by Joey Light
The music faded into the background. The darkness in the barn only served to heighten the desperado look about him. He wore his go-to-hell hat, brim turned down. His shirt was white, his jeans gray. He spotted her and walked toward her. She heard no sound. Saw no movement but his. And wanted desperately to feel his arms around her.
He didn’t ask. He took her by the hand and led her to the outskirts of the crowd, near the wide-open doors where the air stirred and was cool. Laying a light kiss on her mouth, he pulled her to him and together they swayed.
His shirt felt crisp as if just ironed with a touch of starch. Had his mother done that for him, stopping him on his way out and insisting? After all, mothers were always mothers. And sons were always sons no matter what age. The thought made her smile.
Her hair smelled of lilacs and caressed his shoulder. He pulled her closer. Her hand was tiny and warm in his. A hand he knew could toil with a rake, restrain a leather bridle, or pump rounds from a gun. He lifted it to his lips.
“Katie says hello.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
He put his fingers under her chin, lifting her mouth to his, and collected one to carry with him. “You were watching for me.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“A little.” She tucked her head and snuggled against his chest.
“A lot.” He two-stepped her closer to the outside, a little at a time. The cool breeze wafted over them. He kept circling her until they were beyond the patch of light showering from the barn.
Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. Wes had walked in and she had merely turned to him and danced into his arms. He looked around. How many of his friends had seen that? Blatant rejection. Benign neglect. A slap in his face. His brain cells took a turn. As happened so often lately, he couldn’t think clearly.
He rubbed his temple to stall the headache that was beginning to thunder around in his head, destroying his thought process. Victoria was just being nice to Wes. After all, she was his boss and they had lots to talk about. The voice in his head began to whine as it so often did. He closed his eyes. A roaring began in his head, like waves from the ocean pounding the shore, rhythmically and steadily. Unaware, Nick left the edge of reality. Again.
The sounds of gunshots and shouting rang in his ears. A stagecoach appeared in his mind’s eye. It was a runaway. The driver was dead and slouching across the high seat. A small hand clutched the door strap of the rocking, bumping, headed-for-disaster coach and held on. He spurred his mount, demanding more speed. The heavy thud of horses’ hooves beat at him, accelerated his pulse. He had to save that lady passenger. It was his Victoria.
Reaching the stage, Nick leaned and grabbed hold of the railings. Pulling himself from his horse, he floated momentarily between safety and death, falling and being trampled under the coach as he lost his grip.
Then he heard it. Her soft cry. “Nick,” and she grabbed for him. This and this alone was enough to give him the physical strength he needed to pull himself onto the coach even though it jerked and swayed and rolled at a perilous speed. He climbed to the seat and pushed the dead man out of the way. Standing, he grabbed the reins and, after some pulling and jerking, managed to stop the runaway team.
Jumping down, he opened the door and she fell in his arms. Together, they tumbled down to the dusty ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his mouth toward hers. “My hero.”
Excitement rippled through Victoria as she ran her hand along the smooth ridge of muscle down Wes’s back and found that she was trying to press him even harder against her.
He stopped moving. She looked up at him. In the dim silver glow from a thin slice of moonlight, she made out his features. He was dead serious. No smile played on his mouth now. No amusement lit his eyes. She grew short of patience and stood on tiptoe, bringing their mouths together.
Her gesture tore through him and almost hurt. A storm of emotions circled his gut and soared through his chest. Afraid he would crush her, he was careful not to give in to his instincts but instead reveled in the way her mouth fit to his. The taste of her. The promise of her.
Her lips, like satin, moved over his. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she changed the angle of contact. The smell of hay and feed, hot dogs, and burning cooking oil rolled all around them. All she knew was the feel of him. The eagerness and the restraint she could feel in his body. And then the air was whooshed from her as he grabbed her tight and lifted her from the ground. It almost frightened her, the force she felt in him. Almost. He would be no gentle lover…and she wanted it no other way.
