Night Flower (Gone-to-Texas Trilogy)

by Shirl Henke

  Slowly, he gentled their passion, raining light butterfly kisses across her cheek and neck, onto her throat. Then, he drew one of her arms from around his waist and pulled it in front of him so he could kiss the soft bend of the elbow and inner wrist, then the palm.

  “You are a passionate little creature, aren't you?” he teased softly. When she stiffened, he gave her no chance to speak but pressed his fingertips to her lips. “Don't start with more hurt and guilt. I just told you I wanted my wife to love my touch, not shrink from it. Oh, Night Flower, I need your passion, but you're not recovered yet.”

  To prove his point, he reached down very carefully and touched the thick packing around her waist. When she let out an involuntary gasp of startled pain, he immediately kissed her lips softly, saying, “See. You're still in pain, but just wait, Mrs. Velasquez, until Doc Westin pronounces you recovered. I think I owe you a honeymoon, and I intend to pay my debt—with interest.”

  She blushed beneath the teasing scrutiny of his hot black eyes, but stared back into them boldly and said, “I shall do my very best to follow doctor's orders to make a full recovery—very, very soon.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Melanie's story was printed on the front page of the Star the first of the week, and a beaming Amos Johnston brought a page proof out to the ranch to show her early that day.

  Later in the afternoon, Father Gus came to bring her the sacrament and regale her with the latest tales about the antics of the children at school.

  “Lame Deer is he still at the head of his class?” she asked with a small frown. “He's been here so much, I feared he was neglecting his schoolwork.”

  “Ach, not to worry. That young rascal is very bright. And now that his mama works in the Abbess' kitchen, the family has enough food and money, so he need not resort to, er, undesirable means of earning money,” the young priest said with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

  “Lee's given him some simple chores at the corral. Mostly I think it's an excuse to keep him out of here long enough for me to get a few catnaps during the afternoons, and it also gives him the chance to ride Prancer and learn skills from the vaqueros. Lee says he's becoming quite a horseman.”

  Noting the way her eyes lit up when she talked of her husband, Father Gus could not resist teasing, “A lesson in faith it is—the way my earnest prayers—and the good Baptist ones of the Abbess—were answered.”

  Melanie looked at him in perplexity. “You prayed for Lame Deer?”

  He threw back his head and chuckled. “When he stole my burro and a few times after that, ja, but that is not what I meant just now. Do you remember the day I married you and Lee? Your eyes flashing defiance and his dark sullen look. Ach! I see you do. It is not that way any longer. Maybe by next year this time we baptize a new little Velasquez, ja?”

  Melanie mulled over what the priest had said to her after he left. A new little Velasquez. She dearly wished for children. For the first time, instead of dreading the physical confinement of pregnancy and with it the increased dependency on her husband, she actually welcomed the thought.

  But what of Lee? He had said he loved her and accepted her mixed blood. He wanted a passionate, responsive wife. That must inevitably lead to children. Heirs for Night Flower Ranch.

  “There are a great many things we've never been able to talk about before,” she murmured aloud to herself. “Now we can.”

  That evening was to be her first meal in the dining room. At last she was free of the confinement of eating in bed! Melanie ran her hands over the gowns in her wardrobe, once again grateful to Charlee Slade for talking her into abandoning “sensible clothes.” What she planned to wear tonight was certainly not sensible in the least!

  When she walked into the dining room that night, the vision in a froth of pale pink looked far more appealing to Lee than Kai's elaborate banquet. Her gown was all lace, yards and yards of it in a softly swaying full skirt that accented her tiny waistline. The long fitted sleeves had lace cuffs that spilled daintily onto her delicate wrists. Her only adornment was a cluster of pale pink roses pinned in her upswept hair.

  “You are a vision,” Lee said simply. He walked across the room to kiss her very carefully, making certain he did nothing foolish to inflame the passion he had been struggling to control during her convalescence. The very innocence of the delicately hued lace gown added to her aura of ethereal sensuality.

