Tennessee Waltz

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  The heat spread over Sarah's entire face, even down her chest and across her breasts, with her nipples crinkling into hard nubs. Her horse shifted under her, and the movement rubbed her nether portion against the hard saddle seat. Immediately the answer to why women rode sidesaddle flashed into her mind. All the feelings goose bumping over her skin cascaded down there, and centered between her legs.

  She might have managed to maintain control, but she couldn't pull her focus away from Wyn's face. His eyelids lowered partly, and in the dimness the color of his eyes appeared a smoky blue. The ball of fire he'd said she might turn into would probably give off the exact same color smoke while it burned her to pieces.

  "I wonder if that idiot who let you leave New York without him right there to keep an eye on you ever felt you turn into flames in his arms?" Wyn mused.

  Then he seemed to realize what he'd said and dropped his head for an instant, shaking it from side to side. Looking at her again, he lifted his reins, moving his horse back beside her.

  He reached out a hand. "Look, Sarah, I apologize, but . . ."

  She kicked her horse in the sides, and it gave a startled neigh as it leaped forward. She raced down the trail, and when the horse tried to swerve beside the store and head for the barn, she held it onto the path to her cabin. When she reached her haven, she jerked the horse to a stop and slid to the ground in a flurry of skirts. Uncaring as to whether Wyn would have to chase the horse, she tossed the reins aside and rushed into her cabin.

  She slammed the door behind her and leaned on it, gasping for breath. Heavens, the horse should have been winded, not her, but she couldn't seem to breathe deeply enough to calm herself. She heard the plop of horses hooves outside and realized Wyn had followed her more slowly. Although she'd never worried about locking her door before, now she grabbed the heavy board propped in the corner and laid it in the iron hasps. After a few seconds silence, she heard a boot step outside just before a rap on the door.

  "Sarah," Wyn called. "Are you all right?"

  "Go away," she ordered. "I'm fine."

  She thought she heard a chuckle, but she didn't notice any laughter in his voice when he spoke next.

  "We're going a little deeper into the mountains tomorrow. Be sure and bring a cloak."

  Fisting her hands at her sides, she fought the urge to tell him that she wouldn't be going anywhere with him ever again. She had no choice. She had to visit the families. Dan had also mentioned it would be expected of her.

  Just as she thought perhaps he'd left, Wyn said, "I can leave the squirrels here on your porch."

  "No!" she said, barely stopping herself before she threw the board aside and opened the door. "Uh . . . take them over to Mandy."

  "Well, now, I might consider doing that for you if you asked me real nice." This time there was no mistake as to the laughter in his voice.

  "Ohhhhh," she fumed quietly, so the sound wouldn't carry through the door to him. After a long, telling silence, she gritted out, "Would you please take the squirrels over to Mandy? I told Pete I'd have her cook them for me tomorrow night."

  "We won't be back in time for supper here tomorrow," Wyn reminded her. "But I'll ask Mandy to fix them so we can take them with us for a snack on the trail. You know, Sarah, we could talk at lot easier if you'd open this door."

  "I'm going on to bed," she said. "Mandy said she'd leave me a plate over here." She turned to stare across the room at the stove, but it was really too dark for her to tell much. "I'm sure she did. Good night."

  She waited another long minute before she finally heard the horses leaving. Slipping over to the window, she cautiously pulled back the curtain and peered out. The horses were indeed headed toward the barn, but she didn't see Wyn leading them. Suddenly his head popped into view right in front of her face.

  "Boo!"

  She screamed. He was still on the porch, and he'd leaned over to stick his head in front of the window, knowing she'd be peeking out!

  Dropping the curtain, she glared at the window, listening to the gales of laughter on the other side of her door. All at once she thinned her lips and nodded her head in satisfaction. She moved back over in front of the door and drew back her leg. She gave the door a good, hard kick, then stomped on the floor, hoping it sounded like she'd fallen.

  Wyn's laughter immediately stilled. "Sarah?" he called.

  "Ohhhhh," she groaned. "Ohhhhh!"

