The smell of him, and of them, mingled with the fragrance of the sunbaked sage and spring grass. Her heart pounded, the unfamiliar warm tingling permeating her loins, and she felt the blushing in her face. This was a feeling she’d never known, could never imagine, could barely absorb on so many levels. She swept a soft, fluttering palm over the chorded muscles in his arm. Consumed by a desperate yearning, a deep primal need, which overrode her fear of the unknown, she gasped, her hips writhing involuntarily as he lowered himself gently onto her. A momentary stab of pain and then overwhelming pleasure mixed, enveloping her as he slowly, carefully, began to sink into her.
She groaned, a muffled cry equally grounded in passion, trepidation, and wanting. He stopped, gently brushed a callused thumb leisurely across her forehead and down her cheek, and looked deep into her eyes. “Am I hurting you?”
She felt the tears welling in the corner of her eyes. She bit her lip and shook her head, her full answer to the question an ever-tightening wrap of her arms around his shoulders, the increasing instinctive bend of her knees, and the firm plant of her heels against the muscular flesh of his buttocks, drawing him in. “Please, Reuben, please,” she moaned.
He lowered his lips sensuously to hers, his tongue running over her inner upper lip and then her lower lip, all the while gently, tenderly, but inexorably sinking deeper and deeper into her until finally she could feel his pelvis mold to hers, his complete fullness lodged in her center, the stretching and small stabs of pressure she felt lost in avalanches of sensual sensations.
He pulled part way out and then slid slowly back in. Every square inch of her body tingled. The sun felt hot where her neck was out of the shade of his body. He pulled back slowly again and she desperately tightened her legs, raising her pelvis instinctively to keep him deep. Then he thrust forward, harder this time, her fingernails digging into his back. His hips bucked again, and another wave of pleasure swept her, enveloping her. Again his pelvis moved, this time harder, and the wave turned into a tidal flow of passion. He was moving faster, their hips rocking in undulating rhythm, synchronous in every give and take of movement. He drew almost his entire length from her and then plunged forward again. Bright lights exploded in her brain, mingling somehow with the rays of the sun above them. She felt her eyes roll back, and again he drew himself almost fully out, only to sink rapidly back in once more. Her lower body spasmed around his length, and then she was floating. They were one as he pulsed again and again and a hot, white searing heat erupted and spread through every inner pore, firing every molecule deep inside her. She felt herself contracting at that moment, and they groaned in unison.
They remained fastened tightly and completely, her body quivering, twitching, muscles spasming involuntarily, her nipples so hard they were delightfully painful. She struggled to regain her breath, felt the heat of the sun on her closed eyelids, and then he grunted, twitched, and pulsed one more time deep in her belly, that tiny movement sending her spinning off the edge again, his sun-warmed back, powerful and smooth beneath the press of her fingers.
He raised himself partially up, and, with a throaty whimper, she pulled him back down on top of her, squeezing her legs around his hips, savoring his weight.
He moved his lips to her ear and nibbled her lobe. “I love you, Rebecca Marx,” he said in a warm breath in her ear. She said nothing, and he could not see the tears that formed in her eyes.
They held hands as they rode back toward the circled wagons, letting go of each other only when they were within several hundred yards of the men working on Johnson’s Conestoga. Rebecca could smell him on her skin and on her body where he had dripped warm and milky on her thigh, and she delighted in it.
They rode up to their wagon, tying Lahn and Bente off at the rear, pressing their hips and outside thighs together as they lashed the reins.
Hearing them, Inga poked her head from the rear canvas and started to speak, but her eyes fixed on Rebecca’s disheveled wet, transparent upper clothing only partially hidden by Reuben’s shirt. Her eyes flicked to Reuben, the open coat revealing his undershirt. Her mouth shut. She looked from one to the other several times, and then she smiled, her face a soft, equal mixture of sad and happy.
“I’ll take care of the saddles, Rebecca.” He glanced up at the sky. “It will be dark soon. You better go see Inga. It looks like she wants to say something.”
