Always and Forever

by Beverly Jenkins

  He rewarded her with a soft kiss on the lips. “You’re in my blood too…”

  And she was, every luscious inch of her. It bothered him in a way, because he didn’t know how to keep her with him, but he set the thoughts aside for now. He concentrated on sluggishly kissing her swollen lips, toying with her nipples, and generally keeping her warm. “Let’s lie down.”

  Caught up in the rising heat, Grace didn’t want to move and lose his bliss-filled touches.

  “Gluttony is a sin, Banker Atwood…”

  She couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re entirely too good at this.”

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  She leaned down and treated him to a kiss that showed him just how glad she really was, then took his hand and led him down to the pallet.

  Jackson knew he might be courting danger by removing his clothes, but he wanted to feel her nude beauty against his skin.

  Grace had never seen a naked man in the flesh before, but even in the moon-dappled shadows she could see that he was beautifully made. He appeared to have been chiseled from a dark exotic marble. She boldly reached out and ran a finger over the well-defined muscles below his ribs and in his chest. Her eyes brushed the part of him that made him male, but because she didn’t want to be caught staring, she raised her eyes quickly to his face.

  “That was a quick look,” he told her softly.

  The words and smile threw her off stride. “I didn’t want to—ogle.”

  “Ogle all you like, because I’m sure ogling you.”

  She dropped her head to hide her smile. “This is all so new.”

  “I know, but it’s fun. Isn’t it?”

  She had to admit it was, so she nodded.

  “Then take a good long look this time. It won’t bite.”

  Grace felt the heat of embarrassment burn her cheeks. Still refusing to look, she said, “Maybe I’m not as brazen a pirate queen as I thought.”

  “You’re brazen enough. Come here…”

  He gently pulled her closer so that her back was against his chest and he cradled her in his arms. “If you want me to get dressed again, I can.”

  “No, I like being with you this way. Does that make me brazen?”

  “Yep.”

  Feigning outrage, she switched around and found him smiling. “You’re supposed to say no.”

  “Why?” he asked, running a bent knuckle over the nipple closest to him. “You are brazen, but like you said, I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  He slid a finger over her lips and then dragged it slowly down her body to her nipple. “This is why…” And he circled it, and stroked it, and when he took it into his warm mouth, she arched sinuously.

  “And this is why…”

  He gave the other nipple the same intimate care, and she moaned.

  “Oh, and add this, too…”

  His fingers found the swollen bud between her thighs and plied it so languidly and expertly the groans spilled out of her throat like a song.

  He eased a finger into her and her passionate response broke the quiet space with a strangled sound. He bit each nipple gently; then, after easing in another bold finger, kissed her mouth.

  Grace had never felt such heat; never craved anything as much as she craved this. Sh didn’t want him to stop. “Please…” she whispered. She’d no idea what her plea might be for, but Jackson did.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll please you.”

  Now, Jackson had no intention of taking her fully, or at least, that’s what he told himself, but she was so passionate, and when she whispered, “Make me yours…” the soft entreaty coupled with his own raging need made him want to grant her wish more than breathe.

  He entered her slowly, making himself remember that her virgin state would not allow him to enjoy her with as much zeal as his desire demanded—at least, not this first time.

  Keeping her lack of experience in mind, Jackson made his way inch by sensual inch. He was a big man and she was a small woman. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more pain than necessary. “Am I hurting you?”

  Grace didn’t know. It was all so foreign, yet so delectable. She could feel her flesh opening to receive him. “I don’t think so, at least not yet.”

  “Good.”

  Fitting his hands to her hips, he held back on the urge to plunge his way to paradise and forced himself to maintain his slow pace. She was so warm and so tight, it took all he had. “Grace, if it’s going to hurt, now will be the time, so hold on.”

  He thrust himself past her maidenhood and felt her tighten in reaction. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her eyes, her nose, her brows. “It won’t ever hurt again, I promise.”

  But it hurt now, and Grace wasn’t sure she wanted to continue. The parts of herself sheltering him were filled with a searing pain.

  “Let me make it better…”

  “How?” she whispered, dearly hoping he could.

  So he showed her.

  Employing a slow, rhythmic stroking, he tempted her to rejoin him in life’s most ancient dance. At first she couldn’t respond; each and every movement made the pain resonate, but after a while her body began to warm and rise to that seductive rhythm and she was on the path to pleasure once again. “Oh, Jackson,” she purred in response. “This is better, much, much better.”

  He grinned and lengthened his strokes. “Is it…”

  “Oh, yes…”

  Her confession pleased him; the sight of her rising to match his strokes pleased him even more. Grace Atwood was a sensual, hot-blooded pirate queen beneath her strict banker’s veneer, and as he’d said, he wouldn’t want her any other way.

  While she met his thrusts, he brushed hot kisses over the hills and valleys of her soft, scented skin. He leaned back. Fired by the sight of her rising and falling beneath him amidst the shadows, he toyed wantonly with the slick, passion-swollen flesh hidden within her hair, and when she moaned, the sounds and sight fueled him to increase the pace and power of his strokes.

