“Well…when in heathen country…do as the heathens do, I suppose,” her mother sighed.
Genieva grinned and shook her head. “Come on, Maury. I’ll tuck you in as well,” she said, leading her sister to the spare bedroom.
“Doesn’t he simply smother you at night, Nieva?” Maureen asked, dropping her voice in a tone of conspiracy.
“Whatever are you going on about now, Maury?” Genieva sighed. She was tired and a bit weary of dealing with her sister’s trivial and endless questioning.
“What I mean is…that’s a small bed in your room, and Brevan is such a large man. It seems to me that…”
“Here’s your room, Maury. Just go to sleep,” Genieva interrupted, her patience spent.
“But…”
“Good night, Maury,” Genieva said. She closed the door—putting an end to her sister’s curious chatter.
She was tired as she entered Brevan’s room and startled when he unexpectedly spoke from behind her. He stood in the doorway, smiling at her—a rather amused expression across his handsome face.
“Have ya got the meddlin’ in-laws all tucked in for the night then, lass?” he asked, grinning with understanding. He had unbuttoned his shirt and was awkwardly attempting to change the bandage on his knife wound. Genieva was suddenly worried over not having attended to it sooner.
“Yes,” she answered, moving to assist him. “I don’t remember them being so…so…irritating.”
“They’re in a strange environment, Genieva,” he explained as she secured the fresh bandage over the wound. “And tryin’ to accept a strange situation, they are.” Brevan covered his mouth as he yawned, stretched, and stripped off his shirt.
“I’ll um…I’ll just rest on the sofa awhile,” Genieva nervously stammered.
Yet as she started to move past him, he caught hold of her arm.
Lowering his voice, he said, “And undo the vision I’ve been slavin’ meself all day to create? Never.” He pointed to his bed. “You’ll be sleepin’ there, ya will. I’ll stretch out on the floor next to ya.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t possibly…you need your rest and…” she began.
“Get to bed, lass. I’m worn to the core today,” Brevan interrupted as he sat on the side of the bed. He removed his boots, letting them drop to the floor.
Unexpectedly, he took hold of Genieva’s arm and, laying back on the bed, pulled her down beside him.
“Brevan!” Genieva exclaimed in a whisper. He rolled toward her, gathering her in a tight embrace. She immediately understood his actions as she heard Maureen’s voice from the open doorway.
“Excuse me, Nieva,” her sister called—feigning innocence. “Do you have an extra blanket somewhere near? Oh my, pardon me, will you?” Maureen said—her eyes nearly bugging out of her head as she stared at Genieva and Brevan.
“Here,” Brevan said, sitting up and tossing the girl the quilt lying across the foot of his bed. “Ya can have this one. We’ll not be needin’ it.” Then he stood and strode to the door. Closing it before Maureen’s astonished face, he added, “Good night, lassie.”
When Brevan returned to his bed and took his pillow from it, Genieva asked, “Why do you work so hard at continuing this farce?”
Brevan threw another quilt to the floor, tossed the pillow on top of it, and lay down. He stretched his long body the length of the makeshift bed.
“It boils me blood that they’re so puffed up and snobbish, it does.”
Genieva looked away, muttering, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no fault of yars. I’ve no doubt it took a fair amount of courage to leave like ya did. And it makes me angry that they drove ya to it.”
“I’m weak, I suppose. It was my duty after all,” Genieva sighed.
“It was not, lass. Everyone should have the right to choose their own path as an adult.” Obviously wanting an end to their conversation, he added, “Good night then, Genieva.”
“Good night, Brevan.”
The hours passed slowly—for Genieva found sleep elusive. Her mind and senses were alive with the memory of Brevan’s kiss earlier in the day. The marvelous sensation of being held in his arms still permeated her body—she ached to be held by him again.
Yet in the darkness, her fearful memories of her meeting with Cruz on the path home from Lita’s house began to haunt her as well. She would have to tell Brevan about it. But when? Not with her family under his roof to witness every fearful and threatening word. Her thoughts wandered to her family, and she smiled—amused at the way her mother had nearly swooned each time Brevan entered the room muttering something insinuative. She covered her mouth, stifling a giggle as she recalled the incident at dinner.
