Read Online The Right Wife by Beverly Barton - Free Book Online Page A

cigar!”
    “You’re apparently in pain, so you should lie down,” Maggie said. “Has the doctor seen you today?”
    “He’s delivering a baby. Thayer wanted to call in another man, but I told him that I didn’t need a damned doctor.”
    “Sit down on the edge of the bed. I’ll check your wound and put fresh wrapping on it. Mr. Coleman said that Dr. Cooper left the necessary things.”
    “How did Thayer bribe you?” Aaron asked, still sitting on the side of the bed.
    “He simply asked if, as a Christian kindness, I would attend you,” Maggie said, reaching for his box of cigars just as he did.
    She took the box in her hand, eyeing it and then him. “Where did these come from?”
    “Phineas brought them.”
    “You shouldn’t be smoking in your condition.”
    “Dammit, Maggie, I’m not dying of consumption. I’m recovering from a minor bullet wound.”
    She looked on the dresser near the window where a covered tray had been placed. “Please,” she tried to reason with him. “Let me change your dressing, and feed you lunch, and then we’ll discuss the cigars.”
    “You’re a hard woman,” he said teasingly. “So you’ve come to care for me out of the goodness of your heart, have you?”
    He looked up at the beauty standing above him, noticing the free-flowing mane of her fiery curls was neatly subdued into a bun atop her head.
    “Well, get on with it. Change the cursed dressing. But I warn you that I’ll yell if you strip away my hair.”
    Her eyes focused on his chest, and her fingers itched to touch the abundance of golden curls. She had never felt a man’s chest, never experienced the desire to explore a masculine body, and had never longed to be held in strong arms.
    Removing a pair of small scissors from Dr. Cooper’s package, she clipped away the bandage, which had stuck around the wound. When she hesitated, Aaron jerked it away, moaning slightly. Maggie moved quickly, taking the soiled cloth, doctoring the puckered, discolored wound, and applying fresh dressing.
    Aaron held his arms up, out of the way, until she finished. He lowered his arms over her head, holding the back of her neck with both of his hands, pulling her face downward. He wanted to thank his ministering angel with a kiss, but she struggled to free herself.
    “Be still, Maggie girl,” he said. “You’ll hurt yourself trying to pull away.”
    “Please, let me go.”
    “All I want is a kiss.”
    “No.”
    “One kiss.”
    “No,” she said, but ceased to struggle as she felt his hands loosen their grip about her neck and move slowly down her shoulders, down her arms, stopping at her wrists.
    “Why have you knotted your hair up today?” he asked, his hands moving to her tiny waist.
    “Aunt Tilly feels it highly improper for a woman my age to wear her hair loose. I should have known better, but Pa always liked it hanging free except for a ribbon tied around it.”
    “Your pa was a man with good taste.” Aaron smiled as he held her about the waist with one hand and reached upward with the other to touch her hair. “I like the way you wore it yesterday.”
    “I . . . had . . .” Maggie whispered unsteadily, acutely aware of his potent nearness. He smelled of medicine, sweat, and maleness. “I had lost my ribbon struggling with that awful man in Chattanooga.”
    “Who’s this Aunt Tilly?”
    “Mathilda Gower,” Maggie said. “My uncle Chester’s wife.”
    “Oh, yes, the mother of the reverend.”
    “Yes.”
    “Good God! You’re not blood-related to that idiot Peterson, are you? You’re just a cousin-by-marriage.”
    “Why, yes.” Maggie did not understand why Aaron seemed so upset that Wesley was not a blood relation, nor did she understand why he had insulted the other man by referring to him as an idiot.
    “You haven’t come here to marry the good reverend, have you?”
    The question stunned her so much that she was speechless. Aaron’s hand tugged at the twist of her hair. His long, broad fingers