by Anna Jeffrey
The one-who-ran-things stepped back, her arms crossed over her apron front. “Yes, ma’am. She’s really the one who runs things around here. I just follow orders.”
Dahlia couldn’t tell if the housekeeper spoke out of awe or contempt, but the picture of the arresting, straight-spined woman astride a huge horse left no doubt that Ethel’s statement was fact.
Luke returned and ushered the two of them into a restaurant-sized kitchen where he began dragging food from an oversized, double-door refrigerator. “You hungry,” he asked and Dahlia shrugged and said, “Sure.”
“I’ll make us a lunch. We’ll do some exploring in the Jeep. Have a picnic.” He turned to Ethel. “Jimmy went to sleep. He be okay with you for a few hours?”
“You know he will,” the housekeeper said, still smiling.
With Ethel’s help, Luke made cold roast beef sandwiches, then grabbed two apples from a basket in the center of a round oak table in one corner of the kitchen and pulled a hunk of cheese and some Cokes from the refrigerator. He and Ethel packed all of it into a brown grocery sack. Swinging by a closet in the dining room, he plucked a bottle of wine off the shelf and some Styrofoam cups and stuffed them into the sack.
They loaded the lunch and a bundle that looked like a sleeping bag into the back of the Jeep and set out, winding uphill toward the imposing Sterling Mountain.
“Your parents aren’t home?”
“They went to Salt Lake, for Mom to see a doctor. Won’t be back ’til the middle of the week.”
“Oh,” Dahlia said, puzzled. Would Luke have invited her here if his parents were home? She doubted it and a glum feeling settled on her. To undermine her enjoyment further, thoughts of returning to Texas and leaving him battered her.
Before she could fall into despair, they came to a huge granite outcropping and Luke told her from this spot she could see the whole valley all the way to the Snake River and this was a good place to stop and eat lunch. She could and it was.
It was also a good place for lying back and lazing in the sun and after they had eaten the sandwiches and drank most of the wine, they did that. With Luke cushioning her neck with his arm, soon they were kissing, tongues dueling, hands caressing each other’s intimate parts and building heat.
“It’s been too damn long,” he whispered, his eyes dark and stormy.
They hadn’t made love for more than two weeks. The last time she had seen him, she had been having her period. She loved seeing passion in his eyes and knowing she had put it there. “I know.”
“There’s a better place.” Lithe as a cat, he rolled off the boulder to his feet, then turned and
lifted her down. They loaded back into the Jeep and proceeded uphill. Tension, thick and hot, drummed between them. They didn’t talk, but when he wasn’t shifting gears, he clutched the inside of her left thigh and she hung onto his hand.
A two-track trail off the main road soon appeared and Luke made a sharp turn onto it. Dahlia began to hear the distant roar of rushing water. He parked, slid out and went to the back of the Jeep. She followed. He pulled the bundled sleeping bag out of the cargo hold and told her to grab the lunch. There were still apples and cheese in the sack, and Cokes and some of the wine. She gripped the sack and trailed behind him as his long legs ate up the rough terrain.
They rounded a cluster of boulders and right in front of her, water bubbled out of the hillside and tumbled downhill. In its unhindered trip, it had washed clean and eroded to a smooth surface tiers of flat, tan rock that stair-stepped down the mountainside. Vapor rose above it and Dahlia could feel heat and dampness.
“Steam,” Luke said, “from the hot spring. There’s a dozen of them around here.”
Her gaze traced the water’s steep, downward path to a pool at the foot of the hill. Obviously man-made, it was a rock-dammed portion of a stream. A swirling cloud of mist hovered at its surface. Luke reached for her hand and led her down. Her heart was pounding when they reached the bottom, whether from the hike or anticipation of things to come, she didn’t know.
They stood in a shroud of warm mist. She saw through it that they were in a green bowl of ferns and plants secluded by hillside and giant, dark green trees. Slivers of sunlight checkered through the tall evergreen canopy on one side. The water’s roar drowned out sound. The smell of fertile earth, so rich she could taste it, filled her nostrils. An eerie feeling came over her. She had never been in a place that stimulated every sense at one time.
