by Deborah Camp
She tipped her head to one side, not sure if she were insulted, irritated, or pleasured. “You see something you like or not? I’m not used to being stared at.”
“No?” Surprise flitted across his face. “I don’t believe that.”
Brushing imaginary dust from her skirt, she busied herself with something besides his alluring mouth and dancing eyes. “It’s true. Nobody likes being stared at.”
“I see something I like.”
Her gaze flew back up to his face. His smiling face.
“You,” he whispered. “I like you.”
She eased back a step. “I reckon that’s good since you’re marrying me tomorrow.”
“Do you like me?”
She eyed his broad chest and shoulders, the column of his neck, his strong jawline, and those slashing cheekbones of his. “Sure. You’re a likeable sort.” She scolded herself for holding back. “I like you,” she declared. “You’re a handsome man and you seem to be truthful.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his head. “I am truthful, so I tell you true that I get enjoyment from your orneriness and the way you scowl at the world, in general, as if you’re waiting for it to do something disagreeable.” He chuckled at the expression that covered her face. “Yeah. Just like that.” He held up one finger to stop her from saying anything. “But I also very much like the color of your hair and the shape of your mouth. The way your eyes tip up at the corners is right pretty. And their shade of blue makes me think of a cool, mountain stream. Oh, and I like your rare but lovely smile and I do so want to see it more often.”
Her breathing had become shallower with each surprising admission. She’d never had a man speak to her in such glowing terms. Men just didn’t talk like that. Did they? Only in novels. Not in real life. But here he stood in a pool of starlight, telling her what he saw when he looked at her. She backed away, not trusting what she’d heard. The men she’d been around told her they wanted to see her breasts, feel under her skirt, and take what she wasn’t ready to give. Sometimes they’d called her “a pretty, little gal,” or “a feisty, little heifer,” but never words like a cool mountain stream!
“Why are you backing away from me?” Lonestar asked, laughing under his breath. “What did I say to scare you?”
“I’m not . . .” She made her feet stop moving. “I’m not scared.” Her voice held a traitorous tremor. “I didn’t figure you for a man with a silver tongue is all.”
“Me neither.”
“We should go back inside.” She would have whirled away from him, but his fingers closed on her wrist and held her in place.
“Gussie, wait. I don’t want our first kiss to be after we say our marriage vows.”
“Wha?” She didn’t finish the word or the question because his lips were suddenly sealing hers. Warm, pressing, coaxing. She sucked in a breath when the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and he hooked one arm around her waist. He bowed her body into his and she was vividly conscious of the firmness and strength of him. A strangled sound vibrated in her throat and he let go of her. She leaned away from him as the world around her whirled before it finally stopped. “Is that how Indians kiss?”
A laugh jostled out of him. “I guess so. Why? Did I kiss different somehow?”
“I . . . yes.” She pulled her stinging lips between her teeth. He’d touched them with his tongue! Was that normal? How would she know? She’d only been properly kissed six times in all her years. Fleeting, quick, fumbling kisses. Not rightly on purpose like his had been!
“How?”
“How what?”
He smiled. “How was mine different?”
She could feel warm color pool in her cheeks and she was glad it was dark. “You didn’t even ask, for one thing! A gentleman is supposed to ask for permission. Not just grab on and do it like he was wrestling a steer.” She squinted at him when his smile widened. “I see that I’m amusing you again.”
“I can’t help it if I find you entertaining and charming.”
“Charming?” She scoffed. “Anyways, it wasn’t the worst kiss ever, but I wasn’t ready for it.”
His smile slipped away and his eyes glittered darkly. “Very well. You ready now?”
“N-now?” She gulped. “Right now?”
His jawline firmed with determination. “Right now.”
Was she? Before her mind could engage, her head was nodding. Both of his arms circled her this time and her hands came up to rest against his chest as he bent to kiss her. His lips enveloped hers, sucking gently before lifting, shifting, and melting over hers.
