Apache Summer

by Heather Graham

“Because we’re in a barn, because I’ve the distinct feeling you don’t know what you’re doing, because you’re young and because you’re probably the type of woman who ought to fall in love, deeply in love, with the right man, and have a band of gold, and all the rest. Because I’m the hardened refuse of an ill-fated war, and though I don’t mind a fight, I wouldn’t be looking for more than a lover.”

  She smiled.

  “Lieutenant, what makes you think I’d be looking for anything more than a lover?”

  He almost groaned aloud. If she didn’t leave soon. “Tess, I don’t think you know” — “I’m twenty-four, Lieutenant. And just as much the refuse of an ill-fated war as you are. That war taught me a great deal. You can’t always wait to seize what you want. Life is too short, too quickly severed.”

  She was smiling still, and there was something poignant about her words that caught hold of his heart. He had never seen her more beautiful, more feminine, more arresting. Her eyes were wide; her smile was gentle; her still form was compelling in the flannel that was draped over her shoulders, nearly falling from them, that conformed to the rise of her breasts, then fell to the floor. Her hair was a river of dating, honeyed light that caressed and embraced her, waving around her shoulders and falling almost to her waist. Her eyes. When he came close, he saw that they were not coal-black at all, but so deeply colored in the near darkness that they appeared to be a rich and hypnotic purple.

  He held still. He watched her and tried to find the fight words, the words that would get her to leave. She would hate him for humiliating and rejecting her, but maybe that would be better than what he wanted. To own her, to have all of her, to teach her everything she wanted to know so thoroughly that she would forget everything but the feel of him beside her.

  “Come here then,” he said hoarsely.

  She still seemed to pause. Like a sprite, like a night witch or angel, he knew not which. A rueful curve came to her lips, and she said softly, “Jamie?”

  “What?”

  “Where did you take your bath?”

  He smiled, too.

  “At the livery stables. Not at the saloon.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, then she took a step toward him, and another step, and she was in his arms.

  His mouth closed upon hers, and he let his hands wander where they would. He had tried to do the decent thing. And it hadn’t worked. So now. She was fragrant, like a drug. He breathed in the scent of her hair and the scent of her flesh. He kissed her lips and her earlobe, and he pressed his tongue against the surge of her pulse at her throat, and he took her lips again, savoring the caress of her tongue, feeling the rise of heat and need and the rampant beat in his loins as the thrusts of their tongues became ever more erotic and telling. He stroked her body through the flannel, caressing her breast, finding the peak and massaging it to a hard pebble with his thumb and fingers. Then he cried out and lowered his mouth upon her, his teeth grazing the fullness of her breast and the hard peak through the fabric, the dampness of his mouth pervading it and bringing whispers and whimpers to her lips.

  She braced herself upon his shoulders, and cried out, falling against him.

  Trembling, he lifted her and set her on the cocoon of sheet and quilt in the hay. Then he stood over her, watching her. He ripped away the kerchief at his throat and slowly undid the buttons of his shirt. He watched her all the while, but her eyes did not close. He threw his shirt upon the hay, and pulled off his boots and socks, unbuckled his gun belt and then his pants belt and finally peeled away the last of his clothing. Her eyes closed at last, but not before her cheeks had taken on a dusky hue.

  “You can still run,” he told her harshly.

  She shook her head. Her hair lay spread across the quilt and sheet and dangled into the hay around them. He knelt before ‘her and set his hand upon the hem of her gown, pushing it up.

  She had beautiful feet. Small, the toenails neatly manicured. Her ankles were trim. Her calves were shapely.

  He paused to press kisses against her kneecaps, then he continued, thrusting the gown up to her hips where he paused because his breath had caught. The entire length of her legs was fine and beautiful, and her hips were seducflared. Her waist was very narrow, and she was endowed with the same touch of honey hair to add even greater purity and innocence to her beauty.

  That very touch of purity seemed to be driving him insane. A ragged pulse beat at his groin, and in his mind, and raged throughout his fin- gem and his limbs and all of his body. He buried his face Ilgainst her belly, and a harsh sound escaped him, a cry of ~onging, of need, of desperate desire.

