The sheet became an unbearable nuisance, and he tugged it away, exposing her body to the lantern light and his appreciative gaze. With his lips and tongue and hands, he explored her, kissed her freckled skin. He discovered how sensitive the insides of her arms were, goose-flesh rippling across her skin when he lightly stroked her satiny, pale limbs.
Booker darted his tongue in and out of her navel, ran his nose along the enticing valleys at her hipbones, and admired and stroked the well-formed length of her lithesome legs.
"You even have freckles here." He chuckled, kissing her knees. In the delicate glow of the lantern, he worshiped every satin-like inch of her body, gratified in the most elemental way that he was the first to touch her, the only man to know her as a lover.
Her china white thighs trembled at his touch. She gasped, but yielded to his mollifying touch. He gentled, softened, coaxed. Her responses showed she was ready for pleasure. His pulse dipped and soared.
Thea whimpered and grasped at his shoulders. Tenderly, he left her to finish undressing. Eyes swimming with passion, she watched, and he gave her time to absorb the sight of him. Her gaze moved back to his, and she smiled. A lover's smile.
For an instant, lightning illuminated the room like daylight. Thunder followed, but Booker ignored it. He lowered himself over her, kissing her face, her lips, her eyes. Thea wrapped her arms around him and held him close, their hearts hammering at each other, insistently. He closed his eyes and held his breath when her palms slid across his shoulders and arms and worked around. He pushed away so she could bury her fingers in the curls and rake his chest with her nails.
"Thea," he said against her parted lips.
She urged him wordlessly, and he adjusted his weight so she could touch, eliciting from him a helpless sound of pleasure, His arms quivered and he kissed her hard, sucking air through his nose in a harsh intake of breath. She met each kiss, returned his passion, offering herself in irresistible invitation.
Joining them, Booker garnered his control. In the past, women had seduced him in hopes of catching an officer as a husband. Delicate women mostly, women who didn't enjoy the physical act, but performed it as a means to get what they wanted. He'd held back, respecting their size and their reserve.
With Thea there was no holding back, no reticence, no sparing her anything. She wouldn't allow it. She took all he offered and gave ecstasy in return. Booker indulged himself in her rapturous body, her seeking mouth and pleasured sighs. He clenched his jaw and tried to think about something besides the precious glide of flesh.
Love added an unexpected and wholly welcome twist on the act. He adored this woman, needed her with all his being. He was honored to have been chosen as her husband, accepted as her lover. He was hers for the taking. She groaned and he intercepted the guttural sound with his lips before it became a scream. She panted against his mouth, her body relaxing in satisfaction. Booker kissed her ear and joined her in exultation.
Exhausted, he lay without moving, without breaking their intimate bond. He was heavy, but she didn't seem to mind. Beneath him, she quaked gently, and he eased his weight away to look at her.
Tears rolled down her temples into her already damp hair, but she smiled.
He would never understand her, but he would always want her, always need her. "Are those happy tears?" he asked.
She nodded.
He wiped them away with blunt fingers. "I have a wife who cries when I make love to her," he said in wonder.
"You make me happy," she whispered. “I could make that burrstone turn with all the tears of joy I feel.”
A lump rose in his own throat, and he rolled to the side, pulling her with him. She snuggled along the length of his body, nestling her head on his arm beneath his chin. "You're so beautiful, Thea."
He felt her smile. "I love you, Booker."
He would always want her, always need her, always... When had he begun to love her? Perhaps when he'd seen her with Zoe and Lucas. Or when she'd responded to his first kiss. Maybe when he'd discovered the freckles between her breasts or when she'd come to him and asked him to give her a shred of happiness. Could have been when she'd stood up for him before Marshal Hardy and the others.
He had no idea. It didn't matter.
The rain had begun in earnest, pattering against the windowpanes. A rain-soaked breeze buffeted the curtains.
"I love you, Thea." A minute passed and a trickle slid down his bicep, tickling his underarm. She was crying again.
