Snowed

by Pamela Burford

  They slid into the car next to each other, both staring out the windshield at the seemingly endless freight train. He closed the windows and turned on the air conditioner, which helped block out some of the noise.

  “Tell me what happened.” James’s voice was tight and carefully controlled.

  Leah licked her lips, cleared her throat. “There isn’t much to tell. As I understand it, your fath— I mean, Mr. Bradburn...” She hesitated.

  “He raped Annie.”

  “Yes. Apparently it went on for some time. He threatened to kill Merl and Douglas if she said anything. When she got pregnant, he kicked them out. There was nothing they could do. Annie—” Her voice cracked. “Annie died in childbirth.”

  He was silent, and at length she turned to look at him. His head was tilted back against the headrest, his eyes closed. The sparkle of moisture at the corners of his eyes betrayed the depth of his pain. He scrubbed at his face and ran his fingers through his hair, obviously struggling to regain control of his emotions.

  He said, “I wouldn’t have thought that even Dad...” A vein throbbed in his temple. “I would’ve killed him if I’d known,” he said so softly, she had to strain to hear. She didn’t doubt the sincerity of his words. “Did you know he was dead when you went up to New York?”

  Why won’t he look at me? she asked herself. Could he possibly think she went up there for some sort of reunion with the old man? “No. All I wanted was to confront him. About what he did. That’s all. I guess I didn’t do my homework. I was surprised when you showed up instead of him.”

  Finally he turned to her. “You must’ve thought you were my half sister.” When she nodded, he said, “That explains a lot.”

  “And then you said you were adopted.”

  “Well, I guess I allowed you to believe I was, anyway. That’s the closest I ever came to revealing the truth to anyone.”

  “And by the time I learned from Mary that you weren’t—”

  “Aha! Mary.”

  “—it was too late. I mean, we were already, um...”

  “Lovers,” he supplied.

  “You can imagine how I felt, thinking I’d fallen in love with my half brother.”

  The last freight car finally rolled past and the crossing gate rose. He put the car in drive and they continued on their way.

  “That was the day you left me,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “The things I thought about you...” His tortured eyes sought out hers. “Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me, Leah?”

  “What good would it have done for us both to suffer?”

  He sighed. “Always the responsible one. What you must’ve been going through—alone. Thinking we’d committed incest.” He cast her a sidelong glance. “Well, I guess it could’ve been worse. You could’ve emulated Oedipus and put your eyes out.”

  “Now, there’s a cheerful thought. By the way, do you have any idea where we are?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest.” He pulled over to the side of the two-lane road surrounded by factories and vacant lots. He hauled her into his arms and whispered raggedly, “Take me home, Leah.” He pressed urgent kisses on her eyelids, her cheeks, her mouth. “I need you. We need each other. Take me home.”

  “Little Rock is two, three hours away,” she said, dizzy with relief, feeling a shiver race through her as he kissed her ear. “What about the airport?”

  “Forget it. You’re not getting rid of me again. Besides, the airport is totally unsuitable for what I have in mind. Just point me in the right direction.”

  She pointed toward the rear windshield. He kissed her soundly and swung the car around.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I like your decorating style—Early Hot and Spicy.” James was examining a wall in Leah’s living room crowded with images of red and green chili peppers of every variety. Modern lithographs shared the space with antique framed botanicals. There was even an ultrarealistic oil painting—a still life of vegetables, including a string of dried red peppers.

  “If you want to try the real thing, I have a few dozen jars and cans and bottles and bags of the stuff in the kitchen. Plus some from Mama’s garden that I dried.”

  “No, thanks. You’ll never convince this Yankee that pain is a flavor.”

  “You just don’t know what’s good.” She tried to repress a yawn. It was early evening, and she and James had just arrived at her apartment. They’d talked during the long drive—sharing themselves, and their past, with each other in a way that, until that day, she would never have thought possible. She was both exhilarated and mentally exhausted by the events of the last few hours.

  He smiled and took her in his arms. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on me. Maybe I should tuck you in, read you a bedtime story or something.”

  “‘Or something,’ please.” She allowed herself a naughty grin.

  A chuckle rose from deep in his chest, vibrating her, warming her to her toes. He glanced around to get his bearings, then began edging her backward toward the bedroom door. His breath tickled her neck. “That better be your bedroom we’re heading for. If we end up in the broom closet, I’ll still ravish you, but it might be a bit cramped.”

  The need to touch him was overpowering. She slipped her hands under his polo shirt and let her fingers trail through the hair on his chest, reacquainting herself with the contours of his body. Impatiently he yanked off the shirt and devoted his attention to the row of tiny buttons at the front of her dress, all the while backing her toward the bedroom.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all day,” he growled.

  “I’ve wanted to do this for two months.”

  “That goes without saying.” He grasped her bottom and lifted her as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. His insistent arousal prodded the juncture of her thighs. She framed his face in her hands and touched her lips to his, lightly at first, then voraciously, feeling his answering hunger in the thrust of his hips as he pulled her forcefully against him.

  “Do you think it’ll be this good when we’re married?” he asked.

  “What?”

