St. John, Cheryl

by Prairie Wife

  He held her hand and she stepped from the tub to the absorbent padding he'd spread on the floor. Using soft toweling, he dried her shoulders and back, then knelt and rubbed the fabric up the length of her legs and over her bottom.

  He couldn't resist kissing the places he dried, tasting her warm moist skin and inhaling her feminine scent. Amy locked her fingers in his hair, and he pressed his face to her belly and kneaded her hips, ran his palms down her silky thighs and up.

  She gasped when he touched her intimately, her body jerking as he explored and teased with his tongue. In minutes her knees buckled and she lowered herself to the floor, lying back and inviting his caresses.

  "Are the doors locked?"

  "Yes, ma'am, both of 'em."

  He leaned over to kiss her lips, and she framed his face with both hands, urgently meeting his rising desire with her own. She shifted her attention to his shirt and went to work on the buttons, then unfastened his trousers. Jesse shoved all his clothing off in a heap.

  "The floor's too hard," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't hurt me."

  But he didn't listen to her denial, and lay at her side instead. The life inside her was too precious to risk harming for his momentary pleasure.

  Impatiently, she pushed against his shoulder until he lay back, and then she rose to straddle his hips. She lowered herself onto him, her eyes closing and her lips parting.

  Jesse treasured making love this way, free to caress her hips and breasts and to watch her artless reactions. Her skin flushed and the pulse at her throat throbbed. When she looked down at him, her dark eyes were dreamy and filled with passion.

  She could make the lovin' so good that it took all his effort and control to make it last. But he didn't want it to end and he desired to please her, so he let her set the pace and take her pleasure, which she did with a tightening of her body and a sharp intake of breath. She trembled all over, but closed her eyes and smiled.

  Jesse's body took over and he clutched her thighs and groaned as he came. She caressed his belly, dragging her nails in lazy circles. Jesse sat up, keeping her on his lap and hugging her. He pressed kisses against her temple and cheek.

  "I love you, Amy."

  She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his neck. "Jesse," she whispered beneath his ear.

  They held each other for a few minutes longer. Eventually he helped her to her feet and wrapped a towel around her while he added another kettle of hot water to the tub. They each took a quick turn washing, then pulled on their clothing and walked hand in hand to the house.

  Cay was seated at the trestle table with a book open in front of him. He stood quickly. "I made you tea."

  Jesse released her hand, and Amy took a seat on the bench beside where Cay'd been and waited while he brought her a steaming mug.

  "Sugar?" he asked.

  "Please."

  Cay's attentiveness amused Jesse, though he realized he'd been fawnin' over her all evening, as well. He poured himself a lukewarm cup of coffee and found a few cookies, which he shared.

  Cay sat back down beside Amy. She glanced at the cover of his book. "Did you start a new book on your own?"

  "Yes'm. It's a good'un, too. Pirates and treasure." He told her what had happened in the story so far. They discussed the characters for a few minutes, but then the boy stood. "I can light my own lamp tonight. I'll be goin' t'bed now."

  Amy nodded. "Good night then."

  "G'night, ma'am." He glanced over. "Jesse."

  "Cay," Amy said softly. "I know you're nearly a grown man and all, but maybe when no one's looking, like now, you could wish me good night with a hug. Only if you'd like to, of course."

  Cay's cheeks seemed to darken in the glow of the lanterns, but he immediately leaned down to give Amy a clumsy, boyish hug.

  When he'd gone upstairs, Jesse took Amy's mug and placed it with his own beside the dishpan. "I have to go check the stables and barns."

  She stood. "I'm going to go out to the soddy and make sure Rachel is doing okay."

  He watched her walk to the sod house and enter, then he performed his nightly check of the buildings and the storage locks and made sure all the lanterns were extinguished.

  Hermie was making a check of the animals, and Jesse stopped to speak to him.

  "The missus okay?" Hermie asked.

  Jesse nodded. "You saw Gray put up soundly?"

