by Lisa Bingham
Orrin moved just as quickly, turning her toward him. His eyes roamed her face, stripping her of her hastily erected barriers.
“Why are you .embarrassed by what happens between us?”
She opened her mouth to make a glib remark, then found herself saying the truth instead. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Hate you?”
“For being too wanton.”
“Ginny.” Her name was said so alluringly that she could scarcely believe the glow it brought to her heart. He looked at her intently. “You’re my wife,” he said against her lips. “And I care for you.”
He reached out to pull her close. When he kissed her, it was with a reverence that Ginny found more disturbing than anything they had shared before.
He cared for her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck. The pecks he’d given her each morning and night for weeks were paltry promises compared to the pleasure he gave her now. His mouth slanted greedily against her own, brushing, tasting.
Ginny’s arms swept around his waist, holding him close. A thundering pleasure filled her veins. A sweetness. A white-hot anticipation. Her hands moved between them, then lifted.
He backed her against the stall. One of his thighs pressed between her own, bunching her skirts in his effort to hold her as closely as he could.
How she loved this man!
Loved him.
Orrin lifted his head, his chest rising and falling as he took huge gulps of air. But when she would have moved he held her still.
“I want to be your husband. In every way.”
She knew what he was asking, and she didn’t care about the consequences. She didn’t care that she was feeling too much too soon. She didn’t care that it was only a matter of time until he discovered her secret. She just wanted him to hold her. Need her.
His head dropped, and he took her lips again in a way that told her he wouldn’t wait much longer.
“Yes,” she whispered when he drew away to kiss her cheeks, her eyes.
“Ginny?”
“You don’t have to leave yet. Not just yet. Make love to me.” Though she knew she should have more pride, more dignity, she said, “Please.”
Orrin looked about them, and Ginny suddenly realized that they were faced with the same dilemma that had prevented them from making love before: lack of privacy.
He guided her toward the ladder that led up to the haymow and looked at her. She knew he was leaving the decision to her. If she changed her mind, he would go. He would climb onto his wagon and ride away, and she would be left with nothing more than memories of what might have been.
Twining their fingers together, she took him the last few feet. Holding her hems free of her legs, she climbed into the loft filled with sweet-smelling hay.
Since winter had taken its toll on the supply of feed there were only a few lowlying piles of alfalfa left, and one soft pile of straw.
When Orrin stepped into the loft beside her she pulled him over to the straw. There she halted, not really sure what she should do next. Would he want her to keep her clothes on or take them off? Would he take her quickly and be on his way or linger?
As if sensing her doubts, Orrin forced her to face him.
She could clearly see the passion as well as the tenderness, the anticipation as well as the caution.
“Are you sure?” In the quiet of the loft his voice seemed to underscore the fact that for the first time in weeks they were alone.
And soon he would leave her.
“Yes.”
She was the first one to move. Stepping toward him, she reached to explore the contours of his chest. Then, as if the unconscious caress of her thumbs had opened the floodgates, the urgency between them returned.
Orrin held her close.
She had only a moment to wonder how she had grown so bold with this man before Ginny returned his kiss measure for measure. Then, needing to touch him, she reached for the buttons of his shirt. Clumsily she began to tear them from their holes, only to discover another layer of cloth beneath.
Groaning in frustration, she tugged his shirt from his pants and pushed it from his shoulders, then began on the underwear.
She felt the way his skin beaded as the cold air caressed his chest. She wondered what her chilled fingers must feel like against his skin, but Orrin had begun the task of unhooking her gown, and it no longer mattered. As he drew the dress from her body and spread it on the straw behind them she could think of little more than the storm of sensation building between them. She barely noted the slight pricking of the straw or the cool kiss of the early spring air. Her only thought was of Orrin.
Her hands roamed over his ribs, then across the firm contours of his back. He dropped to kiss her neck, then the swell of each breast.
“I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.”
“I know.”
