Lorraine Heath (21 page)

“Your music box is on the bottom,” he told her.

“I’m not looking for the music box.”

Slowly, he unfolded his body. “Loree—”

She spun around, marched to the hearth, and threw something at it.

The sheets of music.

He dropped to his knees, grabbed them from the fire, and beat out the flames that were already greedily devouring the pages. He glared up at Loree. “What did you do that for?”

“You already know how to play the violin. All these months, you let me make a fool out of myself—”

“No, I never meant that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? When I asked you—begged you—to let me teach you, why didn’t you say, ‘I already know how to play, Loree.’ ”

He saw the tears glistening within her eyes. “Loree—”

“You told me that you love me. Do you think love is supposed to hurt? It’s not. Whatever Becky taught you about love is wrong. It’s supposed to heal. It’s supposed to make you feel glad that you’re alive. It’s supposed to help you live with the past.

“You can’t love me if you won’t let me inside your heart. Either open your heart and invite me in or take me back home. But don’t tell me you love me when you don’t know what it is to love.”

She spun on her heel, walked into their bedroom, and slammed the door.

Austin bit back the agonizing wail that would have been her name. What did she know about the things in his heart? What did she know about love? Love looked deeply within a person. Hadn’t Amelia looked beyond Houston’s scars to his soul? Love understood what others couldn’t begin to fathom. Hadn’t Dee understood Dallas’s hard nature when no one else had?

Loree was the one who knew nothing about love. He stalked to the bedroom door, put his hand on the knob, and heard her wrenching sobs. He pressed his forehead to the door.

Christ, how many times had he made her cry? How often had he hurt her?

She was right. He should take her back home. She had his name. That was all she needed.

He stormed across the room, opened the front door, rushed through it, and slammed it in his wake. The last thing he needed her to hear was his heart breaking.

Loree awoke to the sound of a child crying. She rubbed the salt of her dried tears from the corners of her eyes and squinted through the darkness. Shafts of moonlight sliced through the window, forming the silhouette of a man, standing, his head bowed, his arm pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling the bow slowly across the taut strings of a violin.

The resonant chords deepened and an immense lonesomeness filled the room. Loree sat up in bed, sniffing through her stuffed nose. She clutched her handkerchief as the wailing continued. She wanted to slip out of bed and wrap her arms around someone, ease the pain she heard in the echoing strains of the violin. The poignant melody released fresh tears and caused her heart to tighten. In all her life, she’d never had a song reach out to capture her soul.

The melody drifted into an aching silence. Austin lifted his head, and she saw his tears, trailing along his cheeks, glistening in the moonlight.

She slipped from beneath the blankets, her bare feet hitting the cold floor. “What were you playing?” she asked reverently, not wanting to disturb the ambiance that remained in the room.

“That was my heart breaking,” he said, his voice ragged.

She felt as though her own heart might shatter as she took a step toward him. “Austin—”

“Don’t stop loving me, Loree. You want me to learn what those little black bugs on those pieces of paper mean, I’ll learn. You want me to play the violin from dawn until dusk, hell, I’ll play till midnight, just don’t stop loving me.”

She flung her arms around his neck and felt his arms come around her back, the violin tapping against her backside. “Oh, Austin, I couldn’t stop loving you if I wanted.”

“I do know how to love, Loree. I just don’t know how to keep a woman loving me.”

“I’ll always love you, Austin,” she said trailing kisses over his face. “Always.”

She felt a slight movement away from her as he set the violin aside, and then his arms came around her, tighter than before. “Let me love you, Loree. I need to love you.”

His mouth swooped down, capturing hers, desperation evident as his tongue delved swiftly, deeply. And then, as though, sensing her surrender, his exploration gentled. His hands came around, bracing either side of her hips, hips that had widened as she carried his child.

His hands traveled upward, until her breasts filled his palms. His long fingers shaped and molded what nature had already altered, preparing for the day when she would nourish their child.

He cradled her cheek, deepening the kiss, as his other hand worked the buttons of her nightgown free.

