Love Everlastin' Book 3

by Mickee Madden

  "Yeah," said Kevin, frowning at Alby, who shrugged his small shoulders.

  "I just know."

  "Right, and I'm gonna be the next queen," Kahl sneered.

  Alby stuck out his tongue at his brothers. "Betcha her name is Deliah."

  "Whatever," Kevin testily dismissed, and lifted the sweater into his hands. He bit onto the wool strands along the hemline and yanked until one at last broke. But when he lowered the bundle back onto his lap, he spat something into his hand and held out the leveled palm for his brothers to see.

  "Oh gross!" Kahl gasped, staring at the bloodied tooth. "That's makes two, Kev!"

  Awed that his brother had inadvertently yanked out another tooth, Alby leaned forward for a closer inspection. "Wow. Don't it hurt?"

  Kevin worked his mouth against the metallic flavor assaulting his taste buds. "Naw, it doesn't hurt. Just tastes gross."

  "Use scissors or a knife next time," Kahl said.

  "Why? This means I get another visit from the Tooth Fairy," Kevin beamed.

  Alby shrank back, his cherubic features shadowed with fear. "What if the boogeyman comes instead?"

  "He can have it if he pays for it," Kevin quipped, and laughed when Kahl released a squeal of laughter.

  Alby remained sullenly quiet while his brothers unraveled the sweater Laura had gotten Roan for Christmas.

  * * *

  In the library, Roan settled onto the sofa with a cup of steaming black coffee in one hand, a stack of mail in the other. After taking a sip, he placed the coffee on the end table to his right, rested his right ankle atop his left knee, and started glancing through the letters, bills and advertisements. He was nearly through scanning the ads when Laura sat next to him, a coffee cup nestled between her hands.

  "Anything interesting?"

  "No' yet," he grinned, and paused just long enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Poor ol' Henry had a helluva time makin’ it to the door. I've got to try to clear a path sometime today."

  "It's snowing again," she sighed.

  He moaned softly. "We'll all get bloody crazy if we don't get away for a wee spell." He looked into her smiling eyes and grinned. "I've a mind to go shoppin’, lass."

  Laura clamped her left hand over her heart. "You? Roan Ingliss of a mind to spend money? You must be getting stir crazy!"

  Bobbing his head and grinning, his gaze scanning the fronts of the envelopes again, he said, "Aye, the walls are closin’ in on me. I'll wager there's no' a person in all o' Crossmichael who isn't ready to kiss off this winter. Can't say I remember one quite so harsh. We never see this much snow in these parts."

  Laura sipped her coffee, but lowered the cup when Roan held up a long white envelope and said, "Ah, it’s from yer parents."

  He handed her the envelope, then took her cup and placed it next to his on the table. For a moment he observed her hesitancy to open the letter then absently browsed through the remaining stack atop his lap. It had been nearly three weeks since the mailman had braved a delivery to Baird House.

  At the same time Laura dryly announced, "Terrific, they want to meet you," Roan came across an envelope which drained the color from his face. He held it up, studying the return address as if expecting it to prove to be a hoax. Not even Laura's moan distracted him.

  "Dammit, Roan, they're planning to arrive next month for a week's visit. Nothing like asking us if we want them here! Oh sure, now they're interested in seeing their grandchildren. And my father's not happy that we're not married yet."

  She looked at Roan's taut profile, then noticed the lifted, trembling hand which held a long, pale pink envelope. "What's wrong?"

  It took a moment longer for him to respond. To her surprise, he buried the envelope beneath the pile on his lap.

  "Nothin’," he said distractedly, pretending to show more of an interest in the other mail.

  "Roan? I know you too well."

  His troubled eyes, appearing more amber now in the direct gaslight across from him, met hers. He sighed, "Ma sister."

  Laura blinked in confusion. "You never mentioned you had any family outside of Aggie.

  "Aye, and for a good reason."

  Lowering her parents' letter to her lap, she reached out with her right hand and lovingly brushed the backs of her fingers against his temple. "You're looking a little pale, big guy. Why would getting a letter from your sister upset you like this?"

