Sarah fingered the cinnabar necklace as she read. Poor Sarita had spent the war spying and delivering medicine. It hadn’t been enough. According to the first three journals Sarah had read, Sarita could have fried some important people if she’d been willing to tell what she knew about them.
Walter. Sarah felt like she knew the guy by the end of the first journal. The man had figured in many of Sarita’s entries.
May, 6, 1866
I miss Walter. He has been my salvation so many times. God, I hope he is not too angry with me for sneaking off while he slept. He acted on his conscience and so did I.
Sarah fingered the old necklace as she read about the long hard way from Virginia to Georgia. She didn’t think she could’ve made the trip alone, even with her Girl Scout training and the help of an entire troop. William would never have allowed it. Walter hadn’t either.
May 30, 1867
Almost there. I shall finally see him again. Lord, please let him forgive me. Let him still love me after all this time.
Sarah’s chest hurt, as she shared Sarita’s pain and her love for Walter. What I wouldn’t give to be there when Sarita meets him. Sarah yawned. Her fingers on her new treasure and her thoughts on her new-found relative.
Sarah drifted into a state bordering on sleep. The journal slid from her fingers. Snuggling into her pillows she smiled, picturing the tender reunion of Sarita and
##
Something prickly tickled her cheek. Feather pillow, probably just a loose feather. Sarah, no Sarita, moved to escape the prickle and rubbed her cheek to stop the itch. More prickles. Jabs. Where was the fresh fragrance from clothes hanging on the line? Where were her soft pillow, her soft bed, and Walter’s warm body? She gave in and opened one eye a slit.
Sarita bolted upright. “Where the --? A hayloft?” Her mind jolted as she took in her surroundings. She had been so dead asleep waking took extra effort. Her dreams had been so real. She had slept in the bed she and her husband had shared. How long had it been since she had felt safe enough to sleep so soundly? She glanced down at the dirty shirt and pants, catching a whiff of her odor. Not ladylike, but I have smelled worse. A bath, I really need a bath.
Sarita rose on all fours, stiff as though she had slept on the ground. Actually, the barn loft was one of best places she had slept. She should be accustomed to roughing it by now. A thin blanket lay beside the one beneath her. She still had her scuffed saddle bags and her canteen. They had seen better days, like she had before her years of traveling under dangerous circumstances.
Female clothes and nice equipment would have attracted unwanted attention. She tucked her worn boots under her arm, then grabbed the blankets and rolled them into a tight roll - quickly and efficiently, as she had many times before.
Saddlebags slung over her shoulder, Sarita made her way down the ladder to a familiar place. She had known every barn and outbuilding as well as Walter or any workman on the place.
A barn is a barn, but this deserted building was on her property. She was home. No cattle sounds. No tack hung from the walls. Plenty of empty stalls.
A horse snorted. Moving to her left she heard a louder snort, accompanied by stomping. Her thin chestnut horse eased its head over a simple stall gate. Fine pointed ears twitched as big brown eyes stared at Sarita. Saddlebags and blankets hit the ground as she reached to rub the velvety nose of her horse. “Sorry, Baby, no treats for now. We both need breakfast.”
Taking the lone, worn halter hanging outside the stall, she eased the straps gently over Baby’s ears. The mare had been her horse for so long, had taken her through a war, away from home and back again.
“Come on, Baby, let’s get you a cool drink. Maybe there’ll be some fresh grass you can nibble while I wash up. I can’t let Walter see me like this.” For a second she wondered at that thought but couldn’t decide what was wrong. With her saddlebags over one arm, Sarita led her horse through the rickety double doors of the barn.
Baby’s ears twitched and her tail swished energetically. Picking up her pace she began to pull Sarita. Water. She heard the running water ahead. She’d take her time to bathe in the creek while Baby snacked on fresh green grass around her. The creek wasn’t far from the barn where she’d spent the night.
Soon she would have to go to the house and let everyone know she was back. Soon she would have enough to eat. She would sleep in a real bed with clean linen …
Sarita shed the awful clothes that had probably kept her safe from rape or capture.
She turned Baby loose to graze. Digging excitedly in one saddle bag, she drew out a tightly wound cloth. A larger paper wrapped bundle came next. She unwrapped and folded the paper. Gently she shook out her only dress. There had been no room for corsets and such, no petticoats or hoops. She pulled out clean but plain bloomers and a chemise. These she shook out and hung on a branch. Clasping her smaller treasure she moved toward the beckoning water.
Smooth pebbles felt good beneath her feet. She waded past red clay to the water’s edge. This area sloped gradually. She walked slowly, loving the caress of the sun-warmed waters flowing across her legs. The creek rose to her waist.
Sarita plunged in, immersing her body, and wetting her matted hair. With a gasp of pure delight she sprang upright. Her breasts rose just above the water, pebbling in the cool morning air. Tilting her head back she rubbed the sliver of soap she’d hoarded for months over her body. This gift from a whorehouse madam had been her reward for delivering a baby while the town doctor was busy with casualties of a nearby battle.
