by Deborah Camp
“Does it really hurt?” he asked, his brows drawing together. “Or does it just sting a mite and feel peculiar?” He shifted his hips, moving out of her a bit more.
“It stings,” she said. “You’re too big.”
He grinned and rubbed his nose against hers. “I am big, but not too big. You are woman enough to handle me.”
She had to smile at that, but her smile faltered when he drove into her again. “Owww!”
He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and closed his eyes. Then he withdrew only to push right back in, deeper this time. Her insides gripped him, held fast to him. He shuddered against her. She stared at him in wonder. She was pleasuring him! She could tell by the tremors in his muscles under her hands and the way his breath sawed in and out. He opened his eyes and let her see the desire swirling in their golden depths and her hips lifted to meet his.
“Ahhhh,” he groaned, his head dipping so that he could press his face against the side of her neck. “That’s the way, my darlin’.”
He said no more, but allowed his body to speak for him. She let him guide her, arching into him as her muscles quivered, but no longer in discomfort. With each thrust and parry, her body melted, smoothing the rough edges, leaving only pulsating feelings and tingling pleasure points.
In the next handful of minutes, she was sighing his name and rubbing the back of her heels up and down his hair-dusted legs. He gripped her hips firmly as he continued his sweet onslaught and flung back his head as he thrust deeply.
He stilled, cursed softly, and then lifted himself on stiff arms and pulled out of her. She squinted at him as he released a choppy moan. Warm ropes of liquid splashed on her belly and breasts.
“Wh-what have you done?” She ran a hand over the sticky substance. “Did you – what is this?”
He chuckled, sounding lazy and tired. “It’s what makes babies, Augusta. Better there than inside you. I don’t think we want you to be with child. Not yet, anyway.”
She felt her face flame with embarrassment. “Good heavens! It . . . it’s all over me!”
He laughed at her repugnance. “Wait. Don’t move.” He scrambled out of bed and went to the wash stand to wet a rag. He ran it over himself first, rinsed it out, wet it again, and came back to her. “Let me.” He wiped up the milky, translucent splatters. He went to the wash stand again to rinse and wring out the cloth. This time, he parted her thighs and ran the cloth over her mound, chuckling under his breath at her gasp of indignation.
“There. All better?” He tossed the rag toward the wash stand and slid in beside her, lying on his side, and draping an arm across her stomach. “How do you feel?”
She mentally examined her feelings. “Fine.” She rose up a little and looked down her body. “Am I bleeding anywhere?”
He chuckled, following her gaze. “Not yet. I think what few drops of blood there were ended up on me.”
She winced and decided to change the subject. “How do you feel?”
His grin told her all she needed to know, but he answered anyway. “Relaxed, happy, and ever so grateful.” He kissed her shoulder. “Thank you, Augusta.”
“You’re welcome, Lonestar.”
His eyes locked on hers. “Say my name.”
“Lonestar.”
He shook his head, his eyes dancing. “No. My Christian name. Say it.”
She sighed. “Max.” She made a face at him.
“You don’t like my name?”
“It’s a fine, masculine name. But I like Lonestar much better.”
“Oh? Is it more masculine than Max?” He wound a lock of her blond hair around his forefinger.
“When I say it, I think of Indian braves with feathers stuck in their black hair, riding hellbent along the great plains on spirited, painted ponies.” She felt herself blush. “It’s a romantic name.”
His brows rose. “Then you must consider me romantic.” He chuckled when she averted her gaze in sudden shyness. “All that is in my name? Do you know that you’re the only woman I’ve known, other than my mother and sister, who isn’t repulsed by a half-breed like me?”
“I don’t believe that. A man as handsome as you turns female heads and wins hearts. They might have been told not to get involved with you, but that wouldn’t have kept them from admiring you and . . . seeking your attentions.”
His brown eyes softened, reminding her of velvety chamois. “Augusta Adele,” he whispered, lowering his lips to her cheek. “Do you know what you are?”
