by Norah Hess
Laura had always thought it a shame that Pa and Butterfly had to keep their love for each other a secret. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. There were so many secrets to be kept; from Pa and from Fletch especially.
Where was Fletch tonight? she wondered. Laura didn't know exactly when her "sisterly" love for a "brother" had changed into that of a woman loving a man. She thought it was around the time she turned 16 that she started feeling differently toward him. And that was the time Fletch's manner toward her had changed.
It seemed that one day he was his usual teasing self; then the nest day he didn't want to be around her and he spoke to her only when necessary. More and more he began staying away from home in the evenings, not returning until way after she had gone to bed.
But she would still be awake up in her loft room when he would quietly enter the cabin, whiskey fumes floating up to her. She would sit up in bed and watch him over the short railing as he sat before the fire, staring glumly into the flames. She would wonder what bothered him but was afraid to climb down the ladder and ask him. His answer would probably be a black scowl.
There had been a time when she could have gone to Fletch at any hour and asked him anything. But these days she only received cool looks and short answers when she ventured to ask him something.
What puzzled her also was that sometimes she caught him watching her with a strange look in his eyes. Almost the same way as the young men did who came courting her. When she would gaze back at him he would frown and quickly look away.
In her confusion and unhappiness she took to flirting with the young men who came calling, cluttering up the porch. Occasionally she would walk out with one or the other, unconsciously trying to make Fletch jealous. She danced harder, laughed more gaily than the other young women at the parties that were often given to break up the monotony of the hard work demanded of the families hewing out a home in the wilderness.
When the dancing and flitting was over, however, and she had gone to bed, hot tears soaked her pillow. She felt nothing but friendship for those young men she led on, and she was ashamed that she had given them hope when there was none. It was still Fletch whom she loved.
Laura felt her insides clench. When she was 17, Fletch had started courting that awful Milly Howard. To say that all of Big Pine was shocked was an understatement. Everyone knew that Milly was a slut who raised her skirts for any man who came along. Pa and Fletch had many an argument over the woman.
There had come an evening when Laura decided that she couldn't go on asking herself questions. She had to know why Fletch had changed so radically toward her. Pa had gone for his weekly visit to the Indian village, and Fletch was in the barn, doing she had no idea what. She suspected he had gone there to avoid her.
The early November air had been chilly as she walked toward the log building that housed their farm animals, and she pulled the shawl closer around her shoulders. And though her body grew warmer, her teeth chattered from nervousness.
Laura reached the barn, and steeling herself for the confrontation with Fletch, pushed open the heavy door. In the light of the lantern he'd hung on the wall she saw him immediately. He was currying his stallion, Buckskin, his brow furrowed as he swept the long-toothed comb across the animal's broad back. What deep thoughts were on his mind that made him frown so? she wondered. Whatever it was, he was giving it deep study.
With a determined sigh, Laura pulled the door closed behind her, its bottom dragging on the gravelly soil. Fletch looked up at the scraping sound, and she gave him a weak smile as she Came toward him.
His frown deepened in annoyance. "What are you doing out here at this hour?" he asked gruffly. "Meeting one of the dunderheads that's always underfoot?"
"I am not!" Laura answered sharply, her hands tightly clutching the shawl under her chin. "I've never sneaked out to meet any man in the barn."
Fletcher's eyes bored into hers. "Are you trying to tell me that when Pa makes his weekly visits to the Indian village you don't slip down here to dally awhile with one of those green young men—specially that good-looking blond-headed one?"
"Don't judge me by yourself, Fletcher Thomas," Laura bit out angrily. "Just because you have loose morals where women are concerned doesn't mean that I follow in your footsteps with the men I know."
"And what do you know about my conduct with women?" Fletcher narrowed his eyes at her, his hand going idle on the stallion's back.
Laura wanted to bring Milly Howard into the heated words between them but hesitated. She was sure Fletch would defend the woman, and it would cut her deeply.
She said instead, "It's common knowledge that you're like a rutting moose looking for a cow in heat."
She saw him flinch at her description of him and wished she could recall the sharp words. He was no worse than some of the other single men when it came to chasing women.
He let her remark pass, however, and asked brusquely, "What brings you down here then?" Laura laid her hand on top of the short stall door. "I want to talk to you."
"Well, talk then," Fletcher said impatiently and resumed grooming the stallion. "It's important and I'd like your full attention."
With an irritated scowl Fletcher tossed the curry comb onto a ledge and left the stall. When he had fastened the latch on the breast-high door he leaned back against it, his arms folded across his chest.
"All right," he said, eyeing her coolly. "What is so important you had to follow me to the barn to say it?"
His surly tone and the lack of warmth in his eyes wounded Laura to the heart. This wasn't the Fletch she had grown up with, the man she had loved since she was practically a baby. He had left her somewhere along the way, and it was a stranger who looked at her so unemotionally.
Suddenly she didn't want to discuss anything with this stranger. Giving Fletch a thin smile, she waved a hand, dismissing as unimportant what she had wanted to say. "I've changed my mind." Her chin went up proudly. "There's nothing we can talk about anymore." She turned away, blinking against the moisture gathering in her eyes. "I'm sorry I bothered you," she said, her back stiff as she walked toward the door. "Go back to grooming Brave."
