With his eyes burning, he turned his hands wrist up. “Don’t forget the cuffs,” he said, smiling.
She felt embarrassed. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I’m glad. I like first times.”
It was awkward, but she undid the buttons and tugged the sleeves down his arms. As the shirt fell to the floor, his chest came into full view. She could almost count the strands of his chest hair, silky and straight. From his firm muscles, her gaze traveled down his arms. The tight skin on his biceps looked satiny and she touched it, trailing her hands up to his shoulders.
Looking at her with pure longing, John untied all seven of the ribbons on the negligee. Moving as deliberately as she had, he spread the gown wide to reveal her breasts. She felt the lace on her nipples again, but the irritation stopped when he pushed the gown off her shoulders and sent it fluttering to the floor.
“It’s pretty,” he said. “But you’re even prettier without it.”
Abbie shivered with dread. She knew John was watching her face, gauging her reactions in the dim light. When she stayed steady, he put one arm around her waist, pulling her close so that her neck arched and her mouth tipped upward. In a single motion, his lips met hers and his hand cupped the white mound of her breast. She’d been expecting the caress, so she managed to stop herself from stiffening. Instead she pressed herself into his hand, hoping he wouldn’t feel her trembling. At the same time, she felt his erection brushing against the apex of her thighs, asking questions, telling her that he loved her, desired her. But she also felt his hesitation—that damnable worry that made her weak.
She forced herself to touch him in that place that belonged only to her. She stroked him twice but then pulled back. With his jaw tense, he turned them with a step so that the backs of her knees bumped against the bed frame. Her feet got tangled in the nightgown and she lost her balance. As she clutched at John’s shoulders, a gasp of fear slipped from her throat.
He stopped kissing her instantly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. Go numb, she thought. Feel nothing.
But that wasn’t possible with John. She was feeling everything—love and loathing, fear and hope. She wanted to relish the pleasure, to give herself to him, to be a good wife. But along with that yearning came a response so primitive she could hardly stifle it. What woman didn’t cry out when she tripped on a rug and started to fall?
John was pressing closer, still caressing her breast, still kissing her so that her head was tilted back. Too far, too far… Her knees buckled and she fell to her back. The downy mattress cushioned her fall and grabbed her at the same time. A panicked cry rose to her lips, but John had stayed with her, inhaling her breath so that the cry sounded like a moan of pleasure.
Tears pressed into Abbie’s eyes. Desperate to put a bit of space between them, she planted her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers wide.
Don’t push. Don’t push.
But then he put his knee on the bed. The wool of his trousers scraped at her bare thigh, reminding her that she was naked and he wasn’t. Robert had played that game. The first time he’d raped her, he’d been fully clothed.
Go numb. Stay still.
But she was falling…she couldn’t breathe or see. She could only sense danger as the rocky ground loomed below her. A cry ripped from her throat as she pushed John away with all her might.
“I can’t—I can’t—” Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she struggled to sit up. She hated being on her back. She hated the moonlight, the mattress, her nakedness. Rolling off the bed, she pawed the floor for her robe, but she couldn’t see through her tears. “Where the hell is my robe? I want my damn robe!”
She saw John’s feet move, then he bent to pick up the cotton. He stood two feet away, holding it out to her as if she were a wild animal that needed to be calmed. “It’s right here,” he said gently.
She couldn’t stand his kindness. He had to be miserable and it was all her fault. She snatched the robe and shot to her feet, covering herself in a blur of cotton. “I made a terrible mistake. I’m sorry—I can’t—” She couldn’t stop the words spewing from her throat.
“Abbie, look at me.”
“No.” She yanked the tie on the robe until it cut into her waist. Then she looked straight at him. The love in his eyes nearly dropped her to her knees, but she had to stay strong. “The wedding’s off.”
Without a hint of anger, John shook his head. “We’re already married—till death us do part, in good times and bad.”
“But what good are vows if I can’t be a real wife to you?” Sobs shook her entire body. She couldn’t stand being in this room another minute. If he talked, she might believe that things would be better next time. But she didn’t want a next time.
Abbie sped around the foot of the bed, heading for the door. As soon as she reached it, she turned the knob, but the lock only rattled in the frame. “Let me out,” she whimpered. “Please let me go.”
Somehow through the panic she heard John’s voice, but she couldn’t make out the words. Had he put the key in his pocket as Robert had done? Would he make her stand here and beg like a child? She wanted to be angry, but she didn’t have the strength to do anything but sob. Finally his voice cut through the fog.
“Abbie, look at me.”
When she turned her head, she saw him standing on the other side of the bed, holding out the key. If she stretched her arm, she could reach it without taking a step. She understood he was being kind, but not even his best intentions could take away the terror of standing behind a locked door while wearing her pink robe. Avoiding his gaze, she snatched the key from his fingers and put it in the lock.
“You’re safe,” he said gently. “Stay with me, Abbie. I need you.”
But she had nothing more to give. She turned the key, opened the door wide and ran down the hall.
John charged after his wife, but his foot caught on the nightgown. The lace slid across the wood floor, throwing him off balance. He grabbed the bedpost to keep from falling, but the stumble had given Abbie the edge. She was already halfway up the stairs when he reached the hallway.
