Sunset Embrace (15 page)

Picking up a brush, he began to comb through Lucky's thick, deep mane. He had won the horse in a poker game, thus the name. Vance Gentry hadn't known that. He had complimented Ross on saving up enough money to buy the animal. What his father-in-law didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

He would be devastated by news of Victoria's death. Ross had sent a letter to him from a rural mailbox. He wondered how Gentry would react to the news that he had a grandson. Gentry hadn't known about Victorias being pregnant, Ross doubted the man would care about ever seeing the boy since he had made no secret that he thought his daughter had married beneath her. Ross wouldn't be going back to Tennessee. He certainly had no ties there now that Victoria was dead. He would probably never hear from Vance Gentry.

Putting emotional considerations aside and looking strictly on the practical side, it would be to his advantage to marry Lydia. He needed a woman to cook and clean for him. And it would be harder to find someone in Texas who would move out onto his land with him before there was even a cabin to move into. Leaving Lee in town with strangers would be out of the question. He didn't want to be separated from his son even temporarily. No, he needed a woman. Lydia was available.

He could do worse. It wasn't as if she looked like a toad. She was presentable even if her coloring was extravagant and attracted the attention of every man who saw her. Her tongue was as sharp as a razor and her temper testy at times. But most important, she loved Lee. That was a strong point in favor of marrying her. She wasn't someone he had
hired
to care about the baby. She already cared.

From an emotional point of view . . . but there wasn't an emotional point of view, because emotions had no place in this decision. It had to be purely practical.

He hated himself for what had happened that morning. Of course it had meant nothing. It had been a chilly dawn. He had been asleep and couldn't be held accountable for cuddling up with Lydia . , . with
her . , .
like that. He had loved Victoria and would never love that way again.

And what of India's lover, or lovers? Even though he had looked for it when he had clasped her to him last night, he hadn't found any sensuous invitation in her expression. What he had seen in those whiskey-colored eyes was fear. Stark fear, the terror that petrifies an animal caught by a sudden bright light in the darkness. Ross wanted to think the worst of her, but now he wasn't so sure she had had many men. Maybe only one. And he had hurt her.

He cursed. Or was she playing him for a fool? Maybe that frightened expression was only a part of her game to seduce him. Was she a well-trained whore who knew all the tricks of her trade? Did she laugh at him behind his back because she knew he wanted her? Was she ticking off the nights until he succumbed and bedded her? Well, he wasn't going to, by God.

He would never give in to the physical urges that she stirred inside him. Never. He would buy a woman if need be, but he would never sully himself and Victoria's memory by taking that girl.

He could marry her and remain detached. He knew he could. He just wouldn't get too close to her, that's all.

* * *

She was alone when he stepped into the wagon. Her arms were raised over her head as she struggled to twist her hair into a prim knot Pins were sticking out of her mouth when she turned at hearing him enter. He was immediately sorry he had made that snide comment about her hair earlier. But was he sorry because it had been unkind or because she had taken it to heart and was pinning up the riot of curls he had come to like? It was too dangerous a question for him to ask himself.

Hastily she pushed the remaining pins into the collection of hair at her nape and faced him, running her palms down the sides of her skirt.

"I've been thinking it over," he began. His eyes moved from one item in the wagon to another, unable to light, fearful they would stop on her. "Maybe we should consider it."

"Maybe."

Dammit! She was going to start those soft-spoken, short responses that told a man not one goddamn thing about what she was thinking. "Well?"

"I've been thinking too."

Christ! "And?"

She breathed in deeply.
"And
I doa't know how you're going to take care of Lee otherwise."

"That's what I was thinking too." Ross felt his muscles melting into a more relaxed stance. "But I want to make it clear that if either one of us ever want to call it off, we can."

Lydia didn't like that. One reason she was doing this was for security and a feeling of permanence. However, if that were one of his conditions, she would have to agree and then see to it that she never did anything that would cause him to send her packing.

"All right. But I have a condition of my own."

The hussy had nerve. Here he was offering her a way to better herself and she was laying down conditions. "Lets hear it." His head tilted to an arrogant angle that annoyed Lydia.

