This Loving Land (13 page)

Travis came into the house followed by John Austin, still talking.

“I’m glad you came, Travis. Next time you come, I’ll tell you about the Battle of San Jacinto. My papa fought in that battle.”

“I’d sure like to hear about it.” Travis took his hat from the peg. “I hate to eat and go, Miss Summer. But my men will be wondering where I got off to. We’re doing a little hunting in the hills. Slack time on the ranch, right now.”

“We’re glad you came by. Thank your mother for her invitation.”

“I’ll do that, Miss Summer.” He swung around to Sadie, who was standing beside Mary, her face white, her eyes huge. “There you are, Mrs. Bratcher.” He took several steps toward her and put his hand on Mary’s bead. “You take care of this pretty little girl. She’s just too pretty for words.” His eyes bored into hers and she felt a numbness in her breast. “If I get over this way, you can bet Uncle Travis will be back to see you, honey.” A scream was building up in Sadie’s throat, but she choked it off. Fear, like a thousand needles, rode down her spine, and her legs almost refused to support her. As if realizing he had pushed her almost to the breaking point, Travis turned and went to the door. “Goodbye for now, John Austin. Thanks again for the meal, Miss Summer.”

“Goodbye, Travis.”

Summer stood in the doorway and watched him leave. He swung lightly into the saddle and lifted his hat toward her. She smiled and waved. Watching him ride away, she had mixed emotions. She was glad he had come, but glad he was going before Slater came over. Of course she would tell him that Travis had been here. But she knew he would be angry, and knew it would be a frightening thing. She felt a flutter of apprehension and wished Travis hadn’t come, after all.

Sadie lay down on the bed and gathered the drowsy little girl in her arms. She desperately wanted to cry, but there were no tears anywhere inside her. Only hate, fear and devastation.

“I’m afraid you’re coming down with something, Sadie.” Summer looked down at her with worried eyes. “You stay here in bed. I’ll finish the wash.”

“I’ll rest a minute and be out to help you.” Sadie managed a saucy grin. “You know I ain’t used to layin’ on my backside.”

Grateful when Summer went out and left her alone, Sadie allowed her face to crumble, buried it in her daughter’s hair and let her misery flow over her.

Summer’s pulses quickened as darkness fell. Sadie, who usually sat with her for a while after the children went to bed, had retired early. Summer had washed, put on a clean dress, brushed her hair and gathered it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon. Lastly, she took out the small pouch of dried rose leaves and rubbed it against her neck, face and arms.

Sometimes, she felt unreal waiting for Slater. It was so wonderful to be in love. He filled every corner of her heart without her being able to stop it. Her realization that she loved him had given the world a new brightness, freeing her from many of her old, almost cherished inhibitions. She felt laughter bubbling inside her at the most unexpected times. Happiness seemed to flow in her blood, and little smiles of pure delight curved her mouth. The nagging worry about Sadie, the fear of Slater’s reaction to Travis’s visit were pushed to the back of her mind. There was no room for anything inside her now but her love for Slater.

Summer’s ears were attuned to the night sounds, and she heard him coming seconds before she saw him. She left the bench by the wall and went to the edge of the veranda, waiting, her heart beating a happy tattoo. She heard the creak of saddle leather, then he was coming toward her. His light-colored shirt was a soft glow in the moonlight. He was hatless and his black hair framed his dark face. She ran out from the porch. He stopped and held his arms wide. She ran into them and he lifted her off her feet, swinging her around.

“My sweet! My sweet summertime girl! I’ll never get used to you waiting for me, running to me.” His voice was husky, teasing, tender, and his lips nuzzled her ear. “You smell like roses. Is your beau coming to call?”

“He’s here!” Her arms tightened about his neck. “He’s right here!”

The feel of her body warm against his and the scent of her filled his head. He swallowed hard because he wanted her so much. His hand moved up and down her back and over her rounded hips, pulling her closer.

“This day has been a year long,” he whispered passionately against her lips, and kissed her long and hard.

She returned his kiss, her mouth answering his hungrily, feeling the familiar longing in her loins, pressing against him, her breasts tingling as they waited for his caress. He began to stroke her, his hands gentle.

“Sweetheart.” His breath was warm on her face. “I’ve waited all day for this. It’s getting harder and harder. . . to not do more than kiss you.”

