Jane Bonander (23 page)

Expecting him any moment, she went to the kitchen and checked the stew, slid the biscuits into the oven, then squinted out into the darkness again. Nothing. She tried not to worry. After all, he was a grown man, and even though he hadn’t been here for many years, he knew the country well. He’d been all over the world, for heaven’s sake. He was the most capable man she’d ever known. Yet …

Nervous and anxious, needing to occupy herself, she pulled out ingredients for molasses cookies and stirred up a batch. When the biscuits were brown, she placed them on the back of the stove and covered them with a cloth, then began baking cookies.

The clock chimed eight, and Libby could contain her panic no longer. Fretfully wringing her hands, she paced the great room, her gaze going to the door frequently, willing Jackson to come through it.

Her imagination went wild. She pictured him lying dead somewhere, the wagon or the horses having crushed him. A brief image of Sean’s broken body shot through her, and she sucked in a gulp of air. And if the horses hadn’t killed her poor husband, perhaps snarling wild animals had torn at his body, dragging him through the snow into the trees.

Anxious and afraid
,
she was unaware that she’d been crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin. Swiping at them with her fingers, she hurried to the door and pulled on a pair of oversized boots. Someone’s jacket hung on a hook, and she shrugged into it, buttoning it hastily as she left the cabin.

The snowfall was heavier now, obliterating not only the tracks they’d made earlier, but the entire road. She forced a calm through the wedge of panic that screamed through her, trying to listen for him, praying for his safe return. She wanted to search for him, but it was dark, and she was completely unfamiliar with the landscape. As anxious as she was to do something, she knew it was sensible to do nothing. Getting herself lost would do him no good at all.

She held her breath.
There.
She heard a rustling in the trees, beyond the extended porch that jutted out from the side of the cabin. But …She put her hand to her mouth.

The road wasn’t there; it was …Her frantic gaze roamed the darkness. The road was there, she thought, straight out from the door.

Suddenly a series of sharp barks returned her attention to the wooden deck and she froze, unable to move. The barking and yelping seemed to close in on her, and from the trees she heard an eerie, mournful howling, the sound sending shivers of fear over her skin.

Willing herself to move, she stumbled into the cabin and sagged against the door, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

“Oh, Jackson,” she murmured, unable to quell her fears, “where are you?”

All of a sudden she heard a gunshot. Then another. Throwing open the door, she squinted out into the darkness.

“Jackson?”

“It’s me, Libby,” came the answer.

“Jackson!”

With tears of relief and anger tracking her cheeks, she nearly stumbled down the steps as she ran to meet him. “Where have you been? You had me worried
sick.”

He hopped from the wagon. “I’m sorry. I guess I lost track of time—”

She took a swing at him. “How dare you scare me like this? How
dare
you!” She hit him again, her fist pummeling his chest.

He caught her to him, and she slumped in his arms, relieved that he was here and that he was all right.

“Come on,” he urged, helping her to the cabin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. It was thoughtless of me to leave you here alone after dark, especially when you’ve never been here before.”

She sniffled. “Th-there were coyotes.”

“I know. I think my shots scared them off.”

He removed his jacket and his boots, then helped her with the coat. He drew her to a chair, gently pushed her into it, and pulled off her boots. He rubbed her feet, then her hands.

“I thought something had happened to you.” She gazed into his beautiful face and started to cry. “Oh, God, I thought something awful had happened to you!”

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her face. “I didn’t know you cared.”

She pushed his hand away. “Of course I care, you fool.”

He chuckled. “Now you sound like the Libby I remember. Feeling all right now?”

She expelled a shuddery breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again.”

He lifted his head and sniffed. “Smells good in here. Do you want me to get you some supper?”

Feeling better, she shook her head and stood up. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine now. Go wash up.”

By the time he returned
,
everything was ready, and she was ladling stew into bowls. He held her chair as she slid into it, then took a seat across from her. His eyes were warm and filled with regret. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Libby.”

She gave him a watery smile. “I don’t know why I panicked so. Probably because I expected you to return before dark.”

“It gets dark early up here; the sun drops behind the mountains quickly.”