  He pounded on the door. "Sarah! What's wrong? Open this door!"

  "I c . . . ca . . . can't," she called back. "Ohhhhh! It hurts! Ohhhhh!"

  "What happened?"

  She didn't answer him, and after a second, something thudded against the outside of the door — probably his shoulder she guessed. She gave another convincing groan before she burst into silent laughter. He thudded against the door again, and she heard him give a yelp of pain, followed by a round curse.

  "Sarah!" The next thuds — a rapid tempo of them — appeared to come from his fist. "Sarah, answer me!"

  Holding her hands over her mouth and snorting in a most unladylike manner, Sarah backed away from the door. Any minute the sound of her laughter would break the bonds of her control, and she wanted to be at the other end of the room when it happened.

  Suddenly the pane of glass in the window beside the door crashed in and broken pieces rained into the room. Her laughter died as a hand reached inside the window and flipped the board free of the hasps. Then the door was thrown open so hard it banged against the wall.

  Sarah's legs encountered her bed, and she sat down on the very edge, hoping the springs wouldn't squeal and give her away. They didn't.

  "Uh-oh," she breathed almost soundlessly, then fell silent.

  "Sarah!" Wyn dropped to his knees and his head swiveled from side to side as he searched for her.

  Sarah thought there was well enough light coming in through the door behind him to show him that she wasn't lying there on the floor. She froze on the bed, waiting to see how long it would take him to find out where she really was. The cabin wasn't that big, after all.

  He lunged to his feet just as she realized she'd worn a pale blue dress today. It probably stood out like a beacon in the dim room, especially given the multi-colored quilt behind her on the bed for a background. But he appeared to be too upset to notice her.

  Instead, he bent over the end table beside the settee and pulled open the drawer holding the matches. A lot faster than Sarah ever managed, he had the lantern lit. When he held it aloft, the light illuminated the entire cabin, and also Wyn's face.

  Her trepidation had barely commenced before she realized the look on his face was the complete opposite of worry for her. He must have realized as soon as he got inside that she'd been playing him false, because his blue eyes were alight with mirth, his mouth open in a wide smile. He reached up easily and slipped the lantern handle over a hook on a crossbeam, then took a step and shoved the door shut. Sticking his fingertips in his back pockets, he advanced on her.

  "Why, Teacher," he murmured. "I do believe you've entered your second childhood already. Guess that's what being around a passel of young'uns all day long will do to you."

  Hardly realizing what she was doing, Sarah scooted back on the bed, holding out a hand in a useless gesture for him to halt.

  "Stay away," she said. "You started it. You . . . you tricked me into thinking you were leaving with the horses."

  He nodded in agreement, and a blond lock of hair fell across his forehead. "That I did. I'll admit to that. But I would've never thought Miss Sarah Channing, the New York City debutante, would retaliate by tricking me in return. You do a very convincing fake groan of pain, Miss Debutante."

  "All I had to do was imagine one of those men at the dance was stepping on my toes again in those hobnail boots," Sarah blurted.

  Oh, my God! her mind said when his mention of her former status sunk in. She'd never done anything like this in her life, even when she was a child herself! What if some of her friends back in New York had
seen her? She was acting like a scandalous lady of pleasure toying with her partner — just like the one she'd read about in the book her father would've burned if he'd found it under her mattress. She had to stop this.

  She tensed her muscles to get off the bed. But Wyn took another step closer, and she dropped her hand. Pushing both hands into the bed, she scooted away another six inches. Her back came up against the cabin wall.

  Suddenly realizing how ridiculous she must look, she bit the inside of her mouth to hold in her laughter. Her legs stuck straight out on the bed, and considering how tall she was, there was plenty of leg to stick out. Wyn, on the other hand, still kept his fingertips in his back pockets, his stance stretching his blue work shirt tight across his wide chest. His eyes began a slow scan of her, and she could feel the heat trailing in the wake of his gaze.