Rebecca stretched out her hand, which found its way into Reuben’s coat and rested on his chest. He flushed, wrapped his arms around her, and drew her lips to his. The world began to spin again. His tongue probed her mouth, this time with an all-knowing energy. She was dimly aware that the flow of him, of them, was now halfway down her thigh. She shuddered.
Reuben slowly broke off the kiss, and she laid her cheek against his chest. So warm, strong, so quick the beat. Her hands stroked his back, and she sighed, the words of the aborigine’s premonition repeating in the echo chamber of her mind, “…the power of the land… and the man…will hold you.”
Reuben stepped slowly back. His head turned slightly, and for a long moment he appeared to intently study a small patch of brush several hundred feet from the wagon.
She opened her mouth, “Reuben, I…” but his eyes returned to hers, and he raised his finger to her lips. “I understand. You must return to England.” His jaw was tight. He bent down slowly and kissed her again, this time softly on the lips. “Rebecca Marx, I love you. I have for some time. But I will never stand in your way. Each must choose their own path.” He turned, slid the saddle off Lahn, and began to walk to the head of the wagon.
Rebecca stood dumbfounded. I was not going to say that at all.
CHAPTER 32
MAY 9, 1855
UNSHOD HORSES
They had just settled down to supper, Reuben and Rebecca sharing his saddle, casting evocative, shy, sensuous glances at one another. Sarah, much to Reuben’s delight, was chatting animatedly with Zeb. The tall mountain man’s eyes were fixed on the smiling features of the petite redhead. Once in a while, he noisily scraped a mouthful of beans and pemmican from the tin plate that he clumsily held, saying little himself, but nodding at virtually everything Sarah said. Reuben grinned into his food. I shall ask Johannes to give Zeb some coaching. In fact, maybe that’s the trade for the moccasins he wants. The thought made him laugh and he almost tipped his plate.
“What is so funny, Mr. Frank?” Rebecca’s voice sounded petulantly sarcastic, but, when he looked at her, her eyes glowed softly and the fire-lit sheen of her lips framed a flirtatious smile.
Reuben shook his head. “I decided on the perfect trade Johannes could make for those moccasins he wants so badly.”
At the mention of Johannes’ name, Rebecca’s eyes flicked in the direction of the two blondes. Reuben followed her gaze. They sat side by side, but with perhaps a foot separating them, not molded to one another as before the storm. They glanced at each other occasionally with tentative smiles, but Reuben was sure they had not traded a word since supper started.
That afternoon, Reuben had ridden out to invite Zeb to join them for supper. When the mountain man repeatedly declined, Reuben tactfully demanded that he come. He thought Zeb had been preoccupied, and there was an aura of uneasy concern that seemed to shadow him and Buck. Quite unusual, Reuben thought, but chalked up his friend’s unsettled energy to the length of the trip or perhaps the mountain man’s frustration with his inability to express his feelings for Sarah. Little does he know, it’s evident to everyone, including Sarah.
Finally, Zeb had insisted he would only come in to dinner if two men replaced him at his position for the few hours he would be at the wagons. “Why two men, Zeb? One of the Kentuckians or Charlie could come out and relieve you just fine during dinner.”
The sharp green eyes underneath the bushy eyebrows had fixed on his with a strange look. “Nope, better be two. You need eyes in the back of your head out here, and there’s been times over the past few nights I wished someone else was watching my bac
k, and that’s a rare thing.”
Reuben puzzled over that comment on the ride back in, but the thought had evaporated with the sight of Rebecca, her smile, and the powerful, sensual energy between them.
From across the circled wagons, they heard Jacob’s loud, bellicose voice, the words slightly slurred. “That’s ten pots in a row—now if you bastards only had some money, I’d be having fun.” Rebecca exchanged a glance with Reuben. They both shook their heads in disgust, smiling at their shared opinion of the obnoxious Irishman.
The sound of horse hooves at a lope permeated the darkness of the new-moon night outside the circled wagons. Reuben was surprised to see Mac and Charlie illuminated in the firelight where it filtered across the tongue of the wagon. The horses were impatient, and the flame-hued features of the wagon master had a look of concern. Or was it just the shadows? Mac’s voice was calm, though. “Reuben, Zeb, Johannes—I hate to interrupt your supper, my apologies. But when you’re done, could you come down to the supply wagons?”
