Dorothy Garlock (38 page)

He came to the foot of the bed and feasted his eyes on her face. Silently, she held out her arms in welcome. Her lips tilted in a smile and her eyes sparkled with silver glints. Each time he made love to her he felt as if he were worshiping at some sacred place. He knew it was because he had never before gone into a woman with love, or wanted love returned. He felt humble and shy as he moved to the side of the bed and knelt down to pay homage to this precious woman who was his wife. She smiled at him tremulously, and with a quick indrawn breath he drew her to his chest, rocking her comfortingly for a minute before reaching for her mouth and kissing her gently.

Rosalee kissed him back, their lips barely touching. “Come love me,” she whispered.

“I intend to,” he said, his voice was a breathy whisper against her mouth.

He stood and removed his clothes while her eyes loved every muscled inch of his bronze body. When he was completely naked he lifted the sheet, lay down beside her, and drew her atop him. He folded her silken softness into the hardness of his body. She crossed her arms on his chest and propped her chin on them to watch his face. Her hair, like a shimmering waterfall, spilled onto his chest, and he gathered a handful. She watched as he coiled it around his fist, then drew a long strand across his mouth.

“Ah . . . Rosalee, Rosalee, my beautiful, sweet Rosalee,” he murmured. “When I’m with you like this I forget there’s another world out there.” His voice was painfully husky. His lean hard fingers wound themselves through her hair to draw her mouth to his. “My wife, my beloved wife—”

His hands stroked her body, and as her own hunger started to pulsate, she became irritated by the nightgown that kept his hands from her flesh. She raised her head and saw the grin she adored claiming his face.

“What is this bowed and lacy thing you’re wearing? It’s very pretty, but it’s between us.” His fingers plucked at the lace that edged the high neck.

“It’s a nightdress. Mary laid it out for me to wear and I didn’t want to disappoint her.” She giggled. “Mary can be very proper at times. I don’t see any need for it. I don’t need it to keep me warm and you’ve already seen all of me.” She sat up on her heels and drew the soft gauze up over her body, baring her rounded hips, narrow waist, and the firm perfection of her breasts to his dark gaze. She flung the gown over the bed post and shook out her hair.

Logan caught her in his arms and pulled her down atop him again and rolled with her until her slender form was beneath his. In a joyous ardor, her flesh and blood, nurtured by her love for him, responded. She clung to him, lips parted, eyes closed. His kisses were soft at first, then fierce. His mouth was moist and firm and forced hers to open so his tongue could wander her soft inner lips before venturing deeper. His hands were wonderfully gentle, and it seemed that time stretched into the merest gossamer while they traced every nerve and plane of her form, touching her with the gentle control of a lover determined to give as well as receive pleasure.

With a flurry of soft, muttered words, Logan lifted himself between her spread thighs and placed himself on her, touching without thrusting, allowing her impatient movements to propel him to his destination. She wiggled herself nearer to deepen the penetration, arching her back to press her breasts to his chest, and he drove into her steadily and strongly. They moved in the ancient, eternal rhythm that increased in speed and intensity. She answered him joyously, responding at once, making the mating ritual complete. This was love. Their bodies, their beings wordlessly expressing the depths of it with painstaking tenderness and reverence.

The climax of their loving left her whimpering softly. She was speared on the pinnacle of bliss. His rapture rivaled hers, and exhausted, happy, they came reluctantly down from the heights. Logan held her close to him, his arms making her feel safe and cherished.

“It’s not just the meeting of flesh that makes us one,” he whispered. “It’s more than that; our souls, our spirits meet as well as our bodies. We belong together, my love.”

“Yes.” She wiggled free of his arms and pulled his head to her chest. His half open mouth turned to her skin, moist and warm. “This is a small part of eternity that will forever belong only to us,” she told him.

His face was damp. She smoothed the black hair from his forehead in a caressing motion. Gradually, his taut body relaxed, and his mouth nuzzled the rigid nipples on her breasts. She held him like a tired child, clutching him fiercely as if to protect him from all the problems that plagued him. She stroked his head in the maternal motion of a soothing mother and wished she could keep him safe and secure here in her arms forever.

They floated on a lazy cloud of fulfillment. He sought for, and found, her hand, then held it against his cheek. He had not cried since he was a small child, yet he felt something deep within him that could only be tears.