She gave him an expectant look, making him smile again.
“You are a rare gem of a woman,” he told her. “A precious gem.” He ran his hand between her breasts to her stomach. “And you’re mine.” His voice held a possessive note and his expression was all seriousness. “Say it, Augusta. Say that you’re mine.”
She swallowed the lump of emotion that knotted in her throat, realizing that he would take nothing less from her than those words. “I’m yours, Max Lonestar,” she said, barely getting the words past her lips before his mouth swooped to cover them. His kiss branded her. His arms came around her, and he pulled her close to him, belly to belly, limb to limb, heart to heart.
“Damn right, you are,” he whispered into her hair. He kissed behind her ear and she went to sleep to the steady beat of his heart.
Chapter 12
He awakened her in the still of the night and made love to her again, then once more at dawn before he left to see to chores. Gussie stretched lazily, wincing at the tenderness between her thighs, but loving it all the same.
She forced herself out of bed, only to stare for long minutes at the rumpled covers and the pillow that held the indention of his head. She knew a few moments of regret, realizing that she’d been hoping to awaken before him to gaze at his slumbering face and form. In the moonlight, she’d done just that, admiring the sweep of his dark lashes on his tanned cheeks and his slackened jawline and lips. To her eyes, he was male perfection and she could hardly believe that he was hers to touch and be touched by.
Memories of their unions flitted through her mind, reminding her of his feverish kisses and the possessive stroking of his hands everywhere on her body. Lifting her hand, she stared at her wedding ring, feeling that it finally belonged on her finger and wasn’t just for show.
“Quit being foolish now,” she chided as she slipped from the bed and smoothed out the sheets. She arranged the spread and quilt over them, smiling as she anticipated the coming evening’s explorations.
Through the next couple of hours of her stoking the stove fire that Lonestar always got going every morning for her, gathering eggs, milking, feeding the chickens, and heading back in to prepare breakfast, she couldn’t keep a smile from overtaking her. She caught Lonestar’s eye a couple of times and he grinned at her like a jack o’ lantern, making her giggle like a girl.
“What in tarnation is wrong with you, Gussie Hor—Lonestar?” she asked herself as she set the table for breakfast. But she knew. Gussie Horton had disappeared last night for good, replaced by a woman known as Augusta Lonestar. She felt it in her bones – the difference between who she had been – alone, weary, worried, jaded – and who she had become – accepted, appreciated, respected, even happy! She’d never been gloriously happy before. She hadn’t looked ahead with giddy anticipation. Not until Lonestar moved her onto this homestead and set down roots with her.
Even when she’d been on the train, bound for a marriage with Bob Babbitt, she hadn’t been overjoyed. She’d been glad to get away from her father and his wretched life, but she’d also been timid and lacking confidence that she could make Bob Babbitt a good wife.
The stomp of boots on the porch snatched her from her thoughts and she turned to smile at Lonestar as he entered the house. He perched his hat on the peg.
“Bit nippy this morning,” he said. “The ground had some patches of frost on it earlier. It’s melted off now, though.”
“Sit down. Breakfast is ready.” She slipped three fried eggs onto
his plate and two onto hers. “I guess I should pile more straw around the vegetables that are coming in.”
“Good thinking. We’ve planted hardy varieties, but they’ll need some protection, nonetheless. Ought to try and protect what’s still out there from the spring planting, too. Every pod, pea, and tater we can harvest will be mighty welcome this winter.” He grabbed a couple of biscuits, split them, and spooned hot gravy over them. “I’ve almost finished plowing the back twenty.”
“Already?” she asked, surprised.
He nodded. “I reckon I averaged about four or more acres a day.”
She widened her eyes, impressed with his stamina. “Good thing we have more than one plow animal. You’d wear out just one mule.”
He scoffed at that, but grinned as if he were pleased. “That ground is nearly ready for cotton seeds come February. And I’ve tilled the soil for the grape vines, too. You should ride out and take a look.”
