InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Short Straw ❯ chapter seventeen ( Chapter 17 )

The Short Straw

By FlamingWillows

Chapter Seventeen

The summer sun floated low on the horizon, its light softer than it had been earlier in the day, its brilliance drained by the approach of darkness. Kagome pushed her toe against the porch floor, setting the rocker in motion. The ranch house tended to gather the days heat and hold it inside. As the light faded and the prairie cooled, so would the house. But at this time of day there was no more pleasant place to be than the front porch.

A basket sat on the floor next to the rocker, overflowing with a tumble of colorful fabric scraps. On Sango's last visit she'd brought the latest issue of a popular ladies magazine. In it had been a picture of something the editors called a crazy quilt; "an amusing trifle with which a lady might choose to fill her idle moments. Sure to add elegance to any home." Kagome suspected it would take more than a silk-and-velvet throw to add elegance to the plain ranch house, but the picture in the magazine looked appealing.

She'd completed the first block, covering the muslin foundation with random shapes cut from the rich scraps she'd found in the attic, mute evidence of her mother-in-law's frugal nature. Her embroidery needle slid in and out of the fabric, leaving delicate trails of featherstitching along each seam. She smoothed the thread into place with her thumbnail and took a moment to admire her efforts.

At her feet, the kitten wrestled ferociously with a strip of lustrous green velvet. The battle was fast and furious, the combatants tumbling back and forth across the floor in a titanic struggle for supremacy. Kagome watched for a moment, interfering only when it look as if the fabric was getting the upper hand. She unwound the narrow length of fabric from the kitten's body. She twitched the end of it and Kirara promptly dived back into the fray.

"Makes a pretty picture," Miroku said, coming up behind Koga, who stood in the doorway of the barn.

"It does." Koga didn't shift his eyes from the porch. Kagome had picked the kitten up and was holding it in front of her face, talking to it. He couldn't distinguish words, but the warmth of her voice carried easily on the evening air.

"She seems to like that mangy cat," Miroku said. "But I guess she didn't like it enough to let you back into the house. Maybe you should try a bigger bribe. A horse, perhaps."

"Go to hell." Koga said, without heat.

"Of course, it's going to be damned awkward having a horse in the house," Miroku said thoughtfully. "And there's going to be no end of trouble if she wants to let it sleep on the end of the bed. But the way it stands, I guess it won't make much difference to you, will it? Unless maybe you're hoping she'll let you sleep on the end of the bed."

"Don't you have somewhere to go?" Koga turned a cold blue glare in his brother's direction. It was Saturday and, generally, the cowboys all went into town.

Miroku grinned. "I was going into town with the rest of the boys but, if you'd like, I could stay here and keep you company."

"No thanks."

"I'd hate to think of my older brother spending another long, cold night alone." Miroku managed an expression of solicitude that was at odds with the wicked sparkle in his eyes. "We could play a few hands of poker. We don't have to play for money, of course. Maybe we could play for broom straws."

"I doubt the widow Kurata would take kindly to you playing with broom straws. She wasn't much amused the first time around."

"What I do is none of her concern," Miroku shrugged to show his indifference, but Koga was not fooled. He knew his brother too well.

"I thought you were escorting her to the Fourth of July celebration next week."

"That doesn't mean she's got a ring through my nose," Miroku said.

"I don't think it's a ring through your nose you need to worry about. It's one on her finger."

"You don't have to worry about that. I've got no plans to marry Sango Kurata. Nor anyone else, for that matter."

"I'm not worried." Koga said cheerfully. "From what I've seen of Mrs. Kurata, she's got more sense than to marry a worthless cowboy like you. When the time comes for her to remarry, I guess she'll be looking in other directions. That fellow Hojo, for example."

"She wouldn't look twice at Hojo," Miroku snapped.

"Maybe not." Koga's smile grew wider still, his mood improving in direct proportion to his brother's annoyance. "But she strikes me as a practical sort of female and he's got himself a fine business, a nice house close in to town-and there's those children."

