Summer Moon (5 page)

7

Reed opened his eyes to darkness.

His head felt stuffed with cotton. His mouth was dry, his shoulder ached like a son of a bitch. He had been dreaming of Daniel, and in his dream he was running after his son—running as fast as he could, shouting his son’s name.

But Daniel wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t stop running. Soon, the boy disappeared completely behind a dense wall of smoke.

Reed had been around Comanche long enough to have learned some of their beliefs. They took a lot of stock in a man’s dreams. Had his dream of Daniel been some sort of warning?

He would have to remind Becky to keep a close eye on the boy.

He had dreamed of the old man, too. He’d seen his father dead, laid out in a wooden box in the window of the sitting room of his damn palace, Benton House. The place was a mansion suited for a city someplace back East, not the middle of the prairie. It looked like it had fallen out of the sky. His father used it to tempt Becky, to make her beg to move back.

Benton House was fit for a king, not a rancher.

Reed Benton Senior—the goddamn king of Lone Star Ranch. The man never listened to a soul, never cared about what anyone else wanted, not his son, not even his wife. Reed winced thinking of his mother, of the neglect she had suffered at the hands of his father, and of one thing she wanted that his father refused to give her—his love and attention. As far as Reed was concerned, her death was his father’s fault. He would forever lay that on the old man’s head.

His father might be the ruler of his domain, but he didn’t wield enough power to dictate to him, or Becky, or Daniel. Not now, not ever. It would be a cold day in hell before he moved them back to Benton House to live under his father’s thumb.

Becky knew he wasn’t going to change his mind, either. He saw in her eyes that she hated him for not wanting to live the easy life, for not letting her enjoy the luxury of the big, solid house away from the frontier. She wanted Sofia waiting on her hand and foot while his father spent time trying to convince him to run for state legislature. The old man swore that he cast a long enough shadow that he could even buy his son an election.

Reed would never feel like a man, never be anything but “Junior” as long as his father was alive. At least living on the edge of the frontier kept him removed from the old man’s grasp.

Reed opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the bed beneath him began to spin, so he dropped back down.

Where in the hell was Becky?

He tried to call her, but his throat was so rusty that damn near gibberish was all that came out.

Just then the door opened and a shimmering halo of lamplight preceded her into the room. She had her hair twisted into a thick braid that fell like an auburn rope over her shoulder. He hadn’t realized it nearly reached her waist. He loved her hair, loved to run his fingers through it.

Some men were of the opinion that if you told a woman you loved her too often, she would begin to take you for granted.

It seemed like a hell of a long time since he had held his wife in his arms. She stood in the doorway, not moving, just watching him. A circle of light played over her face, teased him with shaded glimpses of her features.

He tried to sit up, rolled to his side, decided to wait for her to come to him.

Damn, even as bad as he felt, just the sight of her had him hard as a rock.

He stretched out his arm, beckoned her closer.

When Kate opened the door and found Reed awake, struggling to sit up, she nearly dropped the lamp. Even now, as she stood there dumbstruck, her hand shook so hard that the flame threatened to go out.

The glow of lamplight spread before her into the room, far enough for her to see into his eyes. Reed stretched out his arm, beckoned her closer.

Her breath caught. Her knees began to tremble as hard as her hand. She hastily set the lamp down on the washstand. In half a dozen steps she crossed to his bedside.

With one hand pressed against the bodice of her nightgown, she watched him reach for her free hand. Slowly their palms met. A rush of heat shot through her, hard and hot as lightning.

He gently tugged until she sat on the narrow space between him and the edge of the mattress.

When the corner of his lips lifted into a half-smile, she almost dropped to her knees to offer a prayer to Saint Perpetua for interceding. His hand was too warm, his skin still radiated the last vestiges of fever, but he was conscious. He would recover. She knew her prayers had been answered.

