“Has anyone ever told you that you can be infuriating?” Her words lacked heat. At the top landing, he hefted her high against his chest, grinning as she emitted a small yelp and tightened her hold on his neck.
“Another Jackson male trait I’ve heard mentioned before. Kind of goes hand in hand with the bedeviling, I reckon.”
“Those poor Jackson wives, I feel for them.”
“Don’t. We make up for our infuriating behavior in other ways.”
“Like what?”
His chin dipped down as he stared at her, waiting for it to sink in.
“Oh.”
Chuckling, he entered the open door midway down the hall. He set her down beside the huge claw-foot tub and lit a large hurricane lamp on a shelf by the door. Next, he bent and turned on the two spigots. As the tub began to fill, he slipped the overly large shirt from her shoulders.
She protested and a tug of war ensued. He won of course and lifted her naked in his arms.
“No,” she squealed. “I only this minute got warm. I don’t want a cold bath.”
He ignored her and set her down in the water.
“Oh!” she said in surprise. “It’s warm.”
“Yep.”
“But—” She stopped short, watching as he stripped off his boots, socks, and breeches. “Surely you don’t mean to—” She halted again, shutting her eyes tight as he climbed into the tub, stark naked behind her. As he lowered himself into the warm water, he stretched his long legs along either side of her hips. He then took up a large cup with a pouring spout and began to sluice warm water over her stiffly held shoulders and stick-straight back.
“Relax, Wisteria.”
“Surely this isn’t proper, Mr. Jackson.”
“You called me Luke in the barn, darlin’. Besides, there hasn’t been much about this night that I’d call proper.” He gathered the damp strands of her long hair, brushing back the loose tendrils from her face and drew the heavy mass over her shoulders. “Tip your head back.”
“Why?”
“So I can wash the creek out of your hair.”
“I can do it myself, thank you.”
“Wisteria.” At her persistent obstinacy, her name came out in a half-amused, half-impatient huff. She must have recognized his forbearance was ebbing, because she tilted her head back. “Has anyone ever told you that you can be infuriating?” He gave her own question back to her with a teasing tone as he saturated the length of her ebony hair with warm water until it lay sleek and shiny like black glass down her back.
“So I’ve heard mentioned, a time or two,” she murmured. He could tell by the huskiness in her voice she was enjoying his ministrations.
“A Turner family trait, I take it?”
She didn’t stir from her place as she deadpanned, “You met my brother, Slim?”
He chuckled; she’d made her point. “Close your eyes, darlin’,” he ordered. “The soap can sting.” Thoroughly enjoying his task, he began washing the long skein of dark silk.
* * *
As his big hands worked the soap into a rich lather, Wisteria nearly moaned aloud as she relaxed into his tender care. It felt wonderful, as well as improper, licentious, and shamefully decadent. She figured since she’d already thrown caution to the wind for this one night, she might as well go all in and enjoy everything Luke had to offer.
“Mm,” she said with a deep inhale. “That smells wonderful. What is it?”
“Janelle’s homemade shampoo. She makes it with something she calls Indian soap nuts, which look like acorns to me, but she swears by them. She added lavender to this batch.” His strong fingers massaged her scalp gently, continuing to work the fragrant soap through her long hair. Too soon, he was rinsing her clean. Once he was done, he took up a large sponge and began to bathe her, everywhere, intimately.
Her shyness reemerged when he began to cleanse between her tender thighs. She grabbed his wrists in protest.
“No.”
He relented, his hands dropping the sponge, though only long enough to turn her on his lap and reposition her so that she straddled his thighs. This brought her wet soapy breasts above the water line and shockingly, his shaft sprang up between them to brush across her belly, the head of which peeped up through the suds in front of her. Thrilled and dismayed in equal proportions, her breathing hastened and her skin flushed. The latter was in no way a response to the heat of the water.
