Chapter 10 #3
Today, it’s five slices of bacon, two helpings of grits, three fried eggs, and a ridiculously large biscuit.
One with butter instead of jam because that’s what he thinks I want.
We don’t talk much as we eat, so it comes as a surprise when Warren stops mid-bite and furrows his brow. “Something’s different.”
“About what?”
“About you. Gimme a second.”
Perhaps I should have offered up suggestions, because he takes my question as permission to lean in and study my every feature from the neck up. I somehow manage to swallow what’s in my mouth, but as long as those intense brown eyes roam over me, attempting to eat anything more is useless.
“Your hair’s down.” Warren captures a lock and twirls it around one long finger.
“All soft and flowylike.” The gentle tugging tickles my scalp.
Sleeping in his lap must have been unspoken permission to break the no-touching rule, because now he’s finding so many small and innocent ways to touch me.
“I like it this way, wife. It suits you very much.”
“Thank you,” I stammer. A cozy warmth hugs my heart as he gives a half smile before his finger slips away.
He shovels another spoonful of grits, and I nibble a little here and there.
Just enough to sate my hunger without gorging myself.
Since the first time he fed me breakfast, he hasn’t offered anything other than butter with my biscuit.
After last night, I don’t think he’d be the sort of man to keep food from me if I asked, but it’s the asking part that’s hard.
So I tell myself I’m completely satisfied with my buttered biscuit even as I watch blueberry jam drip from his.
He doesn’t even see my ill-concealed envy because his own eyes are closed with deep satisfaction.
But then they open and dance with a bit of mischief. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
Warren’s chair scrapes across the floor, and he doesn’t go far, only there by the cupboard to reach for something. I’m not prepared for what he carries over to the table, though, with a boyish grin.
“Happy birthday, wife.” Warren ceremoniously places a small, yellow cake baked in a cup before me. “I don’t have any candles for you to blow out, but may this be the first year of all your happy ones.”
A rich, sugary scent fills the air, but for all its sweetness, I want to cry. I’ve never had anything given to me for my birthday before. None of them have been worth celebrating.
Warren shifts uncertainly, and I remember that I haven’t said anything yet. Blinking back the tears that threaten to fall, I offer a soft, tentative smile. “Thank you, Warren. I hope it is, too.”
“Go on and eat up.” He nudges my fork over to me, so I take my first bite. Sweetness explodes on my tongue, and I savor the taste of it before swallowing.
“It’s so good,” I manage, and Warren beams at the compliment. But there’s simply too much of it for me to finish, even with its small size. “Here, why don’t you eat it with me?”
“Are you sure?”
I nod again, and moments later, Warren leans back with a low groan and rubs his flat stomach. “Emmaline’s got the right of it. I’m about ready for a nap myself.” He frowns at the breakfast food left on my plate. “You done?”
“Hmm?” Dragging my eyes from the sculpted lines of his torso takes longer than I’d care to admit. Why couldn’t he have put a shirt on like every other day? “Yes, thank you.” I ate more than I meant to even before the cake, but there’s still a good bit of food left.
“I swear, woman, your appetite must be no bigger than a thimble if that’s all it takes to fill you up. You sure you don’t want anymore?”
“You always give me more than I can eat.” True, but a bit misleading. But with the cake we shared, there’s truly no more room in my stomach.
“If you’re sure…” He’s more skeptical than suspicious, but when I reach for his plate, fingers wrap around my wrist. “What are you doing?”
Alarm spikes my pulse at the suddenness of his touch, but I force it away. I’m being silly. The man just gave me a small cake for my birthday. He’s not going to hurt me. “I’m just clearing the table. Were you not finished?”
“You don’t have to clean up after me. I told you if I make the mess, I clean it up.”
I purse my lips. “I live here now, do I not?”
“Yeah.” Satisfaction is heavy in his low tone. “Damn right you do.”
Exactly. “Then I need to do more than just let you do everything for me. No man wants a lazy wife.”
“Lazy? Mara, you just gave birth to our baby girl.” Wrinkles furrow his brow with every word.
“A month ago!” I exclaim, heart softening yet again upon hearing him claim Emmaline. “Most women are back to doing chores the next day.”
“Most women don’t have a Shay for a husband. And besides, it’s your birthday. Now you just go on back to the parlor and I’ll be in there as soon as I’m done.”
“I can’t just sit there all day and not do anything around the house,” I protest at his finality.
Warren rubs over the sensitive skin of my wrist. “Spending time with your husband and baby isn’t doing nothing.”
This man and his damn touches are a danger to my thoughts. I place my free hand on his big one to stop him. Goodness, his fingers are so much longer than mine. Focus, Mara. I shake my thoughts clear. “She’s sleeping, so I would just be in there by myself.”
“All by yourself, huh?” Head bent, he looks at his hand sandwiched by my own, then he grins so smugly that my heart flutters. “So what you’re really saying is that you want to spend time with your husband. All you had to do was say so, wife. Sounds like a good birthday present to me.”
Fire burns my cheeks as I snatch my hands back. “That’s not what I said!”
But apparently that’s what he chose to hear. Eyes twinkling with unfaltering cockiness, he leans back and folds his arms over his broad chest. “So you don’t want to be with me? Make up your mind, woman.”
“Anyone who takes without giving becomes a burden,” I explain in frustration. He’s jesting, perhaps even flirting, but I don’t know how to respond. “And if I’m not being a wife to you in the…bedroom, I need to be a wife in other ways.”
“Hold up now.” Warren captures my hands. “I won’t have you thinking you’re a burden and not a wife to me simply because we haven’t been together like most husbands and wives.”
Yet, his eyes seem to say.
And I don’t know whether it’s worry or anticipation that makes my belly turn itself over.
“When you married me, you became my woman to take care of. That means in food and rest, too.”
I wince inside at the mention of food. He really does mean well. Maybe I’ll ask him for blueberry jam tomorrow. “I just want to be useful.” My words are soft, but I know he hears me because of his gentle squeeze.
“And I want you to have all the time you need to fully recover,” he says firmly. “You don’t have to prove your worth to me, Mara. I picked up after myself before you, and I can damn well take care of an extra plate. Okay?”
Warren relaxes when I nod. “Good. Now, I’d be much obliged if my pretty little wife would keep me company for a bit.”
“Okay.” I tighten my lips to hide a sudden shyness. How is it that he can make me feel so exposed when I’m covered from head to toe? It’s been years since I’ve blushed in front of a man, yet he seems to pull them from me with ease.
He sets about cleaning the kitchen, talking about everything and nothing at the same time as if he knows any questions about my past would halt the fragile progress we’ve made since last night.
He tells me all sorts of stories about his childhood, and it’s clear to see that he was loved very much by his family even though he was such a rascally troublemaker.
As he dries the last dish, he glances out the window above the sink and stills. “Can you grab me a shirt?”
“Why?” Instantly, my heart pounds. I expected him to fully dress at some point, but what’s outside that made him say that? The farmhands that I’ve seen from a distance or—no, I can’t think like that.
“My parents are coming up the road.” He squints. “And my brother and his wife. Jed’ll have an outright hissy fit if Dove sees me without a shirt. Can you get me one right quick?”
“Four people,” I say numbly. Four people—two of them men—I don’t know that well all stuffed into the parlor where my baby sleeps unaware of the possible danger around her.
Warm, slightly damp hands cup my cheeks. “You all right?”
No, I’m not.