I’d keep my lips zipped.”

  “You’re very good at that.”

  Kim slid a glance his way, then returned her attention to the road. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Just what I said. You keep yourself all zipped up. You never used to.”

  “Brian, I—”

  “I know. No talky, to touchy. I remember. I just wish . . . ” His voice drifted off, and he glanced out the window as the fallow fields rushed by.

  “You wish that things were different,” she stated.

  “Is that a crime?”

  “I hope not.” He looked at her again. “Because I wish that every day.”

  Silence settled between them. Kim was thankful Brian didn’t press her, because she wasn’t sure what she would say.

  She had wished every day that things could have been different. But she also knew, logically, that what she’d wanted and what he’d wanted would never have come together in a way that would have made them both happy for very long. But that didn’t stop her from wishing.

  They reached the farm and went into the house. Kim’s foot knocked against something in the hallway, which skidded across the floor and slammed into the wall.

  “What the—?”

  “Hold on.” Brian flipped the lights with his elbow.

  Kim blinked, first at the glare and then at the mess.

  Precious had been entertaining herself quite well if the number of “toys” in the hallway was any indication. Plastic cups littered the floor; shoelaces draped the staircase banister; socks lay strewn in the hall leading into the kitchen.

  Kim followed the path and discovered the kitten poking her paw into a tiny hole in the wood floor. “Hey!” Kim snapped. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The kitten scampered across the floor and proceeded to climb Kim’s leg. Her stockings sagged, snagged and ran. Kim snatched her up. “Who said you could have a party?”

  Precious batted at Kim’s nose with sheathed claws. Kim giggled.

  “Oh, that’s telling her.”

  Kim turned the kitten toward him. “How can you yell at that face?”

  He refused even to glance at the animal, keeping his eyes on Kim. “It wouldn’t pay. If you yell at cats, they’ll only ignore you.”

  “What do you do with cats?”

  “Be thankful they let you live in the house.”

  Kim laughed, kissed Precious on the nose, then placed her on the ground. The kitten scooted back to her fascinating hole in the floor. Had she dropped something bright and shiny down there? Kim certainly wasn’t going to dig it out for her.

  “You go on to bed,” she said. “I’ll pick up the mess.”

  “Okay.” Brian lifted his splints. “I’ll let you.”

  The house settled around Kim as she returned to her task. The creaks and crackles of the wood and the wind were familiar. The scuttle of the kitten in the kitchen and the slight bumps and thumps from Brian upstairs assured her she was not alone. Strange, but Kim felt at home here—something she’d never felt anywhere else.

  The slight smile dissolved. What on earth was the matter with her? Home was Savannah. She had the perfect life there, one she’d carved out for herself through no small amount of sweat and tears.

  In Savannah there were no cows, no pigs, no chickens. Definitely no sheep. When the wind came from the east it smelled of sunshine on the water. She had friends, money, men. No ties, no guilt, no past. Exactly the way she wanted it. Then why did she suddenly feel so sad?

  Kim continued to gather the stolen items and put them away. As she did so, she remembered why she’d always enjoyed Brian’s house more than her own.

  The Rileys’ place had been quiet, sedate, full of warmth and love and peace. She’d known Brian’s parents hadn’t approved of many of the things she’d done, but they’d accepted her because she was Brian’s. Because he loved her, they had, too. Kim had never felt she had to change herself to please his family, as she’d believed she must to please her own.

  She sighed. Water under the bridge. She really must let the past go. Tonight, while talking with her mother, she’d wondered again if the two of them could work a few things out. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

  Finished cleaning, Kim got ready for bed. “Precious?” she called. “Here, kitty, kitty.”

  But the cat had disappeared. After a cursory walk through the downstairs without a sign of her, Kim gave up. There was no way she was venturing into the basement, where the tiny, furry monsters might live; nor upstairs, where an even more frightening monster lurked.

  Instead, she resolved to clean up in the morning whatever mess Precious made in the night and climbed into her cool, wide bed all alone.

  But she wasn’t alone for long.

  Groggy, when her mattress dipped and the pitter-patter of cat feet approached, Kim smiled. She’d always wanted to sleep with a cuddly cat or dog. Perhaps even more than most children, because pets in bed was something her mother found abhorrent and would never allow.

  “I’m a big girl now,” Kim mumbled. “Cats in the bed. Dogs, too. No sheep, though. Gotta draw a line somewhere.”

  Precious made an odd muffled sound, as if trying to answer. Then something small dropped onto the pillow next to Kim’s cheek. That something moved.

  She shot off the mattress, tapping the light as she flew by. Precious sat on Kim’s bed with pride all over her sweet face.

  Kim stared at the gift on her pillow, and when it moved again, she jumped onto a chair and began to scream.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The screaming dragged Brian from sleep. Heart thundering, he was out of the bed and halfway down the stairs before he realized who was shrieking. Then he ran faster, terrified Kim was hurt. From the volume of sound, she was dying.

  He slid into the kitchen, nearly tripped over the cat as she raced, tail up, paws scrambling, for safety, then stumbled into the bedroom.

