by Craig, Emma
Grace’s heart flooded with compassion. She set down the bundle of food and knelt beside him. “I can’t forget it, Mr. Partridge. And you’re not crazy. You’re not”
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. His gaze caught hers, and its intensity startled her. Maybe she was wrong; maybe he was crazy.
No. He’d been through hell in the war. Like poor Uncle Henry, who, according to Aunt Blanche, still had terrible nightmares—and Uncle Henry had been wounded and sent home during the first year of the terrible conflict. Noah Partridge, who’d endured years in the vilest prison camp the world had ever seen, must be in much worse shape than Uncle Henry.
She put a hand on his arm. He’d shucked off his jacket because the weather had turned so warm. She felt his muscles beneath the fabric and wanted to run her hands over them. He was so very hard. Frank had been lean and wiry, but not rock-solid-hard, like this.
“I, ah, wouldn’t touch me if I were you, ma’am.”
His voice shook. Good heavens, did her touch affect him so much? Or was he experiencing some sort of vision? Uncle Henry had night visions; he woke up screaming from them, according to Aunt Blanche.
“I think you need to be touched, Mr. Partridge,” she whispered, knowing it to be the truth, although she didn’t know how she knew.
He shut his eyes. “Please, ma’am. I can’t guarantee my reaction to you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She peered at his face closely, trying to determine what lay behind his strained expression. Violence? Toward her? She didn’t believe it. Toward himself? That seemed more likely.
Perhaps it wasn’t violence. Perhaps it was some kind of other strong emotion trying to get out. Love? Grace wished she knew.
He took her in his arms so suddenly, she hardly knew what had happened to her. Then his lips were devouring hers, and she was crushed against him, fighting for breath. The sensation was not unpleasant. It had been a long time since she’d felt a man’s desire, but she felt Noah’s, hot and hard against her thigh. And she felt it in his arms, which were strong around her. She felt it in his lips as they moved against hers.
What astonished her more than his passion was her own. When he’d kissed her beside the lake, she’d felt the stirrings of desire as shocking and shameful. Today, she clung to him as if to life itself, and the power of his hunger for her thrilled her.
She’d never considered herself anything special. Oh, she knew she was pretty, but there were pretty women all over the world. She was certainly no prettier than thousands of other females.
She and Frank had met in Sunday school when they were children and had grown up together. She’d accepted his love as a natural extension of their mutual affection for each other. As she’d grown, she’d expected his passion, because people had told her that’s the way men expressed their love. She wasn’t sure about that any longer, after learning about those females at the Pecos Saloon. What men did with them didn’t have much to do with love, as near as she could figure, but it was the same thing they did with women they claimed to love.
But she’d known Frank’s passion and his love were as strong and as enduring as the earth itself. It had been natural and pleasant and it didn’t surprise her.
This desire Noah Partridge had for her was as surprising as it was obvious. She’d never considered herself the type of woman who could inspire passion in the male animal. Oh, she knew Gus Spalding had a puppy’s crush on her, but she figured that was only because there weren’t any young, pretty girls around. If there were, Gus wouldn’t look twice at Grace Richardson, a middle-aged matron.
But Noah . . . Noah was a man with a man’s experiences behind him, and a man’s heart in his chest. He’d loved a woman once, and lost her, as she’d loved and lost Frank.
And now Noah wanted her. And, no matter how much she wished she didn’t, she wanted him. It had been two years since she’d felt a man’s passion. Sweet heaven, it felt good!
Somehow, they had sunk down onto the blanket. He was now holding her in his arms, and his callused hands were moving over her back in long, tender strokes. He flung one leg over her, pinning her down. She didn’t feel trapped. Not at all. Rather, she moved closer to him, rubbing her thigh against his arousal, relishing the feel of him, hard and wanting her.