The soapy fingers of one hand slid over her hips and beneath the water, slowly tracing along the crease where her hip and thigh met. Gliding across her mound, his fingertips teased lightly through the wet curls before moving down along the seam of her lower lips. “Let me take care of you, Wisteria. You must be tender.”
Her groan this time was distraught, not from mortification as his fingers stroked her intimately, but from the need coursing through her body. She wanted him to take her, to feel more than his fingers inside her. She wanted his lips and warm tongue on her mouth, his harsh breathing in her ear, the short, crisp curls on his hard muscled chest abrading her nipples as he moved over her, and his hardness driving within. She wanted it all, so that she could memorize every sensation and sear it indelibly into her brain. After all, it would have to last a lifetime.
“I want you,” he murmured gruffly as he leaned toward her, his free hand wrapping around her nape, lifting her mouth to his. “Except it’s too soon. You were a virgin, you’re undoubtedly tender.”
“I don’t care,” she blurted out. “Please, I need to feel you inside me.”
“Darlin’.”
She writhed shamelessly above him, her hips moving restlessly as she purposefully rubbed her mound against his erect shaft.
“Luke, please.”
“Baby,” he groaned, “you make it damn hard to resist.”
“Then don’t.”
“Okay, but we go easy.” His hands encircled her waist and lifted her, enough to allow his cock to slide into position between her spread thighs, then he lowered her onto him. Slowly, to account for her tenderness and his generous size, he eased her down until she was fully seated.
“Move on me, Wisteria. You set the pace, as much or as little, as fast or as slow. I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”
The wonderful deep timbre of his voice wrapped her in its incredible warmth. Rumbling soft and clear, the low baritone soothed her. It occurred to her then that he’d been calling her by her first name and she didn’t mind. So often it aroused the pain of her past, of losing her papa who’d called her Wisteria after the bushes that grew around his childhood home. Lavender, like her eyes, he’d said. Her name somehow seemed right when Luke said it—pleasant, reassuring, and at the moment, incredibly stirring.
She began to move, gingerly working her tight, swollen passage up and down his thick shaft. As she did so, his hands became active, stroking up the wet skin of her back, over her shoulders, coming in front to cup her breasts, caressing and playing with her taut, aching nipples. It was glorious, as was his hot mouth, placing open-mouthed kisses on her throat, cheeks, and lips.
She wanted to move faster, needing more, although she found it difficult as her knees slipped in the tub. Suddenly, his lips pulled away. With a disappointed whimper her lips followed, seeking more. Then he stood with her in his arms. Sheets of water poured off of them as he stepped from the tub and lowered her onto the thick bath rug. The whole time, he remained inside her, his strength keeping her body locked to his. When she was flat on her back, he began to move inside her in long, deep, controlled strokes, propped on his elbows, his wet thumbs lightly caressing her equally wet face. As he took her, he stared deeply into her eyes and murmured, “I can’t seem to control myself around you, darlin’. If I had you for a lifetime, I don’t think it would be enough.”
His mouth lowered to hers, his tongue delving deep as his body robbed her of the ability for rational thought. There were no further words spoken, the bathroom echoing with husky groans and feminine cries as Luke drove them rele
ntlessly, though carefully toward another spectacular climax.
Chapter Four
The bright light of the morning sun streaming in through the eastern-facing windows roused her early the next day. As she rolled over in bed to get out of a warm, yet glaring ray of sunshine, she felt the ache between her thighs. It wasn’t unfamiliar any longer. She’d felt it hours earlier when he’d roused her well before daylight with a goodbye kiss, explaining it was haying time and he needed to get to work. He’d told her griddlecakes were warming on the stove as promised. He’d then garnered something from her in return—the vow that she’d be waiting for him when he got home so they could talk.
In the gray pre-dawn light, his warm cocoa brown gaze had held hers intensely and she’d readily agreed. He’d smiled, pleased with her answer. His subsequent kiss, open-mouthed and employing his very talented and stimulating tongue, had been a promise of more delights to come.