  "I'm no' upset. Just surprised is all."

  "Oh, really. Aren't you going to read it?"

  He shot her a heated look, one that took her aback then he sighed again and separated the pink envelope from the others. As if perturbed that Laura had put him on the spot, he tore through the back of the envelope and removed two pale pink pages filled with bold print that struck Laura as being made on a laser printer. She remained silent while he quickly skimmed over the pages, but jerked back when he harshly balled the papers in his right hand and shot to his feet, the remaining mail falling to the floor.

  "Roan, what the hell is going on?"

  With a guttural cry of anger, he flung the wadded letter across the room. "Baird House made the news in the States," he said bitterly, turning to face Laura and trenching the fingers of his hands through his thick hair. "So, now it seems her parents are interested in wha' I'm up to these days, and ma little sister is plannin’ to visit!"

  He sucked in a great breath and placed balled hands on his hips. "Over ma dead body will any o' them set foot in this house!"

  Shaken by the depths of his anger, Laura slowly rose to her feet. "Her parents?"

  Roan's irises brightened with barely suppressed fury. "Aye, her parents!" he growled, trembling. "I disowned them when they abandoned me and Scotland for a better life in the States! Six letters in twenty-one years is wha' I've gotten from them!" He laughed bitterly. "Wha' few letters I've gotten from Taryn were maistly a feeble attempt to lay a serious guilt trip on me for preferrin’ to remain in Scotland wi' Aggie!"

  "I'm sorry," Laura murmured. She wound her arms about his middle and pressed the left side of her head against his chest.

  His anger winding down, Roan wrapped his arms around her warm body and kissed the top of her head. "No, I'm sorry, Laura. I shouldn't be takin’ this ou' on you."

  She laughed softly. "You weren't." She looked into his despondently masked face, then reached up and poked him in the chin with a forefinger. "We've had two surprises today. Everything comes in threes." She laughed. "I wonder what's in store for us next."

  A moment's panic shadowed his handsome features, but this soon melted into a look of pure mischief. "Weel," he said, grinning almost ludicrously, "perhaps the third could be o' our own makin’, aye?" She squealed in surprise when he swooped her up into his arms and playfully nuzzled her neck. "Like some serious lovin’," he added, and carried her out of the room.

  Chapter 5

  It occurred to Winston that he really didn't know anything about nature. Sitting on the ground and casually braced against the white lattice work base of the gazebo, he indulged his external senses' need to absorb everything around him. The morning was resplendent with warm sunshine and he delighted in its kiss against his skin. The sky was vivid blue and cloudless. Every so often a bird soared above him and chirped in greeting, to which he would smile and wave. Semi-circling him were the colorful petals of the rose garden. He filled his entire being with the sweet fragrance with each breath he drew in through his nostrils. Colors, sights, and sounds, and the velvety softness of the plucked purple and white petals he held atop each palm and repeatedly stroked, offered him more comfort than he'd ever known in his life.

  Nature alone knew the secret to taming the beast within a man. He was more at peace with himself than he could ever remember. At peace and truly happy. And content. He had never before taken the time to simply bask in a day as though he didn't have a care in the world. It was a curious thing to do, this nothing.

  He wasn't sure how he'd gotten to the garden. Briefly, he was disappointed that i
t wasn't the one in the other dimension. He wondered about the woman—who referred to herself as the house—and somehow knew he wouldn't be returning to her world. He didn't know why and, surprisingly, he didn't care.

  While whiling away an indefinite time, he discovered something else about nature. She had a name. MoNae, short for Mother Nature. He'd spent some time mentally conversing with her, not finding it at all strange that she replied, or that she even possessed the ability to hold a conversation. She was a complex presence. Gentle, yet strict. Loving, yet determined to have her way when it came to her world. Understanding, yet intolerant of the humans' inability and reluctance to work with her, and not for the mere betterment of what mankind sought. Over population and architectural developments were gradually taking away her lands, narrowing the planet's vegetation beds.

  Not so far in the future, she had cautioned, gardens will be shut-ins, relegated to walls, floors and ceilings, and reduced to technological care rather than my nurturing abilities.

