Dorothy Garlock (20 page)

Jeff came back to get another helping of huckleberry pie. His shirt was wet with sweat or from the dipper of water he had poured over his head before he came to eat. Annie Lash’s heart began to surge; she couldn’t speak, but smiled up at him. He was so handsome, with his unruly, bright hair and his dark face. Her eyes found his, and they were soft with amber lights. He smiled back at her, his face younger and free of the sober expression it had worn for days.

“Good pie,” he murmured for her ears alone.

“Anything is good when you’re hungry,” she answered lightly, and was happy she could do so.

“I
was
hungry. The other stuff took the edge off my appetite. I’m going to crowd this in because it’s good.”

“It might make you sick.”

“It would be worth it,” he said with rockline certainty.

What was the matter with her? Annie Lash thought angrily after he had turned back to join the men. She was as giddy as a schoolgirl because he came and spoke a few private words to her. She worked swiftly, packing away the dishes and leftover food for the trip back to the house. But in a little corner of her mind she couldn’t help wishing she had been clever enough to prolong the conversation.

June arrived and the weather grew warm, the air sweet with the thousands of blooming bushes and trees along the river. Sunny days were interspersed with days of gentle rain. The weather was of no particular concern to Annie Lash. She was wrapped in her own brand of warm contentment. Never in her life had she known companionship and sharing as she knew it now, though fleeting memories of Saint Louis and her life on the Bank with Zan and her father still brought back the chill of loneliness. The constant work of tending the garden, harvesting the berries that grew so abundantly in the woods, cleaning, cooking, and helping Callie by watching over the children kept her whirling through the days with a song in her heart and laughter on her lips.

Jeff and Will worked from dawn to dusk. The evening meal was eaten by candlelight. The story of
Robinson Crusoe
was finished, and if Annie Lash read aloud, it was from
Poor Richard’s Almanac.
Jeff’s eyes were on her frequently, softly dark and intent. He never withdrew his gaze when she looked full into them, but rather studied her openly as he had done on that night when he had come to the cabin on the Bank. Once she smiled deliberately and shyly when their eyes were holding and he returned the smile. It set her heart glowing. She dared not let herself wonder at his intentions regarding her. Often, when he romped with Amos, she would find herself gazing with longing at his broad shoulders, at the width of his chest, and remember the hardness of his arms and the tender way he’d held her on the day they buried Zan. It was strange, but she never thought about the other time he had held her, the time on the raft when she was sure she hated him.

The last of the shingles had been put on the roof of Will’s cabin and soon he would be spending his evenings there. Annie Lash had noticed, during the first few days she was at Berrywood, how his eyes strayed to Callie. He was in love with her and she with him. It surrounded them in an aura that was unmistakable. She had watched the light flare in Callie’s eyes when Will was near and noticed how he managed to keep his conversation light and teasing, although his eyes held a world of yearning in their depths.

Annie Lash was too sensitive to have missed the fact that Callie clung to her company as a shield between herself and Will. It had been particularly noticeable since the day they went to the cabin raising. All was changed between them. Callie never directed any of her conversation to him, and there was a marked change in the timbre of his voice when he spoke to her and in her response.

Annie Lash had no way of knowing if Jeff was aware of the emotional strain between his sister-in-law and his friend. Every night for the past week he had left the kitchen immediately after supper. And after the dishes were put away Callie would take Abe to the bedroom to nurse him and put him to bed. This night, while Will wrestled with Amos on the floor, Annie Lash slipped out into the near darkness of the dogtrot, deciding to give them some time alone.

She smelled tobacco smoke almost at the same instant she saw Jeff sitting on the bench where she had sat the first day she arrived. His long legs were stretched out before him and his white head rested against the dark logs of the house. She paused momentarily, embarrassed that he might think she was seeking his company. Then he spoke, and what he said surprised her so much that she walked directly to him.

“I was hoping you would come out.” He was on his feet, holding his pipe in his hand.

