The Seduction of Shay Devereaux

by Carolyn Davidson

The sawmill was next and Jenny waited on the wagon while Shay did his business. She caught the sidelong glance of several men, recognizing two of them as the elders in town. Too old to go to war, she thought sadly, and now, with so many not returning home, they were working to support large families.

  The long planks fit easily on the back of the wagon, with only a couple of feet extending over the rear, and Marshall sat proudly atop the lumber. A small sack of candy clutched in his right hand, he was given the duty of holding down the load for the trip home. That his weight would be of little deterrent should the heavy boards need such help was a minor detail, Jenny thought. It was enough that Marshall felt important, and for that, she silently thanked Shay.

  The boards were unloaded in the side yard and left for another day, Noah determining that work in the fields took precedence for the rest of the day. Marshall retired to the new swing after dinner, admiring his new boots, until his eyes grew heavy and sleep overtook him.

  “He sure don’t need those hot things on his feet, here by the house,” Isabelle said, lifting her head from plucking carrots from the ground.

  “I know, but he’s getting so much enjoyment from them, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that,” Jenny answered. Her apron holding enough green beans for supper, she headed for the house. “I’ll get a pan and wash these. Why don’t you join me on the porch and we’ll string them and snap them quick.”

  Isabelle got to her feet. “I wondered if you was gonna cut out your new sleeping gown today.” Her dark eyes held amusement as she looked up at Jenny.

  “I’ll make yours first,” Jenny told her.

  “I ’spect that man of yours don’t care if you never sleep in a gown, does he?” Isabelle cut through the rows of tomato plants and opened the gate, allowing Jenny to pass through ahead of her.

  “I need one anyway,” Jenny said, moving quickly toward the pump, flustered by Isabelle’s teasing.

  “Well, I can use one, that’s sure enough,” Isabelle called after her. “Haven’t had anything besides a shift to wear to bed since I had to make Noah a shirt out of my last nightgown.” She dropped the carrots on the porch and in seconds the screen door slammed behind her. “I reckon I better get you a pan to wash those beans in.”

  Jenny stood by the watering trough, holding the corners of her apron. Thinking about Shay simply sent her good sense into a whirlwind, she decided. Anticipation of the night to come lingered in the back of her mind. And from the look in Shay’s eyes when he’d headed for the field after dinner, he was suffering from the same affliction.

  Isabelle brought the bread pan from the kitchen, and Jenny dumped the contents of her apron into its depths. “I’ll pump and you rinse them good,” Isabelle said. “We can do the carrots, once we get these on the stove for supper.”

  Jenny sloshed the beans in the pan, dumping the water once and waiting as Isabelle refilled it. They walked to the porch together and Jenny’s mind went back to the clothing issue. “There’s still a few things left in the attic,” she said. “Maybe Noah can use some of Carl’s father’s clothes. I never thought of him when I cut up some things for Marshall. Why don’t we go up and look through them?”

  “Later, maybe,” Isabelle said. “It’s too hot up there this time of day.”

  Within the hour, a kettle of beans was cooking, and Isabelle cut up a big onion and added a chunk of fatback for flavor. The carrots were put on the back of the stove, where they would cook slowly. Isabelle’s eyes widened as she inspected the crate of food Shay had deposited in the pantry.

  “Where’d you get enough money for all this?” she asked, peeking around the corner into the kitchen where Jenny was spreading muslin over the kitchen table.

  “Shay bought it all,” Jenny told her. “He made Tillie Duncan very happy. I don’t think she’s seen gold coins in a long time.”

  “Mr. Shay’s got gold in his pocket?” Isabelle said, stepping into the kitchen.

  Jenny nodded. “He did today. But I think he put it away somewhere when we got home.”

  “Well, the man’s doin’ right by you, Jen. I’ll bide my time and keep my eyes open, but he ain’t stingy, that’s one sure thing.” Her gaze swept the muslin fabric Jenny was eyeing, scissors in hand. “You cut that plenty wide in the skirt, you hear? My bottom ain’t gettin’ any smaller.”

