Tangled Past (7 page)

Jackson swung out of the saddle. He tossed Thunder’s reins to Henry’s brother Clint, growling instructions to walk him a few minutes more. He waited until the boy was out of earshot before he spoke again. “She’s got her drawers in a twist because I told her I wouldn’t be able to afford to build a place like this.”

“Nah, I can’t see Miss Sarah being all uppity and expecting fine things.” Not like that money-grasping harridan Eliza had turned out to be. “You must have said something else.”

Jackson stared at the front door. “Damn it, Nate, all I said was that I wouldn’t be able to afford a place as fine as this, and that she probably regretted being married to me instead of you. Next thing I knew she was riding off hell bent for leather like I was the devil on her heels.”

There had to be another explanation. “Maybe she’s afraid she’ll never see her family again.”

“I told her right off I’d let her go back to visit if she wanted. She didn’t seem anxious to take me up on my offer. You saw the way they treated her. I don’t know what bee got in her bonnet, but then I never did understand women.” He took off his hat and thwacked it against his thigh. “Have Martha make sure she gets settled. I’m going to go help Clint with Thunder.”

Left alone on the porch, Nate stared at Jackson’s back as he retreated to the barn. “You damned fool.”

Sarah followed Martha, barely hearing the woman as she pointed out various rooms and features of Nate’s house. The heels of her boots clicked across the spotless loblolly pine floors. She’d offered to take them off but Nate’s—housekeeper? Distant aunt? Family friend?—had waved her off and immediately started her tour.

Miss Martha finally wound down. “You must be plum tuckered out, and here I am going on to beat the band.” She opened the solid plank door. “This is the guest room. I imagine you and Jackson’ll do fine here.”

The guest room proved to be a room bigger than her mother’s bedroom. A massive rope bed took up most of the space. A set of green gingham tiebacks held open the matching drapes, letting the afternoon sun light the room. As she examined the room she realized it gave her no sense of who Jackson was. There were no pictures on the wall, no beloved knickknacks he’d treasured since childhood or mementos of family. There wasn’t even a brush or a shaving set on the wash stand. Despite the lack of adornments, it was the type of room she could imagine waking up in each morning. But given Jackson thought her a burden, would it turn into a haven or a hell?

“I doubt Mr. Nate’ll mind if you want to fix it up to your own tastes. This place needs a woman’s touch.” Martha frowned. “I didn’t see a trunk or anything on any of the horses the boys brought back. Are your things being brought in by buckboard or somethin’?”

How did she explain that everything she owned had been packed in Bandit’s saddlebags without appearing a pauper?

Martha must have guessed the reason behind her embarrassment, maybe from the heat creeping up Sarah’s neck, because she patted her hand. “Ah, don’t you worry about a thing, honey. Jackson will see that you have everything you need.” She pulled her hand away and fiddled with the net holding her hair in place. “So how’d you two end up married? He didn’t say a thing about it before they left.” Martha’s face didn’t lose its smile, but Sarah heard the circumspection in her tone.

Before she could stop herself, the tale started tumbling out, though she carefully kept to herself Jackson and Nate’s relationship. She ended with, “He didn’t want to marry me, but now he’s stuck with me because Josiah refused to believe Jackson hadn’t touched me.”

“Funny, here I’ve been thinking about how you might be regrettin’ being stuck with
me
.”

Sarah whipped around to find Jackson standing in the doorway, her saddlebags in his hand. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

His mouth twitched up at one side and he gestured with his free hand to his sock feet. “Miss Martha always insists we take our boots off at the front door. Says she has enough dust blowin’ through this place without us trompin’ in more.” He glanced down at her boots. “Guess she likes you more than us.”

He hung his hat on a hook by the dresser before handing the saddlebags to Martha. “Those are Sarah’s clothes. I suspect they’re gonna need an ironing before she can put them on.”

Martha huffed. “They’ll need a good airing too, if they’ve been stuffed in here for the whole trip.”

“I can do that,” Sarah started to say, only to be cut off by Jackson.

