Read Online The Grass Widow by Nanci Little - Free Book Online

towel folded beside her basin, and she had to blink back tears of warm surprise at the small kindness. She had a leisurely wash, humming some song she didn’t remember the words to, and because she felt good she chose her prettiest chemise to replace the plain one she was retiring, and put lilac water behind her ears and inside her wrists, and picked her favorite blue dress from the armoire after she had pinned up her hair. She had been saving the dress for church, but there would be time enough to wash it before Sunday.
    She wondered what Joss would wear to church; so far, she had worn only Levi’s and her father’s old shirts. The very thought of wearing dungarees was alien to Aidan, though she admired their pockets and the small treasures that spilled from
     
    them in the evenings: coins and pretty stones and bits of string, Harmon’s watch, a folding knife, the whisker of a horse. Even with Joss yet weak from her sickness, Aidan knew their domains were established: hers was the house and yard, Joss’s the barn and beyond. She didn’t mind; she liked to cook, and didn’t object to cleaning—but that floor was a trial; sweeping it didn’t ever make her believe it was clean. (And recalling her outburst of the night before, she blushed; why had that, of all things, come in answer to an honest question?) She shrugged off the memory, buttoning her dress, and went to investigate the good smells coming from the kitchen.
    “Well, Sleepin’ Beauty. Finally decide to try on the day?”
    She smiled back at the grin in her cousin’s eyes, loving Joss Bodett and Kansas and life in this fresh morning. “Thank you for the water. That was sweet of you, Joss.”
    “I reckon I owe you some sweetness yet, for the care you took o’ me an’ no reason to believe I was worth savin’.” She stirred the bacon. “You look nice,” she offered, shyly gruff. “That’s a pretty dress.”
    Aidan blushed, shy too; she wasn’t used to compliments.
    “Thank you.” She stole a bit of bacon from the plate, evading the unmeant swat Joss aimed at her wrist. “Did I hear Doc?”
    “It’s—damn!” Joss jumped back from a spit of bacon fat, rattling the spider to a cooler place on the stove as boots sounded on the porch. Still expecting Doc, Aidan looked up...and into the pale, faintly-smiling eyes of Captain Argus Slade.
    “You have company, Miss Bodett.” A lazy smile quirked under his mustache, but his eyes were untouched by whatever humor his mouth had found; they made her feel as she had felt with him a week ago in Leavenworth: like merchandise under consideration. “Please don’t allow me to intrude any further.”
    “When’ve I ever took back a offer of a meal to a cavalryman?”
    Her tone suggested that the occasional feeding of soldiers was her civilian duty, but no pleasure. “Cap’n Slade, my cousin Miz Blackstone. Cap’n commands a cavalry troop at Fort Leavenworth. He pays a call now an’ again.” Her mother would have added
     
    that it was always a pleasure; Joss didn’t. She had slim use for the Cavalry in general or Captain Argus Slade in the specific, but to be blatantly impolite was to risk a possibility of reprisal she could ill afford.
    “Delighted to see you again, Miss Blackstone.” He offered a small bow. “Please, don’t allow me to interrupt your morning.”
    “Given your permission, sir, I shan’t.” She tied on an apron, and on her way to the well and woodshed she muttered that a gentleman might have filled the bucket and brought in an armload of wood in an attempt to earn the breakfast he obviously expected to be fed. She simmered over his presence, knowing that without it she and Joss might have lingered over breakfast and coffee, perhaps talking more calmly of the baby...a pretense of Sunday in the middle of the week.
    “—Montana,” he was saying, when she returned to the kitchen to bang the wood into the box by the stove; he paused for her noise. She poured a cup of coffee,