“I’ve dreamed of how you would feel, how you would react.”
Her lips curled in a purely feminine smile. “Disappointed?”
He withdrew long enough to offer her a smoldering look. “No.”
He would have said something more, but she forestalled him by drawing his head down for her kiss. Ardor crowded upon them fast and strong.
As Orrin explored each swell and valley of her body Ginny searched his. When his palm closed over her breast, her finger rubbed against his nipple. When his knuckles slid along the crease of her spine, her thumb pressed against his navel.
Her blood seemed to fill with a raging fire she had never experienced before, had never known existed.
He settled upon her, and she eagerly accepted his weight. Orrin lifted her knees, and she folded her legs tightly around him. Then, when he drew back for the last time and looked deep into her eyes, she said, “Yes.”
When he entered her she arched her back, trying to tamp down the pleasure-filled sound that threatened to spill unrestrained from her throat. As minute piled upon minute, she discovered that there was much that Orrin still had to teach her. A rhythm as old as time itself. A sensual delight as vast as eternity.
Clinging to him, she fought to retain some portion of sanity even as the emotions and sensations built within her. Then, just as the yearning began to border on pain, just when she thought she could endure no more, she was inundated by a shower of stars. Time seemed suspended around her, shimmering in a golden, heavenly light.
Later, much later, Ginny was settled snugly against the hollow of Orrin’s shoulder.
She knew he would leave soon. He should have left some time ago. How would she bear the hours, the days, the weeks that stretched before her like an endless sea of loneliness?
“I have to go,” he finally said, as if he’d somehow read her thoughts.
“I know.” The sun peeking through the cracks in the wall revealed that the morning had long since eased into afternoon. Orrin’s men would be wondering what had kept him so long.
“I’ll miss you,” Ginny murmured. “Promise you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
He helped her to dress, then patiently waited for her to pick the straw from his hair and clothing.
At the bottom of the ladder he stopped her and drew her close for another kiss. Though they had only just indulged in quenching their passion, the desire rose between them again.
Orrin pulled away, knowing that if he didn’t go at once, he wouldn’t go at all.
“Take care of yourself.”
“I will.”
“I’ll come home as soon as I can.”
Ginny knew that his simple statement held a tacit promise of lovemaking upon his return, and she found herself already impatient at the delay. Though she didn’t know how they would manage to love each other with the children underfoot, she knew they would find a way.
Plymouth, Missouri
Billy Wicks clung to the shadows in the alley next to Ma’s Boarding House. Slipping his hand into the pocket of his vest, he withdrew a cheroot, noting with annoyanc
e that it was one of his last.
Retrieving a match, he scratched the sulfur against the building and leaned back on the wall, cupping the flame until he’d managed to take a few heavy drags of pungent smoke.
Where could Virginia be? For the last few weeks he’d been trying to find her, yet to no avail. Miriam Parker was still as tight-lipped as a clam. And her father…
Well, her father barely knew she was gone.
Damn it all to hell, why hadn’t he had the brains to have her watched while he was in Tennessee? Why hadn’t he considered she might panic once he’d taken her virginity?
His lips twisted. Because he hadn’t thought the woman was that bright, for one thing. While Virginia had been far from tractable, there had still been an air of subservience about her. As if she’d been so eager to please him that she hadn’t cared about the consequences. Billy hadn’t even considered that she might leave Plymouth, let alone the country.
So how in the hell was he supposed to find her?
He grunted in frustration and pushed away from the wall. He’d come back hoping that some kind of gossip might have been circulating in his absence—some hint of scandal that could give him a clue as to her whereabouts. But Ginny Parker had disappeared without a trace, and no one seemed to care that she had gone.
Billy lumbered down the alley, toward Ma’s Boarding House. While he’d never refused a whore, he preferred the soft, silken ways of a true lady. He preferred them trembling and nervous in his arms. Breathless. Naive. He liked to strip away the illusions bit by bit, leaving the stark reality. But Ma’s was as good a place as any to spend the night.
