“Watch me, Emily,” he whispered. His gaze held hers as the dress slid up, leaving her exposed from the waist down. He stopped. Glancing down, he groaned.
Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his hands holding the folds of her skirts behind her, pulling her close to lave the skin of her belly with his tongue.
Something inside her sparked, then caught fire as he inched downward slowly, so slowly that Emily tensed in anticipation and need. Her hands fell to his shoulders as her legs trembled. He stopped at the beginning of the hair over her womanhood. She dug her fingers into his shoulders.
“Please, John.” She was tortured by his closeness, his breath on her.
He glanced up. “Tell me what you want, Emily.” He pushed her against the rocky wall and slid his hands down over her hips.
“You,” she cried, rotating her hips in invitation.
“Tell me,” he repeated, his fingers sliding up the inside of her thighs.
“Touch me. There. Now.” She rolled her head back and forth against the wall, waiting for the magic only he could make.
He touched her: one finger, then two, opened her to him. Cool air brushed against her heated core. She gasped, waited. Then he kissed her with his lips and tongue. Flames licked her sensitive flesh. Her legs shook, and her fingers dug into the wall behind her.
“John!” she screamed, the touch of his slowly stroking tongue a mixture of pleasure and pain.
His touch grew demanding. Suddenly he was insistent, all tenderness gone as need governed both of them. Still he laved her most sensitive places. Passion claimed her not once, but twice before he released her. She sank to the ground, kissing him. Tasting herself, she found that still the fires of need raged within her. While he pulled his shirt over his head, she shoved his breeches down, freeing his manhood.
It stood before her, ready, throbbing.
Begging.
He dragged her down onto the pile of their clothing.
Emily took him in hand, and shoved his chest so that he fell down onto his back. Her tongue glided up the hard length of his swollen shaft, lingering at its soft, moist tip. Beneath her, John bucked and moaned, trying to pull her atop him.
She ignored him, took him into her mouth and loved him the way he’d given her pleasure—with hands and mouth and tongue.
She loved him with all her heart, every inch of him. And she wanted to show him with actions what she didn’t dare say with words ever again. For if she said the words aloud one more time, she’d give in and take what he offered: forever.
“Emily. Enough!” John groaned, pulling her over him. She slowly reclined, easing him into her. As she watched, he stared up at her breasts, the pale globes jutting out proudly before her. His palms each cupped one. Lifting his head, he took one’s tip into his mouth and suckled.
She shivered, felt her body clench tightly around him. She began to rock until he couldn’t stand it. Then, like the storm raging outside, he exploded. Need burst from him. Sitting, he rolled her beneath him, grabbed her hips and lifted her to meet his thrusts. Fast and furious, he pounded into her until at last her cry rose to join his. Their joining was hard, but it was beautiful.
For the rest of that day and night, they stayed in each other’s arms. Made love. Touched. It was as if they were committing to memory the feel of each other.
At last they rested. Emily tried to hold back her despair. Outside, the rain stopped but the dark clouds remained. The sun had already gone from their lives. She felt that John was still awake, holding her, but she drifted into quiet oblivion.
They arrived at the mission around noon of the next day. Neither spoke of the night of passion, for once again, reality had intruded. In the courtyard, Emily stopped to stare at the crude, whitewashed building with the cross outside. Her eyes scanned the area, finding the small house she’d shared with her parents. The place where her world had been turned upside down and her faith in the world shattered.
Her pulse raced, and it was all she could do not to turn and ride away, as fast as she could, from a place that held bitter memories instead of the peace and oneness with God it should have provided.
“Are you all right?” John asked.
No, she wasn’t. But she nodded anyway. Still, her body refused to urge her horse any closer. She wasn’t ready to face Father Richard. Yet he was the one who would know where Millicente was. Or if her father was here. She glanced at John.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” she whispered, feeling frozen in her saddle.
