I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  First he located a relatively dry and protected site beneath two large pines, then began chopping smaller trees. Working in the light of the lantern he built a teepee-shaped structure and overlaid it with branches stripped from the poles. By the time Zoe had collected enough pine boughs to cushion the floor of his shelter, Tom had scraped back the snow, hacked a pit out of the frozen earth, and had a fire blazing.

  "Warm yourself while I set up the stove."

  "We have a stove?" Thank heaven they had the sled.

  "And food. Once the stove is hot, I'll fry some caribou steaks." He handed her an armload of blankets and asked her to spread them over the pine boughs while he positioned the camp stove near the narrow opening of the lean-to.

  "The others will be worried." Zoe hung one of the blankets across the lean-to's opening. "Will they search for us?"

  "Not until daylight," Tom rummaged for a skillet and plates, brandishing them with a smile when the items were found. "Are you still worrying about spending the night in the open?"

  She smiled uneasily. "A little. But it seems we have all the comforts of home." Home reminded her of earlier thoughts. "Do you remember what we talked about that day at the glaciers?" she asked softly, sitting on a log he had rolled near the fire.

  "I remember every word and every moment of that day." Glancing up from the stove, his green eyes traveled from her mouth to her throat and back to her eyes. For a long moment their gazes locked, and Zoe almost forgot what she wanted to tell him.

  "I've been wrong about so many things," she began. While Tom waited for the skillet to heat, she told him exactly how she had felt about Newcastle and its residents, not sparing herself.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said finally, dropping strips of meat into the skillet.

  "I don't. Not anymore." She couldn't identify the moment when she had begun to align with the carriage people instead of with her own. But she would never forget the instant of revelation. She told Tom what Juliette had said and her shock of recognition.

  "I'm devastated that I didn't see it myself." Anger and regret twisted her stomach. "If I could, I'd rush home right now and beg Ma's forgiveness." She blinked hard. "I've said and done so many hurtful things over the years. I'd watch the grabbing and big portions at supper and think, 'This isn't how refined people eat. This is Newcastle.' Pa teased me about putting on airs, but he and the others must have known that I was ashamed of them." It was hard to say these things. "All of us living in such a small house, and wearing mended shirts and petticoats. Never being rid of the damned coal dust." She lowered her head. "I judged everyone by their fingernails. If there was a line of coal dust, I didn't want anything to do with them. But if their nails were clean, the person could be a liar, a thief, and a seducer, and I thought he was gentry, finer and better than the people in Newcastle," she finished bitterly.

  "Don't be too hard on yourself, darlin'." Tom sat back on his heels and studied her through the falling snow. "I guess everyone in Newcastle has had similar thoughts. Maybe it didn't take them as long as it's taken you to come around," he added with a smile, "but everyone hates the Owner's Day Parade. You have to ignore the swells and just enjoy the free beer and music and the candy for the kids. Rich people live in a different universe. We don't understand them, and they sure as hell don't understand us. They can't grasp that we don't want charity."

  "I wanted to be one of them," she said in a low voice.

  "Who wouldn't want to ride in a fancy carriage, wear fine clothes, and be attended by servants?" A shrug scattered snow off his wide shoulders. "There's no harm in dreaming. As long as we don't lose sight of the good things we already have."

  "I wanted it so badly that I did something very stupid and foolish." She longed to tell him about Jean Jacques, and now was the time. The confession hovered on her tongue but died there. Pride stopped her from telling him that she had married a man because he had clean fingernails and was not from Newcastle. She didn't think Tom would be as forgiving if he knew how far her blindness had carried her.

  She watched him flip the steaks. Caribou was a tender meat, best when turned often over a hot fire and eaten before the red was cooked out. Tom placed the steaks on plates and poured the cooking juices over the meat.

  "I think I understand what you're saying," he said after handing her a knife and fork, "and why you're telling me this."

  "You do?" She wasn't sure she understood herself.

  "You're telling me that you've changed your mind about our courtship and you've accepted my suit."

