Runaway, p.11
Runaway, page 11
“I guess that’s what you call it, honey. It’s sort of early lovemakin’, like leadin’ up to the event.” His whisper was back at her ear and he blew gently in a circular motion, cooling the spot he’d so recently dampened with his tongue.
Her toes touched the denim fabric of his trousers and she rubbed them against the rough surface, sliding her foot up and down his shinbone. With a lithe movement she hooked her heel behind his knee and drew his leg closer, till he laughed against her shoulder.
“Damn, Cassie! You’re playin’ a rough game with me. I’m gonna drop you on the floor if you’re not careful, girl.”
As if he feared that very thing to happen, he limped to the bed, her foot and leg all tangled up with his, off balance and hanging on to her with a grip that felt as though she’d be bruised by morning.
Together they fell across the mattress, and the headboard thumped up against the wall. Cassie looked up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, aware of the weight of his body shoving her into the mattress. His knees had somehow gotten planted one on each side of her right leg, and her robe and gown were twisted halfway up her thighs.
She was exposed to him in about the most intimate way she could imagine, and she reached to loosen herself from the grip of the fabric. Will laughed, a throaty, teasing sound. And from the droopy-eyed look of him he was pretty pleased with the whole thing.
“I don’t think this is a very good idea,” she managed to whisper, gasping for a lung-filling breath.
Lifting himself from her, he crouched on hands and knees, surrounding her with his male strength. He watched closely as she pulled one breath after another into her, releasing each in a series of silent puffs, feeling as if her head was filling with crackling sparks, like lightning across a summer sky.
“You all right, honey?” he asked, his brows pulling together over dark eyes that roamed her body as if they searched for an unseen malady.
“You make me breathe funny,” she said accusingly. “I can’t seem to think straight when you start this kind of fooling around.”
With a wry chuckle he toppled to the bed beside her, pulling her into his embrace and burying his face in her hair. It was all pooled around them both, the dark strands clinging to his shirt, curling beneath her and across the bed above her head. She’d never felt so disheveled and exposed in all her life, sprawled out on a bed with a man, and for the most part enjoying it. Except for the part of her that felt guilty about being in his bedroom and his mother thinking they were husband and wife.
His eyes were searching as he examined her face, and then he drew a deep breath. “I think you’ve just put a stop to it, honey,” he said, rocking her against him, making the bed creak. “Let me just kiss you a little bit and I’ll quit before things get out of hand, I promise.”
She tilted her head back and blinked at him, the candle on the dresser providing just about enough light to make out his face well. “You already kissed me, Will.”
His right hand slid from her back to rest on her ribs and she moved restlessly, aware of those long fingers moving in a slow, seductive dance, sliding the material of her gown against her flesh.
Somehow her robe had gotten pushed aside and only the white gown Will had bought her in the general store this morning was between his hand and her skin. Her throat was dry as she inhaled through her mouth and watched his face.
He was frowning just a bit, as if he must concentrate on the minute movement of his fingers, his palm edging to rest beneath her breast, shifting upward just a bit, until he cupped the weight of it. His eyes closed and his mouth tilted again in one corner, that satisfied look appearing as his nostrils flared with the breath he took.
His hand slid up to cover her breast, his fingers widespread as he measured the soft globe with his whole hand. Two fingers squeezed the crest between them, gently as if he feared to hurt the tender flesh. And to her dismay, Cassie felt that small nubbin harden and tingle against his touch.
“Right here’s where I want to kiss you, honey,” he told her, then as if he recognized the futility of that wish, dipped his head to drop a smattering of damp salutes against her forehead and across one cheek. His sigh was deep as his mouth found hers, gentling her with a succession of small, tender kisses, soothing her and cuddling her with gentle brushes of his fingers across her cheeks.
“Ah, Cassie.” He bowed his head against her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
His mouth silenced her before she could speak, kissing her lips with tender, small, biting touches, soothing them as he went with the very tip of his tongue. He whispered words of comfort, his hand busy tucking her gown around her legs. He withdrew from her, patting her bottom with a gentle hand, easing her to his side until he could enfold her in his embrace.
He turned her, his greater strength holding her until he could pull down the quilt and sheet, sliding them both beneath the covers. Now, still dressed in his pants and shirt, his arm around her middle, he tugged her against himself, easing his thighs under hers.
“You all right, honey?” he asked against her ear, lifting his head just a bit to brush his mouth against the tender lobe. He caught her hair in his hand, gathering it from beneath her and himself, twisting the length of it around his hand and then placing the heavy, curling weight of it between them, against his chest Brushing his chin over the silken strands, he inhaled the scent of her that rose from the rich, dark tresses.
“Sweetheart?” She nodded a silent reply. He squeezed her just a bit, aware that his lapse had probably frightened her. He’d never needed a woman so badly in his life, not even that first time in the hayloft when he was sixteen and Sally Ann Forbes had offered him his first taste of glory. That Cassie was not a Sally Ann Forbes was obvious. She’d responded, true, but her response had been that of an innocent, her movements governed by a desire she’d obviously never felt before.
