Jane Bonander (22 page)

Suddenly her hand flew to her mouth. Good heavens, her feet had touched his bare legs! Did that mean he wore nothing to bed? She swallowed hard. Lord, he wouldn’t be that brazen, would he?

No, he wouldn’t.

Yes, he would
.

As slowly as she could, she reached behind her, investigating carefully, encountering … She released a sigh. He wore something, at least.

“What are you looking for?”

His voice startled her so that she gasped and would have leaped from the bed had he not held her there.

“You’re not supposed to be in this bed,” she accused, flustered at her foolish groping.

“You didn’t expect me to sleep on the floor, did you?”

Why did his voice make every part of her body quicken? “You could sleep in the barn for all I care. This bed is barely big enough for one, let alone two. Get out.”

“Now, how would that look? We’re supposed to be happily married. You wouldn’t want to disappoint my parents, would you?”

Another sigh, although shakier. “This is insane.” If only he weren’t so close …

“You’re pregnant.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he whispered.

She turned and, with all of her strength, shoved him until he left the bed and hit the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dammit,” he cursed. “I hit my head on the edge of the table.”

“I hope you bleed to death, you … you pervert.” How dare he say such a thing? It was ludicrous. It had barely been a month since they’d… Lord, she couldn’t even think the words, much less say them.

There was a sharp knock on the door. “Are you all right in there?”

Libby pressed her fingers over her mouth and stared at the door.

“We’re fine, Mother.”

Libby heard Jackson scramble to his feet.

“The bed’s a little small. I fell out, that’s all.”

“All right, then,” Susannah answered, her voice slightly muffled from the other side of the door. “It’s almost time for your father to check the stock. Do you want to join him?”

“I’ll be right there.”

He lit the lamp, and Libby looked up at him. “Oh,” she said with a gasp. “You
are
bleeding.”

He dabbed at his forehead. “It’ll be all right.”

Concerned, she slid from the bed, crossed to the dry sink, and poured water into the porcelain bowl. She wet a cloth. “Come here,” she ordered.

“I said it would be fine.”

“Come here, you fool. Let me clean you up before you go out and face your parents.”

Suddenly he grinned. “Wouldn’t look very good if they thought you were beating up on their little boy, would it?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” she huffed, trying to ignore his complacent smile.

He stood before her, bare to the waist. Trying valiantly to ignore his nudity, she dabbed at his forehead with the damp cloth.

“You call me such terrible names. I’m beginning to think you don’t like me.”

He continued to smile at her as she rinsed the cloth and touched it to his wound again. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep from returning his smile. “I don’t call you names you don’t deserve.”

“Oh? You really think I’m a fool? An idiot? A pervert?”

“Whatever makes you think you can tell if I’m … you know.”

His hand fondled her chin, his elbows dangerously close to her breasts. “Pregnant?”

She attempted to look away. “How in the world would you know such a thing? It’s my body, and
I
don’t even know.”

“Call it a gift, or a curse, I guess.” His tone changed.

“You’re serious,” she said, surprised.

He continued to stand before her. “Even when I was a boy, I could detect pregnancy in a mare before it was evident. Don’t ask me how. And I was never wrong. My family came to rely on me, and soon neighbors did, too. After they’d bred their mares, they would invite me over to use my ‘powers.’ The last time I detected a pregnancy was when Flicker Feather was pregnant with Dawn Twilight.”

Libby’s hands automatically went to her abdomen. Pregnant? Joy, dread, and fear tripped over each other inside her. Still, she didn’t want him to see her feelings.

Quickly rinsing out the cloth, she said, “You’d better not keep your father waiting.”

He didn’t move. “That’s your response?”

“What did you expect? Now when you get itchy feet and go off to fight another man’s war, I’ll have not one but two children to care for.”

He spun away, muttering a curse as he dressed. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not going anywhere.”

She held her emotions in check until he left, then sagged onto the bed and put her face in her hands. If he was right, what would she do? Even though she wanted his child with all her heart, she couldn’t endure a loveless life with him. And she was beginning to think she couldn’t endure a life without him, either.

