Authors: Jo Goodman
Ryder was looking at the bookshelves that were built in under the bed. "Everything," he agreed.
Mary followed his line of vision, trying to decide if he was looking at the narrow, neatly turned-down bed or the leather-bound volumes below it. Either way, she supposed, his agreement fit.
Ryder slipped the saddlebags off his shoulder, propped his rifle in one corner, and unfastened his gun belt. He hung the latter over the chair behind the desk, then crossed the car to the bed and sat down. There was a large basket on the middle of the covers. He opened its hinged lid and saw it was filled with food for the first leg of their journey. Ryder placed it on the floor and leaned back on his elbows. One corner of his mouth lifted in dry amusement as he watched Mary flit around the car examining one thing and then another. She made a point of checking all the lamps for oil as well as to be certain they were secure. She drew open the curtain that shielded the commode, washbasin, and toiletries from view. Availing herself of a glass of water from the keg below the washstand, Mary also familiarized herself with the contents of the oak cupboard.
"You can't be that interested in bath salts and lavender soaps," Ryder said.
"A lot you know," she retorted, closing the cupboard and pushing the curtain back in place. "After weeks and weeks of cold dips in that well, I'm looking forward to a warm bath in scented water." To prove her point she went over to the copper hipbath and stepped inside it. Just fantasizing what it would be like filled with steaming, fragrant water brought a flush to Mary's skin. She hugged herself, closing her eyes. "Mm," she murmured. "Can't you imagine it?"
Ryder could—quite well. The vision of Mary up to her neck in bubbles—and nothing else—was very clear in his mind's eye. He even adjusted his vision so the bubbles only came as far as her breasts. If he looked carefully he could make out the tips of her coral nipples peeping through. It was easy to conceive of time passing and the bubbles disappearing in tiny bursts. The steam would have made the ends of her hair curl damply, and droplets of water would cling to her white shoulders. The hollow of her throat would hold the scent of lavender. Her complexion would glow with a thin film of water, like dew on the petals of a flower.
In his mind the hipbath suddenly became large enough for two.
"Ryder!" Mary called his name sharply.
He blinked and sat up straighter. "What?"
"You know what. Stop intruding on
my
imagination."
A touch of ruddy color crept under his complexion, betraying the tenor of his thoughts. He didn't apologize for them though. "Well, as long as you're going to avoid this bed, I may as well live on dreams."
Mary raised her brows skeptically and unfastened her bonnet. Stepping out of the tub, she sent the hat sailing across the car toward Ryder. He caught it and fell back on the bed as if laid low by a weapon. "Very amusing," she said dryly.
Lifting one corner of his mouth was as much amusement as he could muster.
Watching him, Mary shook her head bemusedly. He could make her heart turn over with so little effort that sometimes it stung her pride. She constantly battled being too easily led, afraid she was surrendering so much of herself that she would not know where she left off and he began. He did not seem to have the same concerns. Ryder could give himself up to any moment and still come away whole.
She asked him about it later. They were lying comfortably in the narrow bed, the crisp sheets and covers in a tangled disarray about them. He had made love to her with such sweet passion that Mary's skin still tingled. "How do you do it?" she asked, leaning over him, her forearms crossed on his chest. He was so utterly at peace now, his features calm and untroubled, it was difficult to equate him with the man whose taut body had rocked her only minutes earlier. Tension had engraved the lines of his face then, working a muscle in his jaw, straining the cords of his neck. She had held him, running her fingers along his back, feeling the rigid musculature beneath her palms. He had filled her and she had tightened around him. She had actually been able to feel her body respond to his thrust as if it could halt his withdrawal. There was an ache between her thighs now, a sensation of something lost. Mary could sense the shape of her own body because of the absence of his.
She didn't want an answer to her question any longer. She wanted him again. Inside her.
Mary moved so that she was lying fully along the length of his body. She saw his eyes widen a fraction and then darken with pleasure, surrender, and arousal. Her mouth touched his and she kissed him hard, drawing it out deeply as her tongue speared his. Her breath came in tiny gasps. He drew in air with no less difficulty, as selfish of the intensity of the kiss as she.
Mary's sensitive breasts rubbed his chest. Her nipples grazed his skin, and the contact was like a current running between them. The sensation was almost greater than her tolerance, the pleasure so furious and heated that it bordered on pain. Between her thighs she was warm and wet and ready for him again.
She raised herself up, pushing on her hands. His hands cupped her breasts as she moved to center herself over him. It wasn't possible that he should be ready for her again, not so soon. It had never happened before, and Ryder had not expected it, but at this moment it didn't seem to matter what was possible. He responded to her urgency, to the heat and passion that filled her and spilled onto him. Her supple body moved against him like liquid fire. Her hand closed over his rigid member and she eased herself onto him. It was no vaguely sleepy-eyed, suggestive glance that riveted Ryder's attention. Mary's look captured the deliberateness of her actions, the self-awareness of her body and its movements against his.
It was exciting beyond reason.
His hands slipped away from her breasts and slid over her waist and abdomen. He thrust his fingers between their bodies and stroked her as she rocked. She cried out. No words, just a hoarse cry of elemental passion. Her head was flung back; her pelvis tilted forward. The line of her body was a sensual curve.
Ryder's entire frame arched as Mary forced his release. He caught her as she collapsed against him, trembling. Tendrils of damp hair clung to her temples and her skin glowed. He could feel her heart pound, ease, and then pound again. His fingers flicked her hair away from her brow. He cupped the side of her face, turned, and eased himself out of her. "Don't move," he said huskily. If she touched him again he would simply come out of his skin.
Mary didn't. She lay very still as blood roared in her ears and her breathing calmed.