As they ate their dinner in silence, Libby realized that they were in the ideal place for a honeymoon: a secluded mountain cabin. Oddly enough, it was the first time they had ever been totally and completely alone together.

F
rom his bed Jackson listened to the sounds of the distant coyotes and stared at the dark ceiling. What a different Libby had emerged tonight. He wouldn’t have purposely frightened her for the world, but her reaction when she thought something had happened to him filled him with hope. He thought of the baby growing inside her, and he cursed himself for worrying her so. It had been thoughtless. He could never have forgiven himself if something had happened to her while he was out.

The baby.
His baby. He felt a swelling happiness at the thought of having another child. And because it was growing inside his wife—his fiery, feisty Libby—he was euphoric. Did that mean he loved her? He didn’t know, but the idea was no longer alien to him.

The coyotes continued to howl. They weren’t far away; in fact, they sounded closer now. That wasn’t unusual, but he wondered if Libby could sleep through such eerie sounds.

Feeling a chill in the air, he slid from the bed and padded to the great room to stoke up the fire.

“Jackson?”

Not entirely surprised that she was awake, he turned. She stood in the doorway, wearing the soft white nightgown with the high prudish collar. In spite of that, she didn’t look prudish at all. She looked seductive, and he couldn’t deny he was tempted.

“Did I wake you?”

She shook her head as she moved toward him. “No. It’s the coyotes.”

“I thought they might bother you.” He returned to the fire.

“I couldn’t sleep. I—” She gasped. “Oh, I’ve never noticed the scars on your back.”

“Battle wounds,” he murmured, suddenly remembering how he’d gotten each and every one. He hoisted a log and dropped it onto the fire.

She touched his shoulder blade. “Oh, my. This one’s so deep.”

“And puckered. What color is it now? I don’t get much of a chance to look at it.”

“It’s white. White and kind of … kind of shiny.”

Her fingers traced it, and he closed his eyes, savoring her gentle touch. “It used to be pink. Before that it was an angry red.”

“How did you get it?” Her voice was tender, concerned.

“Some Aussie madman sliced me with a knife.”

“In one of your wars?”

He chuckled. “I’d like you to think so, but I got that one in a bar fight.”

Her fingers moved over his back in Braille-like fashion. He found it necessary to clench his jaw, for the desire to expel a sigh of pleasure was overwhelming. “And this one?” She stopped at his waist, near his spine.

“Got gouged there by a Turk.”

“In another bar fight?” Her voice held a smile.

“No,” he answered, pretending to be offended.

She was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. It could have been a very serious wound. I didn’t mean to make light of it. Did you get it in a battle?”

“Sort of,” he hedged.

“Sort of?”

“We were fighting because he thought I was ogling his woman.”

She laughed softly behind him. “And were you?”

“Damn right. It isn’t often that a man sees a woman pick up coins from the top of a bar with her …um …” He felt himself color.

“Her what?”

“It isn’t the thing to say in mixed company.”

“But I’m your wife,” she urged, her fingers lingering on his skin.

His wife. God, how those words filled him with joy. Her touch was excruciating pleasure, if there ever was such a thing. “You’d probably be offended.”

“Then clean it up for me,” she suggested. “Please.”

He jabbed the poker into the fire, fussing with the logs. Ah, what the hell. She knew he wasn’t perfect. “She could pick up coins off a bar with her—” He coughed, uncomfortable. “With her breasts by leaning over and pushing them together.”

“Oh, my,” Libby said with a pretty laugh. “Do people really do such things in public?”

He turned and found her eyes sparkling. “You mean you might be tempted to do it in private?”

Laughing again
,
she swatted him. “No. I mean I can’t imagine a woman actually doing something so outrageous.”

He touched her cheek. Her trembling beneath his fingers forced him to remove them. He turned back to the fire.

“You’d be surprised what women in other parts of the world will do for money. Or in this part of the world, for that matter.”

“I guess I’m pretty innocent,” she answered.

He lowered himself to the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, his forearms dangling over his knees.

“Are you staying up for a while?”

