by Leah Braemel
And so would he, despite how the world felt as if it was spinning out of control. After all, outwardly nothing had changed. He and Jackson could still work together. Still be friends. Only part of their relationship would have to end after tomorrow. A part neither of them should have had in the first place. Maybe this was God’s way of keeping them on the straight and narrow.
Jackson shrugged on his shirt. “Look, since I ain’t got a place of my own, would you let us live in that cabin you got out in the back of your place? Just until I can find us another place to live? A woman deserves her own bedroom and her own kitchen. Somewhere she can fix up and call home.”
Nate snapped shut his jaw after it had dropped. “Shit, that place is one step shy of bein’ a woodpile.”
“I can fix it up.”
“The roof leaks like a sieve. The chinking needs to be replaced, unless you want Sarah to die of pneumonia. The privy stinks to high heaven no matter what way the wind is blowin’, not to mention the bats and all the other critters who are livin’ in it. Even the hands prefer to sleep outside instead of using it when they’re checkin’ the lines.”
“Aw hell, Nate, you’re right. She’d take one look at that place and turn tail. What the hell am I going to do?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “Why don’t you bring her back to my place?” He waved his hand in impatience when Jackson looked as if he was going to argue. “My place has more than enough room for us all, and it’s nicer than that old shack.”
He gathered himself and lightly squeezed Jackson’s shoulder. “She’s gonna be skittish for a while, Jack.” She ain’t gonna be the only one. “This is the only home she’s ever known, and we can both tell she ain’t had anyone in her corner her whole life. At my place, she’ll have Miss Martha to help her out or talk to whenever she needs a woman’s advice, or to introduce her to the ladies in the church.” Cut off any gossip they might dish. “She deserves better than what she’s had here.”
She did. In so many ways. So did Jackson. But shit, it was going to be awkward, the three of them living together, watching Jackson and Sarah go to bed, knowing what would be going on between them.
Jackson paced the length of the barn. At any other time he would have made some smart-mouthed comment about the way his friend’s backside flexed, or the play of the lantern light on his shoulders, but Nate knew better than to say anything while Jackson worked it out in his head.
Eventually Jackson returned to the doorway and stared at the McLeod home again. “You’re right, Miss Sarah probably misses her ma. I hadn’t even thought of that. Having a woman close by might be the best thing for her.”
“It would.”
“Still, I’ll need to work on building our own place. It ain’t right that we impose on you forever.”
Nate swallowed at the thought of being apart from Jackson. In the meantime, this might be his last chance to show him how much he’d miss him. “How long do you figure it’ll take for the preacher to get here?”
Jackson stared into the night sky, his brows drawn together. “It’s a good ninety minutes’ ride into town, and then McLeod’ll have to find the preacher, convince him to come out in the middle of the night instead of waiting for morning. Ninety minutes or more for the trip back, dependin’ on if the preacher rides horseback or uses a buckboard. So five hours, give or take an hour, I reckon. Why?”
“Do you think anyone would have a reason to come out here any time soon?”
Jackson shook his head slowly. “I doubt it. Why?”
Nate shut the barn door and jammed a bar through the two handles so no one could open it easily without them hearing. “’Cause I want to give you a proper good-bye.”
He reached up and cupped Jackson’s head, drawing him down until their mouths met. Jackson tasted of burnt coffee, but he couldn’t have tasted better to Nate. They clung to each other, their tongues tangling, their hips grinding against each other before Jackson broke off the kiss.
“I can’t do this, Nate. It’s too dangerous. And it ain’t fair to Miss Sarah.”
Chapter Three
“It’s not a death sentence, darlin’,” Jackson murmured.
Sarah jerked her head up. His dark eyes assessed her, not in judgment but concern. “What?”
Clean-shaven and in the soft glow of the oil lamps lighting the lounge, Jackson didn’t look near as scary as he had last night. Especially when he pressed her knuckles against his lips with a fleeting kiss similar to the way he’d kissed her in front of the preacher that morning. He leaned forward and lowered his voice so the folks in the hotel lounge wouldn’t hear. “Bein’ married to me ain’t a death sentence.”