  "Watched Liscom padlock the door to that root cellar and checked it myself. I went to check on him tonight and Liscom said he woke up madder than a wet hen and pukin' his guts out. Gray's not goin' anywhere, boss."

  Assured, Jesse thanked him for standing by them that day and wished him a good-night.

  He met Amy on her way back to the house. He'd never felt the need to check all the windows and doors, but he did so tonight, making certain they were securely closed and locked.

  Amy gave him a curious look, but said nothing. Upstairs she brushed out her hair while he shucked off his clothing and climbed beneath the covers. He stacked his hands behind his head and watched her.

  "Cay was sure glad to have you home safe."

  She removed the clothing she'd only recently donned, carefully hanging each piece on a wall hook. "We had to get used to each other is all." She opened a drawer and pulled out her nightgown.

  "Forget that and come lie with me."

  She held the gown against her breasts and looked at him.

  "Come on," he urged.

  "What if there's a fire?"

  "A nightgown will protect you from a fire?"

  "No, silly, but I'd have to run outside and I wouldn't want to be..."

  "Naked?"

  "Yes."

  If he lived to be a hundred, he'd never understand the workings of a woman's mind. "We've never had a fire yet. We probably won't. So for fifty years, you're going to lay here every night in your nightgown, just in case?"

  She shrugged. "I guess it does sound foolish when you put it like that."

  He threw back the sheet and patted the mattress. Amy tossed the nightgown aside and climbed into bed with him. He wrapped the covers around them and held her close. She felt so good in his arms. So right.

  She reached up to touch his jaw and skim her fingertips across his lips.

  He kissed her fingers. "I hated thinkin' of you being scared today."

  She seemed to be mulling over his words. "I was afraid. My head was filled with all manner of imaginings about what could happen. I wanted to come up with a brilliant plan to alert you. At first he was going to leave Rachel behind, but then, after I'd gone for the wagon, he brought her anyway. I was actually more afraid for Rachel than for myself."

  Jesse gave her a gentle squeeze. "That comes as no surprise to me."

  "Was my father in a state?"

  "I'd never seen him that agitated. He feels responsible, you know."

  "I know."

  Jesse wrapped her tightly in his embrace and enjoyed the silken feel of her skin against his. It would take him a while to get over the fright he'd experienced this day.

  "I wouldn't have been able to bear it if anything had happened to you." His voice came out thick and hoarse. She kissed his chest.

  "We've come so far these past months, Amy. I missed you so much before, and I want to make up for lost time and rebuild what we have." Several moments of silence passed before he spoke again. "If he'd hurt you..." He drew his hand down and splayed it over her belly. "If something had happened to the baby, Amy..."

  Her body tensed almost immediately.

  "We have a new beginning here," he whispered.

  She withdrew, disentangling her legs from his, moving back several inches. "What are you talking about?"

  "The baby. I'm talkin' about the baby."

  "Rachel's baby?"

  "No, of course not. Our baby."

  She grew very still. "We don't have a baby."

  Confused at her reaction, Jesse leaned on one elbow and reached again to
place his hand over her stomach. "We do."

  She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Why are you doing this?"

  Fear, much like that he'd felt most of this awful day, weighed on his chest. "Why am I doin' what?"

  "Bringing this up. You have to leave the past where it is and move forward, Jesse. All this talking you want to do is not helpful."

  "I'm not talkin' about the past, I'm talkin' about now. About the future. About the child right there in your belly." He gestured.

  Amy jumped out of bed and found her nightgown, then yanked it over her head. "I won't listen to this."

  "Amy," he insisted.

  "No! We are not having a baby! What's wrong with you?"

  What was wrong with him? He got out on his side and moved around the end of the bed. "Amy."

  She shook her head and backed away. "Leave it alone, Jesse."

  Chill realization swept over him. She hadn't known. She hadn't told him because she hadn't realized. Or she hadn't been willing to admit the fact to herself. Why not? Why was carrying a baby so terrible that she couldn't let herself admit it? Of course—all this stemmed back to Tim and her invariable denial. She'd been unable to even look at a child for the past year.

