The Heavenly Surrender (22 page)

“No,” she assured him, snatching her hand from his shoulder. He began to chuckle then, and she watched him roll over onto his back once more. His eyes were moist with amusement when he looked at her.

He chuckled and whispered, “I thought yar mother would faint dead away right there at the supper table this evenin’.”

Genieva grinned, delighted that he too was thinking of the incident.

“Yes,” Genieva giggled softly. She covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, trying to keep from making too much noise. “But it was a terrible thing to do to her, Brevan,” she whispered—an attempt at an obligatory scolding.

“Aye. That it was,” he chuckled. Genieva was startled as his pillow hit her square in the face before he tucked it beneath his head once more. “Now off to sleep with ya, lass. I’ll not be worth a nickel in the mornin’.”



Genieva set a plate heaped with bacon and eggs on the table before Maureen.

“What do you mean?” Genieva asked—though she knew exactly what her sister intimated. It irritated her that her sister was forever preoccupied with men.

“
I mean,” Maureen began, sighing and closing her eyes—a dreamy smile plastered across her pretty face, “when he kisses you, Nieva. Is it…is it just delicious?”

“For pity’s sake, Maureen. That’s not a question you ask someone,” Genieva scolded.

“Oh, but you’re not someone, Nieva. You’re my sister. And I think Brevan McLean is the most attractive and desirable man I have ever seen.” Genieva set a glass of milk before Maureen. She drew in a deep breath—attempting to settle her irritation with her sister. “I mean,” Maureen continued, “how do you keep your hands off of him? If I were you, I’d be in his arms twenty-four hours a day!”

Genieva sighed, entirely exasperated. “There’s work to do here, Maureen. Grow up a bit, will you?”

“No need to get so testy, Nieva. I was only asking.”

“Just eat your breakfast, Maury.” Genieva was quickly remembering another reason she’d found for escaping her family. Though she loved her sister, she’d forgotten what an agonizing nuisance she could be at times.

Leaning against the sink as she watched her sister eat, she shoved the last bite of her own bread and jam into her mouth. The screen door opened, and Brevan entered the house. Genieva rolled her eyes in frustration as her sister immediately leapt from her chair to greet Brevan.

“I had me breakfast before the sun was up today, but thank ya for the invitation.” As Genieva watched in astonishment, Brevan reached over one shoulder, pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it to the floor. “Those bloomin’ pigeons have nested on the barn roof again, Genieva. Little plums aimed their bums right at me when I came out of the barn this mornin’,” he growled. He soaked a cloth under the pump and wrung it out. Handing it to Genieva, he asked, “Will ya be a saint, Genieva, and wipe me back clean of whatever might have soaked through me shirt?”

Taking the cloth he offered, Genieva bit her lip to stop the triumphant grin threatening to control her expression. She had seen the widening of her sister’s eyes as she ogled Brevan when he removed his shirt—her gaping mouth when he’d handed her the cloth.

“There,” Genieva said, dropping the soiled cloth into the sink. “I’ll get you a clean shirt,” she offered.

“No need of it. It’s warm enough to go without today, it is,” Brevan assured her. Genieva felt her heart begin to race wildly as Brevan looked at her, grinning and winking. “I see ya’ve been into Brenna’s strawberry jam again,” he said, placing a hand on either side of Genieva—forcing her to lean back against the sink.

Self-consciously licking one corner of her mouth, Genieva admitted, “Yes.” As Brevan slowly leaned closer to her, she whispered, “Brevan?”

“Ya’ve missed a dab there, Genieva,” he mumbled as his mouth descended upon the opposite corner of her own. As a reflex, her hands went to his shoulders. She pushed gently at him, but he was undaunted. Genieva’s heart began to hammer furiously within her chest as his mouth affixed moist, teasing kisses to the particular area of her face. Raising his head from hers for a moment, he ceremoniously moistened his lips and moaned, “Mmmmmm. My mistake, Genieva. ’Tis the cherry jelly ya’ve been into.”

“Brevan,” Genieva whispered, shaking her head as his descended once more. But as his mouth took hers, this time in a ravenously passionate kiss, all thoughts of deterring him were obliterated as the taste and feel of him consumed her senses. Brevan gathered Genieva fiercely into his arms, pulling her tightly against him as her own arms slipped around his body. Not even the sound of her mother’s horrified gasp upon entering the room and catching sight of them could distract her—for she was lost in the moist, sweet flavor of his mouth as they kissed.

“Genieva Loretta Bankmans!” her mother exclaimed. “Evert! Oh, Evert! Look at that!”

As Brevan’s mouth worked, enkindling Genieva’s to meet his demanding, passionate kiss, Maureen’s words kept echoing through Genieva’s mind. “When he kisses you, Nieva...Is it...is it just delicious?” It was
delicious! So profoundly delicious that Genieva thought she might never quench her thirst for it!

“Genieva!” her mother screeched once more. “Stop that at once! Such behavior…and in front of your sweet, innocent sister! For pity’s sake, cover your eyes, Maureen.”

The piercing sound of her mother’s dramatics intruded upon the luscious kiss. Genieva pulled her lips from Brevan’s, feeling ashamed somehow for having reveled in his kiss so deeply. She guiltily cast her gaze downward, feeling her mother’s disapproving stare from across the room. Yet Brevan took her chin firmly in one hand, raising her face toward his. His piercing gaze was fixated on hers—though he spoke to her mother.

“Ya’ll be excusin’ me, Mrs. Bankmans…but I wasn’t finished kissin’ me wife,” he rather growled. With one last lingering, fiercely applied kiss, he rendered Genieva weak and helpless once more. He released her, squinting a wink of triumph at her just before he turned away.