  "What did you do with the squirrels?" she asked in an attempt to turn his attention to something else before he proved for a fact that he could turn her into a writhing ball of flames

  — without even coming close to the "Act."

  "Hmm?" he said as though he hadn't understood a word she said.

  "The squirrels!" she repeated louder. "One of the barn cats might get them if you've left them on the front step. Then how would I explain to Pete . . ."

  In one fluid motion, he removed his hands from his back pockets and laid down beside her on the bed. Bending his elbow, he propped his head on his palm and gazed up at her. She froze like a mouse in a snake's stare for a long, exciting moment. Then she gave a squeal and lunged toward the bottom of the bed. She managed to throw one leg over the footboard before Wyn jerked her backward and loomed over her.

  "Now what are you gonna do, My Lady Debutante?" Wyn asked.

  The word, close to the forefront of her mind ever since Wyn uttered it a while ago, popped out of Sarah's mouth before she could stop it.

  "Writhe?"

  A white-hot flush of heat stole over her, and she caught her breath in horror. How could she have said such a thing?

  Wyn looked at her for a moment, biting his lips together, the blueness in his eyes filled with dancing merriment. He took a short breath, opened his mouth and said, "You aren't even close to the point where you should . . . wri . . . writhe . . . writhe yet!" he managed before he lost control and fell on his back beside her.

  His snorts of laughter and guffaws invaded the room, and he rolled back and forth on the bed. She sat upright to watch him, covering her mouth with one hand when her humiliation changed to amusement. He looked like a huge blond child himself with the tears of laughter leaking from beneath those long golden lashes.

  After a while, Wyn clasped his arms across his stomach and seemed to make an enormous effort to pull himself together. His guffaws died to chuckles, and he raised one hand to wipe his fingertips beneath his eyes.

  But he looked over at her, and she raised her eyebrows and dropped her hand from her mouth. She barely got her mouth pursed for the "W" in writhe before Wyn doubled up his knees and started cackling once more.

  "Stop!" he said once, then managed to say it a couple more times. "Stop. Please, stop it, Sarah! Oh, lordy, my stomach's aching!"

  "Why, I'm not doing a thing except sit here and watch roll around like a dory on the ocean in the wind."

  Taking advantage of his hilarity and weakened state, she scooted from the bed. She waited as calmly as she could for him to settle down, although it took every bit of effort she could muster not to break down and join his merriment. When he gained enough composure back to look at her again, she propped her hands on her hips and gave him her sternest glare.

  "Harrumph! I can see my purity is in no danger from you, Mr. MacIntyre, since it seems I tickle your funny bone rather than tempt you. Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave my bed, I do have some chores to finish before I can rest myself."

  "Aw, Sarah," Wyn said, tucking one hand beneath his cheek and staring at her. "Honey, you tickle a lot more than my funny bone. You just ought to be glad that it was my funny bone that reacted first to me being in bed with you. Otherwise, your purity would have definitely been in a lot of danger."

  Her legs wobbled so badly she thought for a minute he would notice, even with her long skirts hiding the trembling. Though it meant moving closer to him, she toddled over to the bed and grabbed hold of a bedpost to steady herself. His blue eyes followed her every move, and he flicked his tongue out, wiping it across his top lip then drawing it back into his mouth to hide it.

  "I . . . you . . . one of us needs to go," she sputtered inanely, hardly realizing what she had said.

  He kept her captured in his gaze for a year-long ten seconds, then surged to his feet.

  "I guess I should be the one to leave, since this is your home," he said.

  Reaching up, he threaded the fingers of both hands through his blond hair to tame it into place. It didn't work, and her own fingers tingled with the desire to give it her own try. She clamped them tighter on the bedpost.

  "G . . . good night," she managed.

  "Good night, Sarah."

  He strode to the door, but drew back his hand before he touched the doorknob. He stood without turning for a few seconds, then said, "Sarah, can I ask you something?"

  "I guess," she said, still gripping the bedpost tightly. "What is it?"

  Still without turning, he said, "Why were you here in the cabin with Kyle during the dance? With the light out?"

