by Paty Jager
“You’re looking at the owner,” Myrle said. “I bought the building from Milton Leonard when he left. I thought about moving the business over there, then decided it was out of the way and I didn’t want to renovate to make room for the ladies who live with me now.”
Clay couldn’t contain the smile curving the corners of his mouth. Rachel clutched his hand.
“Well, it’s sold. Tell us a price, and I’ll ride to Baker City. No, my new foreman will ride to Baker City tomorrow and make the transaction.”
“Hot dang! I’m a foreman!” Jeremy’s hand slapped down onto the table, rattling the dishes. “Did you hear that, Darce?”
“Yes, Jeremy. And you do realize this is an important job Clay’s giving you?” Darcy said in a tone Clay’d heard his mother and Myrle use a time or two.
He held back the snicker and turned to Myrle. “So what’s your price?”
Chapter 32
Clay held the old mare as Rachel dismounted. At the sound of her feet hitting the ground, he circled her waist with an arm, snugging her up against his body.
“You realize with Gil’s family staying at the cabin and Hank going to visit, we’ll have the place to ourselves?” He’d thought of nothing else after Gil announced he’d settle Darcy, Sadie, and Jeremy into the cabin for their extended stay.
“I do. How about we take a bath and discuss what we can do while he’s gone?”
Rachel’s playful tone sent heat to his muscles and infused him with energy. “You check the water reservoir in the cookstove and round up buckets while I put the horses away.” He kissed her neck and led the horses to the shed and corral Ethan built after he and Aileen moved into the house.
Finally, they would be alone for the evening in a real bed without having to be discreet. They should wait until after the wedding, but their feelings ran hotter than any he’d ever experienced. In his heart, they were already married.
He unsaddled and fed the horses. His gelding nickered when Clay led him to the corral. A nickering reply echoed through the trees behind the outhouse.
There wasn’t a road or any reason someone should be in that area. Clay closed the corral gate and stared in the direction of the sound. He didn’t like the idea of someone hanging around. His fists clenched. Didn’t like that he couldn’t see anyone standing next to him. Not knowing and standing here felt like cowardice. He might be blind but he wasn’t a coward.
Clay broke off a limb and moved it back and forth in front of his feet, checking for any objects that might trip him. He stopped and listened. It was unusually quiet. The thud of the stamps didn’t fill the air. Hank said the mill was shut down due to maintenance. The impatient stomp of a horse’s hoof directed him more to his right. His movement was slow and precise. He didn’t want whoever he was sneaking up on to hear him. The stick thunked something hollow. He stretched out a hand. His palm met a rough wood surface. The outhouse.
He started into the trees behind the building, his ears keyed to every sound. A horse stomped and blew air. The slight evening breeze brought the dank, dirty scent of a hard-ridden horse.
The animal’s heat and dampness touched his outstretched palm. He stroked the sweaty lather on the horse’s neck. His other hand skimmed over the saddle, empty gun scabbard, the stirrups hung about average. Who and where was the rider?
****
Rachel hummed as she set all the buckets she could find by the water reservoir. She entered the bedroom, laid out her night clothes, and scrubbed the makeup from her face, dabbing on the citrus oil she used to clear away the lard in the makeup base.
A bath would be heavenly after their dusty frolic on the bed at their soon-to-be home. Her head buzzed with happiness. They would pay Myrle the moment Jeremy returned from Baker City with the money, and the house would be theirs. She pinched herself. She saw so many possibilities with the house and the building Clay planned to use for his business.
Rachel hummed, rummaging through her doctor’s bag. She pulled out a small sponge and thread and tied one end of the thread around the sponge. She raised her skirt to her waist, placed one foot on the chair, and inserted the sponge in her vagina, leaving the string dangling from her body. With the house to themselves, she planned on showing Clay how deep her love for him ran.
The kitchen door banged open. “Rachel? Rachel?”