He nodded. “Go on to bed, Libby. If you leave the door open, it’ll warm up some in there.” He could warm her up, but she probably wouldn’t be amenable to the suggestion.

She hovered nearby. “I could keep you company.”

He uttered a harsh laugh. “You don’t have to do me any favors.”

Releasing a sigh, she announced, “Jackson, I have to talk to you.” She took a seat beside him.

He didn’t like her tone, and already knew he’d be dissatisfied with what she had to say. “So say it and get it over with.”

Another sigh. She traced a pattern on the rug. “I can live with a lot of things. I can understand you not … not falling in love with me. I’ve decided I can even live with it. I was stubborn and…and hard-headed and filled with impossible girlish dreams.”

He studied her, intensely interested, but said nothing.

“What I can’t live with is you being unfaithful. And if I don’t—” She coughed and cleared her throat. “I mean, if
we
don’t … well, sleep together, I can’t expect you to be a faithful husband. You promised me a lot of things and were honest with me about the things you couldn’t promise me. I appreciate that, and I can live with it.”

He touched her knee, eliciting a reflexive response. Sure. She could live with it, but could he? He wanted her welcome response, like the night they had first made love. “Are you saying you
want
to sleep with me or that you’re simply willing to do so because you’re afraid I’ll be unfaithful if you don’t?”

“Oh, don’t be dense, Jackson Wolfe,” she muttered, tossing him a frustrated look. “You know good and well I enjoyed it the first time.”

Her fire had returned, and he liked it. But she’d put him through hell, and he didn’t want to make this easy for her. He patted her knee affectionately. “Good. Then we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“In the—” She stood up with a huff. “Fine. I’m sorry I bothered you with something so trivial as the rest of our lives together.”

She started to stomp toward the bedroom, but he grabbed her ankle, tumbling her to the rug. “Come back here.”

Attempting to wriggle away, she thumped his arm with the heel of her free foot. “Let go of me, you mule.”

“Oh, now I’m a mule? How many other barnyard animals are you going to compare me to?”

She squirmed beneath his touch. “Just … just leave me alone.”

“So you’ve changed your mind again?”

“No,” she spat. “But obviously you have.” She wiggled, trying to get free.

He got to his knees and dragged her toward him by both of her ankles, pulling until he could hold her legs behind him with both hands. She glared up at him, sparks of fire in her eyes.

“Now what will you do?” she demanded. “If you try to hold me with both hands, you can’t use either of them.”

He allowed a smirk. “Who says I have to use my hands?”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed with caution. “Now I think I’ve changed my mind.”

He pulled her hips onto his lap, close enough so that she could feel the stiff ridge behind his underwear. Her nightgown had ridden up, and he could see her. His hunger thickened when firelight glistened off her wet curls, because he knew then that she was ready, no matter how much she fought him or what she said. Still, he wouldn’t force her. He simply pressed against her softness, holding them together. Binding them.

She stared up at him from the floor. Although she feigned indifference
,
something else was in her eyes. He waited.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” she murmured.

His answer was more pressure. He glanced at where they joined. Her thighs and belly were white against her luxurious dark brown curls. He remembered how she smelled, how she tasted, and his mouth watered, anticipating another taste, another time. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to think about being inside her.

Talk. Talking would help take his mind off his itch. “The night after the wedding, when you sent me out into the rain—”

“I didn’t,” she argued. “You went of your own free will.”

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious as to where I went?” He applied more pressure, watching her eyes.

She blinked repeatedly, appearing to concentrate. “I … I don’t know any of the bawdy houses in Thief River, nor am I interested in learning where they are.”

“I went to the one between the general store and the millinery shop.” He applied more pressure, aching to rub against her, for she was so wet that the front of his under-drawers was damp.

Her eyes widened. “But … that’s the jail.”

“Exactly.”

“Then … then you didn’t—”

“I didn’t, and I’m sorry I made you believe I would,” he assured her, undulating slightly against her.

“And you haven’t—”

“I haven’t.” He kept up the movement. “I will be a faithful husband, Libby, because I want to be.”