Ryder turned on his side and propped himself on one elbow. Only one lamp in the car was still lit. Its light flickered weakly as the car jerked once and then began to move. They were finally underway, just as Rennie had promised. No questions. No complications.
Ryder amended his last thought. Perhaps one complication... and he was looking at her now. "Suppose you tell me what that was about," he said.
Mary was staring at the paneled ceiling of the private car. Intricate scrollwork engraved each of the mahogany panels, and her gravely serious eyes traced the edges.
"Mary?"
She was worrying her lower lip now, struggling to come to terms with the enormity of her own thoughts. "Why is it when you say my name, I feel compelled to answer?"
He smiled slightly. "The Apache do not use a person's given name frivolously. It is reserved for more important moments, and the person called upon is obliged to grant favor when their name is used at such times." Ryder gathered the sheet and quilt that had been pushed to the side and drew the covers over them. "You may not be aware of it, but you use my name in much the same way."
"I do?"
"You do. I find myself responding as if it were Naiche or Josanie or any other Chiricahua asking a boon." He considered her a moment longer, waiting for the answer she had yet to give.
It was his patience that undid Mary. From the very first she had known he would always be able to outwait, if not outwit, her. He even seemed to enjoy the wait while she could not bear it. "I love you, you know."
Ryder was silent, watching her.
"I didn't know what it would be like to act on it or say it. I was afraid, I suppose. I thought it would make me part of you in a way that would be intolerable for me. And yet I have never doubted you loved me, even though you've never said the words. I watch and experience your expressions of love and marvel that you seem to be unchanged by them, that you are not different, only richer."
Ryder let his fingertips drift lightly across Mary's collarbone and then rest on her shoulder. "Because you have always been part of me," he said. "From the beginning. Not from the moment we met, but from the moment we
were.
There has been a place for you in my heart, under my skin." He touched his temple. "Here, in my head. The spirit of you has always been here, and when you are with me in the flesh it is deeper and truer and... richer."
Mary felt as if something inside her soared and took flight; yet there was no sense of loss. It was the difference between something being set free and something escaping. One could be celebrated, the other mourned. She turned and was captured in his arms. Her smile took his breath away as she settled contentedly against him.
"Go to sleep," he said when she looked as if she might want to talk.
"But—"
"Mary."
Her eyes closed dreamily. "All right," she said. "Since you said it like that."
* * *
In Tucson their car was coupled to a Northeast train headed to Santa Fe. From Santa Fe they traveled northeast to Topeka. Their transit was smooth. Rennie had made good on her promise to telegraph the directions ahead, and Ryder and Mary were largely undisturbed.
They read a great deal, sometimes spending entire evenings together without exchanging a word. Mary found a deck of cards in the armoire and proceeded to relieve Ryder of his shirt and a good deal more with her expert poker play. Meals were brought to them but left on the balcony of their car as per Rennie's instructions and the DO NOT DISTURB sign Mary hung over the door. The porters and conductor accepted their reclusive behavior without any overt curiosity. It made Mary wonder if her sister and brother-in-law spent as much time making love as Ryder and she did.
She quickly dismissed the thought as unseemly, and when Ryder asked why she was blushing she tossed a pillow at him rather than answer.
In St. Louis they dared step off the train and took dinner in a hotel restaurant where no one knew them or suspected they were fugitives. They ate catfish and new potatoes, asparagus with cream sauce, cold potato soup, and salad. They sampled three different wines and then finished the meal with fruit, cheese, and coffee flavored with a sweet vanilla liqueur.
After their meal they strolled in the park and took a carriage ride along the river. It was a pleasure to be among people who only gave them cursory glances and went about their business. They could have been any couple sharing the romantic glow of St. Louis's gaslight, and for a few hours they pretended that's all they were.
They returned to the train unnoticed by the employees of Northeast Rail. Their car was already coupled to the line that was headed east to Columbus. Mary and Ryder settled into the routine they had enjoyed since leaving Tucson. There was a fraction more restlessness in each of them following the brief respite, but neither commented on it.
As their car passed through Ohio, Mary was conscious of Ryder sitting close to the windows and watching the landscape roll by. It was still the heart of winter. The engine carrying them across the flat farmland had to plow through the great drifts that had blown across the tracks.
"In my mind it's always summer here," he told her.
Mary sat on his lap as he tipped back the chair against the lip of the desk. "What was it about summer that you liked?"
"Fishing with my father," he said without hesitation. "Stealing green apples from Mrs. O'Reilley's backyard. The Fourth of July."
"Hmm. I love parades, too."
He shook his head. "Fireworks. My friends and I would tie a string of 'crackers to—" He stopped. Mary was looking very disapproving. "Well," he said sheepishly. "The cat never got hurt."
"That's awful, Ryder McKay."
"I suppose you never did anything like that."
"Of course I didn't," she said with righteous indignation. "I didn't have to. I had four younger sisters to torment."
* * *
Mary trimmed Ryder's hair as the train approached Wheeling. She was reluctant and he was insistent. It was only when he started to cut his hair himself that she relented. To suit herself, she left it long enough to brush his collar in the back.
She returned the scissors to the desk drawer then stood just to Ryder's left as he examined her work in a handheld mirror. Mary smoothed the ends of his hair with her fingertips. "Well, Sampson?" she asked. "Will it suit?"
Ryder turned the mirror so it contained both their reflections. "Admirably. I look like thousands of other Easterners."
She cocked one eyebrow. "Hardly." Slipping an arm through his and laying her head on his shoulder, Mary said, "I'd still notice you in a crowd."
He smiled at that. "Are you trying to seduce me, Delilah?"
"Just want to see if you have any strength left."