Clay’s deep frantic call chilled her blood.
“I’m here.” She hurried to the kitchen, meeting him at the threshold between the kitchen and parlor.
He wrapped his arms around her, embracing her to his chest. “There’s a horse out behind the privy. I don’t know who it belongs to and I-I thought something might have happened to you.”
“I’m fine. But who could it be?” A vision of the bearded man laughing at the hotel twisted her stomach in knots.
“I don’t know. I can’t believe a worker would leave his horse saddled behind the outhouse. It has to be the man you saw following us.” Clay released her and stepped to the door, placing the bar across.
The idea that someone lurked about dampened Rachel’s earlier elation at having the place to themselves. Could the horse belong to the man following them? If so what did he want?
“We’ll have to keep an ear out for Hank when he returns.”
Clay kicked a bucket, bent over and picked up two, and walked to the reservoir.
“Do you think it’s wise to take a bath if someone is lurking outside?” She stood back watching him place the buckets under the reservoir spout.
“The doors are barred. Whoever it is can’t get in without us hearing him.” He shot her a devilish grin that ignited the slow burn of desire heating her body. “We might as well clean up and enjoy our alone time.” He turned the tap and held a finger into the bucket. When the water touched his finger he turned off the tap and put another bucket under it.
“You carry those into the tub, and I’ll start filling another one.” No matter how many times she watched him carry out a feat, she still found herself amazed at his abilities.
He headed to the washroom, and she filled the last bucket in the kitchen. Clay returned, she filled buckets, and he hauled them until the reservoir was empty.
“I’ll refill the reservoir while you get into the tub.” He cupped her chin, raising her lips to his. “I’ll be quick.”
“You better.” She kissed him and set off to the washroom. She was undressed and relaxing in the tub when he came quietly through the door in stocking feet.
Rachel watched him methodically slip from his dirty clothes and stand in all his glorious maleness beside the tub.
“If you’re clean are you sure you want me to get in with you?” He gripped the side of the tub and swung a leg over.
“It would be easier to wash you if I get out of the tub.” Rachel stood as Clay stepped in.
“But not nearly as much fun.” His arms circled her, drawing her flush against his body. His hardness pressed into her abdomen. Desire flushed her skin and throbbed the juncture of her legs.
“I agree.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him with passion.
He growled. “Help me clean up so we can take this where it belongs—to the bed.”
He lowered into the water, and she straddled his lap. His enlarged penis caressed her genitals and lower abdomen as she rubbed against him and washed his hair, face, torso, and arms. The sensations brought both pleasure and torture. She swiveled around and the appendage stroked her backside while she washed his feet and legs. His hands stole around her body, cupping her breasts and teasing her nipples.
By the time Clay was clean, passion and desire burned in her hotter than if she’d been lounging in the cookstove. She stood, drawing him up with her.
Clay stepped out of the tub and scooped her into his arms, carrying her out the door and into the bedroom.
“We’re wet,” she said when he placed her on the bed.
“We’ll dry off.”
His body covered hers, and indeed, the heat between
them dried the beads of water. His lips drugged her with a long, wet, tongue-tangling kiss. She pushed her heels into the bed and rubbed the aching juncture of her legs against him. Her body cried out to be sated.
“Take me,” she whispered against his lips and spread her knees.
He slipped a hand between their bodies. His fingers discovering her folds, she arched her body when he touched a sensitive spot. His smug smile turned his handsome face even more deadly.
“You are a passionate woman who I plan to keep happy a long time.” His finger slid in and he stopped. She felt a tug on the sponge she’d inserted.
“What’s this?” he asked, tugging again.
“Stop.” She stilled his hand with her own. “That’s to keep me from getting with child. It’s—it’s not supposed to interfere with what we’re doing.”
Clay loosened his grip on the string. His gut clenched at the uncertainty of what she’d done to herself. His emotions teetered between accepting her practical side and aggravation that she was so set on keeping his seed from joining with her. If she were a woman he didn’t love, he’d be interested in the process, but he loved her and wanted to have children with her. Many children.