His large hand reached out and covered her shaking ones. “Emily, he can’t hurt you. Not with me around.”
Emily met John’s gaze and saw the fury there. He’d discerned her fears. Knowing that John would like nothing more than to show Father Richard his knuckles—close up—eased some of her tension. He was right. With John here, she had nothing to fear from the priest.
Before she could urge her horse forward, she noticed a man in long robes coming toward them. Unlike Father Richard, this man was short and round and had a bald head that gleamed from the sun. His skin had the look of old leather.
“Welcome,” the man greeted, stopping a few feet away.
“Where is Father Richard?” Emily asked. She breathed a sigh of relief at not having to face the man just yet. Her emotions were too frayed to handle a confrontation as well as the memories of the past that were now bombarding her.
The man of God looked uncomfortable. “He’s no longer here. I’m Father Jacob. Can I be of assistance?”
Emily felt a wave of relief slide through her. The sun had come out from behind the clouds, warning the day. Tendrils of steam rose from the rocks, trees and waterlogged earth.
Removing her hat, she shrugged out of John’s heavy coat. “I’m Emily Ambrose. And this is John Cartier,” she announced.
The priest gasped and stepped closer. His brows drew together as he stared at her, seeing the pale strands of her hair. “Emily…” His eyes filled with tears. “Can it be? Is it really you?” He grabbed the large cross dangling from his neck.
The warm welcome and tears of relief surprised Emily. “Yes, it’s really me. I’ve come back to—”
The priest interrupted her. “Praise be! Child, everyone thinks you dead.”
Closing her eyes briefly, Emily willed her voice to remain strong. “My parents were killed. I survived.” The words came out stark as she struggled to control her emotions. She feared that if she broke down now, she’d start crying and never stop.
“We know, child. Trappers found where you buried them. They were brought here for a proper burial.”
Emily sagged in her saddle. Her parents—her mother!—were here. She glanced from the priest to John. “I want to go see them. Please.” Talking was growing hard. Beside her, John dismounted, then lifted her down. Her knees shook and she nearly fell in her haste to go to her mother’s grave.
“Easy, Sunshine.” His hands remained around her, supporting her.
The priest clapped, and a boy with skin as dark as the earth came running out of nowhere. “Samuel, see to these animals,” he called. The boy, who’d been standing in the background, nodded. “Yes, Father Jacob.” The boy took the horses and mules, but not before staring in awe at Emily, as if she were a ghost.
Emily smiled at him. “Hello, Samuel,” she greeted. The boy’s eyes brightened. He left with their animals, shouting for everyone to come see.
Father Jacob gave Emily a sympathetic look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather sit and have a cup of coffee or some food before—”
“No. I need to see where my mother is buried.” No one commented on the fact that she didn’t mention her stepfather. Did that mean her real father was here?
Emily followed the priest. When John reached down to take her hand, it seemed natural. Right now she needed his strength. At the mission’s small cemetery, she found her mother’s grave. John laid his coat down for her.
Kneeling, Emily stared at the wooden cross, at her mother�
�s name and the word beloved carved in large letters across it. She traced each letter. Tears streamed down her face. At the base of the cross, she spotted a bunch of wilted wildflowers.
Next to her mother’s grave, a cross bore the name of the man who’d raised her as his own but had never come to accept her. The man who, in the end, had hated her so much he’d left her to die.
Emily’s hand went to her belly, to the soft place where her babe grew. Love warred with hate inside her. She turned back to where her mother was buried. She loved her mother, missed her terribly. But beneath the grief was the knowledge that her mother had chosen her husband over her daughter. She’d left Emily to die as well.
How could one live with that? Her hands fisted, and her lips trembled. Emily bowed her head, ashamed to feel such resentment—and even a bit of fury—mixed in with her love toward her mother. She felt guilty, yet she’d been betrayed by the one person whose love she should have most been able to count on.