No? So why did ’til death do you part still pound in her ears louder than Bandit’s hoof beats on a hard-packed road?
Sarah swallowed as he lifted her left hand and ran a thumb over the wedding ring that her mother had once worn. The ring Josiah had produced when the preacher called for one. Right before the preacher declared them man and wife.
“You were staring at your ring as if it might poison you or some such. It’s just a gold band, and a used one at that.”
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Lots of women married men they hardly knew. Look at all the women who had come out west as mail-order brides. It could be worse. She could have been forced to marry Jed. She suppressed the shudder that ran through her at that thought. Jed wouldn’t have waited until they reached town to assert his husbandly rights. He probably would have taken her virginity as soon as they’d lost sight of the McLeod ranch, instead of taking her to a hotel for her wedding night.
Her wedding night. Where she’d have to do whatever her husband wanted. Accept whatever he was going to do with her without quarrel. She’d seen enough barn animals to know what to expect but the idea of Jackson mounting her, pushing his man parts inside her…she swallowed hard. She’d given her word she’d honor and obey him. Those words joined the death do you part phrase, creating a cacophony inside her head.
Jackson’s fingers tightened around hers, and she realized his dark brows were drawn slightly together.
Her husband—how long before she got used to that phrase?—raised one dark eyebrow. “I asked if you were done eatin’ and were ready to retire for the night.”
Retire. To their room. Their room. Their bed.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me, Miss Sarah. I ain’t never forced myself on a woman.”
He probably didn’t have to force himself on any woman. She hadn’t missed the second glances some of the women had spared him as he’d escorted her along the sidewalk when they’d first arrived. She couldn’t put her finger on just what it was that made him so attractive. His nose had a bump in it as if it had been broken a couple times and not set right, his clothes were well worn, his boots scuffed. Perhaps it was his unassuming confidence that attracted her.
His lips pressed together, he pushed his chair back and stood, holding out his hand to her. “The more you think about it, the worse it’ll be in your head.”
She placed her hand in his, wondering if he’d be repulsed by her calluses once she took her gloves off. The lady at the next table over with her fine linen dress with its lace bodice probably didn’t have work-worn hands from shoveling out the barn, or hauling buckets of water not only for cooking and bathing but for the animals day in and day out. Neither did the other woman two tables over, the one with the blond ringlets and fancy bonnet with ostrich feathers who’d outright ogled Jackson when they were being shown to their table.
Jackson tucked her arm beneath his and leaned down to her, whispering, “You’re prettier than either of them.”
Reverend Glass would have chided her for sinning when a flush of both embarrassment and pride warmed her cheeks.
The walk up the stairs to their room went too fast. Too soon she was standing in front of the single big bed. He’d want her to undress and get into it. What if she didn’t please him? She didn’t know what a man expected when it came to satisfying them in
the bedroom. Oh Mama, why didn’t you tell me what I needed to know about these things?
Behind her, Jackson flipped shut the latch on the door, locking them in.
Was this how prisoners felt when they were locked in their cells for the first time? Her breath burning in her chest, Sarah wet her lips. What if he wanted her to do some of the things Jed had whispered? She tugged off her gloves and laid them beside her brush on the dressing table. Like her ring, they’d once been her mother’s and bore the signs of age and use. Conscious of him watching her, she fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet.
“You look scared to death. Do you really think I’ll be that mean to you?” Jackson took the bonnet from her and set it over her gloves.
“I’m f-fine.” Her words might have held more weight if she hadn’t stuttered.
“Nice try, but I ain’t buying what you’re tryin’ to sell.” He picked up her hands and chaffed them between his large palms. “Take a nice deep breath for me, will ya?”
Honor and obey. She sucked in a lungful and immediately regretted having that slice of peach pie for dessert. Her knees lost any sense of direction and wobbled beneath her, and the light from the kerosene lantern dimmed.
