Stay With Me (37 page)

She laughed and kissed him. “We didn’t say
goodbye to George. What’s he going to think?”

“If he’s anywhere near as bright as I think
he might be, he’s going to know that I brought you up to this stand
of trees to ravish you.”

She licked her lips. “Sounds interesting.
What exactly does a man do when he ravishes a woman?”

John nuzzled her neck. “A little of this, a
little of that.”

Sarah shook her head. “Little? That doesn’t
sound so good to me. Maybe I’m not interested after all.”

In one smooth motion, he moved her off his
lap and onto her back. He knelt next to her. “Not interested?” he
growled.

She could smell the earth, the coming rain,
and his wanting. It was all mixed together and it seeped in,
shaking her, bruising her, changing her. “Maybe you could convince
me.”

He kissed her. Hard. And when she opened her
mouth, he pushed his tongue inside. His hands were everywhere,
touching her face, her neck, her breasts. She lifted her hips, not
able to pretend that she could wait.

He unbuttoned her blouse while she yanked it
free of her skirt. When he did the last button, her breasts sprang
free, falling into his hands. “Your camisole?” he said, his mouth
nipping at her neck.

She reared up and licked his ear. “I took my
panties off, too,” she whispered.

He froze. And then it was as if she’d
unleashed a tiger. His hands were under her skirt, touching,
finding, caressing, teasing. She arched into his hand and his
fingers probed, robbing her of breath, driving her high, making her
beg.

“Oh, John,” she said. “Oh, yes. Yes.” And
when she came, a million tiny sparks shot through her.

“Oh, God,” she said. She looked at him,
half-sitting, half-laying, his eyes bright in the moonlight. And
she heard the roar of thunder in the distance.

He took his hand away and she mourned the
loss. John stood up. He shed his coat, his shirt, his pants,
everything. Until he was absolutely, splendidly naked. She
unbuttoned her skirt and pulled it down, not wanting anything to
separate them.

Lightning cracked above them. “John, it’s
going to rain.”

“I’m not stopping now,” he said, his lips
barely moving. He knelt between her legs. “I want you, Sarah. I
want to feel your heat, your softness.”

She pulled him toward her and they were one.
He moved, letting her adjust, letting her know his strength, his
power. He bent his head and caught her nipple in his mouth. When he
scraped his teeth across her, he pushed her over the edge
again.

The storm was closer now. Thunder rumbled and
lightning flashed. He waited, letting the shudders subside. Then he
slipped his hands underneath her and lifted her closer, his
penetration deeper with each stroke. He rode her with a desperation
that had little to do with the impending storm and everything to do
with her leaving.

Deeper. Harder. Tempting. Leading. “Oh, God,”
she said, her tired body rising up once again. She came, her inner
muscles clamping down on him.

He surged, let out a hoarse cry, and emptied
himself in her. Then he collapsed. She couldn’t breathe. She
couldn’t move. She loved it.

It wasn’t until he slipped out of her and
moved to her side that she realized it was raining.

He put one arm underneath her head and pulled
her close. Then he reached out, grabbed his coat, and covered the
two of them. That, along with the trees, protected them from the
worst of the rain.

“We should go inside,” she said.

He shook his head. “Not yet. I want to hold
you.”

She wished he could hold her forever. “John,
we need to talk about this,” she said. “The stage will be in
Cheyenne tomorrow.”

“I know that.”

She knew, as well as he did, that they had
made love for the last time. “I don’t want to go, John. I love you.
I’ll always love you.”

He started to cry. She could feel his body
silently quaking. She caught his hand in hers and brought it up
between the two of them. She laid it on her breast. “I will keep
you here, John Beckett. I will keep you in my heart until the end
of time.”

“I love you, Sarah. I know I said that I
could be happy with an hour, a day, whatever we had. But I don’t
want to let you go.”

She kissed him and she tasted salt. “I love
you, too. I think I’ve loved you since you bandaged my foot that
first night.”