L
ibby greased bread tins at the counter while Susannah sat at the table dropping gingersnap dough onto cookie sheets.

“I’ll never forget the first time I saw Jackson,” Susannah mused, her voice filled with soft remembrance. “Corey and I and our friends, Kito and Louisa, had ridden to this ranch because, months before, Nathan had told me to come here if I was ever in trouble.” She uttered a soft laugh. “But that’s another story.

“Anyway, there was an old caretaker here at the time who informed me that Nathan’s son Jackson, who everyone thought was dead, had been found living among a coastal tribe of Indians. Nathan wasn’t here and didn’t yet know the boy was alive.”

Libby had heard some of this story, but was still intensely interested. “Had he been harmed?”

“Oh, no. They had treated him as one of their own. Had even given him an Indian name.”

“Warrior Heart,” Libby offered, remembering Dawn’s enthusiastic retelling of the story.

“Yes. But he was very skittish. I had a big black dog with me at the time. Max was his name.” There was a smile in her voice.

Libby remembered hearing about Max from Jackson.

“That dog seemed to sense Jackson’s discomfort. Max settled down at the boy’s feet and became his closest companion. Slowly Jackson came out of his shell, but it took a while. He and that dog went through a lot together.”

“And … and as a young man? What was he like?” Libby sliced off a hunk of dough, formed it into a loaf and dropped it into a loaf pan.

Susannah rose and slid a cookie sheet into the oven. “As the oldest child, he was the most responsible. Of course, he was Corey’s hero. But no matter how often Corey followed him around, Jackson never became impatient with him.”

Libby hid her discomfort. He
would
have to be perfect, wouldn’t he?

“But as he got older, he became distant. Nathan and I both noticed it and we knew why. He felt the brutality done to the Indian as readily as if it were his own burden. He couldn’t stand to see the underdog defenseless. He returned to the tribe often. Although he never told us this, we simply knew that’s where he was. He felt they needed his protection.”

Susannah released a sigh. “We had no idea he’d married a native girl and had a child, much less that his young wife had been killed by Jackson’s own people. That’s how far he’d drifted from us.”

They worked together in silence, Libby’s emotions clamoring inside her. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. Perhaps she’d expected too much from him.

The door opened, bringing a gust of cold air.

“Ah, nothing like the smell of fresh bread and ginger cookies to make a man profess his love for a woman.” Nathan Wolfe stepped to the table, bent and kissed his wife’s mouth.

Libby’s stomach churned, and she ached for that which she would never have. Her gaze met Jackson’s as he came into the room behind his father. Her reaction to him hadn’t changed; she still quivered like a schoolgirl.

Jackson poured coffee for himself and his father, then took a seat at the table virtually ignoring Libby. She didn’t miss the quick look of concern that passed between his parents. Oh, God, she shouldn’t have come. She knew it!

“The place looks great.” Jackson grinned at his mother.

“I’d forgotten how much land we had.”

Nathan took his wife’s hand and caressed it in his.

“We’ve got to get that hay up into the high country near the cabin before the first good snow.”

“When do you want to do it?” Jackson asked.

Nathan uttered a sigh. “It should be done within the next day or two, but I’ve got a sick mare. If something should happen to her while I’m gone, I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel responsible.”

Jackson toyed with his cup. “I can take the hay to the high country in the morning.”

Susannah brightened. “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. Libby can go with you to keep you company.”

At her suggestion, Libby nearly dropped the bread on the floor. She quickly recovered, but she couldn’t look at Jackson even though she knew his gaze was on her. No doubt he was as distressed as she was.

“The cabin needs to be shut up tight, made ready for winter.” Susannah smiled at her husband. “Remember the year it was invaded by raccoons because Corey had taken a girl up there and hadn’t secured the kitchen window?”

Nathan gave her a suggestive smile. “Remember the first time we ever used it?”

“On our honeymoon,” she answered, almost shyly.

Libby tried not to stare, but Susannah’s blush was exquisite. Why, they were still in love, after all these years. Imagine that….