As she noted her mother’s expression at having witnessed Brevan bare from the waist up, Genieva bit her lip to conceal the delighted grin begging to spread across her face. She stifled a giggle when Abigail began fanning herself rapidly with one hand—the other dramatically clutching her bosom.

“He seems to treat our daughter well, Abigail,” her father corrected as he went to stand before Genieva. Taking both her hands in his, he said to her, “I forgive you, Genieva. It shall take me some time to accept this situation, perhaps…but I have forgiven you.”

“Mercy, Evert,” her mother interrupted. “What’s done is done. Let’s get on with our lives. And let’s get back to some semblance of civilization. Mercy,” she sighed. “Squeaky beds, bare men, public displays of affection. I’m near to smothering in rural life.” She fanned herself dramatically, and Genieva smiled. For all her petty ways, she loved her mother and ever found her theatrical reactions entertaining.



After Genieva had served her family a hearty farm-sized breakfast, she stood with Brevan on the front porch waving as Evert, Abigail, and Maureen Bankmans rode away in their rented wagon.

“We’ll visit, Genieva,” her father had promised. “We love you, and we want to visit again. Though not for long, mind you.”

Maureen waved frantically from the wagon as it lurched away, calling, “Write to me, Nieva!”

“I will. You, too,” Genieva called in return. She was surprised by the small pang of regret she felt at seeing them leave—for she did love them—no matter how shallow they were.

“Don’t lose complete sight of propriety, darling!” her mother called, waving the handkerchief she’d been using to dab at her eyes. “Remember, I raised you to be a lady.”

Genieva nodded and waved.

Her mother began weeping profusely as Brevan called out, “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll look after her, I will.”

As Genieva watched the wagon move further and further away, a great and lonely anxiety began to settle in her bosom. Her family had found her—they had forgiven her, and they had gone. Things would return to their normal routine, and Brevan would no longer feel obligated to help create the illusion of a man and woman excessively in love.

“F-for pretending,” was all she could say. When he only stood looking at her, she added, “I know it was a great sacrifice for you. Spending a night on the floor alone constitutes a gallant act…and your being wounded to boot. I-I just wanted to thank you. I had no right whatsoever to ask you to pretend…”

“Ya didn’t ask me, lass,” he interrupted. He returned to her, took her shoulders firmly in hand, and said, “They’re lookin’ back, Genieva. One last performance for yar mother this be.” Genieva’s heart swelled as his delicious kiss was hers one last time.

As he pulled her into his arms and against his powerful body, she relinquished all her resolve to resist him—entirely surrendered to the need to receive and respond to his masterful affections. His kiss was long, deep, and driven. When he released her, she stood weakened, shy, and unable to look at him.

“I’ll be in for lunch at noon, Genieva,” he said. He turned and left her then.

Turning to throw one final wave to her departing family, Genieva saw that the wagon was no longer in sight. In fact, her common sense told her it had most likely been some time since her father would’ve turned the wagon north. It would’ve been impossible for her family to have seen Brevan kissing her.

Quickly, she looked to Brevan. He paused, smiling victoriously. Arching one handsome brow, he chuckled before continuing toward the orchards. Genieva bit her lip, delighted as she realized the kiss they had only just shared had not been for her family’s benefit.



As she went about her chores later in the day, Genieva found herself preoccupied with thinking on what had transpired over the last two days. She and Brevan had gone from lugging pail after endless pail of water to the plants to dancing in the rain. Brevan had been injured when Cruz had stabbed him. Genieva’s family had found her, and things had been somewhat mended between them all. Furthermore, she had spent a night in the same room with Brevan and been favored with his affections. She shook her head, wondering in that moment at the drastic change of venue her life had taken. If only Brevan could truly care for her, she knew she would be the happiest woman alive.

Genieva glanced up—watched a wagon pull up in front of the house. She recognized Mrs. Wilburn as the woman nearly leapt down from it.

Running up the front porch steps, Mrs. Wilburn cried, “Is anyone home? Mr. McLean? Are you there?” Genieva set the bag of chicken feed down on top of a barrel sitting nearby and hurried toward the house. She stepped up behind Mrs. Wilburn in time to see Brevan answer the door as he stuffed a piece of bread and jam into his mouth.

“Mrs. Wilburn?” he greeted, his voice muffled by the food he fought to chew and swallow quickly.

“Oh, Mr. McLean!” the woman began. Genieva could see she was frantic—for her face was tear-stained, and her hands mercilessly wrung her apron. “I’m sorry to bother you…but is…is Mrs. McLean…your brother’s wife…would she happen to be here with you?”

“Lita?” Brevan asked. “No. I’ve no notion as to where she is if she’s not at her house.”

“What is it?” Genieva asked, stepping up onto the porch. Mrs. Wilburn whirled about to meet her.

“It’s my Amy,” she stammered, tears spilling from her eyes. “Her time has come, and we’re all alone, you know. I was hopin’ that Mrs. McLean would come home with me and help us.”

Genieva smiled at the distraught woman. “I’ll
come with you. Just let me grab a few things. Don’t worry.”

The woman’s relieved smile was pitiful somehow. Genieva knew Mrs. Wilburn was frightened and alone.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Mrs. Wilburn said, going back to the wagon. “Thank you, Mr. McLean,” she added nervously.

Genieva pushed by Brevan as she entered the house, but he caught her arm and turned her to face him. “Ya’ve got yar responsibilities here, ya have,” he growled.