Flower-scented lather and fresh running water soothed the tension from her head, her shoulders, and her mind.
She glanced around. There were plenty of trees near the creek. The fine hairs on her neck had tingled, but she’d seen no one around. Maybe I’m just suspicious. Who wouldn’t be after traveling unprotected for so long. At last I can stop looking over my shoulder, being afraid to trust a friendly face, wondering if I’ll have to shoot someone.
Perching on a rock Sarita ran her fingers through her hair. She’d cut it several times so it hung barely past her shoulders. With every second in the sun it curled up more. Rising up from the rock she grabbed her clothes and slowly covered her clean body with wrinkled but feminine clothes.
Her hairpins had long been lost so she wound a worn ribbon to pull her hair back from her face. No more excuses. The time had come to face her husband and the decision that had separated them for the length of the war. They were not the same people. They’d been little more than children when she’d left. By now they should have had children of their own.
She sat back on the rock and pulled up the heavy hose. The serviceable worn boots had been expensive. The leather was soft and they fit like a glove. Once the boy’s clothes were packed in the saddlebags, she tucked her derringer in her garter and led her horse back to the barn. She’d saddle up and ride toward the big house and Walter.
##
Walter had intended to go back to the fields and send someone back to the house with news of Sarita’s return. Tonight there would be a celebration. Not one of the Overby men had perished in the awful war. Some returned wounded, as he had, and all returned hungry. No women or children in his family were injured by the enemy. They were all finally home safe and sound.
Sarita should be safe on her own land but Walter couldn’t leave her alone. He’d waited for her to walk from the barn, then followed her at a distance. Even when she glanced back over her shoulder she hadn’t seen him. He’d known she would go to the creek where they’d played as children, then bathed and courted as young adults. He and Sarita had pledged their love here, even before he’d given her a ring and announced their engagement.
He couldn’t believe she’d been able to keep Baby, the mare he’d given her as a wedding gift. Baby hadn’t given away his presence. Baby would have warned his wife of the approach of a stranger, though.
Walter crouched behind a tree, watching Sarita bathe. He’d followed her to be sure sh
e wouldn’t try to slip away again. He’d watched her remove the dirty, shapeless shirt, exposing her glorious breasts. She’d shucked the oversized trousers, and uncovered rounded hips, sleek thighs, and long pale legs. His hand ached to stroke her flat abdomen and comb through the golden curls on her mound.
Walter had thought he was in trouble when she immersed her body in the moving water. His heart missed a beat. Her arms had raised her satiny breasts toward the sun, catching the golden light gilding her like a statue. She was a goddess and he was a worshiper, a willing supplicant.
His body knew hers. His heart ached more than his stiff manhood. He hadn’t thought it possible to love any more than he had loved this woman before she left him a note and disappeared. He had been so very wrong. His love had grown, feeding on memories, growing from the few travel-worn letters from her when messengers had managed to find him on some battlefield or after he had limped back home.
He had poured his love in letters entrusted to scouts and messengers headed where she had last been seen.
His clean wife waded from the creek, the sunlight turning droplets of water to diamonds. Walter moved farther back so she wouldn’t see him as she dried herself.
His beautiful young bride had matured into an even more alluring woman. Water beaded on her alabaster skin. Her pink nipples begged for his touch. His hands clenched and unclenched, aching to caress her, to make love to her. Oh, how he wanted to make love to her for the rest of the new morning.
It would solve nothing. They needed to talk about why she left. There were things they needed to settle before he reclaimed her. He needed the truth about the rumors of her adventures, about the times she risked her life, about how he had felt when she left without a word, and about how he’d felt, knowing she’d endangered herself for the past five years.
She’s so thin, probably missed too many meals lately, damn her. His gaze held at the golden curls at the apex of her ivory thighs. If a man could die from wanting, he’d be long since dead. Rubbing nervous sweat from his forehead, he watched her step into the wrinkled dress pulled from a saddlebag. Watching her had been the most sensual experience of his thirty years. It had also been one of the most difficult. Was it fair to watch? She was his wife, dammit! Someone could have harmed her.
Chapter Four
Walter watched his wife trudge up the hill leading to their home. Watching her from afar took all the strength he could muster. With each step her posture straightened.
People, young and old, rushed out to greet their mistress. No queen or hero could have been greeted with more love and reverence. He wanted to see her in clothes more fitting to her station but he wanted her in no clothes even more. He wanted her gloriously naked, all to himself.
Enough is enough. My wife, my turn. He strode from his hiding place. His heart beat in his chest so hard he feared it would escape before he could reach her. Each thread of restraint unraveled when she turned toward him. His Sarita was here.
How the distance between them closed he could not say. She stopped within arms’ reach. Her body trembled. The question in her eyes undid him.
“Sarita, love!” He moaned. He enveloped her in his aching arms and did as he’d wanted for all the years separating them. Her mouth welcomed his in a kiss that melded his longing with hers. Hunger, so strong he could no longer control it, snapped. His head spun. His knees weakened.