Zeb stopped chewing. Johannes threw Mac a startled glance, then they both looked at Reuben, who nodded. “You bet, Mac. Say fifteen to twenty minutes?”
“That would be fine, Reuben.”
They finished supper hurriedly, Reuben scraping the tin with fast motions, swallowing half-chewed bites. He knew Rebecca was watching, but pretended not to notice.
“What is it Reuben? What’s going on?”
Reuben turned his head and looked into Rebecca’s concerned, soft brown eyes. “I don’t know, Rebecca. Maybe it is just to make some plans for the upcoming days,” he shrugged and looked back at his plate, “or maybe it’s something else.”
“Reuben…,” the touch of her hand on his arm sent a current of their connection flowing along the entire side of his body.
He quickly cut her off. “I promise you, my love, I will tell you everything when I return. I really don’t know.”
Rebecca blinked and a slow, wide smile spread across her face. “That’s the first time you’ve called me ‘my love.’ A woman could get rather used to that.” Reuben swallowed a mouthful of pemmican and beans without chewing at all and almost choked. He put down his plate, coughed to clear his throat, and leaned over to her. She drew back a bit, casting furtive glances at the rest of their friends around the fire. “They know, Rebecca. They’ve known from the minute we rode in from those cottonwoods yesterday.”
Her eyes fell demurely to her lap. She leaned into him, lips parted, and they exchanged a long kiss. The flush in her cheeks was evident in the firelight.
Reuben pulled away at the sound of Johannes’ voice. “Okay, might have to put ‘Romeo’ in front of ‘farm boy’. Reuben Romeo Farm Boy.”
While not quite his usual pre-storm humor, it was the first chuckle Reuben had heard from his friend in more than a week. He looked up into the tall, partially shadowed face that towered over him. “Okay, Viking, we’re going.”
He reached out, squeezed Rebecca’s hand, and scrambled to his feet. Zeb joined them, and they walked into the clinging darkness toward the supply wagons.
They found Charlie and Mac gathered around a small buffalo chip fire as they had expected, but also Harris, the Kentuckians, and two other men, Henry and Alex. Reuben had spoken to the latter two fellows before but had never grown to be friends with them, though he knew that they were among the better riflemen in the train.
Mac’s eyes were on them as they approached the fire. The coffee pot bubbled and rocked in its precarious perch between two rocks. “Sorry to drag you men from your wagons after supper, so I’ll get right to it. Zeb has been cuttin’ track of unshod ponies, just four or five of ’em, from time to time. That’s a pretty small band of Indians, particularly this far east. When we get out toward the South Platte, they will be right plentiful. I seen dust, and so has Zeb up to the southwest. Just occasional, might be the wind, but I trust my gut, and my gut tells me it ain’t wind.
“We need to be extra sharp. I’m sending Charlie and Zeb out to the southwest tomorrow morning before light, so they can get across most of the flats while they can’t be seen. I’m going to push the outriders out another half-mile. Zeb talked to me about this yesterday, and we agree except he thinks we ought to be working in teams. No more riding alone. Sometimes we all need an extra pair of eyes, and I think we’re at one of those times.”
Reuben was curious. “Zeb, how close do you think they’ve been to the wagons and how many do you think there are?”
Zeb pulled slowly on his mustache and rotated his jaw a bit while he thought, “Five ponies in that track I’ve cut twice. I think that’s what there are of that bunch, but that dust further out ain’t just five horses. This small group looks to be Sioux, though two sets of pony tracks is Crow. Most probably stole. They could be watching whatever the other is, and us. They have been within two hundred feet of the wagons.”
Everyone’s heads jerked up, eyes wide, and Mac exclaimed “I’ll be damned!”
Reuben had an odd feeling. “The other evening when I came back from a ride with Rebecca,” he looked over at Mac, “while you were working on Harris’ wagon, we were behind our wagon and we were….” He broke off and cast an embarrassed glance around the circle of men, most of whom laughed, knowing full well what he was trying not to say. “Anyway, before I led Lahn back up toward the front, I had this feeling I was being watched, from some low bitter and scrub brush out about two or three hundred feet. I even stared at it for a minute and thought to myself about how animals turn around after you’ve looked at them for too long. They can feel it.”