  The lights were on; the bed was empty—kind of. An injured mouse limped back and forth across the pillow, which explained why Kim was on top of a chair. How could he have forgotten her irrational, yet extreme, fear of mice?

  At the sight of him, Kim stopped screaming, but she didn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t seem to talk; all she could do was point—and open, then shut, her mouth.

  “Let me guess. Precious brought you a gift?”

  Kim nodded, then motioned out the door.

  “I’ll get rid of it.”

  She blew a sharp breath upward, stirring the hair that had come loose from her braid and drifted across her face.

  Brian tried not to stare, but Kim had worn nothing but a T-shirt to bed and the hem rode the tops of her thighs pretty high. With her standing on the chair, he kept getting glimpses of her panties. That, combined with the spike of her nipples visible through the worn cotton, made him barely able to think, let alone grab the mouse with his incapacitated hands.

  After a few tries, he managed to catch it by the tail, then he headed for the door.

  “Eeeh!” she squealed. “What are you going to do with it?”

  He stopped and turned. “Do you really want to know?”

  “No. Yuck.” She covered her eyes. “Get it out of here.”

  He did and returned in a moment to discover she still stood on the chair, surveying the floor warily.

  “You going to stay up there all night?”

  “If I have to.”

  “You don’t. The bad mouse is all gone.”

  “But there are more where he came from.”

  “Always are.”

  Mice were a part of farm life. They were everywhere, outside and in. Mice were the reason that cats existed on a farm. At least Precious knew that, even if Kim did not. Although Precious seemed to have been absent when her mother taught the final act in the mouse melodrama—as her live and kicking gift proved. But he doubted Kim would be any more appreciative of a dead mouse on her pillow than a live one.

  She remained on the chair
. And it didn’t appear that she planned to come down any time soon. Brian sighed. “I’d carry you over to the bed if I could.”

  “What?” She’d been staring at the shadows that peeked from under the mattress. “Oh. Thanks. But there’s no way I can sleep on that bed now.”

  “Ever?”

  “Not tonight.”

  He could understand her unease, sort of. Brian would never let something so minor as a mouse running across his bed keep him from sleeping in it, but he suspected stuff like that didn’t happen to Kim every day—or at least not anymore.

  “You can sleep in my mom and dad’s room if you want.”

  Relief washed over her face. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “Shut the door and Precious can’t bring you any more gifts.”

  She froze with one foot on the floor. “More?”

  “You didn’t think she’d stop, did you?”

  “Uh, I didn’t think.” Her throat clicked when she swallowed. “She’ll bring me more mice?”

  “Once they start, they don’t usually stop. To Precious, she’s giving you the most important thing in her world. What her mother brought her.”

  “But after she’s in the house awhile and eating kibble, won’t she forget about mice?”

  “Forget about mice? A cat? That’s like telling a lawyer to forget about winning.”

  “Har-har.” She hovered, half on, half off the chair, her face scrunched in thought. “But Ba forgot about being a sheep.”

  “She never knew to forget. And she still does sheep stuff.”

  “Like what?”

  “She goes baa, not woof. She likes to watch squirrels, but I don’t think she’ll ever chase one. And she butts people.”

  “Really,” Kim said dryly.

  Brian shrugged. “She just can’t help herself.”

  Sighing in defeat, Kim sat on the chair, careful to keep her feet off the floor. “I guess that means more mice for me.”

  “I’ll find Precious and take her back to the barn.”

  “No!” Kim drew a deep breath and placed her feet gingerly on the floor. She stood. “No. I’ll just keep the door shut.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m not going to lose a survival-of-the-fittest contest on my own territory.”

  “Your territory?”

  “I’m indoor girl remember?”

  “I think that was city girl.”

  “Whatever.”

  She ran across the room on tiptoe. Brian wasn’t sure if the floor was cold against her bare feet or if she believed a mouse ambush might occur at any moment. Either way, once out of the room, he had to hurry to keep up, and then he had to tight to remain calm. Because watching her climb the stairs in front of him only made him remember all the times he’d dreamed of a situation just like this.

  The reality was every bit as enticing as those dreams had been. Her legs, long and smooth, stretched and flexed beneath the short T-shirt. With every step she took, he glimpsed her rear end, framed by white lace panties. Her breasts bobbed; his body throbbed. He might as well be a teenager again the way he responded every time he saw her face—or anything else.

  She stopped outside his parents’ bedroom, turned and gazed at him with such innocence he was embarrassed by the direction of his thoughts.

  “Good night,” she murmured, “and thank you for rescuing me.”

  “Any time.”

  His voice was a croak. He could find no place to look that did not make him want to push her back against the door, align his body to hers and kiss her until she pulled him into the room, then onto the bed.

  He could lose himself in her as he had so many times before. Having Kim here for the past several days had made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t since she’d left. And while that was dangerous, it was also tempting.

  If he touched her and she touched him, would that part of him that had died when she left come alive again?

  No. Because the part that had died could not be brought back by sex; not even love could bring back what they’d lost.