A moan broke loose from her and shimmied up her throat as she gripped his shirt and hoped her heart wouldn’t burst. His tongue swept across her lips once, twice. He emitted a frustrated sound and then pulled away from her.
“You going to let me in?”
“I don’t . . .” She scowled, unsure of what he wanted, but deciding to refuse anyway. “No.”
“Ever?”
“In where?” Her heart? Her bed? What?
He cupped her chin in his hand and plucked at her lower lip with his thumb. “In there. I want to taste you.”
Astounded, she pushed against his chest. He let her go and she stumbled away from him. With wide eyes, she stared at his questioning expression. “I’m sure that ladies don’t let men do that.”
He tipped his head in blatant curiosity. “You’ve never been bedded, am I right?”
“Of course, I haven’t!” She stomped one foot, enraged that he’d ask such a thing of her. “What do you take me for? I might not be educated and all, but I’m no trollop!”
“Settle down now. I’m only getting the lay of the land. You’ve kissed fellas, haven’t you? Been kissed by them, too?”
“Yes,” she hissed and folded her arms in front of her in a defiant pose. “I have!” She was glad that he didn’t ask how many.
“And none of them used their tongues when they kissed you.”
“No.” It wasn’t a question, but she answered it. “I’ve been kissed properly.”
“Ah.” He arched a brow. “And when you received those proper kisses, did you moan and pant like you did just now with me?”
Feeling cornered, she lifted her chin in a show of affront. “I’m going inside. This is not a conversation we should be having.” Not waiting for him to agree, she pivoted and marched toward the house, half expecting him to catch up with her and stop her. But he didn’t. She entered the house in a rush. From the worried and concerned looks on Erik and Susan’s face, she realized that her eyes were probably as wide as dinner plates and she was breathing heavily like she’d been running. Her face was probably the color of a ripe apple.
“Something wrong?” Susan asked.
Gussie shook her head, not trusting her voice. She moved aside when she heard Lonestar behind her.
“I’ll say my ‘good evenings’ to you all,” he said from the doorway. “Big day tomorrow, so I’m turning in.”
“Yes, it’ll be a big day,” Erik agreed with a chuckle. “And this is your last night as a free man, Max! See you bright and early in the morning.”
He nodded. “We’ll do morning chores before we head out.”
“Yes, and have a celebration breakfast. Can’t get hitched on an empty belly.”
Gussie’s stomach was all aquiver along with the rest of her. She barely heard anything else that was said, nodding in agreement with whatever plans Susan espoused as she made her way gradually to her bedroom – Lonestar’s bedroom. Finally, inside and alone with her thoughts, she fell onto the bed and stared blindly at the ceiling.
He wanted to taste her.
What did that mean? Did he want to bite her? Lick her? Did men and women do that to each other? Would someone like Susan allow such a thing from Erik? She couldn’t imagine it.
And yet . . . what was truly appalling was that she had to admit a little thrill when she thought about him saying that.
Let me in. I want to taste you.
/> Rolling onto her stomach, she buried her hot face in the cool pillow. Oh! Good! Lord! She wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. Not with her head full of such things, such words, such odd, tremulous feelings! She’d have black circles under her eyes tomorrow when she said her vows to Max Lonestar.
Taste her.
How would he taste? Like wild, green things? Like dark, rushing water? Like the tart, tantalizing edges of sin?
She groaned into the pillow and cursed her wicked imagination.
Chapter 5
Most preachers Gussie had happened upon had sonorous voices that sounded like bass church bells. Arvil Sherman didn’t. As he stood before Gussie and Max and read verses about fidelity from the Bible, his high-pitched whine got on Gussie’s last, frayed nerve. She ground her teeth so hard she was afraid they’d turn to dust.
Pastor Sherman’s black suit draped over his slight, skinny frame, clearly a size too big for him. His white shirt fit well enough but wasn’t helped by his droopy, black tie. His hair – what was left of it – stretched in thin strings across his balding pate and tickled the tips of his large ears. Still, he had an air of superiority about him. Gussie figured he was a big pea in a little pod – a pod dubbed Pear Orchard.
