Lonestar's Lady

by Deborah Camp

  Gussie sipped the strong coffee and measured out what had been said and what hadn’t. She and Lonestar hadn’t been in that church again since their wedding day. He’d never mentioned going and she’d never pressed him about it since she’d never belonged to any one church, except back when she and her pa had known Miss Irene in Joplin.

  “Did Lonestar go to church every Sunday before he married me?”

  Susan’s eyes widened. “Not every Sunday, no. He used to go when Mama was with us.” She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s up to him. How’s your garden?” Susan asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Doing pretty well. We’re getting late vegetables and we still have a lot of potatoes and carrots in the ground. I reckon I’ll harvest everything in a week or so and can them up.”

  “I’ll come by and help, if you want.” Susan sent her a warm smile. “That’s what family does for each other and I’m so glad we’re family, Gussie.”

  The sentiment hugged Gussie’s heart. “Me, too,” she whispered.

  The part of the farm where Max had decided he’d plant the grape vines had a gentle roll to it as it spread out toward an outcropping of hillocks. Standing beside Majesty, Augusta lifted one hand to shade her eyes against the setting sun. A mockingbird sang nearby, running through its recitation of a meadowlark, cardinal, blue jay, and whippoorwill.

  It had been a long day, but he and Erik had made progress on rebuilding the barn. Half the wall was finished and they’d repaired some of the burned-out part of the loft, too. The work was slow going with just the two of them, but Max reckoned it would be completed in another week or two.

  After a quick dinner, he’d cajoled Augusta into riding out with him to see the vineyard land. They’d ridden together on Majesty and Max had enjoyed the rub of her body against his and the silky caress of her hair blowing back across his face as they’d ridden across the flat land to the outcropping of foothills.

  Max took a few more moments to admire Augusta’s profile before he surveyed the land again. Every time he stopped to look at it, any part of it, his chest swelled with pride. And every time he stopped to look at Augusta, desire swelled inside him. Especially now that he’d claimed her tender, soft, curvy body.

  “We own this, Augusta,” he said, catching her quizzical glance from the corner of his eye. He nodded ahead of him, indicating the land. “Sometimes, I can scarcely believe it.”

  “You afraid you’re going to wake up and it would all have been a dream?”

  He chuckled. “Sometimes, I am. Are you?”

  “Nope. I work too hard every day to think it’s a dream.” She held up her hands, palms facing him. “See those calluses and that blister? I didn’t get them dreaming.”

  He grasped her by the wrists and bent swiftly to place a kiss on the small blister on the heel of her right hand. “You work as hard as any man,” he told her, then tugged her closer, fitting her arms around his middle. “And you’re a hell of a lot prettier.”

  She let out a scoffing laugh. “I should hope so!” Her blue eyes twinkled with sun spots, making him think of a fast-moving creek at high noon. Gently, hesitatingly, her fingers pressed against his shirt.

  When he kissed her again she went stiff, but gradually gave in, her lips warming against his and then going lax. He painted her lips with the tip of his tongue before stroking inside. She let out a little moan that made his blood rush to his groin.

  Lifting his mouth from hers, he ran his hands over her hair and waited for her light brown lashes to lift before he spoke. “You’re lovely, Augusta.”

  Her cheeks pinked up and she averted her gaze from his, going all shy on him. “Don’t talk foolish,” she chided.

  “How is that foolish? I’m stating the unvarnished truth.” He tapped a knuckle under her chin, making her gaze find his again. “Didn’t your pa ever tell you that you’re pretty?”

  Her frown nearly doused the sparkles in her eyes, “No. He treated me like a trained mule, instead of like kinfolk.”

  That made him wince inside. She’d been brought up all wrong. She should have been made to feel her worth instead of feeling like a burden or a servant. He placed his hands on her shoulders, urging her gaze to his again. “Well, I’m here to tell you that with the sunlight streaming over your hair and filling your eyes with diamonds, the sight of you takes my breath away.”

