by Jodi Thomas
She pulled a few inches away. “You’ll rip the cloth.”
“Then take it off.” He spoke his thoughts in a voice so low he didn’t recognize it as his.
She rose, stood there, and stared at him. If she decided to walk away, he couldn’t even follow. With his leg, he would never be able to catch her if she ran. And he had a feeling that if he frightened her and she ran, she’d run all the way to Dallas or Austin or Chicago before she stopped.
Hank closed his eyes and groaned. What did he think he was doing? A man with a broken leg doesn’t seduce his wife. He’d almost passed out moving to the washstand and back. If he even tried to make love he’d probably succeed only in making a fool of himself.
When he finally opened his eyes, Aggie was still sitting next to him. She’d unbuttoned two of the buttons of the shirt.
“If I get to pick when we stop,” she whispered, “I pick one touch tonight. I know there is more, but I have to think about it first.”
Hank took a deep breath, almost saying thank you. He wanted their first time, if there was to be a first time in this partnership, to be perfect.
“One touch,” he agreed. “Only, if you’ve no objection, I’d like to do so while we kiss good night once more.”
She nodded and moved off the bed so he could lift the covers. When she scooted beneath the quilts, another button had come loose.
Chapter 11
Aggie lay on her back and waited while Hank shifted onto his side without moving his broken leg any more than necessary.
Her heart pounded faster then a sparrow’s as she unbuttoned the entire shirt and spread the soft material away from her chest. She didn’t move when Hank lifted the covers away to her waist.
“Are you cold?” he asked, staring at her body in the shadows.
She shook her head, too afraid to speak. In truth, her skin felt hot and she was sure he would notice when he touched her. She told herself she’d agreed to one touch, even wanted it, but she hadn’t thought ahead to realize that he’d also look at her. Not just look—study.
Before she lost all courage, she turned her face toward him and his lips gently met hers. She’d thought he’d touch her breasts first, but he took his time tasting her lips. She liked the way the hard line of his mouth turned soft when it touched her. His rough cheek brushed against hers as he moved slightly. His tongue slipped across her tender lips and pushed inside. Her cry of surprise blended with his sigh of pleasure.
When she didn’t pull away, his kiss softened once more, offering her paradise, but still, his hand remained at her waist.
With his coaching, she opened her mouth wider, enjoying the newness of her husband’s kiss. She thought that marriage was so much more than she’d imagined it would be. Nice, she decided; marriage was nice—then his hand spread across her abdomen. And nice moved to pure bliss. The warmth of his mouth, the slight weight of his fingers on her skin, made her whole body warm with an awareness she’d never experienced.
Her fingers reached up and brushed the hair just above his ear, liking the way the thick coarseness of his straight hair felt to her touch. He was her man, she thought, hers. She liked his strong body and his gentle ways. She liked his voice and the way he worried about her. She liked everything about him.
Just when Aggie was reaching a flat plateau of shear enjoyment, he broke the kiss.
Gripping his hair in her fist, she tried to tug his mouth back to her, but he’d already found somewhere else he wanted to taste. As his open mouth moved down her throat, she let out a sigh of delight. Roughly, he pushed her chin aside so that the length of her throat lay open to his exploring.
His hand pressed gently into her middle, anchoring her to earth while she floated toward the heaven of his kisses against her skin. When he brushed his lips across her ear, he whispered her name then added softly, “Aggie, my love.”
She thought he’d return to finish the kiss, but slowly she realized his mouth planned to play along her skin until he had his fill of the taste of it. He opened wide and touched his tongue to the spot where her pulse pounded, then dipped low until the whiskers of his chin brushed across the top of her breasts.
She lay beyond words, beyond thought as his mouth took hers once more, giving and demanding fire all at once. As if her body had a will of its own, she arched, pushing against his hand, fighting to get closer to him.
He held her fast to the bed, but his mouth told her of his pleasure at her attempt. He was tasting deep of her now, taking all he wanted from the kiss, and giving more than she’d ever known to ask. His fingers gently stroked her stomach, and she felt the light embrace all the way through her body.
She grew dizzy with wanting, all shyness, all hesitance shoved from her mind by the taste of him.
When she thought she could stand no more of paradise, he gentled the kiss, bringing it back to soft and loving, almost pure, almost chaste. Only slim memory of its former fire, but the memory forever seared across her mind. Now, even his light touch stirred her blood.
With his lips whispering against hers, he began to move his hand across her flesh and this time there were no boundaries just below her throat or at her waist.
At first he circled her breasts, pushing lightly at the underside of each with his thumb—letting her know and long for what was to come.
The circles made her skin tingle with tiny points of joy, and her breasts ache with need. When he stretched his fingers over her fullness she was ready, arching toward him. This time, he let her move, filling his hand, pressing hard into his palm.
She felt his laughter against her lips as his hand took its time molding her softest flesh to his will. He knew he was pleasing her just as she knew her soft moans pleased him.
Without warning, he deepened the kiss once more. When she responded in kind, he tightened his grip over her, branding her forever with his “one touch.”
