He sat silent for a few heartbeats. “Do you like to be read to?”
“Read to?” She’d read to her students and suffered while young readers in her class struggled through passages in their primers, but no one ever read to her. “Not that I can recall.”
Cam stood and removed his trousers.
She kept her gaze focused on the spider web draped from one log beam to another.
Cool air swept in when Cam pulled back the quilts. The mattress dipped. Bedclothes rustled. Her husband’s warmth heated the bed. He shifted and reached for a book on the table. “I’m reading
The Tale of Two Cities.
Are you familiar with it?”
“’Tis written by Charles Dickens, is it not?” She turned on her side toward him and tried not to notice the mat of dark hair on his chest. She swallowed. His very naked chest. Would the hair be coarse or silky? Her fingers itched to touch. She’d touched Tommy’s chest, but it had only a few sprigs of hair, mainly around his nipples. Nothing like Cam’s. If she could only rub her cheek against the hair, just to feel its texture…
“Sophie Catherine.” His voice was very low, almost like a whisper across her skin.
“Yes?” Her gaze took in the muscles on his shoulders and wondered what it would feel like to lay her head on them. Would the muscles be hard like the ones on his back?
“You’re staring.”
Her gaze snapped to his face. There was humor twinkling in his eyes. “I…I…ah…”
A slow smile spread, softening his hard features. “Now I know how a jar of penny candy feels with a child’s eyes glued to all the treats inside.”
Her embarrassment over his teasing was strong. The heat of a blush rose from her shoulders to her hairline. “’Tis a dreamer you are, Cam McBride. I was only…only…”
The bed shook with his laughter, and his large arm swept around her, pulling her to him. “Put your head on my shoulder. I’ll start at Chapter One. I’m on Chapter Nine, but we’ll share the whole book. A chapter a night.” He kissed her hair. “First, undo your braid.”
“My braid? Why?”
“You had it down earlier.”
“Yes, but I always braid it before going to bed.”
“The Good Book says a woman’s hair is her crowning glory. I want to feel how soft and silky your hair feels. It’s not an unreasonable request, is it?” His blue eyes were locked on hers. He rubbed the leather-bound book slowly back and forth across his bare chest as if he were nervously waiting for her response.
“I’ve never unbound my hair for anyone before.” Still, she could understand how he’d want to touch her hair. Hadn’t she wanted to do the same thing? To touch him? Surely she could do this small thing for her husband. She reached up and began unbraiding her hair. “Now
you’re
staring, Mr. McBride.”
“So I am.” He watched her every movement. His gaze floated from her hair to her breasts. His breathing grew rapid. The deep blue of his eyes changed to a dark stormy blue. She had a strong inkling he could see through her new nightgown. Her nipples peaked in awareness.
Slowly his hands drifted toward her. The book plopped onto the floor.
“The book.”
“It’ll wait.” His one large hand sifted into her hair while his other cupped her breast. “Sophie Catherine,” he exhaled on a moan. His thumb rubbed across her nipple until it beaded in response.
She gasped, and her eyes drifted shut. “Cam.” His dark head rose toward her breast and his tongue circled it, dampening the material of her gown. He blew on the wet fabric, and she shivered. His tongue swirled around her nipple again and his mouth drew it in, material and all.
Desire pooled low, and dampness spread. A moan escaped her lips and her head leaned back.
Is this how a man can make a woman feel? Oh, ’tis glorious, so it is.
“You smell so good. Like roses.” His warm breath fanned over her neck like a caress. He brought a strand of hair to his nose and inhaled. “Even your hair smells like roses.” The thumb of his other hand slowly tortured her nipple.
She fought to think beyond the sweet torture to her body. “’Tis Madam Dora’s store-bought soap.” Her fingers somehow found their way to his chest, curling and uncurling in the mat of dark hair. How very soft it was, like the down of a baby gosling. Kisses feathered across her face, and she sighed. “Can…can you imagine buying store-bought soap?”
“I’m thinking my wife should have more of it.” His hand bunched the hem of her nightgown, slowly pulling it upward. Warm calloused fingers caressed her leg.
“I…I wasn’t a whore at Madam Dora’s.” Clearing the air on her good name, such as it was after Tommy Flannigan ruined it, was important. It also led the way to another important revelation.