* * *
The storm continued throughout the night, and the following morning no sunlight broke through the window. Pulling on her wrapper, Thea stepped to the opening and surveyed the gray, overcast sky. The thunder and lightning had let up, but rain fell in a steady downpour.
Booker tugged on a clean pair of dungarees and scratched his matted chest. The sight of him filled her with a warm, secure feeling.
"What will you do today?" she asked.
"The workers from town know not to come if it rains. We can't do any of the heavy work," he replied. "But the rest of us will find things to do."
She sensed his displeasure. "Will this set you back?"
"The farmers can't work, either, so we'll be all right. After the rain quits we'll get back on schedule. We'll be in operation by the time the wheat's in."
Thea wrapped her arms around his bare torso and hugged him soundly. He'd told her he loved her. A radiant warmth filled her heart and brought a bubble of giddy emotion to her chest. How could she be so lucky? Her! Thea Coulson.
She pulled back and studied the morning-whiskered face she'd once considered so hard and unyielding. Thea Hayes, she corrected herself. This handsome, wonderful man's wife. She still couldn't believe her good fortune. Fate had delivered a lover right out of her dreams... and children, too. She'd never been so happy in her life.
"You're not going to cry, are you?" he asked.
She laughed and pulled away to dress.
* * *
He didn't come to the house for dinner that day. Red Horse and Lucas voiced their surprise, having thought he'd stayed at the house. Red Horse showed no concern, but Thea worried the entire afternoon. Her father's close call had made Thea worry about Booker's safety, considering someone had apparently tried to kill him.
Trying not to infect Zoe with her increasingly distressed mood, Thea baked bread and pies, waxed the upstairs floors until they shone and dusted every corner of the house.
An hour before supper, the sound of boots pounding on the back porch floor caught her attention. Thea flew through the kitchen and out the back door. Booker shook out a new slicker and hung it on a nail, then removed his hat and sat on one of the wicker chairs to pull off his muddy boots.
"Where have you been?" she asked breathlessly.
"I had some errands," he replied, and stood.
She followed him into the kitchen, where he removed his damp shirt, hung it over the back of a chair and tested the coffeepot on the stove. "This hot?"
She brushed him aside. "Go get some dry clothes on. I'll make fresh."
He turned to leave.
"Booker?"
He turned back.
"I was worried."
His black eyes seemed to take stock of her serious expression. "I can take care of myself, Thea. Don't let this thing make you crazy, because it will if you let it."
He'd offered no explanation, no excuse, no apology. She didn't want to be a demanding, smothering wife, but neither did she want to spend more days like this one. "Could you just let me know ahead of time if you won't be here?"
He leaned forward and kissed her, and he smelled like rain and horses and man. She couldn't bear to lose him. Not now. Not ever. She curled her fingers into the matted damp hair on his chest, and he groaned. Comforted, she pulled back.
"I'll let you know next time," he promised.
She handed him a kettle of hot water to take upstairs, and he thanked her with a nod. She had everything she wanted. Why did she feel as though
she were hanging onto it for dear life?
The following day was humid and rain sodden like the last. This time Booker told her he wouldn't be home at noon, and she didn't see him until supper. And, like the day before, he gave her no indication of where he'd been or what he'd been doing.
On the third day, the sun returned, and with it Thea's optimism. She was stepping around puddles in the yard, hanging out the laundry she hadn't been able to dry for days, when Zoe tugged on her skirt. She looked down.
The child held up the dented bucket, hopefully.
Thea had hoped she would eventually forget, but it seemed the child had a powerful determination. "We won't need to water today, darlin'. But we'll go look just to make you happy, okay?"
Zoe beamed her reply.
Thea tossed the wooden clothespins on top of the remaining laundry in the basket and followed Zoe. Before they reached the spot, Zoe grabbed her hand and pumped her arm in excitement.
"Whatever—" Thea lost track of what she'd been about to say and stared ahead.
