Jane Bonander

by Warrior Heart

Susannah rose and slid a cookie sheet into the oven. “As the oldest child, he was the most responsible. Of course, he was Corey’s hero. But no matter how often Corey followed him around, Jackson never became impatient with him.”

  Libby hid her discomfort. He would have to be perfect, wouldn’t he?

  “But as he got older, he became distant. Nathan and I both noticed it and we knew why. He felt the brutality done to the Indian as readily as if it were his own burden. He couldn’t stand to see the underdog defenseless. He returned to the tribe often. Although he never told us this, we simply knew that’s where he was. He felt they needed his protection.”

  Susannah released a sigh. “We had no idea he’d married a native girl and had a child, much less that his young wife had been killed by Jackson’s own people. That’s how far he’d drifted from us.”

  They worked together in silence, Libby’s emotions clamoring inside her. Perhaps she’d been too hard on him. Perhaps she’d expected too much from him.

  The door opened, bringing a gust of cold air.

  “Ah, nothing like the smell of fresh bread and ginger cookies to make a man profess his love for a woman.” Nathan Wolfe stepped to the table, bent and kissed his wife’s mouth.

  Libby’s stomach churned, and she ached for that which she would never have. Her gaze met Jackson’s as he came into the room behind his father. Her reaction to him hadn’t changed; she still quivered like a schoolgirl.

  Jackson poured coffee for himself and his father, then took a seat at the table virtually ignoring Libby. She didn’t miss the quick look of concern that passed between his parents. Oh, God, she shouldn’t have come. She knew it!

  “The place looks great.” Jackson grinned at his mother.

  “I’d forgotten how much land we had.”

  Nathan took his wife’s hand and caressed it in his.

  “We’ve got to get that hay up into the high country near the cabin before the first good snow.”

  “When do you want to do it?” Jackson asked.

  Nathan uttered a sigh. “It should be done within the next day or two, but I’ve got a sick mare. If something should happen to her while I’m gone, I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel responsible.”

  Jackson toyed with his cup. “I can take the hay to the high country in the morning.”

  Susannah brightened. “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea. Libby can go with you to keep you company.”

  At her suggestion, Libby nearly dropped the bread on the floor. She quickly recovered, but she couldn’t look at Jackson even though she knew his gaze was on her. No doubt he was as distressed as she was.

  “The cabin needs to be shut up tight, made ready for winter.” Susannah smiled at her husband. “Remember the year it was invaded by raccoons because Corey had taken a girl up there and hadn’t secured the kitchen window?”

  Nathan gave her a suggestive smile. “Remember the first time we ever used it?”

  “On our honeymoon,” she answered, almost shyly.

  Libby tried not to stare, but Susannah’s blush was exquisite. Why, they were still in love, after all these years. Imagine that….

  She turned to the counter and resumed her duties, but her hands shook and her knees were weak.

  She wanted that. She wanted what Nathan and Susannah had. It was up to her to change things; Jackson had told her that. She swallowed hard, vowing to bring about the change.

  Perhaps the trip to the cabin wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

  That night she pretended to be asleep when Jackson came to bed, for she felt a bit skittish about her plan. She was a coward, pure and simple.

  “I watched you sleep last night, Libby. I know you’re awake.”

  His hand moved over her hip, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “I know how your sweet mouth relaxes in sleep, how there’s tension mixed in with your peacefulness, how your face is composed, but your fists are clenched.” He continued to stroke her hip.

  Unable to continue to pretend she was asleep, she rolled over onto her back, a movement that brought his hand in contact with her stomach. A shock raced into her pelvis, shooting down both legs.

  She swallowed hard. “I think you should remove your hand.” But this was what she wanted. What was wrong with her?

  “Make me,” he countered, continuing his fingertip perusal.

  Again he was daring her. He did it so well. Even though they were legally husband and wife, she wasn’t comfortable doing anything under his parents’ roof. That was foolish, but she just couldn’t. Hopefully she could convince him of her feelings once they reached the cabin. Until then … She drew in a breath and steeled herself against his caress.