  Grace could feel herself about to shatter. Nothing equaled this. The velvet hardness of his desire moving like bliss between her thighs made her ravenous, greedy. She wanted all he could give her and more. Here in the fiery shadows, she could be any woman she wanted to be, and tonight she wanted to be his.

  So Jackson made her his with all the fervor he could bring to bear. She climaxed twisting and trying to keep her pleasure from being heard, rising to meet his strong, possessive strokes. The sight and feel of her responding so passionately made him drop the reins on his own carefully paced control, and he shattered too, growling his pleasure as he rode to the end of the storm.

  As he lay there in the aftermath with his arm behind his head, Jackson looked up at the darkness overhead and wondered what to do now. They’d made a child tonight, maybe two, judging by the intensity of the union; he could feel it. He turned his head her way. “So, when do you want to get married?”

  “You said, if there’s a child.”

  “There will be one, so when?”

  Grace raised herself on an elbow and looked down at him. She sensed he’d withdrawn from her and she wasn’t sure how to respond. “You can’t be sure.”

  “I am.”

  “Jackson—”

  He cut her off, “We already talked about this, remember?”

  “I do,” she said quietly, “but you don’t want to marry any more than I do.”

  A part of Jackson secretly cheered tonight’s outcome; now she would be his, but the other was appalled by this very decided deviation from the path he’d laid down. He was supposed to be going to Texas to confront Lane Trent, not succumbing to a passionate little pirate queen with a body lush enough to drown in. Because of his lack of discipline he might’ve just condemned her to having to raise his child alone, and his child to growing up without a father. Both of them would need his name, even if it was one gracing a wanted poster.

  He got up and began searching for his clothes.

&
nbsp; Grace tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes,” he said, pulling on his pants. Acknowledging the pain he sensed in her, he said softly, “Please don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, Grace. You haven’t. This is all my fault.”

  “I’ve no regrets.”

  “You will if I don’t come back from Texas, and so will our child.”

  “Jackson—”

  He found his shirt, thrust his arms in the sleeves, and started in on the buttons. “We’ll get married in Kansas City.”

  She stood. “No, we won’t.”

  He looked over at her and her nudity pulled at him so hard he wanted to toss off his clothes and spend the rest of the night hearing her whisper his name. “Don’t fight me on this, Grace, you’ll lose.”

  Grace didn’t like his tone at all. “Excuse me? I gave you my virginity, not permission to tell me what I may or may not do.”

  In spite of the rising tension he smiled inwardly. Lord, what a woman. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Don’t bet the farm.”

  Shaking his head, he walked over to her, and before she could protest, pulled her to him, kissed her long and hard, then turned her loose. When he exited, she was still pulsing and floating.

  They’d been on the road forty days when they crossed paths with a group of mounted Black soldiers from the Tenth Cavalry. The soldiers were escorting a small contingent of Indians.

  “They’re being removed to government lands,” Dixon explained.

  Grace knew that Dixon was a member of the Black Seminole tribe, and as the members of the wagon train stopped to witness the silent procession, his usually stoic face reflected both pain and sorrow. This was Grace’s first encounter with the nation’s native people, and she saw that they were not the “dreaded savages” she’d been led to believe. The slow-moving group of about thirty individuals consisted of elders, women, and children. Many appeared weary, sick, and ill fed, and the sight pulled at her heart.

  Grace watched Katherine move quietly to her husband’s side and slip her hand into his. He squeezed her hand in silent acknowledgment, but never moved his eyes from the column until they passed by.

  The wagon train reached Kansas City exactly forty-five days after leaving the outskirts of Chicago. The farm owned by Grace’s cousin, Price Atwood, was their final destination and he waved them onto the property with a welcoming grin. Grace had never been so glad to see him in her life. As much as Grace had enjoyed the journey, she was very glad it was over.

  The excitement of the arrival pushed aside all the weariness as the women jumped down from their wagons and hugged each other in celebration. They’d done it; they’d traveled over five hundred miles with no one to rely upon but themselves. In many ways they’d been altered by the experience; most were physically stronger and more confident inside and out. Grace hoped the grooms would appreciate the exceptional women and give them the love and respect they deserved.

  As the brides left their wagons, they were told by Price that the grooms were staying at various boardinghouses in the area and that someone would be sent to alert the men of the brides’ safe arrival. Grace insisted the women be allowed a few days to refresh themselves before meeting their prospective mates. Dresses needed to be unpacked and pressed. Hair had to be done and baths were sorely needed. None of the weary women wished to be seen covered with the dirt and grime of the trail.

  Grace had been changed, too. She was in love with Jackson Blake. The idea of maybe having to raise his child did not frighten her; she already knew her aunts would lend her all the support she’d need, but she honestly hoped she was not with child, mainly because he didn’t love her and she didn’t want him forced into a marriage based solely on obligation. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss the situation further, but she knew it would come, and she was not looking forward to it.

  By evening, arrangements had been finalized for the brides to stay with members of the local A.M.E. church. The parishioners had graciously offered their homes. Hugs were given and tears were shed as the women prepared to leave with their various hosts and hostesses. They’d become a family during the trip, and for Grace it felt strange to no longer be together.

