Into the Woods (22 page)

Pushing forward, he buried himself inside her. She gasped, and arched up and against him and rested her warm hands against his back. This time he was not afraid of hurting Matilda; he came together with her fast and hard, surging into her again and again with relentless passion.

The climax came quickly for them both, intense and unrelenting. He felt her milking him as she cried out, taking everything he had to give and more.

Matilda was his. In this moment, he claimed her, he cherished her, he would fight for her. In all his life, he had never felt this close, this completely intimate, with another person. Not his family, not the women who came and went. He was strangely content, and he was terrified. He was tempted to tell her all this, that she had changed his life, that he was scared to death of what came next. That he loved her.

Matilda hooked one leg around him and began to laugh. He lifted his head to look down at her, and she just laughed harder. He was not about to tell a laughing woman that he loved her!

"What's so funny?"

"We're stuck," she said, and then she burst out laughing again.

He smiled and moved within her. "Not exactly stuck, darlin'."

She tugged on her hands at his back, hands that had not moved since she'd grabbed him. He felt the strange sensation of something against his back, something that was not flesh.

"What do you have all over your hands?" he asked, a hint of disquiet forming within him.

"Hard molasses candy," she said, laughing again. "I was making it as a surprise for you, but it was taking forever to harden up." She pulled at her hands again; they did not come loose. "I think the candy finally set."

"So we're stuck here," he said, settling in comfortably on Matilda's kitchen floor.

"No, we're just stuck together."

He didn't argue and she didn't tug at her hands again. They lay on the kitchen floor, joined, stuck, and perfectly happy. He laid his forehead against hers and dismissed his earlier worries.

Yes, this complicated matters. No, he didn't know what would happen next. He only knew there were many worse places to be stuck than to Matilda Candy.

"I love you," he whispered.

The confession didn't hurt nearly as much as he'd expected it would, and the expression on Matilda's face made up for everything else; the indecision, the complications... Nothing could touch what they had.

Chapter 15

It was Wednesday—candy day. Gretchen crept through the woods with her brother right behind her.

"I wonder what she made today," he whispered.

Gretchen sniffed at the air. They were close to the break in the trees that would reveal the witch's cottage, but still she smelled nothing tantalizing. "I can't tell yet. I don't smell anything at all, not even bread." She narrowed her eyes and forged onward. Something wasn't right. She sniffed at a wrongness in the air that didn't smell of cinnamon or sugar or roasted nuts.

From the shelter of the trees, they peeked into the cleared ground around the witch's cottage. All was quiet, but for the two horses that had been hitched outside her front door. One was a very pretty, very small black horse, the other belonged to Mr. Harper, the man she'd pushed into the pond. She hadn't pushed him on purpose, not really, but he wasn't likely to believe her if she said so.

Running at full speed, they burst from the forest and headed for the shade at the side of the house. Gretchen listened for sounds of movement in the large separate kitchen where the witch worked her sweet magic, but heard nothing. She peered around the corner and looked across the courtyard and through the kitchen window, and saw nothing. The place appeared to be deserted.

But there were two horses here!

She flattened her back against the wall and turned to Hanson. "Go take a good look through the kitchen window and see if there's any candy cooling there."

"You," he whispered, as spooked by the unnaturalness of the quiet as she was.

She narrowed her eyes and glared at him. "Do you want me to tell Stella what you did with your beef last night?" The woman would find the tough bit of meat eventually, but Hanson didn't want to face their stepmother's ire any sooner than he had to.

He frowned and stepped away from the wall. "I couldn't eat it," he mumbled, "and the buffet was right there."

"When she finds it in the linen drawer and figures out what happened, you'll be in big trouble." She lowered her voice. "But if you do as I ask, this afternoon I'll distract her while you retrieve the beef and toss it out. Then she'll never know." There was likely to be a stain on the linens the beef had touched... but then again maybe not. There had been no juice in that tough, dry roast.

"All right, then," Hanson said, rubbing his hands together in preparation.

He ran, quickly and silently, through the courtyard, past the black cauldron, past the garden gate, to put his head through the kitchen window to look quickly around. Mere seconds later he was at Gretchen's side once again, breathless and red-faced.

"There's nothing," he whispered. "The kitchen is cold and the counters are clean. Nothing!"

Gretchen held her breath. What could keep the witch from making candy on Wednesday, as she always did? She laid her hand against the stone wall at her back. Maybe the witch was in trouble.. Maybe she was still in her bed, unable to wake up. Ill or hurt or dead. Like my mother, Gretchen thought before shaking the disturbing remembrance aside.

They heard the front door open, and flattened themselves against the wall.

"But I don't need to learn to ride," the witch said in a soft, amiable, very healthy voice.

"Yes, you do."

Gretchen recognized that voice. Declan Harper. The man she'd pushed into the pond, who'd made such a scene of eating the witch's pie at the Founders' Day Celebration, who'd said ribbit once after he'd made the mistake of allowing the witch to kiss him.

"But, Declan..." Matilda began, and then she squealed. It wasn't a scary sound, but was very much like the way Gretchen herself squealed when her father lifted her from the ground and spun her around.

"That's not so bad, is it?"

"Horses don't like me," the witch said in a small voice.

"Shadow loves you," Mr. Harper said softly. "I love you."

Hanson looked at Gretchen and screwed up his face, sticking out his tongue in an almost comical gesture.

"I love you, too," the witch said. "I'll try to learn to ride, but only because it seems to be important to you."

All was quiet for a moment; they were probably kissing. How disgusting. Hanson stuck out his tongue again, and this time he grabbed his throat as if he were trying to choke himself and rolled his eyes way up in his head. He remained perfectly silent.

