Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (21 page)

“Are you sure?”

“Emily Rose.” The husky syllables had the sound of a plea.

“It was bad, Sam. There were three of them. I’m telling you this because I don’t want you to think that I’m . . . pure—” She stopped talking suddenly. Her stricken face turned up to his. After an instant of frozen stillness, he spoke in a grating whisper.

“Where are they?”

“Charlie came home, found them, and killed them.”

“It’s what I’d a done!” The breath he was holding came out in a rush of air. “Oh, you sweet, sweet woman!” His voice was low and raspy. “The goddamn, dirty low-down bastards!”

Her hands dropped and his arms closed around her, holding her warm, safe, strong. It was a mutual coming together. Neither of them was conscious of making the first move. Her soft, slender form came against his tall hard one. Her cheek found a place on his shoulder, her nose and mouth against the firm, warm flesh of his neck. She took a deep, shuddering breath and was still.

The breeze came up and wrapped her long skirt about his legs.

A great tenderness welled up in him. She had been so honest, wanting him to know this terrible thing that had happened to her. Now she was so trusting in his arms. He swallowed, fighting the constriction in his throat. He wanted to kill again the ones who had violated her, but never had he wanted to do anything so much as he wanted to protect and cherish this wonderful creature in his arms.

“Sam?” she said softly against his neck. “I’m twenty-four years old and I’ve not known a lover’s kiss.”

“Then I think it’s time ya did.” He lowered his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

It was over all too quickly for Emily. The first gentle touch of his lips awakened a bittersweet ache of passion. She lifted her arms and wound them around his neck. His arms held her so closely against him that she could feel the hard bones and muscles of his body thrusting against the softness of hers. It was so strange being this close to him, her breasts flattened against his chest, his knees touching her thighs. A curiously warm, exciting feeling fluttered in her stomach. Sam’s hoarse, ragged breathing accompanied the thunder of his heartbeat against her breast.

Her hands moved around and framed his face. The soft bubble of laughter that broke from her lips was a mere whisper in the night.

“What are you thinking about me now, Mr. Sam Sparks?” Her voice was a soft happy sound. “I bet you’re thinking this is a brazen woman if I ever saw one.”

“I’m thinkin’ it’s yore turn to kiss me now.”

He waited, trembling with the desire to crush her to him, to move his hands down her back to her buttocks, to press her against his aching arousal, to caress the softness of her breasts, and to kiss her until she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Dear God! What was he thinking?
She had endured so much pain and humiliation at the hands of the scum that attacked her! How could she ever accept a lover? His arms loosened and he moved back until her breasts were no longer pressed to his chest.

“Emily Rose, ya needn’t if ya don’t want to.”

Her hands remained on his shoulders. “I want to, Sam. Have you changed your mind about wanting me to?”

“Yo’re the purtiest ’n sweetest woman I ever did know. I’ve got no right to even be touchin’ ya, much less kissin’ ya. Ya best mind yore brother. He knows what a man gets to thinkin’ ’n feelin’ when he’s holdin’ a sweet, purty woman. I ain’t wantin’ to hurt ya or scare ya with my rough ways.”

“I was afraid it was . . . the other thing. Back home I was considered ruined, no longer fit for marriage. My friends stopped calling. They pitied me but didn’t want to associate with me. That’s why I wanted you to know. Pack knows, but I’m not sure Mara Shannon will want me for a friend after I tell her, which I will.”

“They weren’t yore friends if they turned their backs on ya. They were a bunch a goddamn fools!”

Hungrily his eyes slid over her upturned face as she rose on tiptoe, nuzzling his hard lips with her soft ones. Their breaths mingled for an instant before he covered her mouth with his. He held her with gentle strength. There was no haste in the kiss. This time it was slow and deliberate. He took his time with closed eyes and pounding heart. She offered herself willingly, their bodies meshed, close and warm and hard. Her mouth opened under the force of his, yielding, molding itself to the shape of his. There was a soft union of lips and tongues as their mouths parted and clung with wild sweetness that held still the moments of time. A lovely feeling unfolded in Emily’s midsection as she allowed herself the pure joy of kissing and being kissed by him.

