“Lift up, so I can slide your dress under you.”
Sarah didn’t know when Salty had removed her shoes, but she was acutely aware of every motion he used to slip her dress and undergarments off her body; each movement that brought his hand into contact with her bare skin brought the wolf of fear closer. When he started to remove her stockings, she thought the wolf would pounce…but Salty’s touch was gentle, unhurried, unthreatening. It gave the wolf no opportunity.
He slowly rolled each stocking down and laid it aside, and what Salty did next surprised her: he started to massage her feet. He placed her left foot in his lap then began rubbing the top with gentle pressure from his thumbs. As his fingers moved down to the sides then past the ankle to the tendon that ran from the back of her heel, it felt so good Sarah nearly moaned. Better still, the wonderful feeling was gradually moving up her leg to her thighs, even her belly. As he turned his attention to the bottom of her foot, she thought she would turn to jelly.
By the time he had treated her right foot the same, the wolf had been driven deep into the shadows. Nothing hurt. There was nothing to fear. Sarah was happy.
Salty moved to her calves, which caused a wonderful lassitude to invade Sarah’s body. It was as if she was losing contact with the physical world in order to become more deeply sensual. The bed was softer, her body lighter. Her skin felt warm, the air tinged with the masculine smell of Salty himself. The sound of her breathing was magnified, the beat of her heart more pronounced. Every part of Sarah felt more alive, waiting, anticipating all that was yet to come.
The wolf came rushing from the shadows as Salty’s hand on her inner thigh revived memories of the times Roger had taken his pleasure from her by force. But Salty’s fingertips traced halfway up the inside of her thigh, circled around to the outside of her leg, and returned to her knee. They made the journey again, circling, comforting, arousing. And as her fear receded, Sarah felt her muscles relax and her legs move apart on their own. It was as though her body was welcoming Salty’s attentions.
She wasn’t prepared for him to drop kisses on her abdomen, or for the fire that flared up inside of her with the speed of a lightning strike in dry grass. When the burning in her belly spread out to join the smoldering heat encompassing her inner thighs, the result was a conflagration of desire that she’d never dreamed possible. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man. She needed one. The urge was so primal, so bone-deep, she didn’t cringe even when she felt his fingers move from her inner thigh.
“Relax. I promise not to hurt you.”
She hadn’t expected his fingers entering her to ignite such sweet discomfort. It seemed impossible that the two feelings could coexist, but each continued to grow and swell until they joined with the fire already threatening to consume her. Then Salty did something that sent a jolt through her so powerful she felt it would lift her off the bed. She didn’t understand why her body was a quivering mass, why her brain was rapidly becoming a useless jelly, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want it to stop. And when it didn’t, she wanted the sensation to grow more powerful. And when it did, she was certain she would never survive. The coil inside her tightened until she was sure she would scream. Every part of her was being drawn into a tight knot of sensual pleasure that was so agonizingly wonderful, so suffocatingly powerful, she was sure she would die.
She was preparing to take her last living breath when the tension broke and flowed from her like water from a ruptured dam. The descent was both a relief and a letdown. While she’d been carried to heights that scared her, she didn’t want to sink back to where she’d started. After this moment, nothing could ever be the same. From now on sweets would taste sweeter, bitter tastes more bitter. She would want more of life and demand that she get it. Everything would be—
She had been so consumed with what was happening to her, with what she was feeling and what it meant, that she hadn’t paid any attention to Salty. Now she realized he was looming over her.
“This might be a little uncomfortable at first. If it is, let me know and I’ll pull back.”
It was about to happen: the part that was painful. The wolf had reappeared, bigger than ever, its eyes glowing red, its fangs prepared to rip apart all the wonderful memories of the last few minutes. Sarah felt Salty push against her. He was bigger than Roger, so surely it would hurt even more. The wolf snarled and bared its teeth, but Salty drew back before pressing forward again.
Nothing hurt. All she experienced was a gradual feeling of fullness. And as Salty penetrated deeper, as he filled her to what she was certain was the limit of her ability to contain him, that feeling faded, replaced by the same sensations she’d experienced just minutes before. This time the wolf wasn’t just driven back into the shadows; it was exploded, destroyed, all trace of it obliterated from the face of the earth. Never again would she fear Salty’s touch. She would welcome it, embrace it, rejoice in it.
Things were different this time, she realized, because she was sharing the experience with Salty. Everything was different. She was no longer married merely by a document. She was joined with her husband in spirit and body. Wherever he invited her to go she would proceed without fear. Where he led, she would follow. Gladly.
As she began to surrender to the demands of her body, so did Salty. She could see reflected in his face the pleasure that consumed her. She could sense his rising need for gratification, felt the increasing power of his thrusts, the gathering and releasing of the powerful muscles that were driving them both toward a goal he alone seemed to know. Then she gradually became aware of a need centered deep within her, so deep she was certain Salty could never reach it.
“More.” Was it a groan or a moan she emitted? “Deeper.”
