“Like what?”
She hesitated. “I don’t remember.”
“Oh.”
Their lips met in a sudden explosion of need and desire.
Anna returned his kiss with a hunger that frightened her, all her senses erupting with awareness. Wes’s body, hard and warm, his scent of dust, leather and male, the low growl from his chest reverberating against her already sensitized breasts hurled her into a state of arousal she’d never felt before. Her hands slid over his chest, back, and neck, enjoying the feel of his muscles ripping under her touch.
Her eager fingers unbuttoned his shirt, shoving the material apart to expose his golden skin lightly sprinkled with dark hairs.
Wes released her mouth and trailed kisses across her cheek, teasing her skin, traveling down her jawline to her neck. She leaned to one side to give him greater access, a moan escaping her lips. Heat built up in her middle, spreading outward, tightening her nipples, and causing tingles at the juncture of her thighs.
“My God, I can’t stop tasting you,” he murmured as he cupped her breast, molding her flesh, making her frantic to remove the clothing that kept them from skin to skin contact.
“Let’s go into the bedroom,” Anna gasped as he scraped his teeth over her nipple through the material of her blouse.
Moving quickly, he jumped up and strode down the hall, his arms cradling her against him as his lips found hers once more in a searing kiss. He laid her carefully on the bed and sat back to stare at her. “You know this isn’t a good idea.” His chest rose and fell with deep breaths.
“Why not?”
He looked befuddled. “Don’t know.” Then his nimble fingers unfastened the buttons down the front of her blouse, easing it off her shoulders. Almost as if he touched the finest crystal, he drew the straps of her chemise down, revealing her breasts. He gulped in air and gently settled his large palm on her nipple, watching her with half lidded eyes. He rotated his hand, and Anna moaned, arching her back for greater contact.
“How I love to look at you.” Wes’s voice held awe as he circled her nipple with his thumb before leaning down to draw the rigid point into his mouth. “So soft.”
Heat shot to her center where the sensitive flesh swelled, almost to the point of pain. Once she had his shirt freed from his pants, he sat up and helped her remove it, then loosened his belt. He stopped her hand as she reached to touch his cock.
“No. I want to see all of you first.” Wes removed her blouse and chemise, then gripped the waistband of her skirt and slowly pulled it down and off, taking her drawers with him, until she lay naked.
“Your turn,” Anna whispered.
He slowly ran his palm over her body, his hand dipping into her curves, brushing lightly over the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. “You take my breath away,” he murmured.
He kissed her lightly on her belly before standing to remove his pants, the proof of his desire jutting forth, making her fingers itch to touch him, feel the silk on steel. Her heart sped up, the heat from her body like a raging fever, releasing beads of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. He was magnificent, all broad shoulders, massive chest, slim hips and powerful legs dusted with fine hairs.
No sooner had she raised her arms in invitation then he was on her, crushing her body against his, taking her mouth in a blistering kiss. The musky smell of his arousal shot right to her core, making it weep. Unable to keep her hands still, she kneaded the muscles of his back, sliding her palms down to cup his buttocks.
“Slow down sweetheart, I want to pleasure you first.” His soft whisper against her neck where he nibbled, then soothed with his tongue, drove her to heights she’d never imagined.
This wasn’t just sex, but the man in her arms. How she’d feared for his life when he was gone. And the relief that flooded her at the sight of him standing in the jailhouse unharmed had almost brought her to her knees.
He was everything she ever imagined in a man. What she’d missed from her father, didn’t have with her fiancé. Wes’s honor, integrity, and even his vulnerability were traits that made up who he was, and strengthened her attraction to him. No other man had affected her with such force, such yearning to be part of him. The desire to join together, not just physically, but in every way possible.
I love him.
The words echoed in her brain, bringing a rush that swept over her in waves. She loved Wes. Right here was her place in life, in his arms, regardless of ‘when’ they were, what their differences happened to be.
Nothing else seemed important any more. Only that she stay with him. Here or there didn’t matter. She closed her eyes, everything now clear−the reason for this journey. At last she found where she belonged.
Wes eased back the damp curls from Anna’s forehead. She opened her beautiful brown eyes, a small tear seeping down her cheek.
“What’s the matter, darlin’?”
She traced his features with her finger. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She smiled and pulled his head down, capturing his mouth.
Every reason he had to avoid making love to his wife had flown out the window the minute their lips met. He was tired of denying himself the passion she had awakened in him, passion that he’d never felt for another woman. Seeing her come through the door to the jailhouse, frazzled as she was, had convinced him of his feelings. She was his, for as long as he could have her. The agony of losing her, should she disappear one day, would be dealt with then. He had her now, wanted her now, and loved her now.
He shook with the need to possess her completely, join them together body and soul. With his lips, hands and tongue he worshiped her, told her with his body how much she meant to him, would always mean to him.
“Wes,” she panted, “I ache.”
“I know darlin’, let me help you.” He left the generous globe he’d been savoring and made his way down her body, nipping at her flesh, soothing the spot with kisses, then trailing his tongue around her navel. Anna’s breath hissed from between her teeth.