No words came when he tried to speak, only a croaking sound. Kate reached for a glass of water on the bedside table, slid her arm beneath his head, cradling him so that he could take a sip. He swallowed half the contents before he raised his head again. When she lowered him to the pillow, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“Is . . . is the boy asleep?”

Hearing him speak startled her so that she nearly dropped the glass of water, but she smiled. It was fitting that his first inquiry be about the child, and that pleased her.

“He’s sound asleep.”

“Good. Good.” Reed’s lashes moved. His eyes slowly opened. “I dreamed he ran away.”

“No. He’s still here.”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Her heart swelled.

“I didn’t know you were awake or I would have been here beside you.”

“Your hair—”

Suddenly uncertain, she reached up and touched the part down the center of her hair.

“Let it loose,” he whispered.

Reaching for the thin ribbon tied around the end of her braid, she tugged it and the bow unraveled. Staring into Reed’s eyes, Kate ignored the scrap of ribbon as it sailed to the floor. She finger-combed her hair until it fell around her shoulders.

Reed reached up, wrapped his hand in her hair and with a gentle but persistent tug, drew her close, so close she was leaning against his chest. Her breasts flattened against him. He was surprisingly hard, unyielding where she was soft.

He urged her closer until she gazed into his eyes. Their lips met. His were surprisingly soft, warm and dry from fever. The kiss was a gentle meeting, an introduction, a chance to taste, to touch, to discover each other more intimately.

Her first kiss.

Something deep inside her slowly melted. Something she had guarded all her life, something she had once feared melted away. She loved him. She wanted him—wanted this night to go on forever.

“I waited so long,” he whispered.

The past months of correspondence, the proxy marriage, the long trip west and anxious past few hours— she, too, had waited so long.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I know, Reed. So very long.”

Their lips touched again, then parted.

“Stay with me.” His lips moved against her mouth.

“Yes. Of course.”

She started to rise, to move the rocker close so that she could spend the night beside him.

“No.” He protested the instant she began to pull away. His hand, still tangled in her hair, dropped to her shoulder. His thumb grazed her collarbone. He rubbed it back and forth. “Lie down. Here, beside me.”

Stay with me.

She had mistaken his meaning. When her cheeks began to burn, she was thankful for the shadows.

So soon.

Her heart was pounding. His thumb continued to trace her collarbone. His fingers slipped across her skin. She shivered when they explored beneath the fabric.

She could not calm her racing heart. She thought that caring for him today would have helped her past this point of embarrassment, that she had grown used to him, to the
idea
of him and what being married to him meant. Now that reality was staring her in the face, she realized that she had been wandering around in a dream, unaware that this very night she would become his wife—in every sense of the word.

He was her husband. Their marriage had been recorded in Maine and Texas.

Reed slowly ran his hand down her shoulder and took her by surprise when he gently cupped her breast. She gasped, shocked at the intense sensation when his thumb found her nipple, teased it, stroked it. A moan escaped her, shocking her.

Wanting more, needing more, she pressed her hand over his. The fabric of her nightgown separated their hands, yet she felt the heat of his hand through the muslin.

“Take it off,” he urged. His voice was low. Their eyes locked.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, tried to calm her racing heart. He wanted her to undress, to lie beside him, to give herself, her virginity to him.

To seal their marriage vows.

Outside, the moon was on the rise. Round, brilliant, obliterating all but one lone star beside it. It shone down and drenched the rolling prairie, the gentle sloping land.

As Reed reached up and stroked her cheek, he ran his fingers through her hair, patient. Waiting.

Kate stared out at the man in the moon.

She had made something of her life at Saint Perpetua’s and then she had taken a chance on her dream.

She was no whore. She was not her mother.

She was a wife, and, determined to be the best wife a man ever had, Kate drew his hand away from her gown, clung to it as she rose to her feet. Then she gathered her nightgown in her hand and slowly drew it over her head. She let it fall across the arm of the rocker. Shivering despite the heat of summer, astounded by her own boldness, she stood before him in nothing but milk-white moonlight.