Drawing on the cheroot, Billy left it clamped in his teeth and quickened his step. Crossing the railroad tracks, he cut through the station to the opposite end.
Once on the other side of the small picket fence that separated the baggage from the boarding area he paused, stopped, then slowly turned. His eyes narrowed, studying the jumbled piles of crates and trunks. Then a low chuckle bubbled in his throat.
“I’ll be damned.” He vaulted over the low fence and headed over to a particularly large pile of cargo. He sidled behind one huge crate labeled: CAUTION—PIANO. Bending, he took a long, slender-bladed knife from his boot and pried open a corner of the lid.
By the weak light of day he was able to see the instrument inside. He stepped back and grinned.
Ginny’s piano.
Chapter 12
Ginny thought she would go mad while Orrin was gone. Determined to show him that she could be a proper mother, she had vowed to win the approval of his children.
When she woke the first morning of his absence and insisted that the girls wear the new dresses she’d made, Ginny had unknowingly declared war. From that moment on it became a battle of wits to see who would survive Orrin’s freighting trip: his wife or his children.
Ginny pounded a lump of biscuit dough on the table and resisted the urge to see what her charges were up to. In the weeks that Orrin had been gone they had managed to set fire to the outhouse, chase away three chickens, and dye the goat with some bluing Ginny had left out on washday. To be honest, Ginny didn’t know how much more she could take before she cracked.
She would have locked herself in her room and refused to come out if not for one thing: Baby Grace. With her father gone, Grace had turned to Ginny for solace. And to her surprise, Ginny found that Grace’s warm, sturdy body and exuberant hugs seemed to chase away some of the loneliness. She was surprised at how desperately she missed Orrin. Not just his touch, but his friendship, his concern. Two weeks passed like eons. Then three. And even as she despaired of ever seeing Orrin or another adult again, she kept telling herself it was only a matter of time.
As if on cue, the outer door creaked open, and Baby Grace toddled into the room. Without a word she slid open a drawer in the hutch and removed a spoon.
“Grace, do you need to go potty?” Ginny asked for the hundredth time that day. Although she had continued with the toilet-training lessons, so far Grace had only managed to remain dry a half dozen days.
Grace didn’t respond as she closed the door behind her, returning to her play.
Ginny reluctantly followed her littlest charge outside. There was no telling what kind of mischief the Ghant gang could create with a silver spoon.
A warm, vibrant sun beat down on the yard, bringing with it the heated scent of new grass and wildflowers. During the last few days the valley had erupted in a flourish of green. The dark green of the pines, the yellow-green of new leaves, the gray-green of sage, the emerald green of the grass. A vibrancy hung in the air that seemed to lick at Ginny’s consciousness with a strange silken heat. Trying to tell herself that the strange mixture of things she felt was only the result of spring, she couldn’t help thinking that something was about to happen.
Pushing the disturbing sensations away, Ginny stepped from the stoop onto the worn path beyond. She shielded her eyes from the surprising strength of the sun and searched the yard for Baby Grace. After a moment she saw a chubby shape hunkered low beside the pump casing.
“Grace?”
The little girl didn’t look up, and Ginny stifled an impatient sigh. There were biscuits to cook and a stew to make. Though she’d given up hope that she would ever be a superior cook, Ginny had discovered that she could master a few of the simpler recipes found in Jesse’s book. The improved quality of her food had begun to ingratiate her with the children, so she didn’t want to ruin anything at this late stage in her preparations.
When Grace continued to ignore her, however, Ginny walked over to the little girl. In the past few weeks she’d learned to distrust anything resembling angelic silence.
At that moment Eunice and Imogene, involved in some kind of game, raced around the corner of the barn. When they caught sight of Ginny they skidded to a halt. Imogene offered a halfhearted squeal that sounded very much like “Snipes!” but Ginny had long since begun to take any information Imogene might give her with a grain of salt.