He slipped his hand through the parted material, his roughened palm cupping her smooth breast. She felt his fingers tremble as his thumb circled her nipple, causing it to harden and strain for his touch.

His breathing harsh, he trailed his mouth along the column of her throat. He dipped his tongue into the hollow at the base of her throat.

“I’m only thinking of you, Loree,” he rasped.

She dropped her head back. “I know.” And she did know, deep within her soul, where his music had dared to travel only moments before, she did know that he was thinking of her. The tears he had shed had been for her. The music he had played had been for her.

His kiss, his gentle touch—they belonged to her now, just as he did.

His mouth skimmed along her flesh, between the valley of her breasts, his breath warm like a summer breeze. He trailed his mouth over the curve of her breast. His tongue circled her nipple before he closed his mouth around the taut tip and suckled.

Like a match struck to kindling, her body responded, heat flaming to life. Her knees buckled and he caught her against him, steadying her. Slowly, he unfolded his body and within the faint moonbeams, she saw the deep blue of his smoldering gaze.

He slipped his hands between the parted material of her gown, spreading it over her shoulders until it was free to slide down her body and pool at her feet. She heard him swallow.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

His voice sounded as thick as molasses, and his gaze spoke more eloquently than his words. Her fingers trembled as she ran her hands over his wide shoulders and along his broad chest, knowing that she was on the verge of sealing forever the vault that held old promises. One movement, one touch, one word … and they could never return to what had been.

“Tell me again,” she whispered.

“I’m only thinking of you, Loree,” he said, his voice ragged, his breathing uneven.

She smiled warmly into the face of the man she loved. “No, tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

She wrapped her hand around his, took a step back toward the bed, and watched his lips spread into a slow, seductive smile. Another step back and she sank onto the bed.

Austin tore his shirt over his head and dropped his britches to the floor. She watched the moonlight play over the hard muscles of his body before he stretched out beside her on the bed.

“Now, you gotta tell me,” he said as he nipped on her earlobe and swirled his tongue around the shell of her ear.

“I love you,” she whispered as her body curled.

“Ah, Sugar, I’m gonna make you damn glad that you do.”

His promise carried assurances that she didn’t doubt. “I’m already glad.”

He rose up on his elbow. “Everything is gonna be better, Loree. Everything.”

He lowered his mouth to hers with a renewed urgency. She touched her hand to his chest and felt the hard steady pounding of his heart. Where once he might have lain over her, now he only pressed his body against her side, his warm hand gliding over her stomach to the juncture between her thighs.

She moaned as his fingers imitated the action of his tongue, sweeping, plunging, warming, heating. She ran her hand down his side, dug her fingers into his lean hip, and rolled to her side, needing him close, knowing a moment of regret with the realization that her swollen stomach would never allow him to be as close as she needed.

Need spiraled through her, desire flamed. She trailed kisses over his face, his dew-covered throat and chest, wanting him as she’d never wanted anything. He fell onto his back and tugged on her hand. “Come here, Loree.”

His shoulders rolled off the bed as he leaned up slightly and put his large hands on either side of her hips, guiding her until she straddled him. She watched the shadows and moonlight caress his magnificent body as she wanted to and knew a moment of doubt. Keeping one hand planted on her hip, he cradled her cheek with the other and held her gaze. “Stop me if I hurt you.”

She trailed her gaze along the length of his body to the place where her body met his. She wrapped her fingers around him. He groaned and she felt a tremor wrack his body. Cradling her hips, he lifted her and eased her down as easily as the dawn met the day until they were one.

He released a long deep sigh. “Oh, Sugar, you feel so good.”

She rolled her shoulders forward. “So do you.”

Chuckling low, he threaded his fingers through her hair, bracketing her face between his palms. “I don’t want to hurt you, so I need you … to do the ridin’.”

She wished she could double over and kiss the furrows between his brow. He looked as though he were afraid he might have disappointed her. But how could he disappoint her when he loved her?