“I don’t like the end of the day. I like it to be daylight or dark.” She didn’t know why she told him that. What she wanted to say was that this was the most lonesome part of the day for one who was alone.

“Night will begin in a little while.”

“Something ends, and something begins.” She went to the end of the house and looked at the fading light in the west.

“The moon will be coming up soon. Last night I watched it come up over that clump of bushes next to the pines.”

She tried to follow his gesture, then shook her head. “There are so many bushes, so many pines.”

He moved behind her, and with his hands on her shoulders turned her slightly and pointed.

“Oh, those bushes. Why didn’t you say the blackberry bushes? I know them well. I left some of my skin on them.” There was laughter in her voice because she suddenly felt happy, young, and breathless.

“Would you like to watch the moon come up over the river?”

“Is it safe to be so far from the house at night?”

“I think so, although you can never be absolutely sure of anything.” He knocked the ashes out of his pipe and left it on the bench. “It won’t be long until we’ll not be able to get near the river this time of evening because of the mosquitos. They swarm in almost as thick as hairs on a dog’s back.”

They followed the rail fence to the creek and then turned toward the river. When Annie Lash stumbled on the uneven ground and her hand went instinctively to his arm for support, he captured it with his and held it there, then eased it into the crook of his arm. She didn’t deter him. For now she gloried in his touch and pushed away any thought that she would regret this impulsive behavior later.

“The flowers you planted beside Zan’s grave are doing well.”

“I didn’t know you knew about that.”

“Were you keeping it a secret?”

“No . . .” She drew the word out and peered up at him to see if he was teasing. She felt as well as heard the chuckle that came from him.

“I don’t miss much that goes on around here. I even know you have a favorite place to bathe.”

Annie Lash felt her heart jump out of rhythm, felt her blood pound and drain away. Her feet ceased to move and she tried to pull her hand from the crook of his arm, but he held it tightly to his side. He let out a snort of laughter and she thought she would die of embarrassment.

“I haven’t been spying on you. Callie told me to stay away from that part of the creek one day when you were gone from the house.”

“Well, my goodness! Why didn’t you say that in the first
place?” she said testily to cover her feeling of relief.

“Because I knew you’d get your hackles up. I haven’t seen you mad for a while.”

They continued walking. She thought he must have eyes like an owl. He held back branches so she could pass and one time he jumped down a bank, then reached for her and eased her down beside him. When they resumed walking he took her hand. His was large, rough and warm, and almost swallowed hers. They came out of the woods into a grassy clearing. The river was below them. They heard the plop of a large fish as it cavorted in the water. Behind them something scuttled in a thicket. To the right an owl glided between the branches searching for a meal. The night was alive with sounds and Annie Lash unconsciously drew nearer to Jeff.

“Catfish,” he said, and led her to the edge of the bank. “We’ll come down here sometime and throw out a line.”

They were standing a good six feet above the river and Annie Lash drew back sharply when she realized they were so close to the crumbling bank. Jeff laughed softly and refused to release her hand.

“I didn’t know we were nearly at the edge. I don’t see as well in the dark as some. Zan said I had night blindness.”

“I can see well enough for both of us. I could even see a snake
crawling across the grass.”

“Snake?”

Jeff could hear her sudden intake of breath and was instantly sorry he had conjured up her fear. She tried to suppress a shudder.

“I’m sorry! God, I’m sorry, Annielove. There aren’t any snakes here. They’d be out on the rocks, not here in the damp grass.” His arm across her shoulder pulled her closer until she stood in his embrace.

The tender touch of his hands and the warmth of him verified all the concern his voice implied. It filtered through her fear slowly at first, and then burst upon her consciousness. He was giving her more comfort than anyone had ever given her, and he had called her “Annielove.” How different it sounded from the first time he had used the nickname.

“Are you all right, now?” He bent his head until his lips were close to her ear. She could feel her hair drag on his chin when she nodded her head. “Turn around and look. You’re going to miss seeing the moon rise.”