"You keep mentioning them, but I don't see why a woman would want to marry and find herself mother to a passel of kids she don't even know." But there was uncertainty in his tone-an uncertainty Koga seized on with affectionate malice.

"Women tend to take a different view of things," he said kindly. "And when it comes to children . . ." he let his voice trail off and shook his head, at a loss to explain how a woman's mind worked. "Well, like I said before, they can be a powerful draw."

There was a moment of silence. From the corral behind the barn came the sound of the hands talking as they saddled their horses. Koga couldn't hear what they were saying but he knew what the gist of the conversation would be. Joe would be boasting about his prowess with the ladies; Jakken was undoubtedly claiming that he had a feeling that tonight was his lucky night and he was sure to make a killing at the poker tables. Koga didn't know about luck, but he did know that Jakken was the worst poker player he'd ever sat across the table from, which meant that, unless luck parked itself on his shoulder and played the hand for him, he was bound to lose tonight, just as he did every night.

Jinenji and Myoga wouldn't be saying much about their plans, but Koga knew how their evening would go. Myoga would settle himself at a table in the corner of the saloon, order a bottle and drink himself into a stupor, trying to forget about the family he'd lost over a decade before, and Jinenji would drink a little, play a little poker and end his evening by pouring his friend back into his saddle and making sure Myoga got back to the ranch in one piece.

A few weeks ago, before his marriage to Kagome, he might have been going with them. Koga sought inside himself for a feeling of regret, but found none. He liked things the way they were. Well, not exactly the way they were, he amended, returning his attention to where Kagome sat on the porch, still playing with the kitten. The situation needed a few adjustments, but he had plans for taking care of that.

"A stick like Hojo would never interest a woman like Sango Kurata," Miroku said, drawing Koga back to the conversation at hand.

"You're probably right." He said absently. He was losing interest in the game.

"Not that I care one way or the other." Miroku said, his voice a little too loud. "It isn't like I'm interested in getting a leg shackled myself. If she wants to marry Hojo, it's no skin off my nose."

"I never said it was," Koga observed. "Like you said, you don't what to get married, so why would you care what Sango Kurata does?"

"Right." Miroku looked less sure than he sounded.

"Inviting a woman to go to a picnic with you isn't exactly a proposal," Koga assured him.

"No, it's not." Miroku seemed soothed by the thought. "The whole town will be there. We'd probably have bumped into each other anyway."

"Probably." Koga was relieved to hear Jakken call Miroku's name, his tone impatient. Ordinarily he would have welcomed the opportunity to prolong the discussion of his brother's intentions-or lack thereof-toward Sango Kurata. After the way Miroku had been riding him about the situation with Kagome, it would have been a pleasure to watch him squirm. But he had plans for this evening, and the sooner Miroku and the boys left, the sooner he could get started on them.

One thing he knew for sure-he'd spent his last night in this damned barn.

~ ~ ~*~ ~ ~

Koga entered the house with a carefully thought out plan of seduction laid out in his mind. His brother and the hands were on their way to town. He and Kagome had the ranch to themselves and he was determined that this night would see an end to their current-unsatisfactory-sleeping arrangements. He'd worked out just the right approach, a masterful combination of reason and seduction. And the package in his hand might help to sweeten the pot a bit.

He'd expected to find Kagome either sewing or reading but the sound of the piano, silent since his mother's death, had drawn him to the parlor doorway. Outside, the sun had nearly disappeared behind the faint blue line of the Rockies, just visible to the west. The glow of a kerosene lamp cast a soft light in the room. Kirara was asleep on an embroidered cushion near the empty hearth, her body curled into a perfect ball of fur. Kagome sat on the oak stool in front of the instrument, her fingers drifting lightly across the keys. She sang softly as she played, her voice low and a little husky, the words of `Shenandoah' a wistful lament drifting across the dimly lit room.

