One From The Heart

by Richards, Cinda

  He leaned back for a moment to look at her, his eyes searching hers.

  Dear God, she thought then. He’s more afraid than I am. She could see it. He expected nothing but pain from her, the same kind of pain he’d gotten from Libby.

  “I want to make love with you, Hannah.”

  She reached up to touch his face, but he caught her hand and pressed a soft, loving kiss into her palm. She was lost then, and she reached down to take him by the hand, to lead him to the bed with the Hudson Bay blanket at the far end of the room. He sat down on the side of the bed, then reached for her to bring her onto his lap. He held her tightly, his face between her breasts while she rested her head against his, her hands caressing the back of his neck and his shoulders. She helped him take off his denim jacket and undo the buttons on his shirt—he was wearing the old-fashioned undershirt she’d admired the night he’d brought Petey to her. No. It wasn’t the undershirt she’d admired. It was the man wearing it.

  Ernie.

  His eyes never left hers, and from time to time he smiled that shy, quiet smile she’d seen only a very few times, the one that had left her knowing that the barriers he’d needed against her were down, the smile that left her weak with desire now. She lifted her arms for him so he could pull off her T-shirt. Underneath it she wore a soft camisole and no bra. His hands, warm and loving, gently cupped her breast, then slid up under the camisole to caress her bare skin.

  “I can’t believe how soft you feel,” he said. “Let me look at you.”

  She removed the camisole herself, offering her body to him without false modesty, without shame.

  “Hannah, Hannah, you are so beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”

  She hadn’t known it; she was only Hannah and not Elizabeth, by any stretch of the imagination, and he’d left so abruptly before. But he made her believe it, with the tremor in his touch, with the soft, loving look and the desire in his dark eyes, with the warm press of his mouth against her skin. Her eyes closed and her hands slid into his hair as he lowered his head to circle one taut nipple with his tongue, then take it into his mouth. She felt his gentle tugging so intensely that she kept him there, giving a soft cry of pleasure as the aching, empty space in her grew hot and restless and emptier still. They tumbled backward on the bed together, lying face to face, his legs under hers.

  “The lights,” she said as his warm mouth found her breasts again, moving from one to the other. “Ernie—Oh—”

  He lifted his head to look at her. “I’m not hiding with you in the dark, Hannah. I want you to see me loving you.”

  He sat up then, removing the rest of his clothes and hers. She shivered, more from anticipation and passion than from the cool air on her bare skin. He helped her pull down the blankets and position the pillows, then stood. Hannah looked up at him. He was so beautiful, his angular male body, which she reached out to caress, his very soul, which looked out at her through such solemn eyes. She held the blankets back for him, and he stretched out beside her, careful of his knee and gathering her close to him, pressing his face into her neck for a moment, his breath ragged and warm there.

  “I didn’t want to leave you last night,” she thought he said.

  “I didn’t want you to leave,” she whispered, pressing a kiss against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his beard against her lips and loving the feel of it. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, and he looked at her then, smiling into her eyes.

  “That’s why you were holding the door open and yelling for me to get out, right?”

  They laughed together, and he hugged her to him again, his hands moving slowly over her back and around to her hips, finally sliding up to cup her breasts again.

  “God, you are so good for me,” he said, his mouth finding hers. It left her breathless, swamped with sensations—his warm hands and the cool, crisp sheets, her desire once again spiraling upward, her worry that she wasn’t as good for him as he thought. And she was afraid after all. Making love with a man for the first time meant being afraid, vulnerable—particularly this man. She knew how hard he’d fought not to become involved with her, and she pushed any thought of Elizabeth out of her mind. She wanted to be good for him. She wanted to hold him and to be possessed by him, and to give him more pleasure than he’d ever known. She didn’t want him to be sad anymore, and she wanted to be the reason.

  “My … sweet … Hannah …” he murmured as he held her face in his hands and kissed her, so gently and so thoroughly, eyes open so he could see her response. She outlined his lips lightly with the tip of her tongue, teasing, tasting, until he gave a soft, passion-filled moan, until his arms slid around her, and he strained to hold her closer than it was possible to be held. She reveled in the urgent pressure of his arousal against her belly and in the kisses she needed so desperately and couldn’t wait to return.

  “You feel so good to me,” he whispered, his hands moving over her, touching her in all the places that craved his touch. “Let me love you—let me—”

  “Yes!” she whispered, her voice fierce with passion. Then he was lifting her, sliding under her, bringing her leg over him.

  “Hannah,” he whispered, his voice as urgent as his kisses. “It’s been a long time since I—I can’t wait for you—”

  But he was already inside her, filling the place in her body and in her soul that was meant only for him. He inhaled sharply as she took him deeply, clamping his arms around her when she fell forward onto his chest to hold her still until he could regain some element of control.

  “Hannah, Hannah—” he whispered against her ear, as if her name might serve as a benediction of the need he had for her.

  She wanted him; she was on fire with her need for him, and she whimpered in frustration. But then his hips thrust upward in that ancient and purpose-filled motion that changed her frustration to a pleasure so searing it was almost pain.