  She stared. And then laughed. "You're a persistent man."

  "That is what you're saying, isn't it? That Newcastle isn't an obstacle between us?"

  Sadness chased the laughter from her eyes. Courtship was out of the question. She had a husband and she had no future. Both situations put a cramp in any courtship plans. But Juliette and Clara were right. Surely she was entitled to a little happiness in what would be a brief life.

  Setting aside her supper plate, she looked down at her clasped hands. "Courtship usually leads to marriage. But you need to understand that I can't marry you, Tom."

  Her statement didn't ruffle his pleased smile. "Let's not put the cart before the horse. I'm not proposing marriage, only courtship. Courtship is when both parties get to know each other and decide if they want to proceed to an engagement."

  "We already know each other." She narrowed her gaze. "I know you well enough to know that you don't start something you don't intend to finish."

  His laugh crinkled his eyes and widened his mouth. "Could be I don't want to scare you away by rushing you."

  "I have reasons…" She bit her lip. "There are things I can't tell you…"

  "I know. I hope you'll confide in me when the time is right."

  After she found Jean Jacques and shot him, Tom would learn the whole story. But she wasn't willing to put Jean Jacques between them just yet. Not tonight.

  "As long as you accept that our courtship is a sham, and it absolutely won't lead to anything more…"

  He shook his head. "I don't accept anything of the kind. Look at the progress we've already made, and we've just begun." His smile faded, replaced by a seriousness and intensity that made her catch a quick breath. "You and I were meant to be, Zoe. I guess I've always known it. If you hadn't come to the Yukon, I would have gone looking for you. I don't see it any other way."

  "Oh, Tom." Juliette was right again. She could love this man so much. "Don't say that."

  "I'm going to say it over and over, Zoe, because I love you. I always have."

  They stared at each other across the flames dying in the fire pit. Joy, despair, surprise, regret—Zoe wondered if he could read those emotions in her expression. If so, what would he make of them?

  "There's so much I want to say to you," she whispered, her mouth dry. "But I can't."

  "Are you cold?" he asked when the silence between them had lengthened.

  She had forgotten about the snow and sinking temperature. "A little."

  "I'll clean up. You crawl into the lean-to and get warm."

  "It will go faster if we both clean up." Glad for something to do, she washed her plate with snow. "I can't imagine the lean-to will be much warmer than out here."

  "It will be."

  After they repacked the plates and utensils in the box on the sled, Zoe entered the pine-scented lean-to, and Tom followed. He put down the lantern and then leaned out the doorway. With a long pair of tongs he lifted several rocks out of the fire pit and placed them inside the skillet he'd brought with him. At once the air felt warmer on Zoe's face.

  Now she saw that he'd rearranged the blankets and pillows she had set out, moving them close together.

  "For warmth," he said, taking off his hat and heavy coat. "You'll be more comfortable if you take off your hat and coat, too." When she looked doubtful, he smiled. "You can always put them back on."

  Slowly she opened the scarf tied over her hat, then removed her hat pins and s
et her hat near his. Then she unbuttoned her coat and pulled off her gloves. Until now she hadn't allowed herself to wonder about sleeping with him in the lean-to. If Juliette thought her nakedness had created a scandal, wait until she and Clara realized that Zoe and Tom had spent the night together. The thought made her smile.

  "You are so beautiful," Tom said in a husky voice.

  "I'm too thin, and I'm tough as an old boot, remember?"

  "But I happen to like tough, thin women, remember?" He smiled and patted the blanket next to him.

  Suddenly Zoe was nervous. There was no more privacy in a prospector's camp than there had been in the home where she grew up. Being alone with a man—absolutely alone and with a man who made her nerves zing and her skin tingle—was an experience that was exciting and unnerving at the same time.

  "Are you afraid of me?" he asked in a low, challenging voice.

  She wet her lips and decided this was not the time for bravado. "You scare me to death."

