Against the Wind

by Gwynne Forster

  She picked up a handful of hay and let if fall, like chaff through her fingers. “We’re the same, except more so.”

  His hearty laugh did little to cheer her. “That’s double-talk. You mean the two of you are getting no place fast?”

  She released a long breath and decided to spill it. He could be trusted for Jordan’s sake, if not for hers. “He asked me to marry him, Ossie, and I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  His whistle split the silence. “He asked you to marry him, and you don’t know what? Do you love him?”

  What a time for tears to want to spill out of her eyes! “Yes, I love him.”

  “He loves you, too. So what’s the problem?”

  “I’ve got one girlfriend, and she doesn’t think it’s such a hot idea. You were against it, and so was Julia. I want people to be happy for me when I get married, not frowning and causing problems. I’ve weathered my share of storms, but going up against half the country on something this important…I don’t know.”

  “I’m surprised at you. You’d impressed me as a woman with spunk. What the hell do you care what people think as long as you love the man and you know you’re his world? Get yourself another girlfriend, or walk down the aisle without a maid of honor. Let him go, and you’ll drown on the inside long after your tears stop falling. Been there, friend. Hell, I wouldn’t spend thirty seconds worrying about it. Come on, I’ve got to close up, it’s get—”

  “What’s going on here? What are you two doing huddled up out here in the damned stables?”

  Ossie knocked back his hat and looked up at Jordan. “You’re kidding, man. Get it together. If you don’t know you’re head honcho with this woman, you need your head examined. You gonna lock up, or you want me to wait and do it?”

  Jordan shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

  “What’s this about, Leslie? Are you interested in Ossie?” Ossie stood. “I’ll see you two later. Good luck, Leslie.”

  “See you, Ossie.” She patted the portion of the bench that Ossie has just vacated. “Want to sit down?”

  “You’re not planning to answer my question?”

  She lifted her left shoulder and lowered it, reflexively. “Do you need an answer?”

  He didn’t sit. “He’s a good-looking man, intelligent and competent. I’m sure lots of women have wanted him.”

  “And I suppose you’re not good looking, intelligent and competent. Huh? Don’t you realize that in my life, I have loved only you?”

  “But not enough to be my wife?”

  She stood and clasped his precious face in her hands. “I love you to the recesses of my soul.”

  His hands went to her waist, and his heat began to furl around her, to draw her into him. She heard the rain stabbing at the window, or was it her blood pounding her head? He backed off and gazed at her with eyes fiery and wanting, mesmerizing, drawing her to him, a flame seducing a moth. She sucked in her breath, wanting him to touch her. Anywhere. Just put his hands on her. Her nipples itched for his fingers, and she rubbed them. He grabbed her, lifted her and she locked her legs around him and pressed herself to his bulging need. But when she thought he would kiss her, claim her, shudders seemed to pass through him, and he gently set her away from him.

  Thunder screamed and played its loud games above them, and she sought the shelter of his body. But again, he placed gentle hands on her shoulders and moved her from him.

  “What is it? What’s the matter? You don’t believe Ossie—”

  “No, I don’t believe it. I’m trying to tell you that I am not interested in crumbs, little pieces of you. I want all or nothing. If we’re not going to spend our lives together, I don’t want any more teases, mind-blowing tidbits of what I’d have if you were my wife.”

  Icy splinters darted around her heart. “I won’t let you walk away from me. I won’t. Hold me. Honey, hold me. I need you. I need you!”

  His arms went around her, and she reached up and locked her hands behind his head. “I want a lot of things, but I need you.” She swallowed the sobs that nearly poured from her throat. “I don’t want to live without you.”

  He stepped back from her. “Whatever you’ll face, I’ll face with you. If it hurts you, I’ll feel the pain. I’ll always be there for you. For the last time, will you be my wife?”

  The window blazed with the dazzling display of lightning, and the sound of thunder roared through the darkness, but she looked only at him, thought only of him. If he walked away from her, her soul would go with him. She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll marry you whenever you’re ready. Tomorrow, if that’s what you want.”

  He pulled her into his arms and locked her to him. “You’re sure? We’re dealing with our lives. You won’t regret it. I promise you that.”

  She nodded. “As sure as I am of my name.”

  At last she felt his mouth on her, and she didn’t hold back. It was as though he hadn’t banked her fire, but had stoked it to brilliance. She let her hands roam over him, stopping and fondling wherever they chose. His tongue circled her lips asking for entrance, and she opened to him and let herself succumb to the inferno he built in her. His left hand went to her right breast, stroking and squeezing until she ripped the snaps from her denim shirt and gave him her treasure. He suckled her until she couldn’t control the moans that rose in her throat. “Do you want me?”