  "What?" she asked, truly puzzled. Then she remembered. "Oh. The lantern was on at first."

  "Yeah," he admitted, turning cautiously.

  "The kerosene ran out just after we got inside. I couldn't remember where I'd seen the extra fuel, and it took me a few minutes to find it. If you were watching, surely you saw the light from the match Kyle had to light to help me search for the kerosene can. We found it on a shelf outside the back door. I assume it's kept there to be safe — away from the stove, you know."

  "I didn't watch very long. Not long enough, I guess. Can I ask you something else?"

  "I believe you've had your quota of questions for one night. You've just reminded me that my cabin is visible to everyone who lives here. And that door's been closed for an awful long time, with only the two of us in here. I think you better go."

  He nodded so slightly she could hardly see the movement. But his next movement came without doubt of his intention, and too quickly for her to avoid it. He strode back to the bed and circled a hand behind her neck. Then he kissed her.

  He kissed her firmly at first, leaving her no doubt his mouth on hers was enjoying every second of the contact. He nibbled her mouth next, taking tiny little nips with his lips at her bottom lip, her top lip, each corner of her mouth, then claiming another full kiss. His tongue swept the crease between her lips this time, inching inside to smooth across her teeth. Helplessly, she opened her mouth and allowed him full entrance, letting go of the useless bedpost and grabbing his neck to keep herself from wilting to the floor. Or worse, the last infinitesimal portion of her rational mind told her, to the bed behind her.

  He withdrew before she had more than instinctively returned his brief tongue caress with her own, nibbling across her jaw and downward to her neck. He licked her once and then again, centering his attention for an all too brief period at the hollow in her throat. She became aware of his fingers moving in her hair, pulling pins free. The heavy tresses dropped from the neat coil, slithering silkily across her shoulders and down her back.

  He moved his mouth toward the side of her neck, his breath beginning to sound harsher and his chest rising and falling against her breasts. She felt a slight, pleasant sting when he sucked one spot, but he nuzzled onward, and she felt his tongue caress the side of her neck in a place she hadn't even realized had such sensitive nerve endings.

  Her rational mind blinked out at the same moment her legs gave up the battle and she slowly sank down. The bed caught her, and Wyn gently pushed her back on the mattress, then laid down on top of her. Balancing his wei
ght on one elbow, he brushed back a tress of hair from her cheek and wrapped it around his fingers. Pulling it toward him, he caressed it across his mouth.

  "I knew your hair would be beautiful," he murmured. "It's like silk, and so heavy and thick I don't see how you manage it on your head."

  "It's so plain."

  "Where'd you ever get that idea?"

  "My father. He made the nurses, and later my maid, wash it every other day. He said it was such a lackluster color, but at least it had a shine when I kept it washed."

  "He was wrong. It's the color of light brown sugar with a sprinkle of gold dusting it."

  The compliment curled through her with a different warmth than she was feeling from the close proximity of his body. She dared to reach for the lock of hair always falling over his forehead.

  "Yours is soft, such a pretty color and exactly what I think of when I think of blond. I'd always thought men's hair would be coarse and rough, like their whiskers looked. And all the men I've ever known used oily stuff on their hair. I like the way you allow yours to be free — to blow in the wind or curl where it will."

  "I've never thought of my hair as being an attraction," he teased. "Maybe I should let it grow even longer."

  "Maybe you should," she agreed.

  "Can I tell you how beautiful your eyes are now? Or will you get such a swelled head that you won't be able to walk without wobbling?"

  She couldn't believe she was actually lying here with this terribly handsome man, having this teasing, give-and-take conversation. It was highly improper, but she couldn't for the life of her push him away, despite the chastisement about her wanton behavior the voice of her conscious tried to shout at her. He was so close, yet she didn't feel uncomfortable with him like she usually felt around a man; and she mentally locked her conscious away in a dark room — just for a few more minutes. Perhaps her enjoyment burgeoned because she didn't perceive Wyn judging her and finding her lacking. In fact, the total opposite was happening.