Without a word, Luke began unsnapping his shirt buttons. A flash of pure, raw lust spiked inside her. Her gaze locked with his and she pulled her own shirt over her head and off. In no more than a minute, they were naked as nymphs. Her nipples tightened as the warm, humid air whispered over parts of her body outdoor air didn’t usually touch. She closed her eyes and basked in the spine-tingling sense of freedom coursing through her. From the center of her being to the tips of every hair, she felt alive, charged with desire.
“Look,” Luke said huskily, and she opened her eyes. He was standing a few feet away—all long bone and thick muscle and that part was long and thick, too, thrusting like a column from his groin and visibly throbbing and all she could think of was how good it felt inside her.
He reached down and took himself in hand. “See how much I want you?”
She felt herself flex deep and low. Her mouth went dry and she drew in a long, slow breath, unable to take her eyes off his engorged penis. It seemed even larger than usual.
Then he was there, his arms wrapping around her like a straitjacket and his mouth slamming down on hers. It was a grinding, violent kiss, out of control. Her head spun, enveloped as she was in a cloud of passion and pink Chablis. His hand burrowed into her hair and held her head. His tongue thrust deep and she sucked it like candy. Her nipples ached for his hands, his mouth and she rubbed the rigid little points against his hair-roughened chest, reveling when he groaned.
She smoothed her hands down his sculpted body, over his narrow buttocks, around to his erection. While his tongue plumbed her mouth, she caressed the velvety shaft that gave her so much pleasure, stroked the smooth, bulbous head with her fingertips, cupped his hairy scrotum in her palms. He tore his mouth from hers and swore on a ragged breath.
She could think of nothing but pleasing him. She trailed her mouth down to the base of his
throat, licked the quick pulse beating there, bent her head and found his nipples with her tongue and licked and nipped. He shuddered.
Spurred on by passion to give him pleasure, she sank slowly to her knees, licked her way over his solid abdomen, past his navel and down. He went still and his breath sharpened. “Aw, God, Dal . . .”
She moved on, caressing his buttocks, pressing her face against his groin, breathing in his musky scent. His penis jutted beside her cheek, a pearl of moisture glistening on its tip. She had to kiss the swollen thing. She closed her hand around it, licked away the salty drop and molded her lips over the plump head, ran her tongue around the rim.
He hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers dug into her shoulders and he moved himself away. “I’ll come,” he said huskily, clutched her arms and brought her to her feet. He gripped the backs of her thighs and lifted her. Instinctively, her legs locked around his waist and she clung to him.
He carried her to a water-washed bench of flat rock and tipped her back onto the hard surface. Water, nearly hot, sluiced underneath and around her, wetting her body, soaking her hair, filling her ears with sound, but the steamy temperature didn’t compare to the sizzle in her blood.
“You make me crazy,” he growled. “Fucking you is all I think about, day and night.”
It wasn’t poetry, but it was Luke. Whatever. It was all she thought about, too. She planted her heels on the edge of the rock, opening herself wide to receive him. “Put it in.”
“Not yet.” He leaned over her and pinned her wrists beside her head. Warm water trickled over her arms and hands, her feet, and down there, it pummeled her gently, tease
d her intimate parts with its ebb and flow. Her mind moved to another plane, fixed on the sensations between her legs.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered. He nuzzled the hollow of her underarm and inhaled deeply. “I want to breathe you in, swallow you up, save you inside me.”
She wanted no less and as his mouth moved to her breasts, she arched her back, offering them to him. He took her nipples, one by one and sucked her hard, pressing each rigid crest against the roof of his mouth, sending spikes of lightning dancing straight to where the warm water tormented her.
He moved down, his hot mouth trailing over her body’s swells and hollows. The stubble of his afternoon beard scraped her stomach. He placed his palms on her inner thighs, spread them wide and stared down at her. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
She made no attempt to cover herself, wanting his eyes to worship her. She came up on her elbows, hair and body soaked and dripping, and shamelessly watched as his fingers stroked her feminine layers. The dual sensations catapulted her to depth of lust she had never known. “Luke, now . . .
