Unbroken Hearts (25 page)

    
Sarah reddened, and before she could
squeak Cal took her arm and made a hasty excuse to move on.
 

    
Cowboys were queuing up at the food table.
But Sarah and Emily were so excited for the dancing they could hardly eat. The
men piled plates high with potatoes, beef, biscuits, beans, custards, and
cakes. After the crowd finished eating two women brought out empty embroidery hoops and began
a tossing game with the younger girls. Another group gathered younger children
to play "Drop the Handkerchief". Emily joined in the hoop tossing
game.
 

   
A band arrived, tuned up, and started to play. Couples stepped out and
tentatively danced a waltz.
 

    
By the second number the piano roared and
the fiddle blazed. The floor bounced and creaked with dancing cowboys, miners,
ranch girls, and town women, all swinging each other -- a staccato of stomping
boots softened by swishing skirts. Roy whirled by with Ella Wright.

    
Cal turned his large frame to Sarah.

    
"Shall we dance?"

     
"Why not?" She peered at
him sideways and smirked.

    
Their first steps together were stiff, but
Cal pulled her closer and Sarah relaxed, and soon her movements beat to his
rhythm.

    
"You dance well."

    
"My father taught me when I was a
little girl." It was a warm memory for Sarah. She remembered her eyes were
no higher than her father's chest, and she had to tilt her head back to look up
at him because she liked to see his broad smile as he led her through the
steps.
 

    
"Lucky man." His hand slid
across her back.

    
"Who?"

    
"Your father. And me, just now,"
he added. His tone rolled intimate. "You know what I like about your
eyes?"

    
"W-what?"

    
"How they grow when I'm lookin' at
you. And the little wrinkles at the corners when you smile." He laughed.
"They're doing it." He wanted to kiss her. He hauled her up closer
instead.
 

    
Why not make the most of the time we
have?
Cal's boldly uttered words
echoed through Sarah.

     
"Do you know what I like about
your eyes?" She flushed as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Was
she flirting with him? She couldn't be, because sure as hell accepts sinners,
she didn't know how to do that. "I like the gold flecks," she
blurted. "I thought they were grand the first time I saw you."

    
He inhaled tightly, and drew her into him,
shockingly close to his body. His chest rubbed up against her breasts and their
thighs were touching. He buried his face in her hair until his lips were a bare
inch from her ear. Sarah heard him sigh contentedly.

     
She took stock of her surroundings.
"Cal, other people are here.
 
My sister—"

    
"Do you think they care?" His
voice was lazily seductive, and his warm breath caressed her neck.

    
Heart beating wildly, she looked around
the hazy room. Indeed, everyone else seemed absorbed in activities. Doctor
Rutherford was corraled by several older women. The poor man looked trapped.
Children played tag along the edges of the crowd. Sheriff Aiken strolled among
the groups, trying to look official. And Ned was fetching a cup of punch for
Miss Grayson, who was sitting and chatting with an overly stimulated
Emily.
 

    
Sarah's eyes froze and locked with those
of Jack Dullen. Three men were gathered around him, and he gave every
appearance of being engaged in the conversation. But he wasn't.

    
Most men would have looked away when a
woman caught them staring, but not Jack Dullen. His face was a study in steely
contempt. Sarah moved closer into warm Cal. She wrapped her arm as completely
as she could around his waist.

    
Her sweet response to his body drove Cal
heavenward. Reluctantly, he handed Sarah over when Roy asked for a dance, and
he moved along to waltz with Emily, who giggled and whirled girlish energy. The
hours flew by.

                                         
*
               
*
                
*

    
Geneva Grayson was tired. Making a
favorable impression on the friendly folks of Wounded Colt had been taxing. Now
Geneva rose, smoothed her skirt, and made to leave with the Smithsons, the couple
she roomed with just outside of town.
 

    
She touched Ned's hand lightly,
tentatively, as she bid him goodbye.

    
"I can't remember when I've spent a
finer evening, Mr. Kingman."
 

    
Ned's bronzed face hid his flushed cheeks.
"Well . . . I'd of asked you to dance, but I got a bad leg," he
admitted ruefully.

    
"Gosh, I didn't notice. I suppose we
were too busy talking about the author, Mr. Jules Verne."

    
"Yes, yes, I 'spose." The
corners of his mouth turned upwards.
 

    
Her heart reached out. "We're both different, Mr. Kingman. M-most surely you saw that my eyes are not the same
color."
 

