Sunset Embrace (9 page)

Ross watched, his throat swelling thickly as she picked up a soft piece of flannel and blotted her front. Then she pulled up the bodice of the dress, slid her arms through the sleeves, and bent her head over the buttons. When all were fastened that she could pull together, she stood and pivoted around to face him.

"What did you thank me for?"

"Thank you for saving my son's life," he said tightly.

Lydia stared up into his eyes. They were shimmering with anger, but not with insincerity. Instantly she was ashamed of herself. He didn't like her, but he loved his son. His thank-you should be accepted for what it was.

She gjanced down at the baby and whispered, "In a way he saved my life too." Raising her. eyes back to the man man, she said, "Because of Lee I don't want to die anymore. If I hadn't had milk, he wouldn't have lived. The way I see it, Mr. Coleman, we're even."

He would have given anything for her not to mention the milk. For as he heard the word his eyes sought out its source. The dress was still stretched over the plump globes of her breasts, pressing the nipples fiat. It was an obscenely:

provocative yet beautiful sight, and he couldn't keep from looking any more than he could keep from breathing.

Lydia took that avid look on his face as repulsion. "I'm sorry," she said soulfully. "I know the dress doesn't look decent. I don't mean to offend you." She covered a breast with each hand as though to hide it.

Her fingers settled into the soft flesh and created ten deep tunnels. He could imagine the pebbly nipples nestled in the cushion of her palms
Jesus!
Ross cursed silently and willed down the surge of life in his groin. He dragged his eyes away only to become entrapped by those shining eyes others. "Good night," he said with the desperation of a man trying to save his life.

"I'm sorry you have to sleep under the wagon. Is it too uncomfortable?"

A lot more comfortable than it would be to sleep in the wagon near her. "No," he said tersely. He was halfway out of the opening before his hurried good night reached her ears.

Minutes later, lying on his back staring up at the stars, Ross cursed the tight constriction in his loins. If he accused her of being a whore, what did that make him? How could his body betray him this way? He had loved his wife and his wife had died only a week ago.

His only justification was that since the day he had learned Victoria was going to have his baby he hadn't been with a woman. She had apologetically requested that she be relieved of her marital duties during her pregnancy. He had agreed instantly. Her sensibilities were one thing that had endeared her to him, besides her incredible aristocratic beauty. If he had suffered night after night lying close beside her, but not availing himself of her, that was part of being a gentleman. Unless one took a mistress, and Ross had loved Victoria too much even to contemplate that.

But now, after months of abstinence, his body was reacting to a flagrant display of female flesh and wanton warmth. What living, breathing man could be blamed for responding? Damn! It wasn't his fault. He couldn't control that part of his body.

Nor, it appeared, could he control his mind. For it wouldn't leave alone the thought of the girl. He kept seeing her: her hair fanning over her back, the graceful way her spine divided it into perfect halves, the gentle sloping at her waist into slender hips. With the heels of his hands, he dug into his eyesockets and tried to eradicate the image, but the sight and scent and sound of her wouldn't go away.

Most disgraceful of all was the stab of envy he felt toward Lee. His son knew what she tasted like.

T
he next morning Lydia awakened just before dawn. Lee was still sleeping. She dressed in the only garment she had, Anabeth's dress, and pulled on her worn shoes. It was no small accomplishment to gather her mass of hair into a knot, but she managed to, and secured it to the back of her head with pins pilfered from a box of cosmetics and lotions that had belonged to Victoria. She wouldn't touch any of the other things, and, had it not been a necessity, she wouldn't have taken the pins. Ma and Anabeth had packed away most of the woman's things. Lydia was glad. She needed no trace of Victoria to remind her of her inadequacies.

Glancing down at the tight dress, she sighed uncomfortably. It stood to reason that she could wear Victorias clothes. But reason and Mr. Coleman, where his wife was concerned, came to a parting of the ways. He hadn't offered his late wife's clothes to Lydia. Even Ma, who never failed to voice her opinion on anything, hadn't dared to suggest it. She seemed to know he wouldn't take kindly to the idea.

