Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01]

by Heaven Can Wait

  Her smile was hesitant. His was instant.

  He kissed her again. Reaching for the buttons of her dress, he unfastened them.

  She stopped him with her hands over his. He looked at her, a questioning frown knitting his brow. Slowly she reached forward and unbuttoned his shirt. Peeling the fabric open, she slid her hands inside and stroked his chest.

  Jakob closed his eyes and gloried in her touch. He loved the feel of her hands in his hair, on his skin. "Your touch is heaven."

  Her hands stilled. Opening his eyes, he questioned her with them.

  "My grandmother said the only thing better than this is heaven."

  "Wise woman. Don't stop." He tossed the shirt behind him. "Kiss me."

  Lydia pressed her lips against his chest. Her lips were cool against his feverish skin, his heart quick-beating beneath them. A timid kiss beneath his ear set his blood on fire. Her lips plucked at his jaw, his cheekbone. Her face swam before him, her breath fanned his mouth.

  "Kiss me," he whispered.

  She did, and he wrapped his arms around her and folded her against him. Breast to breast, knee to knee, their breathing rose and fell in rapid harmony. She shuddered as he pushed her dress from her shoulders, but she stood, fingertips resting on his bare shoulders, and stepped free of it. The dark circles of her nipples showed through the snowy-white chemise. She was beautiful. She was eager, in her own naive manner, and her response set him on fire. He covered her breasts with his hands and kneaded, stroking her taut nipples through the fabric with his thumbs. She hugged his head against her midriff.

  Impatiently Jakob urged her down on the blanket and lay beside her, his trouser-clad leg wedging between her knees. He tugged the satin bow between her breasts and untied it, reaching inside the material and sating his hand with her fullness. He dipped his head and tasted the exquisite blue-veined skin. A sound escaped her throat, and her shoulder lifted, as if she were offering herself more fully.

  He found the drawstring and untied her drawers, skimming his hand down her belly and finding her slick feminine warmth. She gasped and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Unmercifully Jakob seized upon her reaction and continued the caress. His lips traveled from her breast to her mouth and back. The scent of her hair and skin intoxicated him. He wound a skein of hair around his wrist and rubbed it sensuously across her breasts, his cheek and lips.

  Together they tugged off his boots and trousers. He tossed her drawers on the pile and lowered himself over her. She gathered him close, opening herself to his silken thrusts. The trees were a green-and-gold canopy overhead, an occasional leaf dropping unnoticed. Beneath the blanket, dry leaves crackled, needles snapped, the sounds lost in a chorus of mingled breath and murmurs.

  Jakob forced himself to rest. Raising himself above her on long arms, he took a deep breath.

  "Jakob?" Her hand raised, and she touched his cheek questioningly.

  He took her hand, brought her fingers to his lips and spoke against them. "I want it as good for you as it is for me."

  "It is, Jakob. I—"

  "I asked Franz, and he—"

  "You what?"

  "I wanted to know how I could make it better for you—"

  "You talked to Franz about this?" She attempted to squirm out from under him, but his body pinned hers to the earth. He had spoken to his brother about this most intimate detail of their marriage? What on earth had he asked him? Told him? "You spoke to him about us?"

  The inflection in her voice assured him of the ultimate betrayal. "No, of course not. Hold still. I wasn't born with all the answers, just because I'm a man. He was the logical person to ask, so I did."

  Lydia's eyes were huge. They widened even further as Jakob moved within her. Unable to help herself, she was intrigued. Franz and Annette certainly seemed blissful, and—her breath caught in her throat—Jakob's exquisite movements soothed her embarrassment. It couldn't hurt to have an open mind.

  He watched fascination replace initial mortification. "Trust me?"

  She nodded.

  Grasping her hips, he rolled onto his back and, without separating from her, settled Lydia on top of him. Taking her hands, he placed them on his solid chest. The gold ring that made her his glittered in the sunlight. He guided her hips until she caught the rhythm. Her eyes fluttered closed. His hands stole inside her gaping chemise, and he swallowed hard, allowing her to stroke his desire—and her own—to mindlessness. His body arched, and Lydia leaned into his palms. The dangling satin ribbon of her chemise tickled his chest... his chin... his chest... his chin...

