Lorraine Heath (24 page)

He liked the sight of her sitting on his veranda. It felt right, like the breeze that turned his windmill. The gentle wind that blew her little chimes.

Reaching up, he touched the various lengths of barbed wire that Dee had strung together and hung from the eaves of the veranda, the eaves of the various balconies. They clinked in the wind. She had touched his life with an abundance of small gestures.

“Walk with me,” he said.

She rose and followed him down the steps. In companionable silence, they strolled toward the setting sun.

He thought about taking her hand, but after last night, he wasn’t exactly sure where he stood, and it would gouge his pride if she didn’t welcome his touch.

He had spent thirty-five years sleeping alone, and suddenly he desperately wanted something that he couldn’t even put a name to: the filling of an emptiness that he’d discovered within himself last night only after it had overflowed with contentment as he’d lain in her bed, holding her within his arms, listening to her soft breathing.

He almost found himself hoping that he hadn’t given her a son.

“I’m not carrying your son.”

Dallas snapped his head up and looked across the table at his wife, her gaze locked on her cold eggs. Austin had left only a few moments before, leaving a heavy silence in his wake, a reticence shattered by her words.

“Are you sure?”

She gave a brisk nod. “I knew several days ago. I just thought it would be better to wait until … until now to tell you.” Her gaze darted up, then down, and her cheeks flamed red.

He stood and walked to her end of the table, a thousand sentiments thundering through his mind like stampeding cattle. He wanted to kneel beside her, take her hand, kiss her brow, her nose, her chin. He wanted her to look at him, but she just stared at the damn eggs so he spoke words that conveyed little of what he was feeling.

“I’ll come to your bed this evening then, if that’s agreeable to you.”

She nodded brusquely. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe we’ll have better luck tonight.”

“I hope so.”

With a purpose to his stride, Dallas stormed from the house, yanked Satan’s reins off the corral post, mounted the black stallion, and kicked him into a gallop. He rode fast and hard over the plains until his brother’s house came into view. The past ten days had been hell: wanting to hold Dee, knowing she had no interest in his touch.

It was strange but he had to admit he wasn’t disappointed that Dee wasn’t yet carrying his son.

He still desired a son, but the urgency of his dream had lessened. What he wanted now was a few more nights stretched out in Dee’s bed, with her nestled against him.

Houston was working with a mustang in the corral when Dallas drew his horse to a halt at the house and dismounted.

Amelia sat on the porch, churning butter. Maggie scrambled to her feet and ran down the steps. She squealed as Dallas lifted her toward the clouds.

“I see freckles popping out,” he said.

“No!” she cried as she rubbed her nose. “Kiss ’em off! Kiss ’em off!”

He obliged her by quickly raining kisses over her face until she giggled. Lord, he loved her fragrance. She smelled of flowers dug from the earth, kittens, and sweet milk. Her innocence always humbled him.

She crinkled her nose. “Did you git me a boy to play with?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on it.”

“Where’s he gonna come from?”

Dallas jerked his gaze to Amelia. Shaking her head, she smiled.

Dallas slipped a lemon drop out of his pocket and handed it to his niece. “Why don’t you go suck on this for a while?”

“I don’t got a sad.”

“I do and I need to talk to your ma about it.”

He set Maggie on the porch. She plopped the candy into her mouth and began to suck vigorously. Dallas removed his hat, draped an arm over the porch railing, and studied Amelia. He thought she looked pale.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Just a little sick in the mornings, but it’ll pass.”

“You gonna give Houston a son this time?”

“He’s partial to daughters.”

“It’s a wonder to me that the two of us are related.”

“You and Houston are more alike than you think.”

He shook his head. “With his skill with horses, he could have himself a thriving business. I’d never settle for less.”

“It’s not a question of settling for less. It’s a matter of knowing what you want and finding contentment in that,” she said softly.

“Do you have all you want?”

“As a matter of fact, I think we do. Would you like to tell me about your sad?”

“It’s not a sad really. I just said that for Maggie’s benefit.”