At her side, John knelt and took her hand. He eased her fingers from her palm and leaned close, his breath fanning the side of her face. “Don’t torture yourself, Sunshine. Don’t blame her for not being strong. Just know that you are a strong woman. You are different.”
Emily glanced at him. He knew her so well, it seemed as though he’d read what was in her mind—and heart. He did so often. Recalling her wish after seeing Mary and Ben sharing this same bond, recalling her own desire for it, Emily realized she had it. Had that bond—but she couldn’t keep it.
She bit back the cry of protest. “I’m not strong. If I were, I wouldn’t be so afraid.” She stared up at him. If she were strong, she’d take the chance, she’d risk everything for John’s love. She’d dare the future. But she was weak. She was too afraid to trust him—not with her heart, but with her child. He had her heart. For better or worse, she’d never love another. But her child…
Unable to deal with all the conflicting emotions boiling inside her, she rose. She turned to the priest, who stood a short distance from her, giving her the privacy she needed. “Thank you,” she whispered.
The priest smiled kindly, then stepped aside. He motioned toward a man running toward them with Samuel and another woman. “I think your father will be anxious to see you, too.”
Emily recognized the woman as Millicente. Realizing that the time had come to meet Matthew Sommers, Emily felt her nerves make her head spin and her stomach heave. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Oh, God, I’m not ready for this.” She held her breath.
John put his arm around her. “Just breathe, Emily.”
Emily blinked, stared, then blinked again. The stranger had nearly white hair with traces of pale yellow still in evidence. His eyes were blue—as blue as the sky after a storm. As blue as her own. He smiled. She recognized that smile. This was the same man, though older, from her locket. This man was her father. The world spun.
He stopped in front of her. “Is it? Can it be?” His voice was choked with tears. “You don’t know me but—”
“Father?” she interrupted. She choked on her tears.
The man called Matthew Sommers stepped closer, his hand held out. “Yes. Emily. My daughter,” he whispered, his gaze roaming over her as if he couldn’t believe she was real.
It was all too much. She’d come here to marry John, then had planned on finding somewhere to settle where she could raise her child. She hadn’t settled on seeking this man out. Even though she knew he’d found out about her, had posted a reward for information about her, she hadn’t determined to search him out. She might have let him know she was alive. But not once had she believed he’d still be here. Waiting. She hadn’t planned on having to face him so soon. Ever, perhaps.
Now, here he was. She couldn’t take it in. His features swam in and out of focus. “John…”
John caught her and gently lowered Emily to the ground. He stroked her face. “Easy, Sunshine. Just relax and breathe.”
“I can’t.” Emily closed her eyes and tried to blot out everything but the feel of John, the sound of his heart beating beneath her ear, the feel of his fingers brushing her hair off her temple.
“Better?”
Emily opened her eyes. The dizziness seemed to have passed. “I think so.” Feeling foolish, she sat and glanced up at the crowd of people now hovering around her and John. Her searching gaze collided with her father’s.
The white-haired gentleman knelt beside her. His soft accent surrounded her with love. “It’s true,” he whispered. “I have a daughter.” Tears filled his eyes—those eyes that were so much the same blue as her own.
Listening to her father’s soft drawl, Emily stared up at him. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Yet after months of men with booming voices, Matthew’s soft-spoken, gentlemanly voice came as a pleasant surprise. As did the sight of the tears shimmering in his eyes.
“How… Why… I don’t understand—” She broke off, confused. “You’re supposed to be in Kentucky.”
Millicente leaned over Matthew, balancing with one hand on his shoulder. In her haste to reach Emily, to see if Emily had truly returned, her hair, always neatly confined in a bun, had come loose. It spilled down her shoulder.
“I sent for him, child. Your mother was afraid for you—and for herself. She couldn’t stop Timothy from leaving, going off into that savage country and taking the pair of you with him. She knew he was crazy—especially not to believe you over that lecherous old priest—”
She hesitated and sent the new priest an apologetic look. “She was going to leave him. We’d made plans to take you and return to the States, but Timothy refused to let you go.” The woman’s voice hitched on a sob. “She had no choice but to go with him. But before they left, she begged me to send for help. She told me the truth and asked me to try to find your father and see if he’d come for you.”