  The scissors flashed as Jenny cut the length of fabric, then held it up for inspection. “Does this look long enough?”

  Isabelle nodded. “Just sew up the seams, and gather it up around the neck. Don’t worry about settin’ in sleeves. I won’t need them for this time of year, and old Noah knows how to keep me warm when the weather turns chilly.” Her smile flashed. “I sure am happy we don’t have to worry about scant supplies for the next little while. We got cornmeal enough to last till we get ours ground at the mill.”

  Chapter Ten

  “You didn’t make a nightgown, I see.” Shay leaned against the bedroom door, watching as Jenny brushed her hair. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she’d managed to cover her knees with his shirt, but apparently the sewing she’d been doing before supper had been for someone else’s benefit. He suspected Isabelle might be wearing the results of Jenny’s swift needle plying the cream-colored fabric.

  “Isabelle needed one more than I did,” Jenny said, leaning forward to pull her brush through the length of her hair. It almost touched the floor in front of her, and she sat a bit higher, working at a snarl with both hands. The sunlight had brightened its hue, turning it a rich shade, more golden than chestnut, Shay thought. It would darken in the winter months when she spent less time out of doors, but for now, he could see the fire glisten throughout its heavy waves.

  She was waiting for him, and he drew out his own anticipation, watching as she sat erect, the mass of waves settling over her shoulders and down her back. Her fingers gripped it at the nape of her neck, bringing it over her shoulder in a long tail, and he moved from his post to walk toward her, his steps silent in his stocking feet.

  “Don’t braid it,” he said quietly. “I want it loose.”

  She looked up, watching as he rounded the footboard to kneel before her. “It gets all snarled. I had a hard time getting it brushed out this morning.”

  “I’ll help you,” he promised, touching a long tendril that hung across her breast. Beneath the shirt she wore, her breasts were full, rising abruptly with the quick breath she caught. “I want to take my shirt off you,” he said, aware that his voice was gruff, yet unable to control the harsh sound of passion gripping his throat.

  “Blow out the candle first,” Jenny said, one hand clutching the front of her makeshift gown, as if she would ensure that the buttons stay in their proper places.

  “I want to look at you, Jen.”

  Her glance shot to the open window, where the curtains caught the breeze. “Someone could see in,” she reminded him.

  “No one is out there, and they couldn’t see past me anyhow, sweetheart. I’m between you and the window.” His big hands covered hers, dwarfing her slender fingers as he enfolded them in his own. Placing her hands in her lap, he watched as she folded them together precisely. Then, carefully, he undid the first three buttons of the shirt she wore. A flush rose from her chest, bringing color to her throat and cheeks, and he wondered again at the relative innocence of his bride. Carl had missed much, it seemed. Beneath the shirt, her breasts were full, firm to his touch, the crests peaking before his gaze. Three more buttons fell prey to his agile fingers, then, spreading wide the garment above her waist, he allowed her to grasp it. She held it firmly over her lap, so that it concealed her skin below the small indentation of her belly button. Absorbed in the beauty of pale flesh that filled his palms, he bent closer, his mouth pressing kisses across the rise of her bosom, then touched the wrinkled, darkened peaks with the tip of his tongue.

  She shivered and he smiled, uncaring that his face drew up with the gesture. Turning his head, he rested his cheek against her, as if her unblemished ski
n, there beneath his cruel scar, could somehow heal him.

  Such foolishness. And yet, the heat of his face was cooled by her, the taut skin seemed more supple as his wounded flesh caressed the gentle curves, moving from one side to the other. He turned his head then, his mouth opening to capture her, hearing her small cry of pleasure as he suckled gently.

  Her palms cupped his head, her fingers tugging at his hair, yet he clung stubbornly, unwilling to release the tender morsel from his lips. She moved toward him, leaning a bit, then turning to one side. Beneath his closed eyes, the room lost its glow, and he smelled the faint odor of the wick as it smoked.