Wes parted her legs and blew softly on her swollen flesh. He glanced up at her−flushed, panting, her eyes tightly closed. His tongue glided over her moistness, tasting the perfume that was Anna. Within seconds she reached down to tug his mouth closer, her thighs hugging his head until she shuddered with her release.
Unable to resist any longer, he rose above her, resting on both elbows. “Have you ever been with a man, sweetheart?”
She cupped his cheek, her eyes soft and loving. “Yes−and I wish it had been you.”
“I do, too.” He kissed her forehead.
“Does it matter?”
“Not that I wasn’t the first. As long as I’m the last.”
He savored her mouth, sharing her taste as he slid into her warmth. Surrounded by heat and moisture, he stopped and tightened his muscles in an attempt to hold still before he took his release too quickly. Anna began to move again in a way that told him her body was preparing for another climax. Prompted by her agitation, he began to thrust harder, shifting his body so he came into contact with her swollen nub.
Their bodies slid together, the air filled with deep breaths and slight mewling sounds from Anna. Wes buried his face against her shoulder, pulling her closer. “Don’t ever leave me.”
“Never,” she whispered before she let out with a low keening sound as her body jerked, her forceful contractions spurring a release such as he’d never had before. And would likely never have again should she disappear from his life. Not only his body was engaged, but his very soul.
Aware of his weight on her, he rolled to his side and tucked her against his chest. Anna rested her hand over his heart, still pounding in rhythm with hers hammering against his side. Pulling her close, he took her mouth in a soft kiss, his thumbs wiping the tears that spilled from her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
Anna viewed him with so much emotion in her eyes, his world tilted.
She loves me. And I love her.
What the hell do we do now?
<
br /> Chapter Fifteen
Anna grunted when a hard object caught her in the ribs. She came wide awake as Wes thrashed alongside her in the bed, his head tossing back and forth as he mumbled, “No, no, please sir.” Sweat beaded his face in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window, casting the room in an eerie glow.
“Wes.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes as she shook his shoulder. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
He bolted up, panting. Letting out with a groan, he ran his palm down his face, taking deep breaths while she rubbed his back.
“I’m sorry.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, then tossed the sheet off and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll leave so you can go back to sleep.” He reached for his pants and moved to slide his legs into them.
“No. Stop.” She grabbed his arm. “I’m not going right back to sleep, and now is the perfect time to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’ve told you what happened. Just let it be.”
Anna shifted until her back rested against the headboard. She patted the spot alongside her. “Sit.” When he continued to pull on his pants, she added, “Please?”
Wes took a deep breath and stilled for a moment, his head down, forearms resting on his thighs. “Can’t you just forget it?”
“Come on, marshal, you know me better than that.” She threw him a saucy smile.
He glanced at her over his shoulder, a slight smile curving his lips. “You are one stubborn woman.”
“Best you understand that from the beginning.”
After he settled next to her, she took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “There’s a name for what you’re going through.”
“So in your time, dreams have names?”
She grinned. “No. Don’t be a smart aleck.”
When he raised his eyebrows, she added, “That’s just a saying. But, what you have is called post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Or, as we call it PTSD.”
“Fine.” He stared at her unblinkingly. “Now can I go make some coffee?”
“I’m serious here, Wes. What you’re going through is a well-known reaction people have to a very traumatic experience.”
“‘Traumatic?’ You know, I think you invent these words.”
“Hmm. Serious, dangerous, frightening.” She rolled her eyes. “I feel like a Thesaurus.”
“Honey, if you’re going to continue talking in your strange language, I am going to get up and make coffee.”
“Well, since I’m not going back to sleep anyway, I’ll go with you.” She scooted off the bed, padded to the dresser, and retrieved the nightgown she never got to put on. As she slid the fabric down her body, she turned to see Wes staring at her, his eyes darkened.
“Instead of coffee, why don’t we go back to bed and see if I can figure out a way to handle this RTSP.”
Anna laughed. “It’s PTSD, and you’re not getting out of this now.” She pointed toward the door. “To the kitchen.”
His shoulders slumped as turned and left the room. “Damn bossy woman.”
After giving Anna a lesson on how to make coffee in his ‘old-fashioned kitchen,’ as she called it, Wes sat across from her at the table, their hands cupped around enamel mugs of the warm liquid.
“I’m not an expert on PTSD, but I did study it in the academy.” She laughed when he made a face. “Don’t smirk. It’s a police academy where men and women train to be law enforcement officers.”
“Men and women?”
“Yes. In my time women do all sorts of jobs that only men do now. They even join the Army and Navy and go to war.”
The more he heard about the future, the more interested he became in how things had changed. Or more accurately, how they would change. But, women going off to war? It worried him to think there were more wars to come after the one he’d just fought. Why would women want to leave the protection of their home to crawl around in the mud and be shot at?
“Why would their fathers and husbands allow that?”
Anna grinned. “There is no allowing it. Women are free to do what they want. Why, my mother fought the battle for women’s rights.”
Wes’s head snapped up. “You mean there was a war for women’s rights? Did they fight the men?”