“I know. She told me.” He pressed slow, wet kisses to her neck. His fingertips trailed up her leg close to that very private place, and her legs clamped together.
“I…I’m untouched, Cam.”
Fingers stilled, and the kisses on her neck stopped. “You’re still a virgin?”
“Aye.” Her admission echoed in the bedroom. “I told you I was only married for three hours. Tommy and I were just about…just about to…ah…”
Several long, loud sighs responded to her proclamation almost as if he were trying to regain control. He pulled her nightgown over her legs and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “Rest your head on my shoulder, wife, while I read. I promised you time, and you’ll have it. Just don’t keep me waiting forever.” He leaned over to retrieve his book from the floor.
She rested her head on his shoulder and tried to ignore the evidence of his arousal. Even two heavy quilts couldn’t hide it. Was she expected to take all that inside her? Oh, she’d need time to adjust to that thought. Her thighs squeezed together in a protective movement.
Muscles moved as he found the beginning of the book. His voice shook as he began reading. “
The Tale of Two Cities
by Charles Dickens.” He flipped the page slowly, his broad calloused hand stroking the paper in an almost reverent gesture. The sound of his voice, intimately hushed and full of wonder, continued, “Chapter One. It was the…”
Chapter Nine
Cam woke on his side, spooned against Sophie Catherine’s warm body, her hair draped over his arm. He hadn’t slept this soundly in months. Having a woman in his bed again felt good. There was a rightness about it.
He leaned up on an elbow and watched her sleep, this stranger who was now his wife. How would they get along? Would she be difficult? Would she come to care for him? Could he come to care for her?
She slept with her mouth open slightly. Soft breathing echoed in the silence of their bedroom. Red-blonde eyelashes swept across pale cheeks peppered with a smattering of freckles.
His Amanda had been darker in coloring, although she was careful to shield her skin from the sun. Freckles never had the chance to mar her porcelain skin. She was a southern belle, and he loved her still. Yet here he lay wrapped around another woman, ready for anything she would give him.
He gently shook her shoulder. “Sophie Catherine.”
She moaned and stretched, her bottom pushing against his erection.
He wanted her, wanted the release her body would bring. Until she wanted him in return, he’d have to wait. No matter how painful.
Patience. You promised.
Before he broke his promise, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his jeans. “I’m getting up.”
Blankets rustled behind him. “I’ll make coffee,” she said around a yawn.
He glanced over his shoulder in time to see her push her long hair over her head. For some reason the sight aroused him even more. “Stay in bed until Eli gets up.”
She crawled across the bed, her round bottom very fetching as she crept toward the footboard. “No, a wife makes breakfast for her husband.”
Cam was adding wood to the fireplace in the parlor when Sophie Catherine passed through on her way to the kitchen. “Fire’s already built in the cookstove.”
“Thanks.” She pumped water into the coffeepot.
“You put your hair back in a braid.” He was hoping she’d leave it down. Her hair flowing free had been a magnificent sight.
She scooped coffee beans into the hand grinder. “What? Oh, my hair. I always braid it or put it in a bun during the day, especially on a day like today, when I have a lot of work to do.”
He stepped behind her when she set the pot on the stove. “I enjoy seeing it down.” The need to touch her was great.
She stilled when his hands wrapped around her waist and drew her back to him. Her breathing hitched. “I…I…ah…don’t have any combs to keep the hair out of my face, so this has to do.” She shifted her shoulders in that impatient way she had. “Now, give me room to move so I can get your breakfast ready.”
When he lowered his head to press a kiss to her neck, he was pleased at her gasp. He couldn’t help the laughter that sprang from his chest. “Yes, Sophie Catherine.” Something about her brusque, almost irritated demeanor amused him.
She opened the door to the pantry, and two mice scampered out. “Cam,” her voice dripped with vexation. “We need cats. Madame Dora kept cats in every bedchamber to take care of rats and mice.” She glared at him, her hands planted on her hips. “I won’t live like this.”
****
Sophie wrapped lunch for Cam in a clean cloth. As soon as he left for his day on the range, she would turn her attentions to the house.
“Give me a kiss goodbye to keep me warm. It’s a chilly morning out there.” He stepped close, his blue eyes soft with some kind of emotion.
