Chapter Fifteen
Bucky rode ahead of the wagon, reaching the farm well before Steve and Runa would, as did the others. Each one of them saw to their horses, made certain they were comfortable and fed and watered before dispersing to various points around the ranch. Sunday was a day of rest, so there was no work done except what was strictly necessary.
Bucky waited, giving his horse a good brushing until he heard the rumble of the buckboard coming up the drive to the ranch. He stepped outside then, watching as Steve drove up and parked the buckboard in its usual spot beside the stable before getting down to help Runa out of the buckboard. Bucky approached then, taking the bushel basket from Steve almost as soon as he got it out of the back of the buckboard.
“I’ll take this inside. Go ahead and see to the horses.” He kept his voice amiable, following Runa into the house and placing the basket on the kitchen counter before heading back to the stable, where Steve was caring for the team. Bucky watched him for a few minutes, until he finally let loose on him.
“You are a stupid idiot.”
Steve’s head snapped around and he frowned at Bucky.
“I’m sorry?”
“You place an ad for a mail order bride. You bring a woman all the way out to the ass end of Texas-”
“-We don’t live in the ass end of Texas-”
“-Where you marry her. All of that makes sense.” Bucky fumed. Well, it made sense as long as you didn’t factor in the relationship he and Steve had before that ridiculous ad. “Where you become stupid is when you barely spend any time with your wife. The woman you brought out here to become your wife. The woman who is working harder than a mule in a salt mine to get the house up to snuff and all of us fed with three squares a day. The only time you’ve spent time together with just the two is when you’re driving to and from town, and that isn’t exactly a trip to inspire romantic feelings.”
“We talk-”
“There is more to a marriage than just talking, Steve.”
“She’s only been here a week.” Steve protested.
“And?” Bucky demanded. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting to get to know her, because it’s clear to just about everyone on this ranch that you aren’t.”
“I’m sorry, Buck, I-”
“I am not the one you should be apologizing to.” Bucky realized his harsh tone was agitating the horses, who were beginning to move about anxiously in their boxes. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Stevie,” He said in a softer tone, “I’m trying to help you out here. Look, just… Go inside. Talk to her. Maybe even hug her or something. Spend time with her. I’ll finish up in here.”
Steve was silent a moment and refused to look at Bucky, a stony look Bucky couldn’t decipher on his face. That worried Bucky, because usually he could read Steve like a book just by glancing at him.
“All right.” He finally said. “I’ll try this your way, if that’s how you want it.”
“It is.” Bucky sighed. It wasn’t, not really, but he was going to make certain Steve did this thing right. He wasn’t going to hold him back out of petty jealousy. He could be unhappy and survive, just as long as Steve was happy. His happiness mattered more to Bucky than his own, and Bucky knew that if Steve just gave Runa a bit of a chance, they could be happy together.
Steve looked at Bucky, searching his features for something, but then he just shook his head slightly and walked past him, out of the stable. Bucky frowned at that, wondering what was going through his punk’s head.
Inside the house, Runa was scrubbing away at dishes. She had left a large pot of water on the back of the stove while they were gone so she would have hot water to wash with, and had been pleased to see that it hadn’t boiled away, but had been steaming hot when they returned.
She looked up as she heard boots on the stone floor, and smiled slightly to see Steve, before turning her attention back to the dishes. “You can’t be done caring for the horses already.”
He came closer, “Bucky said he’d take over.” He explained, coming up behind her. He placed his hands on her waist and she inhaled sharply, not expecting it, not expecting to feel the heat of his hands through her clothes so easily, or that the heat of him would be so welcome on a June afternoon.
“Steve?” She asked quietly, but he stepped forward and guided her back at the same time, so she was leaning back against him. He wrapped his arms around her and simply held her for a time. Runa let the dish and dishcloth she had been holding fall back into the wash basin, before placing her wet hands over his. She closed her eyes and couldn’t keep a small smile from her face, feeling warm and secure in his arms as she breathed in the scent of him, dust and leather and the not entirely unpleasant scent of horses. He rested his chin on the top of her head for a time, before bowing his head, his cheek ghosting along the side of her head. She could feel his breath near to her ear, but he made no move to place kisses there, or anywhere else, the way Iris had said a lover might. Runa’s smile faded somewhat at that, but she caught hold of the small threads of happiness before they could escape her entirely. He was holding her, actually holding her, and while it felt almost too good to be allowed, it also felt perfect, and oh so right. More perfect and right than anything she had ever felt before in her life.
Then Steve raised his head and placed a top kiss atop her head. “I should let you get back to work.” He said reluctantly, starting to release her, but Runa turned in his arms, twisting craning her neck to look up at him, about to ask him not to go and to say the dishes could wait. Then she saw the look in his eyes. His expression was distant, almost sad; she felt her heart sink when she saw it, the happiness she had held onto blowing away like ashes on the wind. He wasn’t holding her because he wanted to. He was doing this because he felt he had to.