“Whoa. Stay with me, Sarah.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and laid her on the bed. His face wavered at the edge of her vision, his eyes dark and concerned.
“Damned corsets. You can barely breathe, can you?” he growled. He bent his head and set to work on her stays like a man intent on solving a puzzle. Once he freed the last hook, she drew in the first deep breath she’d been able to take the entire day.
“Better?” The corset landed on top of her valise with a thud.
“Yes, thank you.” But she grabbed the edges of her bodice together and wrapped her arms over her chest almost as tightly as the corset had squeezed her.
His lips pursed together into a hard line. “Whatever you’re thinking is going to happen is probably a hell—beggin’ your pardon—heck of a lot worse in your head than it will be in fact.”
He was right. Something inside her quivered. Not in fear, but with an awareness she’d never known before. Her body softened, wanting to trust him, to rest against him and let him protect her. Her hands twitched, wanting to touch his shoulders, to play with the thin furring of hair on his chest and feel the strength of his muscles rippling in the dim light.
She took another deep breath. “All right. Let’s get this over with.” She stood up and grabbed the hem of her chemise.
“Now hang on a second.” He captured her hands. It was the first time she’d seen him smile, she realized, and it changed his whole face. With that deep dimple in his left cheek, and the way his eyes sparkled, he looked like a little boy who planned to put a frog in her bed. “Let’s get this over with? As much as a man likes to know a woman’s willing, I’d rather not think of lying in our marital bed bein’ a chore.”
“I’m sorry.” Maybe he wouldn’t be able to consummate the marriage. Maybe he could only find satisfaction with a man in his bed. She dropped her eyes at the thought. No, from the bulge against his placket, he didn’t need a man’s touch to arouse him.
“Uh-uh, no apologies from you tonight. We’ll take tonight right slow, all right?” He leaned back and tilted his head. “Sit down on that chair in front of the dressing table.”
Bemused, she did as he bid. He stood behind her and removed the net covering her bun, then began plucking the pins holding her hair in its bun. “Let’s start with this, shall we?” When she reached up to try to help him, he tapped her hands. “Nope, this pleasure’s all mine. You just sit there.”
He hmm’d as he removed more pins, freeing her hair from its rigid confines, letting it fall past her waist. “You’ve got beautiful hair. Why do you wear it all bound up so a man can’t appreciate it?”
“Mr. McLeod insisted on it.”
He met her gaze in the mirror. “Even when you were little?”
“Yes.” Because when it was down, her Indian blood became even more obvious.
He made a disapproving noise in the back of his throat, then picked up the hairbrush she’d set out when they’d arrived.
She found herself relaxing with each stroke of the brush. She held her hand up, frowning at her mother’s wedding ring now gracing her finger. “I wonder why he kept it all these years.”
“Maybe because he still loved your ma.” He continued brushing her hair in long smooth strokes. She’d never known a man to be so patient. “He stayed married to her, didn’t he?”
“It’s not like they had a choice. Any more than you today.” She dropped her lids, eyeing him through her lashes. Would she find herself in the same type of loveless marriage?
“There’s always a choice. Your father could have sent her to live somewhere else. Heck, with the land your pa owns, he could have built her a cabin at the far end of his land. Yet they stayed in the same house for another twenty some years, didn’t they?”
But not the same room. In her whole life, she’d never seen her father touch her mother. Not until they had to move her from her bed to the table to be laid out.
“He let her stay because he needed a woman to do the household chores and help him raise Walt.” He’d let her know often enough that was the only reason either of them had a roof over her head. “She didn’t have anywhere else to go, so she didn’t feel she had a choice either.”
“Well, before you go doubting me, I had a choice. I could have saddled my horse and rode away. Not that I would have.”
“Why not?”