Annie Lash could scarcely move. She was mesmerized by his gentle voice, drugged by the warm pressure of his hands. Her pulses were throbbing. She felt as if he were touching her everywhere. He turned her in his arms until she faced the river, then drew her back against him and folded his arms about her. Her hand rested on his folded arms and one of his moved to cover it. She stood there, hardly knowing where she was or what it was he wanted her to see, but fully aware that she wanted this closeness more than she had ever wanted anything before. She wanted to see his smile, hear the sound of his voice and his laughter. She wanted to know what he was thinking and what he dreamed about. She wanted to know why he was so hard on the outside when there was so much tenderness just beneath the surface.

Jeff felt her trembling, felt the pounding of her heart against his arm beneath her breast. He wanted to soothe her, calm her with gentle words, tell her not to be afraid, that he wouldn’t rush her. But he remained silent and let his lips caress her hair. This feeling was new to him, too. He had thought about it for days, weeks; agonized over the decision of whether or not to speak to her about his feelings or just ask her again to marry him, bed her, and hope that before his life was ended he would have a son. Now he wanted more than to spawn an offspring so that his bloodline would be carried into another generation. Now, all the treasure he wanted, he held in his arms.

Other thoughts flashed through his mind as the red orb that was the full moon rose slowly above the river. Life on the frontier was perilous, his own doubly so due to Aaron Burr’s determination to end it. Could he allow her to share the uncertainty of his future? He thought of the days ahead without her, and he damned himself for not wanting to face them without telling her the depth of his love for her, no matter what would come in the weeks ahead.

He shifted his body slightly to form a more comfortable cradle for her and she leaned her head back against his shoulder. The full moon shone on her face and he could see that she stood with eyes closed, her lips slightly parted, trying desperately to control her breathing. He was certain now that he held some part of her heart, and his own swelled with the need to comfort her. He turned her around to face him.

“Annielove,” he drew the word out into a long, soft caress, “I’ve thought often of that kiss we shared the day I brought you home to Berrywood.” She was trembling violently. Her teeth were clamped against chattering, but she couldn’t seem to stop shivering. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you cold? Are you afraid of me?”

“It’s nerves, I expect,” she managed shakily, and drew in a deep breath.

He snuggled her against his chest and stroked her back leisurely. His need to soothe and protect her was far greater than his need to gratify his physical desire to plunder her mouth with his. Her arms crept around his waist, timidly at first, then stronger. Her trembling ceased and now unfamiliar sensations were prickling her body. She hoarsely whispered his name, her lips against his neck.

She didn’t know she had moved her head until his mouth closed over hers and moved with supplicant precision until, unknowingly, her lips parted, yielded, accepted the wanderings of his, then became urgent in their own seeking. It was what he wanted, she could feel it in his response, in his muscles that flexed beneath her palms on his back.

Her mouth was warm, sweet beyond imagination, but he was wise enough not to spoil the mood by demanding more than the instant of sharing. He raised his head and looked down at her, his lips just inches from her lips, his breath on her mouth.

“I forgot to pucker my lips.” There was no trace of teasing in his voice.

“So did I.” Had she mouthed the words? She hadn’t heard them, but she must have because he smiled, his arms tightened, and he held her in a protective, sheltering way. She could feel his heart beating against her breast that was pressed so tightly against his chest. He smelled of woodsmoke and she liked it. His mouth tasted of tobacco and she liked that, too.

They separated to look into each other’s eyes. She found his face different from the way she remembered it. It was younger, happier. Gone was the stern, arrogant expression it had worn the night on the raft. His dark eyes ranged over her upraised face. She wanted his lips again; desperately wanted the sweet ecstasy of their possession. And when their lips met in joint seeking and need this time, she answered his demand by rising on her toes to press her mouth hungrily to his. Nothing had ever stirred her so. She wanted to give every inch of herself to comfort him, to satisfy his hunger. His hands roamed over her, caressing every inch of her back and sides. The long fingers of one hand cupped her round breast while his other hand shaped itself over her lean buttocks and held her to him. His hands, lips, and body were consuming her.