  He didn’t go to someone else last night—not Selena or Modesta or the woman with the strange voice…

  Such pleasure. Such exquisite pleasure. Her body was suffused with it. She had never felt anything like this, and she wanted to tell him so, in soft, unrestrained words she could let spill over him as lightly as the rain that now sounded against the window at their heads.

  But making love with a man for the first time was being afraid, and she tried to hide her need of him, her need to let him know that she loved him and that she wouldn’t hurt him, ever.

  Ever.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “HANNAH?”

  “What?”

  His arms tightened around her. “Are you … all right?”

  “No,” she said truthfully. She was still so overwhelmed by her response to him that she pressed her face into his neck and clung to him as if she were in danger of drowning. He kissed her forehead and caressed her cheek. She was cold suddenly, and she shivered against him.

  “Hannah—”

  “Ernie, let’s don’t talk, okay? I don’t want to … talk.” She had too much to sort out, too many conflicting emotions.

  “Hannah, it’s never been like this for me. I want to know what you’re feeling—”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He hooked his fingers under her chin to make her look at him. “Yes, I do. Tell me. You’re worrying me here. A lot. I didn’t … I wasn’t too rough with you or anything, was I?”

  “No, no, Ernie,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t hurt me. You were—”

  “What? I was what?”

  She lifted her head to see his face. He had told the truth. He was worrying. “Everything,” she said, staring into his eyes. “You were everything. You made me feel—”

  “Hannah, don’t stop now. I can’t take it. Tell me.”

  She pressed her face into his neck again, noting amid all the turmoil she was feeling how much she loved the masculine scent of his body. She ran her hand over his chest, loving his lean, muscular feel. “As if I belong to you,” she
said quietly.

  “What?” he asked, raising himself up so he could see her face.

  She didn’t repeat it, and his arms tightened around her. He kissed her forehead again, then her eyes, and finally her lips, lingering over them in a way that emptied her mind of everything but him. “I heard you,” he whispered. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

  “Ernie, this doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to,” she said in a rush. “I mean, it’s not like you seduced me—”

  “Hannah, hush!” he said, hugging her to him. “Hush!” he repeated in a rough whisper against her ear. “I’ve been seducing you ever since I laid eyes on you.”

  She couldn’t keep from smiling. He could say the most tender things sometimes. “Have you?”

  “You know I have. I hung around you all the time. I made you an omelet, didn’t I? I took you to the rodeo. I bought you a Starlight Café hamburger—what did you think that was all about? The Starlight even has a neon sign, Hannah. A woman as crazy about neon as you are? That should have made you suspicious right there.” He kissed her soundly, making her laugh.

  Lord, she’d meant it when she said she felt as though she belonged to him! She wanted to lie in his arms like this forever. She wanted to hold him and touch him and make love with him. She wanted to live with him, for God’s sake, somehow, somehow …

  She abruptly hugged him in return, then gave him a burst of small kisses over his face and chin, then hugged him again. “I love you, Ernie,” she whispered fiercely and without embarrassment.

  He caught her by both shoulders to make her look at him. “Whoa! What did you say?”

  She looked into his dark eyes. He’d heard her this time, too. “I said I love you. I don’t think I love you. I don’t just possibly love you. I love you. I … wanted you to know. In case I get busy and don’t get the chance to tell you,” she said, giving his earlier excuse back to him. “So there you are.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof. She knew he wasn’t ready for commitments, and he didn’t say anything. Not a word.

  “You didn’t just go to bed with me because you’re mad at Libby or anything like that, did you?” he suggested finally.

  She turned her head to look at him, wondering why that question didn’t make her angry. “No,” she said evenly. “Did you?”

  Unfortunately, it didn’t strike him in the same way. “Is that what you think!”

  “I didn’t until you brought it up.”

  “I’m crazy about you, Hannah. Don’t you know that?”

  “Not if you don’t tell me, I don’t.” She propped herself up on her elbow, and she stared down at him, feeling the need to cry again. She had finally found a man she cared about, one who was scared to death of the word love. She bit down on her lower lip. This was no time for emotionalism. “Why?” she challenged him. “Why are you—crazy about me?”

  Because I’m as close to Elizabeth as you’re ever going to get?

  He rolled toward her, taking her into the circle of his strong arms and legs, positioning her leg over his thigh so she wouldn’t bump his knee. They lay with their heads close on the pillow, staring into each other’s eyes, his big hands stroking her back. The wind had changed directions again, making the window at the head of the bed rattle.

  “Because you make me feel good about myself. Because you make me feel good about being me—John Ernest Watson. That’s something I haven’t had in a long time. You know about my drinking and what I do for a living and you still make me feel like I’m somebody worth knowing. You did that right from the first, Hannah. In front of Archer—when we were standing under the umbrella that afternoon. There he was in his little executive raincoat and his little fedora and his talk-show dimples … but you didn’t mind being seen with a rodeo clown—with me.”

  “Ernie, why would you think I’d mind?”

  He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re pretty … uptown, Hannah Rose.”