  But she was going to have to look at one soon— theirs. And no amount of avoiding would make a baby go away.

  He was torn. Did he force the issue now, or would that make things worse? Should he wait until she was ready? When in God's name would that ever be?

  She was trembling now, this woman of strength and courage, this woman who didn't fear for herself, but whose mind protected her in its own defensive way. He would never deliberately hurt her or force her to face something too painful to deal with. She'd already taken huge strides in making changes within herself. He would have to trust and pray that the rest would follow.

  "It's okay," he said in his most reassuring tone. "Never mind, it's not important right now." He moved to take her in his arms and she folded herself against him.

  He guided her back to the bed. There they lay together in silence, her breath gradually returning to normal. The trembling stopped. It still felt right to hold her. But his heart dealt with a sharp new pain. The fact that she was denying the child they had made.

  Long into the night, long after Amy slept, Jesse lay awake.

  And ached.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam spent the next morning with a shovel and buckets, hauling the broken debris from his home and dumping it down the outhouse pit. He was going to dig a new one next spring anyway. Cay had come with him, and he enjoyed the boy's quiet companionship.

  As many times as Amy told him not to blame himself, he felt responsible for what had happened. Eden had been taking a diversion while she found somewhere to stash the jewels she had hoped to keep for herself.

  "Did you go to school when you was a boy, Sam?"

  Sam righted a chair and leaned against the back. "Never did, lad. Learned numbers and letters from my ma."

  "What about Amy—did she go to school?"

  "She did. When we lived in Ohio, it was just a short walk to the schoolhouse. Then when we moved to Nebraska, there was a schoolmarm who took turns living with the families nearby."

  "There ain't no schoolmarm around here, though, huh?"

  "I reckon with more families movin' in, we should find us one. We do have a church, after all. We should probably have a school."

  "I had a man teacher back home."

  "You thinkin' you might wanna be a schoolteacher?"

  "Nah. I like workin' with the horses. Don't think I'd wanna be in with a bunch of kids all day when I could be outside."

  "You learn from your uncle Jesse and you'll be a fine horseman one day."

  "How'd you and Jesse come upon a plan to run the station, anyhow?"

  Sam explained how they'd been in the army together and how they'd recognized the need for stations along the routes that so many were taking as the West expanded.

  "Livin' in the city, I never saw so many people ever day as we see coming through Shelby Station," Cay told him.

  "And every one of 'em paying for food and a good portion of 'em wantin' a bed and a bath." Sam winked. "A dollar for each."

  "You must have a lot of money by now."

  Sam looked at him. "I guess I do."

  "Whaddya gonna do with all of it?"

  He glanced around. "Maybe I need a new house."

  Cay followed his gaze. "A really nice one. With a porch."

  Sam nodded, but his thoughts turned to a bigger house with only himself to occupy it. "Might be kind of a waste. Just me livin' in it would be foolish."

  "Maybe so." Cay picked up the broom and started sweeping inward from a corner. "You could get married. I knew a lady back in Indiana went clear to Colorado to marry a man what sent for her."

  Sam paused in picking up a pile of books to glance at the boy. "That's a common practice, but I don't think I'd want to take a chance like that."

  "You could get a real stinker, huh?"

  Sam laughed. "I think I'm a might old for sending for a woman, lad."

  Cay used a dented dustpan to pick up his pile of dirt and china chips. "Yeah. Prob'ly somebody more like Mrs. Barnes who cooks good and wouldn't make you cut your hair all the time and stuff."

  The boy's words caught Sam by surprise. Mrs. Barnes? He tried to remember her first name. Ethel? Evelyn? He'd seen her nearly every day for the past six years and didn't know her name.

  She was a widow. Well, so was he.

  She had a grown son. And he had a grown daughter.

  She was pleasant enough and not hard to look at. But a wife? He must be plumb loco for havin' these thoughts. He wasn't young and looking to start a family. He had a simple, settled, more-than-adequate life.