He shifted, aware of the discomfort his thoughts were causing. Getting married was the first thing on his list of things to do, that was for sure. Whether or not Cassie was ready for it, with her talk of having a man that loved her, it was going to happen.
Love was something women seemed to take a lot of stock in. Whether or not it was essential to marriage, he didn’t know. But whatever he felt for the woman in his arms, it was going to be enough to have him saying his “I do” loud and clear.
In the bright light of morning it seemed his list of things to do was going to have a few additions, right at the top. Three horses had made their way out of the pasture before dawn, Samuel and Will having decided that they’d do just fine out of the barn with two men handy to keep an eye on things.
Many Fingers was riding bareback on a sturdy cow pony, his knees and calves tight against the horse’s sides, rounding up the strays. Somewhere he’d learned to handle a rope very well, Will noticed. The loop sailed through the air, landing with a satisfying swish around the neck of one of Nate Tolliver’s prize mares. She halted in her tracks, as if aware that her freedom had come to a screeching halt, bending her head to nibble at the grass beneath her feet.
Many Fingers tugged at the rope and led her back to the barn, sliding from the pony he rode before he led the stray to a stall. In seconds he reappeared and Will lifted a hand against the brilliant sunrise to watch as the Indian leapt gracefully astride the horse. The cow pony broke into a gallop and within minutes the next wanderer had been retrieved.
“Guess he doesn’t need me, does he?” he asked, his query an assessment of the Indian’s skill.
From within the kitchen, his mother banged the stove lid in place. “I’d say that pasture fence needs you, Will. I knew you were going to have a problem, lettin’ those horses out last night.”
“There’s new grass out there, Ma. We’re wastin’ money feedin’ those animals the last of the hay when they can be fillin’ up on fresh stuff.”
“You’d better see if there’s any new posts out in the woodshed. I think your pa had some cut to length last year and just never got around to starting the job.” The frying pan rattled against the stove top and Will caught a scent of coffee.
“How long before breakfast?” he asked, undoing his pants and tucking his shirt inside. He smoothed it down over his rear and then straightened the front against his belly. He was wrinkled from sleeping all night in his clothes, but by the time he finished putting up fence, he’d look a lot worse than he did now.
“I’m putting the bacon in the pan now,” Clara said from the kitchen. “The biscuits will be done in ten minutes.”
Will slid stocking feet into his boots and stomped them in place, then dropped to the ground and strode off in the direction of the barn. A few minutes later, hammer in hand, nails stuffed in both front pockets, he headed for the near pasture fence. Many Fingers was there ahead of him, carrying several long boards to replace those the horses had broken down when they made their escape. The rest of the mares were huddled beneath a cluster of trees, noses to the ground, ignoring the two men who were making sure of their captivity.
“I think just a few nails will hold them in for now,” Will said, nodding as Many Fingers held a board in place. “Ma has breakfast almost ready.”
“We’re just lucky they didn’t all take a notion to run off.” Reaching for another board, the Indian moved a few feet down the fence, holding the wood in place so that Will could nail it to the upright post.
“They probably think they’re in hog heaven out there where they are,” Will said, nodding at the dozen or so mares. “Think we’re gonna have some new mamas pretty soon?” he asked.
“Your pa must have bred them pretty late last spring,” Many Fingers said. “They should be dropping their foals already. I think a couple of them are about due. They’re restless, and one of them looked like she was startin’ to drip milk last night.”
Will sighed, contemplating the length of pasture fencing he was duty bound to replace. It couldn’t wait, that was for sure. There was no way on God’s green earth he could haul Cassie off to Mill Creek today—or tomorrow, for that matter.
Caring for Maggie was a delight, Cassie decided. She’d washed and dried the child’s dark hair, sitting in the sun on the back steps as she brushed the damp from the curling strands. It had been the first real lazy fun she’d had in longer than she could remember. Just making silly talk with a child, playing with her curls and lifting them to the top of her head to be bound by a blue ribbon.
A feeling akin to contentment washed over her as she soaked up the warm sunshine, listening to the sound of a mockingbird in a tree by the corner of the house. The rooster in the henhouse crowed again, belatedly, considering the sun had been up for over two hours and breakfast was already settled in Cassie’s stomach.
Undeserved bliss. With a sigh she rubbed her hands together, her imagination providing the bloodstains she’d long since washed away. And yet her soul remained colored by the horror of her guilt, and her heart ached for the deceit she had practiced against Will Tolliver. He’d done nothing but good, regarding her as a helpless woman, believing her lies, while she wallowed in black despair. If only…such words of futility they were. So undeserving was she of the joy he’d brought into her life.
Behind her, Will’s mother came out of the kitchen, her movement drawing Cassie from the darkness of her thoughts. The egg basket swung in Clara’s hand as she moved down the steps, and Cassie jumped from her perch. “Let me gather the eggs for you, ma’am. I haven’t been in a chicken coop for years, but I’m sure I remember how.”
Clara turned to the young woman. “I reckon I could use the help,” she allowed, giving over possession of the basket readily. “There’s a couple of clutches just to the right when you go in the coop. I got some old biddies settin’ on them. They won’t budge anyway, but it’ll go better for you if you steer clear of them. They get right possessive of their eggs.”
