"Smart woman."
"She liked you, didn't she?"
Jakob grinned. "I love you, darlin'."
"And I love you. Jakob, you've made all my dreams come true."
"Not quite all."
She gave him a knowing smile and nodded. "All."
Surprise lit his features. "All?"
Her heart did a nervous allemande left, then right. She couldn't suppress a jubilant smile. "We're going to have a baby."
His dawning smile reassured her that she'd made him as happy as he made her. His blue eyes uncurled a warm response within her. His fervent kiss was heaven. And heaven was here on earth....
Epilogue
Spring 1889
"Everything's almost ready. Lydia, you sit down and hold Clara while I get the rolls from the oven." Annette handed her the infant, and bustled across Lydia's kitchen. She'd become as comfortable there as in her own home.
Lydia smiled down into the healthy pink face of her blue-eyed niece.
Jakob set the last chair in place around their dining room table and pulled one up beside her. "I hope having dinner here hasn't been too much for you."
"I'm as healthy as a horse, Jakob."
Jakob bestowed a kiss on her lips. "For a while there, I thought you were going to be as big as one, too."
Franz laughed and seated himself on the other side of the table. "She'll lose it, Jake. It's only been a week. Look at Annie after a couple of months."
"Wanna eat!" Nikolaus stated from his chair at the table's corner.
Johann grinned and snitched his oldest grandson a slice of ham.
Anton, somewhat thinner and drawn, smiled, too. The winter had been difficult, but he was learning to adjust. Through the renewing season had come acceptance. Preparing the soil and again learning the sun's warmth had been a healing force.
With the family's love and help, he and Nikolaus would be all right.
From the bedroom off the kitchen came a healthy squall. At her baby's cry, Lydia's full breasts responded.
Anton gave Lydia a beseeching glance. "Can I get him?"
"Of course."
He returned with the flannel-wrapped infant tucked in the crook of his arm, looking much as Jakob did when he rocked his son each night.
Annette placed a basket of Lydia's warm rolls on the table and squeezed Anton's shoulder. He smiled up at her. "I'll pray."
Over Jakob and Lydia's table, the Neubauers' heads lowered, and they joined hands. "Father God," Anton began, "a lot has happened this past year. At times I didn't think you were even there."
Lydia's throat constricted, and she grasped Jakob's hand tightly. Tiny hiccups jerked against her breast, and she inhaled the clean, unique scent of baby. Warmth and love she could barely contain welled in her heart.
"Thank you for sparin' enough grain to see us through the winter," Anton continued. "Bless Jakob and Lydia's trip to Accord tomorrow, and thank You for the gradual softening of her father's heart. Watch over this family, especially Nikolaus and Clara, and this newest little fella, Seth. With Your help, we continue to take care of them. And love them. And someday... we'll all see You in heaven. Amen."
The End
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LAND OF DREAMS
Excerpt from
Land of Dreams
by
Cheryl St.John
Zoe fell asleep on the ride, and Booker carried her up to her room. Thea undressed her and together they tucked her into bed. Perhaps this was what being married felt like. She folded Zoe's quilt and placed it over the footboard. Was this the way husbands and wives did things?
Booker followed her down the hall to the room he'd provided for her use. She'd already moved most of her belongings, except for the things she would need tonight and tomorrow. He lit the lamp and watched her kneel and sort through a trunk. "What are you looking for?"
"I remembered a strand of pearls that were my mother's. I thought I'd wear them tomorrow. I think my jewelry case is in here. Ah." She retrieved the rough—textured, tapestry—covered box and opened it. She started to lift the necklace out, then let it fall back. "No. They're longer than I remembered."
"So? Let's see." He reached into the box.
"I don't know—" she hesitated "—I don't think they'd look right on me." Thea's cheeks grew warm.
"Look." Booker let the glossy pearls slide through his dark fingers. "If it's too long, you can double it. Stand up here and turn around."
"No, I—"
"Come on." He led her to the mirror over the wash—stand and wrapped the strand around her neck. She contemplated the lovely jewels against her somber brown dress. Booker adjusted the necklace, sliding the pearls along her skin until he'd wrapped it around her neck twice and fastened it. The cool pearls caressed the base of her throat.
She met his obsidian gaze in the mirror. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck.
"You're so lovely it pains me," he said softly.
Her heart tripped against her breast.
"Let me see your hair," he said, his voice low and gruff.
In the mirror, her gaze skittered from his to her unruly hair. Several strands had come loose during their ride and spiraled against her neck and cheek. Might as well break him in a little at a time, she thought with wry amusement. He'd see it sooner or later. Just like he'd soon see her body and her freckled skin.
She reached behind and plucked the pins from her hair. Booker's hands pushed hers aside and took over the task, dropping pins on the washstand. The knot loosened and draped over her shoulder. He untwined the hank of hair and threaded his fingers through, grazing her neck and sending shudders coursing through her body.
She turned her head to gauge his expression and he captured her mouth in an eager kiss. He coaxed her shoulder with a gentle hand until she turned easily. Cupping her face in both hands, he drew the kiss out, delicately nudging her nose with his, playfully darting his tongue along the crevice of her parted lips, lingering at the corners, nipping at her lower lip, driving her mad.