A man should be able to take anything a woman can dish out and still remain a gentleman. He almost laughed as he set her on her feet and, to keep from taking her here and now, began the dance again. Her lids were heavy. Her lips were swollen from contact. Her breasts rose and fell quickly to match his own hurried breath.
He asked with a look. She answered with one. Turning, she took his hand and led him away from the barn. Away from the noise out into the quiet, silky darkness of night.
He jerked her to him, not wanting to wait any longer to feel her mouth under his. She wiggled away and pulled him after her. It had to be perfect. She wanted him to remember tonight. She wanted to remember it all. The night she decided what she wanted out of life. J. Weston Cooper.
The crash resounded across the night air and reverberated in the loftiness of the barn. A few shrieks and then curses followed. Wes jerked his head back and looked into Victoria’s drowsy eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know but I think we’d better go find out.” The cold rush of air crossed her lips, leaving them wanting his mouth to cut the flow of it off again. She felt him take her hand and pull her along behind him.
The food table was turned over. Soup and hot dog rolls and bowls of chips and trays of pies rolled to a stop nearly at their feet. One stereo speaker that had been set up on a hay bale lay face down in the sawdust, the sounds of music muffled.
All eyes were riveted on the man who stumbled near the mess. Nick swayed again, both hands holding his head. The crowd of people made way for him as he tried to grab something to hold on to. Victoria saw that some of the women had food and drink splashed on them. Two of the men brushed the remains of chili from their shirts and jeans. Lord!
Nick flailed around, groaning low in his throat. Wes ran over to him. “God, man, are you drunk?”
Nick swung at him. Wes ducked and then moved in. Not only the crew was here, but the public. Something was definitely wrong with Nick and he had to get him out of here as quickly and quietly as possible. Wes grabbed him and spun him around, locking him in a hold.
But Nick was strong and wild. He elbowed Wes and came around with a quick left hook, taking Wes by surprise and sending him flying across the floor. A woman screamed and was quieted by her husband. Some of the other men moved in to assist but Wes was up and charging forward. With one swift punch to the jaw, Nick was rendered unconscious. Two of the men took Nick and carried him from the barn. Victoria stepped forward and tried to help right things, but the evening was spoiled. People moved toward the door.
Rushing in, Victoria joked, trying to ease the chaos. “Well, folks, the dance next month probably won’t be as exciting, and when you get the bill for your dry cleaning, send it on to me. It has been a real pleasure to have you here and I hope to see you next time.” The crowd was amenable. They chatted with her a while, not even noticing that her hands twisted together nervously.
She turned on her heel. It was time to find out what had happened.
Buck was escorting Ms. St. Claire to her car along with her family when he saw Victoria come out of the barn and look around. “They took him to the hotel. See what’s going on. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Victoria expected to see Nick sprawled on the sofa, but instead he was sitting up in a chair in the parlor talking to Sally, who had stayed with Wes to find out what the story was. She had bustled the
other men out and on their way and then simply plopped down in a chair opposite the two men and waited for an explanation.
“It was hot. I lost my balance. And then everybody started hollering at me.
I don’t like to be hollered at. Howdy, Victoria.”
She continued on her way in and sat next to him. “Are you all right, Nick? You were holding your head like you had a migraine.” She felt his forehead for fever and found none.
“He doesn’t remember a thing,” Wes told her as he lit a cigarette and she picked up a decided edge to his voice.
“I think you should see a doctor, Nick.”
“I’m fine now. Thanks to good ole Wes over there. Just took charge and brought me out here. Wes and me, we’re good friends. Have a few secrets just like friends do, too.” He laughed.
The hair on the back of Wes’s neck prickled. “I’ll walk you back to your trailer to be sure you’re all right.” He stood.
Nick laughed again. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. Been doing it five years now. Until Wes came along and now he makes sure I do things right. Got to be the best. That’s what he preaches, you know.”