  She inspected his white stock and the silk shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, then let her eyes travel down the immaculately tailored brown suit jacket to the tightly molded pants that encased his long legs. Remembering the last time she had dressed elaborately for dinner and found him in casual attire, she appreciated the care he had taken and was touched by the importance he, too, placed on this evening.

  “I might say, Don Leandro, that you look like a vision yourself—tempting a poor woman's soul to perdition. I'll have to ask Father Gus to pray for me,” she teased.

  “No, you won't. We're married—it's all right to be tempted now.” He grinned and added, “Anyway, after as long as it took us to see the light, I suspect the good father's knees are pretty worn out by now.”

  She laughed and placed her left hand on his arm. “Escort me to dinner, husband?”

  “First, I have something for you—to match that,” he said, running his fingertips lightly over her heavy ruby-and-gold wedding ring. “While I was in New Mexico, Jim and Charlee saved all my family's personal belongings—the things I left behind in the old house before it was burned out. What I didn't know until the day of our wedding was that Charlee had found another trunk stored by old Will Slade at Bluebonnet, filled with things he had salvaged from the Comanche raid when my family was killed.”

  “That's where my wedding ring came from,” she said quietly.

  He raised her hand and kissed the ring finger lingeringly. “It was Charlee's idea to surprise me with it and have Jim hand it to me in church....”

  “Where you couldn't back out and had to give it to me.”

  He smiled sadly and said, “They knew better than I did, sweetheart. But my mother's ring wasn't the only thing in the trunk. With it came these.” He pulled a slim velvet box from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. The fabric cover was very old and brittle, embossed with an old coat of arms probably dating from the days when Velasquez men served the Spanish kings.

  She opened it reverently. Inside lay a necklace and earring set that matched her ruby-and-gold wedding band. She gasped in awe at the intricate workmanship of the gold filigree and flawless perfection of the gems. ‘They're exquisite, Lee—and so old—family heirlooms from generations ago.” She lifted the necklace out and held it up in the candlelight, unable to say more, her throat closed with emotion.

  “Here, allow me.” He took the necklace and fastened it about her slender throat. The graduated rubies dropped gracefully so the largest one nestled in her cleavage. With trembling hands, she put the long, delicately tapered drop earrings in her ears. “If I'd selected your gown to match the jewelry, I couldn't have chosen better. This was my great-grandfather Velasquez's betrothal gift to his wife. Each generation it's passed on, traveling from the Old World to the new land of Texas.”

  * * * *

  Melanie concentrated on her recovery, doing stretching and bending exercises in secret and riding Liberator each afternoon for a brief stint while she was certain Lee was busy elsewhere.

  Another week passed and Melanie's restlessness was matched by Lee's. If we don't get that long-promised honeymoon soon, we'll be at one another's throats like caged wildcats, she thought one morning after another night of tossing and turning, with him in one room, her in the other. But he was so fearful of hurting her, so guilty because she'd been shot in the first place, that he'd insisted they wait a while longer.

  Doc Westin was a fussy old maid who still advised she not overdo, even though he had removed all the bandages and admitted the wound was nicely healed. Somehow, she could not bring he
rself to ask him if it was all right to resume marital relations with her husband. She had far fewer qualms about asking Obedience Oakley. Obedience had not ridden to the ranch for a couple of days. After seeing her charge mending so well, she had trusted Kai and Genia to tend Melanie.

  Today, Melanie decided it was time for Mohammed to go to the mountain, since the mountain hadn't been inclined to come to the ranch. Of course, if Lee knew she was up on horseback, he'd skin her; but then, that might not be so bad, she giggled to herself. The ride to town was tiring, she admitted; but as luck would have it, not completely necessary. She was about halfway there when the familiar old buckboard wagon and its Amazonian driver pulled into view.