Smiling, she stretched atop his big, soft bed, never having felt the like of the downy linens, the plush comforter, or the pillows, of which there were many. He had to have a half dozen of them. Dozing in luxury, she thought to get up and try out the pancakes he’d gone on about, except she couldn’t seem to move. Until a dog’s anxious barking and the jingling of a harness and the crunch of wagon wheels outside the window made her sit up with a start.
Holding the sheet to her bare chest, her eyes searched the room for her clothes. Remembering how her damp things had been left in the barn the evening before, she realized there were none. Frantic, she wrapped herself in the sheet and hurried to the tall chest of drawers. Her rapid search produced a shirt, which she put on. Engulfed by its size, which was bigger than the one she’d worn the night before, she went to the window and carefully peeked out.
Two women, one older, the other close to her own age, were climbing down from a buggy at Luke’s front door while the yellow lab from the night before raised a ruckus. She could hear them chattering as they mounted the stairs and knocked soundly.
“Shoo, dog!” came a high-pitched whine.
“Knock again, Frannie, so we can get inside and away from this mongrel dog. That should be the first thing to go. Git, mutt.”
“Mama, you know Luke won’t be at home in the middle of the day and I couldn’t get rid of his dog.”
“Yes, Frannie, but it’s polite to knock.”
Who were they? Family, friends? She knew only that they seemed to know Luke well, although his dog didn’t, or simply didn’t care for them. In her experience, animals were often the best judges of character. Wisteria held her breath, not moving a muscle lest she be heard and discovered in her compromising situation. As the front door creaked open, she silently prayed they’d leave quickly when they saw no one was at home. As usual, her fervent plea went unanswered as the door banging shut was followed by the clatter of footsteps inside.
Curious, she tiptoed to the bedroom door and out into the hall. Their words were plain to hear even as they traipsed noisily through the house below.
“I do hope he likes chocolate cake.”
“What man doesn’t like chocolate cake?”
“It’s just that I know so little about him, mama.”
“You’ll have time to learn all about him after the wedding.”
Wedding! Wisteria’s heart rose to her throat and sat there like a lump.
“I’d like to know him better before we say our vows. He’s always working though, poor man.”
“You’ll have to see about that once you’re Mrs. Lucas Jackson, Frannie. The Jackson family is well to do and can afford to hire more help. A maid in particular; you’ll need help with this big beautiful house.”
“It is quite large, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and very soon it will be all yours. Did you bring the note?”
“Yes, it’s somewhere…”
“Check your pockets, Frannie. Really.” Her mother’s impatience was unmistakable in her tone. “Then, we need to be off. You have a dressmaker’s appointment in an hour.”
“Can we look at wedding dresses while we’re there?”
“Only if you can find that note.”
“Here it is,” Frannie announced. “Right where I put it.”
“Excellent. Leave it by the cake.”
The two women talked more nonsense as they noisily exited the house. For Wisteria, their words didn’t penetrate; after words like wedding, vows, and Mrs. Lucas Jackson, she heard nothing else.
In the span of a minute, she went through a riot of emotions, first shock, which turned to heartache. Quickly enough, it rounded out into anger. Was that what he wanted to talk to her about this evening? To admit that he was a bounder and had slept with her knowing full well he was promised to another? Or perhaps, since she had succumbed so easily, to offer her an arrangement. The pig!
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. She was a fool to think someone like Luke Jackson would want someone like her for more than a tumble, or two. It wasn’t a surprise. She’d warned herself, he was not for the likes of her, then dropped her guard, letting his good looks, warm lips and… well, other things sway her. Feeling like a dupe and more than a little sick, she whirled and ran back to the bedroom. She had to leave, right away. She’d had a plan coming there and was more determined now on following it through, as she should have already done that morning. Laramie, Wyoming had brought her nothing but grief and she was determined to see the last of it before the sun set on the Medicine Bow Mountains in the west.