  Winston didn't know how to respond to that.

  A fat, sassy bumble bee buzzed past his nose. He saw but a flash of yellow and black stripes before it flew out of sight somewhere behind him.

  It was a glorious morning, and he closed his eyes, a smile youthening his features. The blackness and thickness of his long eyelashes stood out in stark contrast against the light coloring of his cheeks. He was aware he needed a shave, but didn't care. If he could spend more days like this feeling so utterly relaxed, he told himself he could even contemplate going back to work for the Shields Agency. He could do anything as long as he had times like this in which he could escape the realities of his life.

  With his wrists atop his raised knees, the petals on his palms exposed to the sunlight, he remained blissfully appreciative of his aloneness in the garden.

  He sensed intrusion and lifted his eyelids. At first he saw only a fake sea of flowers in front of him then noticed hair the color of rich sable, gleaming in the rays of the sun. His gaze lifted until he was forced to squint. The petals dropped from his palms as he visored his eyes to better see the face of the woman standing before him.

  For but a brief moment, he resented her presence, until she kneeled between his parted legs and sat back against her heels. Winston lowered his hands, this time cupping his knees with his palms, and steadily, deeply, looked into the mesmerizing blue of Deliah's eyes.

  "Good morning," he said, forcing a smile to bypass his nervousness.

  She didn't say a word, nod her head, or even offer a thought in greeting. But her eyes told him everything he needed to know at this particular, most peculiar time. They smiled back at him, smiled from within depths of such love and devotion, his heart beat erratically behind his chest. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Couldn't bring himself to touch the shiny strands of hair beckoning him to lose his fingers in the promised softness.

  He could do nothing more than stare at her and wonder how anyone could outshine the sun. Even the garden's beauty faded in comparison. She encompassed nature. Encompassed everything beautiful and serene and right about the world.

  Winston drew in a shuddering breath when she gracefully turned and sat on the ground, snuggling her spine against him and reclining the back of her head to his left shoulder. He closed his eyes and tightly gripped his knees, and inhaled her earthy, floral scent. Desire quivered through him. Liquid flames replaced the blood flowing in his veins. The sound of a thousand bees swam inside his head. When she gripped his wrists and coaxed him to cross his arms against her, he fought back a fierce notion to run from the garden before he lost all control. But he could no more jump to his feet than he could tell her to stop trying to seduce him. He wanted the closeness. Needed to cling to her solidity.

  Her sigh of contentment diminished the buzzing. She released his wrists and squirmed closer to his chest. Reflexively, he tightened his hold, then dipped his right cheek and brushed it against the crown of her head. He closed his eyes and repeated the gesture, basking in her softness, her raw femininity. She shifted slightly and turned her head. Again he found himself staring into her eyes, and he knew he was lost to her will. She stroked beneath his chin with the tip of her nose, her left hand kneading the heated flesh beneath his sweater. Then she shifted again, drawing up her knees to her chest and cuddling against him like a child craving the closeness and security of a parent's embrace. She closed her eyes and, to Winston's bewilderment, fell fast asleep.

  For a time he simply held her, staring into her face, wondering how long it would be before she awakened. His back ached after a while. Nagging cramps nipped at his arms and legs, and along his spine, but he didn't want to move for fear of waking her prematurely. He sensed this was the first real sleep she'd had since he'd found her.

  When hours had seemed to pass and his butt had grown so numb he couldn't feel it anymore, he grew restless. He decided to probe her mind in hopes of uncovering her identity, but no matter how hard he tried, he could find nothing more in her mind but an image of the garden scene stretched out before him. Perplexed, rattled by her ability to block him out, he made another attempt to breach her secrets. Nothing but the garden. Not even the hardest criminal had ever resisted his probing.

  Briefly, he wondered if the woman in the other dimension was toying with him, demonstrating the extent of her powers over his. It was a disturbing thought and he dismissed it. The last thing he needed was to find himself up against another unknown, especially one residing in a dimension in which he had no control. She reigned there. How would she fare in his world?

