Chapter 9 #2
“C-cold,” I stammer, lips loosening up enough to let the broken word through. So cold even though the fire burns brightly not even five feet away.
“Shit.” Warren dips his head to the side before framing my cheeks with hands as hot as the fire he built.
“I know you are, darlin’, but look at me.
” His gruff urge is softened by the tender touch of his palms. “If you don’t get out of these clothes in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna do it for you. Do you understand?”
A quaking tremor wracks me, but I manage a jerky nod.
He swings around again, and when I lift a shaky arm to untie the ribbon at my collar, bits and pieces of dead petals fall to the floor.
But the buttons…the small fasteners slip from my numb fingers no matter how tightly I grip them.
I whimper in frustration and try harder. “I c-can’t.”
Warren’s at my knees in mere seconds. “Shit,” he mutters again, raking a hand through hair darkened by the rain.
“I’m not gonna look any more than I have to, okay?
” He pauses and searches my miserable gaze, but at my violent tremble, he hurriedly unbuttons and lifts my nightgown over my head.
Chilly air rushes over my shoulders and stomach as my nakedness is exposed, but he never looks below my chin as he shifts me to a drier spot and grabs his shirt.
“Arms. There you go, darlin’…now let’s get you all buttoned up. ”
Only marginally warmer, I shake so hard my knees knock together. Fire burns my feet, and I hiss. But it’s not actual fire, only his big hands massaging the feeling back into my toes before he covers them with the wool socks.
“Here, let’s get you closer.” Warren moves me to the rocking chair, and a ragged moan escapes as the heat envelops me. “I’ll be right back, darlin’.”
This time, a hairbrush, towel, and blanket return with him.
Gentler than any man has ever been to me, Warren bundles me up in the thick blanket and towels my hair dry with soft pats.
The storm still rages on outside, but in here, there’s only our breathing and the snapping of the fire.
I stare into the dancing flames. Why can’t I get rid of my hurt as easily as they devour the logs?
Am I to carry this pain with me forever?
His hands gather my hair to one side, and tingles explode along my scalp as he drags the hairbrush in slow strokes to work out the knots.
I shiver and swallow a groan at the unexpected pleasure.
It never felt this good when Mrs. Overstreet did this.
Then again, nothing she ever did was this soothing.
Between the fire’s crackling heat, the rhythmic pulls of the brush, and the steady ticking of the mantelpiece clock, drowsiness creeps in and weighs down my lashes.
“Mara, I—” Warren’s been so quiet that I jolt when he finally speaks. “Sorry, darlin’. Didn’t mean to spook you.”
The fire pops as he falls silent. What was he going to say? He didn’t sound angry, but surely he intends to scold me for leaving the bed and foolishly going out into bad weather. With his unspoken words hanging between us, the brushing isn’t as pleasurable as before.
A long pause, then he speaks again. “I hate that you’re hurting.
Hate that I can’t do anything about the past or your nightmares.
I know you probably don’t want to talk about it right now, and that’s okay, but just know that I’ll listen to you when you’re ready.
I’d take every bit of your pain away if I could. ”
I clench the blanket, belatedly noting the throbbing ache in my hand from hitting the steps as I fight the instinct to reject his words.
As much as I want to believe his fervency, there’s so much inside of me.
All of the memories that hurt to hold but are too agonizing to release.
I wish it were as simple as transferring my pain to him, but pain like this doesn’t just disappear at the first bit of kindness.
And even if he managed to take it away, there would be nothing left of me afterwards.
I’m broken.
The brush falters.
Did I say that out loud? I didn’t mean to.
“No, you’re not broken, Mara. Not one damn bit.
” Warren separates my hair and plaits it, but the confidence in his low voice wraps around the jagged pieces of my heart.
“Life’s kicked you up one side of the hill and all down the other, but you’re still here because you’re strong.
And you’ll never be broken because now I’m here to stand in front of you and take the hits.
You’re my wife, and I’m not gonna let anyone ever hurt what’s mine. You’ll always be safe with me.”
My heart latches onto that word.
Safe.
Safe.
Safe.
I just want to be safe for once in my life.
Unshed tears burn my nose. The fire thaws my frozen heart as much as it does my body, and I don’t know what to do with all of these feelings his promises stir up. Do I dare allow myself to believe him?