His wife was his opposite. A handsome woman with reddish-brown hair, she sat on the upright piano stool and softly played a church hymn. Taller than her husband, she had the widest shoulders in the family along with the deepest voice. She, too, had an air about her. She didn’t try to conceal her displeasure at seeing Max Lonestar or her disapproval of Gussie and the circumstances of their union.
Standing before the pastor, Gussie could feel the malevolent stares of Daisy and Pansy Sherman drilling into her spine. They sat in the second row of pews, right behind Erik, Susan, and the two Karlsson children. Both girls were pretty, she supposed. Daisy, the oldest, was slender with gray eyes and a naughtiness about her. She swung her hips suggestively as she walked and her eyes were always at half-mast and sultry. She had her mother’s deep, drawling voice and she made good use of it.
Daisy had greeted the groom with, “Why, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t the notorious Max Lonestar,” accompanied by a sly, suggestive smile. Then she’d arched her pale brows at Gussie while she looked her up and down, smiled knowingly, and sashayed down the aisle, not bothering to utter another word. Gussie had loathed her on sight.
The younger sister, Pansy, had a high, fluty voice and an hour-glass figure that bordered on plump. A brunette, her eyes were dark blue, and she smiled and giggled a lot, showing off dimples that bracketed her mouth. She’d twittered at Lonestar, batting her lashes and audaciously blowing him a kiss! For Gussie, she could only spare a sad smile and twitch of her nose. Gussie had detested her on sight.
Of course, Gussie’s better judgement advised her to pay them no mind. But they made her hackles rise, especially when they looked at Lonestar. Looked at him like they had a previous claim on him.
Standing beside Lonestar and listening to the high-pitched drone of Pastor Sherman’s recitations, Gussie felt fuzzy-headed. Her groom, handsome as sin in his “Sunday suit” of black with its gray vest, snow-white shirt, and black tie, made her heart gallop. He’d removed his hat before they’d entered the church, revealing his dark hair that had been carefully brushed off his forehead. His sideburns reached almost to his jawline and curls brushed the top of his shirt collar. She breathed him in – that scent she associated with him – rainwater, soap, and now a hint of pine.
In profile, his eyelashes were long, shading his expressive eyes of warm brown with flecks of gold. He wore a serious expression as he listened to another Bible verse read by the loquacious minister.
Gussie’s eyes were even with his shoulder, and she felt that she paled in comparison to him in her cream dress with its white lace trim. Susan had plaited her hair and wound the braid into a crown. She’d placed small white and pink flowers throughout, and Gussie had to admit that she’d never felt as pretty as she did on this – her wedding day.
Wedding day.
Her breath caught for a second and sweet emotion squeezed her heart. Her pulse was so loud in her ears that it almost drowned out the mosquito-whine of Pastor Sherman’s voice. The next words he uttered, though, clanged in her head, jolting her from her musings.
“Do you Maxwell James Lonestar take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Gussie looked from the preacher to the man beside her. Lonestar smiled down at her and her nerves settled a bit.
“I do.”
The words left his lips and circled her heart. This was happening! She was getting married. A bubble of panic broke loose in her stomach and floated up to burst in her throat so that she gave a little cough.
“And do you, Augusta Adele Horton, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“Adele?” Lonestar whispered before she could answer the question.
She nodded, seeing the shock on his face.
He swallowed and his throat flexed, making his tie bob. “That’s my mother’s name.”
It was her time to be shocked. “I . . . oh. I didn’t know.”
“Augusta?”
Again, she nodded, registering the softening of his expression. “I was born August first,” she explained with a shrug.
His lips curved in a smile. “I like it.” He drew in a breath and released it along with her name. “Augusta.”
Momentarily mesmerized by the way her name sounded when spoken by him – like a hushed, husky croon – she forgot where she was and what she was doing until the reverend cleared his throat.