She wanted him to kiss her. In fact she feared how
much
she wanted it. Her palms went to his chest and gently pushed. “Then ’tis a coat you’ll be needing more than a kiss.”
Soft lips covered hers. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips. “Open for me, Sophie Catherine. Warm my heart before I head off.”
His lips were a hair’s width from hers when he spoke. The movement of his lips tickled not only her lips but also many parts of her body, creating a quiver of excitement. Oh, he was a charmer, he was.
Her arms slowly rose across his broad shoulders, and his embrace tightened. Lips touched and lightning struck her heart. It had to be lightning, the way heat spread to every part of her body while his lips moved over hers. A male groan mingled with her moan of need.
“Daddy, me kiss. Me kiss.” Eli scampered into the kitchen.
They stepped away from each other, both breathing rapidly, both obviously affected by the power of that kiss. Cam scooped Eli into his arms and kissed him.
Eli shook his head. “No.” He pointed a chubby finger at Sophie. “Me kiss.”
“You want to kiss Momma?” Cam stepped closer so the child could lean close and kiss her.
“Momma?” Eli smacked a kiss on her lips.
“Yes, Eli. Momma.” He handed the boy off to Sophie and gathered the lunch she’d prepared for him. “I’ll see you both at suppertime.” He gave them each a kiss and walked outside.
Her morning was full of cleaning. Eli took to banging a wooden spoon on a pan once she showed him the noise he could make. She also taught him three new words—spoon, pan, bang—and took delight in teaching him something.
Rolling up the large rug in the parlor and dragging it outside to the clothesline proved more of a chore than she liked, but not as difficult as heaving it across the clothesline. She worked up a sweat with her efforts, but after several tries and a few muttered curses, she met with success.
Evidently not wanting to let his new momma out of his sight, Eli brought his pan and spoon outside behind her. When she began beating the carpet with a rug beater, he joined in the process, using his big wooden spoon.
“Are you helping Momma?”
Blond curls bounced in the sunlight. “Helping Momma.”
She began counting with every strike of the rattan rug beater. “One, two, three. Now, Eli, you do it.” To her delight, he did. “What a smart boy you are.” After several minutes of counting out loud and beating the flowered carpet, she straightened to ease her aching back muscles—and came face to face with an Indian watching her over the clothesline.
Sophie screamed and her hand flew to her chest. Her heart raced and her stomach clenched.
Saints preserve us, we’ll be scalped.
The Indian’s dark hair was parted down the middle and braided into two braids. Two feathers rose from the back. His dark eyebrows were dipped in annoyance. “You make too much noise.”
She struggled to catch her breath, to stop her heart beating its way out of her chest and to cease the trembling of her legs. “Who…who…” She glanced around, frantic, fearful. Where was Cam? Why wasn’t he here to protect her and the child?
“You cook these.” Two dead rabbits flopped across the clothesline. One eyebrow rose as he shook them at her as if willing her to take the dead animals.
She snatched the rabbits from him and eyed her strange visitor. Who was he, and why had he gifted her with rabbits? Did he expect her to cook for him?
“Bear!” Eli shrieked as he dashed around the hanging rug.
The man stooped to pick up the boy. “Eli. You grow big and strong.”
Eli patted his chest. “Big.” His smile indicated he knew the Indian.
Sophie squared her shoulders, swallowed her fear, and dashed around the carpet to retrieve her child. She quickly surveyed the area. Thank God the Native was alone. “May I have my son, please?” She dropped the rabbits and extended her hands. Surely he wouldn’t harm Eli.
He narrowed his eyes and leaned Eli away from her. “
Your
son?”
“As of yesterday, yes. I’m his new momma.” In an instant, she knew she’d give her life for this little boy with the limited vocabulary and a fondness for material.
Eli pointed at her. “My momma. Mine.”
“You married Cam? I didn’t think he’d ever stop grieving for Amanda.”
“You know my husband?” She inched closer and prepared to snatch the child from this warrior’s arms.
“Since we were boys. Where is he?”
She’d be wise to keep that information to herself. Not that she knew where her husband was, only that he’d gone to the canyon to check on the cattle, to see how they’d adjusted to their new surroundings. He said he’d be home by suppertime. By then she and the child could be dead. “He’ll be right back,” she lied. Then she grabbed for Eli, and saw danger flicker in the Indian’s eyes as his hold on the boy tightened.