Disheveled and wide-eyed, she was deposited on his lap, and he held her there with his wide palms clutching her waist.
“Now, since you’re so all-fired determined to see a man’s naked chest, just be my guest,” Jake growled, his nostrils flaring with the effort he’d expended.
Lorena brushed a lock of hair from her face, looking more pleased than upset by the turn of events. She glanced over her shoulder at Cord, lounging in the doorway, barely able to contain his laughter.
“Jake’s about to take a bath, Cord. You might want to leave now.”
Even as she spoke, her fingers set to work, undoing the buttons that ran down the front of the shirt in question.
He’d started this nonsense, pulling her onto his lap and now he couldn’t think how to call a halt.
“You think you’re so almighty smart, Lorena.” Jake’s fingers tightened their hold on her as he fought for a semblance of dignity. The fool woman was about to strip him out of his clothing, and he was sitting here like a dolt, allowing it.
Enjoying it, as a matter of fact. And at that thought, he shot her a glance of warning. She was rapt, absorbed in what she did, her cheeks pink from the exertion of the physical encounter. Perhaps from more than that.
“You’re not wearing an undershirt,” she said, slanting him a look of surprise.
“It’s too damn hot.” His growled rebuttal made her smile.
Sliding her hands beneath the garment he wore, she forced the soft fabric down his arms, until he either had to let loose of her middle and slide from the sleeves or be held captive by the blamed things.
He dropped his hands, and within seconds he was bare to the waist, inches from a slender, more than fetching woman, who was eyeing him with admiration.
“I only planned on washing your back, Jake, but since I’m here, I might as well do the front, too,” she said amiably. Reaching to the commode, she snatched up the soapy cloth and set to with a will.
He shivered. “Your warm water is cold.”
“Your fault, not mine,” she reminded him, reaching over his shoulder to scrub at the nape of his neck.
“I’ve been washing my own chest for years. Get off my lap, Rena.” A ripple of sensation up his spine could not be blamed solely on cool water, but more likely on the woman balanced across the stumps of his legs.
“Help me,” she said, lifting her hands to offer him full view of her waist
The lure of her feminine curves was almost more than he could resist Clinging to her breasts, her soft muslin dress outlined their fullness in faithful measure. His mouth went dry as he allowed his thoughts to consider their size and shape, and then he shook his head.
His hands gripped her, lifting her to her feet at his side, holding her until she found her balance.
Without a moment’s pause, she leaned over him, taking up the cloth she’d left draped around his neck. “I’ll warm this up.”
In moments, she was scrubbing at his back and Jake leaned forward, allowing her access. She rinsed, then rinsed again. The towel was rough against his flesh, and he flexed his shoulders.
“Wait a minute. Don’t lean back yet,” she said. “I’ve got some lotion I want to put on your skin.”
“I’m not interested in smelling like a flower garden.”
She drew the small bottle from her pocket. “You won’t I made it up from oil and glycerine.” Her hands were strong, warm against his flesh, and he inhaled sharply as she moved them firmly down the length of his back.
The pleasure of her touch had been locked away, forbidden to his mind for years, and now, for the second time in a matter of weeks, he was filled with myriad visions behind his closed eyelids.
Just so had she rubbed the soreness from his muscles after a day spent in the corral, breaking horses for sale to the government. Just so had her hands sped warmth and relief to his shoulders after hours of bending over his desk, making painstaking entries into the ledger book.
Just so had her hands spent their strength against the width of his back as she responded to the force of his passion, her mouth answering his with a desire he’d been sorely tempted to take advantage of, those long-ago days.
And now there was no barrier of fabric between hand and skin. Now she leaned against his shoulder and he felt the weight of her breast pressing his upper arm.
“That’s enough!” He straightened quickly and she squealed a protest, snatching her hands from him just before they would have been squeezed against the caned back of his chair.