“You’ll be busy with me.” He cupped Martha’s elbow and led her to the bedroom door. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Martha, I think I’d like to clean up a bit myself. And I need to talk with my wife for a moment about a matter between us.”

“Of course.” Martha patted his arm with an ease that Sarah envied.

Jackson had shrugged his suspenders off his shoulders and let them drop to his side, when a young boy no more than ten peeked his head in the door. “Gramma said to bring you some fresh water, Mr. Jackson.”

“Here now, you should knock before walkin’ into a room. You’ve been raised better than that.” Despite his gruff tone, Jackson took the filled pitcher from the youngster’s hands and ruffled his hair. “You go out and help your brother cool off the horses. Make sure he don’t give them too much grain.”

“You can count on me. Those mares are right fine lookin’ fillies.” The boy’s face lit up, and he raced down the hall, calling instructions to his brother.

Once the door closed behind her, Jackson undid the buttons of his shirt. He tugged it over his head and let it flutter to the bed, leaving him in his undershirt. A moment later, it joined his shirt on the comforter.

Sarah found the play of muscles over his shoulders and back fascinating. She’d seen men out in the fields working on the fences and such, but they’d always pulled on their shirts before they’d come up to the house. Being so close to a man without his shirt on—to Jackson specifically—did strange things to her insides, as her body remembered all those wild and wanton things he’d done when he’d shown her what it meant to be a wife, a lover. Until she remembered that he didn’t want to be married to her.

Jackson poured some water into the washbowl. After dampening the wash cloth, he scrubbed it over his face and neck so hard she was surprised he hadn’t removed the top layer of skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff. “Why do you think I regret being married to you?”

“Because you said you wished I’d married Nate, not you. I thought if we gave ourselves some time we might suit, but you’re not even giving me a chance, are you?”

His jaw dropped for a moment before he turned back to the ewer. With a soft curse, he tossed the washcloth in the bowl. “I meant you would have been
better off
with Nate instead of me. Not that I regret marryin’ you.”

Before she could move, he’d crossed the floor and cupped his hand beneath her jaw. His touch was gentle, as if she were a bird or a delicate object he might break. “I would have liked to have done the deciding and askin’ myself instead of bein’ forced by McLeod to take marriage vows, I can’t deny it. But I’ll do my best to do right by you, you hear? I may not be able to build you as big a house or furnish it with things as fine as this one, but I’ll never regret that you’re my wife.”

“Then stop apologizing for what you can’t give me.” She leaned her cheek into his palm. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I didn’t have much at Mr. McLeod’s home, either.”

“You always call him Mr. McLeod. In all these years, he never let you call him Pa or Pop or some such?”

She shook her head. “I’m the living reminder that his wife cuckolded him. Would you accept another man’s child as your own?”

“I’d like to think I’d man up to my responsibilities. It ain’t the child’s fault who her parents are. Or aren’t.” His hand left her jaw to play with a tendril of hair that had fallen in her wild ride. “What about your mama? She must have loved you.”

“She said she did. When no one was around, she used to call me her special gift.”

Maybe he heard the sorrow in her voice, because he frowned and asked, “And when others were around?”

Sarah dropped her gaze. “Then she’d say I was God’s way of punishing her for her sins.”

Jackson cursed under his breath. “Given the way McLeod treated you, she was probably saying it to keep him happy. Miss Martha does that to keep her husband happy when he’s ornery.”

Ornery. That described Mr. McLeod to a T. And Jackson was right, her mother loved her—when they were out of Josiah’s sight.

Would she find herself resorting to such measures now she was married too?

His brows drew even closer together. “I don’t want you doin’ that to me, you hear? Next time you have a problem with somethin’ I do, or somethin’ I say, you come out and tell me. I ain’t McLeod or Miss Martha’s Abner so you don’t have to worry about me hittin’ you or nothing. I promise.”

“I won’t have to see Mr. McLeod again. Will I?”

He shook his head, his expression softer somehow. “Not unless you want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then that’s settled. You’re mine. All mine.” He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as the heat in her belly spread upward. And lower. Surely he could hear her heart thumping against her ribs or knew how her blood raced so close to the surface.