His kiss was too gentle, too considerate, too teasing and unsettling. Thea grasped his shirtfront and pulled herself against him, closer to his evasive mouth, closer to the hard—muscled, boundless attraction of his body.
As if sensing her need for a deeper connection, for a less tender fusion, Booker covered her mouth in an ardent, all—consuming clash of lips and teeth and tongues, and tugged her against his wildly beating heart.
Thea's fickle body gave itself over to his, pressing, fluttering, yearning, on a blast of quick—springing desire. He kissed her until her knees grew boneless and she slumped against him. He kissed her until she couldn't breathe and he had to let her up for a staggering breath. Then he kissed her again until he made her completely, perfectly, accessibly his.
He spanned her waist with his enormous hands, stroked her ribs and spine and crushed one breast beneath his palm. He drew back and more tenderly cupped her through the fabric of her dress.
Thea ran her palms over his chest and tentatively touched the skin at the open throat of his shirt. Booker released her long enough to jerk his shirttails from his waistband and coax her hands underneath.
The instant her fingertips met his warm flesh, she was lost in a wave of sensation. His skin was fevered satin to her touch, smooth and firm—a heady, tangible, nerve—zinging pleasure.
She stroked her palms upward from his iron—hard belly to his curl—carpeted chest, and he sucked in a spontaneous breath. He reached behind her neck, and she thought for a moment he intended to remove the necklace. Instead, he manipulated the buttons on the back of her dress free.
Thea closed her eyes and waited without breathing while he worked his way down the buttonholes to her waist. So this was how. He hadn't needed to say a word. He urged the dress forward, and she begrudgingly released him to peel the sleeves down her arms. Her bodice bunched at her waist.
She wasn't t
he least bit embarrassed.
Booker bent his head and touched his mouth to her collarbone. Waves of pleasure lapped at a soul too long denied hope. She relished his breath against her flesh, his hair as it touched her cheek. She savored the coarse texture of his palms against her bare arms, thrilled at the tingle as his tongue grazed her shoulder.
Covering her lips with his, he moved her away just enough to urge her toward the bed. The backs of her molten knees hit the mattress and buckled. He released her mouth and tugged his shirt up and over his head in a fluid motion, not bothering to unbutton it, and followed her down, tugging on the ribbon that held the front of her chemise closed. The white cotton parted and his dark, hooded eyes drifted to the bare skin between her breasts.
"I knew you'd have freckles here," he whispered.
Thea would have brought her hand up to cover herself, but he lowered his head. She caught her breath. He touched his tongue to the spot he'd mentioned, turned his head and nuzzled her soft, sensitive flesh. His evening beard prickled, a titillating contrast, she discovered, and she drove her fingers through his silky hair.
He raised and kissed her, pressing her shoulders against the bed with his weight. Through the thin cotton chemise, his springy chest hair teased her breasts.
She was his tactile prisoner.
Through her haze of passion, Thea heard her name. "Thea?"
She stiffened and listened. Booker obviously heard it, too, and pulled away.
"Thea?" Lucas's voice called down the hall. "Zoe needs you."
"She'll be right there," Booker called over his shoulder.
Their gazes collided and danced away. Booker sat back, and Thea's hand fell from his shoulder. She touched her tongue to her puffy lips and frowned. She couldn't get her fingers to turn her sleeves right side out.
Booker moved and caught up her sleeves for her. "After you see to Zoe, I'll take you home."
Embarrassed now, she turned her back for him to button her dress. She tried ineffectually to gather her hair into order.
"It's okay," he said against her neck. "Just one more night."
She turned then and looked him full in the face. His eyes shone with an ardent light, his lips glossed and full from their kisses. The shadows the lantern cast defined each hill and plane of his solid shoulders and muscled torso.
"One more night," she agreed and turned, knowing in her impatient heart it would be the longest night of her life.
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with an excerpt from
SAINT OR SINNER
Saint or Sinner
by
Cheryl St.John
He'd finished the front and side of the fence, and was working his way across the back to the point where he'd started that morning. Addie surprised him by walking across the yard toward him with a glass of lemonade. He'd hung the clean shirt on a nail near the back porch and put the dirty one on again. Her gaze flicked across his chest and down to his hip, where the gun rode once again.
"Thank you."
"For the fence?"
"For taking off your gun, for leaving your shirt on today."
"You prefer me with my shirt on?"
She flustered. "I don't prefer you one way or the other, Mr. McBride. I simply appreciate your adhering to propriety."
"Is that what I did? Hmm... You're welcome."
"You'll stay for supper tonight, since you don't have to go back for Yancey."
"Was that an invitation or an order?"
She held his gaze. "An invitation you can't refuse."
If he didn't know better, he'd think that was humor he'd heard in her tone. "All right."
He drank the lemonade and handed her the glass. Their fingers brushed unintentionally. Quickly she turned and hurried back to the house.
Having finished the posts, he started on the horizontal boards between them, working until daylight waned. Finally he packed his tools, washed, and knocked on the back door.