  Some soft sound esi~aped her, and she gasped when his lips moved upon her fi~h, when he turned his head against her, his hair teasing the flesh of her abdomen, then his kiss and lips caressing it As he kissed her he continued to push the gown up. The flannel raked over her breasts, over her hardened nipples.

  He rose and knelt over her again, taking each breast fully into his mouth.

  She was alabaster, as perfect as marble with the dusky, rose-tipped peaks, so hard, so compelling, drawing his body into a tighter, harder knot all the while, exciting him to an ungodly high with the mere whisper of her breath, the tiny gasps that escaped her, the sultry, sensual way her body moved against him. Such little movements, as if she was afraid, as if she discovered the haunting rhythms of making love.

  He paused, meeting her eyes. Half-closed eyes—dazed, damp, luminous and honest—meeting his. Her gaze fell upon his naked and aroused body, and her eyes widened again. They met his again, and the beautiful flush of rose came to her cheeks. He reached for her gown and pulled it over her shoulders, and they knelt facing each other. She threw her arms shyly around him, but that served to press them together, all their nakedness, and he felt her breasts upon his chest as thoroughly as he knew that she felt the ripple of his muscle and the blinding heat that led him now.

  He pressed her into the quilt, down, down, into the hay. He crawled over her again, seizing hold of her lips, kissing her until her breath came raggedly, until her breasts rose and fell heatedly in his hands, until she trembled wherever he touched her. Then he kissed her breasts again, fascinated by the shape and texture and by the perfect marble beauty. He lowered himself against her, near blinded by his own need yet driven to see that she felt no pain, that she savored this time between them as he did, that she remember the passion; the desperation, the aching, longing need.

  He kissed her between her breasts, then strayed down the length of her breastbone. He touched her ribs with the tip of his tongue and delved deeply into her navel the same way. And then he dropped his head still lower. He felt her legs quiver and a quickening within her and heard the soft, 159 shocked protest on her lips. But he ignored her and made love completely to her, delving into the very femininity of her. She cried out, this time not so softly. He laced his fin gets with hers and touched and delved ever deeper. He brought the searing, damp heat of his kiss and earess to the very bud of her desire. Her fingers tightened painfully around his, but he wedged himself firmly_ between her thighs and tenderly caressed her. She whimpered, tossing her head so her hair spread out like a burst of sunrise. And still he drank ever more deeply of her sweet scent and taste, until he could feel the pulse of desire rising within her.

  He crawled atop her then, discovering her eyes dosed, her face ashen.

  And yet her fingers dug into his shoulders, and when he carefully lowered himself over her and pushed slowly within her, he found her damp and welcoming. He watched her face even as he thrust past the portals of her innocence, and she never cried out or murmured a single protest or whimper.

  He sheathed himself slowly inside her, then he held and caught hold of her chin.

  Her eyes flew open, so large and dark, then they fluttered closed again as he took her lips and caressed her with long, slow, leisurely kisses—taking all of her mouth, exploring, tasting, savoring. And as he kissed her he began to move within her, strokes as soft as velvet, sl
ow and evoea- five, coercive.

  He felt something give within her when the pain had ~ faded and the new pleasure began. There was an easing of her arms around him, and her long, enchanting legs wound tightly around him. Her fingertips grazed his shoulders, the nails lightly stroking. Soft sounds of passion began to escape her.

  He thrust hard then, unleashing the passion that had grown and simmered and become explosive ‘within him. He moved like the wind and like the earth, and he whispered to words that meant nothing, words that barely found and yet words that meant everything. Their lips met again and again, parted, fused and sealed together, as did their bodies. He felt himself grow slick with the heat they ignited in the night, and he knew that he could not hold on much longer. And still he fought the climax that clamored in his loins, in his heart, in his mind. He fought it, driving her ever upward, leaving her shivering in moonbeams, taking her ever higher. Then he felt it. A wild stiffening in her body, a stark moment in which she seemed to fight him, then she was trembling beneath him in great shudders.