Matthew reached out and took Emily’s hand in his. “Which I did. I was still living on my family’s farm. I had no idea, my daughter. No idea.” He smiled sadly. “By the time I got here, Millicente had contacted several other missions in the area, and already had a search organized.” He fell silent. “They’d already found Beatrice and Timothy.”
He ran a hand over his face. “Of you, there was no sign. Everyone thought you’d been captured by the savage who killed your parents. I sent word out by way of every trapper who came through the area and offered a reward for your recovery. I’d just about given up hope.”
“Seems we met up with two of them,” John said, explaining what had happened with the two outlaw trappers.
As John and her father talked, Emily tried to take everything in. All her hopes of finding this man had died once she’d learned she was with child. What if the love in his eyes turned to contempt once he knew the truth? That she’d loved and been loved by a savage? And then by John.
With John’s help, she got to her feet. Father and daughter stared at one another for an awkward moment. When he held his arms out, she hesitated. There were so many unanswered questions. So many answers she needed, and she wasn’t sure she could trust him. Not yet.
Yet one look into his eyes told her that no matter what lay in the past he shared with her mother, her father wanted her now. Emily’s throat clogged with emotion, and her legs shook.
She wanted to go to him almost as much as she feared his rejection. At last, she gave in to her need to be held by him. She’d have her answers, and soon, but right now it was enough to know that he’d come for her. When he’d learned of her, learned that she needed him, he’d come. And even when hope for her recovery seemed lost, he’d stayed. That faith, the love she saw brimming in his eyes, welcomed her home.
“Father,” she said with a sob, stumbling into his loving embrace. She clung to him, rejoiced in the strong arms holding her so tight she could barely breathe. But such discomforts didn’t matter anymore. All she could do was sob, her face pressed against his chest.
This was the first fatherly embrace she could ever recall, and the so
ft, broken murmurs in her ears reassured the child within that her father truly loved her.
Chapter Sixteen
Matthew stared down at the young woman in his arms. His daughter. His beloved Beatrice’s child, conceived in a night of the most tender, soul-shattering loving he’d ever known.
Noticing the pallor, the dusting of freckles that stood out across her cheeks and nose, he saw his one true love as she’d looked all those many, many years ago. Only Emily’s hair and her eyes belonged to him. And maybe the faint cleft in her chin. The rest of her delicate features belonged to her mother.
Scooping the girl up, he cradled her close. He had a daughter! Until this moment, he hadn’t really believed it. It seemed unreal. He’d gone seventeen years believing he was alone. No family. Just his farm and a few close friends.
He followed Millicente to her cabin and stood back while the woman fussed over Emily. Content to just watch her and study this child of his, Matthew let the unfamiliar feelings in him simmer. As if he’d held her from the moment she’d entered this world, a bond was already developing and forming.
He was a father! The knowledge was incredible, heady. Already he loved Emily. In his mind, he began to make plans to take her home—home to his farm, where they could get to know each other.
For so many years he’d lived his life content. His only regret lay in not having his love at his side. He’d searched for her for years. Then, at last, he’d given up. He’d never married. He’d never found another woman to love. In truth, he’d always hoped to find Beatrice again.
He hadn’t found his love, but he’d found their daughter—a miraculous gift.
Shoving his hand in his jacket, he caressed his pocket watch, the only bit of Beatrice he’d had left. Now, looking upon their daughter, Matthew felt joy fill him. He had the best part of Beatrice. He had her daughter. She was a part of them both, a living testimony to the love they’d shared.
“I have a daughter,” he whispered to himself, feeling the warm glow of love in his heart and a fatherly bit of possessiveness as well.
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