  He glanced at Kim and found her watching him with some of the same questions in her eyes. He recalled so many nights, lying awake in the room of his childhood, dreaming of the future when Kim would be his wife and they would share a bed in this house.

  They were no longer children. She was here by choice, in the house that was now his. She wanted him. He wanted her. Simple. And maybe if he took her, and took her, and took her again, he might at last rid himself of his desire for her.

  But then he would never be able to rid himself of the love.

  John sat on the porch until well after ten. He might as well. For the first time in as long as he could recall, he did not have to crawl out of his bed before the sun.

  He’d hoped that once Kim and Brian left, Ellie would come outside and tell him what she and Kim had talked about. Why he’d hoped that, John had no idea. Even if Ellie had been behaving normally, she probably wouldn’t have told him. They had never sat around chatting. That had never bothered him, until now.

  Not only did his wife shun him, but Dean went around the back of the house and up to bed without even saying good-night.

  John sighed. He supposed he deserved that.

  He shouldn’t have come down on Dean so hard, especially in front of everyone else. But he’d never been very good at holding on to his temper once he reached a boiling point, and since going into the hospital, damn near everything grated on his nerves. Of course when a man had no means of letting off steam . . .

  He patted his shirt pocket. The cigarette was still there, and it no longer helped just to know that. Right now his mouth watered so badly for a taste he was light-headed with hunger.

  John glanced up at the house. All dark. If he planned on a clandestine drag, he’d best get to it.

  The dogs snoozing at his feet didn’t even crack an eye at the spark of the match, the sounds and the scents so common to them their noses merely twitched as they settled deeper into slumber. John closed his eyes and let the smoke drift through his lips slow and easy.

  Just one last cigarette, he promised himself. Just one more, then I’ll quit. He took another deep drag.

  The door opened behind him. The dogs jumped up. In the confusion, he managed to drop what was left of his precious cigarette to the floor and grind it dead beneath his boot. The smoke in his mouth was another story.

  His wife stepped in front of him and sent the dogs scurrying with one single flip of her hand. She’d never warmed up to the Dalmatians, or any petlike creatures for that matter. Bear and Bull were terrified of her, though she’d never laid a hand on them in her life. Perhaps being Dalmatians allowed them to recognize the heart of Cruella in any woman.

  “Are you coming to bed?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  She sniffed the air, once, twice, then folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. Bear, who had just begun to slink back up the steps, whimpered, turned tail and ran.

  “Were you smoking?” He shook his head. Her eagle eyes sharpened. “Then why is there smoke coming out of your nose?

  John crossed his eyes and looked down. Sure enough, smoke leaked out his nostrils. He gave up trying to hide it and released the evidence.

  “John.” She rubbed her eyes as if her head ached. “One day home and you’re smoking already?”

  “That was the last one. I swear.”

  “That’s what they all say. Should I get you a patch or something?”

  John scowled. He hated the thought of wearing a nicotine patch. He’d always insisted he could quit smoking any time he wanted to. He just didn’t want to. The common excuse of the lifelong smoker, he knew, but a very good excuse all the same.

  The problem was, he still didn’t want to quit. He had to.

  “No patch. I can quit on my own.”

  “Yeah, I can see how well that’s going.”

  “Ellie, I—”

  “Eleanor.”

  Annoyance sp
arked hot and prickly. “What the hell’s the difference?”

  She turned up her nose. “A syllable. But it’s mine.”

  Was she trying to piss him off?

  John stood. He’d been sitting in one position too long and a foot had fallen asleep. When he swayed, Ellie let out a cry and grabbed his arms.

  “Are you all right? Does your chest hurt?” She lifted one hand and patted him there.

  “I’m fine. My foot fell asleep is all. Relax.”

  “Oh.”

  His wife released her breath with a huff, and he frowned. She was so unlike herself, he wasn’t sure what to do anymore. He hated being unsure. He never had been before; now he seemed to be all the time.

  “I—I could help you to bed.” Ellie kept her hand on his chest, then lifted her eyes to his.

  John’s belly fluttered. It had been so long since he’d felt desire he’d almost forgotten the flare, the heat, the need. No wonder young men were ruled by it.

  But he was an old man—or at least old enough to know better. He’d just had a heart attack, and while his doctor told him normal activities were okay, he hadn’t had sex in so long he didn’t think it would be considered a normal activity.

  Ellie’s fingers smoothed his collarbone, dipped beneath his shirt and stroked. His body responded as it hadn’t in months and he found it hard to think; all he could do was feel.

  He’d never believed it when other men said their interest in sex waned as they grew older. He and Ellie had always had plenty of interest in each other by the light of moon—and any other time they could manage. They had six kids to prove it. But about three months ago, John had lost interest. Right about the time his best friend Mose’s wife had given birth at the age of forty-seven.

  Oops.

  The pregnancy had been a nightmare—risky and terrifying—but everything had turned out all right. If you called a son and a grandson born a month apart all right.

  But John had taken the lesson to heart. He couldn’t do to Ellie what Mose had done to his wife. Hell, he didn’t want to do it to himself. So he’d stopped touching her. And the longer he didn’t, the easier it became.