Her body shifted under him, arousing his shaft with her subtle gyrations.
“Is whatever you did foolproof?”
Her motions stopped. “Why?”
“Just wondering why I can’t pull out of you before my seed spills rather than you… Not sure I like you shoving things into your body to keep me out.”
Her small hands grasped his face. “I’m not keeping you out. I’m barricading my womb to keep from getting with child. I want you in me. I want to feel all of you. I need to feel you.” Her upper body rose and she pressed her lips to his. She kissed him open mouthed, tangling tongues, and her hands fisted in his hair. The deep kiss and her body moving against him excited and nearly broke his concentration. Which was what she wanted.
She hadn’t answered his original question. He pulled out of her kiss, straightening his arms and levering his body off hers. “Will this barricade keep you from getting with child?”
Rachel squirmed under him. Not in a “tantalizing touch my skin way” but uncomfortably.
“It’s not completely effective. But reports are it works most of the time.”
Clay lowered his body onto hers, pinning her under him, feeling her soft mounds and sleek skin. He wanted her. Now and forever. One day they would make a child, if by mistake or by her timetable it didn’t matter, as long as they were together.
He ran his hands down under her backside, drew her up, and entered. Whether she wanted a child or not, he needed her in every way.
She arched, driving him deep. He sunk into her, savoring the thought her barrier was no protection from his ardor, and drove her over the edge multiple times before releasing.
****
Pounding woke Clay. He scrambled out of the bed and groped around the room for his britches.
“What’s going on?” Rachel asked in a sleepy voice.
“Hank must be back. Stay put. I’ll let him in.”
Clay pulled his britches on and hurried to the kitchen door.
“What’s the big idea locking me out?” Hank fumed, shoving past him into the house.
Clay placed the board back in the brackets. “I found a riderless horse tied behind the outhouse earlier and thought it best to keep the doors barred, considering I couldn’t go looking for whoever it was.”
Hank stopped pumping water. “Is the horse still there?”
“I don’t know.” Clay sat down at the table and ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t want to drag Rachel outside with me to look around.”
Hank’s footsteps vibrated the floor as he walked to the door. “I’m going to take a look. Wait for me to come back.”
Clay nodded. Wood scraped wood and cool night air washed across his bare torso. He should close the door, but the fresh air felt and smelled good. Hank’s heavy steps grew near and the door shut out the cool air.
“There’s no horse now, but I could see where it was tied.” A chair scraped next to him. “What could you tell about the horse?”
“When I found it the animal was still lathered up from being ridden hard. The stirrups were set for an average sized man, and the rifle scabbard was empty.” He leaned back in the chair. “That’s why I came in and barred the door. I can’t see someone holding a gun on me.”
Hank placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry I yelled. I thought you’d barred the door to keep me out because…”
Clay smiled. “That too.”
Hank punched him in the arm.
“Hey! If that’s how you’re going to treat me, I’m going back where I’m treated nice.” Clay stood.
“I bet. You two should live apart until the wedding.” Hank stood, too.
“Once we get the house livable, Rachel will move in.” Clay walked to the door.
“What if your fooling around makes her with child?”
Clay smiled. “Then you’ll be an uncle again.” He walked down the hall to the bedroom. He wanted Rachel to fulfill her dream of being a doctor, but he wouldn’t mind if her “barricade” didn’t work. He was ready to be a father.
Chapter 33
Rachel rose out of bed. Lights swirled in her head. Her stomach churned and the sharp tang of bile rose up her esophagus. She reached for the chamber pot. Clutching the porcelain bowl, she groaned and retched again.
This was the second day she’d woken to an upset stomach, two weeks past the time her menses should have started, and a little over a month since she and Clay made love on the train.