Taking as deep a breath as the constricting calico would permit, Lydia peeled back the flaps of the canvas and stepped out of the wagon. The sun was just breaking over the treetops outlining the horizon. Ross, bending over the fire and feeding it kindling, looked up in surprise.

"Good morning," Lydia said softly. His apparent surprise at seeing her in the light of day nettled her. Did he intend to hide her in the wagon
forever?
Conveniently she forgot that only hours before she had been afraid to leave its safe confines. Not meeting his eyes, she stepped off the tailgate onto the ground.

"Morning."

"I'll make coffee."

He resented her cool detachment. She was acting like they did this every morning, that it was normal and nothing out of the ordinary. He looked around the campsite. At nearly every other wagon, there were couples going about their morning chores, speaking softly, personally, before the day's traveling began.

His eyes came back to her as she spooned coffee into the enamel pot. On the surface, yes, everything looked right. But dammit, they weren't a couple. He felt as awkward and callow as Luke Langston, and irrationally he blamed her complacency for making him feel that way. "Guess I'll shave now."

She straightened up to face him. His jaw was dark with a nights growth of beard. Looking at the dark moustache, she wondered what it would feel like to touch. The men she had known had had beards only because they were too lazy to shave. When the fecial hair began to irritate them, they would ineffectually scrape it off.
Ross's
moustache was well-groomed, trimmed, and clean. Even though it was thick, the individual hairs looked silky.

"If you show me where the flour is, I can make biscuits."

While he stood at the back of the wagon shaving, she went about preparing a breakfast of filed bacon and biscuits. She even made a duck gravy with the bacon drippings. Her coffee tasted a helluva lot better than what he had been brewing for himself. He didn't want to think it, but it was better than Victorias too. She had never made it strong enough to suit him and didn't know the difference. She had been a
tea
drinker.

He didn't thank Lydia or compliment her on the breakfast. They ate in tense silence. He cleaned his plate and when she filled it again without even asking, he ate all of that helping as well.

"What day is this?" Lydia asked him as she began cleaning their utensils and repacking them.

"Day? Thursday."

"Ma said the train doesn't travel on Sundays and that's when most everyone does laundry. 1 don't think 1 can wait until then to wash Lee's diapers." They had found baby clothes and diapers packed away in one of the trunks in the Colemans' wagon. Victoria had known she was going to have the baby en route.

Anabeth had been taking the fouled diapers each night and cleaning them out for Lydia, but the hamper that stored the wet ones was getting odorous. Her bleeding had stopped during the night, but she needed to rinse out the fags Anabeth and Ma hadn't gotten to. It had been hard to stay clean on the Russell place, but Mama had drilled cleanliness into her. She had been filthy when the Lang-stons brought her in. No one had deplored that as much as she.

"We'll heat up
some
water after supper. If we hang them out overnight, they'll dry."

Lydia nodded. She was placing their box of cooking utensils in the wagon when they heard Lees hungry wail. "Bight on time," she said, laughing.

"I'll douse the fire and see to the horses." Ross stalked away, hating himself for feeling so good about the coming day and for noticing the way her complexion glowed in the early sunlight.

Lydia changed Lee and leaned with relaxed contentment against the slats of the wagon while he nursed. The camp was in full operation now. Most had eaten breakfast. Women were repacking the gear and admonishing their children to get their chores done. Men were hitching up their teams. Sharp whistles punctuated the air as they moved them into place.

Lazily Lydia's eyes closed. This was a safe, comfortable world, away from the larger, more frightening one. Here she was unknown. No one would associate her with the Russells. No one knew about that body with the crushed skull. It may not even have been found. Even if it had been, no one could trace her here. She was safe, secure. She could rest.

Ross was murmuring to his team horses as he hitched diem to the wagon. She liked the low, deep timbre of his voice in contrast to the pleasant jingling of the harnesses. The air was heavy with the smell of wood smoke and horses and leather. It wasn't at all a disagreeable combination. Lee wasn't finding it so either. He ate hungrily, but the tugging cadence on her breast was lulling and only contributed to the aura of peacefulness.

Her eyes opened drowsily and then flew open wide.