The deeper Salty plunged, the deeper she needed him to go. The more her need became concentrated, the more it spread throughout her whole body until she felt like a single ball of longing. Desperation drove her to throw her legs around Salty’s middle in an attempt to force him to reach the need that was tearing at her mind with talons of iron. Her arms closed around him, pressing him against her breasts, yearning for as much contact as possible. She wanted to feel she was part of him, wanted to absorb him and to be absorbed by him, wanted to let their common need mold them into a single being.
Oh! She lost her ability to think, abandoned all attempts at control and let the tide of passion sweep her away. She wrapped herself about Salty, letting his heat stoke hers to greater intensity. Her reality became their two bodies. Nothing existed beyond the sensual shield that surrounded them, guarded them, encased them. It was white heat that threatened to incinerate them, bursting into showers of white flame that scorched the edges of her consciousness.
The longed-for release buffeted them, allowing them to float down from the peaks.
* * *
Next morning Sarah sang as she prepared breakfast. It didn’t bother her that Jared watched her with wondering eyes or that Ellen had asked her three times what was wrong. She had never felt better or happier in her entire life.
“What are we going to do today?” Ellen asked.
“You’ll have to ask Salty, but I expect he’ll want to work on the new room. It’s almost finished.”
“Do I have to help him? Can’t I go with Dobie?”
It amused Sarah to see her daughter developing a young girl’s crush on the cowhand. It was even more amusing to see Dobie had no idea what was happening. “You’ll have to ask Salty.”
“Why do I have to ask him?”
“Because he runs the ranch now.” Jared interrupted setting the table long enough to give his sister a how-can-you-be-so-dumb look. “Besides, I’d think you’d be glad for him to work on the house. You’ll have your own room when he’s finished.”
“I don’t care about that,” Ellen declared. “I want to sleep out like Dobie.”
“He snores.” Jared resumed setting the table.<
br />
Ellen, who was mixing the eggs, stopped. “He does not.”
“Arnie says he does.”
“Stop arguing and hand me those eggs,” Sarah said to her daughter. “I expect the men to be here any minute.”
“They won’t come until you call them,” Jared said.
“How do you know?”
“Salty says it’s not polite to crowd the cook or drag your feet when it’s time to eat.”
Sarah smiled. Here was one more sign that Salty was a cut above other men. “Go ahead and call them now,” she told her son. “Everything will be ready by the time they get here.”
She poured the eggs into the hot pan and handed the bowl to Ellen to wash. Everything was on the table except the biscuits, which she was keeping warm in a pan at the back of the stove. She looked forward to seeing Salty after last night. It’d be the first time. She’d slipped away while he slept.
“Pour the coffee,” she said to Ellen. “Pour Salty’s first. He likes it to cool a bit.”
“I know, Mama. You tell me the same thing every morning.”
Now that she thought of it, she had. She smiled to herself. Maybe she’d been in love with Salty for longer than she’d thought. Why had she been so stupid? She could have enjoyed experiences like last night long before now. Instead of dreaming of last night, she’d better pay attention to the eggs before they burned. She could hear the men outside.
Dobie came in first. He smiled, said good morning, and moved to the table. Arnie followed closely.
“Where’s Salty?” Sarah asked when he didn’t enter right behind Arnie.
“He’s coming.” Dobie winked. “He’s shaving.”
Sarah was certain she blushed. She tried to hide it by turning back to the eggs.
“Why’s he shaving?” Ellen asked. “He’s just going to work on the new bedroom. Does he need to look good for that?”
Dobie rubbed his downy-smooth cheeks. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Wouldn’t know what?” Salty asked as he entered the kitchen.
“Wouldn’t know anything about shaving.”
“Not much to know. You need help with anything?” he asked Sarah.
She was too embarrassed to meet his gaze right away. “No. The eggs are done, and Ellen’s putting the biscuits on the table.” She put the eggs into a large bowl which she carried to the table. She moved to her place and sat down, eyes on her plate. “Sit and eat.”
Breakfast was usually a meal dominated by the children. Today the children were uncharacteristically quiet, which made the surreptitious glances she cast Salty’s way even more noticeable. Still, soon she couldn’t stop looking at him, couldn’t even stop smiling after Dobie noticed and grinned. She had never known what it was like to be in love, had never thought it could be so wonderful. Her body was still glowing with the memory of last night, living it over and over again.
Yet, last night had been far more than the widening of her physical horizons, and more than just the extension of her emotional boundaries. She couldn’t think of a way to put everything into words, because her feelings and thoughts were so interconnected it was impossible to think of it in parts.
Without warning, the door opening broke her train of thought. A man who looked eerily familiar entered the kitchen.
“Who are you?” Salty asked.
“I’m Roger Winborne,” the man replied. “Who the hell are you?”
Twenty-one
Sarah struggled to breathe. It was as if she was underwater, suffocating. Her body felt incased in iron, her chest unable to expand. Then quite suddenly, the paralysis gave way, and life-giving air rushed into her body so rapidly she felt dizzy.
Her eyes were still unable to focus, however, her mind incapable of grappling with the claim made by this stranger. All thought retreated behind invisible barriers, leaving her suspended between oblivion and the impossible. She stared mindlessly at the man in the doorway. He couldn’t be who he said he was. Roger was dead. If he hadn’t been, he’d have come back when the war ended two years ago.