  “Do what you want, Jackson. I hope you don’t get bored.”

  His chuckle was warm and deep as his fingers traced a circular path to the top of her thighs.

  She turned her head away and bit down on her lip, wondering how long she could stand such a seductive assault.

  “I think your curls were soft,” he whispered. “I can’t remember.” He continued his subtle attack. “What color are they, Libby? Almost black, like this?” His other hand threaded through the hair at her temple.

  “Maybe with a hint of red, to show your fire?”

  She struggled to breathe normally; it became difficult.

  His hand slid down her thigh, to the hem of her gown. “Mind if I look?”

  She attempted to push his hand away, knowing he wasn’t serious. “You really are a pervert, aren’t you?”

  “There you go again, calling me names.” His fingers toyed with her knees.

  “All well deserved,” she managed, although his touch continued to raise havoc with her senses.

  His hand moved slowly up her bare thigh. “Aren’t you going to fight me?”

  She smiled slyly. So that was what he wanted. To tussle, as they had in the kitchen when they’d bombarded each other with flour. “No,” she managed. “Do what you wish.”

  His eyes held a twinkle. “Really?”

  She shrugged, although her body throbbed. “You want me to fight you. You’re itching for it. I won’t give you the satisfaction.”

  “You won’t fight me?”

  Did he sound disappointed? She thought so. “No. I won’t fight you.”

  “Good.”

  He flipped the covers away so quickly that Libby gasped. “What are you doing?”

  He started tugging up her nightgown. “I’m going to see what color you are down there.”

  She pushed at her gown, attempting to force it from his grip. “You are truly a lunatic,” she muttered, fighting against the upward thrust of his hands.

  “I thought you weren’t going to fight me, Libby.”

  She lunged at him, momentarily forgetting that to do so she had to release her hold on her nightgown.

  He straddled her, his hands pinning her arms to the bed.

  She glared at him, shaking with desire. “You promised not to touch me.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I promised not to make love to you. I told you it was too late to order me not to touch you.”

  Frustrated and weak of will, she succumbed. “Then look, damn you. It’s what I’d expect from a deviate.” She pinched her eyes closed, waiting for …she didn’t know what. Another smart remark? A leer? A snicker?

  Then she felt it. A whispery kiss low on her abdomen. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at the top of his head as he bent over her.

  “J-Jackson?”

  He planted kisses lower and lower still until she felt his lips against the sensitive folds of her flesh. Her legs shook and she rolled her head on the pillow as the pleasure built. She tugged at his hair, not certain what she wanted.

  “Do you want me to stop?” The words were whispered against her, heightening her hunger.

  Did she? Yes, yes, of course she did. But, oh, God …

  “Libby?” He dipped his tongue there, where every nerve in her body appeared to be c
entered, and she bucked on the bed.

  She forced his head away. “Y-yes, please, please …” She swallowed. “Stop.”

  He rolled off her and turned away, presenting her his back. “It’s just as well,” he muttered.

  She was still quaking with unquenched desire, but she pressed her legs together and moved to the edge of the bed. How could she possibly sleep, with him beside her?

  As if reading her mind, he remarked, “I’m not leaving this bed, Libby.”

  “No,” she answered, her voice quavering, “I don’t suppose you are.”

  “No matter what you think, I have some honor. I won’t take advantage of you again. The scent of you drives me wild. Your skin is so soft, it makes me crazy. That fluff of hair between your legs begs to be kissed. I apologize, but I got carried away.”

  So did I. She curled up into a ball and clutched the bedding to her chin. She should have let him continue. Oh, God, she wanted him to. But not here, not with his parents in the next room. It was a foolish inhibition, but she experienced it all the same. Now she knew it would be twice as hard to convince him she’d changed her mind.

  In the morning, she awoke, her nose pressed against his bare chest. Again, as the morning before, his arm was around her. She knew she should do something, but for a moment, she would do nothing.