“My sweet love,” he said helplessly. “I hope to God I can keep you safe and happy.”

She heard the anguish in his voice and her arms tightened. And I you, my love.” Her mouth searched and found his.

He could taste the clean sweetness of her flesh under his lips. Gently, with infinite tenderness, his kiss deepened and she opened her mouth to receive it. Once again, a tide of passion bore them far from reality. Her fingers curved around his hard shaft and guided it into the dark, heated cavity of her body. He felt himself throbbing inside her and delighted in the uninhibited pleasure she took in their sweet coupling. She brought to it all the wild joy of aroused womanhood. Some would have called her wanton and utterly shameless, but he knew only searing happiness as each caress lit fresh fires within him. Rosalee reached her peak; and when he felt her incredible contractions encompass him firmly, he soared inexorably to his own heights of ecstasy.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, sated and happy, whispering together. Logan pinched out the candle and nothing existed beyond the charmed circle of their closeness. Her hand caressed his soft, nestled manhood and his hand rested between the warmth of her love-wet thighs. It seemed incredible that there was a shred of desire left in either of them, and yet . . .

*  *  *

Bessie at the saloon in Junction City finished her song, and with a flounce of her skirts made her way between the tightly packed tables, dodging the pinching fingers that reached for her. She glanced at the clock that sat on the backbar in front of the mirror. It was almost midnight.

“Where ’n the hell did they all come from?” she asked the bartender crossly. “And where ’n the hell are they goin’?”

“They come from where they come from, ’n while they’re here it’s our job to git their money.” He set a bottle on the bar. “Take it to that big, black Irishman in the corner ’n collect his coin.”

Bessie picked up the bottle and the bartender swabbed the bar with his grimy cloth and watched her as the Irishman pulled her down on his lap. He grinned and shook his head. Bessie was one woman who could take care of herself.

“Ye be truly a thing of beauty,” the Irishman crooned with his lips to her ear. His voice was slurred, but he was far from drunk. He rubbed his whiskered cheek against hers. He was a huge man with broad shoulders, a deep chest, a glib tongue, and a hot temper. “There be not a bird in all Killarney that’d match his song with your’n. I be tellin’ the truth, now.”

“Colin McCarthy, you’re as full of shit as a young robin! Let go of me ’n drink your whiskey.”

His powerful hand tightened on her arms painfully. “That ain’t all I’m full of! Me balls is ’bout to bust. I tain’t had me no wench in nigh on a month.”

“I’m no whore!” she hissed. “I told you that before.”

“Well, now, so ye did.” His voice softened. “Fergive a blatherin’ Irishman. I tain’t got no sores or nothin’. Jest horny as a ruttin’ stag, I be. Ye be soft ’n smell like a Irish rose. I kin show ye a fine time, me darlin’.”

A glimmer of an idea wiggled into Bessie’s mind. “Are ya sure ya ain’t got not the clap, Colin?”

“Why no, luv,” he protested venomously. “I be clean as a newborn bairn.” His rugged face creased in an innocent smile.

“Well. ” Bessie drew the word out. She tilted her head and looked at him. She’d spent the last ten years in saloons and prided herself on being able to judge a man. She’d bet a month’s pay he had the clap . . . if not something worse. There was vermin in his hair, and she knew it would be in the hair on his body as well. If he’d had a bath during the last five years, she’d be surprised. He smelled as if he’d been lying with something dead! “Well . . .” she said again. “I like you, Colin—”

“Ah . . . Bessie—”

“Ya’d have to be awful quiet. I don’t want no one to know I’m favorin’ you over the others who’ve been after me.”

“Ach, I kin be quiet, lassie. Quiet as a bird on the wing,” he said in a raspy, excited whisper.

“Wait here. I’ll go up and unlatch the upstairs door.” She trailed her fingers across his chest and up to tickle his neck. “My room is in the front next to the stairs. The walls are paper thin up there, so be real quiet; and don’t say a word even when you come in my room. I’ll be on the bed all spread and . . . waitin’,” she whispered huskily. “Go outside. Give me five minutes, then come up and plow me, my ruttin’ bull!” She blew her warm breath in his ear when she slipped off his lap.