Zeb nodded his head slowly. “Yep, you open yourself to what’s out there, and you’ll feel it, too.” He looked at Reuben sharply. “And when you feel that energy, son, never doubt it.”
Mac stood up abruptly. “Harris and Elijah, tomorrow morning when we get going, I want you about a mile to the south. Henry and Alex, you stay between us and the river—that would be about half-mile. Reuben, you and Johannes ride drag. Stay about a mile behind us.”
Reuben opened his mouth to speak but Mac cut him off brusquely. “Your ladies will be fine. I will watch ’em. I think they handle the wagon better than you and Johannes.” Everyone chuckled, but without enthusiasm. “Zeb and Charlie, I want you up front of the train, five, six miles out in those low hills where we seen the dust. Try not to get out of sight of one another.”
He cast a somber look around the circle of faces. “If any of you see anything, anything at all, fire a shot, if you can, and hightail it back here. This ain’t hero work. This is smart work. I wish we had John here, but that Army surgeon was pretty clear if we moved him, he’d most likely lose that leg. We’ll fetch him when we are back this way with pelts, but we sure could use his quarter-Cherokee savvy right now.”
CHAPTER 33
MAY 10, 1855
UNSPOKEN
In the early morning darkness, long before daylight, Johannes stood from buckling the cinch below Bente’s girth. A few feet away, Reuben had just finished securing his saddle on Lahn. Mac’s instructions to the men had been no fires or oil lamps. Trying not to disturb the women, including Sarah, who had spent the night in the wagon at Rebecca’s insistence, Reuben and Johannes had been as quiet as possible.
Ten feet from the wagon, Johannes had just finished shoving his Sharps carbine into the scabbard and fastening his lariat to the saddle when he heard a rustling at the rear canvas of the prairie schooner. Inga, still in her sleeping robe but with Johannes’s light wool jacket over it, eased the tailgate open. Without using the ladder, she let herself down gently to the ground. In the faint, pale blue light just beginning to show on the eastern horizon, she looked apparitional. He handed Bente’s reins to Reuben, saying quietly, “Be right back, Reuben.” He turned and went to Inga.
“What are you doing up? I’m sorry if we woke you.”
“I was already awake, Johannes. I couldn’t sleep. I have had minimal sleep the last week, but last night I couldn’t sleep at all.” Sh
e sniffled, took a quick step forward, and wrapped her arms round him.
He struggled for a moment with his emotions, hesitating. Let it go, he reminded himself. Just let it go. She was visibly trembling. He wrapped his arms around her, bent down, and kissed the top of her head, then raised her face with one hand and kissed her quickly on the lips.
“Johannes, there is something I must tell you…”
“We’re even then, woman, because there is something I must tell you, too. I’m done thinking.” He smiled, “May I have the honor of a date after supper tonight, just you and me? We can take a walk around the wagons, say what needs to be said, and I bet that we both feel on top of the world when that conversation is done. At least I hope so.”
“Johannes, please, I…”
He put his finger to her lips, “Tonight, Inga, tonight. Tomorrow will be a bright, sunny day, I promise you. Now get back in the wagon and get ready to move out. The rest of camp will be stirring shortly. Remember, no lamps!”
Reuben watched the embrace between the two blondes, thinking how surreal Inga looked with the full skirt of her soft white sleeping robe flowing around her ankles, with her light hair and pale eyes. Her skin was almost translucent in the last glimmers of starlight. The only thing seemingly grounding her was Johannes’ jacket. Reuben was silent as he handed Bente’s reins back to Johannes, stepped up into his stirrup, and slung a leg over Lahn’s saddle.
As they spurred Bente and Lahn from the wagon, Reuben glanced back at Inga. She was standing almost ghost-like, her attire and features gathering in the first vestiges of light sifting through the darkness. He studied Johannes from the side as the two men rode out of the circle of wagons to what would be the rear of the line. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Johannes,” he said. “What is the revelation that you intend to share with Inga?”
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