The man was about the same height as Roger, but he was bigger through the body; he probably weighed fifty pounds more. His hair was coarse and long, his beard thick and untrimmed. Roger had kept his hair well-groomed. He shaved every day. He would never be seen in such threadbare clothes. He—
Dawning recognition, horrifying in its implication, deprived her of breath. Roger’s appearance had changed drastically, even his voice sounded different, but those eyes destroyed Sarah’s newborn happiness and hopes for the future: she would never forget how they’d glared at her when he was angry or frustrated. Underneath the fat, the hair, and the clothes, this man was indeed Roger Winborne.
“I’m Benton Wheeler,” Salty said. “This is my wife Sarah and her children, Ellen and Jared. These men are—”
“She’s not your wife, you son of a bitch,” Roger growled. “She’s my wife, and those are my children.”
Sarah tried to speak, but the words refused to come. Her body had turned to stone.
“I don’t know what your game is,” Salty said, “but Sarah is my wife. I have a marriage certificate to prove it.”
Sarah didn’t understand how he could remain so calm. The children stared at Roger like he was some kind of apparition. Dobie’s jaw was in his lap, and Arnie looked downright furious.
Roger dropped the shoulder pack he’d been carrying. “She’s my wife, and I can prove it.”
“Sarah was married to a Roger Winborne,” Salty agreed, “but he died in the war. Showing up with his marriage certificate won’t enable you to steal his property.”
Why would Roger even have kept their marriage certificate? He’d hated being married to her.
“I’m not trying to steal anything! I am Roger Winborne. What’s wrong with you?” Roger had turned a wrathful gaze on Sarah. “Why don’t you speak up? Don’t you recognize your own husband?”
She felt the strength drain from her like water from an overturned bucket. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go back to being Roger’s wife. Her children deserved a father who loved them, who cared for their happiness as much as his own. They deserved to feel wanted, appreciated, valued. They deserved to be happy. And so did she.
From somewhere she found the strength to sit up straight, square her shoulders, and look Roger full in the face. “I didn’t recognize you at first,” she said. “You’ve changed a great deal.”
Some of the anger in Roger’s face cleared and he started toward her, but Salty blocked him. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care, but you will do nothing to upset my wife.”
“She’s my wife!” Roger shouted. He attempted to shove Salty aside, but Salty didn’t give so much as an inch.
“Move one step closer and I’ll throw you out. If you don’t change your attitude, I’ll escort you to the edge of our land and order you never to come back.”
“I’ll help.” Arnie’s look was so black, Sarah thought he might attack Roger on the spot. Apparently he could forgive a fellow soldier for having usurped her affections, but he couldn’t forgive Roger for having abandoned her.
“Me too,” Dobie added.
Roger looked stunned. “This is my ranch. You can’t order me off.”
“You don’t hear very good,” Arnie said. “Or maybe you’re just stupid.” He started to rise out of his chair as Roger moved toward him.
Sarah intervened. “Stop it! I appreciate your feelings, Arnie, but I won’t have fighting in my kitchen.”
“I wasn’t going to fight him inside, ma’am,” Arnie replied. “I wouldn’t want Miss Ellen to see that much blood.”
Why was it that during a life-altering crisis her mind should suddenly focus on a detail of daily life? All she could think to say to Roger was, “Have you eaten anything today?”
He blinked at the abrupt cha
nge of subject. “It’s barely past dawn. What do you think?”
Long practice helped her ignore his rudeness. “You can eat with us.”
Jared reached for his crutch, which he’d leaned against the wall behind him. “He can have my chair.”
“Stay where you are,” Salty said. “He can have my chair. I’d rather sit by my wife.” He picked up his plate and cup of coffee then turned to Roger. “Roger Winborne has been officially declared dead. Sarah is no longer your wife. Now sit down.”
Jared had been seated on one side of Salty, Dobie on the other. Neither looked pleased at the prospect of sitting next to Roger.
Roger looked like he might refuse. Sarah had no idea what had happened to him since he left for the war, but he’d used to be hotheaded as well as selfish. He’d never have settled for being told what to do.
He remained standing until Salty set a plate, cup, and cutlery before him. After Salty took a seat next to Sarah, he seemed to realize he was the only one standing, that everyone was looking at him and waiting. With a visible shrug of his shoulders, he sat down.
“Why don’t you tell me where you’ve been since the war ended?” Sarah said.
“I’ve been in California, prospecting for gold.”
Sarah could hardly have been more surprised if he’d said he’d started his own dirt farm in the Indian Territory. Roger had never liked work that got him dirty, took much effort, or involved danger.
Apparently, from the tale he now spun, the army had chipped away at his self-image until he felt the only way to restore it was to strike it rich in the gold fields. The picture he painted of life in the gold fields was unlike anything he’d endured before. “You couldn’t turn your back on anybody,” Roger was saying. “They’d kill you for a square yard of ground or an ounce of gold.”
No One But You Page 25