Her sobs rasped through him like a saw taking a man’s limb. He wished to God he’d kept his wits about him tonight. Every instinct had told him she wasn’t ready, but that see-through lace had been his undoing. He was a man, and he wanted to make love to his wife—if not tonight, then tomorrow or next month. Hell, even next year if that’s what it took.
Abbie needed to hear that promise. Buttoning his shirt as he strode down the hall, John climbed the stairs to her bedroom. He didn’t want to wake Beth or Robbie, so he settled for three soft taps on her door.
No answer, but he knew she was there. As he reached for the knob, a key turned in the lock. John understood why she’d run out of his bedroom, but that click insulted him. What did she think? That he’d hurt her? Not in a million years. He had a good mind to kick down the door, but force wouldn’t help his cause and neither would waking up Robbie and Beth. Instead he stood at her door and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again…and again. Every two minutes or so, he tapped lightly. And waited…and waited. Until Abbie cracked open the door.
“Stop that!”
He wedged his bare foot against the oak. “Let me in.”
“No! I already told you, the wedding’s off.”
She tried to shut the door, but he shouldered his way inside and leaned against it so she couldn’t run off. Abbie fled to the opposite wall, but she was still just a few feet away in the tiny room. With his arms crossed over his chest, John took in the sight of her tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes. It nearly broke him in two, but self-pity wasn’t going to fix their problem. Besides, as did most men, he preferred a good rant to tears and he was in a bit of a snit himself.
He glared at her. “What’s this crap about not going through with the ceremony?”
“Don’t you dare cuss at me!”
“I’ll cuss if I want
to,” he said. “There are times when an ugly word fits. This is one of them. Running out on me like that was understandable. Locking the door was just plain mean.”
To his utter horror, she buried her face in her hands and wept. “Please, just go. I’ll talk to my father in the morning. I can’t marry you.”
The wobble in her voice made John both angry and ashamed of himself. Adam had been a fool for listening to Eve, and John had been an idiot for letting Abbie seduce him tonight. The pieces started to come together—the nightly visits, the picnic, the negligee. Looking at her now, he realized she had made a deal with the devil. “It seems to me you decided we’d either sink or swim tonight.”
She nodded. “I had to be sure I could be a wife to you. I can’t, so I want an annulment like we planned.”
“Let’s see if I understand.” John put iron in his voice. “I botched things in the bedroom, and now you’re leaving me.”
“Don’t twist things around!”
“I’m not. Every instinct except one told me to keep my hands off you tonight, but I didn’t pay attention.” He let his voice go deep. “I love you, Abbie. And I’ll be damned if I let a mistake ruin our future.”
“I feel the same way. We just have different notions of what counts as a mistake.” She gripped the lapels of her robe and glared at him. “I’m sorry to hurt your feelings, but I don’t love you as much as I thought.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
If she hadn’t been so upset, he would have laughed at the stupidity. Love had made her put that nightgown on, and love had given her the courage to take it off. The woman had just put herself through hell—for him. Staring at her, he willed her to admit that she had lied. At the same time, he saw stripes of moonlight on the floor. No matter what else happened tonight, he didn’t want her to feel trapped.
“I was going to tell you tomorrow, but you should know I heard from Hodge. It’s a done deal. You and I have control of your finances.”
Abbie sagged with relief. “So I’m free to go home.”
John made his voice gentle. “You’re also free to stay.”
The tears in her eyes gave him hope, but then she shook her head. “It’s best if I leave.”
“Best for who?” John insisted. “You just spent two weeks convincing me to be a father to my daughter, and now you’re leaving the minute she gets here? You better think again.”
“Don’t shout,” she said.
John hadn’t been shouting. He’d barely raised his voice. But with the realization that Abbie intended to leave him, he no longer cared about waking anyone up. “You’re my wife. You can’t pack up just because we got naked and had a fiasco.”
She clutched the robe at the base of her throat. “You didn’t get naked—I did.”
John had heard enough. “I don’t care who I wake up,” he said in his full voice. “I want the world to know that you’re my wife. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you leave like this.”
The look he saw in her eyes made him think of grass withering in the sun. Maybe he was coming on too strong. Maybe the fire in him was more heat than she could stand. Still, she needed to know how he felt.
But then her eyes flared with a heat of their own. She looked ready to chew him up and spit him out. Fine, he thought. He’d be glad to tell her more—how she made him weak in the knees just by breathing. How he admired her courage, her spirit. The way she made him feel like a hungry boy and a giant of a man, both at the same time.
When she raised her chin, just as she had when she’d threatened to shoot out his kneecaps, John felt the friction of an age-old battle. Men wanted to control women, and women didn’t like it. He decided it was wise to back down a little. Letting his eyes twinkle, he gave her a sheepish smile. “I guess we’re having our first fight.”
He expected her to smile back, but she turned to the window. “It’s also our last. I’ll explain to my father and ask Beth to tell people the wedding is off.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said, incredulous.
“Yes, I am.”