"Don't you ever hit me or hurt me in any way," she warned, her eyes flashing.

"What do you think I am? A savage? I wouldn't hurt a woman," he cried, highly vexed.

"Then there's no problem, is there?" she shot back;

He cursed, pulling on his hat again and painfully scraping his knuckles on the rough canvas ceiling of the wagon. He was still cursing as he turned to leave. "I'll go tell Ma and Grayson."

Things were already off to a bad beginning.

* * *

The wedding ceremony was set for three o'clock that day, outside if the weather permitted, inside the Coleman wagon if not. Ma saw to it that everyone was invited. She made it sound like a happy occasion to be celebrated by all, building up the sentimental feet that the Lord had provided a wife to take care of Mr. Coleman and Lee after his poor Victoria had been snatched from him. Who said the day of miracles was over? She actually coaxed tears from the eyes of some of the more romantic souls.

Grayson volunteered to go in to town and arrange a license and to fetch the Baptist minister. An hour before three, Ma appeared at the wagon toting several wrapped packages. She handed them to Lydia.

"For you," Ma said proudly.

Lydia stared down at the packages dumbstruck. She could remember getting presents from her mama and papa, but the memories were dim and she didn't know what was fact and what was fantasy.

"For me?" she asked breathlessly.

"Don't know anybody else around here who's gonna be a bride in an hour. Better get started openin' them up."

Hesitantly at first, and then more hurriedly as treasure after treasure was revealed, she plowed through the contents of each package. There were two dresses, two skirts and two shirtwaists, three pairs of pantaloons, two chemises, one nightgown, and two petticoats, along with a pair of black shoes, and three pair of cotton stockings.

"Mr. Coleman bought it all for you. 'Course he sent Anabeth and me after it. Menfolks get as nervous as a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs when they go to buyin' stuff for the ladies." Ma chattered on, deliberately not seeing the tears that clouded the girl's eyes. "Now, I thought this yellow dress would be right pretty for the weddin'."

* * *

At the appointed time, Lydia stepped out onto the tailgate. She shrank back shyly at the crowd gathered in front of the wagon. All eyes were turned to her. But those who had been her accusers that morning were smiling apologetically at her now.

"Come on, Lydia," Ma said gently, tugging on her arm, "Lets get on with this before the rain starts again."

She took the steps down, loving the rustling sound of her new clothes. The undergarments caressed her skin softly. The skirt of her dress swished around her legs. Thank heaven the bodice fit and her bosom didn't bulge out the way it had in Anabeth's dress, though there wasn't much room to spare. The shoes were serviceable, and laced up past her ankles. The new leather squeaked slightly with each step. For a woman with higher standards, the clothes would have been for a work day. To Lydia they were the clothes of a princess.

She searched out Lee to see that he was all right. Anabeth was holding him, his head covered with a light blanket. The Langston children were clustered around their father, strangely somber. Lydia imagined they had been threatened with a thrashing should they act up. Her eyes glided over the crowd. She was too shy to meet individual eyes. When she had run out of things to look at, she looked at Ross.

He was standing grim and ramrod straight. Her heart did a funny flip-flop on seeing him. He looked so handsome. He was still dressed in his work pants, but had put on a white shirt and string tie. The shirt set off his black hair and moustache and tanned face. His eyes were the only trace of color on him, an intense green that shone from under his thick, dark brows.

A weaselly little man with spectacles and a pointed nose, whom Lydia assumed was the preacher, was standing beside him. He smiled at her warmly..

"And here's the bride, so now we can get started. Take your bride's hand, young man," he instructed Ross.

Lydia watched, mesmerized, as Ross's dark hand enfolded hers and placed them both atop a black leather Bible which had magically appeared out of nowhere.

His hand was warm, hot in fact, as it lay on hers. The calluses where his fingers bordered his palm were rough on the back of her hand, but that reality made the whole thing seem less like a dream. She stared at his hand, almost afraid, that if she looked away he would suddenly disappear.