  So, she thought, breathing in the scent of him, this was what the rest of her life would be like—when she finally surrendered. Perhaps her stubbornness had been uncalled for. Just perhaps, she was being unfair and unrealistic.

  Allowing herself to relax, she sighed and settled against him. She would tell him now. She wouldn’t wait until they were at the cabin. She loved waking up like this, close to his body. She loved the hair on his chest, on his arms, on his stomach. It was masculine. Erotic. She had an overwhelming urge to absorb him into her skin.

  Sensing he was awake, she spoke. “Jackson, I—”

  With a growl, he removed his arm. “I know, I know. I’m getting up.” He rolled to the other side and left the bed.

  “I’m sorry. The bed is narrow. Fortunately, we won’t be here for a couple of nights, and there are two beds up at the cabin.”

  She heard him struggle into his clothes in the darkness. “I hope that satisfies you.”

  She swallowed the knot in her throat. She hoped she hadn’t waited too long.

  The ride to the cabin was cold, for they’d had to take the wagon, which was piled high with bales of hay.

  Libby’s first glimpse of the building was through a thicket of evergreens, their pine-scented needles filling the air with a spicy tang. “Cabin” was really not a proper term for the building. She’d expected a crude structure, but this was anything but crude. The exterior was made of cedar logs. A window, larger than any she’d ever seen, faced the valley, and the roof peaked high.

  The interior was just as breathtaking.

  Jackson put her valise in the larger of the two bedrooms. He seemed so resolute. Gone was the teasing, the gentle taunting, the seductive assault. And, as annoying as she’d thought he was, she missed his playful advances.

  While he made a fire in the large stone fireplace, she strolled to the back wall, which was the kitchen. The staples were already there, and Susannah had packed enough food for a week.

  As Libby began preparing a simple supper, Jackson informed her he was going out to take the hay to higher ground.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No. But I’d appreciate it if you’d have dinner ready when I get back. I’ll be as hungry as a bear.”

  She went to the window and watched him leave. He turned briefly, catching sight of her through the glass. She almost waved good-bye, but the wagon had already disappeared through the trees.

  Pulling in a ragged sigh, she returned to the kitchen, browned some venison and onions, and prepared a pot of stew. An hour later it was bubbling on the stove, and she had a tin of biscuits ready to slip into the oven.

  She found a copy of The Scarlet Letter lying on a table in the great room, and curled up in a chair by the fire to read. The grandfather clock in the corner chimed, and when Libby absently counted seven bells, she put the book on the floor and rose, surprised that Jackson hadn’t yet returned.

  Rubbing her arms, she crossed to the window and cupped her hands around her eyes, attempting to look outside. Up through the trees, she could see no stars, and when she discovered it was snowing lightly, she felt a jolt of panic.

  She threw on her shawl and stepped outside, noting the quiet, the tranquility. The air was cold and still. Coyotes howled in the distance, sending a shiver of fear over her skin. She listened, straining to hear the wagon, but there was no noise but the drumming of her heart.

  She returned to the cabin and lit the lamps that stood on the circular tables at either end of the settee, casting some light into the large room.

  Expecting him any moment, she went to the kitchen and checked the stew, slid the biscuits into the oven, then squinted out into the darkness again. Nothing. She tried not to worry. After all, he was a grown man, and even though he hadn’t been here for many years, he knew the country well. He’d been all over the world, for heaven’s sake. He was the most capable man she’d ever known. Yet …

  Nervous and anxious, needing to occupy herself, she pulled out ingredients for molasses cookies and stirred up a batch. When the biscuits were brown, she placed them on the back of the stove and covered them with a cloth, then began baking cookies.

  The clock chimed eight, and Libby could contain her panic no longer. Fretfully wringing her hands, she paced the great room, her gaze going to the door frequently, willing Jackson to come through it.

