A Stockingful of Joy

by Hannah Howell

  And, yet, she mused as she studied the hats in the milliner’s tiny window, maybe it was not. Instinct told her she would regret not ever tasting that passion, that it was rare in its strength, and that those regrets could be a lot harder to push aside than a broken heart or lost innocence. Tyrone’s kisses could easily spoil her for anyone else, however. If she found someone to marry, there could well be a ghost in her bed whether she succumbed to Tyrone’s seduction or not.

  So why not simply enjoy? she thought as she entered the mercantile store and slowly surveyed what was for sale. There was always the chance that Tyrone’s feelings could deepen, that what she suspected she felt for him could be returned by the time they reached Paradise. Maybe that was a gamble worth taking.

  Pausing to finger some beautifully tatted lace, Deidre began to search deep within her heart to see exactly what she did feel for Tyrone Callahan, if it truly was enough to take such a risk. In truth, by traveling alone with the man and sharing rooms, even with a false name, she was already thoroughly ruined. If even the tiniest whisper of such impropriety drifted back home, she would be utterly ostracized. She would be condemned, treated as a soiled dove by all, no matter what she had or had not done. Would it really be such a sin to actually commit the crime when there was a good chance she would be condemned anyway?

  “My wife does that all herself,” said a gruff voice that carried a deep, endearing note of pride.

  Deidre smiled at the balding man standing across the store counter from her. “It is quite beautiful. As good as, if not better than, any French import I have seen. I fear my mother was never able to teach me the skill.”

  She decided to buy some, for Maura loved to trim her clothes with such subtle and delicate finery. She bartered with the man, but not too strenuously. The work was so fine she felt guilty questioning the price at all. Habit drove her, but she quickly subdued it. Deidre knew how much work went into such beautiful lace and did not wish to wheedle the woman out of what she had rightfully earned with such artistry. She added a camisole and pantaloons, each trimmed with the beautiful lace, and idly wondered if she had already reached a decision about Tyrone. There was no real reason to wear such exquisite underclothes if all she intended to do was hide them beneath too many layers of flannel and wool.

  By the time she returned to the hotel, it was after noon. A hastily scribbled note from Tyrone told her that he had decided to get the packhorse reshod, one of the animal’s shoes being a little suspect. Deidre ate a light lunch and took a long, hot bath. Dressed in her new underclothes, she donned her robe and sat on the bed to gently rub her hair dry with a towel.

  “Ah, Maura,” she said softly. “I wish you were here to talk to. I am so confused. Do I or don’t I? Are my feelings true or have I mistaken lust for love? Is all of this simply an attraction for a handsome man made all the fiercer because I am running for my life?”

  Cursing softly, Deidre flopped onto her back on the bed, her robe sliding open, and closed her eyes. Her thoughts were not getting much clearer. In fact, they spun so fiercely in her mind she felt almost dizzy. She felt sleep creeping over her, the gray skies, the hot bath, and a lack of anything to do making her doze. Perhaps, she mused, as she let sleep calm her, she would find the answer to her quandary in her dreams.

  * * *

  “This shoe could’ve gone a few more miles,” said the burly blacksmith as he finally removed the shoe from the packhorse’s left rear hoof.

  Resting his arms on the side of the stall, Tyrone watched the man clean the hoof in preparation for the new shoe, ready and waiting to be put on. “Probably, but it’s hard miles I have to travel and a lot of them. Just need to be sure.”

  “You’re loco to ride across country at this time of the year.”

  “Can’t be helped. Too many folk don’t want me to get home. Riding like this makes it harder for them to get me.” He shrugged. “We’re having a mild winter.”

  “ ’Pears to be so far, but that could change in a winking. If it turns sour you don’t want to be caught out in it.”

  “Don’t plan to be. My family’s ridden this trail for years. I know where to hole up if the weather turns against me. Seen any strangers around?” He smiled faintly when the man looked at him and briefly raised his bushy dark brows. “Besides me.”

