Winter Hearts (12 page)

In a roundabout way, Sam was asked his age and family circumstances, why he was out there on the prairie, and what he thought of Chandler. To the former questions he gave the same answers he’d given Luke. To the latter he said, “He’s a good man.” Sam spoke firmly while looking Morley straight in the eyes. “He took me in out of a storm, and he’s helping me make the needed improvements to my property. I’m not a farmer. I’ve read about farming, but that’s about all. I couldn’t manage without Mr. Chandler.”

“We’ll have to find Mr. Chandler a wife.” Clara smiled. “That might cheer him up a little. Mr. Morley tells me he is a very dour man, though I’ve never met him.”

“A wife will do the trick. He’s a good-looking enough man, and he seems hardworking,” Morley said.

If he were here listening to this, Luke would have punched Morley.

“Papa?” The younger girl, Veronica, was asking permission to speak. Morley turned to her and nodded. “I heard the new schoolteacher coming to De Smet next month is a widow in her thirties. Mr. Chandler might be a good match for her.”

A fork loaded with ham in his hand, Morley said, “We’ll have to make sure we get them together.” He stuffed the food into his mouth, speaking with his mouth full—another sign that he was not Brahmin class. “It’s not natural for a man to live without a wife.” Morley looked directly at Sam as he said it. “It can make a man strange.”

Surreptitiously Sam glanced at the grandfather clock, wondering when he could reasonably excuse himself. He hated them talking about Luke, calling him dour and unnatural, suggesting he marry a widowed schoolteacher. Relief flooded him when the meal was eaten and Clara stood up. He got quickly to his feet. From early he’d been taught that when a lady is standing, a gentleman stands also. His good manners were not lost on the family, though they had no idea Sam was hoping it was his cue to leave.

“Please sit down, Mr. Smith, while Josephine gets dessert.”

Dessert. God save me.

The young woman rose elegantly and went to the kitchen. When she returned, she carried a beautiful frosted cake on a crystal cake stand. “Josephine baked the cake herself,” Mrs. Morley announced. “You serve it, Josephine.”

With all eyes on her, the girl’s cheeks flushed pink, and her hands shook a little, though looking at her closely, Sam suspected it was anger and not embarrassment making her nervous. She nearly dropped the first slice as she attempted to lift it onto a plate. Sam rose. “Let me help you, Miss Josephine.”

“Thank you,” she muttered. She cut four more slices, and Sam served them onto the plates while Mrs. Morley smiled her delight at the interaction.

The cake was delicious, better than any he’d ever attempted to bake, and Sam made sure to praise it, though he was terrified to encourage the family to think of him as a suitor. “How did you make it so light, Miss Josephine?” They had no idea he was looking for tips so he could bake a cake for Luke.

“I sifted the flour several times, and I beat it really well.” Though her tone was a little snippy, the Morleys looked pleased at Sam’s interest, but Mr. Morley’s smile was replaced by a frown when Sam went on to ask about the frosting and what was in it that gave it that special tang.

“Sour cream,” Josephine said and described the method under further questioning from Sam, who smiled.
She’s no more interested in me than I am in her.

When at last the meal was over, he was looking for the right words to thank them and bid them good-bye, when Morley said, “Let’s have a cigar on the porch, Sam.” He winked at Sam before saying, “Clara doesn’t hold with smoking in the house.”

“My mother doesn’t either,” Sam said, but failed to add that they had a smoking room at his parents’ mansion.

“That’s right. You men go outside while the girls help me clean up.” Mrs. Morley smiled again. She hadn’t stopped smiling at him since they’d met outside church. At this point Sam was beginning to feel like a rabbit—baited and snared.

Outside, Pip, hitched to the garden fence, snorted, getting antsy when he saw his master. Morley gestured for Sam to sit. Though Sam desperately wanted to leave, he felt he had no choice but to join him for a minute or two.

“I don’t smoke, sir,” he said when Morley handed him a cigar.

“You don’t? Nothing wrong with a man smoking now and then. Now tell me about your family, Sam.”

“I already told you, sir.” He’d told the same lie about his father working in a tannery and himself working in a hotel.

Morley nodded, puffing on his cigar smugly as if he knew something Sam didn’t. “We lived in Boston before we moved to De Smet. I was the mayor of Newburyport for a term, and I can spot a Boston Brahmin accent when I hear one, even if you are trying to disguise it. What are you doing farming in Dakota Territory?”

