Train Station Bride by Holly Bush

said.
    Jake rose, looked her up and down and limped out the door. Julia was a far cry from a thick-waisted, farmwoman from Sweden, but Jake didn’t imagine the sight of Inga’s broad shoulders would have turned his mind to mush like Julia.
    “What happened, Boss?” Slim asked as he limped back into the barn.
    “Kicked a bucket of wash water Mrs. Shelling couldn’t lift,” Jake replied. “I don’t want to see my wife carrying anything heavier than her skirts. Got it boys?”
    The men smiled and nodded in unison.
    * * *
    Jake went in the house, near seven o’clock. He’d washed up at the bunkhouse, anticipating sitting down with Julia. And going upstairs with Julia. She wasn’t in the kitchen. Julia was slouched awkwardly in one of the horsehair chairs in front of the fireplace. His bride was sound asleep. Instead of being angry the kitchen floor was still damp and the table still unset, Jake tilted his head at the picture before him. She’d tuckered herself out. Cobwebs hung from her curls, and she had missed a spot of dirt on the tip of her nose when she washed. Jake lifted her from the seat into his arms, and she snuggled against him.
    Julia woke as Jake lifted her. “There’s soup on the counter cooling, Jake. And fresh bread,” she whispered.
    He kissed the top of her head as he carried her up the steps. “Should a left it on the stove. Stay warm that way.”
    She yawned. “Potato soup is just as good cold.”
    Jake didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. Who ate their soup cold? And what was he going to eat with it? Was there meat?
    “I sugared some berries that Flossie brought.” Julia opened her eyes as Jake laid her down on the bed. She sat up and began to unbutton her dress. “No better meal than soup and fresh fruit on a hot day.” She smiled up at him lazily as she unpinned her hair.
    Jake watched his wife undress. Julia bent down and inched her stockings down her pale legs and her hair swirled around them. She shimmied out of everything but her chemise.
    “Think I’ll just sleep in this if you don’t mind. It’s too hot for a nightgown,” Julia said. She pulled the sheet up over herself. “I’m so sleepy. I hope you don’t mind eating alone. Tell me what you think of the soup. I’ve watched Cook make it hundreds of times. I think I got it just right.”
    Jake would have crawled in bed then and there, stomach growling to beat the band, but Julia was looking at him so hopefully, he couldn’t disappoint her.
    “I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” he said. Julia smiled and rolled onto her side.
    Jake sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cold soup, his sister’s bread and a dish of berries. He was going to have to eat the whole pot of the blamed stuff to fill up. But he would admit it was good. Jake dunked his bread and sopped up the bottom of the bowl and cleaned his dish of strawberries. He wasn’t full, but he didn’t care. The sight of Julia had made his mind wander from the hunger in his stomach to a far greater hunger situated below his belt buckle. He could hardly wake her up, her looking so tired and all, but he could sit at the table and envision those legs sticking out of a thigh-length chemise. Jake closed up the house and headed to bed. If nothing else he could hold her. Jake crept into his bedroom.
    “Did you like the soup?” Julia asked.
    “Never heard of eating soup cold, but it was good. I figured you’d be sound asleep by now.”
    “I’m tired, but I was waiting for you,” she said.
    Jake pulled his pants down and smiled. “Were you?” Julia nodded. He climbed into bed and pulled her close. “I thought you’d be tired.”
    “I am,” Julia said as she stroked the side of his face. “But I don’t suppose it’ll take longer than last night, though.”
    Jake didn’t know whether to be insulted or thrilled. He settled for being happy as hell his wife was inching her foot up his leg. “I think I might be able to stretch things out for you,