hands toward the orange coals.
She wouldn’t know the first thing to look for.
“I could wake you if there is anything amiss.” She covered a yawn.
He doubted she’d manage to stay awake. But she was trying. Jack sank down and patted the hide next to him. “Sit.”
She stared at the bit of hide left open for her.
Giving her more room, he scooted to the edge, although she didn’t need it. His patience, already thin from too long without sleep, cracked. He ordered, “Sit. I won’t bite.”
She sat down fast. A good six inches remained between them. Six inches and a grand canyon.
Her teeth chattered. While the night air was cool, it wasn’t desperately cold. But Olivia was like a hothouse flower that had never had to endure the out-of-doors. This land might destroy her; she was such a pale piece of fluff.
He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped a buffalo skin around them. She tightened like a drawn bowstring. He found her glacial hands and slowly rubbed them. “Don’t fight the cold. Breathe deep.”
She shuddered violently and leaned away from him. He pulled her back against him. “Relax, I’m just warming you.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Jack winced. He ducked his head against her elaborate coif and sighed. Her repulsion made him feel like a coarse, disgusting reptile. Part of him wanted to peel back the layers of material between them and make her his wife, here under the stars with the cold air against his heated skin. Yet he hated to think what her response might be.
He’d planned on waiting until they returned to the cabin, so she could have the privacy of four walls and the comfort of a bed, but he suspected the wait might be much longer. He’d never felt a strong urge to bed a reluctant woman, not when shared desire was so much better.
Even as cold as Olivia was, she wouldn’t appreciate the warmth generated by an exchange of body heat. She held herself rigid. His coarseness might be too much for her. He wasn’t a dapper popinjay and never would be. If she’d thought by bringing him a fancy shirt and coat she could refine him, she was wrong.
Her soft hair tickled his nose. She smelled of lavender soap. He traced his fingers over the wedding band. She had a lady’s hands, soft, smooth, suited for playing a pianoforte or tatting lace, not hard work. Still he resisted the urge to nuzzle her slender neck. He didn’t want to inflict his attentions on her.
She balled her hand and the ring wobbled on her finger. He prodded it back and forth.
“I can get this resized.”
“I’ll wrap yarn around the inside so it doesn’t fall off.”
Did she not want the ring to fit? He tensed. “I’m sure the jeweler won’t mind.”
“Where you bought it?”
“Where I had the ring fashioned from gold I found in my creek.” Jack wished he could take back the words. If she thought the gold band too simple, she now knew he was solely responsible. He’d put a piece of his home on her finger and had the ring specially made for her.
“Is there more gold in your creek?”
For the first time since he married her, she sounded eager. Cold seeped inside him, jabbing under his breastbone. Jack stopped rubbing her fingers. “I haven’t looked for more.”
If she wanted riches, she shouldn’t have come to the Colorado Territory. Even if a man had money, he couldn’t buy luxuries found in an Eastern city. Or get purchases to his cabin. He’d had a hell of a time hauling in the cookstove purchased from settlers who were giving up.
He hadn’t wanted a woman who expected gifts for the privilege of touching her, but he should have given Olivia a wedding gift. She’d brought a shirt and jacket. His puny purchase of a tea tin seemed pathetic. Even though the ring was gold, he hadn’t bought it, either.
“Are you warmer?” He heard anger in his voice and regretted that the lack of sleep made his emotions raw.
“Yes, of course.” She stood and wrapped the blanket tightly around her. “Thank you.” Her voice was stretched taut.
Jack rubbed his scratchy eyes. He hadn’t meant she had to get off his lap. He hadn’t meant that at all. He stood, too, and he supposed the dark and the tiredness and the disappointment made him say, “Why did you marry me?”
“I had to. The mill closed,” she blurted.
Stunned, he stood still. “The mill closed,” he repeated slowly. For the first time since they’d been married, she really looked at him. The brassy glow of the fire illuminated her wide soulless eyes.
“When?”
“December. The cotton shipments stopped. Because of the war.”
Before she’d written him back after receiving his photograph.
Her pale features twisted in anguish and that perfect Cupid’s-bow mouth opened to speak or squeak as she was wont to do. “I had to—”
“Don’t make it worse.” He warned. The words of caution were for him as much as for her. Her beauty should have been the first clue. She wasn’t a regular mail-order bride. But like a sore tooth, he couldn’t resist probing it. “The mill closed. And you had no other options?”
“No.” She ducked her head again, and perhaps that was better. She hadn’t come West because she wanted to be married. No, she had considered marrying him a last resort. Given that she wasn’t suited for life out here, she wouldn’t last long if her heart wasn’t in it.
He leaned over and snatched up the rifle and stalked toward the wagon. Blood roared in his ears, and his stomach churned. She didn’t want to be here. The neatly penned words of eagerness were lies.
God, how could he have been such a fool?
* * *
Olivia wished she hadn’t blurted out about the mill closing. She had picked him from all the other advertisements, but saying so seemed to leave her too exposed. She sank down.
When she received his letter and photograph, she’d been so grateful. She’d thought he wanted her.
But his impatience was tangible. Her shortcomings overshadowed everything else. Not being wanted shouldn’t surprise her. She wasn’t calm natured or brave, or much of a helpmate in this unfamiliar environment, but she could learn. He just needed to give her a chance.
Rocking back and forth, she fought the chill that was not only from the night air, but deep in her heart. Since her parents’ deaths, she hadn’t been wanted anywhere.
She would show him marrying her hadn’t been a mistake. Just as she had convinced them at the mill she was worth keeping. The shock of hard work had almost made her fail, but she wasn’t a pampered young teen anymore.
A decade ago she thought she’d marry a man who wore suits and worked in an office like her papa. Men like that in Norwalk regarded mill girls as social inferiors and steered clear. While no man in Connecticut had ever approached her, the men in Denver City had swarmed her. He had to see that she had value.
Jack returned and nestled an iron skillet down in the coals and set a heavy lid on the top. “We might as well get an early start. Seeing as how we’re both awake.”
Demonstrating her lack of cooking skills wasn’t the best way to show her worthiness. Uneasiness curdled her stomach. She stood. “What should I do?”
He grabbed the lantern and lit it. The light illuminated his stoic expression. He strode back to the wagon and shoved things around. “Just sit. I’ll get things done faster if you aren’t in my way.”
“I know I’m not what you expected,” muttered Olivia as she sank down onto the buffalo hide.
She