Abigail had asked for someone to pass the butter.
“Let me do that for ya, Mother Bankmans,” Brevan had offered. Then, taking a knife in his right hand, he reached around her mother, letting his arm rest around her rather plump form, and sliced a bit of the butter from the mold. He continued to hold her mother at his side as he buttered her bread for her, saying, “I can spread it on thicker than any man.” Her mother had nearly fainted dead away, and Maury was again crimson with delight at her mother’s blushing. Her father had not been amused, and that in itself was amusing to Genieva.
Turning to her side, she leaned over the side of the bed and stared at the man sleeping on the floor next to her. He was resting on his back, his arms raised and hands tucked firmly beneath his head. His feet were crossed and his hair tousled and mussed looking. He certainly was a beautiful sight to behold. In that quiet moment as she studied him, Genieva suddenly owned more patience with her sister’s endless questions about Brevan.
Suddenly, the need to touch him was just too much to deny. Carefully, Genieva let her hand move from the bed and to his hair, stroking it softly and relishing the feel of it between her fingers. Her great fatigue left her reflexes too relaxed, and when Brevan suddenly caught hold of her hand, she was unable to retrieve it at once.
He did not open his eyes, simply pressed the palm of her hand firmly against his chest, holding it in place with his own. He seemed to be asleep. Even when Genieva whispered his name several times, he did not stir. Slowly, she pulled her hand from beneath his. He did not wake, only turned to his side, his back toward her now.
He’s so strong, she thought. Not once had he mentioned his fresh wound—not once throughout the entire day. In those only quiet moments she’d had all day, Genieva was again reminded of the danger her Brevan was in. Cruz had inflicted a brutal wound to him the night before—and Brevan had retaliated. Cruz would be hungering for vengeance. A vision of Cruz standing before her on the pathway home that morning leapt to Genieva’s mind. His threats had been lewd to say the least. What would she have done if Joaquin had not been near? She would’ve been ruined—ruined as Amy Wilburn had been.
The need to be near Brevan was heightening, and she again reached down, lightly caressing his shoulder. Just touching him comforted her. She wondered what it would be like to touch him whenever she needed to—to kiss him whenever she wanted to. Would it be too wonderful to hear him whisper in her ear that he loved her? So wonderful that it would cause her to be deafened to any other word spoken?
“Do ya want me in the bed with ya, Genieva?” Brevan grumbled. “For I’m certainly gettin’ no sleep down here with ya pawin’ at me every livin’ minute.”
“No,” she assured him, snatching her hand from his shoulder. He began to chuckle then, and she watched him roll over onto his back once more. His eyes were moist with amusement when he looked at her.
He chuckled and whispered, “I thought yar mother would faint dead away right there at the supper table this evenin’.”
Genieva grinned, delighted that he too was thinking of the incident.
“Yes,” Genieva giggled softly. She covered her mouth with one hand for a moment, trying to keep from making too much noise. “But it was a terrible thing to do to her, Brevan,” she whispered—an attempt at an o
bligatory scolding.
“Aye. That it was,” he chuckled. Genieva was startled as his pillow hit her square in the face before he tucked it beneath his head once more. “Now off to sleep with ya, lass. I’ll not be worth a nickel in the mornin’.”
Genieva set a plate heaped with bacon and eggs on the table before Maureen.
“Is he already up and out?” Maureen asked, looking about.
“He goes out before light, Maureen. He’s a hard worker,” Genieva confirmed.
Lowering her voice, Maureen asked, “Is…is he simply delicious, Nieva?”
“What do you mean?” Genieva asked—though she knew exactly what her sister intimated. It irritated her that her sister was forever preoccupied with men.
“I mean,” Maureen began, sighing and closing her eyes—a dreamy smile plastered across her pretty face, “when he kisses you, Nieva. Is it…is it just delicious?”
“For pity’s sake, Maureen. That’s not a question you ask someone,” Genieva scolded.