Abruptly he seized her arms and held her away from him.

“Sam . . .” she said weakly.

“I’m sorry, Emily Rose. I never meant for it to go that far.” His voice was husky with regret.

“I’m not one bit sorry.” She reached for his face with her palms. “Please don’t regret kissing me.”

“Regret it? God knows I don’t!”

“I’ve thought about being with you like this since that first day when I bandaged your hands. Remember? I wanted to see your face, and I finally got up the courage to put my face close to yours so I could see you. You’re handsome, Sam!”

“Emily Rose,” he whispered huskily. “I’ve got nothin’ to . . . to offer a woman.”

She drew back from him and her body stiffened. “I don’t expect anything. You’re not to feel obligated because you kissed me, for heaven’s sake.”

“What are ya talkin’ about?”

“I know what I am, Sam. I’m a spinster whose innocence was taken by morally corrupt men. I wanted to know how it felt to have a good man hold me and kiss me. I’m a blind woman who would be like a millstone about a man’s neck. Charlie has extracted a promise from Pack to look after me if something should happen to him. Poor Pack. See what our friendship has done to him? I’ll be his burden instead of Charlie’s—”

“Hush up talkin’ ’bout yoreself like that.” Sam’s hands on her arms gripped and pulled her to him. “Ya’d not be a burden to any man.”

“What I said was true, Sam. All true.” She pressed her face against his shirt, not wanting him to see the spurt of tears that filled her eyes. She was aware of the heavy beat of his heart and placed her hand over it.

“Emily Rose, look at me. Oh, hell, what am I sayin’? I keep forgettin’ ya can’t see.” Sam held her away from him and looked down into her face. “Ya know nothin’ ’bout me. Fer all ya know, I could be low caliber like the ones who did ya harm.”

“I can see you, Sam. Not plain, but I can see you. You’ll never make me believe you’re anything but an honorable man.”

“Pack’s lookin’ out the door.” His whispered voice was husky with emotion. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. “We don’t want him comin’ out here with blood in his eye.”

Emily would have been content to stay there forever. The last few minutes had been the most wonderful moments of her life. She had a hundred sweet memories to store away and bring out during the long nights when she lay in her lonely bed. She drew away from him and lifted her hands to tuck the stray hair into the knot at the nape of her neck.

“No. We don’t want that. Do you mind walking for a few minutes before we go in?” Her voice was strangely quiet. He guided her hand into the crook of his arm. “Tell me about your sister, Sam. Tell me about Rose.”

TEN

Had someone called her name?

Mara awakened from a sound sleep and lay staring into the darkness; her muscles tense, heart thumping. The wind rippling the tin roof, so close to the bed tucked beneath the sloped ceiling, moaned like a woman in pain. A feeling of relief washed over her when she realized what had awakened her. Pitch darkness stretched out beyond the window. She lay still for a long while, afraid to move, to risk waking Emily.

When she could stand it no longer, she eased out of the bed and groped in the darkness for her dress. She slipped it on over her nightgown and crept down the stairs. A faint light led her to the parlor door. Pack sat on the bench, his head against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. She thought she had not made any noise, but his head rolled toward her the instant she appeared in the doorway.

“What are you doing up, Mara Shannon?”

“I came to relieve you. Go lie down and get some rest.”

He reached a hand out to her. “Come sit with me.”

Mindless, she put her hand in his. How tired he looked. His cheekbones stood above hollowed cheeks shadowed with a day’s growth of dark beard. The deep blue eyes that squinted up at her were ringed with dark smudges. His hair was a tangled mass of dark curls.

He pulled her down onto the bench beside him.

“Have you had any sleep at all?”

“Some.” His hand curled around hers, pressing their two palms together.

“You didn’t get much sleep last night,” she chided gently. She was so close to him that her shoulder fit snugly against his arm and her thigh and hip nestled against his.

“I couldn’t leave her here alone, Mara Shannon. She’s going to be alone for such a long time.”

The pain in his voice almost broke her heart. She gripped his hand tightly, wishing desperately for words that would ease his grief.