  She blinked at him, her lips parted, her expression one of wonder, tinged with the ever-present doubt that always seemed to linger deep in her eyes. He wanted to dash that doubt – rid her of it forever, so he smoothed his palms down the gentle curve of her back and the sweet swell of her hips and pulled her closer against him. He ran his lips and nose along her jawline, the side of her neck, and around to the dip at the base of her throat. She smelled of fresh-baked bread and sunshine. He licked lightly up over her chin and across her trembling lips. She tasted as good as she looked. He didn’t think she was breathing. If she was, they were shallow breaths.

  “I want you,” he murmured. “My whole body craves you.”

  A tremor shimmered through her and she emitted a sound that was pure yearning. Need for her knifed through him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he stalked toward a stand of firs and scrub oaks.

  “Wh-where are we . . ?” she asked, panting.

  “Someplace more private,” he said, then took a calming breath when he realized he was almost growling. That’s what she did to him. A look, a kiss, a touch, and he was aching so badly for her that he couldn’t think straight.

  “Why don’t we just go home?”

  “Too far away.”

  When they were swallowed by the branches’ shadows, he stopped, took her in his arms again, and kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, and her chin until he saw her sweet mouth curve into a smile.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She sounded amused and a mite perplexed.

  With a gentle tug and insistent pull, he brought her with him down onto the bed of soft grass and fallen leaves. “Kiss me, Augusta,” he demanded. She stared up at him for a few moments before her fingers tangled in his hair and she brought his mouth down to hers. Her tongue parried with his and he thought he might die of pent-up desire.

  He rolled until she was lying on top of him. Sunlight slanted over her face, her shoulders, and her breasts. The dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose were more pronounced in the daylight, tempting him to kiss them, so he did. She squirmed against him, driving him crazy.

  Grasping the folds of her skirts, he used his fingers to walk the material up her ankles, calves, and thighs. He directed her knees to either side of his hips, making her straddle him, all the while accepting her fevered kisses and the restless combing of her fingers through his hair. He shrugged out of his suspenders and unbuttoned his pants. Suddenly, she gripped his hands, stopping him. Her eyes widened with alarm.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing? We’re not . . . we can’t . . . not out here!”

  “We can and we are,” he assured her, kissing the “o” of her mouth. To prove it, he released himself into his hand. Augusta gave a little gasp when she saw what he’d done.

  “Put that away,” she whispered, glancing around as if she expected to see a group of nosy neighbors.

  “Hush up and kiss me again, Augusta.” He cupped the back of her head and brought her lips to his. She made a half-hearted mewl of discontent before it became a moan of surrender. “Here, help me take this off you.” He plucked at her undergarments. After a few tries, he managed to scoot them down her shapely legs while distracting her with biting, plucking kisses. He palmed her breasts, feeling the turgid centers through the layers of her clothing. Pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers, he made her moan and writhe atop him.

  That’s when she felt skin against skin and her eyes grew large again. She glanced from tree to tree as if she were sure they were being watched. Max ran his fingertips down her blushing cheek, drawing her gaze back to his.


  “It’s just us, sweetheart,” he told her, nodding at her, beguiling her. “Let me love you, Augusta.”

  Her eyes went soft along with her body. Max guided himself inside her, carefully, slowly, helping her to balance, showing her how to move. Gripping his forearms, she flung back her head and her tawny gold hair poured over her shoulders as she stared at the sky. Breathy moans escaped her as she found a rhythm and took all of him in, rocking and grinding against him. Staring at her upturned face, Max was struck by her wild, unabashed beauty. This woman. This spirited, feisty woman was his. She was like the land – a dream he’d nurtured for so long that he couldn’t believe the dream was now his real life.

  Had he somehow known that she was his destiny that first moment he’d seen her, standing in the middle of the street, wearing a bedraggled straw hat, dusty clothes, and a furious frown? Had he sensed that she was the talisman he needed to obtain the land and life he’d coveted for years and years?