“Oh, but you’re not someone, Nieva. You’re my sister. And I think Brevan McLean is the most attractive and desirable man I have ever seen.” Genieva set a glass of milk before Maureen. She drew in a deep breath—attempting to settle her irritation with her sister. “I mean,” Maureen continued, “how do you keep your hands off of him? If I were you, I’d be in his arms twenty-four hours a day!”
Genieva sighed, entirely exasperated. “There’s work to do here, Maureen. Grow up a bit, will you?”
“No need to get so testy, Nieva. I was only asking.”
“Just eat your breakfast, Maury.” Genieva was quickly remembering another reason she’d found for escaping her family. Though she loved her sister, she’d forgotten what an agonizing nuisance she could be at times.
Leaning against the sink as she watched her sister eat, she shoved the last bite of her own bread and jam into her mouth. The screen door opened, and Brevan entered the house. Genieva rolled her eyes in frustration as her sister immediately leapt from her chair to greet Brevan.
“Good morning, brother-in-law,” Maureen chirped.
“Good mornin’ then, Maureen,” Brevan said before going to the sink and washing his hands under the pump.
“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Maureen cooed.
“I had me breakfast before the sun was up today, but thank ya for the invitation.” As Genieva watched in astonishment, Brevan reached over one shoulder, pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it to the floor. “Those bloomin’ pigeons have nested on the barn roof again, Genieva. Little plums aimed their bums right at me when I came out of the barn this mornin’,” he growled. He soaked a cloth under the pump and wrung it out. Handing it to Genieva, he asked, “Will ya be a saint, Genieva, and wipe me back clean of whatever might have soaked through me shirt?”
Taking the cloth he offered, Genieva bit her lip to stop the triumphant grin threatening to control her expression. She had seen the widening of her sister’s eyes as she ogled Brevan when he removed his shirt—her gaping mouth when he’d handed her the cloth.
“There,” Genieva said, dropping the soiled cloth into the sink. “I’ll get you a clean shirt,” she offered.
“No need of it. It’s warm enough to go without today, it is,” Brevan assured her. Genieva felt her heart begin to race wildly as Brevan looked at her, grinning and winking. “I see ya’ve been into Brenna’s strawberry jam again,” he said, placing a hand on either side of Genieva—forcing her to lean back against the sink.
Self-consciously licking one corner of her mouth, Genieva admitted, “Yes.” As Brevan slowly leaned closer to her, she whispered, “Brevan?”
“Ya’ve missed a dab there, Genieva,” he mumbled as his mouth descended upon the opposite corner of her own. As a reflex, her hands went to his shoulders. She pushed gently at him, but he was undaunted. Genieva’s heart began to hammer furiously within her chest as his mouth affixed moist, teasing kisses to the particular area of her face. Raising his head from hers for a moment, he ceremoniously moistened his lips and moaned, “Mmmmmm. My mistake, Genieva. ’Tis the cherry jelly ya’ve been into.”
“Brevan,” Genieva whispered, shaking her head as his descended once more. But as his mouth took hers, this time in a ravenously passionate kiss, all thoughts of deterring him were obliterated as the taste and feel of him consumed her senses. Brevan gathered Genieva fiercely into his arms, pulling her tightly against him as her own arms slipped around his body. Not even the sound of her mother’s horrified gasp upon entering the room and catching sight of them could distract her—for she was lost in the moist, sweet flavor of his mouth as they kissed.
“Genieva Loretta Bankmans!” her mother exclaimed. “Evert! Oh, Evert! Look at that!”
As Brevan’s mouth worked, enkindling Genieva’s to meet his demanding, passionate kiss, Maureen’s words kept echoing through Genieva’s mind. “When he kisses you, Nieva...Is it...is it just delicious?” It was delicious! So profoundly delicious that Genieva thought she might never quench her thirst for it!
“Genieva!” her mother screeched once more. “Stop that at once! Such behavior…and in front of your sweet, innocent sister! For pity’s sake, cover your eyes, Maureen.”
The piercing sound of her mother’s dramatics intruded upon the luscious kiss. Genieva pulled her lips from Brevan’s, feeling ashamed somehow for having reveled in his kiss so deeply. She guiltily cast her gaze downward, feeling her mother’s disapproving stare from across the room. Yet Brevan took her chin firmly in one hand, raising her face toward his. His piercing gaze was fixated on hers—though he spoke to her mother.