  The supple muscles of her long legs tensed, and he opened his eyes to watch the play of emotion on her lovely face. Lips parted, eyes closed, she was magnificent; the embodiment of every bridegroom's fantasies. Her hair reflected sun-dappled auburn fire from above. Her neck arched, and she cried his name. Instantly his strong hands grasped her hips and aided her movements. He lunged upward a last time, and caught her as she fell against his chest.

  He kissed her damp hair, lifted it from her neck.

  Lydia's heart swelled with love and wonder, raced with a tumultuous thumping. Every ounce of her being had yearned, craved, that heart-stopping ecstasy. She pushed herself up and ran her hands over Jakob's damp chest.

  How positively wanton. Midday, with the sun shining warm and wonderful on her shoulders, and she, clad only in a gaping chemise and stockings. Laughter bubbled up and spilled over, and Jakob's body quaked as he joined her.

  Their laughter rose through the silver-leaved branches and echoed across their soon-to-be front yard.

  "We can sit on our front porch and remember this day." He kissed her fingers.

  Nearby a bird called its mate.

  He twisted a lock of her hair around his thumb, a deep, warm satisfaction lingering. He traced her delicate collarbone. She wasn't small, but she was feminine. Strong, supple and made just for him. His woman. Everything was turning out the way he wanted it to. By next year they would be living in their own home.

  A billowy cloud temporarily shaded the tree they lay beneath. Jakob looked up and watched a leaf drift past Lydia's hair. A needlelike prick of doubt snagged his tranquility. He was almost afraid to allow himself the security the past week offered. It was almost too good to be true.

  A strange horse was munching oats in a stall when Lydia and Jakob returned their horses to the barn. Jakob looked him over. "Never seen him before. Must be a visitor."

  They cared for the animals and ran hand in hand to the house. With the sun setting, the evening promised a chill.

  A handsome young man with fawn-colored hair separated himself from the others and rose from the table as they entered the kitchen. Lydia blinked. It took several seconds before she recognized her brother out of context.

  "Nathan?" Whatever was he doing here?

  He held his black hat in a long-fingered hand.

  "This feller says he's kin of yours," Johann said kindly.

  Lydia ran to wrap her arms around her brother's waist, the impulsive hug as natural as breathing. His surprise was obvious. Over her shoulder, Nathan's gaze found Jakob.

  Annette turned the fire down under a fresh pot of coffee. "I offered him a slice of your mince pie, Lydia, but he turned it down."

  "Thank you, ma'am," he said in his familiar deep voice. "Speak with my sister, I must."

  Suddenly everyone had somewhere to go.

  "Jakob, please stay," Lydia said softly. "Nathan, it's good to see you. How did you find me, and how did you get here? Why did Father—"

  "Father does not know I came. Grandmother sent me. I took a horse from the stables and asked directions in Butler."

  Fear expanded Lydia's chest. His defiant action needed a powerful motivation. Father would punish him severely. "What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Grandmother—Is she—?"

  "Gravely ill she is. Herr Doktor does not have hope she will live through the night."

  A silent exclamation passed her lips. She sa
w her grandmother, small and frail upon her low cot, her gray dress barely lifting with each breath.

  Nathan's eyes swam with unshed tears.

  Jakob watched Lydia's hand tremble on Nathan's jacket. Her silent tears distressed him more than if she'd screamed and wailed.

  "Is she in pain?" she asked.

  "Dr. Klein gave her medicine. She only..."

  "What? Tell me!"

  "She only asks for you. To come here she begged me. I told her Father would not allow it, but she would not listen. What else could I do?" He blinked, looking beseechingly from her face to Jakob's. "I could not deny her."

  Lydia hugged him again, and this time his arms returned the embrace. "Danke. You're taking a risk for me. Did you bring a message?"

  "She wants you at her side."

  Her shoulders slumped. She stared at the scarred tabletop. Minutes passed, and she sat heavily.

  "I think perhaps she is not thinking clearly," her brother explained. "You are not allowed in the colony."

  Jakob could see that Nathan wanted to reach over and touch her hand to comfort her. Rigid self-discipline rooted him to the spot.

