Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (30 page)

“Do Indians always make such a mess when they come to steal food?”

Simon picked up a knife, plunged it into the rotten meat, carried it out into the yard, and flung it away from the house. He came back with a bucket of water. “This isn’t the work of Indians,” he said gratingly, and pulled the table out into the yard and splashed water over the top. “This is the work of a goddamn river rat! An Indian wouldn’t leave meat. He’d cook it and take it with him.”

Berry found a pair of Simon’s boots and stepped into them so that she could walk in the room without fear of cutting her feet on the glass. From amid the debris she dragged an iron pot, filled it with water, and set it over a blaze to heat. Then she picked up the clothes and piled them on the bunk, and salvaged what she could from the wreckage on the floor before she swept it clean with the remnant of a broom she’d found in the corner.

Berry and Simon labored with water, lye soap, and mop until the room fairly gleamed with cleanliness. They proudly surveyed the results of their labor and admitted, smiling at each other, that they were ravenously hungry.

“What’s there to eat?” Simon wiped the sweat from his face and neck on a shirt he had taken from the pile to be washed.

“The only thing that wasn’t spoiled was the cornmeal. I can make us some mush.” She gave him an auspicious smile.

“I’ve got a jug of sorghum and a few other things hid away in the shed.” His eyes caught hers and held them with conspiratorial laughter.

Berry had removed Simon’s shirt while she’d worked. She stood in her shift. It stuck to her wet young body, revealing uptilting breasts and a flat, firm belly. Her feet were bare, and loose strands of hair stuck to her wet cheeks. She was still so beautiful and desirable that, just from looking at her, Simon felt a stirring of his maleness.

“How about a bath?” he said, and from the tone of his voice she knew what was on his mind.

“And after that . . . ?” Her eyes twinkled into his after they lifted from the evidence of his arousal.

“We’ll eat.” His eyes teased and his wide mouth stretched into a grin. He whacked her lustily on the backside.

Berry’s merry laughter rang out. This was the man she had dreamed about, the man she would spend her life with. They would laugh and love . . . tease and play. He was roughhewn and capable, yet considerate and tender. During the last few days he had shed much of the serious, protective coating he had worn like a shield to hide his lonely inner self.
She loved him so much!
Surely he loved her! He had to love her!

She snatched a shirt from the bunk and darted out the door. “Last one in is a . . . mule’s ass!” she shouted over her shoulder.

Simon caught up with her by the time she reached the stream and they went splashing into the water together, naked as the day they were born. He gave her a shove and she toppled back into the water, and like children they wrestled and splashed each other. She wrapped her arms around his knees, and he lost his footing and fell, then came up sputtering and coughing. With shrieks of protest she tried to evade his reaching arms. Roaring with the first uninhibited laughter she had heard from him, he grabbed her and ducked her under the water. Then he was kissing her furiously, as if he could never have his fill of her. They fell, but his lips continued to cover hers. He rose to his feet with her in his arms and carried her to the grassy bank.

When they made love it was unlike anything they had experienced before. It was a passionate, furious, explosive loving. They wrestled in sensuous abandonment until their agonizing spasms climaxed on a note of sheer incredulity, endured endlessly, then slowly eased. He held her tenderly, kissing her neck, her shoulders, and her nipples while minutes passed. Then he made love to her again—slowly, gently, giving himself to her with incredible tenderness.

This has to be love, Berry thought with a sense of desperation. This isn’t the animal coupling of male and female. She caressed his back, his shoulders, his buttocks. She rose to meet him, held him, and with every touch tried desperately to convey all the love she had for him.

They bathed again, dried each other’s bodies, and dressed. Darkness was beginning to fall as they walked arm in arm back to the cabin.

“Will we go to Fain’s tomorrow?”

“I think we should. Rachel was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean for her to worry.”

They reached the door of the darkened cabin and Berry stepped up on the doorstone, turned, and put her arms around his neck. Their faces were on a level and she kissed his nose before setting her lips against his.

“Rachel was the only person I ever loved or even cared about after my mother died. Then I met you. I love you, Simon.”

“You do, huh?” His arms tightened around her.

“Yes, I do!” she said stoutly. “You love me, too. Someday you’ll shout it! It’ll just come boiling out of you!”