“All right, you can finish up your arms and chest.” She soaped the cloth and handed it to him. “After breakfast, you can get your pants off and do your legs.”
“Not with you around.”
She turned to the door, as if his quiet protest had been unheard. “I’ll bring your breakfast in just a few minutes.”
“Get me out a shirt.”
Silently, she did as he asked, dropping it in his lap, and then he heard the door close behind her.
His hands moved more slowly, washing his arms. He rinsed with care, cursing himself beneath his breath. She’d dug beneath his defenses, routed out his weakness and exposed his needy soul.
He’d vowed a long time ago to live without the warmth of a woman in his life, once he’d had a good look at what was left of his legs. And now Lorena Claypool seemed determined to sear him with her heat. Heat that threatened to melt the icy barrier he’d constructed around his heart.
“I hear tell there’s a move afoot to bring civilization to Green Rapids.” Conrad Carson spoke to the man before him, but his words carried the length of the emporium, reaching Rachel as she entered the door.
“How’s that?” the rancher asked, drawing his purse from his back pocket.
Conrad’s pencil was busy as he added the figures he’d scribbled on a piece of brown paper. “Somebody seems to think our town needs a theater, an opera house, I heard tell.” He straightened. “That’ll be six dollars even, Beau. You can put it on your bill, if you want to.”
The rancher shook his head. “I’d rather pay up front, cash money, Conrad.”
“I’ll help you carry out the rest of your groceries,” Conrad offered, hoisting a box to his shoulder. He turned and his gaze met Rachel’s. She’d come halfway down the wide aisle in the center of his store and halted, lest she eavesdrop any more than she already had.
“I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Mrs. McPherson.” Conrad nodded politely at her, a faint flush riding his cheekbones. His eyes had veered from contact with her, and he made his way down another aisle, as if anxious to complete his task.
The rancher turned to look at her, his eyes admiring. He swept his hat from his head and nodded. “Mrs. McPherson? I heard old Cord tied the knot. I’m one of your neighbors. Beau Jackson. I live out past you a few miles.”
“How do you do?” She was blushing. Sure as the world, she could feel the heat creeping up her face. Would the day never come when she’d get used to the looks of speculation?
Church on Sunday had been one after another of well-meaning folks singling her out. Coy glances from the younger women, sidelong looks from the male part of the congregation and beaming smiles of approval from the older ladies had sufficed only to make the service seem endless.
Rachel sighed, bracing for more of the same from this stranger, but he surprised her. With a smile, he settled his hat firmly on his head and picked up the keg of nails he’d just purchased. “Good day, ma’am.” Beyond him, Conrad was holding the door open for his exit, and Rachel waited as the storekeeper made his way in her direction.
“You needing groceries?” he asked, fussing with an assortment of buttons in a jar.
“Yes. I have a list, Con…Mr. Carson.” Her blush deepened as she dithered over his name.
He looked up, his smile strained. “We need to decide what we’re going to do with the friendship we had, Rachel.”
“Did you spread rumors about me after the dance?” she asked quietly. “Wilhelmina Brya
nt came out to the ranch and said I was the subject of a lot of talk around town.”
His cheeks bloomed with color. “I told a couple of the men that I’d asked you to allow me courting privileges. The talk was already hot and heavy, with you staying out at Cord’s place.” He looked at her directly. “You set the place on its ear, Rachel, with that pretty dress you wore, and what with dancing every dance.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested.
He shook his head. “I know you didn’t, but a pretty girl is always food for gossip in a small town. Especially one who’s living in the situation you were in.”
“I thought you might have been angry with me, Conrad. I was afraid you might have started rumors.”
“No.” He had the grace to look shamefaced. “Some of the boys spiked the punch and I drank a few too many glasses. I was bragging a little about calling on you, telling them I was planning on marrying you.”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I meant every word, Rachel. I would have married you in a heartbeat”
“Thank you,” she said, her woman’s heart pleased by his confession. “Let’s be friends, Conrad. I didn’t mean to hurt you in any way. It all worked out for the best, for me and Cord, I mean. I just hated it that people were talking.”