Chapter 12
They didn’t say a word when he finally pulled away with one last tender kiss on her cheek. She buttoned her shirt. He straightened flat on his back once more. Both knew the other was awake. Both were too lost in their own thoughts to talk.
She stared out the window. A sliver of a moon was slightly visible between two clouds. She could still taste his mouth on hers. She could still feel his hand over her breast. He’d kept his word. He’d kissed her good night and he’d touched her once. A kiss that had taken her to heaven. A touch that she felt all the way to her very soul.
How could the gentle, quiet man do such a thing? Why had he?
A smile slowly spread across her bruised lips. Because, she answered herself, I asked him to. She felt a power build inside her, a power she’d never known. She’d always been the little sister, the daughter who obeyed, who would have been the old maid taking care of her poppa in his aging years if he hadn’t found the widow to marry. No one had ever let her set the rules for anything in her life, and now this strong, powerful man did just that.
She couldn’t stop grinning. She might have set the rules, but he’d made full use of his one touch.
“Aggie,” he said low near her ear. “Are you asleep?”
“No, dear,” she answered, seeing no reason to pretend.
“Why me?”
“What?” She knew what he was asking, but she wanted to make sure.
“Why’d you marry me? There must have been men at every house you visited. Men with more money. Men better looking.”
“There were.” She wished she could tell him how many had made fools of themselves, promising her the moon and stars as if they could deliver. Promising her that life would be one endless party when all she wanted was a quiet place to be happy.
“Then what made you meet me at the train?”
“Because,” she whispered as she relaxed into sleep. “You saw me. The inside, not just the out. And you liked me—just me—even before we”—she yawned and mumbled the last few words—“stepped into the light.”
Hank heard her breathing slow and kne
w she was asleep. “You’re wrong,” he whispered. “I loved you—even before we stepped into the light.”
Chapter 13
Dawn slowly spread across the sky. Aggie shoved her hair out of her eyes and lifted her head.
Hank lay beside her, looking like he hadn’t moved all night. His jaw had darkened with whiskers and his hair covered his forehead.
She smiled, thinking that he was handsome in his own way. Her poppa used to say that most folks “ugly up” after you get to know them. But Hank hadn’t. In fact, the opposite had happened. The rest of the world might think him strong, and big and rough, but he’d been gentle with her from the first, and funny. Even when he tried to be stern, she could see through the act.
Laughing, she realized he was more afraid of her then she’d ever be of him. She’d known it even in the darkness when he’d jumped at the sound of her voice.
Without warming, he opened one eye. “Where’s breakfast?” he mumbled.
She shrugged and pulled the covers over her. “I think I’ll be one of those wives with the nature to sleep ’til noon.”
He pulled the blanket off her head. “I don’t think so. I’m starving. You agreed to cook breakfast.” He frowned, but she could see the cracks in his armor.
She climbed out and stretched, then laughed at the way he stared at her. She was learning to read this man, and if she was right, he’d just forgotten all about breakfast.
“On second thought…” He opened her side of the covers. “We could sleep a while longer.”
“Oh, no.” She laughed. “I’ll put on coffee and bring you hot water. Then I’ll cook breakfast while you shave.”
He groaned.
She grabbed her clothes and disappeared before he had time to argue. Ten minutes later, when she brought him a cup of coffee, he’d managed to sit up but he looked like he’d been thrown by a horse a few times.
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
“I’m fine.” He frowned. “Could I get you to bring the washstand over here?”
“Sure.” She leaned close and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, dear. Always wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“Yep,” he answered. “It’s my nature.”
She moved the nightstand so that he could reach the pitcher and bowl without standing. “Where is your shaving cup and razor?”
“In the mudroom,” he answered.
When she returned, loaded down with everything that had been by the back sink, Aggie studied him. Hank was pale and the pain still reflected in his eyes, but he looked better than he had yesterday.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Any way you make them,” he answered as he brushed hot water into the soap cup and began to circle. “Just make it an even dozen.”
She nodded and turned toward the door.
“Aggie?” He stopped her with one word.
“Yes.”
“Last night was really something.”
She grinned, not allowing his fancy words to sway her. “I agree,” she whispered, and vanished before he saw her blush.
Thoughts of how he’d touched her filled her mind as she made breakfast. Thanks to Lizzy and Blue, the milk and eggs were in the cold box along with butter. Bread and apples sat on the table. Aggie mixed up a fine breakfast.
Hank had dressed by the time she checked on him.
“Can you make it to the table or shall I bring it in here?”
“I can make it.” He stood, then swayed like a tall pine about to tumble.
She moved to his side and helped all she could as they slowly crossed to the kitchen. The stove she’d lit already warmed the room. He sat at the table while she poured him another cup of coffee and served her first cooked meal to him.
He ate as if he’d been starved for days, downing the bread almost as fast as she could spread butter and jelly on it.
They were just finishing when Blue stepped through the back door with a box on his shoulder.
Aggie stood. “Wonderful.” She nodded at Blue. “You brought supplies. Hank’s already eaten through a week’s worth this morning.”
“Nope,” Blue said setting the box down on the far end of the table. “The supplies are still in the wagon. Jeb sent this box over for you.”