“Not yet . . .” His head bent down and his tongue trailed the edge of her pubic hair. “Not ’til I kiss you all over . . . inside and out” Two fingers slid into her. Her breath caught. “Not ’til I eat you whole,” he murmured against her flesh. “Make you come twenty times.”
She was on fire. She wanted everything, all at once. “Luke, please . . . I’m so hot . . .”
Her hips tried to move against his mouth, but he held her in place. His fingers worked upward, stretching and touching something so good it had to be forbidden. Her eager deep muscles clutched them and they pushed deeper and began to stroke. Something was happening inside her. She was coming apart. She would scream if release didn’t come.
His mouth moved along her inner thigh murmuring sexy words she could only partially
hear over the sound of the rushing water. “. . . eat you ’til you scream my name . . . hear you beg . . .”
Then his mouth was there, between her thighs and she watched as his tongue traced her cleft. Her pulse drummed in the tiny core of her sex. It had become her universe. The odd tension, the delicious desperation coiled in her belly and deep muscles inside her sex clenched. Relief from the need was all that mattered. She whimpered her need. “Oh, Luke . . .”
His fingers withdrew and he placed a hand on her breast, gently pushing her back. “Lie back.”
His hands slid under her buttocks. He lifted her and took her full into his mouth, pushed his tongue inside her. She gasped. She panted and whined, but he tormented her by withholding what she wanted.
His tongue thrust and withdrew, his mouth sucked. She wallowed in an erotic haze of wine and ecstasy and warm, trickling water, letting him do what he would. Her head thrashed from side to side and she did cry his name and beg. Then, his tongue moved from inside her and as soft as warm silk, he drew the tiny, ripened core of her sex into his mouth and a world of sparkles exploded behind her eyes. She cried out and gripped his wet hair in her fists, sobbing and grunting like an animal as orgasm after orgasm crashed through her.
It wasn’t enough. Emptiness clawed at her. Her woman’s sheath wept for his hot flesh, her womb ached to be washed by his semen. “Inside me . . . Hurry. I need you inside me.” She panted the words, yanking his head up by his hair and opening herself to receive him. “Here. Here, Luke. I’m ready.”
He didn’t fail her. With a savage curse, he drove into her. She came again, her breath hitching, her deep muscles milking him with quick, strong contractions. He pumped, once, twice, swearing and straining. She felt the spurt of him, heard his savage outcry as he plunged over. At the end of it, he collapsed on top of her, shaking and gasping.
She, too, was shaking. She had never known emotion so deep, passion so hot, sex so raw. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, trailed down her temples, washed into the clear pool below and she sobbed, torn asunder. She loved him. She had tried to deny it for weeks, but she loved him, to the depth and breadth her soul could reach, like in the poem. “Oh, Luke—”
“Did I hurt you?” He gathered her close to his chest.
“No, but—” Unable to put her feelings into words, she kissed him fiercely and he kissed her back.
“Aw, God, sweetheart. . . . That nearly killed me.”
“We’re all wet,” she said, still crying.
“Shh-shh, now. We’re okay. Don’t cry now.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her into the warm pool.
Chapter 14
Dahlia and Luke had not been back at his cabin long before Brenna and Morgan brought Jimmy, four T-bones, all the fixings for supper and invited themselves to stay.
“They’re just being nosy,” Luke whispered to her in the hallway, but Dahlia didn’t mind. She had liked Brenna and Morgan from the first when they met at the political fundraiser in Boise back in May.
As the slender strawberry blonde dumped salad from a plastic container into a wooden salad bowl in the kitchen, she slanted Dahlia a wise grin. “You guys went to the hot springs?”
Learning Luke’s sister might know what had happened at the hot springs, Dahlia felt herself blush. “Uh, I’ll do the garlic toast,” she said quickly.