At her words a change seemed to come over Fletch. He stepped away from the stall door and called softly, "Don't go yet, Laura." Laura stopped, her hand on the barn door. "Why?" she murmured softly. "Do you have some more hateful things to say to me?"
"No." Fletch stepped up to her and turned her around to face him. "I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you." He looked into her tear-glittering eyes, then dropped his gaze to her soft, trembling lips. "Damn you, Laura," he rasped as if in pain and pulled her up snug against his body.
Fletcher held Laura so tight she could feel the thudding of his heart, and her body quivered in helpless reaction. Her arms slid up around his shoulders as his head lowered and his lips took hers in a searing kiss that went on and on. When she felt his fingers on her bodice, fumbling with the buttons, she removed an arm from around him and helped undo the small buttons. She was as anxious as he to feel his hands on her breast.
The shawl fell to the hay-covered floor; then Fletch was pushing her dress down around her waist. She felt the roughness of his fingers on the gathering ribbons of her camisole; then it followed the path of her bodice.
Fletch held her away from him, and his eyes grew deep with wonder as he gazed at her perfectly shaped breasts, the pink nipples that were little nubs of desire. Laura gasped her pleasure when he lowered his head and placed his mouth over one breast. As he tugged urgently on it, she made little mewling sounds and stroked her fingers through his black hair, pressing his head closer to her breast.
She became weak with the thrill that flowed through her when he switched to the other breast and slowly tugged at the nipple with his lips.
She was so deep in the wild, hot sensations running from her breast to the inner core of her, Laura wasn't aware of Fletcher's busy fingers ridding her body of her clothes until the cold air hit her bare flesh. When she s
hivered, Fletch released the swollen tip, and sweeping her up in his arms, carried her to a pile of hay and gently laid her down. He went back then and picked up the light shawl that lay with the other discarded clothing and spread it over her. He then hurried out of his own clothing.
Stripped bare, he stood before Laura, and she knew that he wanted her to look at him. She lifted heavy eyes to his desire-ridden face, then slowly lowered them to take in his broad shoulders, his flat stomach and narrow hips. Finally, she shyly looked at his man strength jutting proudly from a nest of curly hair.
Her eyes widened at the hard length that throbbed with a life of its own. There was no way her body could take it all; she was sure of that. As though Fletch read the doubt in her eyes, he came down on his knees beside her. "It will fit," he said huskily, taking her hand and laying it on his hungry member. He curled her fingers around his thickness. "Get acquainted with it first, feel how anxious it is to bury itself inside you."
Eager to please him, Laura did his bidding, marveling how the long length could be so hard yet feel like velvet as her fingers stroked over him. He lay down beside her, and as she continued to fondle him he smoothed a palm down her stomach, coming to rest on the black curls at the apex of her thighs. She made little purring sounds when he inserted a finger inside her and rubbed the little nub hidden there.
Laura felt herself grow hot and moist as Fletch stroked her. He withdrew his hand and gently turned her over on her back. "It will hurt at first, honey." He looked deeply into her face. "But only for a moment when I break your maidenhead."
Laura nodded, almost impatiently. She could only think about the relief her inner core was demanding.
Fletcher gently spread her legs and positioned himself between them. Eagerly, Laura lifted herself as he took his largeness in his hand and guided it to her. Laura's surprised cry of pain was smothered by his mouth coming down and swallowing the sound.
As Laura's body remained rigid, her hands on his chest as though to push him off her, Fletcher held his body, perfectly still, only dipping his head to suckle her breasts, one after the other. Gradually the stiffness went out of her. When her arms came up to cling to his shoulders, he took her mouth in a deep, soul-shattering kiss.
He slid his hands under her smooth cheeks and lifted her to fit into the well of his hips. His body rising and falling then, he thrust slowly and deeply. On his fourth drive he was spewing his seed inside her. He hardly broke his rhythm, however, and the wet heat only increased Laura's pleasure.
To her amazement, after only one more drive of his hips, Fletch was reaching the same crest again. This time his release was so strong and lasted so long he collapsed on top of her.
And though his body was bathed in sweat, his hair wet with it, he was not yet finished. When he began to move inside her again, Laura guessed that he was determined to control himself until she could have her own release.
It didn't take more than three minutes of slow, steady stroking before Laura tensed, feeling her feminine walls convulsing around him. He gathered her close, timed his movements to hers, and they climbed that hill together. Moments later the barn rang with the combined cries of their release.
Yes, she had known heaven that night, Laura thought. A heaven as intense as the hell she went through the next morning when Fletch left so unexpectedly for Canada.
A log burned through in the fireplace, scattering ashes on the hearth and waking baby Jolie. Laura soothed the little one back to sleep, scolding herself for remembering the night her daughter was conceived.
"It wasn't lovemaking we did," she said impatiently. "It was just plain old lust making."
Chapter Two
Laura lay in bed watching the moon move across the sky. To her annoyance Fletch was still on her mind. She had ordered him away a dozen times since putting Jolie to bed in her little cradle, then retiring herself He had, however, persisted in returning, keeping her awake.