  She trembled atop him, her legs clutching hard against his hips, and he felt her tightening in waves inside where he drove deep into her. A soft cry broke past her lips as she shuddered, then her body went limp and she melted against him, her breasts flattening against his heaving chest. His own release thundered through him and he barely had time to dislodge from her and roll her onto her side as passion blurred his mind and emptied him.

  His throat felt raw and he realized that he’d been chanting her name amid passion-filled groans. “Augusta,” he whispered it now and her lashes lifted to reveal clear, blue pools. “Augusta.”

  “Lonestar,” she whispered back to him, giving him a small smile. “I liked that.”

  Delight shimmered through him. “You did?”

  She nodded. “You’re right. It gets better every time.”

  He chuckled, reaching down and brushing bits of grass off her knees before settling a tender kiss on her lips. She flipped her skirts down in a burst of modesty and lolled on her back to stare up at the branches and ribbons of sunlight. “Don’t you go thinking that you can grab me like this any old time and any old place you want.”

  He tucked himself back into his trousers and buttoned up. “Believe me, Augusta Lonestar, I don’t want anyone to see you – like I’ve just seen you – but me. Ever.” He laid his palm against the side of her face and enjoyed looking at her.

  They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to bird songs and the chomping sounds Majesty made as she snapped up tufts of green grass.

  “Your mother raised you right,” Augusta said with a sigh. “You’re a good, kind man.”

  “Why, thank you.” He smiled, watching the tree branches sway in the breeze as his mother’s sweet face wafted through his mind. “She was a queen with a heart of gold.”

  “People thought highly of her and her husband in these parts?”

  “Yes. Very highly. My step-father was a war hero with the Union army.”

  “A Yankee, was he?”

  “Yes. His folks were from Illinois. He came here when he heard that the land was cheap and the soil was rich.”

  “Where did he meet your mother?”

  “In Kansas. He lived there for a couple of years before he decided to buy land in Arkansas. My mother was staying with her parents again and did some seamstress work for a milliner.”

  “Her parents weren’t upset about her marrying an Indian?”

  He grinned up at the clouds, recalling his mother’s stories about her romance with an Osage suitor. “Well, no. They couldn’t be and not look two-faced. They were missionaries and taught school and religion to the Osage. When their daughter fell in love with the uncle of one of their students . . .” He shrugged. “Being good Christians, they had to bestow their blessing.”

  “Ah.” She nodded and shared a grin with him. “So, where did your mother meet your step-father?”

  “In church. He said he was smitten the moment he laid eyes on her. I never doubted it. Mother was beautiful, inside and out.” He saw her smile and poked her in the ribs, making her giggle. “What are you smiling about?”

  “I like the way you talk about her.” She stacked her hands under her cheek and gazed at him. “I never heard a man speak so about women. You’re like a poet. Like that Shakespeare fella who wrote so many plays!”

  He linked his fingers against his chest and laughed up at the sky. “Shakespeare is rolling in his grave about now.”

  “Your mother loved you, Lonestar. She never stopped. You know that, don’t you?”

  The mirth went out of him. “Yes. Even when I broke her heart, she loved me.”

  “You didn’t break her heart. She was sad, no doubt, but she never lost faith in you. Susan said as much. She told me that she and your mother knew what happened was an accident and that you never meant to kill that fella. They thought you should have never gone to prison.”

  “I know.” He huffed out a sigh of exasperation. Going over the whys and why nots was fruitless. What was done was done and he was still paying for it. Pushing up to his feet, he reached down, grabbed her hands, and helped her to stand. “Let’s head back home.”

  She made a show of jerking her underwear back into place, fussing under her breath and glancing around again as if anyone would be watching other than a few birds and Majesty. Shaking his head, he pulled his suspenders onto his shoulders and then hopped onto Majesty’s back. He tugged Augusta up to sit in front of him. She sat astride the horse like a man. She’d told him before that she’d never learned to ride sidesaddle and didn’t want to be taught now, and he couldn’t blame her.