“Grace?” Ginny called again.
“She’s not hurting anything,” Imogene drawled, her eyes gleaming with rebellion.
Ginny had grown used to that look, and it had ceased to affect her. “What’s she doing?”
Grace had dropped to sit on the ground and was scooping up something with the spoon.
“She’s eating,” Eunice supplied, her lopsided Dutch cut gleaming in the afternoon sun. Already a hint of pink touched her nose and cheeks from her hours in the sun.
“What’s she eating?”
“Dirt. But I won’t let her eat the worms.”
Ginny shuddered, then hurried forward. Sure enough, Baby Grace was ladling a spoonful of dirt toward her mouth.
“Grace, don’t!”
The little girl froze.
Offering the child a placating smile, Ginny held out her hand. “Come with me, Grace. Let’s use your spoon to make some … some cookies.”
Cookies.
Judging by the way the yard shivered with an expectant silence, it seemed the magic word had been spoken. Ginny regarded the children in surprise. Their faces had lit up as if they’d just been told that Christmas would come twice that year.
Suddenly she understood that Orrin’s cooking had probably never included sweets. Except for an occasional gift from the neighbors, the girls probably hadn’t seen more than one or two cookies in their entire lives.
Grace looked at Eunice, then at Ginny. Even though her sisters had refused to accept any favors from Ginny, the temptation of making cookies was too much for the toddler to resist. Dumping the dirt from her spoon, she hurried to take Ginny’s hand.
“How are you gonna make cookies?” Imogene demanded, looping her thumbs through the overalls she still insisted on wearing. “You can’t make anything worth eating.”
Refusing to be baited by a mere child, Ginny led Grace toward the house. “I thought I’d use your mama’s cookbook.” She paused only slightly before adding, “And I bet if we
use some of those candied cherries and walnuts my mother sent in one of my trunks, we could make some tasty treats.”
She cast one quick peek over her shoulder—just in time to see Eunice throwing a frantic look at her older sister. Then, when the thought of cookies with candied cherries and walnuts was more than she could bear, she scurried to follow Ginny into the house.
Only Imogene refused to help. But Ginny hadn’t really expected such an easy capitulation from that quarter. For now it was enough that she had managed to worm her way into the hearts—or at least the stomachs—of the two younger Ghant children.
Spring hung in the rich night air as Orrin topped the rise and stared down into the valley. The heavy weight he’d borne for the last three and a half weeks lifted from his shoulders. Finally he was home.
He sat in the shadows, his eyes absorbing the house in the quiet evening. No lights gleamed from the windows, no noise came from the yard.
A familiar dread rose in Orrin’s throat. Though he tried to tell himself that Ginny wasn’t in any way like Jesse, he couldn’t contain the fear that lurked in the back of his consciousness.
Jesse had left him during one of his trips.
Orrin had returned to a cold, empty house. He’d waited, thinking she’d gone on some errand, but when the minutes had stretched into hours he’d begun to feel the panic. Not knowing where his wife or children were, he’d stayed up all night. He worried that some calamity had befallen her, only to discover that she had taken one of Orrin’s horses, deposited the children at Ida’s, and then left Eden.
She never came back.
His gaze skipped to the tall pines that surrounded the simple graveyard on the hill. He felt a press of guilt at the sham of the empty grave. But after his wife had abandoned him for greener pastures Orrin had felt the need to protect his pride.
And his children.
Glancing at the house, Orrin tried to tell himself that Ginny would never do that to him.
The yard lay so still. So silent. He was used to the screams and shouts of the girls and Ginny’s soothing hum.
Forcing himself to move, Orrin clucked at the team and led them down the hill at a slow walk. Once he’d reached the barn he swung from the wagon. As much as he longed for a good meal and a warm bed, he knew his team had to be cared for. Groaning against the ache of his muscles, he unhitched the traces and automatically attended to the animals as his mind wandered impatiently to the woman within the house.