“All done.” Warren ties off my braid and lays it over my shoulder. “It’s mostly dry, but you need to stay here by the fire so you don’t catch cold.”
“Emmaline.” My lips silently form her name as the violence of the storm tapers off, leaving the rain to patter softly against the windows.
Did it ever wake her? I don’t remember hearing her, but maybe the thunder swallowed her cries as it did mine.
Guilt gnaws at me when I think of her crying for me, trusting me to console her.
Did she think I abandoned her? How can I be a good mother when I’m falling apart myself?
Warren tucks the blanket around me, and even though the flames lick at the hearth, all the warmth seems to go with him as he silently leaves the parlor.
Is he leaving me, too? I wrap empty arms around myself to stave off the unexpected ache, but it doesn’t work.
A night spent alone would have meant the world to me only last month, but now?
Now the thought isn’t as appealing as before.
But then he’s back with a cradle, and relief sweeps away loneliness as he quietly places it at my feet.
“Emmaline,” I whisper as my little girl’s half-hearted cry fades into a yawn.
Part of me yearns to hold her, but the other part of me knows I should keep my heaviness at bay so it doesn’t tarnish her little soul.
“Shh…stay asleep, Little Bit.” Warren’s dark hair falls over his forehead as he pats her chest with one big hand and rocks the wooden cradle with the other. “It’s still nighttime, and Momma and Papa need to rest.”
After pressing a soft kiss to her hair, he stands and opens his arms in a wide stretch.
Uncertainty creeps in as he glances between the crackling fire and the wet sofa cushions.
Is he going back to the bedroom by himself?
The other two chairs are too small for him, and other than the sofa, there’s nowhere to sit except for the floor.
Sleepy brown eyes study me in the firelight, trailing down the length of my damp, black braid and back to my face.
“Hope you’re all right sharing that rocker with me,” he murmurs, shadowy tendrils reflecting along the strong lines of his shoulders, “because we’ve spent every night the last month sleeping together, and I don’t intend for us to stop now. ”
A token protest waits at my lips even as something inside me flutters, but by then, he’s already scooped me up and placed me on his lap. “There we go,” he soothes as he situates the blanket around us. “All nice and comfy?”
The softening of my heart is at odds with the stiffness of my spine, but I push back and balance on the hard thigh beneath me as the blanket falls to my hips.
He could easily keep me here with little effort, but the warm hand on the middle of my back to hold me steady doesn’t threaten me in this moment.
“Why?” My question is but a mere breath as I stare into the writhing flames to avoid the pity sure to be found in his gaze. God has never answered me, but Warren might.
“Why what?” His thumb lazily rubs side to side through the shirt I wear—his shirt—and the light touch feels more intimate than it should through the thin material.
There are so many questions I could ask, like why he hasn’t forced himself on me. Why he’s been so kind to me. Or why he hasn’t even berated me for going out into the storm and disrupting his sleep. Let alone the wet mess I left on the sofa cushions.
I choose the one that’s burned at me from the moment he dragged the judge into that room at the doctor’s house to marry me before Emmaline was born.
“Why me? And why her?” I glance down to my sleeping baby.
“You could have had your pick of any white woman. One who...wouldn’t mind if you touched her. ”
One who wasn’t dirty from the touches of all the other men before him.
As soon as I ask, regret stings. I don’t want to hear how sorry he felt for me.
“Oh, Mara.” A rough finger hooks beneath my chin to tilt it up, and when I dare to look, pity is nowhere to be seen in the depths of his piercing gaze as it leisurely caresses my face. “I’m touching you now, aren’t I?”
He is.
At the slow, dawning realization, prickles burst at our every point of contact.
My thighs against his. His hands at my back and chin.
My bare legs to the cotton of his trousers.
The urge to wiggle and test his hardness is strong, but I don’t know what I would do if he was.
“That’s not what I meant.” Why do I sound so out of breath?
“All right, darlin’.” Warren’s full lips soften into a crooked grin that would make him look boyish if he didn’t have a day’s worth of stubble on his jawline, but there’s no denying that I sit on the lap of a fully grown man as he leans back a little and pats one broad shoulder in invitation.
“Put your pretty little head right here and I’ll tell you. ”