Mr. Coleman was standing beside the team, fastening the harnesses together. He had an unrestricted view of her under the wagons seat and into the back where she sat feeding Lee. He was staring straight at her from the deep shadow beneath his wide-brimmed hat. His gloved hands were momentarily still as they gripped the leather thongs.

The instant she caught him looking at her, he jumped to life again, yanking his eyes away from her as brutally as he pulled on the leather strap he was securing.

A trill of sensation tickled its way up from the depths of her womanhood, spread through her breasts, and trapped her breath in her throat Such a sensation she had never experienced before and it shocked her as much as seeing Mr. Coleman staring at her with that degree of intentness. She turned her back slightly until Lee finished, and didn't look toward the front of the wagon again.

She had just tied Lee into a fresh sacque when word came down the line that they were ready to pull out. Ma had told her that the train traveled twelve to fifteen miles a day, but that they had been drastically slowed down by spring rains. It had left the roads and meadows over which they traveled muddy and rutted and hard to negotiate. Rivers and their tributaries were swollen and flooded, making crossing them hazardous. Because of the wan the bridges that remained were in a sad state of repair and wouldn't take the weight of the wagons.

Ross was driving the wagon today and adroitly coaxed the team into line with the others. They began at a sluggish pace, but had soon accelerated to one they would try to maintain until they stopped for the noon rest.

Lydia rolled the sleeping mattress against the side of the wagon to make more room to move about. She straightened the interior of the wagon, even folding some of Mr. Colemans shirts and deciding which ones she should wash that night along with Lee's things.

After a while she became bored. Lee was sleeping soundly in his crate. She had done all the chores she could find for herself within the wagon and dreaded another day of lying about with nothing to do. The thought of fresh air and open spaces appealed to her greatly.

Timidly she ducked her head through the front opening of the wagon and tapped Mr. Coleman on the shoulder. His body tensed as if he had been gunshot, before his head snapped around. She withdrew her hand quickly. "What is it?" he demanded.

She resented his sharp tone. Did he think she would never grow tired of the inside of the wagon? Would he be embarrassed to have her riding beside him on the outside where everyone could see her, where his beloved Victoria used to sit with her lacy parasol? "I'd like to ride outside for a while," she said tartly.

Without speaking again, he scooted over on the wide, fiat seat and made room for her. The swaying of the wagon made the footwork tricky, but she held on to the canvas with one fist while she placed one foot on the seat and stepped out. She teetered there for a moment The ground seemed a very long way down. She hadn't realized how high the seat of the wagon was. Swallowing her fear, she put the other foot on the seat.

At that unfortunate moment, the left front wheel encountered a large rock and the wagon bumped over it with a sudden jolt. Lydia lost what precarious grip she had on her balance and grabbed at air until her hand came in contact with Mr. Coleman's hat. It was knocked to the wagon seat an instant before her buttocks plopped down hard on it.

On her way down she had gained quite a bit of momentum. It propelled her against Mr. Coleman. His arm was trapped between her full breasts as she slid down its entire length from shoulder to wrist. She tried to catch herself by placing her hand on his thigh, but it slipped and plunged between his legs. When she finally stopped felling, she found herself sprawled across his lap, her arm wedged between his thighs, her cheek resting on his hip.

For a moment she leaned against him, drawing in deep breaths, battling off vertigo, and trying valiantly to pretend nothing had happened. Finally she pulled herself upright and inched away. She was still sitting on his hat!

It was when she again braced her hand on his thigh to lever herself up and extract the crumpled hat that he began muttering blasphemous curses. "I'm sorry," she apologized breathlessly, mortified by her clumsiness. "I . . . I've never been on a wagon this large before."

The eyes he turned on her were glassy, bright, and fierce. His mouth was a thin, stern line beneath the curving moustache as he said, "Please be more careful next time." Lydia noticed that his lips barely moved as he spoke and his voice sounded different. Was he in pain? Had she hurt him?

With deft movements she restored his hat to its original shape and shyly handed it to him. It seemed a shame for him to cover up that head of dark hair that shone with iridescent streaks in the sunlight. But as he pulled it low on his brow she decided the hat did him justice as well.