Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (26 page)

The sound of a piano and a fiddle mingled with male voices and drunken laughter. Occasionally she heard loud, boisterous voices and the scraping of boot heels on the boardwalk as men left one saloon and mounted their horses or staggered off to another saloon. She thought about Trisha and the children back at the freight camp and wondered what they would think of the goings-on here.

She missed them. But not as much as she had thought she would. It had taken all her willpower not to cry when she left the little group standing beside the tents. This was only the third night since Dillon’s birth that she had not been able to reach out and touch him—to make sure he was breathing. Mrs. Sikes had told her that sometimes babies stopped breathing in the night. She had worried about that until Dillon was old enough to walk.

Sitting there in the near dark, Addie visualized how happy her children would be when John gave them the presents. Jane Ann had never had a glossy-headed doll. Dillon didn’t know there were such things as tin soldiers, and Colin would be thrilled to own a jackknife. Addie had seen John slip in a tin of candy sticks. She had started to protest, then had caught the sly wink he gave the clerk and realized that he wanted to surprise her as well as the children.

She was combing the tangles out of her almost dry hair before braiding it when she heard the soft tap on the door, then the grate of the key in the lock. Her heart picked up speed as she stood, her eyes on the door.

John came in, his gaze finding Addie in the dimly lighted room before he turned and relocked the door.

“Smells pretty in here.”

“It’s the soap . . . and the powder.”

“I see the tub is gone.”

“Yes. I pulled the rope and the boys came and got it. Thank you for the bath.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Addie.” He hung his hat on the bedpost and walked toward her.

“I’ve been watching out the window,” she said quickly, and turned to look down on the street. “I can see the other hotel from here.”

John moved up close behind her. She felt his hand touching her hair, and despite all her good intentions, she began to tremble.

“Your hair is almost dry.”

“I was about to braid it.”

“Do you have to?”

“It’ll be a tangled mess in the morning if I don’t.” Addie was as breathless as if she had run a mile.

“If you leave it down, I’ll help get the tangles out.” John put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against him. “Don’t be nervous, Addie.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can feel your trembling and the frightened pounding of your heart.” He had lowered his head until his cheek was pressed against her ear. His arms encircled her, crossing beneath her breasts, locking her to him.

They stood silently for a long while, Addie staring out the window, seeing nothing.

“Would you like to sit here until your hair is completely dry?” John asked; and then not waiting for her to answer, said: “You’ve got your dress on over your nightdress. I’ll turn off the light and you can take it off.”

When he left her, Addie took her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to the floor. She picked it up and hung it on a hook on the wall. Her nightdress was very modest. The sleeves were elbow-length. She felt to be sure it was buttoned to the neck.

The only light in the room now came from the window. Addie went toward it. John was seated in the chair. He took her hand and pulled her down on his lap. She was acutely aware that only his britches and her nightdress were between his hard thighs and her bottom. At first she sat erect, then gradually the stiffness went out of her spine and she leaned against him. He swept her hair up and spread it out over his arm and shoulder.

“Put your head on my shoulder. You’ll be more comfortable.”

“I’ve . . . not sat on a man’s lap before.”

“I’ve not held a woman on my lap, so that makes us even.”

Her nose brushed his cheek as she laid her head on his shoulder. She smelled a tangy odor and realized that he had been shaved at the tonsorial parlor. She remembered Kirby spending almost the last of their few coins to be barbered and shaved. They had gone without coffee until Addie had knitted a cap and some mittens to trade at Mr. Cash’s store.

John’s hand worked beneath her hair, his fingers stroking the nape of her neck. It felt so good that Addie almost purred.

“You’ve had a busy day.” The words were murmured as he crossed a leg over his knee to make a nest for her to settle in. “I’d hoped to keep you so busy you’d not have time to miss the children.”

“I haven’t missed them as much as I thought I would.”

“You haven’t worried, then?”