  Winston was given a slight start when he realized Deliah was looking up at him through eyelids half-mast. Another nervous smile sprang to his mouth.

  "You've abou' got ma whole body either numb or tingling," he said lightheartedly.

  She blinked up at him then disconcertingly settled her gaze on his lips. A slight frown marred Winston's brow. Although he couldn't read her thoughts, he was aware of an unmistakable pull, a demand that was not spoken aloud or telepathically projected into his mind, but rather felt. She wanted to be kissed, and was impatient with what she believed was his lack of interest. Now that amused him. If he were any more interested, he would be forced to spend most of his time submerged in a bath of cold water.

  "No' until I know who you are," he said. He forced her into a sitting position and expected her to take the hint and get to her feet. Instead, she swiftly maneuvered to her knees and turned to face him, somehow not touching him with any part of her body.

  He laughed, but it was cut short when she gripped the front of his sweater and, with strength unusual in a woman—let alone one as fragile as she appeared—she swung him away from the gazebo. The next thing he knew, he was on his back and she was straddling his hips.

  "Wha' the—" he gasped.

  He couldn't make out her features. The sun was blinding him. For several seconds, he remained frozen, his mind trying to absorb what had just happened. It wasn't until her hands slipped beneath his sweater and her fingers eagerly pressed against the flesh below his pectorals, did he react. He snared her wrists and rolled to his right, effortlessly pinning her beneath him, her hands anchored to the ground above her head. To his amazement, she wasn't the least unnerved by this maneuver, and this irked him.

  "Listen carefully, Deliah," he chided, scowling darkly. "It could prove dangerous to play this kind o' game wi' a mon, do you understand?"

  She smiled and he released an explosive sigh of exasperation.

  He again felt the pull, but this one was stronger, more demanding.

  "No, Deliah! I don't make love on a whim!"

  Her smile faded.

  "Listen, lass, for all I know, you could be married!"

  Then he was kissing her. Hungrily. Passionately, as if the tormenting fires in his groin could not be doused until he satisfied her. He couldn't remember lowering himself, or remember the initial touching of their lips. Now, he couldn't stop. The fire was within him, burning out of control. He'd know
n lust, but never passion, and this was passion. His every sense was attuned to her reactions, and his desire to please her outweighed his own need to seek immediate gratification.

  Releasing her wrists and sliding his arms protectively around her, he sweetened the kiss by forcing back the intensity of it. She clung to him with the abandon of a lifelong lover, of someone familiar with not only his body, but his mind. Her hands moved over the heated skin of his waist, back, and shoulders. Then she was willing him to remove his sweater. He complied without hesitation, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. It fell draped across a yellow rosebush, the knitted wool weighing heavily on the already laden branches.

  Winston ignored the sweater and swung his gaze back to Deliah's face. He was breathing laboriously, as if he'd been running a marathon. Heat brought high color to his cheeks. He watched her gaze drink in his naked upper torso and arms, and wondered if she didn't think him too thin. Next to the laird of Baird House, he felt puny, but he could read in her eyes that she appreciated his lean, muscular build. His chest was smooth. Only his lower arms and legs sported fine dark hair. The burning trail of her fingers told him she liked his smooth, corded skin, found him as enticing as he found her.

  Bees, the wind whistling through the gazebo, and birds, serenaded them as Winston drew up her nightgown until he was able to slip it over her head and toss it in the general direction his sweater had gone. He couldn't stop himself from studying her small waist, her flat stomach, and the gradual ascent over her ribs to the firm roundness of her breasts. He felt giddy and lightheaded as he lowered himself and captured her mouth in a deep, exploring kiss. The softness of her skin, the swell of her breasts and her hardened nipples against him, all plummeted him into a sea of maddening sensations. Her fingers trenched his hair and massaged his scalp, urging him to kiss her deeper, deeper, until he was sure she intended to swallow him whole.

  He wanted the physical union with her more than he'd ever wanted anything. To bury himself in her softness. Lose himself inside her womb and claim rebirth once ecstasy unburdened his troubled soul.