There was something so peaceful about the scene-something that spoke strongly of home and hearth, of love and comfort, and of belonging. Koga felt something tighten in his chest, a sharp twinge of near pain. This was the real reason he'd taken a wife. A son to inherit the ranch was only a small part of it. He'd wanted something more in his life than cattle and dust and worry about snow in the winter and drought in the summer. He'd wanted a home.

Kagome had given him that. She'd taken an empty house and turned it into a home again. It wasn't the first time he'd had that particular thought, but this time it occurred to him that the house wasn't the only thing that had been changed by her presence. He'd changed, as well. Proof of that was the fact that he was standing here instead of being on his way to town with the hands.

The last notes of `Shenandoah' faded into the warm evening air, soft and sweet and wistful.

"That was beautiful."

The sound of Koga's voice made Kagome's fingers jump on the keys, creating a discordant jangle of notes. She spun around on the piano stool, her skirts whispering against the floor. Koga stood just inside the parlor door. The lamplight didn't reach quite that far, making him visible only as a tall, broad-shouldered shadow.

"I didn't hear you come in," she said breathlessly.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Koga came farther into the room, stepping into the light. Kagome felt her breath catch all over again. Surely there would come a time when just the sight of him would no longer make her feel giddy as a little girl. "That was real nice," he said, tilting his head toward the piano. "I didn't know you played."

"I haven't played in the last few years. I'm afraid I'm more than a little rusty."

"Not from what I heard." He was carrying a paper-wrapped parcel, which he set on the floor near the sofa before crossing to the piano. "Did you take lessons from that piano teacher from Boston, too?"

"Miss Brown?" Kagome shook her head, surprised that he knew about the woman who'd spent several months in town, giving lessons to anyone who cared to pay her fee. "No. Kagura took lessons from her, though."

"Your aunt said as much. From what I heard, either Miss Brown wasn't much of a teacher or your cousin is tone deaf."

Kagome turned back to the piano to conceal a delighted smile at his summation of Kagura's skills. "Miss Brown did her best," she said, avoiding direct criticism.

"So, why haven't you played much lately? Your aunt and uncle have a piano."

"Yes, but I was kept quite busy helping Aunt Kikyo. There wasn't a great deal of time for playing the piano."

"Treated you like a drudge, did she?"

The question startled Kagome into looking up at him. "No, of course not. It was just that, after they were kind enough to take me in, I felt as if I should do as much as possible to repay their generosity." She'd offered herself the explanation so many times that she'd almost come to believe it. It had been easier to accept the endless stream of tasks if she convinced herself that she was doing it purely by choice.

"I'll bet that pinch-nosed aunt of yours made sure to remind you of just how obligated you were," Koga said shrewdly.

Familial obligation demanded a denial but Kagome couldn't get one out. She lowered her head, one finger picking out an aimless tune on the ivory keys. "They didn't have to take me in," she said, reminding herself as much as Koga.

"I suppose not." Something in Koga's tone suggested that he could have said a great deal more on the topic of her aunt and uncle's charity but, to Kagome's relief, he didn't add anything to that simple agreement.

"So if it wasn't Miss Brown from Boston, who taught you to play the piano?"

"My father. After my mother died, we never lived in one place long enough to have a piano of our own. Not that Papa ever had the money for that kind of luxury," she added. "But there was usually someone in each town who was willing to let me use their piano."

"You moved around a lot?" Koga shifted position, leaning his elbow in top of the upright piano and looking down at her.

"We did a lot of traveling." Kagome picked out the first few notes of `Aura Lee.' "Papa couldn't seem to settle in one place after Mama died."

"Your uncle said he was a gambler."

"He was." Kagome looked at him, her chin tilted up, as if daring him to say something critical.

"Can't be many gamblers who tote a child along with them. Must have been hard to always be in the move."