  She looked into his eyes, thinking he had her confused with Elizabeth again. “Don’t let the Perry Mason suits fool you, Watson,” she whispered, and he laughed. “You know what I am, Ernie? A road vagabond who never lived in a place without a flashing neon sign.”

  He kissed her deeply, and her desire for him was out of hand in an instant. She clung to him, fighting down the desperation she was feeling. She shouldn’t have told him she loved him, dammit! But no matter what happened, she wanted him to know she was playing for keeps.

  “Hannah, Hannah,” he said, against her ear. “You make me so happy. Just being with you. I don’t want you to ever be sorry you let me into your life. I … want to tell you about Libby.”

  “I don’t think I want to know about you and Elizabeth,” she said quietly.

  He took a long breath, then moved away from her and lay on his back. “You’re going to hear it from somebody, Hannah. I’d rather it was me.”

  She nearly said again that it didn’t matter. But it did matter. It was as much a part of John Ernest Watson as his being a bull-dodging clown, as his growing up in this place with the musical water wheel.

  “I … know you’re in love with her, Ernie.”

  He turned his head to look at her. “No,” he answered, looking into her eyes.

  “You said you wanted to marry her.”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know—”

  “Ernie,” she protested. The subject was obviously a painful one for him, and she saw no reason to put the two of them through this.

  “Hannah, it’s not easy to explain—”

  “Fine,” she said, sitting up on the side of the bed. “Then let’s don’t explain it.”

  He caught her by her arm. “Where are you going? Don’t, Hannah. I need to tell you. I know this bed is a little too … crowded for you. You think it’s got you and me and Libby in it. Hannah,” he said, gathering her to him again. She resisted for a moment, then pressed her body against his, needing his warmth, his love if he had it to give.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I want to tell you anyway. I want you to hear it, so you’ll understand why I left the way I did last night.” He was holding her close, his fingers gently trailing over her skin. “The night I brought Petey to you I knew how special it was going to be with us. We’ve got something, Hannah. You and Libby are sisters—even if the two of you did get a late start at it. I don’t want that to ever be a problem between us. Do you understand?”

  Instead of answering, she lifted her head to quietly kiss the places she could reach—his shoulder, the side of his neck, his cheek, his lips. She gave a soft sigh. “I’m listening,” she said, because she had no viable alternative. And she was afraid again, afraid that hearing the details of his relationship with Elizabeth would convince her how futile her loving him was going to be.

  He suddenly lifted her up so she lay on top of him. It was as if he wanted to be able to touch her freely for a moment, as if he wanted to feel her as close to him as possible before he told her about Elizabeth. His warm, rough hands stroked her body and held her tightly before moving her beside him again. He covered them both carefully with the Hudson Bay blanket, and he lay with her in his arms, one hand quietly caressing the top of her head. She closed her eyes, savoring this closeness with him. She loved him so!

  “Mim calls Libby a … stray-away child, after some mountain song she heard when she went visiting the North Carolina Cherokee relatives years ago,” he said after a time. “Some children are born like that, she says, always into trouble. Always. They never stay where you put them, and God and all his angels can’t keep up with them. Somebody down here has to do that. Which is fine for the stray-away, but I can tell you it’s damn hard on the keeper.”

  He gave a sharp sigh, and she could feel the tension in him.

  “Go on,” she prompted. If she had to hear it, she wanted to hear it and be done with it.

  “That’s what I am to Libby. Her
keeper. I … always have been. Ever since I can remember. One thing after another. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve taken the blame for. She crippled one of Jake’s prize quarter horses one time. My old man and Uncle Michael knew I wouldn’t ride an animal into the ground like that. They both went to Jake about it, but I’d … ‘confessed,’ you see. Took all three of us five years to pay for that horse. The crazy thing was, I couldn’t stay mad at her—no matter how hard I tried. She was always so sorry afterward, and we both knew it was just a matter of time until she did something else just as crazy or worse. God, I hated it—hated her, too, a lot of the time. And I … loved her … the way a kid still loves a parent who beats him.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head for a moment. “The way you still love Jake.”

  “I don’t even know him,” she protested.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t keep you from loving him. Trying to deal with him wouldn’t make you cry if you didn’t.”

  She had nothing to say to that, and he took her hand in his, holding it to his chest. “After I moved to New Mexico, I’d go a long time without seeing Libby or hearing from her. And then out of the blue she’d call or she’d come on the bus. She was always in the middle of some crisis when she did that. One crisis was too bad even for Mim to know about, but Libby never seemed to mind if I knew her … secrets. I’d lend her money, let her hide out for a while, run interference with Mim—whatever it took. About five years ago, she came to see me again—in Chimayo. Mac’s mother had a little house there—she was a painter, and she used it as her studio. It’s a pretty place; it’s adobe, with an adobe wall around it. You’d like it, I think,” he added, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

  I would if you were there, she thought.

  “Libby was in another crisis, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. She was … different, quieter. She kept looking at me like she’d just found out something she didn’t know before. She finally told me what it was. She suddenly realized how much she ‘needed’ me—‘loved’ me. We were never lovers,” he continued. “Until then,” he qualified, and Hannah’s spirits plummeted. She had known as much, of course, but it still hurt to hear it.