When Sam had told his parents his plans, his father had said,
“No matter where you go, your past always follows you.”
He was right.

“I want to make my own way, and anyway, I’m a distant relative. My family doesn’t have that kind of money,” Sam lied.

“But you have the breeding. Your manners impressed my wife very much. And you have connections, no matter how distant. That counts for something,” Morley said.

Rising decisively, Sam said, “Thank you for your hospitality, sir, but I really must get back. I have to start planting tomorrow.”

The women were called outside to bid him good-bye. Sam bowed to each in turn, praising the cake again, which pleased them all immensely. “You will come again soon, won’t you, Mr. Smith?” Clara asked.

“You’re very kind to offer, ma’am. But I’ll have a lot of work to do on my quarter section from now on. I may even need to work on the Lord’s day after church.”

They stood on the porch to wave while Morley walked him to his horse. “That’s a good quality Morgan.” Morley approved, patting Pip’s nose. “Must have cost a pretty penny. Are you sure your father works in a tannery?”

Luke had believed the story readily enough, but Morley obviously didn’t. Sam didn’t answer. He wasn’t a good liar, and he didn’t want to become one.

“Son.”

Sam faced him, waiting.

“Some men act strange when they get lonely out here, and some are just strange anyway. You be careful of Chandler. I didn’t like the way he touched you. You’re a good-looking young man. You have to watch yourself around some men.”

Growing angry, Sam said, “Mr. Morley, Luke has never done anything inappropriate to me. I hope you won’t spread gossip about him. He’s been good to me.”

“No, no. Don’t you worry about that.” Morley slapped him on the back. “I’d never say a thing that might reflect on you.”

Sam mounted and rode off, still furious at the remarks Morley had made about Luke. He would not accept a second invitation, but despite what Morley had just said, he knew the man’s not gossiping about Luke was contingent on Sam’s showing an interest in one of his daughters.

The ride home gave him chance to calm down watching the beautiful wide-open prairie, still green at that time of year. As summer wore on, the grass would grow waist-high, turning as golden as straw.

From a distance he saw Luke outside the shanty. His heart soared with excitement. Just the sight of his man made his belly flip and his cock grow hard. He wanted to drag him into the shanty and fuck him, on the bed, on the floor, anywhere. But Pip must be tended to first. He dug his heels into Pip’s sides, making the horse gallop the last half mile. Sam rode him straight into the barn, unsaddled him, and let him wander out over to the water trough.

Luke was digging a large patch of ground near the shanty, and he’d taken his shirt off to work. “It’s Sunday. You’re supposed to rest,” Sam called out.

Even in the cool breeze, sweat dripped from Luke’s forehead. He’d been shaving every day since Sam had arrived, but he had a day’s growth on his face today, which Sam found very arousing. He loved the way it scraped his smooth cheeks when Luke kissed him.

Luke stood upright, wedging his spade in the ground. “A vegetable garden won’t dig itself. Anyway, what are you doing here? You’ve got your own land and your own shanty. Just because you’ve been sleeping here at night doesn’t mean I want to see your face every day.”

Sam smiled and licked his lips. “Let’s go inside.” A scan of the prairie told him there wasn’t a soul in sight, but he still didn’t dare throw himself at Luke as he wanted to.

“I’m working,” Luke told him.

“Then I’ll have to suck your cock out here.” He reached for the buttons on Luke’s crotch.

Eyes wide with sudden fear, Luke looked around. “What did I tell you, boy?”

“Let’s go inside, then,” Sam said, enjoying the power of being in charge for a moment. When Luke didn’t move, he shoved him in the chest with both hands. Grinning, Luke shoved him back, but being the stronger man, he knocked Sam on his ass.

“That’s it. You’re done!” Sam scrambled up and lunged at Luke’s ankles, felling him in the freshly dug dirt of his vegetable garden. In a second Sam was straddling Luke’s chest. He leaned down, closing his mouth over Luke’s.

A hand on his chest stopped him. “Get inside, or I’ll kick your ass, boy.” But there was a twinkle in Luke’s eye when he said it.

“You’ve threatened me with a wooden spoon and now an ass kicking. You’re all talk, big man.” The tension between them was rising by the second. Sam was so aroused he could have spent in his trousers right then. Still straddling Luke’s chest, he felt behind him, grabbing the other man’s crotch. Luke was as aroused as he was.

