Charlotte Douglas - Montana Mail-Order Wife

She scurried forward and grabbed the cloth, which had fallen into the dirt. Flicking it clean, she thrust it into his hands. He dried his face before opening his eyes.

“Thanks.” He toweled his hair, seeming unsurprised to find her there.

She averted her eyes from his bare chest and muscled arms and gazed instead over the adjacent field of tall grass that stretched toward the river. But looking away didn’t prevent the scent of spicy soap and a faint whiff of wood smoke from reminding her of his presence.

His deal with her was only business, she reminded her mutinous senses.

“You had supper?” he asked.

“The others are almost finished, but I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

At the surprise in his tone, she wheeled to face him. “I want to talk to you about Jordan.”

He shrugged into a clean denim shirt and began fastening the buttons. “What about him?”

She’d spent a half hour with the boy while he picked at his supper and cast anxious glances toward the barn in anticipation of his father’s return. “He’s scared to death.”

Finished with his buttons, Wade turned his back, a small concession to modesty, unzipped his jeans and tucked in his shirt. The intimacy of standing with a man she barely knew as he bathed and dressed in the gathering twilight would have unnerved her more if she hadn’t been so concerned for the boy.

He zipped his jeans and swiveled to face her. “Jordan doesn’t have anything to be scared of.”

She wanted to shake Wade as, without a clue to his son’s torment, he calmly rolled up his sleeves. “He’s scared to death of you.”

He flinched as if she’d struck him. “Me? That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” She had learned a lot from the boy in her short interval with him. “When did you last spend any time with him?”

“I can’t be everywhere. I’ve been at the hospital with you for almost two weeks.”

Lucky for him, a trace of guilt filtered through the defensiveness in his voice, or her anger would have exploded. “And before that?”

He stopped and thought. “Week before last, when final report cards came out. I set him straight about his C in language arts.”

“What were his other grades?”

He shrugged. “A’s and B’s.”

Common sense told her to back off from the man who was offering her the hospitality of his home, but the terror she’d witnessed in Jordan’s face prodded her on. “What did you say about his good grades?”

He combed his damp hair with his fingers. “What was there to say? They were fine.”

When he set off toward the house, she took three strides to his one to keep pace. “Wade Garrett, if you want me to honor the promise I made before my accident, you’d better stop right now and hear me out.”

“We’re not married yet, Rachel girl.” He stopped and faced her. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth in an insinuation of a grin. “It’s a little early for you to start bossing me around.”

“Bossing…?” She held her breath and counted silently to ten while he stared with a provocative half smile on his too-darned-handsome face. She exhaled, calmer, and broached the reason for her confrontation. “Jordan’s terrified you’ll punish him for starting the fire.”

A rock-hard grimness replaced the half smile. “He should be punished.”

Her stomach churned with frustration. “Punished for trying to get his daddy’s attention by doing something you’d be proud of?”

The harsh line of his mouth remained taut. “I don’t recall anybody handing out prizes to firebugs. The boy’s got to learn the difference between right and wrong.”

“He knows the difference. What Jordan needs to learn is that his father loves him.” If Wade hadn’t been so huge, with a build like a boulder, she’d have jostled him till his teeth rattled. “He didn’t set that fire on purpose. You should know him better than that.”

Wade lifted one dark eyebrow in question, but his mouth remained stern.

Undeterred, Rachel plowed ahead. “From the short time I’ve been around him, I can tell Jordan’s not a troublemaker.”

“He could’ve fooled me.” Wade lowered his face to within inches of hers and heaved a frustrated sigh. “I could make a list as long as my arm of the trouble that kid’s been in, just in the last month.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “And it never occurred to you to wonder why?”

“Because he doesn’t have a mother to keep him in line, that’s why. That’s where you come in.” His slow grin sent shivers of delight coursing down her back.

But she refused to be distracted. “Jordan wants you to notice him.”

Wade regarded her with a look half quizzical, half amused. “What are you, a psychologist?”

She gritted her teeth. “It doesn’t take a psychologist, or a rocket scientist, to see Jordan needs your attention. Today he was trying, all by himself, to fulfill the requirements for a camping award.”

“What?” At least Wade had the grace to look bewildered.

“You didn’t know he was working on the project?”

He flung his arms wide and rolled his eyes. “That’s Ursula’s job.”

Her temper rising, Rachel scowled. “Your attitude explains why the poor kid’s been struggling on his own to master camping skills.”

“A camping award isn’t worth burning down my timber,” Wade said, but he sounded less sure of himself than before.

“He didn’t intend to burn your timber! He was teaching himself to start a fire without matches.”

Wade massaged the back of his neck as if he had a pain. “Judging from ten acres of ashes, I’d say he’s mastered the technique.”

Rachel rammed her fists on her hips and lifted her chin to meet Wade’s mellow gaze. “The wind picked up and blew sparks into dry grass. Jordan tried to stomp it out. When that didn’t work, he attempted to beat it out with his shirt. You’re lucky your son wasn’t burned alive trying to save your precious timber.”

Wade shook his head in disbelief. “All over a camping award?”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? Your son could have been burned to a crisp, a part of those ashes you’re complaining about.”

For a moment, when his assured expression slipped and doubt glinted in his eyes, she thought she’d made her point.

Then he broke into a grin. “Now that you’re here, you can keep him safe.”

“Aargh!”

Rachel wheeled and hurried toward the house, leaving him alone in the driveway. She shouldn’t have bothered explaining. Despite the compassion Wade had shown her after the train wreck, he was as ignorant as a mule where Jordan was concerned.

Recalling the boy’s tear-streaked face, Rachel whirled and returned to Wade.

“Why can’t you get it through your thick head it’s his father’s approval, not some award, that’s important to Jordan?” She poked her finger against the hard muscles of his chest. “The poor kid believes he has to win a medal, just so his own father will love him.”

She snatched her finger away and clenched her trembling hands at her side, astonished by the strong maternal urge that had overwhelmed her, infusing her with an unfamiliar courage. Either some repressed memory had activated her response, or the skinny little kid had worked some kind of spell on her.

A glance at Wade made her rethink her last assumption. His eyes, alight with growing awareness, gleamed in the twilight like polished stones. She squirmed beneath his rapt gaze.

Maybe it wasn’t Jordan who had cast a spell.

Horrified at her boldness, she raced across the dew-wet grass toward the house, fleeing Wade’s probing scrutiny and the corresponding quiver in her heart.

WADE WATCHED HER GO. He’d wanted a mother for Jordan, so why wasn’t he delighted when Rachel acted like one?

Because she’s pointing out your faults.

He ignored the twinge of conscience. He’d done his best with Jordan, raising the boy as his own dad had raised him, with an iron hand, strict rules and swift and speedy punishment for misbehavior. And he, Wade, had turned out all right, hadn’t he? True, he’d always had more fear than fondness for his father, but the ornery old cuss had taught him right from wrong and how to run a ranch. Passing on those values was more important than love, wasn’t it?

Besides, Wade had to instill in Jordan a strong moral fiber, so he wouldn’t grow up to be like his mother.

The memory of Rachel’s green eyes reproached him, and he attempted to relieve his guilty conscience with more excuses, but he was too bone-tired to argue, even with himself. He’d spent hours helping the firefighters hose down hot spots. All he wanted now was a hot meal and a good night’s sleep.

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