John had learned early in life to be the one who did the leaving, and he didn’t take kindly to being left. That’s what happened when a boy saw his mother walk down a dirt path with a satchel in her hand. She hadn’t even said goodbye. She had just disappeared. John refused to let Abbie to do the same thing. “Look at me.”
She turned away from the window and raised her chin like Joan of Arc. John lowered his face and stared back. “I’m going to be standing in that church tomorrow—waiting for you.”
“I won’t be there.”
“That’s your choice, but I’m not going to let you slip away like I did in Kansas. This time, our future is in your hands. The question is, do you have the guts to fight for us?”
With the challenge hanging between them, John walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Heaving a sigh, he decided to go throw some rocks.
Chapter Sixteen
Abbie awoke the next morning to the sound of knocking on her door. Sure that it was John, she said nothing. She had no intention of talking to him before she took care of business with her father.
“Abbie? Are you all right?”
Beth’s voice brought a wave of relief. Abbie needed to ask her to spread the bad news, so she pushed out of bed and opened the door. “Come in, sweetie. I have to talk to you.”
The younger woman shook her head. “No, you come downstairs. John’s not here, so he won’t see his bride.”
Before she could protest, Beth stepped into the stairwell. Abbie had no desire to rush to the kitchen, but neither could she hide in her room. Surrendering to the inevitable, she put on an old dress and pinned up her hair in a haphazard tangle. She was thinking about how to break the news when she stepped into the kitchen and saw a crowd of women. Almost on cue, they broke into a chorus of “Here Comes the Bride.”
Abbie stood with her mouth gaping as she surveyed the faces. She saw Emma Dray, Emma’s mother and several women from John’s congregation. She guessed the blonde in a trim blue suit was Jayne Trent, and the woman leading the singing was Hildy Reynolds, the church pianist. As the chorus collapsed into laughter, the women crowded around Abbie, hugging her and wishing her well.
“You’re good for him,” said a woman wearing green.
“We can see how much he loves you,” said another.
And from Emma, “It’s good to see John happy.”
Over and over, Abbie said the same thing. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
She needed to announce the engagement was off, but Beth was already ushering the crowd into the front room where Abbie saw a wedding brunch laid on the sideboard and a stack of gifts on the table in front of the divan.
She had to stop the celebration now, but Beth was chattering at her like a magpie. “Isn’t this wonderful? In case you’re curious, I didn’t plan it. Mrs. Dray came to me last week.”
Smiling at Abbie, Mrs. Dray lowered herself to the divan with a slowness that came from arthritic knees. She didn’t look a thing like Abbie’s own mother, but she had the same silver hair and curved spine. Even without hearing the details, Abbie knew the old woman had endured her share of heartache. So had Jayne Trent, sitting next to her with a baby in her lap. And what about Beth?
Abbie’s heart started to pound. Every woman in the room had cried herself to sleep at least once. And yet they had all survived and even triumphed. As her gaze moved from woman to woman, Abbie knew that if she talked about her fears, they’d share their own. If she started to cry, they would hug her and offer handkerchiefs.
She was sorting her thoughts when Beth maneuvered her into a chair in front of the presents and handed her a flat box. “Open mine first. I had to stick my nose where it didn’t belong, but I think you’ll like it.”
The room turned silent as the women waited, each one expectant as Abbie felt the weight of the box in her hands. If she opened it, she’d be as good as married to John. As her
eyes filled with tears, she said, “This is so hard, but John and I had words last night. I think…I think the wedding’s off.”
A hush settled over the room as the women looked at her, waiting for more and wanting to help. In Jayne Trent’s eyes, she saw compassion. In Emma Dray’s expression, she saw envy and a trace of hope. In Beth, she found understanding. But it was old Mrs. Dray who seemed to look right through her.
“You’re wise to be careful,” she said. “I’ve had thirty-six years with my husband. Most of them have been good, but some were awful. You’ll have hard times, Abigail, especially with John. He’s a difficult man.”
“Oh, but he’s not!” Abbie insisted.
Beth touched Abbie’s shoulder. “Open the present and then decide.”
Swallowing hard, Abbie loosened the ribbon and lifted the lid to the box where she saw a double picture frame. The right side held a photograph of John wearing his preacher’s coat and looking roguish. On the left Beth had inserted Abbie’s favorite picture of Susanna.
Abbie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They were so much alike and she loved them with an intensity that left her breathless. How could she not stay with John? She loved his courage and humor, the passion that made him both human and invincible. Her heart swelled as she held the frame in both hands. “Beth, it’s beautiful.”
Her friend squeezed her hand. “You two belong together—and not just because of Susanna.”
Abbie touched her daughter through the glass. She had come to Midas because of Susanna, but the decision to stay was hers alone. Fight or flight—that was her choice. But what did a bird do when it couldn’t fly? Blinking, Abbie flashed on a baby sparrow she had nursed when it fell from its nest. Just as John had said about the promise rock, love and time had healed that broken bird.
When Abbie looked up from the photograph, she saw Mrs. Dray raise her chin. “Be brave, Abigail. Life doesn’t offer many second chances.”
Abbie's Outlaw Page 19