She turned to the counter and resumed her duties, but her hands shook and her knees were weak.

She wanted that. She wanted what Nathan and Susannah had. It was up to her to change things; Jackson had told her that. She swallowed hard, vowing to bring about the change.

Perhaps the trip to the cabin wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

That night she pretended to be asleep when Jackson came to bed, for she felt a bit skittish about her plan. She was a coward, pure and simple.

“I watched you sleep last night, Libby. I know you’re awake.”

His hand moved over her hip, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“I know how your sweet mouth relaxes in sleep, how there’s tension mixed in with your peacefulness, how your face is composed, but your fists are clenched.” He continued to stroke her hip.

Unable to continue to pretend she was asleep, she rolled over onto her back, a movement that brought his hand in contact with her stomach. A shock raced into her pelvis, shooting down both legs.

She swallowed hard. “I think you should remove your hand.” But this was what she wanted. What was wrong with her?

“Make me,” he countered, continuing his fingertip perusal.

Again he was daring her. He did it so well. Even though they were legally husband and wife, she wasn’t comfortable doing anything under his parents’ roof. That was foolish, but she just couldn’t. Hopefully she could convince him of her feelings once they reached the cabin. Until then … She drew in a breath and steeled herself against his caress.

“Do what you want, Jackson. I hope you don’t get bored.”

His chuckle was warm and deep as his fingers traced a circular path to the top of her thighs.

She turned her head away and bit down on her lip, wondering how long she could stand such a seductive assault.

“I think your curls were soft,” he whispered. “I can’t remember.” He continued his subtle attack. “What color are they, Libby? Almost black, like this?” His other hand threaded through the hair at her temple.

“Maybe with a hint of red, to show your fire?”

She struggled to breathe normally; it became difficult.

His hand slid down her thigh, to the hem of her gown. “Mind if I look?”

She attempted to push his hand away, knowing he wasn’t serious. “You really are a pervert, aren’t you?”

“There you go again, calling me names.” His fingers toyed with her knees.

“All well deserved,” she managed, although his touch continued to raise havoc with her senses.

His hand moved slowly up her bare thigh. “Aren’t you going to fight me?”

She smiled slyly. So that was what he wanted. To tussle, as they had in the kitchen when they’d bombarded each other with flour. “No,” she managed. “Do what you wish.”

His eyes held a twinkle. “Really?”

She shrugged, although her body throbbed. “You want me to fight you. You’re itching for it. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

“You won’t fight me?”

Did he sound disappointed? She thought so. “No. I won’t fight you.”

“Good.”

He flipped the covers away so quickly that Libby gasped. “What are you doing?”

He started tugging up her nightgown. “I’m going to see what color you are down there.”

She pushed at her gown, attempting to force it from his grip. “You are truly a lunatic,” she muttered, fighting against the upward thrust of his hands.

“I thought you weren’t going to fight me, Libby.”

She lunged at him, momentarily forgetting that to do so she had to release her hold on her nightgown.

He straddled her, his hands pinning her arms to the bed.

She glared at him, shaking with desire. “You promised not to touch me.”

“No,” he whispered. “I promised not to make love to you. I told you it was too late to order me not to touch you.”

Frustrated and weak of will, she succumbed. “Then look, damn you. It’s what I’d expect from a deviate.” She pinched her eyes closed, waiting for …she didn’t know what. Another smart remark? A leer? A snicker?

Then she felt it. A whispery kiss low on her abdomen. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at the top of his head as he bent over her.

“J-Jackson?”

He planted kisses lower and lower still until she felt his lips against the sensitive folds of her flesh. Her legs shook and she rolled her head on the pillow as the pleasure built. She tugged at his hair, not certain what she wanted.

“Do you want me to stop?” The words were whispered against her, heightening her hunger.

Did she? Yes, yes, of course she did. But, oh, God …

“Libby?” He dipped his tongue there, where every nerve in her body appeared to be centered, and she bucked on the bed.

She forced his head away. “Y-yes, please, please …” She swallowed. “Stop.”