“Let’s go, Nick. It’s time the ladies here got some rest.”
Nick looked from Sally, who sat quietly with a worried look on her face, to his beautiful Victoria, who waited patiently, concern in her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to tell Vic the real reason you’re here?” Nick challenged Wes in an overly friendly tone of voice.
Wes yanked Nick to a standing position and started prodding him toward the door.
Nick glanced back at the women and leered. “No. I mean the real reason you’re here.”
Wes tipped his hat to the ladies and shoved Nick through the door.
Sally stood up. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m tired. Don’t worry about the mess. Some of the men have gone back to clean it up.”
Confused, Victoria walked Sally to the door. “Whatever happened to cause Nick to fall like that isn’t normal. I think he should see a doctor.”
“Don’t worry, honey. This has happened before. Nick isn’t, well…Nick hasn’t been the same since his Annie died. Every once in a while he goes off. No reason, no explanation, and he never remembers. It doesn’t happen often and he’s such a nice guy. I think it just gets to him once in a while, being alone and all. You’re good for him. He likes you. He’ll be fine. Good night, honey.”
Victoria stood in the dimly lit room and let her mind run over the events of the evening. No. Nick’s actions weren’t normal. And what had he meant when he said he and Wes had secrets? And the real reason for his being here? What was that all about?
As soon as Wes walked back into the hotel and found her half asleep in the chair, he picked her up, as he had done countless times with Katie, and took the steps easily so as not to disturb her too much.
She roused and wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling against his solid chest. “Nick okay?” she murmured.
“He’s fine. Don’t worry. And the townfolk? They’ll forget it by the time it comes around next month. No harm done.” He booted the door to her room open. He could smell her there. In the air, in the bedspread as he laid her down. Flowery, intoxicating.
She kept her arms around his neck as he tried to straighten. Smiling, he knelt on the floor beside her bed. “Good night,” he said and placed a light kiss on her lips.
Victoria strengthened the kiss when she pulled him closer and harder to her. She whispered, “Don’t go.”
An energy, a potency, and a concentrated force jolted through him. Two words. Two small, softly spoken words altered everything. He had thought he was being smart to leave her be after the events of the evening. But he had judged wrong. He kneeled down on the bed and she stretched her arms out for him.
Taking her hands, he drew her up and to him. Kneeling together, bodies locked, he sought to please her in every way. He placed hot, moist kisses down her neck, where her scent was so sweet. He made himself go slowly, forced himself to be gentle. The passion that rode through him demanded attention. Instead he turned that attention to her. He laid her back, gently, on the bed. After feasting his eyes on her shadowy form, knowing that tonight she would be his, belong to him only…he leaned forward and went toward her waiting arms.
In Wes’s arms earlier that night, Victoria had come to terms with her distrust of her judgment and him. They belonged together. A strange alliance. A joining of two souls brought on strictly by fate. He had been there all along. She had been searching the entire time. Miles and tempo had been between them. But no more. No matter what happened in the light of day. No matter what happened as a result of rhyme or reason, tonight…this night they would be together. The part of Victoria Clay that had always been cautious, always bent to the rules of whatever dictator prevailed, pushed it all aside and just became the woman who wanted to be in the arms of this man.
She was growing weak. His hands, his mouth. The sound of her name on his lips. Songs were written about love. Poems, novels, but nothing could ever come close to the age-old ritual of loving. Still she waited, anticipated, lingered, and tarried. She wanted this to go on forever. Then the urgency sped through her and she moved her hands to the snap of his jeans.
Losing himself in the taste of her skin, heated and moist, sweet and slow, seeping, his mind reeled. Never had a woman flowed into his pores and raced through his blood like this. Never had a woman meant so much to him. Her happiness, her sorrows, her joys, and her dreams. She was pouring into him and becoming a part of him, blood, guts, and heart. Finding the buttons to her dress, his fingers worked them open.