  Jenny had blown out the candle, and he lifted his head to search out her face in the dim light. She leaned to him, her mouth against his, her lips moving carefully as she kissed him, as though it were a novelty to be so bold. He opened his mouth, urging her to explore and she clasped his face, touching his lips with her tongue as he had taught her in the night hours. Beneath his fingers, the two remaining buttons gave way and he slid the shirt from her shoulders, then spread her legs to make a place for himself there. He leaned against her, gathering her to his chest, holding her closely for a moment before rising fully to his feet.

  “Come lie with me,” she whispered, her breath sweet in his mouth, and he groaned his reply.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, releasing her, stepping back bare inches as he stripped himself of his shirt. It fell on the floor, and he bent to shove his trousers down, easing his stockings off with them. Then he reached for her again, clasping her against himself as he turned and pulled her with him onto the bed. She clung tightly, lying atop him as he took his place against the sheet.

  Her breasts were soft, nestling on his chest, her feet only reaching his shins, and he was wrapped in the length of russet waves as she lifted her head to peer into his face. Pushing his fingers through her hair, he lifted it from her face, the better to see her, and found her smiling in the glow of stars from the window.

  “You’re a fast learner, Mrs. Devereaux.”

  Inhaling sharply at his words, she whispered the name beneath her breath. “Mrs. Devereaux. I hadn’t thought, until now,” she said softly. “I’m Jenny Devereaux.”

  “You surely are, sweetheart.” The ache began in his chest, spreading to his throat and he recognized once more his need of this woman. If ever he was given back his ability to love another human being, it would be Jenny who would receive the outpouring of that long-forgotten emotion. For now, there was the need, the wanting, the aching urge to possess her.

  And he was filled to the brim with that yearning, aware of the burgeoning thrust of his arousal, even now causing him to shift beneath her slender form. “Hold on to me, Jen,” he whispered, then turned with her, holding her tightly as he placed her beneath him.

  She clung, her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his throat, and he felt her legs part widely beneath him, ready to accept his possession. Shay’s mouth softened as he smiled against her hair. There would be no rapid end to this night of loving. Jenny deserved more, and if it took every bit of patience and endurance he could muster, she would find pleasure in his arms before he lost himself in her sweet depths.

  The days were long, the summer sun hot, and three weeks went by without rain. In the cornfield, the stalks were turning crisp and browning at the edges. The cotton fared better, but the kitchen garden required buckets of water, carried from the horse trough daily. Finding Jenny at the task, Shay had scolded her roundly, taking the buckets from her hands and tackling the chore himself. Twice he made the trek to the garden, then back to the pump, where he dipped the buckets into the horse trough to fill them.

  “I toted water yesterday and the day before,” she snapped. “Besides, who do you think did this before you got here?” she asked, standing in the shade of the house, while he carried his burden into the tomato patch.

  He stood erect, wiping his forehead with his kerchief, then tucked it back into his pocket. “The point is, I’m here now. And while I’m here, you won’t be lugging two buckets of water at a time, making who knows how many trips to this damn garden.”

  “This damn garden provides us with enough vegetables to get us through the winter,” Jenny said forcefully. She sauntered from the shade into the glaring sun, then through the open gate to where Shay stood, watching her, his hands on his hips.

  “You remind me of my sister,” he said sharply. “She always had to have the last word.”

  “Your sister?” She blinked. “I don’t think I knew you had one.”

  “Yeah, I come equipped with family, Jenny, including a sister who ran off with a Yankee officer. Yvonne has a lot to answer for, leaving my folks without a word of explanation.”

  “You left, too,” she reminded him.

  “I went back after the war,” he said harshly. “It just didn’t work.”

  He hadn’t told her so much about himself since he’d arrived, Jenny thought. She ought to make him angry more often. “Then don’t blame your sister for leaving. You weren’t there, and you don’t know—”

  His hand sliced the air, cutting her off.

  “You’re pretty snippy for such a little woman,” he said, his gaze sweeping her from the top of her gleaming head to the bare toes that showed beneath her old gown. “And where’s the new dresses I bought for you?”

  “I don’t crawl around in the garden in my new things,” she said, aware, that for the first time, they were exchanging words in a less than friendly manner. The thought brought a strange exhilaration to bloom in her breast, and she stood before Shay with rebellion boldly outlining her pouting mouth and lifted chin.