"I didn't mind," she said. It was a half-truth. She'd hated never having a home. It hadn't taken her long to learn that any friends she made would soon be left behind, so she'd stopped trying to make friends at all, preferring loneliness to the pain of saying goodbye. She'd longed for a real home and a chance to put down roots. But whatever roots Sesshomaru might have grown had been severed by his wife's death. She'd sometimes thought that he was running from his grief, always moving on for fear that if he stayed in one place, he'd have to face the depth of his loss. And as much as she'd hated always being on the move, she would have hated being left behind even more.

"Papa always made everything an adventure." She played a quick, light tune, her mouth curving in a reminiscent smile. "Most people thought he was very stoic and cold, but when I think of him, I always remember him laughing."

"Hard to imagine Naraku having a brother like that," Koga said thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to bet the ranch that the only time Naraku laughs is when he gets a chance to foreclose on someone."

Kagome gave a choked little laugh at his accurate summation of her uncle. "Uncle Naraku isn't exactly a jolly man," she admitted with careful restraint.

Koga had a sudden image of a fourteen-year-old Kagome, all dark hair and big brown eyes, entering her uncle's house and finding scant welcome. Though it was years past and he hadn't even known of Kagome's existence, he felt angry on her behalf.

"Do you play?" Kagome asked, breaking into his thoughts.

"Play?" Koga stared at her blankly, his thoughts elsewhere.

"The piano," she clarified, playing a rippling series of notes as if to remind him of the instrument's purpose.

"Not me." Koga shook his head, he mouth curving in a quick grin. "My mother tried to teach me a time or two but I can't carry a tune in a bucket. Can't play piano, and my singing is enough to set every coyote within forty miles howling."

"You can't be that bad," Kagome protested with a laugh.

"Worse." Koga shook his head regretfully. "My mother finally made me promise to stop practicing because she was afraid the noise I made might do permanent harm to her piano."

"So she was the only one who played?"

"Miroku can hold his own. Or he could. He hasn't played much since she died. Running a ranch doesn't leave much time for piano playing."

"You must miss your mother a great deal," Kagome said softly. She brushed her fingers across the keys. "I was only six when my mother died. I hardly remember her at all." Kagome's voice was wistful. "But I remember that she always smelled of lilacs. There was a beautiful lilac bush outside our house in St. Louis and when it bloomed in the spring, she'd cut big bunches of blossoms for the house. The smell seemed to linger on her clothes and hair all year round."

"Roses," Koga said, memory washing over him. "Before the war my mother grew roses. In the summer my father used to complain that the house smelled like a perfume shop because of all the roses she brought inside. When we came west, she brought cuttings of some of the bushes, but they didn't take here. Too hot and dry in the summer, too cold in the winter. I think leaving her gardens behind grieved her more than leaving the house."

Where did you live?"

"Virginia. My father and his brother grew tobacco."

"I've never been to Virginia but I've heard it's lovely."

"It's green." Koga stared out the window just past her shoulder but his eyes were unfocused as he looked into a past he rarely thought about. "In the summer I used to think even the air tasted green."

"It sounds beautiful."

"It was. Oakwood had been in the family for years. My great-grandfather built the house."

"Why did your family leave it?"

"After the war there wasn't much reason to stay in Virginia," he said simply.

"I was only a child when Lee surrendered, but my father used to talk about the damage the war did and wonder how long it would take for the country to heal."

"Some wounds never heal completely." Koga spoke softly, half forgetting that Kagome was there. "My father went south to fight. My uncle went north. When they came home they vowed that there'd be no mention of the war, no talk of battles won or lost. The past was the past. They'd fought, they'd survived, that was all that mattered."

"They sound like very wise men," Kagome said quietly.

"But only men." Koga remembered half-heard arguments, ended but never resolved because no resolution was possible. The tension that had stretched between the adults had soon lapped out to encompass him and Miroku and their cousins. The quarrels their fathers where so determined to avoid were soon exploding among their children. Fights had become a weekly and then almost daily event until his mother and aunt had finally pointed out the truth no one wanted to face-there could be no going back to the way things were before the war. The changes had been too fundamental for that.