And always to drag her mind back to the night of passion they'd shared, and to the morning following it.
As the heat of desire left her she had shivered in the coolness of the barn and snuggled up to Fletch to share the warmth of his body, her mind willing him to put his arms around her. He had, instead, stiffened and said gruffly, "You'd better get your clothes on before you catch cold."
She had gone still, wondering what had happened to the soft loverlike voice that had whispered endearments in her ears as he stroked inside her.
After a moment she rose, blinking back tears when he didn't help her find her scattered clothes and help her into them. He had readily helped her out of them. But he had busied himself getting into his own clothes, hurrying her along, reminding her that Pa could be coming along at any time.
Her confusion had grown as they walked toward the cabin, he several steps ahead of her. She told herself not to put any importance on his now unloverlike attitude, that he was in a hurry to get into the cabin before Pa returned from visiting Butterfly.
When they stepped into the kitchen she waited for him to take her into his arms and kiss her good night. He had barely glanced at her as he said, "You'd better get up to your room. If Pa sees that hay in your hair and clothes, there'll be hell to pay."
Hurt, and still more confused, she'd watched Fletch enter his bedroom and close the door behind him without so much as a spoken good night, let alone a kiss.
With hot, painful tears gathering in her eyes, Laura climbed the ladder to her loft room. She stripped off her clothes, then cleansed her sore private parts before pulling a gown over her head and crawling into bed.
She was still awake when Taylor came home, moving quietly, humming softly under his breath. Every time he was with Butterfly he came home with a happy tune on his lips. She pictured Fletch stretched out on his bed. The son had acted as though the hour they had spent together had been disappointing.
Her eyes flew open with a sudden thought. Fletch could very well be disappointed in their lovemaking. It had been her first time and she wasn't at all experienced, unlike Milly Howard, for instance. Milly knew all the ways there were to please a man, Laura expected.
Fletch had seemed to want Laura though, she remembered as she finally drifted off to sleep. The soreness between her legs attested to that.
The next morning she was up at her usual early hour, eager to see Fletch. She put on one of her prettiest dresses and brushed her dark curls until they snapped and crackled. Could Pa look at her and know that she was no longer a virgin? she asked herself as she climbed down the ladder. She hadn't noticed any difference in her face when she had looked into her mirror.
As Laura made coffee and fried ham and potatoes, she told herself that a good night's sleep would make Fletch more like the man who had made love to her.
To her disappointment, Fletch hadn't appeared in the kitchen until after she and Taylor had sat down to eat. He grunted a good morning on his way to the washbasin, his whiskered face hard and brooding. When he joined them at the table and helped himself to the breakfast fare, he avoided looking at her. She told herself that he was afraid to look at her in case his expression might give something away to Pa.
She was sure of that when later they were having coffee and Fletch said, "Pa, I want to discuss something with you that's very important. I want your opinion on it."
Her heart had beaten like that of a frightened rabbit. He was going to ask Pa if he could marry her. What Fletch had said instead made her heart skip a beat. She couldn't believe what she was hearing when Fletch informed them he was going to Canada.
"I've been asked by a man from a large fur company to blaze a trail for them into Canada. Thing is, I may be gone close to a year. What do you think?"
And while she had felt as if she were bleeding inside, Pa had given Fletch his blessing. Fletch had left the cabin then, not returning until the next morning. The four men he would be traveling with accompanied him; they sat at the table talking to Pa and ogling her while Fletch went to his room to gather up his winter
clothing.
He and the men left then, Fletch shaking hands with Pa, saying that he would probably see him this time next year. On the verge of tears, not believing what was happening, Laura had waited for him to say good-bye—and maybe some private word—to her.
She felt chilled to the bone when on his way out the door he said nonchalantly, "Take care of yourself, Laura." She ran to the window to watch him and the men strike off through the woods. "Couldn't you have at least looked at me, Fletch?" she cried inside. "Would it have killed you to smile at me even if you didn't mean it?"
For a month, in the lonely darkness of her room, Laura cried herself to sleep every night. Suddenly, then, a more pressing matter than Fletch's cold treatment came to plague her.
She had missed her menses. She was expecting Fletch's child. What was she going to do? she had asked herself over and over. After a week of worrying she had come to only one decision. Cold logic told her that she must tell Pa. A pregnancy could be kept secret only so long.
But she need not tell him who the father was, she had decided. It would break Pa's heart if she told him that his son had made love to her and then taken off to Canada.
She would never forget the day she got up the nerve to tell Pa that soon she would be bringing shame down on his head. She had spent the night before tossing and turning, with intermittent short periods of sleep, mulling over in her mind how to approach Pa about her pregnancy. She had arisen from bed the next morning with a headache and red-rimmed eyes. She also had her first bout with morning sickness. She had barely made it to the necessary before losing the remains of her supper from the night before. Her stomach had calmed down considerably and she was able to make breakfast, feeling only a little nauseous at the odor of frying bacon.
She had picked at the food on her plate, however, having no appetite, and Pa had noticed right away. She had always been a big eater and he often teased her, saying that she had a hollow leg.