“Because I gave my word.” The brush paused midstroke. “I don’t got much in this world, ’cept for my word. I break that, I ain’t got nothing.” He chuckled darkly. “Guess I shoulda mentioned that before we stood in front of the preacher.” He hunkered down in front of her, the brush loose in his hands. “I’m a ranch hand, Sarah. That’s all I am. I don’t own a house or any land. Now don’t you worry,” he rushed to assure her, “I got a little money saved up so you ain’t gonna starve or be on the streets beggin’ or nothin’. We’re going to be stayin’ at Nate’s place at first, but I’m fixin’ to find us a couple acres maybe, build us a house. It won’t be a grand one. Probably won’t be much more than a couple rooms at first, but we can always add on to it”—he stared at the brush, color tingeing his cheeks—“as we need.”
If we have children, he was trying to say. “Oh.”
While she loved the idea of cradling a babe in her arms, the thought of how that child would have to be conceived was both exciting, and frightening. Not to mention that any child of theirs would be subjected to the same painful taunts and scorn she’d endured all her life. Would they resent that she’d brought them into a world of rejection?
He swallowed and took a deep breath then placed her brush on the dresser. “Guess it’s time for bed.”
“Oh,” she repeated, even quieter this time. The room suddenly shrank around her until all she could focus on was the bed. And Jackson.
He pulled her to her feet, then lifted her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Before she could tense he was hushing her, crooning, “It’s all right.”
She found herself sitting on his lap on the bed, him cradling her once more, her crinoline billowing her skirt around them both.
“You know, it occurs to me you don’t realize you might not be the only one nervous here.”
Her laugh fractured in her throat. Him nervous? Who was he trying to fool? Except maybe she was the first woman he’d invited to his bed. What if he wanted Nate, not her? “So you have been with a woman before?”
He cupped his fingers beneath her chin, lifting it until she looked at him. “Yes, I’ve lain with women before. I just ain’t never been with a vir—” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Hmm, maybe he was nervous. “I ain’t never been a woman’s first before.”
Reminded of her inexperience, Sarah dropped her eyes. What if he hurt her? Even unintentionally? What if she couldn’t satisfy him? Wh
at if—
“Look at me, Sarah.” His tone was gentle but compelling. “Have you been with a man before, sweetheart? Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll realize I ain’t your first?”
“I’ve never…” Her throat closed up, strangling her, so she could only shake her head.
His thumb stroked her wrist. For such a small gesture, she took heart that he could be gentle, soothing. Maybe it would be all right.
There was a long pause before Jackson sighed. “Are you worried I’m gonna hurt you?”
“You’re so big,” she whispered. “Bigger than Jed.”
His grip on her wrist tightened. “You want to explain to me how you know how big Jed is?”
“Because I’ve seen him.” A shudder rippled up her spine as the memory of those incidents assailed her. “If he knew I was alone in the barn or in the house when he was visiting, he’d come in and…touch himself there.”
“Did he ever touch you? Make you touch him?” Violence lurked just below the surface of the calm façade he maintained, betrayed by the knife-sharp question. And the rock-hard grasp on her arm.
“No!” She shook her head, her hair whipping from side to side with the ferocity of the motion. “But he’d tell me what he wanted to do to me. What he wanted me to do to him.”
His grip on her wrist loosened. “Did you ever tell your pa—McLeod—about it?”
“I told my mother—she told Mr. McLeod. After that, he made sure I was never alone when Jed was around.”
“At least he did somethin’ right by you.” His thumb started stroking again, the calluses strangely comforting. Beneath her, his thigh muscles relaxed, except for the hard lump at her hip.
She chanced a glance up at him and found him watching her, his lids hooded over dark eyes. If her heart had started to slow, it faltered and began its race once again. His hand released her wrist and cupped the back of her head, drawing her to him.
The first brush of his lips over hers had her tensing, but he didn’t force himself upon her. His kiss was whisper-soft, a taste, a promise. She had the chance to draw in a single breath before he returned. This time he lingered, his lips firming against hers with an intensity that stole her breath.