He shrugged. “People always talk. It’s what they do best, I guess.”
“What did I overhear about an opera house in Green Rapids? Is that for sure? Or more rumor?”
“They tell me that three men came in from New York City the other day. They’re trying to set up a string of theaters between St Louis and the edge of civilization, so to speak. There’s to be a troupe of players making the rounds among them, with folks from hereabouts providing entertainment during the lull between professional performances.”
“Is there any talent around here?”
“I don’t know for sure, but folks are sure talkin’ it up.” He looked toward the door. “Is Cord in town with you?”
“Yes, he’s gone to the blacksmith.” She dug into her bag for the grocery list she’d scribbled on the way to town. “I’ll give you my list.” It almost covered the back of an envelope, and she began from the top. “I need coffee and sugar, a pail of lard, any fresh vegetables you’ve got…” She paused. “Oh, my…” They’d hit a bump while she was writing the next item, and she couldn’t make it out
“Looks like cinnamon to me,” said the whisper in her ear.
She spun about. Cord was there, almost behind her, one hip resting against the walnut counter. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, one hand at her throat.
“That’s ‘cause you were all involved with Conrad.”
“We were talking about a new venture in town.”
Conrad had busied himself, dipping his scoop into a bin against the wall, measuring coffee in a cloth bag. “How many pounds you want, Rachel?” he asked.
“Ten. And a twenty-pound bucket of lard.” She looked up at Cord. “Are you finished at the blacksmith shop already?”
He nodded. “I just had to pick up some nails for Sam and a set of smaller shoes for Jay’s new horse.”
Conrad hoisted the bucket of lard atop the counter and placed the bag of coffee beans beside it. “I’ve got fresh green beans, Rachel, and some tomatoes. Peas are about done for.”
“I canned up enough peas,” she told him. “The men aren’t real fond of them, anyway. Give me all the green beans you can spare and a peck of tomatoes. When they come in real good, I’ll take four or five bushel.”
Cord snatched her list from her hand and handed it to the man behind the counter. “Tell you what, Conrad. Why don’t you just go ahead and fill her list and stick everything in the back of the wagon, while I take my wife down to the hotel for a cup of tea.”
Rachel’s cheeks flushed with pleasure, and her smile was thanks in itself, Cord decided, escorting her out the door. That scamp, Conrad, had spent long enough making calf eyes at her anyway.
“What brought this on?” Rachel asked, stepping briskly beside him down the wooden sidewalk.
He covered her hand with his, holding it in place on his forearm as they walked. “I figured Conrad had your company long enough. Besides, I wanted to show off my bride.”
She made a sound of aggravation in her throat, looking down at the dusty boards beneath her feet. “Conrad and I made friends, Cord. We can’t live in the same town and be looking the other way when we meet, just because I turned him down. He’s a nice man.”
“Well, that nice man needs to find himself a girl of his own. This one’s taken.” His words sounded possessive even to his own ear, and he emphasized them with a firm hand against her back as they entered the hotel lobby.
Rachel looked around the big dining room apprehensively. “It looks pretty full.”
A buxom waitress approached and smiled a greeting, then led them to a table before the front window. Cord seated Rachel with a flourish. “There you go, Mrs. McPherson.”
He turned to the waitress, who was eyeing him with admiration. “We’d like some coffee and a big piece of black walnut cake.”
“Both of you?” Her pencil poised over her pad, she looked at Rachel.
Rachel’s nod was absentminded. “Yes, cake’s fine.”
Cord bent across the table. “It’s only the best black walnut cake in the state.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to give my opinion when I taste it. Mine isn’t too bad.”
He looked pained. “How would I know?”
She glanced around from beneath her lashes. “People are looking, Cord.”