"A nice and easy ride to town," Mr. Harper said.

"I have so much work to do," the witch protested.

"If Fox doesn't get his caramels this week, the world won't come to an end."

"I know, I know."

The horses left at a slow and easy pace, heading for the road and away from Gretchen and Hanson. For a long moment after they were gone, the children stood there quietly.

"No candy this week," Hanson muttered.

"Maybe no candy ever again." Gretchen slapped her hand against the wall. "What if they get married and move away? What if she spends all her days with him and decides she doesn't have time to make candy anymore?"

It was a small thing, the candy they stole from the witch. But it was also the only fun they had these days. Her mother was gone, and her father was busy with his farm and his new wife. If she and Hanson drifted apart, if they didn't have these excursions to plan and execute, she'd lose her brother, too. They would grow apart, the way brothers and sisters did. Father hadn't seen his sister in more than two years!

"We have to stop this," she muttered.

"Stop what?"

She glared at her brother. "We have to make sure the witch and Mr. Harper don't get married, we have to make sure things return to normal here."

Please, please. Things weren't normal anywhere else these days.

"How?" Hanson asked.

Gretchen shook her head. "I don't know, but I'll think of something."

* * *

Declan was at his plantation house this morning, overseeing the rebuilding of a large side porch and the attached dining room. Robert had arrived bright and early, less than half an hour after Declan had departed Matilda's cottage, to continue working on the trench.

The walk to town was pleasant. Overly warm and long as always, but Matilda's mind was occupied with thoughts of Declan, so she minded neither the heat nor the length of the walk. Her basket was light this Friday. Last night she'd found time to make a couple of quick batches of caramels and one batch of cinnamon-roasted nuts, but that was all she'd had time for.

Love was not terribly horrific after all. She and Declan would be different from the other lovers of which she had known: they would defy tradition and be happy forever. She knew it in her heart. She wanted that eternal happiness with every fiber of her body.

"Good morning, Mr. Fox," she said brightly as she entered his store.

He had a wide smile for her. "Matilda!" His smile faded when she set her basket on the counter and he looked at the contents. "What happened?"

"I've been rather busy this week," she explained. "I'll bring lots of extras next week, I promise."

His smile came back. "Well, we're all allowed a lazy week now and again. Make me some toffee next week, and I'll forgive you."

He brought out the empty basket from the last week and set it on the counter, but Matilda was already heading for the back of the store. "I'd like to look at your shoes again," she said. "The bronze ones are lovely, but much too nice for every day." She'd found she had an odd liking for shoes, and her old boots were no longer sufficient for her needs. "A new pair of boots, perhaps, and a pair of plain leather shoes."

The prospect of a sale wiped away Mr. Fox's disappointment at her small delivery. "I have some lovely boots, and a pair of kid shoes that will feel so comfortable on your feet, you'll think you're barefooted."

Since Mr. Fox had never visited her at her home, he had no way of knowing that she spent most of her days barefoot. "Comfortable would be nice."

Matilda quickly decided on a pair of lace-up boots that would be perfect for walking, once they were broken in, and a soft, slim pair of black leather shoes. Who would have thought that purchasing footwear could be so much fun?

She placed her purchase in the basket to carry home, and again promised Mr. Fox more candies in next week's delivery.

Before she reached the door, two customers tried to enter at once: Vanessa Arrington with her nose in the air and her gaze unerringly forward, and the rainmaker Raleigh Cox, who tried to cut in front of Vanessa so he would not have to slow his stride on her account. They didn't exactly jostle each other, but there was a moment of struggle for dominance in the doorway.

Vanessa, apparently deciding quickly that she was not going to win, graciously stepped back and allowed Cox to enter before her. She narrowed her eyes and glared at his back, regained her composure, and whispered something no one could hear. Matilda suspected it was vile.

As Cox passed Matilda, not even looking at her as he passed, he muttered something vile himself. The only words she could make out were, "Spoiled harridan."

"Any luck?" Mr. Fox asked the rainmaker, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

"Not yet," Cox answered absently, walking through the store and handling the merchandise, picking up one thing and then another, looking this way and that and then putting it down again.

Fox quite deftly slipped the basket of candies beneath the counter, almost as if he were hiding it.

"Mr. Fox, have the gloves I ordered arrived?" Vanessa asked as she stepped briskly forward.

"Yes," he said, smiling again. "And if I may say so, they're quite lovely."

From across the room, Cox shouted. "Are these all the cigars you have?"

"Yes, sir," Fox answered.

"My gloves?" Vanessa pressed.

Matilda made her way to the doorway, hiding her smile. Poor Mr. Fox! He had two difficult customers, it seemed. No wonder he sometimes dreamed of becoming a carpenter.

"Miss Candy," Vanessa called, "would you mind waiting? I need a moment of your time."

"Of course." She stepped back inside and watched as Raleigh Cox took what he wanted, berated the storekeeper, and left without paying. All the while he and Vanessa vied for Mr. Fox's full attention.

Once Cox was gone, Vanessa inspected her gloves and accepted them, though she was disappointed in the color. It was not exactly what she'd expected.

On the boardwalk, Vanessa handed her purchase to a waiting John Bowers, who smiled at Matilda and said hello, then received a cutting glare from his employer's daughter for his trouble.

"Wait here," Vanessa snapped, lifting her chin and glaring at John. "I won't be long."

They walked a ways down the boardwalk, and Vanessa came to a sudden halt in front of what had once been a barber shop. It had been closed up for months, now, so no one was close at hand.