“Not really. I wondered mostly about Trisha. She asked me if Mr. Simmons would be there while we were gone. I think that because he came with us from the farm, she would look to him for protection should something happen.”

He lowered his head and whispered in her ear: “They’re going to have to get used to sharing you with me.”

John took a deep breath. Holding this soft, sweet-smelling woman in his arms was sorely testing his control. Part of him was throbbing, painfully aware of what was pressed against it.

“Did you see the judge?”

“I saw him. If he hadn’t had a young lady with him, I’d have been tempted to tell him to cut his own trail.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“He’s an arrogant know-it-all.”

“Is the lady his wife?”

“His niece. She was nice enough, but the type who’s never done a day’s work in her life.”

“Shame on you,” Addie said with a smile in her voice. “Because she can’t walk behind a plow or shoot the eye out of a squirrel doesn’t mean she’s useless.”

“Can you do those things?”

“I can certainly walk behind a plow. How do you think Trisha and I got our crops planted? And”—she chuckled softly—“I did shoot the eye out of a squirrel once, but it was an accident. I was aiming at another squirrel.”

John laughed. Addie could feel the movement in his chest and the heavy pounding of his powerful heart.

“Addie, you’re a wonder.” As if to underline his statement, he placed his lips against her hair. “I told the judge that we’ll be coming through here day after tomorrow, and he can tag along if he wants to.”

“He still plans to go with us?”

“As of tonight, he does. Wait until he hears that we break camp at three in the morning and travel from six to eight hours, rest the animals in the middle of the day, then travel until dark. He’s going to roar like a stuck hog.”

“Why didn’t you tell him that tonight?”

“I had other things to tell him that I thought would discourage him. Maybe when he finds out, he’ll head on up to Fort Gibson and wait for another train.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions. John had difficulty grasping the fact that this woman was his wife.
Wife.
She was his, to love and to protect forever or until death parted them. He wanted her; wanted to lose himself in the softness of her body, take comfort from her, and give comfort in return. He didn’t want merely to slake his thirst. He wanted to make love to her and to hold her all through the night. More than that, he wanted her to
want
him to love her. Dammit to hell! He wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything.

Nothing of what he was thinking was reflected in his voice when he spoke. He had been absently stroking her hair. If not for that hand movement and the heavy beat of his heart against her breast, Addie would have thought he was falling asleep.

“Do you want to go to bed now?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into his face. She had never voluntarily touched him. She did so now, placing her palms against his face, her thumbs touching his silky mustache.

“John, I’m not a young maiden. I know what to expect in the marriage bed. You’ve given me all that I hold dear in life, and—”

John took her wrists and removed her hands from his face.

“I don’t want you to come to me out of gratitude. I’ve done nothing that I didn’t want to do. I’ll wait until the time comes when you want me, turn to me, with no thought in your head of what I’ve done for you.”

Addie slipped off his lap and stood beside him. She wanted to cry. What she had intended to say was that she was fortunate to have him for her husband. It had come out wrong. Gratitude was a burden. Having cautioned herself about using the word, she now made a vow not to do so again. But she had said it, and now there was a strained silence between them.

*  18  *

A
ddie, feeling miserable and not knowing how to undo the effect of her words, went around the end of the bed and slid beneath the thin covering. She stretched out on her back and stared at the dark ceiling, listening to John move about as he undressed. Finally he came to the bed and lay down beside her.

“I’m not wearing a nightshirt, Addie. Don’t own one. On the trail I sleep in my britches. At home I sleep naked.”

“I don’t expect you to change your ways for me,” she said in a small voice.

“I didn’t want you to think I was going to pounce on you.”

“I didn’t think that.”

“It’s going to be a long night for us to lie here afraid we’re going to touch each other. I’d like to hold you—”

“I’d like that too.”

He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders. With his other hand he turned her toward him. Gently he pulled her against his side until her entire length was pressed against him. Her toes touched his leg above his ankle, and her thighs were against his. She nestled her head against his shoulder.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“I should have braided my hair. It’ll get in your face.”

