her first.”
A prick of jealousy teased her heart. She twisted the skirt of her apron as she peered out the window. “How do you know that’s what he’s doing?”
“I’ve heard him do this. His grief was so bad, I often came to check on him.” He shifted, his shoulder touching hers, and cast a glance on her. “You must stop this. It is not good. The spirit of the dead woman is killing him.”
“Me? How can I stop him from visiting the cemetery?”
“You are his wife. You must fill his thoughts with a yearning for you.”
The heat of an indignant blush slapped her cheeks. “You shouldn’t speak of such things to me.”
“Be his wife. Heal his soul. This is your job.”
Humiliated, she turned and moved back into the kitchen. Standing Bear’s words stung. Her husband’s behavior hurt her pride. She glanced back over her shoulder at the Native. “Be Cam’s wife,” he’d said. Saints preserve me, I’ve just been given marital advice from an Indian.
Hadn’t she cleaned and scrubbed Cam’s house all day? Hadn’t she cooked his meals and made sure he carried food when he went off to check on his cattle? Hadn’t she cared for his son? But I haven’t warmed his bed.
A ragged sigh escaped, and she swiped at a few tears. What almost happened between them last night came to mind. His gentle touches, his dizzying kisses, the way he moaned her name. Her mother’s instructions floated back. “When you marry, and your husband demands his husbandly rights, just close your eyes and think of Ireland. He’ll be done soon enough, happy as a cow in clover, and then he’ll roll over and commence to snoring.”
Working at Madam Dora’s she’d heard soiled doves talking. They laughed over wives who refused their husbands, sending the frustrated men to them. Would Cam go to one of the prostitutes if she continued to hold him off? She swiped at more tears as she stirred the stew.
A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jumped. Her gaze swept to Standing Bear’s.
“He hasn’t touched you yet, has he?”
Before she could offer a terse reply to his insensitive question, her husband opened the back door in the kitchen.
****
The first thing Cam saw when he stepped inside was his best friend’s hand on his wife. The rage that roared in his soul surprised him. Was he jealous? No, hell, no. He placed the squirming burlap sack on the floor. Two cats slowly crept out.
Eli squealed and ran toward the cats, who arched their backs and hissed.
He squatted next to his son. “Let the cats be, Eli. They didn’t enjoy their ride very much.” Once he was sure Eli would obey, he straightened and was none too pleased to see Standing Bear’s hand still on his wife. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to marry again.”
They stood there for a few beats, gazes locked.
“Daddy. Daddy, look.” Eli waved a piece of beaded deerskin at him and then rubbed it against his cheek. “Soft. Bear give me.” He held it out to show him.
“Isn’t that nice?” Just how long had the Lakota been there? Alone. With his wife? “Something smells good.”
“Our guest brought us rabbits for stew.” Sophie Catherine fixed him with a strange look, almost as if she were miffed about something. “Are you hungry? I can put supper on the table.”
Was Standing Bear staying? He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner alone with his wife. He was eager to see her reaction to his gifts. “Sounds fine, Sophie Catherine.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The wrapped packages made a soft crackle. Foolish, they seemed to say.
She bustled to the hutch to retrieve plates and silverware. “Everybody wash up while I put vittles on the table.”
Cam rolled the sleeves on his chambray shirt and pumped water into a basin. “Eli, come wash your hands for supper. Standing Bear, are you staying?”
“Yes. Your wife has already asked.” Cam’s molars clenched in irritation
A prick of jealousy teased her heart. She twisted the skirt of her apron as she peered out the window. “How do you know that’s what he’s doing?”
“I’ve heard him do this. His grief was so bad, I often came to check on him.” He shifted, his shoulder touching hers, and cast a glance on her. “You must stop this. It is not good. The spirit of the dead woman is killing him.”
“Me? How can I stop him from visiting the cemetery?”
“You are his wife. You must fill his thoughts with a yearning for you.”
The heat of an indignant blush slapped her cheeks. “You shouldn’t speak of such things to me.”
“Be his wife. Heal his soul. This is your job.”
Humiliated, she turned and moved back into the kitchen. Standing Bear’s words stung. Her husband’s behavior hurt her pride. She glanced back over her shoulder at the Native. “Be Cam’s wife,” he’d said. Saints preserve me, I’ve just been given marital advice from an Indian.
Hadn’t she cleaned and scrubbed Cam’s house all day? Hadn’t she cooked his meals and made sure he carried food when he went off to check on his cattle? Hadn’t she cared for his son? But I haven’t warmed his bed.
A ragged sigh escaped, and she swiped at a few tears. What almost happened between them last night came to mind. His gentle touches, his dizzying kisses, the way he moaned her name. Her mother’s instructions floated back. “When you marry, and your husband demands his husbandly rights, just close your eyes and think of Ireland. He’ll be done soon enough, happy as a cow in clover, and then he’ll roll over and commence to snoring.”
Working at Madam Dora’s she’d heard soiled doves talking. They laughed over wives who refused their husbands, sending the frustrated men to them. Would Cam go to one of the prostitutes if she continued to hold him off? She swiped at more tears as she stirred the stew.
A hand rested on her shoulder, and she jumped. Her gaze swept to Standing Bear’s.
“He hasn’t touched you yet, has he?”
Before she could offer a terse reply to his insensitive question, her husband opened the back door in the kitchen.
****
The first thing Cam saw when he stepped inside was his best friend’s hand on his wife. The rage that roared in his soul surprised him. Was he jealous? No, hell, no. He placed the squirming burlap sack on the floor. Two cats slowly crept out.
Eli squealed and ran toward the cats, who arched their backs and hissed.
He squatted next to his son. “Let the cats be, Eli. They didn’t enjoy their ride very much.” Once he was sure Eli would obey, he straightened and was none too pleased to see Standing Bear’s hand still on his wife. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to marry again.”
They stood there for a few beats, gazes locked.
“Daddy. Daddy, look.” Eli waved a piece of beaded deerskin at him and then rubbed it against his cheek. “Soft. Bear give me.” He held it out to show him.
“Isn’t that nice?” Just how long had the Lakota been there? Alone. With his wife? “Something smells good.”
“Our guest brought us rabbits for stew.” Sophie Catherine fixed him with a strange look, almost as if she were miffed about something. “Are you hungry? I can put supper on the table.”
Was Standing Bear staying? He’d been looking forward to a quiet dinner alone with his wife. He was eager to see her reaction to his gifts. “Sounds fine, Sophie Catherine.” He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg by the door. The wrapped packages made a soft crackle. Foolish, they seemed to say.
She bustled to the hutch to retrieve plates and silverware. “Everybody wash up while I put vittles on the table.”
Cam rolled the sleeves on his chambray shirt and pumped water into a basin. “Eli, come wash your hands for supper. Standing Bear, are you staying?”
“Yes. Your wife has already asked.” Cam’s molars clenched in irritation
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