  "Good. That means I'm getting under your skin." Since she wouldn't come to him, he moved across the blankets to sit next to her. And suddenly the lean-to seemed hotter than the heated rocks could account for.

  Zoe smoothed her skirt to cover a glimpse of woolen stockings. "There's going to be talk about us spending a night together."

  "Do you care?" he asked, tucking a wisp of dark hair behind her ear.

  She held her breath as his fingertips brushed her cheek. This was going to be a very long night. "A little," she whispered, thinking of Clara and Juliette.

  "Nothing is going to happen unless you want it to," he murmured, turning her to face him. Lantern light glowed in his eyes, softening the color to a reminder of spring grass.

  "Then you won't kiss me." Their breath mingled, and a tiny gasp caught in her throat. He smelled like snow and wood smoke, leather and soap.

  "I wouldn't kiss you if you were the last woman on earth," he said, his lips grazing her forehead as he guided her into his arms.

  There was nothing soft about this man. His arms were like iron bands closing around her, pressing her against the tight muscles of his chest. He pulled her onto his lap and beneath her skirt and petticoat, she felt thighs like cordwood.

  "Oh, Tom," she said, closing her eyes on a moan. "I can't do this."

  "You aren't doing anything. I'm the one who's doing something." His lips moved on her temples, kissed her eyelids.

  "You said you wouldn't kiss me." She couldn't believe it. Her arms went around his neck, and she adjusted herself in his lap to make her lips more accessible.

  "I'm not kissing you." Light kisses covered her face, the corners of her lips, the tip of her nose.

  "Yes, you are."

  "You must be dreaming."

  If so, she had dreamed this dream before. Spreading her fingers on his cheeks, she gazed into his eyes, the lashes still damp with melting snow. Then she parted her lips and let him take her mouth.

  Instantly she felt his arousal and the deep heat of her response. Her arms tightened around his neck, and she gave herself to a kiss that began almost chastely and ripened into a give-and-take that shook her to her core—where she had never been touched.

  When they pulled apart, gasping and holding each other, Tom whispered, "Oh, God, Zoe. You don't know what you do to me."

  He kissed her again, this time passionately, not holding back, kissing her as if he found heaven in her mouth and in her touch. She knew this because heaven was what she found in his arms. When his hand slid up to her breast, she gasped and rocked back on a wave of sensation.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered, easing away to look into her eyes. "I only wanted to kiss you. I didn't intend to offend or take advantage."

  A strangled sound midway between a laugh and a sob constricted her throat. "Oh, Tom." For a minute she couldn't say anything else.

  It was possible they would never again have the luxury of hours of privacy together. Very likely, tonight would be her only chance to lie in his arms. And he loved her. Tears sparkled in her eyes. He had always loved her. If her circumstance had been different, if she had never met that bastard Jean Jacques Villette, she would have returned his love with all of her heart and soul.

  And there was the answer to the question that had been circling her mind since she understood they would share the blankets she had spread over the boughs. She made her decision while gazing into his apologetic eyes. He had nothing to apologize for. She wanted him, needed him.

  Lifting his hand, she placed a kiss in his palm, then gently curved his fingers around her breast, hearing his sharp intake of breath. Then her own shaking fingers rose to the row of tiny buttons running from her throat to her waist, and she opened them one by one.

  "Zoe." His voice was hoarse with desire. "You don't know what you're doing." Swallowing hard, he dropped his gaze to the cleavage appearing beneath her fingers and a sound rumbled in his chest. "I was teasing earlier. I didn't mean things to go this far. Zoe, please." He caught her hand and looked into her eyes. "I would take a bullet in the heart rather than dishonor you."

  "I know," she whispered, her eyes wet. "Tomorrow we both may regret this, but tonight… tonight I need you, Tom." She needed to know love from an honest man, a man whose words were true and whose body belonged to her alone. She wanted to know his touch as well as she knew his heart.

