CHAPTER SIX

Confessions

Wednesday, March 14, 1877

Margaret nervously waited for her husband to get home. She had to confess to him what she had done, and the sooner she could do so, the better she'd feel. Fortunately, Victoria had insisted she take a break from the kitchen work (probably because she'd figured out that Margaret knew nothing about cooking), so Margaret promised she'd do the cleanup and let Victoria and Audra do the cooking. She paced on the front porch until, finally, she saw Heath coming in the distance.

As he neared, her heart pounded.

Nick pushed out the front door, slamming it after him. He gave a quick nod to Margaret, then ran past her to greet Heath. "'Bout time you got here, boy!" he yelled. "What's going on?"

Margaret sighed. She desperately needed to speak to her husband. But she stood against the door and waited.

Finally, Heath and Nick came onto the porch together. Heath stopped next to her and kissed her cheek. "I stink," he said.

Nick went on into the house.

"I need to talk to you," Margaret whispered.

Heath graced her with his half-smile. "I gotta get cleaned up. Come up with me." He didn't wait for her response but held the door for her.

She walked up the stairs, not sure what, exactly, to do.

Heath stopped in their room and grabbed clean clothes, then nodded for her to head to the bathroom.

She went with him, although it didn't seem right. "Am I allowed in here with you?" she asked nervously.

Heath grinned. "I think so. We're married, ain't we?"

Margaret nodded. She prepared his bath water while he undressed. She just wanted to confess to him what she had done—and she hoped he wouldn't be angry with her.

But her naked husband caught her attention. She never tired of looking at—or touching—his muscular arms and shoulders and the way his chest narrowed at his waist and—

It was so darn hot in that bathroom. The fire had been going all day, and the hot water just added more heat.

Heath stepped into the tub, gave out a long sigh, and then looked at his wife. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"I, uh." She pulled the dressing chair next to the tub and sat down on it. "I need to confess to you what I did today."

Heath raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?" He would've smiled, but she seemed so nervous and serious, he didn't.

She nodded.

"What did you do?"

"I'm sorry, Heath, and I really hope you're not mad at me."

He dunked his head under water, then picked up the Castille soap.

"Here," Margaret said, going to him. "Let me do that." She took the soap from him and lathered it, then massaged it through his hair.

While he sat, relaxed, allowing her to shampoo him, Margaret planned on how she was going to tell him.

The door opened and Nick came in. "Heath, what did you do about—" he paused, realizing Margaret was in there. Then he looked closer at Heath, relaxing while his wife washed his hair. His grin burst free and he chuckled. "Sorry for disturbing you. We'll talk later." He hurried out the door and shut it after him.

"We have got to get a lock on that door!" Heath growled.

Margaret's face burned, but she concentrated on scrubbing his scalp and hair and ears.

"So," Heath finally said. "What did you do?" He dunked under the water to rinse out the soap.

While she waited for him to surface, she lathered soap into a washcloth. When he finally appeared, she gently washed his face. "I lost my temper," she said softly.

"Temper?" Heath chuckled. "Sorry I wasn't here to see it."

"If I would've thought about it, I wouldn't have said anything until I asked you if it was okay."

"If what was okay?" He splashed water over his soapy face.

"That I talk to Jarrod. I mean, I know I shouldn't have done that without your permission, but—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

Margaret's stomach turned. He was angry. She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You don't need none of my permission to speak to Jarrod."

Margaret stepped around to where he could see her. She took his left arm and began scrubbing it.

"Just get my back and I'll get the rest of me," Heath said.

She quickly moved and began scrubbing his back, including his neck. He was angry. Tears threatened to erupt, but she blinked them back.

"So what did you talk to Jarrod about?" he asked.

"Caroline. I—I got another letter from Caroline, and she was upset because she thought Jarrod liked her. She's written two letters to him—the first one was personal, but, when he didn't reply, the second one was just the thank you note she and Charlie sent to everyone."

"Uh-huh."

"And he never wrote back to her. She doesn't know whether he's not interested or if he's just been super busy. And it's killing her, not knowing. So, I asked him how he felt about her, and he wasn't too happy about that. He was rather rude to me, so I was a bit rude back." Margaret took in a breath. "And I know I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have even spoken to him without checking with you first. I'm so sorry, Heath."

Heath swirled around and took her hands in his. "You have nothing to be sorry about," he said firmly. "You don't need my permission to talk to nobody, and if Jarrod irritated you, well, he's the one that needs to apologize to you."

"He already did."

"Then let it go. If you was out of line, apologize to Jarrod."

"I did."

"Then it sounds like everything worked out."

"You're—you're not upset with me?"

He leaned up, pulled her face towards him, and kissed her. "Of course I ain't upset with you. You got the right to talk to who you want, when you want, and you don't need none of my permission to do so."

Margaret's stress finally disintegrated. At the finishing school, she was taught that women had to get their husband's permission for just about everything—especially when it came to speaking to another man. She wrapped her arms around her husband's wet head. "I love you, my husband."

"I love you as well, my wife." Heath wiggled uncomfortably in the water. "If this water weren't so dirty, I'd make room in here for you."

Margaret wasn't sure what to say. "Whatever you want," she finally said.

"Tell you what. Why don't you go to our room and, uh, get naked, and I'll finish cleaning up and I'll be there soon."

Someone—undoubtedly Nick—pounded at the door.

"Go away!" Heath yelled. He looked at Margaret and smiled. "At least there's a lock on our bedroom door," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear. "And take my clothes with you. I'll just wrap a towel around me. I should be able to make it from here to there without being seen."

"But Nick—"

"He don't really need me. He's just been locked in the house for three days and he misses Isabella and don't have nobody to talk to." Heath shrugged. "Being naked is the best way to make him run away from me."

Margaret giggled. "Sure you don't want me to finish washing you?"

"I'd love for you too," Heath whispered, his voice husky. "But there ain't no lock on this door." His cheeks burned. "Tell you what. I'm gonna get a lock for that door, and then you can wash anything you want and we can bathe together whenever we want."

"Heath!" Nick yelled, pounding on the door again. "Hurry up! I need to talk to you."

"I can't wait for Isabella to get back here," Heath said. "And not just because she can cook. She keeps that ornery, impatient brother of mine under control."

Margaret smiled. Isabella did do that. And she did it in her own unique way.

"Send him in," Heath said with a wicked grin. "And make sure you open the door hard and fast."

"But—"

Heath grinned. "I can't help it if he's leaning against the door. That's his fault."

Margaret smiled at her handsome husband, picked up his clothes, then blew him a kiss and opened the bathroom door—not as hard and fast as she could have—and she would've hit Nick with it were it not for Nick's quick reflexes. "Excuse me, Nick," she said sweetly while he struggled to regain his balance. "Heath said you can go on in. He needs someone to wash his legs." She then walked down the hall to her room, listening to Nick growling and muttering.

Heath was right. It was fun to torment Nick.

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