Was she a wanton female like those poor creatures at the Pecos Saloon? Grace caught glimpses of them sometimes, and always tried neither to stare nor to turn away in disgust. The poor things. They looked pathetic in the clear light of day, with their rouge and white rice powder covering the signs of dissipation on their unhappy faces. Mac had told her most of them had terrible problems with drink and opium. She’d shuddered, glad she hadn’t been forced into such a degrading life—and she had no illusions about those women being innately worse than Grace Richardson. She’d lived out here long enough to know that most women on the frontier were only one man away from disaster—or from the Pecos Saloon.
Her thoughts shattered when she felt Noah’s fingers fumbling with the pins in her hair. Her fingers burrowed into his hair, too. She was fascinated by his hair, as she was fascinated with the rest of him. It was silky, his hair, even the silver streaks. Grace knew from experience that often gray hair grew in wiry. But Noah’s hair wasn’t wiry at all. It waved a little bit, but even the silver was soft.
“Your hair is beautiful, Grace.”
His voice was husky. And he’d called her Grace. She smiled at him, and knew for the first time that she wasn’t going to stop him today. She didn’t know what that said about her. Or him. Maybe he wanted to make love to her only to get her land, but she didn’t think so.
She murmured, “Thank you.” Then she shut her eyes and gave herself up to sensation.
His gentleness surprised her. Frank had been gentle, too, but not nearly so desperate. Well, Frank had no reason to despair. He hadn’t lost anything, or fought for anything, or risked anything.
That was a disloyal thought, and Grace banished it. Just because Frank hadn’t had to endure the hardships Noah had undergone didn’t mean Frank hadn’t been a wonderful man. He had been wonderful. The most wonderful man in the world.
It was no sin for a woman to feel carnal desire for a man who wasn’t her husband. Grace knew it in her heart and in her body. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to marry again, even, if her husband died.
Grace didn’t want to think about that. She decided to concentrate instead on the pleasures of the flesh. Did that make her a scarlet woman? She didn’t know. At the moment, she didn’t care.
Her breasts ached for Noah’s touch. Faint recollections of how much Frank had enjoyed her breasts sneaked into her mind. She rubbed her bosom against Noah’s chest and heard him groan. Good. She seemed to be doing the right thing.
She’d never kissed any man but Frank until Noah Partridge had thrust himself into her life. She hadn’t realized the kisses of two men could be so different, yet so wonderful. Noah’s lips were softer than Frank’s had been. And they seemed almost frenzied as they kissed her throat. Then she felt his mouth at her breast, and sighed deeply as her head fell back. It seemed almost wicked that sensual pleasure could feel so near to heaven, but it did.
Noah mumbled something. She couldn’t make out the words, but she heard the desperation in his voice, and she knew he was asking for permission. She gave it to him.
With trembling hands, she unbuttoned her bodice. She heard him suck in a breath and hold it while she revealed herself to him. A modest woman, she wore a corset and chemise under her dress, but she still felt herself blush when she exposed her naked shoulders to the mild autumn air and Noah’s avid gaze.
She watched him watch her and felt beautiful for the first time in her life. Slowly she lifted her hands to her corset hooks and unlatched them. She never corseted herself tightly, because she considered such affectations as a wasp-like waist senseless out here where one’s life depended on things other than beauty. Nevertheless, she felt vulnerable and exposed when the corset fell away and
she wore nothing but her chemise.
She looked into Noah’s eyes and read the pleading there.
“Are you sure?”
His voice was as ragged as his face. She nodded, afraid to talk lest she cry and humiliate herself. But she was sure. This might well be a dreadful mistake, but she wouldn’t stop now. She couldn’t do that to him; she couldn’t do it to herself.
He reached for her. Grace expected him to draw her to him, but he didn’t. Instead, he rested his hands lightly on her shoulders and feasted his eyes on her body. He looked at her as if he’d never seen a woman before, as if the sight of her body was precious to him somehow. For a moment, she felt like some kind of holy icon.
The feeling made her uncomfortable. There was nothing holy about this thing they were going to do. At least, she didn’t think there was.