  He laid her back on the bed and finished unbuttoning her dress. “You don’t think I’ll let you get away from me again?” he asked.

  “But, James—”

  He silenced her with his mouth, easing the dress off her arms until she lay under him in only her bra and panties. She kicked off her sandals. His tongue teased her lips and entered her mouth, reverently, searchingly, as if eager to relearn the feel of her, the taste of her. A warm glow suffused her and she responded without reservation, arching against him, meeting his questing tongue with her own, exploring the muscles of his back and buttocks with eager hands until he broke off with a groan.

  “The ballroom, I think,” he said, moving sinuously against her in a way that made it difficult to concentrate on his words.

  “The ballroom...?”

  “For the wedding. We’ll have it in the ballroom.”

  “James...”

  He leaned on his palms and looked down at her. “What is it now? I’m warning you, woman, my poor old ticker can only take one or two mind-boggling revelations per day. After that it seizes up.”

  She smiled, more in love than she would have thought possible. “It’s nothing like that. No more shockers.”

  He pinned her arms against the patchwork quilt covering the bed, flicking the tip of his tongue teasingly over her lips, causing her to squirm as she tried to capture it. She let out a frustrated whimper as his busy fingers probed the front seam of her bra. “Don’t tell me marriage has never entered your mind.”

  “Well, as romantic as your proposal is—” she enjoyed his boyishly sheepish grin “—there are some practical considera—”

  “How do you get this thing open?” He tugged impatiently on her bra.

  “This one hooks in back.”

  He growled in earnest now, mumbling something about women’s underthings as he rol
led her over on top of him and fumbled with the fastening.

  “James, there are practical prob—”

  “Hah!” He released the bra catch and divested her of the flimsy garment in a flash, proudly sending it sailing toward a corner. “Practical problems, eh?” He pulled the elastic band off the end of her braid, then threaded his fingers over her scalp and down through her hair, loosening it until it flowed over her back in a red-gold curtain.

  His hands slid down her back, his touch warm...firm...possessive. She couldn’t help leaning into the delicious pressure, the movement causing her breasts to become the next target of his proficient fingers.

  “James...” she whispered, her eyes closing as his long fingers stroked her, his palms gently teasing the exquisitely sensitive tips. She opened her eyes and saw him watching the play of his bronze hands on her pale skin, his gaze as hungry as she’d ever seen it. She became acutely aware of her own body’s response—she felt engorged, ravenous, slick with wanting.

  Leah curled her fingers into his chest hair and gently tugged, then let one hand drift slowly toward his zipper. She stroked him through his jeans, playing with the tantalizing contours of his erection until his breathing became ragged and he twisted upward toward her touch.

  Finally she slid down and pressed a heated kiss where his rock-hard penis strained against his jeans, molding her mouth to the shape of him, lightly scraping the ridge with her teeth. An involuntary moan escaped her throat, sending a hot vibration through the fabric. He bucked under her. His fingers tightened on her scalp. “Leah,” he whispered as she unzipped the jeans, “you’re killing me.”

  She removed his sneakers, then peeled off his jeans and underwear in one motion. Before he had a chance to pull her down beside him, she pressed him back into the mattress and demonstrated just how much she’d missed him. She surrendered to two months of longing as her hands and mouth explored the body that had been so long denied her.

  At last he held her away from himself, panting hard, clearly near the edge. He looked frenzied, untamed—his eyes passion-dark and penetrating, his long black hair in disarray, the muscles of his chest and shoulders tensed in expectation. Watching him, she felt a surge of need deep within her belly, like a cord tugging at the place that ached to be filled by him.

  “Come here,” he said. It was a whisper but held the authority of a bellow. He pulled her down to the quilted bedspread. She trembled as his warm hand stroked her, relearning her, his featherlight touch driving her wild with need. His hand slid boldly downward and cupped her. She felt the electric heat of that caress right through her thin panties.

  He drew off that last barrier and touched her again. Her ragged cry seemed to make him harder, hungrier. She heard his deep-throated groan of satisfaction at finding her ready for him.

  “Leah...every night I dreamed of you lying under me, needing me as much as I needed you.” Even as he spoke, he moved over her, between her thighs. With a sob of longing she raised her hips, desperate to once more experience the rapture of being deeply joined with the man she loved.

  He held himself back, staring down at her with a blue-fire gaze of unashamed love and devotion. When she thought she could stand the wait no longer, he buried himself in one fierce, swift thrust. She cried out in joy, clinging to him, wishing this moment could last forever, the magic moment when their bodies and souls melded and became one.

  Then she remembered his proposal. The future could hold many such moments.

  As if reading her thoughts, he whispered, “Marry me, Leah.” He slowly withdrew, nearly all the way, leaving her feeling empty, bereft. She writhed and twisted, but he held her fast. “Marry me,” he growled, plunging into her once more, extracting a shuddering moan from her as she drove up against him.

  “Say yes,” he commanded, capturing her thrashing head in his strong fingers and making her look at him. “Say yes,” he repeated tenderly, his warm breath teasing her lips. His mouth closed over hers, stealing her last shred of rational thought.