She ran her hands over his chest, along his side, leaned forward slightly, circled her hips, and relished the sound of his sharp intake of breath. He had given her so much: the power to love him, the power to satisfy him.

Keeping her eyes trained on his, she began to rock her hips. His hands glided to her breasts, the long fingers that she loved taunting and teasing, and she realized he had not relinquished all power.

Unbridled sensations ripped through her, and she felt as though he played her as easily as he played his violin. The sensations rose until her body went taut, and she uttered a cry of ecstasy.

She heard Austin’s guttural groan as he shuddered beneath her, and into the stillness that followed, she heard their harsh breathing. Supporting her shoulders, he gently rolled them to their sides, his body never leaving hers. He threaded his fingers through her hair, his palm resting heavily upon her cheek as though all strength had been drained from him. Beneath her hand, his heart thudded.

Her lips spread into a contented smile and she sighed. Then her smile disappeared and her brow furrowed. “Austin?”

“Mmm?”

“What little black bugs?”

“What?” he asked sleepily.

She lifted her head, trying to make out his features in the shadows. “Earlier you said something about bugs on paper—”

“Oh, that. I was talking about those sheets of music you gave me for Christmas. I’ll let you teach me how to read them.”

She came up on her elbow. “Don’t you know how to read music?”

“Nope.”

“But that song you played—”

“Told you … it was my heart breaking. And I hope I never hear it again.”

She sat up completely, drawing the blankets around her bare shoulders to ward off the chill of the room. “Austin, I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“Try.”

He placed his hand on the back of her head. “Cuddle up against me first.”

She nestled her cheek against the crook of his shoulder as his arm came around her, his hand trailing from her shoulder to her elbow. She spread her hand over his chest, her fingers toying with the light dusting of hair that sometimes tickled her nose.

“Don’t know where to start,” he finally said into the silence.

“At the beginning would be nice.”

“Explaining things with words has never come easy for me. I don’t know if what I say will make sense.”

“I’m a patient listener.”

“You are that, Sugar. All right. I’ll try.” He cleared his throat. “I reckon I was about seven the first time. We were herding cattle north along the Shawnee Trail.”

“You were herding cattle when you were only

seven?”

“Mostly I followed Dallas and picked up cow chips for the campfires at night. Anyway one night I’d been sleeping under the chuckwagon. I heard this noise. It sounded like the wind, but there was no breeze that night. It was still as death, like something was waiting. So I got up. Cookie—that’s the man that played the fiddle tonight—was fixin’ food for the men about to come off the two o’clock watch. I asked him if he’d heard anything. He wanted to know what it sounded like. I couldn’t describe it. He always kept his fiddle nearby so I picked it up … and played what I heard.”

“Just like that?” she asked in awe.

“Just like that.”

She lifted her head. “How could you do that?”

“All I can figure is that all those nights I watched my ma when I was a boy stuck with me.”

She’d never heard of anything like it, but she couldn’t discount the fact that the song he had played earlier had been flawless.

“Cookie taught me a few notes, a couple of songs, but he doesn’t have your patience. Then one Christmas, Dallas and Houston gave me a violin, but I was sixteen before I found out it had been my ma’s.”

“But you told me you couldn’t play. Why did you lie—”

He rolled her over, rising above her, cupping her cheek. “I wasn’t lying, Loree. I’ve always heard the music in my heart … but I lost the ability to do that when I went to prison. It was like the music just shriveled up and died. I thought I’d never hear it again. How could I play the violin if I couldn’t hear the music? Then lately, I started going crazy because I’d hear snatches of music—when you’d look at me or smile at me. But I couldn’t grab onto it, I couldn’t hold it. Then last night, you told me that you loved me and I heard the music, so sweet, so soft. It scared me to hear it so clearly after I hadn’t for so long.

“Tonight, I hurt you—again. I was going to let you go, Loree. I was gonna take you back to Austin. But I heard my heart break … and I knew that’s all I’d hear for the rest of my life. Don’t leave me, Sugar.”

Joy filled her and she brushed the locks of hair back off his brow. “I won’t.”