He gathered the long silken tresses at the nape of her neck and pulled them over to cover his naked chest. John found her hand and flattened it over his heart, covering it with his own.

“Do you . . . mind being here with me like this?”

Acutely aware of how close she was to his strong, naked body, Addie lay without moving, inhaling the very presence of him, and feeling none of the dread she had expected.

“It’s rather . . . nice,” she said finally.

“I believe we’ll have a good life together, Addie.” She felt the caress of his mustache on her forehead when he spoke.

“I hope so. I hope never to disappoint you.”

“We may come to love each other in time.” He waited anxiously for her reply.

“A dear friend, who has been gone for a long time now, told me that you have to
like
a man first, then be friends with him. If love is to come, it comes after that.”

“That makes sense to me. I like you, Addie. I like many things about you.”

“I like you too.”

“What is it about me you like? I’m not handsome, nor am I one to stand and shoot the bull. Days may go by without my saying more than three words.”

“I wouldn’t have thought
that
about you. You’ve talked plenty to me.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to talk to. What do you like about me?” he asked again.

“Well . . . I like the way you look,” Addie whispered, and turned her face into the warm skin of his throat because she was embarrassed.

“You’re joshing me now!” Silent laughter rumbled in his chest.

“No, I’m not. You’re a fine figure of a man. You stand out in a crowd.”

“It’s my clothes. I won’t be so noticeable when we get home.”

“You like children, and you’re kind to them,” she continued. “You look stern sometimes, but you’re really not. I like the thought of having someone like you beside me in case of trouble. Not that I like you just for
that,
” she added hastily. “You’re dependable and . . . a good horse trader, or I’d never have gotten the good team of mules from Mr. Birdsall.”

“Addie, are you sure you’re talking about me?” There was laughter in his voice—pleased laughter.

“Are you going to get a swelled head?”

He laughed aloud.
Oh, Lord. Where had this woman come from? Amy is going to love her.

“I might not be able to wear my hat tomorrow.”

He laughed again and hugged her, forgetting about the part of him that was reacting to her femininity until it touched her thigh. She appeared not to notice, but he pulled back.

“Do you know
who
I think about when I look at you?” It was easy for her to talk to him here in the dark.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

She began to laugh and couldn’t stop. She pressed her mouth against his shoulder. John’s hand went to the back of her head. He caressed her hair. She continued to laugh, softly. He remembered hearing that women sometimes laughed like this when they were nervous.

“I’ve got a feeling that I’m not going to like this,” he said with his lips against her temple. “Who do I remind you of that’s so funny?”

“I was going to say Quasimodo. To . . . to tease you. It struck me funny that if there was ever anyone
not
like Quasimodo, it’s you.”

“Quasimodo? The hunchback? Why, Esmeralda, how kind of you.”
I have truly found a treasure!
John ran his fingertips over her ribs, and she went into spasms of giggles. “You didn’t think I’d know who you were talking about, did you?”

“I . . . didn’t think—”

“Your husband is no ignorant lout, Mrs. Tallman. I’ll have you know that we have Victor Hugo’s entire works at home. My mother read them to us, then we all had to read them ourselves when we were old enough.”

“Are you . . . mad at me?” Addie asked when she finally stopped laughing.

“No. Well, yes. I was sure you were going to say Sam Houston, Jim Bowie, or Heathcliff,” he said with a low and happy laugh.

“Never Heathcliff! Maybe Sam Houston. When I look at you I think about Hawkeye from
The Last of the Mohicans.
”

“That so? Hawkeye? He’s a hero. Saves damsels in distress. Never tickles them. On the other hand, I rather like tickling you.”

“Don’t do it! Please! I do terrible things when I’m tickled.”

“Do you do terrible things when you’re kissed?” he asked, his voice suddenly strained. Whether by intent or by accident, his hand rested on the side of her breast.