Suddenly Luke arched his back, throwing Sam off. In a second Luke was on his feet. He grabbed Sam around the waist with both his strong arms, lifted him off the ground, and carried him inside, kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot. Luke crossed the small shanty in nine or ten fast strides and then tossed Sam onto the bed, where he sprawled. Both panting, they looked at each other. Luke’s beautiful blue eyes were bright with excitement as he kicked off his boots.

“Take me,” Sam said. “Make me yours. Force me.”

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Luke unbuttoned his trousers and dropped them on the floor. Naked in the bright afternoon sun shining through the window and with fresh dirt stuck to his back with sweat, he was so handsome and sure of himself. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The tension broke when Luke grabbed Sam by the arm, forcing him over onto his belly on the bed. With his knee on the small of Sam’s back, he reached underneath him, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers with one hand. Still pinning Sam down, he yanked his trousers down to his calves and then straddled his thighs. More aroused than he’d ever been in his life, Sam began to struggle. Without wasting a second, Luke grabbed his arms, pinning them together behind his back. Sam heard Luke spit into his hand and knew what was coming. When he felt the tip of Luke’s cock touch his ass, he cried out. Luke pushed hard, forcing his way in. Still Sam struggled to get his hands free, but the more he struggled, the tighter Luke held him in place, riding him, fucking him harder and harder.

There was a fine line between pain and pleasure, and the two mingled. The fucking made Sam’s cock rub against the quilt. The fact that he couldn’t move, his ass filled with Luke’s cock, his body overpowered by Luke, made his pleasure all the greater when his juice spilled out. Every part of his body was engulfed in waves of gratification that seemed to keep on coming. Still he was aware of Luke fucking harder and faster, a sign that his satisfaction was near. For an instant Luke went completely still; then he pumped for another minute before falling, gasping onto Sam’s back.

Luke’s greater weight pressing him down into the bed enhanced the sensation still rippling through Sam’s body. His man owned him in that moment. “I love you, Luke,” he said very quietly.

No answer came from Luke. Sam didn’t really expect him to respond in kind, but he wished he would. At length Luke rolled off his back.

Sam sat up, looking at his semen on Luke’s wedding quilt together with the dirt that had scattered. Luke looked at the mess and smiled. “Was it good?”

“Yes.” Sam pulled his trousers up. “I’ll clean that up. But I should give the quilt a good wash and an outside airing with the messes we made on it over the winter. Did you eat dinner? I bet you didn’t.”

“No. I was waiting for you to make supper. Food tastes better when you make it.”

Sam’s heart soared. Proud and happy, he set about making supper for Luke. He wasn’t hungry after the big dinner he’d eaten, but he sat down with Luke, enjoying watching him eat hungrily. “Do you like cake?”

Looking up from his plate, Luke said, “I don’t have it very often, but sure.”

“I’ll think of a good recipe and make one for you.”

“That’d be nice.” Luke smiled. “Your letters fell out of your pocket onto the bed.” He pointed. Sam retrieved them and put them on the table. “Who’re they from?”

“One’s from my grandmother. One’s from my folks.” He didn’t normally refer to his parents as his folks. He picked up Courtland’s letter. “This one is from a boy I knew. We were sweethearts for a while.” Having no interest in reading it, he tossed it back onto the table.

“In Boston?” Luke asked.

Sam nodded.

“Aren’t you going to read your letters?”

He didn’t need to open them to know what they said. His grandmother would be asking why he’d broken his parents’ hearts. His mother would be begging him to see sense and come home to take up his responsibilities as the heir to the Porter-Smith fortune. Courtland would be declaring his undying love for the hundredth time and asking what he’d done wrong. Sam had ended the courtship as kindly as he could, and now Courtland needed to have some pride and find himself someone else.

He shrugged. “I know what’s in them.”

Luke finished eating and sat back. “I got my vegetable garden dug. It will need to be planted soon. You need to do yours as soon as you can too so you can put some food up for next winter. I’m going to start planting my wheat tomorrow. Do you want to do what we planned? Plant my crop first and then yours? That way I can show you how.”

Feeling cockier than usual, Sam said, “No, I think I can manage my own planting. I’ll do it. I’ve got that new plow I brought out with me. I should be fine.”