  “Jeehosaphat! Lee know yew ‘n thet big devil er out gaddin' round?” She observed Melanie's pallor and was well prepared to scold until the girl revealed her plight and plan to the older woman.

  “Look, Doc took all the bandages away, but he's too fussy and Lee's too overprotective and I'm...well, randy as a she-cat in heat to have my husband back in my bed!” she finished on a note of bravado.

  Obedience slapped her thigh with a ham like hand and let out a loud guffaw. “Yer ma wouldn't a never said it so open—but Charlee would! Bless me, child, if 'n I don't think her ‘n me been a real unladylike influence on yew!”

  “Then you'll ride back to the ranch with me and deliver a personal report to my husband about how fit I am?”

  “Huumph! Do better 'n thet. We'll show him! Let's git goin'. Time's awastin'. I'll jist take this here lunch ta Lee out at th' corral—‘n happen ta mention seein' yew out fer yer usual mornin' ride.”

  At Melanie's look of alarm, Obedience added with a wink, “After I tell th' young jackass yore fit as th' day he married yew!” She was off, calling over her shoulder, “Jist ride near th' ranch house round back by th' creek ‘n thet pond.”

  Within half an hour, as she sat sponging her neck with cool water from the pool out behind the house, she heard Sangre's hoof beats pounding down on her. The big blue's hooves kicked up pebbles and sprayed them into the clear water as his irate rider stopped the horse by the edge of the pool.

  “A few more feet and you'd be very wet,” she teased, getting up to face his thunderous face as he dismounted.

  “What the hell are you doing riding without my permission?” He took her by her shoulders and almost shook her before reason reasserted itself and he dropped his hands into clenched fists.

  “I've been riding every day for the past week,” she replied over sweetly, “and what's this tiresome stuff about permission again? I thought we had that settled. I can scarcely track you down on this big ranch every time I need permission to cover a story for Clarence, now can I?” She watched his mounting fury and danced just out of his reach, luring him away from Sangre as she neared where Liberator was standing.

  “Mellie, I'm warning you. You—you and Obedience cooked this up, didn't you?” By the time he finished the rhetorical question, his agile little wife had swung up on her big black and sped away toward the ranch house, calling back to him, “Catch me if you can!”

  He did. She had made a circle around the willow copse and was heading toward the nearest corral when Sangre pulled abreast of Liberator. A strong arm reached out and snatched her from Liberator's back, depositing her in front of him, held fast to his body. Her arms quickly wrapped around his waist, and she buried her face against his shoulder as he slowed the furious gallop and turned Sangre back to the house.

  “See how fit I am?” she whispered in his ear as he dismounted and pulled her down after him.

  “I'm not so sure—I just beat you in a horse race,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He carried her inside, straight past the sala, and down the hall to the big master bedroom.

  “That first day, after our wedding, when Kai brought my things to this room and you made him take them down the hall—”

  “I was a fool who spent a sleepless night regretting that I hadn't let him proceed on his very reasonable assumptions,” he murmured in her ear. “We're not dressed like a bride and groom today, but I think we can improvise.”

  Slowly, he let her small body slide to the ground while holding her close to him. She kept her fingers locked behind his neck, nipping and kissing at his throat, her small tongue tasting the faint salty tang of male sweat and musk. She could feel his hands roam up her hips to her waist, then glide higher to cup her breasts and fondle them through the sheer silk of her gold shirt.

  When he reached over and began to unbutton the blouse, he murmured, “Mustard yellow, just like the one you wore that day in Austin. God, I wanted to do this then.” With that, he slipped the shirt from her shoulders; and she helped him, shrugging it off. Then he unhooked her lacy camisole and freed her breasts, taking one hard-pointed nipple in each hand, rolling the dusky tips around with his fingers until she moaned in pleasure, thrusting them into his palms. He lowered his mouth to trail wet, soft kisses from her throat, down her collarbone to one breast, then the other.