“Ah, Pack . . . don’t grieve so. It isn’t your mother you’ll be putting in the ground tomorrow.” Her voice was a trembly whisper. “It’s the shell she lived in while she was here. She’s happy now and free from that tired, crippled body. She’s walking beside your father, her hand in his.” Pack let out a long shuddering sigh, and Mara blinked rapidly so that she could see him through her tears. “She spoke of him only one time, but when she did, her face glowed with pure happiness.”

“It almost killed her when he died.” The voice didn’t sound like Pack’s voice.

“She’s with him now, and she wouldn’t want you to take on so.” Mara spoke with trembling lips, but with a firmness in her voice despite the constriction in her throat. “How long have you been here alone?”

“When the old man left, I sent the boys to bed.” He tilted his head back against the wall again and closed his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her arm was held firmly against his body, his fingers finding the spaces between hers.

She glanced at their clasped hands resting on his thigh, then up at his face. Her insides quivered. To her he looked almost as young and defenseless as his young brothers. Six weeks ago she had not known who he was. Now he was very . . . dear to her. She snuggled contentedly against him, lifted her bare feet to the bench and covered them with her skirt.

Pack had replaced the candles with the kerosene lamp from the kitchen. It was turned low, and occasionally it flickered, causing the shadows to dance on the floor. It was peaceful here in the room with Brita and Pack. She was comfortable leaning against his warm strength. Mara glanced up at his profile. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing steadily.

He had gone to sleep.

Mara closed her eyes, and in spite of herself, yawned. Soon her head drooped against his shoulder. When she awakened, the light of dawn was coming in through the window. It took a short while for her to realize where she was. It was deliciously warm against him. She had turned during her sleep and his arm was between her breasts. She kept perfectly still for a long moment, then gradually tilted her head and looked up. His eyes were open and he was looking at her.

“Mornin’.”

“Is it morning already?” Her voice was slurred with sleep.

“The rooster thinks so. He crowed a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I should have stayed awake and been company for you.”

He continued to look at her, lifting her hand and bumping it gently against his thigh. The light of dawn had softened the tired lines in his face, yet his eyes were such a deep blue they were almost black.

“Sweet little Mara—” His hand slipped up beneath her hair and stroked the nape of her neck. “I’m going to kiss you. I was thinking about it while I watched you sleep. Don’t say anything, don’t make a fuss. I need it.”

She felt herself succumb to the gentle pressure of his hand at her nape. Slowly he bent his head until his lips touched hers. She was surprised that his lips were so soft, so gentle, surprised at the pleasant drag of his whiskers on her cheek. He held her head in his large hand, working his fingers through her hair while his lips made little caressing movements against hers. His hand was firm, his lips soft.

With a swift motion he wrapped her in his arms and his kiss deepened. He gave her no chance to withdraw. Nor did she want to. Her stomach knotted. The touch of his tongue on her lower lip caused surging motions deep inside her and drove her to press closer. She wanted it to go on and on but knew it had to stop.

Together they drew away. It was over quickly and she let her breath out slowly. She hadn’t wanted the kiss to end. She wanted more! What had started out to be a chaste, sweet, comforting kiss ended in a kiss of an entirely different nature! She looked into his eyes. He had wanted more too. She could see it reflected in the tense lines of his face. Then why had he stopped?

In the flickering illumination of the mantel lamp, his eyes were as dark as midnight and, like the lamp, they glowed. Mara became conscious of his hand stroking the length of her hair and his low voice speaking to her again.

“Is that the way that Webster fellow kissed you?”

“No! I told you—”

He wasn’t listening. He held up her hand, looked closely at each broken nail, and stroked her palm with his thumb.

“You’ve worked too hard here. When you came here this little hand was as soft as silk and each little nail rounded and smooth.”

“Pack—”

Shivers of awareness went through her. She tugged on her hand, but his fingers tightened and refused to let it go. Instead, he lifted it and gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. A long moment passed while his eyes held hers. She held her breath. Her heart almost stopped beating when he turned her hand so that the ridges of her knuckles rubbed back and forth across his lips.

“It will be soft again, Mara Shannon. I promise.” His soft words echoed through the storm that shook her, but she couldn’t comprehend them.