  Her skirts billowed, lifting every so often to give him a glimpse of her legs. The sun was dipping lower and long shadows spread across the land. Max nuzzled behind Augusta’s ear, making her laugh a little and draw her shoulder up against his face.

  “It’ll be good to get home. It’s been a long day,” he told her as the house came into view.

  She turned her head to glance at him. “Did I tire you out?”

  “Darlin’, I’m just getting started,” he whispered hotly into her ear. She pushed her hips against him and he hardened like steel. This woman! Instead of slaking his thirst, coupling with her had only doubled it – tripled it! He wondered if he’d ever get his fill of her.

  Chapter 13

  Pear Orchard was no Van Buren and certainly nothing like Ft. Smith. Gussie followed Susan from the dry goods store to the feed store and saw only two people. They did pause to speak to Susan, and Susan introduced Gussie as “my dear sister-in-law.” But it was obvious to Gussie that she wasn’t accepted the same as Susan. She was regarded with curiosity, if they spared her a glance at all.

  Their behavior didn’t surprise her as much as it perplexed her. She could understand them not taking to her right off, seeing as how she was a stranger to them and, no doubt, Bob Babbitt had been shooting off his big mouth about how she’d cheated him out of money and marriage. Still, she felt it was Lonestar most of them outright rejected, which made no sense to her. Lonestar had been reared up in the area. They’d all known his step-father and mother and had seen him and Susan spring up from sprouts. People had respected William and Adele Wilson, or so Susan had said. Therefore, they should know that Max Lonestar was, essentially, a good man. Yes, he’d been in prison, but he’d paid for his crime and even done one better by working for his slain friend’s folks for a year to atone for his drinking and fighting.

  Did all the good folks of Pear Orchard also turn their noses up to Babbitt for acting a fool, getting drunk, and tearing up a saloon so that he was thrown in jail? She doubted it. That’s why the whole thing perplexed her. Had to be that Lonestar was part Indian and that’s why his neighbors and acquaintances decided he wasn’t worthy of their regard, kind or otherwise.

  They went back to the dry goods store because Susan had decided she would buy a new sun bonnet, after all. As Susan tried on one after the other while the sales lady commented on how pretty each one looked, Gussie wandered to the back of the stor
e to where the shoes were shelved. She would need a new pair come spring. The soles of her every day shoes were wearing thin and she’d replaced the soles three times already. She examined a brown pair of leather button-ups and squinted in the inadequate light to read the label that expounded on the materials they were made of and their durability. A snicker sounded behind her and she turned to find Daisy and Pansy Sherman gawking at her, their hands lifted to cover their grinning mouths.

  Gussie rolled her eyes at them. “You have something to say to me?”

  “We were just wondering if you needed help reading that label,” Daisy said, glancing at her sister with a conspiratorial grin.

  “We heard that you didn’t have any schooling,” Pansy added, the dimples in her round cheeks deepening as she released another giggle.

  The two wore dresses that most women saved for special occasions. All ruffles and flounces and elegant draping, edged in delicate lace at the cuffs and collars. They had not a hair out of place and it looked to Gussie as if they’d reddened their lips and pinked their cheeks with cosmetics. Pearls studded their earlobes and filigree brooches adorned the centers of their high collars.

  “You heard wrong. I can read just fine. You should stop listening to Bob Babbitt. He’s nothing but a cowardly liar. He knows absolutely nothing about me.” She replaced the shoes on the shelf and turned to leave.

  “He knows that you married a stranger for money.” Daisy arched a dark brown brow, daring Gussie to contradict her.

  Gussie turned toward them again, thinking that the cold shoulders she’d received could have more to do with her being a letter bride than with Lonestar being half Osage. “What he knows is that he wanted to marry me, so he sent for me, but then he got himself thrown in jail. Lucky for me, I met Lonestar, and he was honest with me and told me about the Poindexter property and how he needed to be married to buy it. Babbitt didn’t tell me about that because, as I said, he’s a liar and Lonestar isn’t.”

  “Lonestar?” Daisy looked from Gussie to her sister in a show of surprise. “You call him that even after marrying him?”