Dear God in heaven, he had been only half-alive for the time they were apart. “I love you. I love you.” He said, each time he could utter a sound. Their lips never completely separated. “Oh, God, I love you, my princess.”
He could never let her leave him again. He would surely die if she ever did.
Nothing existed but his wife, the best part of his soul. He felt her words against his mouth, tasted them, breathed them. Vaguely he was aware of the reaction of his body, but his hands needed to feel her physical presence more than he needed to make love to her. He wanted to worship each beloved inch of her.
The buzzing in his ears became voices pushing their way into his consciousness. He shook off a hand on his shoulder. It was not Sarita’s and he wanted only her hands on him.
“Walter! You and Sarita ought to go to your rooms, unless you plan to teach the children more than they need to know about what happens between married people.”
He stopped kissing his wife to see who dared disturb him. Cousin Mattie gaped at him like he had lost all his senses.
“What?” he asked.
The woman in his arms smiled weakly at him. “Darlin’, I think she means we have an audience.” Her voice was as shaky as he felt. He glanced around. So many faces looked at him, he was sure there could not be one single person working on the entire plantation at this moment.
He finally regained his voice. His grip on his wife lessened barely enough for him to turn his head toward the throng of onlookers. “Doesn’t anyone have work to do?”
A few men started back to the fields they had left to greet their long-lost mistress. “Well?” he bellowed. “ Come say hello to Miz. Sabrina. The work won’t do itself.” He stepped aside ‘til everyone had a chance to greet her.
Finally everyone started toward the house and outbuildings, laughing as they shuffled away.
His cousin stood her ground after shooing children toward the building he had cleared out years ago for a school.
“What do you want?” His voice and words were rude, but he didn’t give a damn.
“I had heard, dear cousin, that our Sarita had been seen on the road home yesterday.”
He stared at her dumbly. “And?”
“And it appears I was too late with my message.” She kissed his twitching cheek, then Sarita’s, and walked toward the house. “I’ll tell cook to prepare breakfast for you and Sarita. Then I’ll ride back to my place and kill the fatted calf for a welcome celebration.”
When Mattie was yards away, he turned to his wife. ”Come to our room, my princess, I need to make love to my wife.”
##
Sarah stared into stormy gray eyes. Her hunger mirrored in them. “Walter?” she gasped. “Oh, God.”
“What did you say?”
Sarah blinked, the eyes were still close enough to count the long lashes, but the face was William’s. Oh, of course it was William’s. Who else but William would be in her room, leaning over her bed, looking so concerned. Huh?
“William,” Her voice was rusty. “what are you doing in my room? Watching me sleep, were you?”
“Your parents have gone out and we had plans to do the same, remember?”
“You had to meet a client or patient, didn’t you?”
William stared at her. “That was last night.”
“Oh. What time is it, anyway?” Sarah looked at the clock. “Oops. I overslept.”
“Kind of.” William still looked concerned.
“I can be ready in twenty minutes, if you’ll get lost.”
William still leaned over her.
“Anybody home?” She brushed the stray lock of dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. His eyes darkened.
“You called me Walter,” he said. “Why?”
“I was dreaming and there was this strange guy who…” she trailed off. Suddenly her body burned with the memory of … What?
William’s body was so close. His lips were so inviting.
Sarah reached her hands to capture William’s face. She pulled him closer and ran her tongue across his sensual bottom lip. She licked his upper lip, then gently nipped the center of his lower lip. She removed his glasses and pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
Sarah needed this man’s mouth on hers. She’d needed them joined for so long she ached with the need. Her lungs were starved for his air. Her tongue slid into his mouth reveling in his taste.
His response was so intense she knew he’d lost control. He kissed her mouth, her chin, her neck. Openmouthed kisses sent heat spiraling through every pore of her body. Her hands moved from his face to his should
ers, down his chest, and lower. Her body burned everywhere his mouth touched. His mouth found her breasts, suckled her nipples through the silky fabric, while his hands cradled her buttocks. He moved the fabric aside. His prone body pressed her into the mattress.
Buzzing tried to break through, but she wouldn’t have it.
His hand cradled her through her gown. Every cell in her body screamed. The noise came from outside her body. It stopped for a second, blessedly, but it intruded again, jarring her. The phone, the damned phone rang. Not again!
William stopped his delicious attention to her nipple. He stopped the wondrous movement of his hand between her thighs.
“Shit!” The sound seemed to come from low in his gut. For seconds he rested his face against her bosom, rubbing the valley between her breasts.
“I-I.” Sarah wanted to tell him to continue what he had started. She should tell him to stop. She should care that her parents or the housekeeper could walk into her room at any time and see them making love.
Making love? No, it would be more like glorious sex. But once their relationship became sexual everything would change. William had never sustained a sexual relationship for long. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for a long-term relationship. But at this moment she wanted him so damned much, just as she -- no like Sarita had wanted Walter.
The phone rang again. Sarah caught herself running her hand through William’s hair, breathing in his scent. She reached for the phone and kissed the top of his head before she answered.
Haunting Refrain Page 5