Untamed Journey (29 page)

He cut her off before she could break the
spell. “Don’t worry, my love. I haven’t forgotten my promise.
You’ll still be untouched after this.”

Ruth shook her head as she replied
half-seriously, “After this, I’m not sure I’m still in the virginal
state the church might expect of a lady.”

He laughed openly at her comment. “Don’t
worry, my dear. I won’t hold it against you on our wedding
night.”

Ruth did her best not to smile at his
arrogance, but felt entirely too good to hold back.

Jackson grinned back as he stood before her,
naked and fully aroused.

“You’re amazing, Ruth. I’ve never known a
woman who responds to my touch the way you do. I want to give you
more. Will you let me show you?”

Her green eyes widened – faintly shocked that
there was still more to be had. With her body fully flushed with
pleasure, she could not find the will to say no, much less turn her
eyes away from the sight of Jackson before her.

She had seen naked men before, during the
War, when volunteering at the local make-shift hospital. But that
experience had not prepared her for the full six feet of muscled
strength before her – fully aroused, healthy, and unable to take
his eyes off her, lying in the grass.

He let Ruth look her fill before kneeling at
her side. He gently brushed her tousled hair behind her ears before
placing a gentle kiss on her parted lips. “Touch me if you’d
like.”

Her startled eyes fluttered open, tempted
suddenly by the open invitation.

“Touch me,” he repeated. “Everywhere.”

Jackson took her hesitant hand and placed it
on his chest, hoping silently that he could stand the temptation of
her soft hands slowly stroking his already aroused body. As he felt
her tentative caress explore the strength of his chest, the texture
of his skin, and stroke downward to pass across his stomach,
Jackson sucked in his breath and swore to himself to sit quietly
for as long as Ruth desired to touch him.

She was entranced by the feel of Jackson’s
heat on her sensitized skin, and made brazen by her still
fully-clothed state. She thought idly that she should have been
embarrassed, but the chance to fully satisfy her curiosity with a
man she was half in love with was too much to resist. The feel of
her own flushed skin still burning from within drew her hands to
Jackson. When she felt her skin brush against his, her insides
burned deeper. And when she lifted her eyes carefully to watch his
reaction, Ruth realized her power to affect him.

His fully dilated eyes were nearly black,
even in full sunlight, and watched her every movement with the
stealth of a caged animal.

Ruth brazenly stroked just one hand down his
chest, along his side, and paused to cradle his hip and carefully
watch his reaction. She felt his energy flex in response to her
touch and reveled at the power beneath her fingers.

The sight of his body tightening in reaction
had her stroking down further, along his upper thigh, and across
again to flutter over both legs. She deliberately avoided his
phallus, not quite certain she could touch him there and still turn
him away if he demanded everything from her.

The feel of Ruth’s palms resting against his
upper thighs and her delicate fingers stroking tentatively between
his legs was the limit for Jackson. He took her wandering hands
into his and pulled them to his suddenly dry mouth for a safe kiss,
lips to palm.

“It’s my turn now. Turn over,” Jackson
commanded.

He took Ruth into his hands, and carefully
turned her over onto her stomach.

The feel of the cool grass against her fully
heated flesh was surprisingly addictive. And when he slid his warm
body against her backside, she moaned in unexpected pleasure.

Jackson passed his hands up and down the
sides of Ruth’s breasts, over and over, grazing the smooth silk,
until they swelled in response to the cool grass and his burning
fingers. He thrust his naked hips gently against her, rubbing her
hard nipples against the cool ground. He repeated the caress again
and again, until she felt her body grow taut and humid, nearing
fulfillment as she was stroked in unison by Jackson’s muscled
warmth on her backside and the silk of her gown along her swollen
sex.

She reached out for something to touch and
felt his strong hands cover hers in reassurance that she would soon
be satisfied.

When he pulled away from Ruth’s straining
need to sit at her feet, she cried out in protest. Jackson stopped
her from lifting herself up with a gentle but firm caress from her
neck to her feet. He repeated the full body stroke with both hands,
three times, until he felt her settle once again into the rhythm he
chose.