  Her imagination went wild. She pictured him lying dead somewhere, the wagon or the horses having crushed him. A brief image of Sean’s broken body shot through her, and she sucked in a gulp of air. And if the horses hadn’t killed her poor husband, perhaps snarling wild animals had torn at his body, dragging him through the snow into the trees.

  Anxious and afraid, she was unaware that she’d been crying until she felt the tears drip from her chin. Swiping at them with her fingers, she hurried to the door and pulled on a pair of oversized boots. Someone’s jacket hung on a hook, and she shrugged into it, buttoning it hastily as she left the cabin.

  The snowfall was heavier now, obliterating not only the tracks they’d made earlier, but the entire road. She forced a calm through the wedge of panic that screamed through her, trying to listen for him, praying for his safe return. She wanted to search for him, but it was dark, and she was completely unfamiliar with the landscape. As anxious as she was to do something, she knew it was sensible to do nothing. Getting herself lost would do him no good at all.

  She held her breath. There. She heard a rustling in the trees, beyond the extended porch that jutted out from the side of the cabin. But …She put her hand to her mouth.

  The road wasn’t there; it was …Her frantic gaze roamed the darkness. The road was there, she thought, straight out from the door.

  Suddenly a series of sharp barks returned her attention to the wooden deck and she froze, unable to move. The barking and yelping seemed to close in on her, and from the trees she heard an eerie, mournful howling, the sound sending shivers of fear over her skin.

  Willing herself to move, she stumbled into the cabin and sagged against the door, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs.

  “Oh, Jackson,” she murmured, unable to quell her fears, “where are you?”

  All of a sudden she heard a gunshot. Then another. Throwing open the door, she squinted out into the darkness.

  “Jackson?”

  “It’s me, Libby,” came the answer.

  “Jackson!”

  With tears of relief and anger tracking her cheeks, she nearly stumbled down the steps as she ran to meet him. “Where have you been? You had me worried sick.”

  He hopped from the wagon. “I’m sorry. I guess I lost track of time—”

&
nbsp; She took a swing at him. “How dare you scare me like this? How dare you!” She hit him again, her fist pummeling his chest.

  He caught her to him, and she slumped in his arms, relieved that he was here and that he was all right.

  “Come on,” he urged, helping her to the cabin. “I’m sorry I frightened you. It was thoughtless of me to leave you here alone after dark, especially when you’ve never been here before.”

  She sniffled. “Th-there were coyotes.”

  “I know. I think my shots scared them off.”

  He removed his jacket and his boots, then helped her with the coat. He drew her to a chair, gently pushed her into it, and pulled off her boots. He rubbed her feet, then her hands.

  “I thought something had happened to you.” She gazed into his beautiful face and started to cry. “Oh, God, I thought something awful had happened to you!”

  He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her face. “I didn’t know you cared.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Of course I care, you fool.”

  He chuckled. “Now you sound like the Libby I remember. Feeling all right now?”

  She expelled a shuddery breath. “I don’t think I’ll ever be all right again.”

  He lifted his head and sniffed. “Smells good in here. Do you want me to get you some supper?”

  Feeling better, she shook her head and stood up. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine now. Go wash up.”

  By the time he returned, everything was ready, and she was ladling stew into bowls. He held her chair as she slid into it, then took a seat across from her. His eyes were warm and filled with regret. “I’m sorry I frightened you, Libby.”

  She gave him a watery smile. “I don’t know why I panicked so. Probably because I expected you to return before dark.”

  “It gets dark early up here; the sun drops behind the mountains quickly.”

  As they ate their dinner in silence, Libby realized that they were in the ideal place for a honeymoon: a secluded mountain cabin. Oddly enough, it was the first time they had ever been totally and completely alone together.

  22

  From his bed Jackson listened to the sounds of the distant coyotes and stared at the dark ceiling. What a different Libby had emerged tonight. He wouldn’t have purposely frightened her for the world, but her reaction when she thought something had happened to him filled him with hope. He thought of the baby growing inside her, and he cursed himself for worrying her so. It had been thoughtless. He could never have forgiven himself if something had happened to her while he was out.