“If you two are finished talking, I asked you a question, Miss Horton.” Rev. Sherman narrowed his already squinty eyes.
“I do!” Gussie said, too loudly, as if she’d been poked with a sharp stick. Tittering laughter echoed behind her and she knew it was the flower sisters. She held onto her temper by sheer will, while mentally cursing them to hell and back.
“Very well, then.” Rev. Sherman released a long sigh of aggravation. “Do you have a ring for her?”
“Yes.” Lonestar swallowed hard and reached into his jacket pocket.
A ring? He had a ring? She held her breath as he removed a gold wedding band. He stared at her hands and she realized that he was waiting for her to take off her borrowed gloves. Hurrying, she yanked at them and he grasped her left hand.
“Repeat after me,” Rev. Sherman said, his tone bordering on boredom. “With this ring—.”
“With this ring, I thee endow you with my heart,” Lonestar said, not needing the pastor’s words to recite. “And all that I am and all that I own. With this ring, I vow to thee humility, honor, and fidelity. With this ring, I make thee mine and I bequeath myself to you.”
Silence fell over the church. Gussie listened to her heartbeats drumming in her ears. She stared at the gold band, etched with tiny hearts, feathers, and filigree.
“It’s what my father swore to my mother on their wedding day and this is the ring he gave her,” Lonestar whispered.
Gussie had no words. She lifted her gaze from the beautiful ring to his beautiful eyes and he blurred before her as warm tears obscured her vision.
The pastor cleared his throat. “By the powers vested in me by the State of Arkansas and before God Almighty, I pronounce you husband and wife.” He closed the Bible and sent Lonestar a pinched-face grimace. “You may kiss your bride, if you want.”
“I want.” Lonestar slanted him a scathing glare before he bent toward Gussie. His lips brushed her warm cheek, near but not on her mouth. His thumbs skimmed under her eyes, collecting the tears that had fallen. It was then that she realized she’d closed her eyes in sweet anticipation of his kiss. Her lashes lifted to see his brief, almost chiding smile.
Gussie straightened her spine and turned away from him, feeling foolish for wanting his lips upon hers. Susan embraced her.
“Congratulations and welcome to our family. I’m so happy to have you as my sister, Gussi
e.” She took the lacy gloves from Gussie’s slack fingers.
“Did you hear, Suze? Her middle name is Adele,” Lonestar said.
“Yes!” Susan held Gussie at arm’s length and bathed her with her bright smile. “It’s a sign, Max. A sign that this marriage is meant to be.”
Feeling fuzzy-headed as if she were half-awake and half-dreaming, Gussie glanced around, wondering what they were supposed to do next. It was done. She was married. Not to Bob Babbitt, as she’d planned, but to this tall, handsome man with a checkered past. And she’d gained a sister-in-law, brother-in-law, niece, and nephew to boot! It all caught up to her and she felt dizzy, her head spinning and her heart racing.
“Whoa there,” Lonestar murmured, cupping her elbows in his big hands when she swayed from side to side. “Are you fixing to catch the vapors?”
Gussie shook her head and the world righted itself. “I’m f-fine. Just . . . married.”
He chuckled and let go of her, but stayed close to her side. “Yes. That we are.”
“You need to sign the church record and marriage license,” Pastor Sherman said, moving to the back of the small building. Sunlight streaming through the tall windows threw rectangle patterns across the pews and center aisle. “Follow me.”
They did and placed their signatures first in a big registry book and then again on an official piece of parchment. The reverend handed the parchment to Lonestar.
“There you have it. It’s all official. I suppose you’re taking that straight to Daniel Poindexter. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You married this woman so that you could get Poindexter’s land.”
Gussie’s glare sharpened and she used it to cut him down to size. The pastor tried to stare her down, but failed. He blinked and shifted his attention away from her.
“I’m buying the Poindexter place,” Lonestar said, his voice quiet but rock-rimmed. He turned toward Gussie and offered his arm. “Shall we?”