Amelia angled her head as though she didn’t believe him. Damn the woman, she’d always seen and figured out too much. He turned his hat in his hands, studying it, searching for the right words.

“Do you remember when we were married?” he asked.

Amelia smiled warmly. “A woman isn’t likely to forget her first marriage.”

“When I kissed you … did you like it?” he asked gruffly.

She glanced up quickly as though the answer rested within the eaves of the porch before returning her gaze to his. “I thought it was nice.”

“Nice? The weather is
nice.
A kiss should be—” He stopped abruptly at the flush racing up her cheeks. “What about when Houston kisses you?”

Her blush deepened. “My toes curl.”

“Is that why you chose him over me?” The words were spoken before he could take them back. Amelia had always had a way of making a man say what was on his mind. It had charmed and aggravated him at the same time.

She rose to her feet, crossed the porch, and wrapped her hand around his. “When it comes to the heart, choice is seldom involved. I don’t know why I fell in love with Houston and not with you. I only know that I did.”

“I don’t begrudge you that,” he said.

She squeezed his hand. “I know you don’t.”

“I just … damn.” He forced the bitter words past his tight throat. “I don’t know how to please Dee in bed … and I want to.”

“That’s the first step, isn’t it? Wanting to please her?”

“Apparently, it’s a damn little first step. What does Houston do when he kisses you?”

“I don’t know. He just kisses me. Maybe you should ask him.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Houston was slipping through the slats of the corral. Dallas had never in his life asked another man’s opinion on anything. It stuck in his craw that he was having to ask now—especially about something as intimate and personal as bedding his wife.

“I appreciate your being honest with me,” he told Amelia.

She patted his shoulder. “Go talk to Houston.”

His stomach reeling worse than the blades of a windmill when the sucker rod had snapped in two, Dallas approached his brother.

“What brings you out today?” Houston asked as he buttoned his shirt.

Dallas shoved down his pride. “How do you kiss Amelia?”

Houston’s fingers stilled over the last button, and he furrowed his brow. “What?”

Dallas heaved a deep sigh of frustration. “Amelia says when you kiss her, you make her toes curl.”

Houston’s mouth split into a distorted grin that moved one side of his face while leaving the scarred side immobile. “She said that, did she?” He peered around Dallas and looked in the direction of the porch where his wife had taken up churning butter again.

Irritated, Dallas stepped in front of him. “Yeah, she said that. So how do you kiss her?”

Houston shrugged. “I just sorta latch my mouth on to hers like there’s no tomorrow.”

“That’s it? Don’t you do something special?”

“Like what?”

“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking!”

Houston narrowed his eye. “I learned how to kiss watching you. How could you forget how to do it?”

“I didn’t forget, but I only ever kissed whores except for Amelia.” He grimaced as her description of his kiss resounded through his head. “She says I kiss nice.” He stepped forward and crossed his arms over the top rail of the corral. “Nice, for God’s sake. I’m surprised Dee didn’t gag.”

Houston eased up alongside him. “Maybe it has nothing to do with the way you kiss her. Maybe it has everything to do with what you’re feeling when you kiss her.”

Dallas shifted his gaze to his brother. “What do you mean?”

Houston rubbed the scarred side of his face, his fingers grazing his eye patch. “You’ll get angry if I tell you.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Give me your word.”

“You got it.”

Houston released a deep breath. “The first time I kissed Amelia, we had just crossed that flooded river—”

“You kissed her before you got to the ranch?”

“You said you wouldn’t get angry.”

“I’m not angry, I’m aggravated. I trusted you—” Dallas reined in his temper. Five years ago, he’d made a decision that had left him without a wife. He didn’t plan to repeat his mistake. “Finish your explanation.”

Houston gave his throat a sound clearing as though contemplating the wisdom of his words. “Well … I was furious because she’d jumped into the river to save me, I was damn grateful she hadn’t drowned, and it hit me harder than a bucking mustang that I loved her. I couldn’t tell her so I tried to show her. I poured everything I felt into that kiss, and I’ve been kissing her that way ever since.”