  He cast back his head. He felt a groan rumbling in his throat just as the heat and fever and excitement within him drew to a massive pitch. The sound escaped him, the life and energy and heat of his body shot from him, filling her.

  Again and again, shudders seized him, and he filled her again and again.

  Then he wrapped his arms around her and held her very tightly. He eased to her side, taking his weight from her but keeping his arms around her so that she fell atop him. She sighed softly. Damp tendrils of her hair curled over him. He touched it and remembered wondering how it would feel against him.

  Like silk. it felt like silk. And it looked like the sun, so blond against the bronze of his skin. And she felt like silk, her body so slick with all that had been between then, covering him.

  Her face lay against his chest. She didn’t say a word, and she didn’t seem to want to look at him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her, softly smoothing back a tendril of her hair.

  She nodded against him.

  “Did I—hurt you?”

  She shook her head, but still she didn’t say a word. “You’re not crying, are you?” he asked her.

  “No!” she said in muffled, indignant protest. “Women do, you know.”

  “Women do!” she repeated, speaking at last. She sat up, and her eyes met his.

  “How many women do you—did you … Oh, never mind!” She started to pull away. Her breasts swung heavy and fascinating before him, and he quickly laughed, pulling her back. His voice was husky when he spoke.

  “I’ve never, never, been in a—er, circumstance like this one before.”

  “Like” — “With a virgin,” he said flatly.

  She flushed crimson. He pulled her close to him. She was wiggling and squirming, ready to retreat now that it was all over, despite the way she had played the seductress so boldly. He didn’t want to lose her.

  “Tess!”

  “What? Will you please” — “I didn’t go back to Eliza that night, either.

  The whole thing was a show” — “Eliza is in love with you.”

  “Eliza is in love with a lot of people.” She Paused, tossing her hair, studying him with her enormous eyes.

  “And what about you?” I m not in love with anyone, he said. Agam”~e felt her pulling away. He tightened his hold around her. But I am your eyes. And I love the way you fight until the bitter end, though I could also strangle you for that same quality. I love the way you think, and I love the way you take ~ of the people around you, and I even love the way your ~Yes flash when you’re jealous.”

  “I’m not jealous” — “Then nosy. You were damned determined to I had taken my bath.”

  “Because” — She broke off, staring at him. i He grinned.

  “Because you weren’t about to come near me had been near another woman, was that it?”

  He laughed again, hugged her close and rolled her over in the hay.

  “Never fear, my feisty little love. When I am near you, I will never find the need for another.”

  His lips closed over hers. He stroked his hand down the length of her, touching her openly and intimately. A sound rumbled in her throat against his kiss. He ignored her. All the fires of hell were burning inside him again, and this time he need not be so slow, so careful. She had learned about tenderness. She was ready to learn about the tempest.

  Later, when dawn neared, she slept. Jamie stared at the rafters as the first pale light of day appeared, impressed by the eagerness and complete abandon with which she had approached lovemaking. He had never known a feeling of such relaxation, of physical bliss as her sleeping body against his.

  She had learned many things this night. She slept with her knee slightly curved upon him, her hair tangled around his shoulders and chest. He touched a strand lightly, and it was almost as if the gold and honey touched him back, as if it gave him warmth. He looked at her face, so beautiful, so perfect, her lips just slightly parted, cherry red in the first rays of light, tempting. He stroked her shoulder and her back. She moved against him, and he felt the warmth of her breath upon him as she sighed softly.

  She had learned so much. But he had lea rued a great deal that night, too.

  He had learned that he’d never really made love before. He’d had women, but he had never really, truly made love. He’d never wanted anyone like he’d wanted her.

  Wanted her still. Who had taught whom? he wondered.

  He kissed the soft skin of her back and wondered again at the ripple of longing that went through him. Then he sighed. He had to wake her up and let her go hack to the house before the morning began, before the ranch came alive.