He lifted her and swung her around before he set her back down on the doorstone. “You’d better fix that mush,” he said with a trace of huskiness. “I’ve got to keep up my strength if I’m going to be doin’ all this lovin’.”

“Simon! You’re a . . . horny toad!” She giggled helplessly, bit his neck, and danced away.

W
orry and dread had lain like a rock in the pit of Rachel’s stomach since the morning they discovered Berry had left the homestead and Eben had been brutally murdered in his shack by the river. It had sapped her strength and controlled her thoughts, yet it had given energy to her hands. She had chinked the walls of the new room from ceiling to floor with river mud, made the hominy Fain was so fond of, ground corn, and made soap. In spite of protest from Fain, she chopped enough kindling to last for weeks.

She managed to stumble through the days, filling them with hard labor, trying to keep from her mind the nagging fear that she might never see Berry again. After a week, the shock of Berry’s leaving had worn off to some extent. Rachel now feared that Simon would come riding in without her. As long as he was away, there was hope. Thank God for Simon and Fain.

“Faith’s sleepin’.” Fain’s voice jarred into her thoughts.

She pushed her hair from her face with the back of her hand. It had become a nightly routine for him to rock the baby while she cleaned up after the evening meal. The sight of him holding her child always made her heart lurch. What made some men so full of goodness, she wondered, and others so rotten?

“I’ll put her to bed.”

“I’ll do it.”

Rachel smoothed the sheet over the mattress in the cradle and Fain laid the baby down, turned her over on her stomach, and drew a light cover over her. His big hand gently stroked the head of the sleeping child. Tears started in Rachel’s eyes and she turned away.

Fain carried the cradle to the sleeping room and Rachel followed with the candle. She sat it on the table beside the bed and pulled the pins from her hair.

“Let me do that.” Fain was behind her, his hands gently pushing hers away so that he could complete the task. His fingers combed through the heavy strands until they hung like a curtain to her waist. Then he pulled her back against him and placed loving kisses along the side of her face.

In an agony of need, she turned and flung her arms around him, blindly seeking comfort. Strong arms wrapped around her, and her face found refuge in the hollow beneath his chin. A fountain of tears erupted and she cried with the pathetic urgency of a small child.

He held her snuggled against him, rocking her in his arms and stroking her hair. “There, there, darlin’. It’s been a tryin’ time. It purely has. But Simon’ll find her. Shhhh . . . Don’t carry on so. . . .”

Fain sat on the edge of the new double bed he’d made this past week in order to be near her. He had strung the frame with heavy rope, and he and Olson, the freighter Simon had left behind, had cut fresh, sweet grass to lay over them. He had promised Rachel that before the snow fell they would have enough hides to make a mattress and enough feathers to fill it.

When it seemed she had cried herself dry, Rachel found herself cuddled on his lap. She felt weak, as if her tears had washed away her strength.

“I don’t know what got into me.” She almost choked on the words.

“You’re just ’bout wore out, that’s what.” Fain’s lips were against her ear. “You’re not strong, ya cain’t be doin’ all this hard work ’n’ hold up. Ya got to slow down or ya’ll get sick.”

“I’m sorry for cryin’.” She reached for the hem of her skirt so she could wipe her eyes and nose.

Fain pressed her head back down onto his shoulder and held it there. “Ya’ve put up with more’n a woman ought to, darlin’. Ya don’t have to be a bit sorry for cryin’, ’n’ ya don’t have to put up with nothin’ by yourself no more. Ya got me now.” The words were muffled in her hair. His hand traveled down her back, soothing, caressing. A strange, relaxing warmth spread through her.

“Ahhh . . . Fain! I never dreamed there were men like you.” She burrowed deeper in his arms. “I can stand all the trouble in the world as long as you’re with me.”

Fain’s gaze wandered over her upturned face, then he found her eyes and held them. They were teary bright, but full of love for him. His arms tightened and he slowly lowered his lips to hers. He kissed her mouth and her wet cheeks. His hand stroked her in a comforting gesture. The softness of her body, the warm flush of her skin, and the soft sweetness of her mouth caused his maleness to stir against the soft hips on his lap. This woman and her child had made an enormous difference in his life. They had made this spot in the wilderness a home. He loved her with every breath and would spend his life keeping her safe and happy.

