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“You’re wrong, dammit. You’re seeing some significance that isn’t there.”
She watched his face. “Am I wrong? You don’t eat breakfast or supper with Teddy and me. You sleep in the barn. You avoid being close to me.”
“I—” Thad snapped his jaw shut. Hell, a worried woman could imagine all sorts of things. Some of her words pricked him, but dammit, his wheat field had nothing to do with her. Or Hattie. Or anything else.
He leaned forward and lifted both her hands in his. “Leah, with no rain since last December, any rancher would be worried.”
“I know,” she murmured. “I understand that.”
But she didn’t. He could tell by the odd, hopeless look in her gray-green eyes. She didn’t understand, not really. He let out a heavy gust of air. But he’d be damned if he knew what to do about it.
Maybe he should have owned up to her right off, told her how scared he was, not just about the wheat but about losing someone he loved again. Maybe now it was too late.
He released her trembling hands and sank his head onto his palms. The joke was on him. He’d fallen in love with his delicate-looking, industrious, sensible and thoroughly female wife. He loved her, and wild horses couldn’t make him stop.
Yeah, he could force himself to stay out of Leah’s bed, but now, after weeks of protecting his heart by keeping his distance, he realized he was losing what he most wanted to hold on to.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leah had just puffed out the kerosene lamp and turned to crawl into bed when an unwelcome thought invaded her mind. She had seen something she could not understand in Thad’s troubled expression and the confusion that shadowed his eyes. Something that had nothing to do with his wheat field.
He was not being honest with her. Was it because he did not understand his own mind? Perhaps he was not being honest with himself, either. How could a man as intelligent as Thad MacAllister be so blind to what was happening to their marriage? Did it not matter to him?
She knew she would not sleep, so she padded into the kitchen. A pan of thick cream waited in the pantry to be churned—just what she needed, something to do with her hands. She rinsed out the wooden churn with hot water from the teakettle, dried the interior and poured in the cream. The blurping sounds decreased as the churn filled up; she attached the wooden paddle and began to turn the crank.
As she worked she thought about Elvira Sorensen. The woman was obviously struggling to live with some kind of unhappiness, and Leah felt more than a tug of sympathy. Perhaps Mrs. Sorensen, too, was married to a man who did not love her?
Leah’s thoughts turned to Thad and herself. She knew she was not what he had expected when he’d sent for her; he had married her out of decency and kindness. But she had grown to love him and, after that night when they had made love, she’d thought he cared for her, as well.
She tried to concentrate on the sloshing sounds inside the churn, to clear her mind, but her thoughts went roiling on. How could she live with a man who did not care about her?
Would she end up like Elvira Sorensen? She slapped the paddle against the inside of the churn, and Teddy’s face appeared over the loft railing.
“Whatcha doin’, Leah? It’s gotta be past midnight.”
“I am churning butter,” she said steadily. “Go back to sleep.”
“Can’t.”
She rested her arm for a moment. “Why not?”
“Someone’s trampin’ around in the barn. I kin hear it through my window.”
“Probably your father. Go to sleep.”
Teddy’s head disappeared from the railing and then instantly reappeared. “How come Pa’s in the barn so late?”
Leah closed her eyes. So Teddy had not realized his father slept in the barn rather than in the bed with her.
“Didja have a fight? I heard voices on the porch, but you weren’t yellin’ or nuthin’.”
“Not a fight, exactly,” Leah said over a tight throat. “Merely a…misunderstanding.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “What about?”
“About…well, about…” What was it about, exactly? About Thad’s blindness when it came to his wheat field? About her fear that she did not matter to him?
“About grown-up things, Teddy. Things between a husband and wife.”
“Huh. I knew Pa shouldn’ta married you. You’re smarter than he is.”
Leah gasped. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, she said nothing, and after a long moment, Teddy’s voice rose again.
“Hey, Leah? You got any more books like Ivanhoe?”
She could not answer. Books like Ivanhoe. Oh, if only she did, then she could immerse herself in something more important to her than her day-to-day life with Thad. That must be what sad-eyed Mrs. Sorensen had done over the years—built a separate life for herself.