Bessie gradually worked her way across the crowded room to the stairs. She could scarcely keep the grin off her face. The means to get even with the uppity bitch had fallen right in her lap! The Irishman would scare the hell out of her if he didn’t give her a dose of clap. Her only worry was that the poor fool could be hanged for rape. But she pushed that thought aside. Miss High-and-Mighty wouldn’t want the stink of being raped tagging her for the rest of her life. She’d keep it quiet, if she could.

There was no light beneath the door of her old room. She tiptoed past it, hugging the opposite wall, and suppressed a giggle. There was no way the Piss-Queen could have locked her door. The doors to the rooms opened out in the hall. The only way to lock them was with a key, and her room had never had one. She went to the outside door at the top of the stairway that clung to the side of the building and was surprised to find it open.

Bessie hurried back to the cubbyhole she’d used since Della had taken her room at the front of the building. She went inside, closed the door, and pressed her ear to it. Soon she heard the click of the outside door as Colin closed it behind him. She marveled that the big man could move so soundlessly. The creaking of the floorboards told her when he passed, and she opened the door a crack to see the dark form pause at the door to her old room, then open it quietly and disappear inside.

Bessie ran lightly down the hallway and then walked slowly down the stairs and into the noisy saloon.

Della sat beside the window of her darkened room and looked down on the street, anxious for the time to pass. The moon had been swallowed by clouds, and darkness was thick outside the circle of light that came from the swinging doors of the saloon below. Occasionally, a drunk staggered from the board porch and, after a try or two, would manage to mount his horse and ride off into the darkness.

Thoughts of Logan Horn had occupied every corner of Della’s mind since their meeting in the livery barn. She recalled again and again every word that passed between them. He had been exactly as she thought he would be; reserved and suspicious of her motives. A sly smile spread across her face. Adam would be furious when he found out she was here; and if he discovered she had taken the Indian to bed, he would be wild with anger. He could be a dangerous man when aroused, but no more so, she thought, than that magnificent savage. Her heart began to pound with excitement. If she were careful, she reasoned, she could have both of them.

A half hour before midnight, she left the chair beside the window and removed her clothes. When she was completely naked she took the pins from her hair and placed them on the table beside the bed. She considered lighting a candle, but decided against it. There was a crack beneath the door and cracks in the board walls. She’d not put it past the saloon woman to spy on her if she had the chance. This was the most dangerously exciting encounter of her life, and she was determined to enjoy it to the fullest. She had never bedded an Indian. In Denver she had enjoyed the diversion of sleeping with a Mexican and a Frenchman, but until now the opportunity to experience the rutting technique of an Indian had not presented itself. Her nerve ends tingled with anticipation.

Della lay down and stretched with her arms high over her head. The cool mountain breeze from the open window fanned her hot body. The sound of singing drifted up from below. The saloon woman was singing a Civil War ballad. Her voice was really quite good, Della thought begrudgingly. When the soft ballad was finished, Bessie raised her voice and sang a lusty tune, much to the delight of the male audience.

“He placed his hand upon my knee.

I said, young man, get next to me.

It’s the hole beneath the naval hole—

Rinky-dinky, dumb-de-dee-o. Oh! Rinky-dinky,

dumb-de-dee-o!”

The men whooped, stomped their feet, and pounded on the tables with glasses and whiskey bottles when she finished the song that contained numerous verses, each one more raunchy than the last. Della felt a sharp stab of envy at the male attention being directed toward the big, brassy woman. Someday, she vowed, she’d have her own saloon. She would be the entertainer and give the men something to really stomp and shout about.

The sound of someone coming up the stairs just outside her bedroom window drew her attention. He was coming! She had had no doubt in her mind that he would keep his promise to come to her. Because of the noise drifting up from below she heard nothing more, but she kept her eyes on the door. There was a soft scratching sound, then it opened quietly. A huge dark shadow filled it.

“I’m here,” she whispered, and the door closed.

He came quickly toward her and before she had time to catch her breath or speak again he threw himself on top of her. The air exploded from her lungs just before his mouth covered hers. His beard scratched her face and he sucked at her mouth like an animal. He was fully dressed. The buttons on his shirt cut into her breast and his boots jarred against her shins. Anger welled up inside her. Damn him! She tried to push him off her, but couldn’t budge him. He lifted his mouth and grunted, then found hers again. His breath was foul! She tried to bite him, but he pried her jaws apart with this thumb and forefinger. His tongue plunged into her mouth and swirled. Disappointment knifed through her. She liked to be mastered, but not
mauled
!