“And making her toes curl.”

Houston smiled broadly. “Apparently so.”

Dallas shoved himself away from the corral. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Maybe in time, once your feelings for Dee deepen—”

“That’s my problem, Houston. I think I’ve fallen in love with her and I’ve got no earthly idea how to make her love me.”

Dallas stood outside Dee’s room. He had decided that if he was only going to have one night with her each month, he was going to make the best of it.

He wouldn’t leave her bed this time until dawn eased over the horizon, and if she didn’t want him to make love to her again, he’d content himself with simply holding her within his arms through the night.

He knocked on the door and waited an eternity for her to open it. He stepped into the room and slammed the door.

“You’re early,” she said as she drew the brush through her silken black hair.

“Didn’t see any point in waiting.” He took her in his arms and latched his mouth onto hers like there was no tomorrow, wishing to God that there would be, that her toes would curl, and she would want him in her bed every night.

Her brush clattered to the floor, and she wound her arms around his neck tighter than the noose on an escaping calf. She pressed her body flush against his, and her soles crept over his toes.

He groaned, she moaned, and need rushed through him like a raging river. Holding her close with one hand, his mouth devouring hers, he used his other hand to release the buttons on her gown, hearing several clink as they hit the floor.

He pulled down her gown and bathed in the glorious sight of her bared body as he yanked off his trousers. He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. He laid her down, then draped his body over hers, raining kisses over her face, her throat, her breasts.

He touched her with his hands, his mouth, his eyes, all the while marveling at her beauty, the pink glow of her skin, the deep brown of her eyes.

When he joined his body to hers, he heard no sharp intake of breath, no cry of pain, only a sigh of wonder. He rocked his hips until her sighs became gasps and her body writhed beneath his. He thrust harder, deeper, reveling in the moment when her soft voice echoed his name and she shuddered within his arms.

With a guttural groan, he threw his head back, clenched his teeth, and with a final thrust hurled himself into an abyss of pleasure.

Breathing heavily, he sank onto her quivering body. He could still feel her body pulsing around him. He pressed a kiss to her throat, her chin, her cheek … and tasted the salt of her tears.

Self-loathing replaced the blissful replete. He hadn’t given her any of the tenderness he’d planned. He’d charged into this room like a rampaging bull, with one thought, one purpose on his mind: burying himself as deeply and as swiftly as he could into her glorious warmth until they were so close that a shadow couldn’t have slipped between them.

She would share her body with him once a month. Instead of savoring the moment, he had taken her offering and used it as quickly as lightning flashed against the sky.

He pressed his lips against the corner of her eye where her tears glistened, fresh and warm. “I’m sorry, Dee,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” she whispered.

He lifted his head and met her gaze. He could see the pain he’d caused swirling within the dark depths of her eyes. He might not have harmed her physically, but he had little doubt he’d bruised her woman’s heart, the part that longed for more than a man satisfying his lust. He threaded his fingers through her hair. “I did hurt you, and I regret that.”

She shook her head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It was wonderful.”

Wonderful?
She thought that hasty mating was wonderful? “Then why are you crying?”

She touched her trembling fingers to his jaw. “Because it always hurts you so much.”

He stared at her, unable to make sense of her words. “What?”

Her cheeks flamed red as she lowered her lashes. “I watch you,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You grunt and groan. Your muscles tense and strain. You clench your teeth.” She lifted her lashes. “The agony must be unbearable. Is that how Nature evens things out? Since childbirth is excruciating, women receive a gift of pleasure while making the baby and men only receive pain?”

“You thought I was in pain?”

She nodded shyly. Hope flared within him like the crude skyrockets he and Houston had made out of carpet scraps as boys.

“Is that why you wanted to wait and see if you were carrying my son? To spare me the suffering of trying when it might not be necessary?”

She trailed her fingers along his cheek, her thumb brushing over his mustache. “I can’t stand to see you hurting like that.”