"It didn't take long for it to become obvious that too much had changed," Koga said. "My uncle scraped up enough money to buy my father's half of the land and we moved west."

"It must have been a terrible time for your family." Kagome's fingers stroked the keys.

"We were better off than many. My father came home sound of body and mind. That was as much as anyone could hope for and more than many got."

The haunting notes of "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" filled the silence after he spoke. The mournful tune brought back half-forgotten memories-the grim stranger who'd returned in his father's body, his mother's tears, the emptiness of the land, the taut silence of the house, broken by those carefully controlled non-arguments that where somehow worse than open fighting.

"It was a long time ago." Koga said as the last poignant note of the song faded. He straightened away from the piano, forcing the memories away. If there was one thing the war and it's aftermath had taught him, it was that there was never any point in looking back. The past was past and there was nothing to be accomplished by thinking about it.

"Do you ever think about going home?" Kagome tilted her head to look up at him, her dark eyes soft with sympathy for all the war had cost him and his family.

"This is home." Koga said without hesitation. "Virginia is just a place I once lived. A lot of sweat and blood has gone into building this place. Lord willing, our sons will build on what we leave behind."

Kagome flushed a little at the mention of sons, her eyes dropping away from his, and it occurred to Koga that he'd all but forgotten his purpose in coming into the house tonight. The sound of the piano and Kagome's gentle company had driven thoughts of seduction from his mind. Shaking off the last ghostly tendrils of the past, he focused on the present. His present was tied to the woman sitting in front of him-a not unpleasant thought, despite the current situation.

"So many people come west looking for new beginnings," Kagome said. She slanted a quick look in Koga's direction. He was looking at her but the lamplight cast shadows across his face, making it impossible to read his expression.

Dropping her eyes back to the keys, she picked out an aimless little tune, her thoughts on the man leaning against the piano rather than on the music. When he'd first appeared, she'd thought it must be providence taking a hand in her life. She'd been wrestling with herself for nearly a week, ever since he'd given her the kitten. She wanted to tell him that she'd had enough time to consider their situation; that she'd realized it was time to move on with their lives.

It hadn't been an easy decision. She'd had to turn loose her girlish dreams of romantic love and accept reality. Koga didn't love her. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. But he must care for her, at least a little. How else to explain the flowers and the kitten and his patience with what many would consider her unreasonable attitude? Certainly, he would have been well within his rights to insist that they share a bed. The fact that he hadn't might have been the result of indifference rather than kindness, but Kagome didn't believe he was indifferent to her, any more than she was to him. No, he'd given her the time she'd asked for because he cared enough to try to please her. And if that wasn't the passionate love she'd dreamed of, it was more than she might have had.

But now, how did she go about telling him that it was time for him to come back to their bed?

"I have a present for you," Koga said, interrupting her thoughts.

"A present?" Kagome's hands dropped into her lap as she lifted her head to look at him. "For me?"

"Didn't I just say so?"

"What for? It's not my birthday." Not that she'd received many birthday presents in recent years, she thought to herself.

"It's something I meant to give you a while ago. I'd forgotten about it."

Kagome had been so absorbed by the simple fact of his presence that she's barely noticed the package he'd been carrying when he entered the parlor. Now she looked at I with sudden interest as he picked it up and brought it over to her.

"For me?" she questioned again as she took it from him.

"Well, it's certainly not for the cat." Koga's teasing smile made Kagome's heart thump against her breastbone. She looked away, half afraid of what her eyes might reveal, and plucked at the string that tied the plain brown paper package.

"Are you going to open it or just stare at it until age turns the paper to dust?" Koga asked dryly.

"I like to take my time with presents." She looked up with a quick smile. "Patience is a virtue, remember." Focusing solely on the moment, Kagome plucked at the knot that tied the string. When it didn't yield, she started to pick at it with her fingernails.