“I’ve loved you since you made me soup.”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “It’s true
then. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“Oh, Sarah. You are my heart. You are my
love. My everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do without
you.”

She knew she could not leave without loving
him one more time. She flipped him on his back, shedding his coat
on the way.

“Sweetheart, you’ll get wet,” he said.

“I don’t care.” She took him in her mouth and
delighted in the immediate response. When he was hard, his head
thrashing from side to side, she gave him a final kiss before
letting go. She sat on him, taking him into her warmth.

“Christ, Sarah,” he said, pushing up inside
of her.

She rode him as thunder roared and lightning
crashed, and wind whipped around them. Up. Down. Squeezing. Taking.
And when he reared up, his hips coming off the ground, she hurtled
over the edge and they flew into the storm, reckless, fearless,
joyful.

Later, he helped her dress. “My skirt is
wet,” she said.

“It’s going to get a lot wetter,” he
answered, peering out of the trees. “I thought it might let up but
it’s getting worse. That wind is wicked, maybe the worst I’ve ever
seen. I’m going to hang on to you. Don’t let go of my hand.”

They ran down the hill, the wind stealing
their breath. They were halfway there when a bolt of lightning
cracked and a tree, a huge, towering tree, no more than two hundred
yards from them, split in half, making the ground literally shake.
John grabbed her and swung her up into his arms, running the rest
of the way. He kicked at the door and it flew open.

“Jesus,” George said. “Get in here.”

John shifted her and let her slide down his
body. When Sarah looked around, she saw Lemon and Wintergreen, wide
awake, sitting up, their arms wrapped around each other. They
looked frightened to death.

The stage driver sat on the cot next to them,
working his jaw around a wad of chewing tobacco. His hands were
clasped and his eyes closed.

Funny. She hadn’t figured him for a praying
man.

When the thunder boomed, so loud it hurt
their ears, Lemon shrieked and started to cry. Rain hit the tin
roof and the noise vibrated through the small room.

The wind blew harder, the shrill cry of an
angry woman, shaking the small building. John grabbed her and took
her to the corner. He wrapped her in blankets and then sat next to
her, cuddling her.

The stage driver pulled out a big bottle of
whiskey, took a deep drink, then passed it to Wintergreen and
Lemon. They didn’t hesitate. The three of them kept rotating the
bottle until they all passed out. Lemon had her head on the
driver’s shoulder and Wintergreen had her head in Lemon’s lap.

It went on forever. The wind, the thunder,
the lightning. A cacophony of noise and light and power. Sarah
clapped her hands over her ears and John pulled her closer.

And then it ended. Almost as quickly as it
had begun.

John and George looked at each other, then
looked around the small room, like they couldn’t believe the
building had managed to stand up against the storm.

“I’ve never heard anything like that,” George
said.

“Me either,” John said.

Sarah sat in the corner, too afraid to move.
She had. Once.

John stood up and stretched. He smiled down
at her but his smile quickly faded. “Sarah? Honey? What’s wrong?
You’re pale as a ghost.” John shook her gently. “It’s over. We’re
safe.”

Feeling stiff and old, she got up and walked
to the door. She opened it, knowing what she would see. And they
were there.

Footsteps. The ground was a swirling mass of
mud with the exception of the footprints. They were clear. And
leading away from the changing station.

John came up behind her. She heard his quick
intake of breath and felt the tension in his body. She took another
step toward the door and he yanked her back.

“No,” he cried. “No. I’m not ready.”

She’d never be ready. It would kill her to
leave him. But she didn’t have a choice. She turned to him. “An
hour. A day. We had both. A lifetime was not ours to have.”

He hung his head. Then with the courage of
many men, he lifted his chin and met her eyes. “I love you. I will
always love you. Forever. Until we meet again, my sweet Sarah.”

Then he kissed her. And when the kiss ended,
she clung to him, savoring his scent, memorizing his strong
lines.

Then she turned and took the first step. The
ground inside the footstep was firm and hard, so different from the
swirling mud that surrounded them. She held her breath, knowing
that at any minute she would be sucked up, taken from John.