Addie ushered him in, and busied herself making him a plate.
"What about Yancey?" he asked when he saw the table set for the two of them.
"He ate earlier, when we realized you weren't stopping."
"You didn't have to keep everything hot for me."
"It was no trouble." She sat across from him.
No trouble? He couldn't remember anyone going out of their way for him before, and her thoughtfulness touched him. "Where is he now?" he asked.
"We read while it was light enough outside, and—"
"Yancey can't read."
"I read to him."
Joshua wished he could have heard that. He pictured her sitting on the swing, Yancey beside her. "That was nice of you. He loves books."
"So I discovered. I found a tin of beads, and he's stringing them now." She sat across the table from him.
Joshua dug into the plate of ham, potatoes and green beans. It was nice of her to wait and join him, but he thought it wise not to mention that. He had the distinct impression she didn't want to be nice to him.
Maybe she was just lonely. Once again he wondered why she lived out here alone. She was young, but attractive enough to have married by now. His thoughts skipped over the single men of Van Caster, Ruben and Ricky Dean among them. There wasn't a big choice, was there? But there were activities that united the entire county. Surely she'd have met someone.
Maybe she'd been burned. He took the second helping she offered. Maybe someone—someone like he used to be—had taken advantage of her and hurt her. That would give her cause to dislike, even mistrust, him.
She cut him a wedge of apple pie and filled his cup with steaming black coffee. She did know how to soften a man up—not that he needed any softening. And he, the hell-raisin'est son ever born in Van Caster, hadn't the first idea of how to soften her up. He couldn't draw from his past experiences with women. Sure, he knew the things they liked to hear. He knew the way to seduce a female into compliance. But that wasn't his intention.
He wanted her respect. Along with the rest of the town's. And that placed him at a definite disadvantage.
Heart pounding, Addie cleared away the dishes. "Let's take our coffee on the porch," she suggested. McBride followed her through the tiny parlor, where Yancey had fallen asleep on her worn settee. She'd seen how tired he'd grown while she read to him, and she'd suggested he lie down if he got too sleepy.
Addie sat on the swing and left room for McBride, but he politely sat on the wicker chair. Drat! How did one initiate a kiss? She'd been kissed before, several times by disgusting men who hoped to take advantage of a young girl, but only once by someone she hadn't hit or run from. That kiss had been from a boy her own age, in some town she couldn't even recall now.
She had liked it, had liked him. But her father had pulled one of his schemes and immediately moved them to a new town. And she'd never even had a chance to tell the young man goodbye.
Addie had learned etiquette from books. She'd learned about the nature of men from life. But she'd never learned about relationships. Not that she wanted a relationship with this ruffian. She just wished she knew a little more about men and women... together, so she'd know what to do.
Obviously she couldn't just get up and go kiss him. Could she? No, of course not. She'd have to work around to it. Tempt him. "Do you read, Mr. McBride?"
He sipped his coffee. "A soldier gave me his Bible before he died. I read that quite a bit."
The thought of him reading the Bible fascinated her. "Did you learn anything?"
He seemed to think for a long moment. "I think I learned to be satisfied."
"With yourself?"
"With what I have."
"What about with yourself?"
"Well, I—I learned I wasn't satisfied with who I was."
"So why did you come back here?"
It took a minute for him to reply. "I had a lot of wrongs to right."
"And you think fixing boardwalks and building chu
rches makes up for your past?"
He tipped his head in uncertainty. In the light from the doorway, a frown crossed his features. She was forgetting herself and being too abrasive. She had to set aside her resentment and make him think she liked him.
Remembering his peace offering, she asked, "Why did you think to bring flower seeds back with you?"
He shrugged. "I discovered those flowers one day, and they seemed so out of place, with all the killing and burning and ugliness going on. I thought they should be growing somewhere peaceful. Somewhere far from all that. Silly, probably."
"No," she said. "Not at all." She understood. She was like those flowers herself. She'd run from all the ugliness in her past, and planted herself here in this quiet place. "Do you like lilacs?" She stood and moved to the corner of the porch. "Come smell them."
He placed his cup on the floor and stepped beside her.
She ran a finger over a broad, pointed leaf and pulled a branch toward her face. She inhaled and closed her eyes to enjoy the heady fragrance. When she opened her eyes, he was watching her in the darkness. She offered him the blooming branch.
He bent toward her to place his nose against the tiny, delicate clusters. She remained where she stood, and his face came within inches of hers. "We had lilacs when I was a boy," he said.
"Sometimes smells give you a memory," she said. "Do you have any of those?"
"Not pleasant ones."
She'd said the wrong thing again. "I'm sorry."
"Do you?" he asked.
Addie tried hard to remember. "Toasted bread makes me remember a woman who was kind to me when I was sick once."
He straightened but didn't move back. "Burnt bacon reminds me of my sister," he said with a half smile. "She was a terrible cook when we were kids, but she kept trying. One rainy night down south, that smell drifted to me in my sleeping bag, and I thought of Chessy cooking for me when she was only about nine or ten, and... and... I missed her."
Cheryl St.John - [Neubauer Brothers 01] Page 30