“Maybe I will if I get everything done here. When do you harvest grapes?”
“In the summer. But we won’t have a harvest for three or four years.”
“What?” She stared at him, thinking at first that he was joshing her. “Why so long?”
“That’s just the way vines are. You have to give them time to root themselves real deep in the earth before they’re ready to bud and flower.”
“Well, thank the Lord for cotton, then!” She sat down and poured herself some coffee. “You sure about these persnickety plants? They sound like a whole lot of trouble to me.”
“They are, but they’ll bring in more money than cotton. Some things are worth waiting for. Mark my words, Mrs. Lonestar.” He winked at her.
Mrs. Lonestar. She colored at that and couldn’t keep from grinning if her life had depended on it. She blinked at him, trying and failing to return his wink.
He chuckled at her attempt. “You look awful pretty this morning, Augusta.”
She felt the grin expand across her face. “So do you.”
“Me? Pretty?” He made a face, crossing his eyes, and she laughed. “Looks like you’ve been loved, good and proper, by a man who knows how to please his woman.”
She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Shhh. Not at the breakfast table!”
He glanced around, clearly amused. “Someone here I don’t know about? It’s just you and me, sweetheart. We know what we did last night and this morning, so it’s okay to talk about it.”
She drew her brows together, wondering about that. Was it okay to speak aloud of such things? Did decent people discuss their nightly activities in the light of day?
“From your acceptance of my kisses last night, I take it that you’ve grown used to – and even enjoy – the way I kiss now.” He tipped his head to one side. “With my tongue. I do believe your tongue found its way into my mouth several times.”
Her face felt like a stove top and she couldn’t form even one word in retaliation.
Lonestar dabbed at his mouth with his kerchief and chuckled, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling. “Tonight will be even better. You might be a wee bit sore, but it will pass quickly. You’ll see.”
“I . . . I can’t talk . . . about this.” She stuffed her mouth full of eggs and biscuit and glared at him across the table.
“Who would have guessed that you’re such a prude?”
“I am not!” Anger pulsed in her veins as she chewed her food to mush before swallowing it in a gulp. “I just know better than to talk like a trollop is all.” She frowned at him. “I thought you’d be sweet and kind this morning.”
He spread out his hands. “I think I am.”
“Not talking like that. About tongues and such.”
A grin hitched up one corner of his mouth. “You have the sweetest tongue, Mrs. Lonestar. And a talented one, as well. I would very much like to feel that tongue on my neck and chest . . . and other places.”
She rose up, indignation pumping through her and making her eyes feel as if they were bulging out of their sockets. Pushing back her chair, she pointed a warning finger at him. “Lonestar, you will respect me. Just because I’ve laid with you, doesn’t mean I’m not a lady.”
He stood quickly, rounded the table, and clasped her upper arms. His mouth swooped to hers and she squeaked out a protest that dipped into a whispery moan. When he lifted his lips from hers, peeling them away slowly, he waited for her to open her eyes before he spoke.
“You’re my lady, Augusta. Mine. And we can speak to each other of these things. Of how we feel. What we want. What we need. There’s nothing wrong or sinful about it.” He ran a hand over her hair, his gaze following its path. “I want you. Every way I can have you. And I want you to feel that my body is yours and your body is mine. If we can’t be honest, then how can we be trusting?”
She blinked at him, dumbstruck by his kiss and what he’d said. She was his lady? Was it natural to talk of such things? About bodies at the breakfast table? Shrugging out of his hold, she covered her hot cheeks with her palms and shook her head, trying to force some sense back into her brain. His chiding chuckle made her cheeks grow even hotter as her temper sparked.
“Don’t be laughing at me,” she grumbled, turning away from his dancing eyes and grinning mouth so that she could gain some equilibrium. “What we did . . . it was natural and all, but I don’t want to talk about it. I see no sense in it. None a’tall.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it.”
