Duncan's Bride Read online

  He carried the plate to the table and began eating. He was finished with the first round of pancakes by the time the second was ready. Madelyn poured four more circles on the griddle. This made an even dozen. How many would he eat?

  He only ate ten. She got the remaining two from the last batch and slid onto a chair beside him. “What are you doing today?”

  “I have to check fences in the west quarter so I can move the herd there for grazing.”

  “Will you be back for lunch, or should I pack some sandwiches?”

  “Sandwiches.”

  And that, she thought half an hour later when he’d saddled a horse and ridden out, was that. So much for conversation over breakfast. He hadn’t even kissed her this morning. She knew he had a lot of work to do, but a pat on the head wouldn’t have taken too much of his time.

  Their first full day of marriage didn’t appear to be starting out too well.

  Then she wondered just what she had expected. She knew how Reese felt, knew he didn’t want her to get too close to him. It would take time to break down those barriers. The best thing she could do was learn how to be a rancher’s wife. She didn’t have time to fret because he hadn’t kissed her good morning.

  She cleaned the kitchen, which became an entire morning’s work. She mopped the floor, scrubbed the oven, cleaned out the big double refrigerator, and rearranged the pantry so she’d know where everything was. She inventoried the pantry and started a list of things she’d need. She did the laundry and remade the bed with fresh linens. She vacuumed and dusted both upstairs and down, cleaned the three bathrooms, sewed buttons on his shirts and repaired a myriad of small rips in his shirts and jeans. All in all, she felt very domestic.

  Marriage was work, after all. It wasn’t an endless round of parties and romantic picnics by a river.

  Marriage was also night after night in bed with the same man, opening her arms and thighs to him, easing his passion within her. He’d said it would be better, and she sensed that it would, that she had just been too tired and tense the night before for it to have been pleasurable no matter what he’d done. The whole process had been a bit shocking. No matter how much she had technically known about sex, nothing had prepared her for the reality of penetration, of actually feeling his hardness inside her. Her heartbeat picked up speed as she thought of the coming night.

  She started unpacking some of the boxes she had shipped, reassembling the stereo equipment and putting some of her books out. She was so busy that when she noted the time, it was almost dark. Reese would be coming in soon, and she hadn’t even started dinner. She stopped what she was doing and raced to the kitchen. She hadn’t even planned what they would have, but at least she knew what was in the pantry.

  A quick check of the freezer produced some thick steaks and one pack of pork chops and very little else. She made mental additions to the grocery list as she unwrapped the chops and put them in the microwave to defrost. If he hadn’t had a microwave she would have been in big trouble. She was peeling a small mountain of potatoes when the back door opened. She heard him scrape his boots, then sigh tiredly as he took them off.

  He came into the kitchen and stopped, looking around at the bare table and stove. “Why isn’t dinner ready?” he asked in a very quiet, ominous tone.

  “I was busy and didn’t notice the time—”

  “It’s your job to notice the time. I’m dead tired and hungry. I’ve worked twelve hours straight, the least you could do is take the time to cook.”

  His words stung, but she didn’t pause in what she was doing. “I’m doing it as fast as I can. Go take a shower and relax for a few minutes.”

  He stomped up the stairs. She bit her lip as she cut up the potatoes and put them in a pan of hot water to stew. If he hadn’t looked so exhausted she might have told him a few things, but he’d been slumping with weariness and filthy from head to foot. His day hadn’t been an easy one.

  She opened a big can of green beans and dumped it into a pan, then added seasonings. The chops were already baking. Bread. She needed bread. There were no canned biscuits in the refrigerator. She couldn’t dredge the recipe for biscuits from her memory, no matter how many times she’d watched Grandma Lily make them. She found the cookbooks and began checking the indexes for biscuits.

  Once she had the list of ingredients before her it all began to come back. She mixed the dough, then kneaded it and rolled it out as she’d done when she was a little girl. She couldn’t find a biscuit cutter, so she used a water glass, pressing it down into the dough and coming up with a perfect circle. A few minutes later, a dozen biscuits were popped into the oven.

  Dessert. She’d seen some small, individually wrapped devil’s food cakes. She got those out, and a big can of peaches. It would have to do, because she didn’t have time to bake. She opened the can of peaches and poured them into a bowl.

  By the time she had the table set, Reese had come back downstairs, considerably cleaner but unimproved in mood. He looked pointedly at the empty table and stalked into the living room.

  She checked the potatoes; they were tender. She mixed up a small amount of flour and milk and poured it into the potatoes; it instantly began thickening. She let them stew while she checked the chops and green beans.

  The biscuits were golden brown, and had risen nicely. Now if only they were edible… Since she’d followed a recipe, they shouldn’t be too bad, she hoped. She stacked them on a plate and crossed her fingers for luck.

  The chops were done, finally. “Reese! Dinner’s ready.”

  “It’s about time.”

  She hurried to put the food on the table, realizing at the last minute that she had made neither coffee nor tea. Quickly she got two glasses from the cabinet and poured milk. She knew that he liked milk, so perhaps he sometimes drank it at dinner.

  The chops weren’t the tenderest she’d ever cooked, and the biscuits were a bit heavy, but he ate steadily, without comment. Heavy or not, the dozen biscuits disappeared in short order, and she ate only one. As his third helping of stewed potatoes was disappearing, she got up. “Do you want any dessert?”

  His head came up. “Dessert?”

  She couldn’t help smiling. You could tell the man had lived alone for seven years. “It isn’t much, because I didn’t get around to baking.” She put the small cakes in a bowl and dipped peaches and juice over them. Reese gave them a quizzical look as she set the bowl in front of him.

  “Just try it,” she said. “I know it’s junk food, but it tastes good.”

  He did, and cleaned the bowl. Some of the fatigue was fading from his face. “The stereo in the living room looks like a good one.”

  “I’ve had it for several years. I hope it survived the shipping.”

  He’d sold his stereo system years ago, deciding that he needed the money more than he needed the music, and he’d never let himself think too much about it. When you were fighting for survival, you quickly learned how to get your priorities in order. But he’d missed music and was looking forward to playing some of his old classics again.

  The house was full of signs of what she’d been doing all day, and he felt guilty about yelling at her because dinner hadn’t been ready. The floors were cleaner than they’d been in years, and the dust was gone from every surface. The house smelled of household cleaner and furniture polish, and the bathroom had sparkled with cleanliness. The house was ten rooms and over four thousand square feet; his fancy city woman knew how to work.

  He helped her clean the table and load the dishwasher. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to her list.

  “The shopping list. The pantry has a limited selection.”

  He shrugged. “I was usually so tired I just ate sandwiches.”

  “How far is the nearest market? And don’t tell me I’m going to have to go to Billings.”

  “There’s a general store about twenty miles from here. It isn’t a supermarket, but you can get the basics there. I’ll take you there day after tomorrow