Standing on the exact spot where they'd dug the hole and dropped in the acorn was a sturdy young sapling about four feet high. Thea stopped, fists on hips, and sized up the infant oak tree. No grass or weeds grew within two feet of where the hole had been dug. Someone had obviously tried to erase their footprints, and the rain had cooperated.
But the enormous boot prints leading away through the spongy sod told Thea everything she needed to know. The rapturous expression on Zoe's face was worth a dozen rainy days, a hundred afternoons of wondering where her husband had disappeared to. If only he could have been there to see it.
Thea's heart swelled with love. He cared so much for Zoe, loved her more than she could ever know. He tried so hard to earn her acceptance.
And this. Zoe didn't know her uncle had planted that tree. She believed in miracles. And Booker had given her that belief, the same belief every child should have.
Thea smiled through her tears, knowing Booker would tease her if he were there to see them. Zoe was a lucky little girl.
* * *
For two days Skeeter chiseled grooves into the burrstones. He would chisel, and then the men would fit one stone on top of another to check the fit. The heavy stone would come back off, and Skeeter would set to work again. The old man was obviously a perfectionist at his craft.
Finally the stones were set in place.
The time had come for the temporary dam to be dismantled so that the creek would go back to its original bed, where the turbine now sat in its penstock. It was a big day. Most of the men who'd helped since the beginning came to lend a hand and see the turbine work. Even Edgar Birch showed up, and Thea wondered where Agnes thought he was.
She, Zoe and MaryRuth, carrying David, watched from high on the bank—a wonderful vantage point, and well away from any potential danger.
MaryRuth's cheeks held more color than Thea'd seen in weeks. She smiled and waved at Denzel below.
"Things better between you and Denzel?" Thea asked perceptively.
"Much better." She gave Thea a knowing smile. "And you?"
Thea surveyed her husband working in the creek bed. "Much better."
The sisters shared a grin.
Red Horse caught their attention. He stood among the men in the hip-high moving water, and called to Booker. "If I'd known how many times I would have had to move these rocks, I might have gone on to Colorado."
Booker steadied a raft half loaded with rocks already taken from the top of the dam. "Believe me, if I'd have been able to come up with an easier way to do this, I would have."
"How about dynamite?" Red Horse asked.
Booker grinned. "Don't think I didn't consider it."
Before an hour had passed, water poured over the considerably lower stack of stones. In minutes the men were drenched. They tied lines from one person to the next in anticipation of the final breakthrough.
The moment came in a great rush of water and a cacophony of men's shouts and shrills of excitement. The swiftly moving creek broke across the dam and rapidly ate up the dry ground, splashing against the sturdy headgate and rising. Booker, Red Horse and the townsmen splashed to shore and watched the waterway flow back into its original bed.
Thea and Zoe followed along the bank, stopping over the headgate, a wooden box shaped like a platform with a wooden gate that held the water at bay.
Booker and Skeeter climbed the ladder on its side and stood on the platform. "Ready?" Booker called to Lucas, and the crowd gathered in wait.
"We're ready!" Lucas shouted.
Booker and the millwright gripped the top of the wood gate and pulled upward. The muscles across Booker's wet back and shoulders flexed and bunched in the sun. The gate slid upward. Water rushed beneath it, pouring into the long wooden flume and rushing toward the penstock.
Booker jumped from the platform, ran down the bank and leapt up onto the wide stairs that overlooked the turbine set into the penstock. Water poured over the fifteen-foot drop and hit the iron turbine below. Slowly, the iron wheel began to turn.
He glanced up at the main cog gear that turned the drive shaft as it made its first rotation. Elated, he threw his head back and let out a whoop more Indianlike than anything he'd ever heard from Red Horse.
"Thea!" Where was she? She had to see this!
"Here!"
He turned and found her watching from the bank above him. "Did you see it?"
She nodded, a wide grin spread across her face.