He rolled off her and turned away, presenting her his back. “It’s just as well,” he muttered.

She was still quaking with unquenched desire, but she pressed her legs together and moved to the edge of the bed. How could she possibly sleep, with him beside her?

As if reading her mind, he remarked, “I’m not leaving this bed, Libby.”

“No,” she answered, her voice quavering, “I don’t suppose you are.”

“No matter what you think, I have some honor. I won’t take advantage of you again. The scent of you drives me wild. Your skin is so soft, it makes me crazy. That fluff of hair between your legs begs to be kissed. I apologize, but I got carried away.”

So did I.
She curled up into a ball and clutched the bedding to her chin. She should have let him continue. Oh, God, she wanted him to. But not here, not with his parents in the next room. It was a foolish inhibition, but she experienced it all the same. Now she knew it would be twice as hard to convince him she’d changed her mind.

In the morning, she awoke, her nose pressed against his bare chest. Again, as the morning before, his arm was around her. She knew she should do something, but for a moment, she would do nothing.

So, she thought, breathing in the scent of him, this was what the rest of her life would be like—when she finally surrendered. Perhaps her stubbornness had been uncalled for. Just perhaps, she was being unfair and unrealistic.

Allowing herself to relax, she sighed and settled against him. She would tell him now. She wouldn’t wait until they were at the cabin. She loved waking up like this, close to his body. She loved the hair on his chest, on his arms, on his stomach. It was masculine. Erotic. She had an overwhelming urge to absorb him into her skin.

Sensing he was awake, she spoke. “Jackson, I—”

With a growl, he removed his arm. “I know, I know. I’m getting up.” He rolled to the other side and left the bed.

“I’m sorry. The bed is narrow. Fortunately, we won’t be here for a couple of nights, and there are two beds up at the cabin.”

She heard him struggle into his clothes in the darkness. “I hope that satisfies you.”

She swallowed the knot in her throat. She hoped she hadn’t waited too long.

The ride to the cabin was cold, for they’d had to take the wagon, which was piled high with bales of hay.

Libby’s first glimpse of the building was through a thicket of evergreens, their pine-scented needles filling the air with a spicy tang. “Cabin” was really not a proper term for the building. She’d expected a crude structure, but this was anything but crude. The exterior was made of cedar logs. A window, larger than any she’d ever seen, faced the valley, and the roof peaked high.

The interior was just as breathtaking.

Jackson put her valise in the larger of the two bedrooms. He seemed so resolute. Gone was the teasing, the gentle taunting, the seductive assault. And, as annoying as she’d thought he was, she missed his playful advances.

While he made a fire in the large stone fireplace, she strolled to the back wall, which was the kitchen. The staples were already there, and Susannah had packed enough food for a week.

As Libby began preparing a simple supper, Jackson informed her he was going out to take the hay to higher ground.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. But I’d appreciate it if you’d have dinner ready when I get back. I’ll be as hungry as a bear.”

She went to the window and watched him leave. He turned briefly, catching sight of her through the glass. She almost waved good-bye, but the wagon had already disappeared through the trees.

Pulling in a ragged sigh, she returned to the kitchen, browned some venison and onions, and prepared a pot of stew. An hour later it was bubbling on the stove, and she had a tin of biscuits ready to slip into the oven.

She found a copy of
The Scarlet Letter
lying on a table in the great room, and curled up in a chair by the fire to read. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed, and when Libby absently counted seven bells, she put the book on the floor and rose, surprised that Jackson hadn’t yet returned.

Rubbing her arms, she crossed to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes, attempting to look outside. Up through the trees, she could see no stars, and when she discovered it was snowing lightly, she felt a jolt of panic.

She threw on her shawl and stepped outside, noting the quiet, the tranquility. The air was cold and still. Coyotes howled in the distance, sending a shiver of fear over her skin. She listened, straining to hear the wagon, but there was no noise but the drumming of her heart.

She returned to the cabin and lit the lamps that stood on the circular tables at either end of the settee, casting some light into the large room.