As she settled back down into the grass, he
turned his focus to each part of her body. He took her naked foot
into his hands, setting it against his bare chest as he stroked
each side with his index finger, circling her heel, and finally
caressing along the curve of her toes. Leaving both feet lying
against his chest, he moved in closer to Ruth. He bent her legs at
the knees and parting her thighs until her feet rested on his
shoulders. Repeating his former attention to both feet, he murmured
her name and praised her beauty.

Ruth heard every sweet word but understood
none of it, pleased merely by the sound of Jackson’s deep voice,
and the feel of his hands sliding over her body, from toes to
fingertips. She felt him move his touch across head and scalp,
caressing the silk of her dark hair. When he stroked down her back
to rest on her buttocks, she felt her body move of its own volition
into his touch. When he held his hands perfectly still, her body
responded in kind and pressed up against him, demanding his
touch.

Jackson responded and moved his hands to
graze her upper thighs – first one, then the other. As Ruth’s cries
increased and her body swelled in need, he stroked along the crease
separating her buttocks. He repeated the caress, until minutes
later the silk of her gown was tucked firmly inside her.

Ruth’s essence poured out of her when he
deliberately tugged on the silk, so she could feel every inch slide
out of her. When she felt her lover’s fingers replace the damp silk
inside her body and stroke her rhythmically, her body took over and
thrust fully against the damp earth and Jackson’s touch.

With his left thumb still inside her and her
frantic thrusting pushing against his chest, he reached around the
front of Ruth with his other large hand. With one soft touch, he
brought her to release, crying out his name.

Jackson continued to gently stroke Ruth, as
she calmed her breathing, lying there against the earth in the
setting sun.

As darkness set in, he stood up and reached a
hand down to Ruth.

“Still fully-clothed, as promised,” Jackson
spoke to the flushed Ruth, as he watched her fiddle with her hair
and straighten her mussed clothing.

He quickly dressed himself and then lifted
Ruth up into the saddle. As he mounted his horse and they prepared
to return to the ranch, Jackson looked over his broad shoulder to
stare openly at his fully satisfied woman.

“Tell me, Miss Ruth. Where am I on your list
now?”

J
asper Smith timed
his entry into Fort Lyon carefully, making sure he arrived on
market day. He was able to lose himself effortlessly in the dozens
of people coming and going into the Fort, just another dusty
cowhand passing through.

He’d come here many times before. On one of
his earlier trips, he had made the effort to just sit and watch the
day-to-day activity that took place. He’d met the ancient cobbler
on that trip and made a point of visiting the shoemaker’s tent
whenever he passed through.

The German shoemaker was crotchety and
bitter, with a heavy accent and sour disposition. He didn’t get any
visitors but Smith. But being the only cobbler at the Fort meant
that he knew virtually every man, woman, and child within a hundred
miles. Most folks only owned one pair of boots, so were forced to
wait while the old German made his repairs. Since he mostly mumbled
to himself in his native tongue while practicing his craft, the
town thought he knew only the most basic of English.

But Smith knew better.

The cobbler was a wily sort and enjoyed
knowing the business of those around him. The German made a point
of worsening his English whenever someone visited that he thought
might have something interesting to say. He gathered gossip with no
ill intent – just the quiet satisfaction of knowing more than those
around him.

Smith soon figured out that no one enjoyed
quiet satisfaction nearly as much as an audience for their
cleverness. This formed the basis of his odd friendship with the
German, who always offered a pint of homemade beer to Jasper Smith
when he showed up unannounced. The outlaw quickly invented several
German ancestors. He made them far back enough that he wasn’t
expected to know the language or the land of the shoemaker’s birth.
The invented family was just there to provide an excuse for Smith’s
visits. Barely half a pint into their first beer, the German would
share every tidbit of gossip, juicy and dull alike, with his always
attentive visitor.