The flat of his hand connected with her backside and she released a shriek as she whirled back to face his grinning visage. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing? I’m not some mule to be walloped!”
“Simmer down, Augusta. I swear, you are the prickliest woman I’ve ever brushed up against. That was a love pat.”
“It was n-not.” Her voice broke as the word love tapped against her heart. He winked at her and she found herself dumbstruck again.
“I have work to do, woman. I can’t be lollygagging with you all day, so don’t even ask me.” He wagged a finger at her. “And I’m not fooling. I know you’d rather I hang around here and pleasure you all day.”
“I most certainly don’t—”
“But I can’t neglect our farm, no matter how much you beg me and bat your pretty eyes.”
“Beg? Have you lost your cotton pickin’—” She shut her mouth when the door shut behind him.
She realized that she was standing with her feet planted apart, her fists planted at her waist, and her bosom heaving from her rapid breathing. Oooh, that man! She stamped one foot and then took in a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. He’d riled her and he’d done it on purpose! Like he enjoyed seeing her boil over! She gathered up the dishes and slid them into the wash pan that was full of soapy water. As she cleaned them, she reined in her aggravation. By the time she’d put away the dishes and wiped off the table, a smile poked at the corners of her mouth.
He was a devil, she thought as a bubble of pleasure grew in her chest. A handsome, rascally, teasing devil. Her devil.
On Sunday Erik arrived right after church to get to work on the barn. Gussie hummed a tune as she poured fresh milk into a large, glass pitcher. She’d churn some later, she decided, then wondered what to prepare for dinner. The front door creaked opened and she turned, grinning when Susan poked her head in.
“Hey, there! I didn’t know you’d come with Erik.”
“We all came. The children are out in the barn. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. I’m always pleased to see you.” She motioned for Susan to come inside. “I have some fresh coffee on the stove. Want a cup?”
“I wouldn’t mind a bit.” Susan glanced around the room. “You’ve made this place cheerful and homey, Gussie.”
“It’s my first real home, you know.” She poured the coffee into two cups and motioned for Susan to sit with her at the table.
“Say, I have to go into town tomorrow to pick up some staples. Why don’t you ride in with me?”
“I have work to do here.”
“It’ll still be here to do when you get back from town.” Susan smiled at her as she sipped the strong, hot coffee. “I bet you could use a few things, too.”
Gussie bobbed one shoulder. “I reckon. I was wishing for another jar of sorghum molasses and we’re almost out of cornmeal.”
Susan slapped a hand on the table in a decisive gesture. “There you have it, then! I’ll come by right after breakfast. We’ll be back by mid-afternoon. Erik says he’ll watch the children, so it’ll just be us.”
“It’s good of Erik to come by like this to help with the barn.”
“I do believe he enjoys it.” Susan ran her teeth over her lower lip. “He won’t be able to come by next Sunday, though. In church this morning the reverend asked for folks to attend a barn raising at the Anderson place. They live down by Four Oaks Road.” She glanced at Gussie “Their barn was as old as the hills and falling into itself. They finally just knocked it all the way down and decided to build a new one.”
“So, everyone’s going there next Sunday to help them with it?” She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Not a soul had offered them as much as a nail since their barn had caught fire – save for Erik, of course.
“That’s right.” Susan took a sip of the coffee. “I volunteered Erik and . . . well, I probably shouldn’t have, but out of habit, I said that Max would show up next Sunday, too.” She reached across the table and laid a hand on Gussie’s arm. “If you think he should stay here and work on your barn, I’ll explain that to everyone next Sunday.”
“That’s up to him if he wants to help those folks.” Wincing a little inside, she realized that if it were up to her, she’d tell Lonestar to stay home and work on their barn. She tried to recall if she’d met the Andersons. “Is Lonestar friendly with them? The Anderson family?”
“Friendly, well, yes.” Susan chewed on her lower lip again. “Our parents knew them quite well and we all go to church together.”
“The church I was married in?”
“That’s right.”