  Melanie arched in bliss at his slowly savoring caresses as her own hands unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his shirt. She slid the simple blue homespun from his shoulders and ran exploring fingers down his biceps as she peeled off the shirt.

  “Now what? There's only one bootjack in this room, and we both have to get rid of our gear unless we want Genia to scream about the sheets,” he said, teasing his impatient little wife.

  She whispered an unladylike oath and reached up to kiss him thoroughly, her hot, sweet tongue making him forget their boots for a moment as they explored each other's upper bodies with tantalizing slowness while their hips rotated together insistently. Suddenly, he scooped her up once more and strode quickly to the bed. “Ladies first.” With that, he dropped her gently onto the bed and pulled one leg up into his arms. One, then the other small boot was discarded carelessly. Rolling her onto her back in the center of the bed, he began to pull down her split riding skirt, whispering in a passion-roughened voice, “When I first saw you in one of these, I heartily disapproved.”

  “And now?” she prompted with a wicked wiggle of her hips as she slithered out of the garment.

  “I still disapprove—only because it keeps me from this.” He ran his hands up her legs and over her flared hips, centering one hand over the small mound at the juncture of her legs. He quickly untied her pantalets and inched the lacy undergarments down her hips, kissing and caressing with his tongue while she writhed and moaned, her fingers tangling and pulling in the curly black hair of his head. Then, he paused at the top of her thighs and began to kiss between them.

  Quickly her legs opened and she found her body instinctively arching to let him work his wondrous magic on her once again. The sensations began like low, warm throbs with each flick of his tongue and built gradually. She bucked and arched madly, her hands holding on to his head until he raised himself up and whispered, “I was trying to keep you from injuring yourself, woman, but I see there's no use.” He stilled her thrashing hips and rolled, catlike, to the edge of the bed, where he quickly pulled off his boots and hose, then stood and shed his pants.

  In a haze of need, she watched him strip, devouring him with her eyes, her dark, beautiful Tejano. When he knelt on the bed, she reached out and grasped one hand and pulled it to her now healed side. “See—all better. You won't hurt me—just love me, any way, every way, please!”

  “Anything to oblige my bride,” he whispered hoarsely, rolling down beside her and taking her in his arms for a long, savoring kiss while his hand tangled in the skein of her glossy hair.

  She could feel the sensuous texture of his body as it pressed against hers. It was now familiar and yet so exciting as she felt his hairy chest gently abrade her sensitive nipples and that hard, velvety shaft probe between her legs. Opening her thighs, she trapped it between them and squeezed until he growled with desire. Letting out a low chuckle, she said, “Now you know how I felt a moment ago when you stopped—for my own good.” />
  “Witch—oh, you little, teasing—” He abandoned all attempts at coherent speech and rolled her backward while he carefully raised himself over her and thrust in the sweet, wet core of her flesh, knowing she wanted this as desperately as he did.

  “Slow, Night Flower, easy,” he whispered as he slid in and out in fluid, graceful motions.

  She followed his lead, whispering between kisses, “Slow and easy—for my own good.” And magically, for the first time secure in love, they did go very slowly, savoring each moment, murmuring sweet endearments, sharing soft laughter and small gasps and startled moans of pleasure, twisting and arching like two dancers in perfect sync, body, mind, and soul. Then it happened, so quietly, slowly, differently from the times before, that she did not expect it until it seized her in rapturous rhythm.

  Her eyes widened in amazement; and he looked down at her in gentle awe, keeping up the firm, even thrusts, prolonging the incredibly sweet, slow completion for her until he, too, was taken unawares by an explosion in his loins. He joined her, pulsing his seed in long, full, convulsive shudders deeply inside her. Then, he grew still, as did she, each holding tightly to the other until he caught his breath long enough to roll them gently over so she lay on top of him.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered, his hand straying to the small scars on her side.

  She put her fingertips on his lips and smiled a wobbly smile. “If you mean that, yes. I never even felt it...but the other...I don't know what to say. It was so...”