Koga clucked in exasperation. "A man could grow old and die waiting for you to undo that knot."

Without waiting for a response to his comment, he leaned over and took hold of the string with both hands. A quick jerk and it snapped in two.

"I was going to save the string for another use," Kagome said, casting him a look of mild reproach. "One long piece is more likely to be useful than two short ones."

"I'll buy you a whole roll of the stuff," He promised, unimpressed by her frugality. He was anxious to see her reaction to the fabric. She'd seemed very taken with it a few weeks ago. He hoped she still felt the same. If he'd thought about it, he might have been surprised to realize that, at the moment, he was more concerned with the pleasure he hoped the gift would give Kagome than in persuading her to let him back into their bed-at least for the time being. He had a feeling there'd been too few presents in her life.

"Oh, my!" Kagome exclaimed breathlessly as she folded back the paper to reveal the soft, rich length of blue grenadine. She stared at the fabric for a moment, brushing her fingers across it as if to confirm its reality.

"That's the stuff you were looking at that day in Hojo's," he said, a little uneasy in the face of her silence. "You seemed to like it."

"You remembered that and went back and found it for me?" Kagome lifted her head to look at him, her expression full of wonder.

"Actually, I bought I then."

Her eyes widened. "You bought it that day? For me?"

"That's right."

She ran her palm across the fabric again, almost kneading it with pleasure. "Why would you have bought something like this for me when you didn't even know me?"

Koga shrugged. He'd wondered that a time or two himself. He offered her the only answer he'd come up with. "I thought it would suit you."

"It's a wonder you've a penny to your name if you make a habit of buying fabric for strange women just because you think it would suit them. Besides it being highly improper."

"I don't think doing it once is likely to ruin me, and I was never much inclined to waste time worrying about what's proper and what's not. Do you like the fabric?"

"Like it?" Kagome stroked it again; her fingertips caressing the rich weave in a way that made Koga tighten with sudden awareness. "No one has ever given my anything half so beautiful."

Seeing the glitter of tears in Kagome's dark eyes, Koga felt a twinge of guilt at the ulterior motives behind the gift, but not enough of a twinge to change his mind. He'd had enough of sleeping in the barn. It was time they put the business of that damned broom straw behind them and got on with their lives. It was what Kagome wanted, too. She was just too stubborn to admit it.

"Thank you, Koga." Kagome set the fabric on the piano stool as she rose, the paper rustling against the oak. "It's a wonderful present."

She stepped toward him, rising on her toes to brush a quick kiss across his cheek. She'd baked an apple pie for dinner and Koga caught a faint whiff of cinnamon as if the scent still clung to her skin and hair. There was something remarkably sensuous about the wholesome smell, or maybe it was just the fact that he seemed to find that nearly everything about his wife aroused him.

When she started to step back he caught her hand, holding her in front of him. "Is that all I get?" He saw Kagome's eyes widen at the husky question and his mouth curved in a teasing smile. "I seem to recall getting more than a peck on the cheek when I brought home that kitten. You're not going to tell me that you like that mangy cat more than you like the fabric, are you?" he asked lightly.

"I'm very fond of Kirara," Kagome said, glancing at the kitten, who was still asleep on her cushion. When her eyes met Koga's he could read her uncertainty and knew she was remembering the last kiss they'd shared, a kiss that might have gone considerably further than it had if it hadn't been for the kitten sinking her claws into his chest. He did his best to look as if he wasn't remembering the same thing, as if he wasn't hoping for a repeat-minus the cat, of course. Perhaps he'd succeeded, because Kagome's mouth curved in a smile that held more than a hint of coquetry. "But it really is very nice fabric," she admitted.

"Nice enough to deserve a proper kiss?" Koga asked even as he used his grip on her hand to draw her subtly closer.

"I suppose so." Their eyes met and held for a long, silent moment, and it seemed to Koga as if a message passed between them-an acknowledgement that this night would see an end to the distance between them, an end to this foolish game they'd been playing out.