The knowledge that she could excite him so much, could cause his big, work-hard body to tremble and his breath to catch in his throat, made her brave. Her hands moved down and slipped inside his shirt. His chest was furry in the center and warm and smooth as her hand slid along muscles that quivered at her touch. Her exploration stopped abruptly. She turned her lips from his so she could speak.

“You . . . you’ve been hurt here!”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now but you.” He began kissing her again, his hand coming up under the hair at the nape of her neck to hold her head. She could feel the stirring in him and in her, and she wanted to melt into him, become one with him, so she could feel the pain he’d felt when these scars were made.

Gently, still kissing her, he eased her arms from around him and, holding her by the shoulders, he peered down into her face.

“Let me move you and John Austin to the house, sweetheart.” There was urgency in his voice. “I want you to be there. I’ll move to the bunkhouse until we are wed.” He pulled her back into his arms.

Her heart hammered. The sincerity in his face, his voice, made her weak. Somewhere, she found the strength to whisper:

“It won’t be long now.” She placed slow, nibbling kisses along his jawline. “Until we’re married, I’ll be waiting right here, anytime you can come to me.” She pulled away, laughing lightly. “Why are we standing here? Shall we sit on the veranda?”

“Let’s take a walk down by the swing.” He untied a bundle from behind the saddle, and arm in arm they moved away from the house.

Now is the time, she thought, to tell him about Travis’s visit. While she was trying to form the right words in her mind, they reached the cottonwood tree, and he flipped out the blanket and lowered himself down. The moment was lost.

He leaned on his elbow and watched her. He was quite sure there was not another woman like her and never would be. How easily she had woven her web around him, yet she was like a fragile butterfly. The moon was up and skimmed the treetops. In its silvery light she was a vision of all that was wonderful. He had to have her close, and he reached up and tugged on her skirt. She knelt down beside him.

“Are you real, Summer, or am I having a dream? A wonderful dream.” His fingers closed lightly around her wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing the soft skin, running his tongue along her inner arm.

She ‘bent low to press her trembling mouth to his. “Oh, love,” she breathed against his lips. “Even dreams are not this wonderful!”

With an arm across her shoulders, he rolled down onto his back and pulled her down beside him. A great peaceful sigh came from him.

“You’re tired,” she said, with concern. Her eyes searched his face in the meager glow, and her fingertips stroked his scarred cheek.

In the warm, wavering glow of the moon, her skin shone warm and pale, shadowed and highlighted, even more beautiful than he had seen before. There was a radiance about her that was different, but he couldn’t name it.

“My beautiful Summer,” he breathed, almost in reverence. “I could not have believed it, but you have grown even more beautiful. Are you a fairy princess, my love?”

“Yes.” She smiled down into his eyes. “And I may turn into a green toad if you don’t kiss me.”

“Not that!” The words were a husky growl in his throat. He turned and bore her down to the blanket, leaning over her and gathering her close. His kisses came upon her mouth, warm, devouring, fierce with love and passion. Summer closed her eyes as the bliss of his greedy mouth swept her every nerve with intense excitement. She heard his harsh breathing in her ear, the hoarsely whispered words of love. His hand moved between them to the buttons on her dress, exposed her naked breast to his touch. He cupped, caressed, stroked, then pressed her nipples to his own bare chest, where his heart beat wildly.

Blindly, not daring to open her eyes, Summer moved her lips to his scarred cheek and kissed the puckers and ridges with her open mouth. His hands moved over her breast and down the length of her body, exploring its curves and hollows through the cotton dress. When his fingers unfastened more buttons, more hooks, she began to shiver, but she could no more have moved to resist him than he, at this moment, could have stopped himself.

His lips moved slowly and lingeringly from her mouth to her earlobe to her eyes and back to bury her mouth with his. He was trembling violently. She felt his mouth on her breast, lips and tongue caressing, nibbling at her nipples. Holding his head to her breast, she groaned, a muted, strangled, incoherent sound. She wanted this! She wanted to lie under his searching hands. None of her imaginings had ever been like this. This was more wonderful, more frightening.