Their gazes met, and Steve opened his mouth to say something, when the kitchen door leading outside swung open and Happy Sam walked in, carrying a half bushel basket.
All three of them froze, Steve and Runa looking at Happy Sam, Happy Sam looking back at them in surprise, clearly not having expected to walk in on what appeared to be an intimate moment in the middle of the kitchen. Steve and Runa quickly stepped apart.
Happy Sam looked almost pained. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I, uh, brought the vegetables you wanted for supper, Missus Rogers.”
“Thank you, Sam.” Runa looked down, aware she was flushing at being caught in a compromising position, even though it was with her husband, and it hadn’t really been compromising at all. It just looked that way. “Could you please put them on the work table?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Happy Sam looked to Steve, mouthing an apology, but Steve just shook his head, wearing a smile that Runa could tell was forced.
“I’ll let you get back to work, Runa.” He then inclined his head. “Sam.”
Then he turned tail and hurried out of the kitchen, leaving Runa feeling oddly bereft.
She poured her frustration into her work, finishing cleaning up and cooking supper, wondering the entire time what was wrong with her that her husband had to force himself to touch her. She blinked back tears, determined not to cry. There were worse things than to be found wanting by your husband. She couldn’t think of any, but she knew there were worse things, people worse off.
After dinner Steve lingered, before helping her to gather up the dishes.
“I’ll help with the dishes tonight.” He smiled at her, an apologetic smile, as if he wanted to make up for leaving her so suddenly earlier.
“It’s all right, I can-”
“You can both go sit down in the sitting room and I can do the dishes.” Bucky interrupted from the doorway. Runa and Steve both hesitated, and he sighed. “Go on. Git.” He said, coming over and taking the stack of plates from Runa’s hands.
“But-” She tried to protest, but Bucky shook his head.
“Go spend some time together.” He ordered, storming off to the kitchen. Runa watched him go, before removing her apron and going to hang it up in the kitchen. “I said-” Bucky started, but he sighed when he saw the fabric in her hand. “All right, put it away and then go sit with him.”
“Bucky, I can do the dishes, honestly-”
“I’m trying to help you two.” He said as he mixed the heated water with water fresh from the pump so he wouldn’t scald his hands. “I want my best friend to be happy. For that to happen, you two need to work together instead of dancing around each other the way you have been.”
Runa finished hanging up her apron on the nail in the wall used for just that purpose, before moving to impulsively hug Bucky.
“Thank you.” She whispered, before hurrying to the sitting room. He was right. They had to work at marriage, it wasn’t something that just happened. Particularly when husband and wife were virtual strangers.
Not for the first time, she wished she knew what Missus Rumlow had written in her letters to Steve. She couldn’t just ask, not without confessing she hadn’t been the one to answer the ad, which she doubted would go over well with anyone.
As she stepped into the sitting room she saw Steve taking his sketchbook and charcoal from the little shelf he kept them on. Runa bit her lower lip, then asked what she had wanted to since her second night on the ranch.
“Would it be all right if I looked at your work?” She asked tentatively, causing Steve to turn and look at her in surprise.
“If you want to.” He said, hesitantly offering the sketchbook to her. Runa stepped over and took it, carrying it to her chair where she settled in before opening the cover.
The first thing she saw was a study of Bucky. Portraits of his face, profiles, three quarter profiles… She flipped to the following pages and saw more images of Bucky. Him sitting and carving at night, on horseback, sleeping shirtless with blankets about his waist. As she looked through the book other people were featured there as well. Everyone on Bluestone Ranch was represented. There was a picture of Laura nursing an infant, nothing sexual about it; just the simple beauty of a mother nourishing her child. She recognized Cassie, and a few other children. People she recognized from church. As she reached the middle of the book she stumbled across a few images of herself. How she must have looked to him when she first got off the train, an image of her in three quarter profile as she worked on sewing. The most recent image, an incomplete one, was taken from a memory the day the colt had been born, when she had knelt in front of the little one and caressed the velvety soft muzzle that he had pushed into her hands.
“Steve… These are beautiful.” She said as she closed the book, looking up at him. His anxious expression faded, replaced by relief and a hint of pride.
“You think so?” He asked as he stood on took the sketchbook she offered up to him.
“I really do. I’ve only seen paintings and things before, not sketches like this, but they’re wonderful. I could recognize almost everyone you drew. And the poses were so natural. Not forced or awkward like some paintings I’ve seen.”
“I like drawing. Always have.” Steve ran a hand over the cover of his sketchbook. “It’s peaceful. Fills me with the sort of peace people always seem to be looking for and never find.”
“No wonder you spend every evening drawing. I would too, if it made me feel like that.”
“I thought that was why you spent your evenings sewing.” He frowned.
“I sew because it needs to be done. I do like it, it is something calming to do before bed. It just doesn’t fill me with peace like that.”
“Then we’ll have to find you something that does.”
“Until then, I’ll keep on sewing.”