  “When they wear out, I’ll buy you more,” he told her, his jaw clenched.

  She was drawn to him, facing him almost toe to toe, and yet it wasn’t enough. Her index finger poked at his chest and she spit defiance. “I didn’t know you tied strings on gifts, Mr. Devereaux. I thought the dresses were mine to do with as I liked. And I don’t like wearing them to crawl around in the dirt.”

  His palm circled her jabbing finger, capturing it firmly and she pulled at it, with no success. “Not so smart now, are you, missy?” he whispered, dark color ridging his cheeks. His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat and his lips thinned. A look she had come to recognize turned his features into a hungry mask, and Jenny whimpered beneath her breath.

  “Not now, Shay.” Her whisper was pleading, but he ignored it, transferring his hold on her from the single finger to her wrist, and from there to her waist. One long arm snaked around her middle, the other hand gripped her chin, and she was drawn on tiptoes against him. His mouth found hers, and she moaned against his possession, a soft, yearning murmur that brought him to full arousal against her belly.

  “I want to carry you in the house right now,” he said, his voice harsh. His frame was long and woven with sinewy strength, his arms heavy with the muscles of a man who put in long hours of physical labor every day. And she was no match for the masculine power he could call into being with barely an effort.

  Yet, there was no fear in her, no trepidation as she felt her breasts flattened against his chest, her feet lifted from the ground. Only the triumph of knowing that she was the target for the passion and desire he could barely contain. Her hands were free and she lifted them to his face, her fingers gentle as she traced the line of his temple, cheek and jaw. One side of his face so sharply drawn, so flawless, the other a blazing scar that felt ridged and thick beneath her fingertips.

  “I love you, Shay.” She whispered the phrase. Indeed, it was drawn from her as though the man who held her pulled the syllables from her depths. His eyes grew darker yet, his mouth twitching. Yet he was silent, and Jenny pressed her lips together.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I can’t help that I’m in love with you. I thought you already knew.”

  “I knew,” he said shortly, lowering her to the ground, his hands gentle against her waist. Yet he
held her firmly against himself, easing his manhood against her with a subtle thrust of his hips. “You’re a loving woman, Jen. I’m a lucky man.”

  His eyes closed and she was swept by a wave of tenderness, of a different sort of loving, almost akin to that of a mother for a child, as she saw the bleak expression on his face. “You’re good to me, Shay. I don’t expect more than that from you. I almost begged you to marry me, and you did. Whatever else you feel for me, I know you care about me, and for Marshall. That’s all I ask.”

  His dark eyes opened and she caught a glimpse of pain there, quickly masked as he blinked. “I told you I’m not good enough for you, Jen, and you wouldn’t believe me. You deserve a better man.”

  “I don’t want anyone else,” she admitted. “I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you. You’ve crept inside my soul, Shay. I’m filled with your presence, even when you’re out in the field or in the barn.” Her eyelids drooped and she smiled, her mind bringing forth vivid pictures. “When I close my eyes, I can feel your hands on me, your mouth against my skin. I smell your scent on my pillow when I make the bed in the mornings, and I hug it to my face and pretend you’re there with me.”

  His arms caught her close again and his whisper was harsh. “Whether I deserve you or not, you won’t get rid of me, Jenny. I’m here for the long haul.”

  “What’re you doin’, Mama?” Marshall asked, tugging at her skirt.

  She looked down quickly, her smile anxious. “I didn’t hear you, Marsh. Did you call for me?”

  He shook his head. “No, I just heard you talkin’ out here and I came to see what you were doin’.”

  “I’m hugging your mother,” Shay said, turning Jenny so that her back fit against his chest. “Did you come to help with the watering?”

  Marshall’s chest stuck out with the importance of having a task assigned, especially one he enjoyed so much. “I like pourin’ water on the plants,” he said. “Where’s the dipper?”

  “Run and get one from the kitchen,” Shay told him. “Your mother’s been pouring it right from the bucket, but you’ll do better with a dipper.”