“They’re smiling at us, Rachel. This is your first trip to town since the wedding. Everyone’s curious. By next week, we’ll be old news.”
“Oh!” She straightened in her chair. “I almost forgot, speaking of news.”
“Somebody else getting married?” he asked, smiling at her abrupt announcement.
She shook her head impatiently. “No, of course not It’s just that Conrad was talking to a neighbor of yours about a new venture some people from New York are working on.” She leaned back in her chair and smiled with open delight. “It seems that they are considering Green Rapids for one of the opera houses or theaters they’re building.”
“Here?” His tone was incredulous.
“Why not?” She eyed him cautiously, taken aback by his disbelief. And then as if recovering her aplomb, she tilted her chin. “I’d think it would add a lot to the town, bring people in from all around. I’ll warrant you’d find new businesses opening in no time at all.”
“Like what?”
She considered. “Maybe a new dress shop. Perhaps another hotel. Certainly a parlor for ice cream and—”
“Folks make their own ice cream at home.”
She looked at him, fluttering her lashes in a broad attempt at flirtation. “You wouldn’t take your bride for ice cream if such a place opened up on Main Street?”
“Damn, Rachel, I’d carry you to St. Louis on my back if you coaxed me like that.”
“Cord! Don’t be so…”
“Sweetheart, I find it hard not to be so…” He lifted an eyebrow and grinned. “In fact, just looking at you gives me all sorts of ideas.”
“Well, save it until you get home, at least,” she retorted, her mouth pursing.
“See there? Now you’ve got your lips all scrunched up, and I’d swear you were just beggin’ me to lean across the table and—”
“Your cake, sir?” The waitress was there, tray in hand, her amusement obvious as she smiled at Cord. With a flourish, she placed his cake before him, then served Rachel.
“Will you be wanting anything else?” she asked, her lips twitching as if she was subduing laughter.
Rachel’s gaze was focused on the cake before her and she shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“I’ve got everything I need, ma’am,” Cord responded, ignoring the cake, gazing instead with hungry eyes at his wife.
“It was good cake, Cord.” F
rom behind the screen in the corner of their bedroom, Rachel donned her new nightgown.
“Best in the state,” he said agreeably. Sitting erect, his back propped against the headboard, he awaited her appearance. “You about done back there, Rae?”
“This gown doesn’t have much to it,” she said, emerging as she cast a glance over her shoulder at the mirror behind her.
“That’s why I bought it.” He lifted his arms, meshing his fingers behind his head. “I sure do have good taste, honey.”
Her fingers plucked pins from her hair as she released the heavy weight from atop her head. It fell in a coil down her back and she shook her head, sending it flying as the strands were released from captivity. Hairbrush in her hand, she bent over to bring order to the wavy length.
“Come here and let me do that,” Cord said, his lids heavy as he watched her movements.
She straightened, brush in hand, her hair a tousled frame for her face. She was golden from the sun, a flush like that of a ripe peach staining her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with humor, blue as the columbine in the meadow.
“That’s too good an offer to refuse.” She sauntered. There was no other word to describe the motion of her hips, he decided. In less than six paces she had brought him to arousal, her form almost visible beneath the gauzy nightgown.
“You’re teasing me, Mrs. McPherson,” he murmured. And then as she stood beside the bed, he widened his legs, making room, his hand reaching for her, lifting her.
Her fingers were warm within his palm as she knelt at the edge of the mattress, easing her way to sit on her heels in the place he offered. He released her, and her fingers brushed reluctantly against his callused skin, as if she delayed the loss of his touch.
With precise movements, his hands reached again, his palms spreading over her thighs, just above her knees. “I’ll brush your hair later,” he told her, willing to promise the moon if need be.
Beneath his work-roughened skin she was soft, yet firm to the touch, and his fingers curved to fit the bend of her knees. They slid back and forth, like ten clever entities, ever rising, causing the filmy gown to slide upward with each movement.
The Wedding Promise Page 15