She followed only a few of the words, out apparently. she made the right responses because in an amazingly short span »f time, the preacher was saying, "I now pronounce you man and wife. What God hath joined, let no man put asunder. You may now kiss your bride."

Kiss.' The word echoed off the walls of her brain, ringing through the chambers and growing louder until she thought her head would burst. No one had told her about that.

But she didn't have time to ask Ma if she would have to go through with it because Ross had put his hands gently on her shoulders and was turning her toward him.

She saw his face looming above hers. It seemed huge and blocked out everything else. It came closer, closer. She screwed her eyes closed against the recurring nightmare of a man's face bending over her, cutting off her air with his fetid mouth, suffocating her with a crushing weight.

Then she felt the warm brush of Ross's lips across hers. They lingered but for a heartbeat and then withdrew and it was over.

Leona Watkins, peeking from beneath the canvas of her wagon because she wasn't about to be seen at such a flagrant mocker)' of the institution of marriage, was disappointed. The hypocrites were acting as though they hadn't ever touched flesh to flesh before!

Ma was disappointed. She had hoped for a lengthier kiss, one with more substance.

Bubba Langston lost control of his Adam's apple. It bobbed spasmodically as the front of his breeches filled up. He lapsed into a prayer that no one would notice.

Only Ma's threat of a whipping if he didn't behave himself kept Luke Langston from giggling out loud.

Tears of romanticism came to Anabeth's eyes.

Lydia was wondering how Mr. Coleman's moustache could have tickled not only her lips but the back of her throat and all the way down the center of her body. The place between her thighs
had
grown strangely warm and swollen and moist with the touch of his mouth on hers. She was vaguely disappointed the kiss hadn't lasted longer.

Ross was swearing that he wasn't going to put himself through any more tests. He had convinced himself that he could kiss her unemotionally for the sake of ceremony and curious eyes. Well, now he knew. He couldn't kiss her unemotionally for the sake of anything.

* * *

"It's a shame it started raining so soon afterward."

"Why?"

Lydia sighed. She had hoped that they might have an easier time talking to each other now that they were legally man and wife. But ever since they had returned to their . . . yes,
their , . .
wagon, Mr. Coleman had been acting mad at her
.
Did he already regret marrying her? Well, she hadn't seen anyone holding a shotgun at his back.

"1 got the impression that some of the folks wanted to visit with us, that's all."

He snorted a derisive laugh. "They're just nosy. They came to the wedding for the same reason they go to the circus."

She had wanted to believe that everyone who crowded around her after it was over was glad that she was now Mrs. Coleman, that they accepted her as one of them.

She looked at the bouquet of Sowers she had put in a glass jar. She touched the fragile petals. Mr. Hill had given them to her as he kissed her hand after the ceremony. "Congratulations, Mrs. Coleman. I wish you many years of happiness."

"Thank you, Mr. Hill. The flowers are lovely," she had said.

Now Mr. Coleman seemed bent on ruining all the good feelings she had stored up to savor later. "I don't think they only came to gawk."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

She checked Lee one last time and lay down on the bedroll. Ross had made himself another one on the far side of the wagon, as far away from her as he could get.
I'm not poison,
she had wanted to say to him, but she had held her temper. She was too elated by the events of the day, by her new name, by her new clothes, to fight with him.

"Thank you for the new clothes."

"You're welcome," he said harshly. "I couldn't have you running around in hand-me-downs." He turned out the lantern and she heard him taking off his clothes, then crawling between his own covers.

The rain seemed noisy now that it was quiet. This morning it had sounded comforting as it lullabied them back to sleep. Now it was a sad sound. Lydia felt more lonely than ever, and she knew that if he had chosen to lie beside her, she wouldn't have said anything to change his mind. In the dark she rolled to her side and sought out the shadowy huddle of his body on the other side of the wagon. "Good night . . . Ross."

Why did she choose this moment to speak my name aloud for the first time? And why does it sound like music coming from her mouth?
Ross asked himself. Over the thrumming blood that rushed through his veins to concentrate in his manhood, he could barely hear himself reply, "Good night, Lydia."