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She sighed again and used the end of her apron to wipe the sweat from her brow. She looked at the smudge and winced. Being a lady was going to be the death of her. Unfortunately, it was part of the deal she’d struck with her husband. Since the man was willing to borrow the kind of life-threatening troubles that came with the Rocking C, she was locked into the role of lady. It was a matter of honor to give him what he wanted. At least for her.
Dipping her rag in saleratus, she rubbed anew at the last vestige of the smudge. When it came off, she breathed a sigh of relief, put her hands in the small of her back and massaged her aching muscles. She would have loved to stretch her whole back but the darned corset negated any such pleasure.
She stepped over to the window and inhaled the fresh breeze, letting it sweep the boredom away along with the scent of beeswax and saleratus. Glancing over her shoulder, she decided it wasn’t all for nothing. The parlor looked good. Warm, inviting, subtly gleaming. Now, if she could keep folks to the parlor and the kitchen, she could call it quits for the day. She smiled wryly and shook her head. Like that was going to happen. Asa was definitely going to want to take over the study. With all the work that had waited since her father died, she’d never gotten around to keeping it clean. Dust piled every corner along with three months of neglected bookkeeping.
A whinny outside returned her attention to the outdoors. A rider came through the arch over the gate. Even if she hadn’t recognized the blood bay gelding, she’d never forget the man riding in. Aaron! She straightened her hair, whipped off her apron and stuffed it into the umbrella stand. By the time she heard the porch step creak under his foot, she had her hand on the doorknob. She counted to three, and then swung it open, smiling at his misstep when the door wasn’t there to stop his hand from knocking.
“Hi.”
His response was a laugh. “One of these days, you’re not going to catch me with that.”
His laughter warmed her. “I’ve been catching you for fifteen years. If you were going to wise up, I think you would have done it by now.”
His “you would think” made her smile. For the fifteen years she’d been catching him, he’d been giving her the same answer. It was like an anchor for her soul. The rest of her world might be in chaos, but this part was the same. Aaron was always there. They fought more often than they agreed due to his tendency to think he was always right, but, as they’d grown up as close as brother and sister, somehow it seemed right.
She stepped back to usher him into the relative coolness of the foyer. “What brings you here?”
“Heard in town you married up a couple times this week.”
She winced. “Once was a mistake I corrected. The second time was for real.”
He removed his hat and tossed it onto the hat rack. His brown hair was ruthlessly smoothed back from his square face. There was no mistaking the concern in his blue eyes as he swept her from head to toe. “Well, I guess you could say I’m here to check whether wedding number two was a mistake.”
It wasn’t going to be a pleasant visit, Elizabeth decided. He was obviously on one of his protective I-know-better-than-you missions. She motioned him into the parlor. “I have no complaints and I’m not expecting any.”
He glanced up after settling himself into her father’s chair. “Right.”
The one word came out so scathingly patronizing, for a second, the image of her father imposed itself over Aaron’s face. She blinked to dispel it. “I’m satisfied with my marriage.”
“So you’re happy?”
“For goodness sake, Aaron!” she protested as she reminded herself to sink decorously into the wing-backed chair across from him. “I’ve only known the man twenty-four hours. I can’t tell you what he likes for breakfast, let alone whether we’re going to suit!”
“But you married him.”
There was censure in the statement, as if her decision had been anything but the only choice available. It was also in his blue eyes and his posture, making her realize why he reminded her of her father. His big, stocky build was a fair image of Coyote Bill’s. Combined with him sitting in her father’s chair, delivering condemnation in a quiet, polite tone of voice, the situation was enough to resurrect the dead.
“Of course I married him.” She arranged her skirt into straight folds. “If you remember correctly, it was your suggestion that I marry.”
“I suggested you marry one of the local boys. I didn’t say to pick a man with a reputation dangerous enough in itself to be a threat.” He said it as if she’d failed to follow his directions.