    
Geneva didn't know why she'd said that, as
if she wanted him to know she was flawed, to put it on the table straight away.
Her schoolchildren never cared about such things. Oh, they made mention of it,
but she had long ago learned that children looked at oddities in a completely
different light. They thought it made her special. Adults were another matter.
Her grandfather had called her eyes the mark of the devil. Now she colored,
cast her eyes down to light on her new serviceable shoes, and considered she
should have purchased something fancier for the occasion.

     
It was a trivial point, likely of no
importance to Mr. Ned Kingman. She might as well mention she was an old
spinster while she was about it. But that was glaringly obvious.

     
"Do tell. I didn't notice it
t'all. Alls I saw was how they smiled so pretty." Ned squinted and his
voice lowed softly.

    
In that moment, possibly the most intimate
she'd enjoyed with a man, the schoolteacher felt like she was sixteen again.
But the feeling galloped away. She knew that romance was a foolish notion, only
meant for simpleminded young girls. And no doubt Mr. Kingman thought so too.
They were both too old for such foolishness.
 

    
Yet he was the only man who'd paid her any
attention that evening, at least anything much beyond a simple hello. And it
wasn't difficult to figure:
 
Mr.
Kingman couldn't dance, so he'd drawn the lot of sitting, chatting, and making
her feel welcome. Likely she wouldn't see him again, except at the occasional
social, because, as he'd said, he lived out on a ranch. And after all was said
and done, Geneva was well past the age to be considered as a mate, even if they
did have a fine time together.
 

    
But he was the first real friend she'd met
in the town. Genuinely funny, quick witted and well read, he was a man fully
able to converse on many topics. He'd turned out to be something of a surprise
 
. . . and his face lit up whenever he
smiled. In fact, she thought, Ned Kingman was rather extraordinary.
 

   
Pushing aside her unruly thoughts she turned, muttering last goodbyes.
Then Geneva rushed quickly out the door, scanning to find her ride home with
Edna and Bill Smithson.
 

    
After a few steps she turned around and
spied Ned. He'd limped out behind her. What's more, the man insisted on helping
her into the wagon, which was quite unnecessary, since Bill Smithson was
standing at the ready.
 

    
Geneva flushed vividly, not knowing what
to make of Ned Kingman's attentions. Thoughts wildly thrashed and stuttered.
He
doesn't have anything better to do.
It was simple:
 
He was charged with
making the schoolmarm from Indiana feel special because schoolteachers,
especially those with experience, were hard to come by in the territories.
 

    
Lightly Ned took her trembling arm, and
helped her into the wagon. Mr. Smithson slapped his draft horse into motion.
The wagon jolted and wheels creaked.
 

    
When Geneva looked behind, Ned was still
standing there, hands hitched on his hips, watching. After a few moments he
turned and strode back into the town hall. He hadn't taken a shot of whiskey
all day, and yet somehow the usual dull throb in his leg had subsided.

    
Ned wasn't as interested in the social
after Geneva left. Emily was falling asleep on her feet, and he jumped at the
chance, eagerly offering to take her home in a wagon.
 

    
The band stopped playing. People wandered
back to their homes. The sky was clear; stars and moonlight shone so brightly
that the people and horses and buildings cast long dim shadows. As she rode
with Cal and Roy in the carriage, Sarah reflected on her first social. It had
been magical. On Cal's arm she was accepted, without question, by all the
decent men and women. All had smiled politely as she was introduced, and the
ladies had spoken to her as if she'd never ridden on the white pony. Indeed,
not one backhanded comment was uttered in her presence. The older women had
kindly asked about Mama, and a few even complimented her on the quality of the
cakes she brought.

    
Were they sincere or simply tolerating her
for Cal's sake?
 
It was impossible
to tell.
 

Chapter 23

     
Taking care not to wake her sister,
Sarah held her skirts to quiet the rustle as she stepped into their shared
bedroom. Now she was faced with a dilemma. She needed help to unfasten all the
tiny buttons running down the back of the fancy lavender dress.
 

    
After reluctantly kissing her goodnight
Cal had retired to his room.

    
Sarah opened her bedroom door a crack and
peeked up the stairs. A fragile light was shining from under Cal's door. He was
still awake. Sarah decided it would only take a minute for him to help, and
then she'd be on her way.

    
Setting her jaw Sarah scampered barefoot
up the stairs. Hesitating a moment she tapped a knuckle lightly on his door.

    
"Something wrong?" He whispered
as he pulled the door open a foot. Sarah looked past him to a pretty
hand-stitched counterpane tossed haphazardly across a big bed. A lamp burned
low on a table near the window.
 