  “Just the few folk what are staying at the hotel. Don’t get many passing through this late in the year. Even the stage stops coming here regular.”

  Tyrone nodded, pleased with the news. It confirmed what he had seen in his own explorations. He was glad he and Deidre would not be forced out into the snow, light as it was. The next place he knew of to stop at was nearly a full day’s ride away and it would be impossible to reach it before dark. Snow and the colder temperatures that came when the sun set could prove far more of a danger than the Martins’ henchmen.

  As he watched the blacksmith put on the new shoe with a comforting skill, Tyrone cursed himself for a coward. Fixing the horse’s shoe was not a total waste of time and money, but it could have waited. It simply provided him with a good reason not to go back to the hotel. Spending hours alone with a woman he ached for, but could not have, was more torture than he felt inclined to endure.

  For just a moment he wondered if some of his problem was that he had not been with a woman for a long time. There was a saloon in town and it undoubtedly had a woman or two willing to satisfy him for a fee. Then he shook his head, casting those thoughts aside as foolish. It was a weak excuse to blame his keen desire for Deidre on a lengthy celibacy. It was also foolish to think some saloon whore could give him what he needed even if his fastidious nature could be overcome enough to let him try. Tyrone suspected he would leave the whore’s bed, take one look at Deidre, and be back to aching again. It would simply be a waste of time and money.

  After paying the blacksmith and complimenting him on his work, Tyrone walked back to the hotel. He felt torn between a reluctance to spend hours alone with Deidre, something that only led to a gut-twisting frustration, and an eagerness for her company. It surprised him a little, but he had to admit that he liked her, enjoyed her company, even when she drove him to distraction. In an attempt to convince himself that that did not mean all that much, he tried to think of other women he had liked and produced a very small list, most of them relatives or the wives of close friends. He also respected Deidre, her bravery and her determination to fulfill her father’s dying wish the seeds from which that respect grew. Tyrone did not even try to list other women he had respected, for he knew it would be the same short list. That should tell him something, but he was not sure he wanted to figure out what that message was. Tyrone also wondered when he had become so cynical about women. Too many unfaithful wives in the world and courtesans disguised as ladies, he decided.

  He stepped into the room he shared with Deidre and almost turned around and walked out again. Deidre was sprawled on the bed, her hair a fiery carpet beneath her, accentuating the delicate paleness of her skin. Her slender curves were seductively clothed in a beautiful lace-trimmed camisole and pantaloons. Those pantaloons were bunched up almost to the top of her thighs, exposing her slim, perfectly shaped legs. Tyrone hastily closed the door and bolted it.

  Taking off his coat, hat, and scarf, Tyrone tossed them on a chair and walked over to stand by the bed. Her full lips were temptingly parted, silently begging to be kissed. The soft swells of her breasts peeped over the lace-trimmed low neckline of her chemise, gently rising and falling with each breath she took. One slim arm was raised over her head, the other curled against her side, her delicate hand resting low on her belly.

  “You’re a bastard for what you’re thinking,” Tyrone murmured even as he yanked off his boots, socks, and waistcoat. “If you’re lucky, she’ll just shoot you.” He took off his shirt.

  A sleepy Deidre was slow to push him away, a fact Tyrone had quickly noted and taken advantage of before. Guilt pinched him each time he did, and it was pinching at him now. As before, however, his
hunger for Deidre proved stronger. A half-dressed Deidre sprawled so enticingly on a bed was far more temptation than any man ought to be asked to resist, he thought as he cautiously settled himself by her side. He touched his lips to her sleep-flushed cheek and hoped that, this time, she would not only be caught unawares by her own passion, but stay caught.

  Chapter Six

  DEIDRE TILTED HER HEAD to the side, allowing the warm, soft. lips better access to the sensitive skin by her ear. She purred her delight as she slid her hands over smooth, warm skin. Her dream was especially detailed and realistic this time, she thought, shivering with pleasure as a hot, wet tongue dipped into her ear. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to a big, hard body and she snuggled even closer.