She took another step. Then another. Until
she reached the end.

It was nothing like before. The footsteps
still stretched inches beyond her shoes. She turned to John. He
stood in the doorway, his face absolutely white.

“Something’s wrong,” she cried.

“What should I do?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Come back. Now. Sarah, come back.”

She tried. She couldn’t lift a foot. She
tried, with every ounce of strength she had, but she was
captured.

John stepped off the porch.

“No,” she wailed. He’d be lost, too.

It took him just seconds to reach her. Then
he lifted her up in his arms, held her to his chest, his face
smothered in her neck. “I can’t lose you,” he said. “I can’t
survive it.”

She shook in his arms. “Take me inside,” she
said. “Take me back.”

When they got inside, they both collapsed on
the floor, tears running freely down their faces.

George stood at the door, a strange look on
his face. He looked at the footprints, then back at Sarah and
John.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” he said,
his voice soft.

Sarah peered over John’s shoulder.
“What?”

“It’s time.”

“What are you talking about, George?” John
asked, his voice hoarse.

“The other night, I told you that Hannah came
to me and told me that a woman needed my help.”

“Yes.”

“She told me something else. It didn’t seem
to make much sense so I didn’t say anything. She said that I was
going to take a long journey to a far-away place filled with
strangers and strange things. But that I shouldn’t be
frightened.”

Sarah jerked away from John and ran to
George. She put her hand on his arm. “What are you saying?”

“Those footprints are for me.”

“It’s not possible,” Sarah said.

George leaned down and kissed Sarah’s cheek.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure Miguel stays at home with his
mother.”

There was so much she needed to tell him. So
much he needed to know. “Wait,” she said.

“No. It has to be now.” George walked over to
the table, picked up his camera, and slung the strap of the brown
case over his shoulder. He turned to John. “Good luck, my friend.
Remember. An hour, a day, a lifetime.”

John came to the door and wrapped his arms
around George. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

George winked and looked at Sarah. “Give my
best to Lemon and Wintergreen. Tell them they’ll have to find
somebody new to hold their yarn.”

George turned and took his first step. The
ground rumbled. He took another. Red and green and purple balls of
light appeared, then exploded, until the sky was a blaze of
color.

He took his third step. Wisps of steam
escaped the earth and Sarah smelled her ocean once again.

He took a fourth step and Sarah could hear
the seagulls, swooping low, teasing, calling.

He took a fifth step and he was gone.

Sarah thought she might sweat to death before
the wedding started. “Stand still,” she mumbled, her mouth full of
hair pins. She’d spent the last ten minutes cleaning dirt off of
Thomas’s pants and now Helen, half her hair up and the other half
down, squirmed in front of her.

“Let’s go,” said the girl. “It’s going to
start without us.”

“It can’t. You’re the bridesmaid and I’m
providing the music. Nothing happens without us.”

Helen turned and looked up, her eyes bright
with tears. “It’s really happening. I prayed and prayed and I’m
getting a mother.”

Sarah let the pins drop to the floor. Who
cared about hair at a time like this? She wrapped her arms around
the girl’s shoulders.

“I heard Father tell Grandfather that he was
a lucky man to have loved two wonderful women.” Helen leaned close
to Sarah. “I’m the lucky one, to have two mothers.”

Sarah looked down the aisle of the small
church to where John Beckett sat near the front of the church. She
watched as his mother entered the church, looking uncertain. She
came to the end of John’s pew and stood there.

When he looked up and smiled, the woman’s
shoulders lifted, like a great weight had been removed. John patted
the spot next to him.

It would be okay. Maybe she and Mrs. Beckett
might even be friends one day.

Sarah straightened Helen’s bow, catching
John’s eye. He winked at her, pulled out his pocket-watch, and
tapped on it.

An hour. A day. A lifetime.

They were going to have it all.

Like many writers, my love affair with books
began at an early age. I was a frequent visitor to the library in
my little town and while I read many types of books, I was drawn to
those featuring feisty heroines in dangerous situations.