Rifling through his drawers, heedless of the mess she made, she searched for something to wear. Everything was three sizes too big. She grabbed a shirt and pants anyway; it would have to do. As she searched for socks, she opened the bottom drawer. Moving aside more shirts, she paused, before picking up a heavy leather drawstring pouch. It clinked as she opened it and beheld at least twenty gold pieces. Pouring them into her hand, she wondered distractedly what a virgin went for down on Sixth Street. Returning the coins to the bag, she retained one, though she felt guilty over that small amount.
Still, she had to get back to Denver and it would be useful. In her head, she told herself it was her due, although in her aching heart, she felt like used goods, the beautiful memories of the night before now tarnished. She wanted nothing more to do with Luke Jackson and was determined to push all thoughts of him out of her mind, to block out the images of the night before, which were painfully vivid. Over time, away from here with no reminders, she hoped that she could.
As she clomped down the stairs in his too-big clothes and loose-fitting boots that she’d wedged socks into the toes to keep on her feet, Wisteria couldn’t keep herself from going to the kitchen. Once there, she went straight to the note.
My darling Luke,
A surprise for your birthday!
I hope you like chocolate buttercream cake.
It’s one of my finest recipes, surpassed only by my wedding cake. Baking is one of my many talents that I look forward to a lifetime of sharing with you.
Love always,
Frannie
She had dotted the ‘i’ in her name with a little heart. It was all Wisteria could do to keep from gagging. Her eyes fell on the perfectly frosted chocolate cake. There were thick swirls of icing around the base and the top outer edge. In white icing, Frannie had written Happy Birthday, Luke and in pink had drawn a large heart with an arrow through it. Her temper flared and in a fit of pettiness, she shoved the carefully handwritten note right into the center of the beautiful cake. For good measure, she took the flapjacks, covered with a towel on the stove, and smashed them on top as well.
Not feeling the least bit vindicated, she stormed out of the house, the Lab trotting along behind her. Another surprise was waiting for her when she walked into the stable, but this time it was a pleasant one and very welcome. It was Shasta, dry, unsaddled, well-groomed, and more important with the journey that lay ahead, rested and fed. Luke must have taken care of her before leaving that morning. She smile
d, slowly approaching her horse in case she was still skittish.
Leave it to Shasta to find her way back to the unfamiliar stable in the wake of the storm. Her mare’s good instincts combined with a rare bit of good fortune spared her from stealing a Jackson mount and becoming a horse thief in truth.
Once in the saddle, she tore out of Luke Jackson’s life without looking back, not even to spare the friendly dog, who kept pace with her until she reached the end of the lane, a last glance. She tried to pretend the tears wetting her lashes was from the sting of the wind in her face, but she wasn’t fooling herself.
* * *
“Are you sure about this, brother?” Aaron asked, each bathed in sweat as they loaded a wagon, at least the third of the morning, with bales of hay. Although busy with his job as the territorial marshal, Aaron always made time to lend a hand during haying, calving, and when the blizzards hit, which were often during the long, harsh Wyoming winters.
“I’m sure,” Luke replied as he tossed up a large bale to where Aaron stood waiting to stack it in the wagon bed. “I’m going to break the tradition you and Heath set by taking my bride to the altar willingly.”
Aaron shrugged, used to this taunt, letting it roll off his back. “Our tradition has worked out fine for both of us, as you know.”
“Dumb luck.”
“Call it what you like. None of us, neither Heath nor Jenny, Janelle nor me, are complaining. Are you sure you want to rush into this if she’s willing? Why not take your time and court her first?”
“She’s down on her luck, Aaron. You know that. Her brother skipped town and left her, then there’s Skeens who’s always sniffing around her skirts, thinking she’s his intended. No. We can’t wait.”
“Sunday then?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you told the parents yet?”
“Plan to do that tomorrow.”
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