  A slight tugging and a coolness against her shoulders made her frown. That was more reality than her dreams about Tyrone usually carried. Big, warm hands cupped her face and soft, warm lips brushed over hers. Deidre slid her hands up Tyrone’s broad back and combed her fingers through his thick hair. Her dreams were getting very good.

  “Deidre,” Tyrone said, touching a kiss to the tip of her nose.

  His voice certainly seemed real. Deidre tried to cling to the safe haven of sleep, but her wits were stirring right along with her passion. A tart voice in her head scolded her for trying to cast aside responsibility for her actions by pretending she was still caught in a dream. She tried to ignore that voice. If she opened her eyes and accepted the truth, then she would have to make a decision. This was so much easier, so much more pleasant. She could just lie back and blindly let passion swamp her until it was too late to turn back, the decision gently taken from her hands. Coward, the voice taunted.

  “Deidre, open your eyes,” Tyrone said as he slowly undid her chemise. “I’ve decided I can’t be such a sneaky bastard. I want you awake and looking at me.”

  “If I open my eyes, I might also open my mouth to say a very loud no, ”she replied, arching into his touch as he slid his hands inside her partly opened chemise and cupped her breast.

  “How can you say no to this?”

  The faint breath of cooler air told her he had opened her chemise, but no further touch of hand or lips came. Blushing, Deidre slowly opened her eyes. Tyrone was crouched over her staring at her breasts. She could read his desire in every taut inch of his long body, in the light flush upon his high cheekbones, and in the uneven pace of his breathing. It was a heady knowledge. She could also feel her own desire, flooding her body with a greed for him that curled her toes. Would it ever again be this strong, this compelling? Deidre thought not and knew her decision had just been made.

  “I didn’t think they were so small you couldn’t find them,” she murmured, blushing at her boldness.

  Tyrone’s startled gaze flew to her face and then he laughed. He slowly eased his body down on top of hers, growing serious again. In her eyes he thought he read willingness, but he could not be sure. He needed more than a look; he needed the words. As he had roused her from her sleep, he had realized that he wanted her to fully accept him, not to be just swept away by a passion she was too innocent to control. When he was sprawled, sated, in her arms later, he did not want to face tears and regrets. He did not want it all spoiled by anger and accusations.

  “They are beautiful,” he said quietly, brushing a kiss over the top curve of each breast and feeling her shiver. “I ache to taste them, to fill my hands with them.” He looked at her. “I also know that if I did so, I would not want to stop there. I could have made you want that, too.”

  The arrogance of that statement almost made her contradict him just on principle, but she decided it was time for the truth between them. “Yes, you could.”

  He was a little surprised at how deeply those three little words moved him. “I decided I didn’t want you simply dragged along with me, yanked from sleep into passion so quickly you could not say no even if you wanted to. I want no regrets, no blame laying. I want a yes, Deidre, a wide-awake, eyes-clear yes.”

  That was tossing the ball into her court with a vengeance, she mused. She understood, however. Since their first kiss she had been saying no; now, suddenly, she was not. The capitulation probably seemed a little too quick. He wanted some assurances and she could not argue with that. She would not, however, give him too many reasons for her change of heart. Some, such as the realization that she could be dead soon, would probably insult him. Others would tell him far more about what lay in her heart than she wanted him to know. Passion was all he asked for and that was all she would offer, for now. If she left this affair with her heart in tatters, she would be the only one who would know it.

  A little playfully, she opened her eyes as wide as she could as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes.”

  A tremor went through him and he could not believe it when, out of his mouth, came the words, “Are you sure?”

  “Callahan, I can’t believe you mean to argue with me about this.”

  He brushed his lips over hers as he laughed softly. “I can’t believe I am, either. A moment’s madness.”

  “And, is that what this is, too?”

  “God knows, it sure as hell feels like a madness.”