  By nine that morning they arrived in town. Jamie drove the wagon with Tess sitting primly by his side.

  Morning had changed things amazingly, he thought. Since he had awakened her, she had been distant. She had donned her flannel gown, and with it a peculiar silence. She hadn’t seemed remorseful about anything; she had been cool and quiet. She hadn’t sneaked back to the house; she had walked very calmly. She had promised him she would be ready in thirty minutes. When he had pressed his lips to hers on first awakening, she had responded with warmth, but already there had been that widening within her eyes, as if she thought that something very grave had gone on, something she hadn’t quite realized at the time. He’d almost braced himself, waiting, but she hadn’t anything to say to him at all. She had dressed quickly and walked to the house. Her chin was high, and she wasn’t about to hide anything, but then again, Jamie thought, maybe she wasn’t about to do anything again, either.

  I never wanted to rush it! he reminded himself in silence. But he still hadn’t found the right words to say to her, and she sat by him quietly as they rode into town. They didn’t five words.

  It was early, and the streets were nearly still. Only a pass- by or two walked the plank sidewalks in front of the bank and the barbershop and the offices of the Wiltshire Sun. Tess bit her lip and looked at the newspaper office, but she remained silent on that point.

  “Mr. Barrymore’s office is fright ahead. He was always Joe’s solicitor.”

  “Well, then, fine, we’re going to go see Mr. Barrymore.” He helped her from the wagon. She was dressed for ll~ ring in light-blue-and-white checked muslin, with a matching wide-brimmed bonnet.

  The touch of her fingers against his seemed electric. She met his eyes and flushed.

  “We need to talk,” he told her.

  “I need to get to the newspaper,” she retorted.

  “So hurry along now, will you?”

  “Eager to turn it all over to me, eh?”

  “I shall resent it to my dying day,” she said sweetly, “but then, you are better than von Heusen.”

  “Such a compliment!” he teased, bowing low as he opened the door to the lawyer’s office.

  Tess started to reply, but instead smiled at the tall, lean man behind the desk.

  “Mr. Barrymore, how
are you?” she inquired, walking forward, reaching out her hand. The man rose instantly to his feet. He reached out for Tess’s hand, but his eyes were on Jamie. Jamie winced inwardly, realizing this man had been in the saloon the other night when he had met von Heusen’s boys.

  Tess didn’t see the recognition in his eyes.

  “Mr. Barrymore, this is Lieutenant Slater. Lieutenant, Mr. Barrymore, who has helped my family for years.”

  Mr. Barrymore was still staring at Jamie. “Mr. Barrymore!” Tess said more sharply.

  “Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so glad to see you! Of course, you know that Joe left everything in your name” — “That’s why I’m here,” Tess said.

  “Of course, of course” — “No, you don’t understand. I want to turn over half my holdings to Lieutenant Slater.”

  “Half your holdings?”

  “Half.”

  At last, Mr. Barrymore looked at Tess. The pen he held in his hands nearly snapped as he stared at her.

  “Half?”

  “Half.”

  He cleared his throat and stared at Jamie.

  “That will make you a very rich young man.”

  “I intend to pay the lady, but the money is going to be due to her in payments over the next few years. Can we draw up a schedule?” Jamie said.

  Tess stared at him then.

  “You’re going to pay me?”

  “Of course. You didn’t think I was just going to whisk away your property.” “Yes, but” — “Tess,” he said softly.

  “You’re—I mean, the land is worth it.”

  He thought she was going to leap to her feet and scream. She managed not to.

  She leaned over the desk and smiled at Mr. Barrymore.

  “Make sure he pays the premium price then, will you?”

  “Well, yes,” Mr. Barrymore said nervously. He looked at amie, then he looked at Tess, then he cleared his throat.

  “You’re sure this is what you want, Tess?”

  “And Mister—er—Lieutenant Slater, would you, uh, like ~,to explain how you want these payments to be made?” . Certainly,” Jamie said. He rattled off sums and amounts, and Mr. Barrymore began to write quickly.