She groaned. A child grew within her. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them away. Clay had left for Baker City the day before with Mr. Smith and Donny to purchase equipment for their businesses. She missed him but was glad he wasn’t here. The time alone would help her decide how to proceed.
Early morning light filtered in the bedroom windows on either side of the huge bed. She ran her hand over the mattress and smiled, remembering the first night they slept on it. The memory played in her head like a wedding night of her dreams. Clay had reverently led her up the stairs and thoroughly loved her. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Another sign of her condition. She didn’t generally cry easily.
Darcy would show up in an hour. She had to get herself presentable and somehow make it through the morning without the perceptive woman figuring out what ailed her.
Her heart should be light and excited at the prospect of carrying Clay’s child, but her mind wasn’t ready to relinquish the hope of a thriving medical practice. Two patients had arrived the first day she moved into the house. Both had needed stitches. She loved starting her new practice and being a doctor. A real one, not just a nurse to the students at the Blind School.
Her stomach churned, and she retched what little was left into the pot. Rachel walked slowly to the washstand, poured water on a cloth, and wiped her face, placing the cool cloth on the back of her neck.
How could she be a doctor and take care of a baby? Take care of herself?
Rachel rubbed a hand over her abdomen and looked at the medical books in the bookcase. She wanted both. Until she knew what she was going to do, she wouldn’t tell Clay. She knew what his answer would be no matter how he promised she could be a doctor. All men wanted their wives and mothers of their children to be at home doing laundry and cooking meals.
She dressed, stopping when the urge to vomit struck, and waited patiently with her eyes closed for the nausea to pass. The thought of applying makeup to her clammy face reduced her arms to wet noodles. Better to get some dry bread and tea in her stomach before she tackled that chore.
Rachel descended the stairs slowly. She smiled at the improvements she, Darcy, and Myrle had made to the house. The walls and ceilings were free of dust and cobwebs. New rugs scattered over the polished wood floor, and scrubbed walls awaited artwork. Eventually, they would need to repla
ce the wallpaper in the dining room, but for now, it served as parlor and dining room. Her medical equipment and a surgery table Mr. Smith built to Clay’s specifications took up most of the parlor.
In the kitchen, cheery yellow gingham curtains and tablecloth greeted her, all sewn with Darcy while sitting under the shade tree out back. She now considered herself having two sisters. Celeste and Darcy. Her soon to be sister-in-law was a bundle of energy and so easy to talk with. She had poured out nearly her whole life story the afternoon they sat under the tree sewing.
Rachel stirred the coals in the cookstove, added kindling, and filled the teapot from the newly installed hand pump. Clay had been true to his word. He and Hank installed the hand pump in the kitchen the first week and made a washroom off the pantry adding a wonderful large brass tub and hand pump. The man spoiled her. She smiled, and her stomach fluttered. He would never let her be without anything she wished or desired.
Her thoughts sobered, and she settled on her current problem. How could she manage a career and a family? She wanted both. Would a marriage withstand the strain?
The tea kettle whistled. She cut a slice of bread and plopped it on the top of the stove. At the pantry she gathered a tin of tea leaves and jar of preserves. Her gaze traveled to the small store of medicines and herbs she’d ordered through the mercantile.
On the shelf sat a solution to her problem. Her hand hovered above the tincture. A few drops in her tea…
She clutched the tea and preserves, hurrying out of the pantry.
If Clay ever found out where her mind had wandered, she’d be alone forever.
Rachel turned the bread on the stove, spooned tea into the tea pot, and poured boiling water in. The steam scented with the sweet tea leaves settled her nerves and her stomach. Tea steeping, she plucked the toast from the stove and spread the huckleberry preserves Myrle had made.
She and Darcy could pick berries, and Myrle could teach her how to make preserves. Her mother had planned a life as politician’s wives for her daughters and hadn’t bothered teaching them many cooking skills. Rachel had learned to cook from hanging out in the kitchen with Matilda.