Rachel closed her eyes and lifted trembling lips to meet his suddenly greedy ones. He kissed her face, her ears, her throat, his lips and tongue making her mouth his own. She heard his harsh breathing in her ear and the hoarsely whispered words of love.

“Darlin’ lass. Sweet, darlin’ lass, I’d take away the hurt ’n’ worry ’n’ ya’d never shed another tear, if’n I could. I’d go look for Berry, but I can’t leave ya here with only Olson and Israel to protect ya.” Muttered words of love fell from his lips as he pressed feverish kisses along the soft skin of her throat.

“I know you can’t go. I keep thinking Lardy will come back and tell us that he’s found Light.”

“And he might. He might come in the mornin’.” He pushed the damp hair back from her face and his heart swelled. He had not dared to hope, to dream, that he might find a woman like this. “Get outta that dress ’n’ get in bed,” he whispered. “I’ll take a look ’round ’n’ be back for some of our special lovin’.” He lifted her off his lap and stood up. Their eyes locked. Slowly he pulled her to him and his mouth possessed hers with insistent pressure.

Rachel undressed and slipped into bed. She left her hair loose, because Fain liked it that way. Every day she looked forward to this special time they spent together before falling asleep. She had been shy with him at first, but now she felt free to caress and love him in any way that pleased her. He had made her realize it was natural and right.

Fain came back into the room and stooped over the cradle to drop a kiss on the infant’s head. He was bare chested, and Rachel knew he had been to the wash basin for his nightly wash. He pinched out the candle, finished undressing, and slipped into bed beside her. They both sighed and reached for each other. Rachel’s hand slid around to the corded muscles of his back, trying to pull him closer. Even after sleeping with him for several weeks, she was still shattered by the sheer pleasure of lying naked beside him. Free of her fumbling uncertainty, she reached out to explore and caress his warm, hard body, letting her fingertips find his masculine nipples and follow the line of fine gold hair down to his taut, flat stomach and beyond. She felt the tremor that always shook him when her hand boldly sought and found the rock-hard organ that he pressed against her. Her hands on his body were like a torch being added to his already flaming desire.

“Ah, sweet lass. Ah . . . sweet, soft woman of mine! I love ya. Truly I do. You’re the sweetness of my life. I’m glad I found ya.” His voice was husky and rawly disturbed.

Rachel loved the words of love he whispered during their most intimate moments. She placed her lips to his ear. “So am I, my darlin’. Oh, so am I!”

He kissed her long and leisurely before moving his lips to her ear. “You’re workin’ too hard, darlin’.” He caressed her from shoulder to knee. “I can feel the sharp edge of your hip bone,” he chided lovingly. “I don’t want ya to work yourself down to a nubbin. Save yourself for me.” His tone was anxious.

“Fain, my love, you’ll always come first with me. Faith takes my time now while she’s a babe, but someday she’ll be grown up and will leave us. You and I will be together for as long as we live.”

She wound her fingers in his hair and gave a slow tug, pulling his head to her parted lips. His mouth was on hers, open and caressing, and hers answered it. Her hands were on him, eager and possessive She thought she was going to die of wanting when his hand moved up between her thighs in a gentle stroking motion, causing her to flinch.

“Ya want me now, my love? You’re so warm, so wet. I don’t wanta take ya till you’re ready, my sweet lass . . .” he whispered and held himself rigidly over her.

“Yes, yes . . .” She gasped and arched herself against him. Her body opened to him, needing him above all other things, welcoming the solid length of his maleness as if it were a part of her.

Rachel was made to know all the power and need of this big, gentle man she had come to love so passionately. His hands closed over her buttocks and held them while he pressed into her. She felt the thunderous beat of his heart against her naked breast and heard his hoarse, ragged breathing in her ear. He moved slowly at first, as if she were a delicate, precious flower he feared to crush. Then as wild, flooding pleasure shot through her and she became more persistent, he moved faster and faster.

Rachel yielded to pure feeling, blocking out everything but this. She whispered his name, her fingers biting into his skin, her hips arching to meet his thrusts and take him deep, frenziedly seeking the release she knew was coming.