She was a dream wrapped in moonbeams. His wife. His love. Soft and gentle, warm as the ever-present breeze kissing the prairie.

He liked this newfound shyness in her. It gave him strength that may have otherwise failed him. She lifted the sheet and carefully slipped in beside him, somehow aware of the damn ache in his shoulder, even though the origin of it escaped him now.

He wanted his wife. Wanted to love her until she was certain she was his stars, his moon. The way Daniel was his sunshine, even on the darkest of days.

Her skin was smooth and silky. White as cream. Intoxicating. He drew her fingers to his lips, kissed them one by one, ran his hand up her arm and pulled her so close their bodies touched from shoulder to shoulder.

She trembled with excitement as he whispered love words against her neck, in the hollow of her shoulder, in her ear until she moaned. Then he placed his hand beneath her chin, brought her lips up to his. He brushed aside the fall of long hair and kissed her. He fell into the kiss, the heat and the wetness, and sucked her tongue.

Tonight, she kissed like a virgin. He took his cue from her, smiled against her lips and tried to roll to his side, but the dull ache became a searing pain in his shoulder.

“It hurts. . . .”

She went perfectly still. “If you would rather wait . . .”

“I would rather die than wait.” He kissed her deeply. He would find a way.

“See how much I need you?” He took her hand, drew it beneath the sheet, across his stomach, until he urged her to curl her fingers around his arousal. “Take me inside you.”

She gasped at his boldness, but she did not draw back. Nor did she let go. Instead, with a slow determination that bordered on torture, she began to trail her fingers over him, exploring by touch.

They had all the time in the world, and so he gave himself up to the sheer pleasure of the silky stroke of her hand, closed his eyes, let his senses gambol. A hint of roses swirled around her, reminding him of the old, red trailing rose his mother had brought all the way from Georgia before he was born. He had not thought of it in years.

Without letting him go, she shifted, drew her legs up until she was on her knees beside him. As the sheet slid down her body, the night breeze caressed their bare skin.

Reed slipped his hand between her thighs, unerringly found her dewy dampness. He pressed her mound, massaged her gently until she was softly panting. She leaned over him, her hands on both sides of his head, her long, auburn hair surrounding them until they were enclosed in a swaying, sensual web.

“I need you.” He had waited so very, very long. He’d thought he would have to wait forever.

Her knee went across him. She settled there with her cheek against his heart. He could feel her breath against his chest, the moisture of tears was there, too.

“Are you crying?” he asked. “Why?”

“. . . so happy . . .”

He felt the whispered words against his bare skin. He slid his hands to her hips, urged her to straddle him. Then he lowered her with measured slowness, spreading her gently as he inched himself inside.

She stiffened for an instant when he met with resistance, then gave a soft cry and enveloped him fully.

He lifted his chin, urged her to kiss him. It was a moment or two before she moved, and then she covered his lips with hers. They lay locked together. She melted inside and relaxed. Her hips gradually began to move in a sensuous, rhythmic motion. She was tender, even tentative. She gave of herself, took no more than his injured, feverish body could give.

He wanted to add to her pleasure, wanted her to reach fulfillment with him, but with infinite, measured thrusts she coaxed him, milking him to a soul-shattering climax. A primitive sound tore from his throat when he came inside her.

With his release came a blessed peace, the likes of which he had not known for a long, long time.

She curled around him, gathered him into her arms. Replete, he slipped into a deep, contented sleep.

Not until Reed’s breathing settled into a slow, rhythmic pattern did Kate even think of moving. When she did, it was with the utmost care.

She slid off him but did not leave the bed. Instead, she lay tucked against his side, savoring the hard masculine feel of him. She marveled at the wonder, the magic their bodies had made together.

Thank God she had taken a chance on happiness. Thank God that she had followed her dream. Now she had made the final step and what had once seemed mysterious and at the same time frightening had turned out to be more than magic. This first night with him would live forever in her heart.