With deft fingers, he unbuttoned her bodice and spread the fabric wide. She sucked in a breath when he unhooked her corset and pulled it from her.

“I thought I told you not to wear one of those while we were riding.”

“I didn’t know who I’d be meeting when we arrived. I wanted to make a good impression.”

“Aw, darlin’, any person who judges you by what undergarments you wear ain’t worth worryin’ about.”

When his hand cupped her breast, she leaned into him with a soft sigh. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. It had been strange the first time he’d done it, but she’d found she enjoyed it. Especially when he kissed her like that at the same time he played with her breast.

She leaned full against him by the time he broke off the kiss.

“I’m thinking maybe you need proof that I don’t mind being married to you.”

She already had the proof, if the erection pressing into her belly was an indicator.

He undid her riding skirt with a murmured, “You wear too many clothes.” Her chemise was quickly drawn over her head, her knickers pushed over her hips leaving her naked, vulnerable. His gaze raked her from the top of her head to her stockinged feet. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all day.”

He had?

With that, he dipped his head again. Instead of kissing her mouth, this time he laid a series of soft kisses down her neck until she was trembling. When he captured one nipple with his mouth, she had to hang on to his shoulders with both hands.

Her whole body seemed connected somehow. Her mouth, her neck, her breasts, and parts of her body she’d barely been aware of before. Secret parts. The first night they’d been together he’d called it her pussy—maybe because he liked stroking it, she wasn’t sure. All she did know was that when he touched her like this, her pussy and other parts of her body, deep inside, ached in a way she’d never experienced before.

He pressed her onto the feather mattress and parted her legs, exposing her private parts to him, but she’d learned that very first time not to try to cover it from him. “You have such a pretty pussy. It’s all swollen and glistening, waiting for me to taste it like a fresh picked plum.”

Her cheeks must have been the same color as a plum the first time he’d put his mouth down there. Even now, knowing what he would do, she felt the blush creeping over her chest, up her neck and flooding her face.

He undid his belt, then unbuttoned his trousers and let them drop; his belt buckle hit the floor with a clank. His erection was stiff against his underclothes, a hard ridge that still startled her. He wasted no time in stepping out of his drawers before kneeling on the bed between her outspread knees.

His fingers feathered light trails up the inside of her thighs. “Have you been thinking about this, Sarah? About us bein’ in a real bed tonight? About me doin’ this to you?”

Aware that her breathing was shallow, shaky, she nodded. Was it scandalous for a woman to admit? Would he think her her mother’s daughter for such thoughts?

“Good. I’m glad.” His hands found her lower lips and parted them. It felt so…strange, so wonderful.

He should let her get dressed. Take her out to the kitchen and feed her. From the smells wafting down the hall and the sounds of cutlery clanking, Martha was setting the table, which meant the meal would soon follow. But now he knew what had set Sarah off, he needed this. To remind her that despite what she’d thought he said, he desired her as a woman, that he didn’t feel saddled to her. To ease that part of him that demanded he claim her as his own.

Her skin was so soft beneath his fingers, though her thighs were muscular. No doubt from the riding she’d done. It had damned near scared him to death when she’d insisted on riding that high-spirited stallion Bandit. But she’d proven to be an excellent horsewoman, never letting the horse forget who was in charge.

He dragged his thumb between her glistening folds again. Her body rippled and tightened with each stroke. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she gave in to his attentions. She was so responsive to even the gentlest touch. What more could a man ask from his wife?

Wife. He still wasn’t used to the concept, but damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy its benefits.

He lowered his mouth to her juncture and allowed himself a taste of her. Moisture coated his tongue as he lapped at her folds. Now he’d had a taste of her spicy musk, he’d never get it out of his head. And from the way she was moving her hips, pressing her sweet pussy into his face, she was enjoying herself as well.

Alternating between lapping and nipping at that tight little bud hidden in her folds, Jackson paid close attention to her moans. His chin was coated in her juices when he slid his first finger into her. She groaned as her muscles clamped around him, drawing him deeper.