“Hey, don’t be embarrassed. Morgan and I’ve enjoyed the hot springs ourselves.” Brenna talked as she unloaded more food from the basket she had brought. She produced a canning jar filled with what Dahlia assumed was salad dressing and rummaged in the cupboards as if she knew how to find what she was looking for. “That place is eerie. When you’re up there, it’s like you’re Adam and Eve and you’re the only people in the whole world.” Brenna pulled a small carafe from the cupboard and set it on the counter with a clunk. “Every time Morgan and I go, I think I’ll get pregnant. The atmosphere just seems right for it. And the place reeks of fertility.
That remark brought a quickening of Dahlia’s pulse as she remembered that she and Luke had done it twice without condoms. She watched as Brenna poured salad dressing from the canning jar into the carafe. “Is that homemade?”
“Hope you don’t mind. I’m sort of into cooking.”
“Not at all,” Dahlia said. “I’m sort of into cooking, too, or at least I used to be.” She turned away and slid the bread into the oven. “Is that what you want, to get pregnant?”
“Morgan and I’ve been married six years. It’s time we had kids if we’re ever going to. We’ve had all the tests. No reason why I shouldn’t conceive, they say, but it never happens.”
Dahlia glanced outside through the window in the back door at the McRae who obviously hadn’t had conception problems. He was showing Jimmy how to tie his sneaker.
Brenna looked out, too. “The teaching never stops. It’s so tragic. My brother’s a wonderful father. Jimmy devastated him. Devastated the whole family, really. Someone should strangle that child’s mother.”
“Luke hasn’t told me much about his ex-wife,” Dahlia said, hoping for information.
Brenna laughed. “He wouldn’t. He never discusses his feelings about anything, but I know he’s got ’em.” Brenna put the finishing touches on setting the round oak table at the end of the kitchen, then gave Dahlia a pointed look. “Take you, for example. He hasn’t said a word about you to any of us, but I can see he trusts you to be around Jimmy. And he’s brought you here. That’s never happened before.”
That tidbit from Luke’s sister made Dahlia giddy and she let go of a self-conscious giggle. “He’s such an attractive man and this is such a beautiful place. It’s hard to believe he’s never brought home a female friend.”
“Girlfriend, you mean. He doesn’t have girlfriends. At least not the call-up-and-ask-for-a-date type. He’s always kept his women stashed in Boise. Or somewhere. I’ve never met a one of the women he . . . sees.”
You mean the women he sleeps with, Dahlia thought as an eddy of jealousy and affection swirled within her. The thought of him with another woman, sharing intimate tender touches she want
ed to believe he shared with only her, intimate words he shared with only her, was almost more than she could bear.
“Of course when he used to go around with our neighbor, I knew her,” Brenna went on. “She didn’t really count though. He mostly went out with her because Mom wanted him to.”
“I see,” Dahlia said, caution restraining comment.
“You’ve probably heard about his ex-wife and our mom. Everyone in town talks about it.”
“A little.” Dahlia was growing more uncomfortable, but she couldn’t control her curiosity.
“I was still in high school when Luke and Janet got married,” Brenna said. “I’ll never forget the hurricane that went through this family. Mom saw through Janet from the first.”
“Saw through her?”
“Janet’s five years older than my brother and at the time, was a whole lot more sophisticated. He was such a kid then. So naïve. He had spent most of his life on this cattle ranch. Lord, when we were teenagers, we hardly ever went to town for anything. You saw what the trip is like.”
No clear picture came to Dahlia about how it must have been to be a teenager living on the Double Deuce Ranch. Even the farm and ranch kids in Loretta didn’t lived where a forty-mile obstacle course lay between them and town. She had grown up in town—a small town, granted, but still there had been a society and other kids with whom she could interact.
“Janet thought by marrying Luke she had captured a seat on a gravy train. What she didn’t know was life at the Double Deuce is more hard work and survival than wealth and glamour. Every day of the nine years she lived here, she resented that she was actually expected to do something.”
“Why did she stay so long? And why did she have kids?”
“Luke’s never said. I know Mary Claire was an accident because Janet was pregnant with her when she and Luke got married. I’ve always thought both the other kids were accidents, too. As for staying, Janet had nowhere else to go. She’d probably still be here if Luke hadn’t caught her in a motel room in Boise with a logger. Who she later married for about a year.”