    
She croaked. "Well, no, not really,
I—"

    
She stopped abruptly. His wide chest was
naked. His feet were bare. Suddenly keeping eyes focused on his face was a
mighty struggle. "Oh. Oh. I didn't want to bother you, but Em is fast
asleep, and I need help with the buttons on this dress. C-could you just undo
them?"
 

    
Cal's chestnut eyes widened and he arched
one brow. "Sure," he drawled, "it's no problem 'tall." His
lips turned slightly at the corners. "Come in here where the light's
better."

    
She moved just inside and spun around to
give access to her backside. Cal reached over her shoulder, and his bronzed
bare arm lightly flicked the door closed. Then he positioned himself close, so
close Sarah could smell his masculine musk, so close his body heat touched her,
and the feather of his breath caressed her neck.
 

    
Cal's eyes fixed on the curve where neck
met shoulder, and he unhooked each small ivory button, starting at the top. His
fingers ambled lazily from one to the next; they were in no particular hurry to
get the job done.

    
His thoughts whirled about kissing the
nape of her neck, just below her silver combs. The idea had barely trotted
through his brain before another followed. As he worked his way down the button
column, exposing her thin camisole, his mind galloped on until it was near to
an unruly stampede. Steamy notions had formed into full-blown fantasies; each
one featured him as close to Sarah as a man could get to his woman.

    
Meanwhile Sarah was fighting her own
battle of personal restraint. Cal's strong fingers trailed pleasing warmth,
lightly caressing along her spine as he worked each fancy round out of its loop.
He was maddeningly quiet; the total silence forced her mind to focus on his
gentle touch.
 

   
She recalled his words of that day in the parlor.
Why not make the
most of the time we have?
Her dream
of having Cal was slipping away, and it grated, painfully.
 
This magical evening was ending,
sliding into the abyss of fond memories. Soon it would be another dried and
pressed flower, lurking between the pages of her life book.
 

    
It had been a night full of wonderful
'firsts':
 
Her first social, and
her first dance, with a man who could be, and in fact had been, her first
suitor.
A man who might have been her first real lover.

   
Her first lover
. The idea
grew stronger with each ragged breath she took, and soon a voice from within
insisted that she give herself to this man to make another perfect
"first".

    
It was her right. Crane didn't deserve her
whole. She shuddered at the thought of bearing Crane's children. But having
Cal's child -- that would be treasure.

     
Could it be wrong?
No more wrong than giving herself in marriage to a
man she didn't love. And not wrong at all when compared to being forced to
succumb to Crane's inevitable blackmail.

 
Cal
finished unhooking the buttons but Sarah's feet were stuck in place. She could
not quit his bedroom.

  
Sarah pulled her arms from the dress and lowered the bodice until it
hung loosely around her waist. She heard Cal's sharp intake of breath as she
pulled at the camisole.

    
"Sarah?" he barely breathed.

     
She felt clumsy. Her hands trembled.
Naked to her hips, her mind made up, she boldly turned back to face him.

   
"Sarah! What are you--"

    
She locked her jades on his golden browns.
"You said we could be together whenever and however we want." Her
face pinched with determination, and her eyes flickered back and forth as she
desperately searched for words for the union she'd never known. "I want
you to do it. With me."

    
The longing in her eyes shattered him.
Gently he reached his hand to touch soft skin as his eyes devoured the round
white fullness of her breasts.

    
"Sarah, you're sayin' you want to be
my woman. Now? You're sure?" His voice was low, hoarse.

    
She nodded slightly and whispered.
"You, you own my heart. Have all of me." She fisted her hands.
Despite the threat from Crane, despite the humiliation of the white pony,
despite her station in life, she would have him.

    
Even if it was just this one night.

    
"Oh honey." He touched her
cheek. "You've taken my heart too."

    
The vows spoken, Cal and Sarah stood
frozen for a long minute, eyes locked in the wonder of what they'd said, and
what they were about to do.

   
They inched slowly together, and with quiet searching touches and lips
they joined in the most tender kiss Sarah imagined possible, a gentle massage
that sent currents of desire throughout her body. Cal's rancher hands moved
gently over her face, touching and memorizing her forehead, eyes, nose, and
lips. He took her hands and moved them to his chest, silently requesting her to
explore his maleness.

    
Cal promised inwardly that he'd bridle
himself --
 
no matter the pain --
this first time with her. He'd certainly thought about how he'd do it often
enough. Since that first moment he'd wanted her. Now he wanted her to soar with
him. He aimed to pleasure her completely, to show her heaven in his arms.