Smith might not have been book-smart, but he
recognized the value of information. He never failed to curry the
favor of at least one lonely soul in every town he passed through,
figuring he’d find a use for them sooner or later.

Today was sooner for the unknowing German, as
Smith sidled up to the flap of the cobbler’s tent, calling out his
arrival. “Peter Franz, are you there? Ask me in for a beer.”

The flap of the canvas tent fluttered open to
reveal the wrinkled and sunburned face of the German. He didn’t
smile at the sight of his only friend. He never did. He merely
greeted Smith with a strong slap to the back.

The cobbler motioned for Smith to take a seat
at his makeshift work table – a collection of empty whiskey barrels
topped with sheets of lumber. The table was set up next to the
tent, under the dubious protection of an oilskin tarp strapped
between two small pines.

“Old man, when are you going to move out of
this pig sty?” Smith asked, as he took a seat on a muddy whiskey
barrel. “You work seven days a week, charge double what the best
whores in San Francisco get, and still live like a ratty Injun.
Snow’s coming any day now.”

The unperturbed German set down two glasses
brimming with his home brew, and replied in barely-accented
English, “The day I buy a decent house is the day the women of this
town will start seeing me as a decent man. And before I know it,
they’ll be lining up at my shiny new door offering themselves up
for a proper wedding.”

Franz took a long swallow, unmindful of the
brackish water dripping through the weakening seams of his
makeshift roof. “I’m staying right here.”

Smith laughed in genuine mirth at the thought
of the surly German – who looked to be one hundred if he were a day
– overrun with prospective brides.

“Old man, the day you catch yourself a woman
in a town with a dozen men for every sorry excuse for a female is
the day I take up an honest living.”

Franz snorted and poured them both a second
round.

Smith wasn’t sure if the grunt was for the
vision of Smith plying an honest trade, or the cobbler’s own
prospects of seeing another naked female in this lifetime.

Smith took a long swallow of the German’s
home brew before getting down to business. “Speaking of brides, my
old friend, I’m looking for one.”

The normally stoic German choked on a
mouthful of beer at the news. “You want to be married?”

Smith laughed out loud at the thought. “Hell
no,” he swore. “I had me a wife once, and I never liked her so much
as after she was dead in the ground.”

He swiped his dusty sleeve across his mouth,
taking a moment to decide how much to reveal to the clever German.
“I’m looking for another man’s wife. I got no interest in her
myself. It’s just a job. She was on her way to get hitched when her
train was set upon by outlaws.”

“I heard about that,” the German said. “Funny
how train travel became more dangerous since talk of that new spur
line started. I seem to recall your boss man trying to talk the
railroad chiefs into buying up his land for that spur line.”

Smith wasn’t sure what, if anything, the
German knew. But he’d be damned if he’d be tricked into revealing
his own crimes. “Some son of a senator got that land contract. My
boss has taken up farming. And he’s starting up a family while he’s
at it.”

“Ah, so it is Masterson who is missing the
wife?” Franz concluded.

Smith nodded. “Masterson went looking for the
girl, to rescue her after that terrible train robbery. But she was
nowhere to be found. Near as I can figure, she got scared and
joined up with some of her fellow travelers. I think she was headed
this way, maybe trying to find a way back East.”

“Of course,” the cobbler said. “You’d be
surprised at the number of ladies passing through our little Fort
these days.”

“What do you know?” Smith tried in vain to
keep the anxiousness out of his voice, but the Germen was adept at
listening, it being his only pastime aside from beer making.

“I don’t know anything. But I hear quite a
lot. For example, I know the first lieutenant is marrying his
second cousin in three weeks’ time. He ordered himself a brand new
pair of dress boots just the other day. And the lieutenant’s woman
brought along two younger sisters for a nice long visit, to find
husbands nearby. But those wouldn’t be the ladies you want.”

Franz scratched his balding head. “There’s at
least a half dozen new fancy ladies working in town since you were
here last. And a trapper’s fourteen-year-old daughter was brought
to town for the first time three days past. And I can’t forget
–.”