  Deidre had no quarrel with that and gave herself over to his kisses. She arched to his touch as he toyed with her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the tips until they ached. Uncertain in her boldness, she tentatively touched her tongue to his as he stroked the inside of her mouth. His groan of approval was all the encouragement she needed to grow more daring, to become an equal partner in the mind-clouding kiss. She mumbled a protest when he ended the kiss, then purred her appreciation when his lips touched her throat. When he reached her breasts, stroking the too sensitive tips with his tongue, she clutched her fingers in his hair and lost all ability to think.

  Tyrone could not believe what was happening to him, did not really understand it. He was no innocent. He had bedded women before, women with more beauty, more flesh, more experience. Never had he lost control as he was losing it now. He trembled like some boy ready to bed a woman for the first time. Deidre was a virgin, a woman who required skill and gentleness, Tyrone was not sure he could give her either, so desperate did he feel.

  And Deidre was desperate, too, he realized with a touch of shock, as he had to nearly fight free of her hold to shed the last of his clothing. It was there to see in her flushed face, the restlessness of her movements, and the faint tremors shivering through her slim body. Tyrone hurriedly removed her clothes, blindly tossing them aside as he looked her over. She was all soft, creamy skin and slender curves. The sight of the fiery red curls at the juncture of her slim thighs hit him hard, like a fist to the gut. It took him a moment to realize that she had gone still, only the swift, uneven breaths she took revealing that she had not suddenly grown cold to him. Tyrone looked up and saw that she was staring wide-eyed at his groin and it was not a look of flattering appreciation, either. He quickly lay on top of her, and, even though the feel of their flesh touching sent him reeling, he struggled to cling to a few shreds of control.

  The insanity that had gripped her at the touch of his lips and his hands upon her flesh fled Deidre almost completely at the sight of his naked body. He was beautiful, all lean, hard muscle. It was what jutted out of the tangle of black hair between his long legs that stole away some of the blind need passion had infected her with. Deidre knew the basics of making love, but no one had told her that the part the man was going to stick into her was so big. A tickle of fear took away some of the heat in her blood. Exciting though it was to feel his warm flesh pressed against hers, Deidre was unable to ignore the hard length pressed against her groin.

  “It’s all right, love,” Tyrone murmured as he kissed her ear. “I haven’t killed anyone with it yet.”

  Although she had already guessed that a man as handsome as Tyrone had to have had a lot of experience, Deidre was annoyed to hear him refer to it now while they lay naked in each other’s arms. “I hope you are not suggestin
g that I ask for references.”

  Glancing at her and noting her faintly narrow-eyed look, Tyrone decided that annoyance was better than fear even though it was not what he had been trying to rouse. “I was trying to ease that fear I saw.”

  “It’s fading,” she gasped when he stuck his tongue in her ear.

  “Thank God,” he groaned as he caressed her stomach, savoring the faint tremors that began to ripple through her again as he edged his hand ever nearer to the bright curls between her legs. “I want to go slow and easy, to make you as mad for it as I am, but I’m not sure I can.”

  Suddenly, his hand was there, between her legs, and Deidre shuddered with the shock and delight of it. “I think I am already mad.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice thick and hoarse as he peppered her small, perfect breasts with kisses and he stroked her with his fingers, finding a deep warmth that made him shake. “Hot and wet. Perfect.”

  Deidre was too caught up in the feelings rippling through her to respond. She arched to his touch, crying out softly as he eased a finger inside her even as he took the tip of one breast deep into his mouth. A sense of frantic need engulfed her, a throbbing, demanding ache growing stronger low in her stomach. One moment she would start to pull away, afraid of what his clever fingers were making her feel, the next she would open wider to his touch, silently begging for more. She clung to him, her legs shifting restlessly. A sane part of her mind whispered concerns about her nakedness, the fact that it was still alarmingly light in the room, that a man she had known for mere days had his hand on a part of her body she did not really have a name for, and even about the embarrassing wetness that was forming there. All of that was drowned out by the demands of the passion-crazed part of her mind, becoming a faint tickle at the back and no more. The Deidre in control now was frantic with desire, eager for Tyrone to give her what her body seemed to crave, and highly annoyed that she was not quite sure what that was.