He knew the moment she began to change. Her sweet mouth opened; her breathing became faster, more erratic. She made little sounds in her throat. Her eyes were dark with passion, heavy-lidded with imminent ecstasy. He almost spent just watching her.

“J-Jackson …” Her voice caught, and she closed her eyes, her pelvis surging toward him and her legs squeezing his waist. She reached for him but couldn’t touch him.

As she stiffened and climaxed, he watched her rapture and knew a fulfillment he couldn’t explain. When she went limp, he slid her to the rug, moved his hands up her hips, and gazed at the beauty of her, all damp, swollen, and satisfied.

His gaze went to her face. She stared at him through heavy lids, her cheeks flushed.

“That was a dirty trick.”

Giving her a lopsided smile, he answered, “I know. I’m full of them.”

Although her nightgown was pushed to her neck, she didn’t attempt to cover herself. His hand wandered toward her breasts, and she held his gaze. “Thanks for the warning.”

His fingertips touched a turgid nipple and he grinned again. “Shall I tell you how much I loved watching you come?”

She made a satisfied sound in her throat as he dragged his rough palm over her nipple. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, moving restlessly, “I can feel that all the way down here.” She briefly touched herself.

“So can I.”

She looked at the tent his underwear made over his groin, then gave him a shy glance. “May I see it?”

Pleased at her boldness, he slid his underwear down his hips and over his erection.

When she touched it, he sucked in a ragged breath.

“It’s big,” she whispered, examining his shaft.

The compliment wasn’t lost on him. Seed leaked from the tip, wetting her fingers. He called upon all of his strength to keep it from spurting like a fountain.

“Mahalia was right.”

“About what?” He gritted his teeth, attempting to hold back.

“She said any man with thumbs the size of yours has a—”

In spite of his delicious discomfort, he was amused. “A what?”

She flushed. “Has a big … organ.”

He couldn’t stop the laugh. “Mahalia is a wealth of information, isn’t she?”

Libby threaded her fingers through his bush, testing his root from bottom to tip, then from tip to bottom. She put her fingers around it and gave it a gentle squeeze, eliciting from him an exquisite moan.

“I probably shouldn’t do that.”

“Not continuously, anyway,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from wavering.

She gazed at him. “It makes me want you inside me.”

He removed her hand, unbuttoned her gown, and pulled it off over her head. “In due time, dear Libby. In due time.”

He studied her breasts, fighting back the red haze of his hunger. Lowering his head, he sucked one nipple into his mouth causing her to gasp and press him closer. He moved to the other, devouring it, rolling it around and around with his tongue.

Her hands roamed his chest, his back, his stomach, his groin. She rubbed her palm over him, reached under and cradled his sac in her hand.

He swiftly laid her on her back, unable to wait, and drove into her, thrusting deep into her welcoming sheath.

Her legs circled his hips and her arms drew him close. Her nails raked his back as she arched up to meet him. As they sped toward completion, his unbearable ache, the itch that she had caused, became excruciating pleasure, and he kissed her hard and deep, swallowing her cries and making them his own.

She held him tight, and he rolled to his side, bringing her with him.

Tears tracked her cheeks, but her smile was dazzling. She ran her fingers through his hair and stroked his cheek. “Sleep with me.”

It was a quiet request. He would honor it. He began to realize that life with this woman would be different from his life when he wasn’t yet out of his teens. He’d been so wrapped up in his pain over Flicker Feather’s death that he hadn’t realized what their relationship had been lacking.

She’d failed to reach many places inside him. She’d been sweet, passive, and unquestioning. That had been enough … when he was less than twenty.

Libby, on the other hand, had depth and texture and would never settle for less than everything he could give, because she would give back the same.

As they lay in each other’s arms, his fear of the future was suddenly overshadowed by his anticipation of it.

The howling of the coyotes seemed far away, now that she was wrapped in Jackson’s arms. They had made love again on the rug, then had moved to her bed.

Exhausted, they had drifted off to sleep. Now she was awake, not because she was eager to get up but because she didn’t want to waste precious time sleeping when she could be savoring his nearness.

“You awake?” he asked.

She smiled. “I thought you were sleeping.”