In her confusion, she became desperate to do something, so she reached for his shirt buttons. In a moment, she had his flannel shirt open. He wasn’t wearing his long-john top today. Evidently, Mr. Noah Partridge didn’t mind the cold as much as other people did.
His chest rippled with muscles. And scars. He had scars. Everywhere. Grace’s eyes filled with tears when she ran her fingers over a scar that ran diagonally across his stomach. “Oh, Noah,” she whispered. She felt foolish when her tears overflowed.
Either her voice or her tears nudged him. His hands slid down her shoulders and he reached for her at last. She flung her arms around him and hugged him hard. Her hands splayed over his back, and she felt the ridges of more scars. Shocked, she pulled away and looked into his eyes.
They burned with emotion. “Whip,” he murmured.
Whip? “They whipped you?”
He nodded.
Grace swallowed. They’d whipped him. Like a dog. Like a felon. Lord, what this man had endured. Grace couldn’t stand it. “Kiss me,” she said. And he did.
His body was beautiful to Grace, who had never considered that a man’s body—especially one as damaged as Noah’s—could be beautiful. She could see every muscle on his chest. Soft hair covered his muscles. The hair on his chest, like that on his head, was turning gray. He hadn’t eaten enough since his release from prison camp to flesh out much. She felt his ribs, and she had the mad impulse to take him into her life and feed him good things until his ribs could no longer be delineated like that. Of course, what she really wanted was to make him forget what he’d been through.
She caressed the scar on his leg, the one that made him limp sometimes, and knew her wish was an idle one. There was no way he could forget. That scar was huge. It looked to Grace as though his wound hadn’t been tended properly and had become infected. Well, of course, it hadn’t been tended properly. It had probably been left to heal or fester as it would while Noah languished in prisoner-of-war camps, wishing he could die.
“I don’t know how you survived,” she murmured at one point, gazing at his violated body and feeling such a combination of sadness and rage as she’d never experienced before.
“I don’t either sometimes.” He kissed her again. Grace got the impression he didn’t want to be reminded of his ordeal.
It was her great pleasure to help him forget, however briefly. He took her almost savagely at first. She arced like a bow under him, feeling more like a woman than she’d ever felt in her life. Then, with a groan, he calmed himself, and became gentle.
They established a rhythm immediately, Grace moving with him as if they’d been accustomed to doing this for ages and ages past. It had taken much longer for her to get used to making love with Frank. But she’d been so innocent then; so had he.
There wasn’t a hint of innocence about Noah Partridge. Or Grace, either, any longer. They’d been weathered by life. Maybe that’s why she appreciated Noah so much in those few minutes of passion they shared together on the bank of the Pecos River. He made her feel wonderful. He took her to a place she’d never been before, and then he joined her there.
She cried when it was over, not with regret, but with wonder at how delicious life could be.
# # #
Fierce joy shook Noah when he spilled his seed into Grace Richardson, joy both physical and mental. For the first time in years, his brain turned off and ceased tormenting him. The heaven of sexual fulfillment and physical exhaustion left him weak. It was all he could do to roll to Grace’s side and draw her into his arms. She snuggled up against him as if she cared about him, as if he weren’t the wreck of the man he’d once been.
He realized he loved her, and his joy faltered. Then he told himself to forget it; to forget everything. He would allow himself to enjoy this moment for however long it lasted. It wouldn’t be long. Nothing good in his life lasted long.
The day was surprisingly warm, considering it had snowed less than a month before. The sun shone down upon them like a blessing. Noah told himself to stop being fanciful. The sun was the sun. It shone or didn’t shine as the weather gods saw fit, and it didn’t offer blessings to anyone, much less to the likes of him.
But Grace Richardson had. She’d given him the greatest gift of his life, if she only knew it. He wished he had words to tell her so, but he didn’t. He’d talked to her more than he’d talked to any one person for six years or more, but he couldn’t tell her this.
He wanted her to marry him. To hell with her land. He wanted her because he wanted her. And her kid. Hell, he loved little Maddie almost as much as he loved Maddie’s mother. How had this come to pass in so short a time?