  The Wildhorses said their good-byes, too. Katherine and Dixon would be spending a few days in Kansas City, and then it would be on to Indian Territory. Grace and Katherine parted tearfully. They’d become good friends and Katherine promised she’d write, even though they both knew they might never see each other again.

  As Grace and Jackson stood on Price’s porch under the twilight, watching Dix and Katherine disappear into the distance, she said, “It feels so strange, watching everyone go their separate ways after being together the way we’ve been.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  Grace’s cousin Price joined them on the porch. “You two want something to eat? My housekeeper, Mrs. Trundle, fixed a good-sized meal before she left for the day.”

  Grace said, “Bath first, food second.”

  “Blake?”

  “I’ll wait and eat with Grace, if you don’t mind.”

  The tall, thin Price shrugged. “Sounds fine. Come on in and I’ll show you where you can bunk.”

  “Out here on the porch is fine for me,” Jackson said. He knew he had no business sleeping in the same house with Grace. The thought of making love to her in a bed might tempt him into being indiscreet, and he didn’t want to wake up with Price standing over them with a shotgun. Although that would settle the disagreement as to whether they should marry or not.

  Grace dearly wanted to get Jackson alone so they could hash out this marriage mess, but she was afraid they’d end up arguing loud enough to be heard back in Chicago. Any argument would surely raise Price’s suspicions, and she did not want him involved. Price was a teetotaler and a Bible thumper and had very strict morals. Being a good ten years older than Grace, he’d always been protective of her, and if he ever got wind of her true relationship with her wagonmaster, he’d make her marry Jackson so fast her head would spin off her neck. So after her bath, Grace had dinner and then went to bed.

  The next morning Grace awakened at dawn. Although she’d planned to sleep in, habits were hard to break. For the first morning in a long time she didn’t have to climb up behind a team, and that in itself made her fall back upon the fluffy feather mattress like a happy child.

  Price’s housekeeper, Mrs. Trundle, was a big, raw-boned woman of German ancestry. She and her husband were recent immigrants to the United States and had spent the last four years sharecropping on Price’s land. She worked in the house to help make ends meet.

  “So you brought Mr. Price a wife?” Helga Trundle asked in her thick German accent. She set out a feast of eggs, side bacon, flapjacks running with butter and syrup, grits, biscuits, and a strudel that melted in Grace’s mouth.

  “Yes,” Grace replied, looking up at the woman’s smiling face. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

  Price grinned as he warned his cousin, “All right, Grace, don’t start that now.”

  Price was one of the few male members in the Prescott line. He was the only son of an only son, her mother’s eldest sibling, Dillard, and the aunts and every other female in the Prescott family had been pestering him for years to marry so there’d be more sons.

  “Yah, I think a misses would be good for Mr. Price, but she better be a good girl. No whores,” the housekeeper stated with a shake of a thick finger.

  Price choked on his coffee and Grace picked up her own cup to hide her smile. She cast Blake a quick glance and found him smiling behind his cup, too.

  Price used his napkin to wipe at his mouth. “Uh, Mrs. Trundle, I think we have everything we need now.”

  “Okay, I’ve windows to wash. Call if you need anything.” And she hustled out.

  After breakfast, Price hitched a team to his wagon and went into town to meet with the other bridegrooms. They had business to discuss, and he wanted to see if the weddin
g suit he’d ordered from New York’s Blooming-dale’s department store had arrived yet.

  That left Grace and Jackson seated out on the porch alone.

  “So,” he said, “we’re here.”

  Wearing a summer-weight skirt and blouse, she replied happily, “I keep thinking it’s a dream and that I’m going to wake up and find I’m still on the trail.”

  She quieted a moment as she reflected on the past month, then looked his way. “You said you’d get us here and you kept your word. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Then she asked the question she’d been dreading for weeks. “When are you leaving for Texas?”

  “Soon. Need to get some gear and provisions first, though.”

  “I see.”

  Jackson couldn’t imagine leaving her behind, but she couldn’t go. He’d have enough problems watching his own back; taking her along would only make the venture that much more dangerous.

  “So, do you want to get married with the brides, or have a separate ceremony?”

  “Neither.”

  “Grace, we’ve already discussed this.”

  “I don’t remember a discussion, just you telling me what I was going to do.”

  “You’re carrying my child, it’s all the same.”

  “No, it is not.”

  Admittedly, he hadn’t given her a choice, but choice didn’t enter into it. His child needed a name and a father, and Lord willing, he’d return so he could help with the raising. Once he returned from Texas, they could decide where to make their home. He didn’t think he could live in Chicago. He’d tried fitting into a back east life and hated every day of it. She, on the other hand, had been bred to it, and he doubted she’d like being in Texas, where life lacked many of the luxuries she become accustomed to. There’d be no theaters, charity balls, or tea stores where he was headed. So that too would only add to the dissension. “So, again, when do you want to get married?”

  “I’m not going to make you marry me.”

  “So, what? You planning on raising my child alone?”

  “It’s been done.”

  “You’re right, but it won’t be done by you.”