  His arms went around her, and he crushed her so tightly to his chest that she felt his heart pounding against the accelerating rhythm of her own. His mouth claimed hers with hard, possessive passion, and she surrendered to the sunburst in her mind. Yes. Yes.

  His trembling fingers finished opening her shirtwaist, and her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Another time she might have laughed when they were both stripped to shapeless woolly long Johns. But all she could think about now was the splendor of his long, hard body as he peeled away the last barrier.

  "How beautiful you are," she whispered, staring at him in the lantern light. An arrow-shaped wedge of dark hair curled on his chest. Wide shoulders tapered to a narrow waist; his thighs were roped with hard muscle and sinew. She had never thought of men in terms of beauty, but he was so hard against her softness. So angular in contrast to curves. Only a master sculptor could have created a being so rawly magnificent.

  He helped her out of her long Johns and then stared at her with the same awe. "You're exquisitely perfect."

  She had never seen a naked man in the light and had never let Jean Jacques see her naked with the light on. But she stood before Tom with no embarrassment and made no effort to cover herself from his gaze. There was nothing uncomfortable about nakedness between a man with love in his eyes and a woman who returned that love.

  Gently, he guided her to her knees on the blankets and slowly withdrew the pins from her hair, catching long curls in his hands as they tumbled down her back and over her breasts. "I've wanted to draw out the pins since I first saw you." Closing his eyes, he rubbed a curl across his cheek and mouth.

  Easing herself down on the blankets, Zoe held out her arms to him, and he came to her with a groan, covering her. The cold snowy night lay ahead of them—there was no need to rush. He kissed her again and again, his callused hands excitingly rough on her smooth body, exploring, caressing, bringing her up and up and up to a level of urgency and need that shook her body and left her panting and gasping his name. Her thighs were wet with readiness when he finally came to her, filling a deep emptiness she had not known she felt.

  She knew he battled an urgency of desire as great as hers. She saw it in his eyes, saw that he wanted to be gentle with her. But their hunger was too powerful for quiet pleasures. They moved together in a tangle of fevered kisses and deep strong thrusts, gasped and whispered and clutched with flying hands.

  Afterward, they collapsed in each other's arms, sated and happily quiet. Tom smoked, and Zoe lay nestled against his shoulder, listening to the odd silence of falling snow.

  "Right now there is no place else I'd rather be," she murmu
red, her lips against his bare chest. It was snug and warm in the lean-to. The clean fragrance of pine mingled with the scents of their bodies and their lovemaking. Never again would she sniff a pinecone or step into a forest without remembering the joy of this night.

  "I love you, Zoe." He stroked her hair, his touch so tender it was almost reverential. "And your secret doesn't matter."

  She stiffened. Jean Jacques was the last person she wanted to think about right now. "You're wrong. It matters. Besides, you don't know what my secret is."

  "I think I've put it together. I think you cared for a man you met in Seattle. Something happened, and you didn't get married. He went to Dawson City, and you're here looking for him."

  Zoe sat up. His guess struck so close to the truth that goose bumps rose on her naked skin.

  "There are two things I want to say." His green eyes were clear and steady. "I know you well enough to know that you decided a lot of things when you came to me tonight. You decided it's me you care about and not the other man. Your search for him is finished."

  She couldn't speak, couldn't lie to him again. She knew she loved Tom, but her search for Jean Jacques had not ended.

  "As for your secret—Zoe, it doesn't matter that I wasn't the first. People make mistakes. I know you're an honorable woman, and you must have believed you loved him. I don't want to know about him, don't want to know what happened between you. But I want you to understand that none of it matters. We start fresh from here. You and me."

  He thought her secret was that she was not a virgin. Oh, Lord. And he believed she was an honorable woman.

  Stricken, she lay down again and hid her face against his shoulder, blinking hard against the tears swimming in her eyes. She would have given ten years of her life if there had been no Jean Jacques Villette. She would have given another ten years if she were truly the honorable person he thought she was.

  After a length of silence, Tom lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. Then he studied her wedding ring.