  She tried to climb his body. “Yes. Yes.”

  He stripped off most of her clothes, spread their jackets on the hay at his feet, and laid her there. He gazed toward the door, rushed over and slipped the latch. He stood over her for a minute, a half-wild expression on his face. But when he lowered himself to her, the flashes of lightning revealed only love. He removed the remainder of their clothes.

  “I don’t have any protection for you. When did you last have your period?”

  “Due tomorrow. It’s safe.”

  She found him and began the magic strokes, but he stilled her, held both of her hands above her head and bent to her breast. Flames seemed to shoot straight to her lover’s tunnel. She writhed beneath him, wordlessly begging for relief. His hands replaced his lips. She bucked beneath the feel of his mouth on her belly.

  “Jordan. Oh, Lord, honey, I’m going crazy. Please.

  For an answer, he parted her secret folds and kissed her. And kissed her. Her screams mingled with the pounding rain and the never-ceasing thunder. He kissed her belly and let his fingers play her lover’s lyre until he knew she was ready for him.

  He found his home inside her, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, and immediately he swept her up in a tidal wave of heat and passion. She couldn’t bear the pleasure. He was deep in her, over her, under her, all around her. The thunder roared above their heads, lightning became a neon light letting them stare into each other’s eyes, and the wind and rain howled and pounded all around them. Through it all, he stormed within her, loving her, branding her until the pumping and throbbing caught her. Thunder crashed around her and in her, until she erupted in ecstasy and sank with him into sweet delirium.

  “Jordan. Jordan. My darling. My love, I love you so.”

  * * *

  She’d drained him once more, he thought to himself, as he lay there on the straw locked in her arms. But this time, he reveled in it. This time, he didn’t feel as though he’d just been rationed a portion of her loving.

  “I didn’t know I could be so happy,” he told her. “But you know, I’m thirty-six. This sort of thing may be too much for a man my age.”

  “Are you serious?” She put her hands over her head and stretched like a sated feline. “First time we did this, you were busy again ten minutes later.”

  He grinned in that devilish way that she loved. “I was stating my case. We’ve got all night for that. I’ll help you get supper and clean up so we can get started early. Come on.”

  “Are you going to tell the others?”

  His expression suggested that he might not have heard her correctly. “
Soon as I step into that house. And another thing, figure out how soon we can get married. I don’t want to wait.”

  She reached for her shirt. “No problem. I don’t either. By the way, Ossie was telling me how stupid I was to worry about what people would say if we got married. He said I only had to know that you love me and I love you.”

  He laughed. “I figured that out even before he got his back up.”

  He helped her dress, locked the door, took her hand and sprinted home.

  “Julia, we’re getting married,” he said as they entered the kitchen.

  She looked at Leslie. “I see you came to your senses. And about time, too.” She hugged them. “Take good care of each other. I can’t wait to tell Cal.”

  He got a bottle of Veuve Clicquot from the refrigerator. “Could you get us a couple of stem glasses, honey?”

  He eased the cork from the bottle of champagne, filled their glasses and held up his own. “I’ll love and care for you ‘til death do us part, and maybe after that.”

  She raised her glass. “To my only love.”

  He got two more glasses, “Let’s drink the rest of it with Julia and Cal. Supper can wait.”

  Letter to the Reader

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed Leslie and Jordan, their struggles to overcome the impediments and adversities that threatened to torpedo their relationship, and their battle against a hostile society and with their own feelings and prejudices. I found in Jordan Saber the decency, sweetness and tenderness that only a truly strong man can evince and in Leslie Collins the strength and determination that characterize so many of our women. I believe Ossie Dixon offsets Jordan perfectly, because he shows that decorum is not a monopoly of the privileged, that when dignity is an inmate part of a man, nothing—including poverty, misfortune or the position he occupies—can hide that dignity.

  Thank you for your support of all my books, including Naked Soul, my first one for Genesis Press. I treasure the letters and e-mails that I have received lauding this book. If you have not already purchased a copy, you’ll be glad to know that Genesis Press released Naked Soul in trade paperback in August 1999.

  Don’t forget to keep my mailbox full or to e-mail me if you have access to the Internet. I love hearing from my readers. If you enclose a self-addressed, stamped envelop, I’ll answer within three weeks and enclose information about what I’m up to. You may write me at P. O. Box 45, New York, NY 10044-0045 or e-mail GwynnelF@aol.com. You’ll find lots of information about me and my books on my web page at http://www.gwynneforster.com.

  Best Wishes,

  Gwynne Forster