Noah sighed, wishing he were whole once more so that he could win Grace’s affection. He was too wise by this time to expect he could ever achieve her love. Asking her to marry him now, as he was today, had been a stupid thing to do. He wasn’t the kind of man a woman like her would ever want. He was damaged, ruined. The best thing for him to do would be to disappear from this woman’s life so he wouldn’t ruin her, too. She needed someone like her excellent Frank, who hadn’t been wrecked by forces beyond his control.
The thought of releasing her, even momentarily, filled him with dread. Why had he allowed this to happen?
He felt her fingers stroke his cheek and closed his eyes, savoring the softness of her body against his. God, how he wished things could be different.
“Noah?”
Her voice was delicate, almost tender. He was afraid to look at her, although he knew he’d have to do it sometime. It took almost more energy than he had to spare to open his eyes, turn his head, and gaze at her. His heart turned over. She was so lovely, so sweet. She was exactly what he needed. He wished he was what she needed. He wasn’t, and he knew it.
Words floundered around in his head. What was he supposed to say now? Thank you? He did thank her. She’d made him feel human for the first time in years. Yet it seemed inappropriate somehow, as if he were thanking her for her sexual favors when that’s not what he meant. Or, rather, he meant more than that. I love you? That was the truth, but he couldn’t imagine her wanting to hear it from his lips. She wanted her damned Frank back, is what she wanted, and he was only a very poor substitute.
At last he said, “Are you all right?”
Her smile was like a benediction. It was all he could do to keep from closing his eyes against it. He didn’t deserve it.
“I’m fine. How are you?”
He nodded. “Fine, thank you.”
What a damn-fool conversation. She was still smiling at him, and her hand caressed his cheek as if he felt good to her, as if he were something worth touching. He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. Oh, Lord, if only they could stay here, like this. Together.
A cloud crossed the sun and he felt her shiver. Damn. It was getting on towards winter, and they were lying here buck naked in the middle of the high plains of New Mexico Territory. What was wrong with him? He knew the answer to that one. He was crazy.
With a huge sigh, he pushed himself up onto his elbow. Her body glistened with sweat. Rays from the sun crept out from behind the cloud and bathed her in light. She looked like
a Madonna basking in the sun’s rays. Noah wondered if that thought was a blasphemy. It didn’t feel like one.
He watched his dark, callused, horn-hard hand reach out and splay against her stomach. Her skin was as white as parchment, and it was soft under the roughness of his palm. He wished he could stroke and pet her for the rest of his life. He wished he could keep her with him, to give some delicacy and beauty to his ravaged life.
Hell. He withdrew his hand and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll heat some water so you can wash up.” He struggled into his trousers. His leg ached. It hadn’t been called upon to prop his body up in that way since before he was wounded.
He and Julia had never made love. She was saving herself, she said. He guessed it was just as well, as it turned out. She wouldn’t have wanted the man he was when he finally came back, even if she’d waited for the boy he’d been when he left.
Grace murmured, “All right, thank you,” and he saw that she had sat up, too, and had wrapped her arms around her knees, which she’d drawn to her chest. She looked like the picture of a sprite—whatever the hell a sprite was—that he’d seen in a fairy-tale book once.
He didn’t look back when he went to the river and filled the pot. He wanted to. He wanted to look at her the way she was now, and to sear the image of her into his brain so that he’d never forget it, so that he could watch her in Mac’s kitchen or in the mercantile and always remember that they’d shared this one experience together, and that it had been beautiful. She deserved her privacy, though, and he didn’t intrude. He knew ladies needed to tidy themselves up after—after—afterwards.
Damn him to hell. He lugged the full pail back and set it on a rock beside the fire. “It should be warm in a minute.” He squatted down, held his hands out to the fire, even though they weren’t cold, and still didn’t look. When he felt her hands on his shoulders, he started with shock. Then he looked, and found her smiling down at him.