“I love you and want you, but I don’t want to do this to you. Tell me to stop, sweetheart!” Muttered words tumbled from his lips as he pressed fevered kisses along the soft skin of her throat and the beginning swell of her breast, arching her backward over his arm, while his other hand stroked her buttocks and thighs. There was an eagerness in him to know and touch every part of her, to go inside her, to fuse with her. “Is it what you want? Please . . . please, say it’s what you want!”

Summer’s eyes were soft with love as she gazed at him. Placing her palms on either side of his face she said soothingly, as if to a child:

“Yes, my love. It’s what I want. A few words said by a preacher won’t make me any more yours than I am at this moment.”

His mouth lowered to savor the sweet, heady nectar of her lips, and his tongue searched for entry. His fully-clad body lay half-covering her, his leg thrown over her, his arms clutching her to him. She lay soft and pliant, meeting his kisses with gentle ardor. “I must tell you, sweetheart,” his words came against her cheek, “it ... it may not be what you expect. It may....”

“. . . hurt. I know. I know.” Her hands moved impatiently, pulling his shirt away and running her fingertips through the crisp hair on his chest and around to his lean, muscular ribs. His sharp intake of breath thrilled her. She felt briefly abandoned when he left her arms to help her slip out of her dress, but almost before she could voice a complaint he was back, bare and warm and covering her.

Her arms went up to hold him closer, her body straining against his. He covered her face with kisses, releasing his pent-up desire with each touch of his lips. He bent his head and kissed the soft firmness of her breast and his hand moved between her thighs, stroking the soft inner skin, moving upward. She gave a muffled, instinctive cry as his fingers found her wetness and probed gently inside.

He spoke to her softly and coaxingly, and after a while she forgot who she was, where she was, and opened her legs, letting his fingers have their way. Her excitement mounted, her body writhed and strained upward against his hand, aching for something she couldn’t yet understand. “This is the first of a thousand times for us,” he breathed. “I want you to know the pleasure that I will know. I want you to cherish the memory of our first time.”

“Yes, yes! Please. . . .” she whispered, and he moved over her, his knees between her thighs, holding them apart. For an instant, she was afraid. Her hands slipped down his back and felt the clenching and unclenching of his muscles. He lifted himself above her and she felt him large, hot and rock-hard, pushing to enter her. He went inside her a little way and stopped. With ragged breath, he waited a full minute; calming her, reassuring her. Suddenly, he thrust, and her body arched in shock. His mouth stopped her startled cry.

“My precious love,” he soothed her. He stayed inside her without moving, embedded in her, their bodies joined, his hard belly caressing the softness of hers.

The realization of it washed over her and she wrapped her arms about him, her hands pressing his back, his lean hips, truly wanting to become one with him. Lying there beneath him, with his arms around her, a part of his body inside her, she thought: Nothing can ever be the same again, nothing! From this moment, my life is changed.

Gently, he moved, slowly, his body rigid, trembling. He raised his head so he could see her face; it was glowing and full of love. His movements quickened. There was no more pain, he could read it in her eyes. With a stifled groan, he covered her mouth with his, and their bodies arched together, her movements meeting his. Tingling waves traveled like quicksilver through her veins. “I love you,” she screamed inside, as her body twisted and he seemed to take her to the edge of the world and they flew out into space locked together.

Wave after wave of pure physical pleasure washed over them. They were two beings wrapped in the perfect bliss of their union, giving all to each other and in return receiving everything and more. Summer only suspected that theirs was a special love; Slater knew it. He had been a man burning for peace, for contentment. It was here, beneath him, in the body of this small woman. He poured himself into her, groaning, shuddering, reaching for her very soul with his possession and binding his heaving body to hers in total consummation.

Afterwards, still joined to him, she hardly had strength left to return his kisses. She was weak and lifeless in body, but her spirit soared, and she wanted to tell him how it was with her.

“It was wonderful! You are . . . wonderful!”

Relief flowed through him. Tenderly, he pushed the damp hair from her face and his heart swelled. He had never dared to hope, to dream, of finding a woman like this. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, her lips, her breast. He was filled with indescribable joy and contentment. Lifting himself up and out of her, he lay beside her and reached for his shirt. Gently, he wiped the perspiration from her face, drew the soft cloth across and around her breast, down over her flat belly, and between her thighs, cleansing her. It was an act of loving devotion, and Summer recognized it as such.