He jumped down and motioned to her. She met him, and he scooped up Zoe and led Thea toward the mill at a run. She followed him up the red-painted stairs, through the sliding double doors, across the milling room and down the stairs into the basement.
Booker watched in awe as the drive shaft rotated, picking up speed and turning the cog gear beneath the burrstone upstairs. The building trembled and overhead came the sound of the stones turning. "We did it, Thea."
He turned and saw pride shining in her eyes.
"You did it, Booker. You accomplished your dream."
Zoe still on one arm, he crushed his wife against his side. "No. This is just the beginning."
* * *
With the mill in operation, Skeeter announced his plans to leave that night.
"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like," Thea offered, and settled on the sofa beside Booker. The family had gathered in the parlor after dinner.
"No sense in lollygaggin' around on my backside. I lurnt a long time ago not to let grass grow under my feet. I got a heap o' jobs waitin' fur me."
Booker laid his arm along the back of the sofa and absently fingered a lock of Thea's hair. "It's been a pleasure to have you here, Skeeter. Your approval of the site and the mill means a lot to me."
"Next time I'm here 'bouts I'll stop and let your missus take care o' my hankerin' for good hoecakes and 'tater soup. She can make ennythang taste plumb scrumptious."
Booker smiled and squeezed her shoulder. "Yeah. I think I'll keep her."
Lucas's charcoal scratched across his paper as he busily sketched before the fire.
"You done real good, Hayes." Skeeter chewed his gums a moment. "Her tongue ain't loose at both ends, and she don't get her bowels in an uproar over ever' little thing. She didn't know me from Adam's off ox, an' she made me right welcome."
Used to his talking about her instead of to her, Thea smiled. "Stop by any time you like, Skeeter."
The old man pursed and unpursed his pruny lips and gave her a toothless grin. "Freckled as a turkey egg, but purty as a horse built for speed."
Booker cast her a wary sidelong grin, and she burst into laughter. Crossing to the chair Skeeter sat in, she, bent over and kissed his grizzled cheek. "I'll take that as a compliment, Mr. Gunderson."
Skeeter scratched his nose self-consciously, and watched her gather Zoe's playthings and lead her toward the door.
Thea knelt beside the little girl. "Would you like your uncle to tuck you in tonight?"
Zoe glanced between the two of them. Just when Thea thought she would refuse to answer and hurt Booker's feelings, Zoe nodded bashfully.
"Good girl." She kissed her forehead. "Give us a few minutes and then come tuck Zoe in," she said in parting.
Booker watched them leave the room. How he loved that woman. He glanced at Lucas and saw an unknown emotion flicker across the boy's face.
Across from him, Skeeter closed his eyes and snored.
"I'm headin' up, too," Lucas announced.
"What did you draw?"
Lucas carried the paper to him. Booker took the sheet and stared at the charcoal-drawn portrait of his wife. Lucas had captured Thea that evening—relaxed, content, humor shining in her eyes. "Lucas, I can't begin to tell you how talented you are," he said.
Lucas glanced down at the picture and back at him, eagerness flushing his youthful face. "Really?"
"Really." Booker studied the drawing minutes longer, thinking. Finally, he spoke again. "Lucas, if you had the opportunity, would you like to go to school somewhere?"
Lucas's features flattened. He swallowed, and a defensive glaze shuttered his expression. "Somewhere away from here?"
Booker realized what he'd said. What Lucas must think. "I'm not trying to send you away if that's what you're thinking. I like having you here."
Lucas didn't meet his eyes.
"How much school have you had?"
"Some."
"Well, that's something we'll have to work on. I want you here as long as you want to be here, understand that. But when you're a few years older, if you don't want to be a farmer or a rancher or a millwright, that's okay, too. We could find you a good school where you could study."
Slowly, Lucas's hesitant gray gaze rose to meet Booker's.
Booker waited patiently, hoping the boy understood.
Finally, Lucas said, "I'll think on it."
Booker nodded. He admired the incredible likeness of his wife a minute longer, then handed it back.
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