“Ya’ll be excusin’ me, Mrs. Bankmans…but I wasn’t finished kissin’ me wife,” he rather growled. With one last lingering, fiercely applied kiss, he rendered Genieva weak and helpless once more. He released her, squinting a wink of triumph at her just before he turned away.
As she noted her mother’s expression at having witnessed Brevan bare from the waist up, Genieva bit her lip to conceal the delighted grin begging to spread across her face. She stifled a giggle when Abigail began fanning herself rapidly with one hand—the other dramatically clutching her bosom.
“Such heathenism!” Abigail gasped.
Brevan only smiled as he moved past Genieva’s mother, brushing her arm slightly with his bare chest as he went.
“Forgive me then, mother-in-law. As ya can see, I’ve me work to do, I have,” he said.
“Evert! Oh, catch me, Evert,” Abigail whimpered, swaying back and forth slightly. “I’m going this time. I’m going!”
“Mercy on me, Abigail. Have mercy. He’s simply a boy,” Genieva’s father sighed with ripe irritation.
“Ha!” Abigail exclaimed, fanning herself more rapidly, yet straightening. “That is no mere boy, Evert. And he’s a beast to boot!”
“He seems to treat our daughter well, Abigail,” her father corrected as he went to stand before Genieva. Taking both her hands in his, he said to her, “I forgive you, Genieva. It shall take me some time to accept this situation, perhaps…but I have forgiven you.”
Genieva forced a smile—though she felt little like accepting his apology.
“Then…I forgive you, Father,” she said.
“For what?” her father shouted with offended indignation. “I’ve done nothing to…”
“Mercy, Evert,” her mother interrupted. “What’s done is done. Let’s get on with our lives. And let’s get back to some semblance of civilization. Mercy,” she sighed. “Squeaky beds, bare men, public displays of affection. I’m near to smothering in rural life.” She fanned herself dramatically, and Genieva smiled. For all her petty ways, she loved her mother and ever found her theatrical reactions entertaining.
After Genieva had served her family a hearty farm-sized breakfast, she stood with Brevan on the front porch waving as Evert, Abigail, and Maureen Bankmans rode away in their rented wagon.
“We’ll visit, Ge
nieva,” her father had promised. “We love you, and we want to visit again. Though not for long, mind you.”
Maureen waved frantically from the wagon as it lurched away, calling, “Write to me, Nieva!”
“I will. You, too,” Genieva called in return. She was surprised by the small pang of regret she felt at seeing them leave—for she did love them—no matter how shallow they were.
“Don’t lose complete sight of propriety, darling!” her mother called, waving the handkerchief she’d been using to dab at her eyes. “Remember, I raised you to be a lady.”
Genieva nodded and waved.
Her mother began weeping profusely as Brevan called out, “Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll look after her, I will.”
As Genieva watched the wagon move further and further away, a great and lonely anxiety began to settle in her bosom. Her family had found her—they had forgiven her, and they had gone. Things would return to their normal routine, and Brevan would no longer feel obligated to help create the illusion of a man and woman excessively in love.
“Well, it’s off to the orchard, I am,” Brevan said. He turned and began striding away.
Genieva resolutely folded her arms across her chest and ventured, “I thank you for that, Brevan.”
He paused, turning to look at her. “For what are ya thankin’ me, lass?”
Genieva looked away for a moment—struggling to control her emotions.
“F-for pretending,” was all she could say. When he only stood looking at her, she added, “I know it was a great sacrifice for you. Spending a night on the floor alone constitutes a gallant act…and your being wounded to boot. I-I just wanted to thank you. I had no right whatsoever to ask you to pretend…”
“Ya didn’t ask me, lass,” he interrupted. He returned to her, took her shoulders firmly in hand, and said, “They’re lookin’ back, Genieva. One last performance for yar mother this be.” Genieva’s heart swelled as his delicious kiss was hers one last time.
The Heavenly Surrender Page 17