“I’ll show her the ones, Grandma,” Maggie offered eagerly.
Clara’s gaze softened on the child, one hand reaching out to touch the blue ribbon, then allowing a curl to twine itself around the rough skin on her finger. “You sure look pretty, little girl,” she said tenderly, then drew back quickly, as if she had betrayed tender feelings better left unexposed.
Cassie sighed, aware of the love that surrounded the child, even bereft of parents, here on this lonesome farm. “She’s a lucky little girl, Miz Tolliver.” Her eyes met those of Will’s mother and she glimpsed a shadow of sadness in the dark depths.
“She’d be luckier if she had her mama here to take care of her. It’s not right for a child to be dependent on an old lady to see to her needs.”
Cassie shook her head in mute denial of the woman’s words. “I’d have given my eyeteeth to have what she has when I was a little girl. My mama loved me, but we went from pillar to post, one place to another. I never had a real home to speak of, and sometimes I felt like I was the one doing the caring, and my mama was the one needing the care.”
She’d spoken out of turn, Cassie thought, spilling out all that about her mother. Her face flushed and she backed from the porch. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. You don’t need to hear—”
Clara Tolliver held up her hand, halting Cassie’s words. “Don’t apologize. You’re right The child has more than a lot of young’uns do in this world. I guess when it’s one of your own, you just want everything to be right and proper. When you and Will have your babies, you’ll know what I mean. Being married and making a home…all that’s important, doing the right thing.”
Right and proper. The right thing. Cassie heard the words, flinching as they burned into her mind. She’d almost belonged to Will last night. And the night before, too. And here his mama thought they were married and things were right and proper beneath her roof. And they were about as wrong as two deceitful people could make it.
If it was up to her, she’d tell Clara Tolliver right now how things were, but she wasn’t sure she could hold up under the shame of sleeping in Will’s bed for two nights already without being married to the man…and his mother knowing about it.
And if she knew anything at all, it seemed Will had other things on his mind this morning. He’d apparently put their wedding on the back burner, him out there pulling up rotten fence posts and putting in new ones as fast as Many Fingers could set them in place. Between the two of them they were shoveling dirt and banging nails and boards together to beat the band.
“You all right, girl?” Will’s mother voiced words of concern as she peered at Cassie. “I suspect talking about your mama got you all upset, didn’t it?”
Cassie mumbled a reply and took the egg basket, willing to grasp at the older woman’s explanation. “I reckon so, ma’am.”
She made her way to the chicken coop, Maggie skipping ahead. The child chattered on about the rooster, then told Cassie to watch where she walked so as not to carry hen poop into the house. By the time they’d steered clear of the setting hens and gathered up a full basket of eggs, Cassie found herself in a better frame of mind, smiling at Maggie’s instructions.
Will might have decided to put off the wedding for a while. Maybe, as her mother had told her a couple of years back, if a man got what he wanted up front, he wasn’t in any hurry to tie the knot. Like a farmer who wasn’t about to buy the cow if he could get the milk free.
She closed her eyes, remembering the look on Will’s face as he’d hovered over her on the bed. Her cheeks were warm as she recalled his mouth, open and hot against her throat, his hands filling themselves with her breasts.
And if that wasn’t making love, she sure didn’t know what it was.
The shoring up of the pasture fence took longer than Will had estimated. For three long days he and Many Fingers worked at the task. Evenings found them sitting at the kitchen table, the overhead kerosene lamp burning brightly as they inspected their hands for any sign of wood that might have become embedded in their fingers during the day.
Will’s daddy had always said that infection followed if wounds weren’t cleaned right off. Will knew that if he hadn’t been so cussed stubborn he’d have worn gloves all day long. But the chore of taking them off every time he needed to hold a nail in place or use his hammer was a time-waster. And time was a thing he was running short of.
Cassie sat next to him, chewing on her lip as she took on the chore of inspecting Will’s fingers the third evening. Sewing needle in hand, she carefully pierced his tough skin, seeking the elusive bit of wood he’d pointed out. Carefully she washed it with carbolic soap, drying it before she rubbed a bit of salve into the small wound.
His eyes were intent on her, admiring her nimble fingers, her deft handling of his injuries. In the glow of the lantern her hair gleamed, the heavy braid she had pinned atop her head alive with varied hues, from darkest honey to the rich brown of a mink’s pelt. Her forehead was smooth, her cheeks flushed with some unknown emotion as she worked, holding his hand within her own.
He bent his fingers, capturing hers for a moment, and she looked up in surprise. “Don’t smear that salve, Will. I want it to soak into your skin.”
“Your hand is like a little bird in mine,” he said quietly, noting the contrast between her narrow fingers with their smoothly rounded nails and his own rough, callused skin. “I’ve captured it, Cassie.” His fingers enclosed her hand easily, and she allowed it, her fist almost hidden in the depths of his grasp.
“Like you’ve captured me, Will?” she whispered, her eyes on his tanned fingers and his wide hand with a tracing of dark hair over its back.
He chuckled. “Have I? Captured you, I mean?”