Aggie wiped her hands on the towel she’d been using for an apron and looked inside. Guns, more than twenty of them, all different brands and sizes, each with a tag tied to the handle.
She lifted the first one. “Firing pin broke.” The second said, “Trigger jammed.” The third read, “Needs a good cleaning.”
“Jeb said he has never seen anything like it,” Blue mumbled as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Folks started coming in as soon as the rain slowed yesterday. He told me to tell you that he knew you probably had your hands full with taking care of Hank, but he thought he better have me bring out the first box.”
Hank said, “I don’t need to be taken care of,” at the same time Aggie mumbled, “First box?”
Suddenly, she was too excited to finish her breakfast. She wanted to get to work. While Blue brought in supplies, she carried the box of weapons up to her little attic room. Sitting in the center of the floor, she examined each project. Always before, in her father’s shop, she’d been the helper. Now, she was the master.
She had almost finished looking over her work when Blue bumped his way upstairs. “Hank told me to rig you up a table.” He carried two six-foot boards. “It won’t be perfect but it will work until he can climb the stairs and make you a proper desk. He won’t brag on himself, but that man of yours is quite a carpenter.”
That man of mine has many hidden talents, she almost said aloud, but all she could manage to say to Blue was, “I know.”
The older man made three more trips before he put the boards over empty barrels. Between his loads she managed to slip down and carry up her two boxes of tools. On the second trip, she noticed Hank sitting in the big old rocker on the porch.
She walked to the door. “Will you be all right if I work a while?”
He looked lost but said, “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to staying in the house. I’m usually out by sunup.” The mild day didn’t reflect in his mood. “When Blue finishes with your makeshift benches, he said he’d carry the leather work up from the barn. I can do it as easy here as there. Maybe tomorrow the ground will be dry enough for me to hobble out there.”
Standing just behind his chair, she moved her fingers through his hair. “Hank,” she whispered and waited until he looked up. “You make me very happy.”
He looked puzzled. “Do I?”
Heat spread into her cheeks. She’d been thinking about her attic room, but realized he thought she meant their good night kiss. “Yes,” she answered, meaning both. The room was a grand place to work, but last night’s “one touch” had been a slice of magic, pure and unreal.
His eyes darkened as if knowing she was thinking the same thing he was, but he didn’t move to touch her. Both knew it wouldn’t be proper in the daylight. Both knew they’d wait.
When she returned to her work space, she decided the stool Blue had brought wasn’t high enough for the makeshift bench, so she tugged the old trunk over. Surprised at how heavy it was, Aggie looked inside the one thing Hank said was sent back home after his mother died.
Layered between tissue paper and smelling of cedar were several finely made quilts.
Odd, Aggie thought. The paper looked as neatly pressed as it must have been the day Hank’s mother packed away the quilts, and Aggie couldn’t help but wonder why Hank, or his father, had never bothered to look inside. Maybe the chest was simply something Hank didn’t want, but couldn’t leave behind for strangers to discover.
She spread the quilts out, realizing each was a work of art, made with great care. They transformed the tiny attic room into a field of flowers and plants, each reflecting a different season.
Finally, she folded them away—all but one. The last, a beautiful spread of blue-bo
nnets, she couldn’t make herself fold. If she put it away the room would go back to being colorless. On impulse, she reached for two small tacks among her tools and hung the quilt on the wall. When she stepped back, she couldn’t help but smile. One wall with windows framing a view of winter across Hank’s land. The other wall now showed a spring field with all the warmth of a quilt made with love. She’d found the perfect place to work.
Time flew as she practiced the skills her father had taught her. In a strange way she felt at home with her hands moving over the weapons that belonged to strangers.
She checked on Hank several times during the day, but his mood never lightened. He was a man used to action who didn’t take to doing chores from a rocking chair. When she came down for the last time, she found him already in bed, asleep.
She felt guilty that she hadn’t thought about the time, or his supper. As wives go she must rank near the bottom. Setting the box of repaired guns by the door, Aggie ate an apple then slipped into her nightgown and crawled in beside Hank.
He’d had a hard day, she guessed, and she hadn’t been there to comfort him. She moved her hand to his arm and touched him lightly. “It will be better tomorrow,” she whispered just before she fell asleep.
When she awoke, Hank was gone. As she slipped into her clothes, she heard voices coming from the kitchen.
“Now Hank, we’ve done all we can do.” The sheriff’s deep baritone voice rattled through the house.
Aggie slipped on her boots. She heard Hank, but couldn’t make out his words.
As she hurried from the bedroom, the sheriff’s voice sounded again. “You can’t go after them. You can barely walk, man.”
Aggie slowed her steps as she walked into the kitchen. Three men were sitting at the table drinking coffee. Blue, the sheriff, and her husband.
“What has happened?” she asked as calmly as she could muster.
Hank looked at his cup but the sheriff faced her. “You were right about shooting that fellow. He got as far as Clarendon before he knew he had to see a doctor. He was hit in the left shoulder, just like you said. The doc wired me as soon as he patched him up, and turned him over to a marshal who was in town investigating a cattle rustling gang near there.”