His mouth found the sweet, delicate form of her breast and tasted. She bloomed beneath his mouth, his fingers.
He left her breast to roam, slowly, so slowly. As he explored her body with his tongue, he felt her ripple like silk in the wind. He learned her taste, her texture, the sweet aroma of passion and heat.
Victoria ran her hands through his hair and pressed him closer to her. So this was making love. This was being loved. Not the methodical mating of male and female but the coming together of man and woman. His hands branded trails as he removed her clothes. Then his were gone and flesh pressed against flesh. His strong limbs mixed with her supple ones. Her heart raced, sending her blood speeding and leaving her light-headed. She felt him pull back and she reached for him.
Bringing his hand to her mouth, she kissed it and tasted his palm with her tongue. Hard knuckles brushed the smooth skin of her cheek and she kissed them. In the darkness she felt rather than saw his eyes darken and watched as the shadow of his head moved toward her once more. His mouth was at her throat, her breasts, and down her stomach. All the while his hands explored, cherished her, made her feel revered and breakable. Bringing his mouth back to hers, she tasted him once more, investigating with her tongue as she left the kiss to find out what he tasted like elsewhere.
His shoulder, his chest, the inside of his forearm. Her hands ran over his hips and down his muscled thighs. The play of his body under her touch delighted her. This strong, handsome, take-no-bull cowboy was subject to the feelings her hands and her mouth could bring him. She watched as she ran her fingers along his body, watched the muscles contract, his breath quicken, the way he moved toward her for more. He was wide open and in need of the way she felt in her heart and in her mind. And it mattered to her.
He had promised himself he wouldn’t take her quickly. She deserved better. His body screamed for more. His mind, his heart made him take his time. He wanted to please her. He wanted to know that every move he made brought delight. His possession of her body and hers of his had to lend to the opening and freedom of their hearts. The blending of their souls. But as they rolled together, discovering each other’s bodies, he felt his control slipping.
In the smoky, hazy, eerie land of lovers, Victoria reached for him, pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel him beside her from head to toe.
He str
etched his long, hard body on top of hers and she felt the thrill of it rip through her. The anticipation of being one with him, being filled with him. Heat whirled and fire pushed her toward him. Lifting her hips, inviting him…demanding him, she craved to be one with him.
Perspiration sheened them both. In the play of light shadow on dark shadow, he could see the desire in her eyes as she looked at him. He could see the love. Most of all he could see that. Could she see it? Could she feel it when he touched her? Could she trust it? He wanted to be sure. He needed her to know.
She was liquid beneath him. Volcanic. He felt himself slipping close to the edge. Sliding along on hot ice. Control was melting away. Lifting slightly, he felt his heart soar as she opened for him, eagerly. Joining her hands with his, he put them over her head and nuzzled her lips with his. “I love you.”
His words rocketed through her. Almost unable to breathe, she smiled and mouthed the words against his lips. “And I love you.”
Eyes open and on each other, he poised, touched, and slipped inside her, slowly…so slowly. A completeness. A oneness. A purely unexplainable peace filled her just before the fire backlashed through her and jettisoned her to a place she’d never known before. He tightened inside her, she closed around him.
Insisting. Arching, twisting, she reveled; floating, sinking, she cooled. Drowning, she submerged only to dive again; spiraling, twining, soaring, she thrust herself against him.
He was lost and glad for it. Gone. Everything he had was now hers. As he held himself back, as he drew the pleasure nearly to the point of exhaustion, a new and unknown power and surrender played with his foggy mind. His heart pumped to the point of bursting and yet he wanted to please her more. For each move that brought her delectation, it brought him joy. For every touch that brought her delirium, it brought him frenzy. He pulsed, at once, with wild excitement and gentleness. Every time she breathed his name, he was empowered. Every time she moved her hips up to meet his, he thought he was close to death. One he wouldn’t shun.