  "I will tell her I spoke with you. That you are well and send your love."

  Lydia nodded without enthusiasm. A tear traced down her porcelain cheek. "Ja."

  Jakob drew his gaze from their grieving faces and selected cups from the cupboard. He recalled himself at the age of ten, and relived the emotions he'd experienced the last time he saw his mother alive. She'd told him she loved him. He'd told her in return, and cried brokenheartedly. That last goodbye was a memory he still treasured.

  "I could sneak in like I did before!" Lydia exclaimed, pressing one hand flat on the tabletop.

  Nathan shook his head. "You could not. Vater sits by her side constantly."

  She stared at the cup Jakob placed before her.

  Jakob's mind churned in helpless turmoil. His wife would have to mourn without her family, without the comfort of seeing her beloved grandmother one last time, without honoring the old woman's final request.

  A flicker of guilt pricked his conscience. Because of him, she was denied this human solace. She had chosen to be his wife rather than a Harmonist, and now she must pay the price. Anger welled inside him. The price was too high!

  Etham Beker had done this to her. Vater Beker's own daughter and mother suffered because of his narrow-minded bigotry. The heartless man made decisions for their lives without considering anyone's feelings.

  Jakob remembered sitting at the Bekers' kitchen table with the old woman, remembered her teasing smile. Lydia loved her grandmother deeply. She wouldn't be deprived.

  Calmly he poured coffee into the cups. Anger wouldn't help the situation, and he didn't want Lydia more upset. "Lydia, pack us each a change of clothes. Use the leather bag in the closet. Find a warm jacket for yourself. Nathan, have a cup of coffee, and then we'll go out to the barn."

  Lydia stared at him in confusion. "What? Why?"

  "You're going to see your grandma."

  "But how? My father won't—"

  "Your father will let you see her, or I'll eat my hat."

  Nathan looked at him, as if trying to picture it.

  "Go on." Jakob jerked a thumb toward the hall.

  Knowing her husband, she ran for the stairs.

  A half-hour later, the three rode toward Accord in the dark. Nathan's mount had been replaced by Carolina. He gaped at his sister, who was riding astride, yellow skirts tucked under her knees. Jakob led the way, finding the landmarks even at the brisk pace in the darkness. Pausing on the rise, the horses rested briefly while the riders stared at the dim illumination from Accord's softly glowing gas lamps below. Beneath them, the horses snorted, their bellies heaving with exertion.

  Tension coiled in Lydia's stomach. Her father was down there. What would his reaction be when he saw her? When he saw Jakob? God help them!

  Jakob led them down the hill and directly onto Church Street. In the common, the bushes had been pruned and the flowers were gone, signs of oncoming winter. The horses' hooves clomped, a loud, hollow sound on the even brick walkways.

  Jakob halted in front of the Beker house. Dismounting, he reached for his wife and bore her weight to the ground. "Nathan will stable the horses. Come."

  He took Lydia by the elbow and led her to the door.

  What would her father do when they barged in? Her heart pounded. "Jakob, I'm frightened."

  "You want to see her, don't you?"

  She gripped his hand as if it were a lifeline. She wanted to see her grandmother more than anything. "Yes."

  "Then you're gonna. Get in there."

  "But—"

  "I'm right behind you."

  Lydia took a deep breath and opened the door, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the brightly lit kitchen. Mutter and Rachael sat at the small table, empty teacups in front of them. They looked exactly as they always had, wearing gray dresses and prim white aprons and caps. Instead of being reassuring, the familiarity of the scene was somehow sad. Every day she'd been gone, she'd lived to the fullest, whether ecstatic, afraid or confused. She'd felt something wonderful, done something new, each day. The Beker family had plodded on day after day with neither change nor pleasure.

  "Lydia!" Mutter cried, her happy look of recognition immediately replaced by one of anxiety. Her fair gaze observed the towering man behind her daughter.

  Jakob closed the door with a firm click that said they were staying.

  Rachael moved first. She pushed back the chair she sat in and stood. "Vater is in the bedroom with Grandmother."

  Lydia recognized the warning. "Is she... still..."

  "Ja."

  "Thank God." She tilted her gaze up to her husband's face.