  Soon she was moving under him, around him, sprinting toward completion. Like two halves of a whole, the lovers drove into each other with delirious urgency, caught up in the tight, hot energy of unthinking motion.

  Her panting gasps gave over to piercing cries as he brought her to the brink of release. She teetered on the precipice, poised to fall, reveling in the sweet torment of near completion until, with one final lunge, he pushed her over the edge into a shattering climax. Through her own keening cries of fulfillment she heard his answering roar as her release triggered his. He surged into her, rocking her body and her heart.

  They remained locked together for long minutes, unable to move, listening to their breathing slow, feeling their sweat-slick bodies gradually cool. At last he groggily raised his head. He cleared his throat.

  “What practical problems?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  He leaned on an elbow and brushed damp tendrils of hair off her face. “I intend to marry you, Leah. Don’t give me a hard time about this.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “Spoken like someone accustomed to getting his way.”

  “You said it yourself. I can be as muleheaded as you.”

  “I have a feeling you could put me to shame in that department.” She turned her head and ran the tip of her tongue down the smooth, damp skin of his upper arm to the crook of his elbow, tasting salt. She gasped as his throbbing response reminded her he was still inside her.

  “Don’t try to distract me,” he said. “I want to hear you say yes.”

  “James, I won’t give up Harmony Grits.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that.”

  She tried to squirm away from him, only to find herself trapped in his unyielding embrace. “Yes, that! What do you think, that I worked like a dog for four years to establish a successful business just so I can—I can—” The gleam in his eye made her blood pressure soar. “Maybe you should give up your life’s work, give up photography and Whitewood, to come down here and live with me.”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t complain. I could spend my days fixing Rototillers and my nights—” he pinned her wrists to the bed and kissed her hotly, pressing into her “—being your love slave.”

  “Be practical, James.”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “I can’t run Harmony Grits from New York. Who’s going to buy southern foods from your mansion on Lawn Guyland? It’s not even on the South Shore.”

  He grimaced at her pronunciation of Long Island. “You’ve spent too much time with Kara.”

  “Damn it, James—”

  “Let’s get one thing clear.” With obvious reluctance he rolled away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. He pushed his fingers through his hair. The room was now bathed in the gloomy gray of dusk and he turned on the bedside lamp. “You can run Harmony Grits from Whitewood, from Little Rock—from the moon, for all I care. As long as we’re together.”

  She searched his eyes. “So you won’t expect me to give up my business?”

  “And give up chowchow and green tomato pickles? You must be mad.” He grunted as her elbow found a tender spot between his ribs. “Seriously, Leah, you couldn’t have thought I’d expect you to give up what you’ve worked so hard for?”

  “I guess I’m just a little sensitive on the subject.”

  His voice became cajoling. “You know, we could heat the carriage barn, install some strong locks.” He stroked her cheek. “It would make a passable warehouse.”

  She bit back a smile imagining her inventory filling the old barn. “I’ll think about it.”

  “While you’re thinking about it, we’ll set a date. Won’t Merl and Douglas be surprised.”

  She groaned. Merl and Douglas. What would they think when she announced their engagement? As far as they knew, she’d met her fiancé that very day. Worse, they assumed she was his half sister.

  “Don’t worry.” He smiled, reading her mind. “I’ll help you explain it to them.”r />
  “Thanks.”

  “So does that mean yes?” he persisted.

  “Are you giving me a choice?”

  “No.”

  “Then I guess it means yes.”

  He whooped in triumph and gathered her up for a kiss. A thorough, cherishing kiss. Then he hopped off the bed and disappeared through the doorway, calling, “Wait here.” She propped a pillow on the blond wood headboard and sat against it. He returned almost immediately and sat next to her. “Back before we broke up, I designed an engagement ring for you.”

  Leah swallowed a soft gasp.

  “Well, with a little help from a jewelry artist,” he said. “You’ll get it eventually, but in the meantime—” from his closed fist he produced his mother’s diamond and pearl necklace “—perhaps this will do.” He slipped his fingers under her hair and fastened the clasp behind her neck as she struggled to find her voice.

  “James!” She fingered the heavy jewels glittering on her chest, the teardrop pearl nestled between her breasts. “I—I couldn’t. You can’t!”

  “The hell I can’t.” He lifted the pearl, his knuckles grazing her breasts, stoking the fire she thought they’d just quenched. His loving gaze locked on hers. “It’s fitting, Leah. Mom would’ve loved you. There’s no doubt about that. She certainly would’ve wanted the wife of her firstborn to have something special of hers.”

  She bit her lip and looked down at the necklace sparkling against the alabaster of her skin. “I’ve never owned...Hell, I’ve never even seen anything like this close up,” she laughed through the tears misting her eyes.

  “Nothing less would do for the woman I love.”

  She searched his eyes. “I thought you’d hate me,” she said quietly.

  He scowled. “Hate you?”

  “You know. Because I’m his daughter.”

  The look of unadulterated love that settled over his features chased away her last lingering doubts. “Foolish woman. I think you must love to torment yourself.” He sighed. “As for being the product of James Bradburn, Sr., I’m actually more his child than you are. He raised me, after all. I even followed in his professional footsteps.”