    
Sarah stroked her hands across Cal's
chest, through soft curls of dark hair. When he took her mouth again he branded
her with passionate intensity, and she felt the ache. Her knees and legs gave way
to a sudden weakness. She gripped his shoulders, and Cal supported her up
against the bedroom door.

    
His rough hand ran over the softness of
her stomach and up to cover one breast. He rubbed his thumb gently across her
nipple, already formed into a tight knot. Sarah gave in to the urge to arch her
back and push fully into Cal's eager hands.
 

    
Cal's tongue probed and began to thrust
sweetly in her mouth as he taught her the rhythm of the lovemaking to come.

    
Sarah explored new territory. She wanted
to savor Cal completely, know every inch of him, to roll a thousand nights of
lovemaking into one,
 
because
this will be my first and last time,
she thought. In the dim light of the kerosene lamp she peered intently into his
passion-filled face for a response to each touch, just as he looked for hers.
He whispered delightful, honeyed words.

     
"Sarah, the first time I saw
you I wanted you." He kissed her brow lightly and looked into her green
eyes. "Tell me if anything hurts."

    
Slowly and tentatively he put his mouth to
her breast and laved gently at her nipple.

    
His voice, his smell, and the moist, soft
touch of his tongue flooded her senses. Sarah threw her head back and moaned
deep in her throat.
     

    
Each caress, each kiss, each exchange of
loving words sent them spiraling to a higher level of arousal. He loved the
feel of her silky hair. Constant moans rallied forth from the back of her
throat, and his own groans rode on a torrent of unrelenting pleasure.
 

    
Sarah's honest response to his touches
told him everything he needed to know. Sarah's lips. Sarah's hair. Sarah's
touch. He was near panting, as though he had just run all the way home from the
creek.
 

    
He hesitated only briefly, and then his
hands worked her skirts down over her hips. Fingers shaking, he worked the tabs
on her drawers.

    
"I don't have a wagonload of
experience at this, honey." The confession was a sweet whisper.

    
Sarah laughed breathlessly but a flash of
a painful memory crossed her face. "N-neither do I."
 

  
He
flinched when he saw the pain, quickly drew her close and whispered in her ear.
"It will be good. I promise."

    
Then he drew back and helped her remove
fullness of the dress. Soon every piece of her clothing was heaped around her
on the floor, and Cal gazed at her with open admiration.
 

    
She moved to unfasten his pants but he
stilled her hands.

    
"I don't want to go too fast. Sarah,
it wouldn't be as good for you, and I want this to be perfect." His voice
was strained.

 
   
"It's already
perfect." The words barely moved past the tightness in her throat.

    
He pulled her into him again. His lips
branded her again and again with his heat.
 
He fondled her peaked nipples and planted kisses along her
neck and across her shoulder. "Oh sweetheart, you are
beautiful."
 

    
His dark eyes wore emotion that gave all
and demanded equal in return. Slowly his hand strayed a path down her stomach
and stroked her womanhood, staking his claim.

    
She gasped in anticipation. Curving his
hand he fingered the wet, swollen flesh that eagerly, painfully beckoned.

    
An unending moan was lowing in Sarah's
throat. She arched her back and pushed against his hand wantonly, panting,
chest heaving, hands gripping tightly to his shoulders.

  
  
Cal suddenly stopped and lifted
her. He curled her against his chest, and carried her to his bed, where he
lowered her gently onto the sheets. He moved to cover her with his hardened
body and wooed her with light kisses on eager lips.

    
Silently begging, Sarah brazenly took his
hand and guided it to herself. She arched and moaned again as he straddled and
stroked.
 

    
He probed his finger tentatively inside
her, and shuddered when her tight, hot sheath closed around him. Perspiration
dripped from his forehead. Suddenly she pushed violently up against him and
repeatedly cried out his name. Her eyes filled with the shock and amazement
he'd seen just once before and she surrendered in long gasping moans. The waves
of pleasure rocked her, and passion's scorching heat spread lingering warmth
over her body.

    
"That's good, that's very good
honey," he breathed.

    
Sarah was yet recovering from her sweet
release when Cal rose from the bed and pulled off his pants. Sarah openly
stared at her naked man, hard and muscled and bronzed.

    
Cal boldly allowed Sarah to look her fill
as he strode back the bed. "Oh darlin'," he whispered as he slid in
beside her. "I need you now." He rolled into her heat, and possessively
slid a muscled thigh across her middle and he slid his body completely across
her. He was wildly desperate for her, and he pushed his hard sex into her hip
and kissed her hard and deep. After a minute he groaned, pushed her thighs
apart with his leg, and pulled himself up on his knees between her legs. He had
a pained expression on his face.