  "Lydia will see her now," he stated.

  Rachael and her mother regarded one another, but neither of them replied.

  Jakob prompted Lydia across the room into the hallway. An oil lamp with a metal reflector behind the dome hung on the wall, illuminating their path. Etham's voice drifted from the open doorway ahead. He spoke softly, but his voice became clearer. Her father stepped into the hallway and caught sight of the two intruders. He drew up short, his posture stiffening. "What are you doing here?"

  Lydia opened her mouth, but Jakob spoke.

  "Lydia's come to see her grandmother."

  "She made her choice, Meier Neubauer. She turned her back on her family and this home." He spoke as if Lydia weren't standing there.

  "No, she didn't make that choice, Reverend Beker. You made it. You turned your back on her."

  "It was my decision to make. She is unwelcome here until she sees the error of her ways, and repents."

  "Hell will freeze over first," Jakob snorted. "But she's here now, and she's going in there. Who will stop her?" His deep, quiet voice held enough threat to make his intent clear.

  Behind them, Lydia sensed Mutter and Rachael.

  Etham's eyes burned with black intensity. "All I need do is send one of the boys to ring the alarm bell. Twenty men will appear and remove you both." He stepped forward. "Make it easy on yourselves, and leave now."

  Faster, Jakob stepped forward, placing Lydia behind his left arm. He faced her father, menacingly. From the concealment of his woolen jacket he removed a steel gray object and pointed it at the other man. "You'll step back into that room and stay out of Lydia's way."

  A nauseating flash of vertigo swept Lydia with the recognition of what he held. She clawed her fingers into the sleeve of his jacket. "Jakob, no..."

  Using her grip on his sleeve to his advantage, Jakob yanked her forward and gestured toward the doorway with the gun. "Go on."

  "Jakob—"

  "Get in there!"

  Heart pounding, Lydia skittered past her father. Rose Beker's dark eyes greeted her granddaughter without surprise.

  "Child."

  "Grandmother." Lydia fell on her knees beside the sleeping cot and buried her face in the covers pulled over the
old woman's sunken chest.

  Obviously Etham Beker had never looked down the barrel of a .45 Peacemaker, and his murderous expression said he didn't care for the big farmer waggling it under his nose now. He backed into the room and dropped onto the chair indicated by a jerk of Jakob's head.

  Lydia felt Grandmother's breast quake and saw her seamy smile. Their hands entwined on top of the coverlet.

  "I knew you'd find a way." She chuckled silently, and Lydia didn't know if her grandmother spoke to her or to Jakob.

  Mutter and Rachael brought chairs. Absurdly Jakob thanked them and sat, as if he were an honored guest. Nathan returned, and his eyes widened at the sight of Jakob's generous hand leveling the Peacemaker at Etham.

  "Danke, Nathan," his grandmother praised. "You did not fail me."

  Nathan blushed. At his father's glare, he excused himself.

  Rachael brought tea and Kekse. Jakob thanked her, and they spoke softly.

  Rose slept for the better part of an hour, her fingers tucked within Lydia's. Lydia observed the darkened nails on the pasty hand, listened to the deep, tortured breathing.

  "Lydia Rose," a thin voice called. "My beautiful wildflower..."

  Lydia realized she'd fallen asleep. She raised her head and smiled at the endearment.

  "He makes you happy?"

  As though they were continuing a conversation begun only a moment ago, Lydia replied, "Yes."

  "Do not settle for less." Her pale lips seemed stretched around her teeth in a smile. "Not like he did. Not like she did."

  Lydia met Jakob's eyes. He smiled, encouragingly.

  "Etham, son," Grandmother said in a stronger voice, "you settled for less. You made Christine, that pretty young thing, settle for less, too. She was young once. Vibrant... a real beauty. Remember?"

  Etham sat up rigidly, black eyes fixed on his mother.

  "Ah, but now... your father... he wanted it all. Took everything God offered him and turned it into a joy and a blessing. Matthaus..."

  It was impossible not to shed a tear at the sad-sweet way she spoke his name, as if he could hear her. Lydia pressed her lips against Rose's bony fingers, and snuck a peek at her father. He stared resolutely at his lap.