  But something is missing, an internal voice taunted. What happened with Eden had shown him that he had been missing a relationship. He'd made a mistake with that one, but that's what he deserved for taking up with a woman he didn't even know.

  A respectable woman who simply wanted companionship as he did—now that was another thing entirely. He'd have to look Mrs. Barnes over with a new eye. And... he'd have to pay attention to see if she ever looked at him in any certain way.

  "I am an old fool," he said to himself. And laughed aloud.

  ***

  The diversity of people who passed through Shelby Station never ceased to amaze Amy. Hopefully they'd seen the worst of the lot with Lark Doyle and George Gray. Once news came the following week that the marshal had arrived, and Jesse and Amy told him their stories, the lawman took custody of Gray and hauled him away for trial.

  The jewelry had been returned to its rightful owner. That chapter was behind them, but not entirely forgotten. Jack confided in Jesse that Rachel had nightmares almost every night. Amy's sleep was disturbed by dreams, as well, but she rationalized by day that the danger was over, and moved forward.

  Mr. Quenton had proved to be an interesting fellow, joining them for meals and often sitting with the men of an evening. One morning, soon after the news that Gray had been taken away to stand trial, Quenton extended an invitation to come to his tent to see his photographs. That night a few hands at a time took him up on his offer, followed by the Shelbys.

  Snow fell as Jesse, Amy and Cay ran across the rutted road and entered the spacious tent. The man sat writing in a journal by lamplight. He removed a pair of wire-framed spectacles and welcomed the visitors.

  "You've come to look at my work." He opened a case and carefully took out a stack of large photographs.

  "Have to admit we've been curious," Jesse said.

  Mr. Quentin gestured for them to take seats on nearby trunks. With heads bent over the pictures, the three of them viewed image after image. Some pictures of men working on the railroad, cowboys herding cattle, and families standing outside tents and soddys. Others depicted children and animals and farmland.

  "Mr. Quenton, these are incredible," Amy told him. "You've caug
ht life on these papers." There was a candid quality about his work, a stark reality that somehow captured the lives and the determination of the people that the viewer couldn't help recognizing and appreciating. "It's like—like you've lassoed a tornado and brought it to a stop, with all its power visible."

  "Mighty impressive," Jesse agreed.

  Mr. Quenton smiled at their praise and moved to a folding table. "I've just developed these."

  Amy took the smaller stack from him and looked at the first one. A likeness of Pitch made her smile. He was leaning on a corral rail, his hat cocked back, squinting into the sun. His gold front tooth gleamed.

  Another was Jesse, his shirt molded to his chest in the wind, one hand flattened on a dark gelding's neck as he adjusted a harness. Amy's fingers hovered above the picture. "He looks so real. I feel like I could touch him." She glanced up. "Not like the daguerreotypes where the person is posed and sober. This is... well, it's the real Jesse."

  "I consider that a supreme compliment." Mr. Quenton gave a little bow.

  Among the collection, were photographs of Sam and Cay, and one of Amy standing on the porch, one hand shading her eyes. She stared at an Amy so different from the person she saw in the mirror each morning and night that she barely recognized herself. This woman seemed in harmony with her surroundings, at peace with her life. She moved on to the next picture—an image of the windmill. Another showed the soddy, smoke curling from the chimney.

  Amy paused over the last picture, and beside her Jesse lowered his head for a better view. Three wooden crosses poked through a dusting of snow, the names painted on them legible. Amy's breath caught. It was a picture of the slope where their mothers and their son were buried.

  Jesse felt as though the air had been sucked from the tent. Amy seemed to stare at the likeness as though she'd never seen the sight before, as though it was one of the previous pictures from Kansas or Wyoming and not a spot a few hundred feet from where they now sat. Wind buffeted the canvas overhead.

  And Jesse realized then that she hadn't ever seen it. Not like this. Not like he had when he'd planted roses and tended the weeds. In all the time since Tim's death she'd only been there the day they'd buried his mother, and she had carefully avoided looking at Tim's grave.