“No. When I say ‘battle,’ I mean they protested. You know, they paraded down the street, took over public buildings and refused to leave, burned their . . . underwear in front of the courthouse−”
“Stop.” Wes held up a hand. “Don’t tell me any more.”
“All right, maybe that’s a bit for you to take in. But, I want you to know that we’ve discovered in my time how to help someone who has suffered a shock. In fact, you can help yourself.”
He groaned. “Do I have to form a sewing circle of men in town so we can talk about our problems?”
“No. But one thing that will help is learning what you’re going through is perfectly normal.”
He stood, placed the empty mug in the sink and turned to regard her, leaning against the sink. “I don’t feel normal. I jump if someone walks up behind me. I torture myself with the memory of that young girl’s eyes pleading with me. I check my gun a hundred times a day.” He inhaled deeply. “And most of all I can’t abide the thought of you being in danger.”
Anna joined him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “All normal reactions to what you witnessed. Having these feelings doesn’t make you weak. Or a coward, or a sissy—for lack of a better word. You’re a strong, brave man.” She laid her head on his chest. “It will take more time. But now that you know a little bit about it, maybe you can let go of some of your guilt.”
His fingers played with her hair, massaging her scalp. The scent of flowers drifted up from the silky waves. “Suppose we were in your time. Besides talking about my troubles, what else would I do?”
She glanced at him, her eyes smoky. “I understand strenuous exercise is good.”
His gut clenched, all his senses coming alive at the low pitch of her voice. “Exercise?”
“Yes. Exercise.” She breathed out her answer, the warmth from her mouth sliding over his chin. Her heart rate increased against his chest and she moaned as he bent and nuzzled behind her ear.
Wes slid his palms up underneath her nightgown, squeezing her buttocks, then slowly wandering up her body to cup her breasts. “I have a great idea for exercising.”
“Do you now?” Her voice rasped.
In answer, he scooped her up and headed to the bedroom. “The best exercise ever.”
“Ouch!” Anna sucked her burnt finger and glared at the mess on the stove that was supposed to be their dinner. The green beans from the jar she’d fetched from the pantry had burned and were stuck to the bottom of the pot. Who knew how hot an iron cookstove could get? She’d peeled and boiled potatoes, but without a strainer had no idea how to drain them, or what to mash them with.
The only decent item was fried chicken because the church ladies had dropped by for the sewing circle, and brought it with them. They’d also presented her with a copy of The Domestic Receipt Book that she’d glanced through, then slammed shut, terrified at the contents.
The pages were riddled with comments about how the dutiful housewife did her laundry on Monday, ironing and mending on Tuesday, baking on Wednesday and Saturday, tidied her kitchen and parlor daily, and cleaned thoroughly on Thursday and Saturday.
She pulled her apron off and tossed it over a chair. Nowhere in The Book, as she’d begun to call it, was there time for the housewife to have a manicure, haircut, or a glass of wine with her friends. Or more importantly, reserve enough energy to make love with her husband. How the heck did these couples manage to have so many children? If she hadn’t been afraid the ladies would ask for it back, she would’ve tossed the tome into the cookstove.
As long as she was stuck in this time period, she had to let go of her modern w
ay of thinking. Of course, Susan B. Anthony had already started her fight for women’s rights by this time. Maybe starting a branch here in Denton would be a worthwhile pursuit. Certainly better than the list of duties outlined in that cursed book. A housewife drudge. No washer and dryer, no dishwasher, no microwave, and worst of all no Keurig.
“Oh!” She swatted at the flames at the edge of her apron that she’d left too close to the cookstove, then dropped the fiery material into the sink and pumped water on it.
“Marshal, here’s the latest batch of ‘wanted’ posters.” The young, freckle-faced boy who worked after school for Arnold dropped the package on the desk. His shining eyes studied the brown wrapped bundle. “I’ll bet you can’t wait to get out there and drag ‘em into jail.”
Unable to hold back a smile at the boy’s enthusiasm, Wes untied the package. “No doubt the public would be better served if these outlaws were behind bars.”
“When I grow up I’m gonna be a sheriff. Or a marshal, like you, or Mr. Hickok over in Abilene.” He stuck out his puny chest.
“A noble idea, for sure.”
When the boy continued to badger Wes for stories, asking for more and more bloody descriptions, Wes pointed toward the door. “Won’t Mr. Prentiss be looking for you?”
“Yessir.” The kid hurried away, but turned back. “This was fun, marshal. I might come back another time so we can talk.”
Wes groaned and pulled the posters from the package. He lined them up on his desk, eventually setting four of them aside. Buck Mather, age forty-two, sons Billy, Joe and Noah. Two in their twenties, and the youngest, Noah, fifteen. The kid looked fifteen, all right, but his eyes were the eyes of an old man. Hard, dangerous.
His attention was drawn to the door as it crashed open.
“Marshal, they’re holed up in Devil’s Dungeon.” Slug hobbled through, wincing as he eased himself into a chair. “One of my passengers went through there a few days ago. Said he stopped for a beer and the four of them were sitting ‘round a table, throwin’ down shots, and laughin’ about the robberies they’d done. The younger one even bragged about shootin’ a passenger and his son between the eyes.”
A Tumble Through Time Page 16