The Texan

by Carolyn Davidson

  “How did you feel?” he asked, hope rising as she gripped his shoulders, then rose above him, allowing her hands to slide to where his buttons awaited her touch. Her fingers slowed, carefully separating buttons and buttonholes, until she had exposed his chest. Her palm flattened the springy patch of hair in the center, and she shivered.

  “It was the first time I’d ever wanted a man to touch me. Do you remember how you unbuttoned my…” She bit her lip, shaking her head. “Well, of course you do. How silly of me.”

  “I remember every time I touched you, sweetheart. I was afraid you might not forgive me for taking advantage that day in the parlor.”

  She tugged at his shirt, pulling it from his trousers. “I didn’t want you to stop, even though I knew I shouldn’t be feeling that way.” The buttons on his trousers were easily undone, and he felt his male flesh bulge into the opening, needy of space.

  She looked down and her gaze fastened there, one index finger unfurling from her fist to touch the hard thrust he could not control. “Oh.” A single sound, released on a long breath, and enough to send new life surging to that part of him he most needed to subdue. He jerked, an involuntary movement, and she stiffened.

  “It’s all right,” he hastened to assure her. “Don’t ever be fearful of touching me, any part of me, sweet.”

  Especially that part.

  “Is that going to fit where I think it’s supposed to?” she asked.

  “Well, I suspect it will, but you’d better know right off that it’s probably not going to be very comfortable for you this first time.” He wouldn’t ever lie to her if he was able to be honest. He’d decided that from the first. His trips out of town weighed heavily on his conscience, but there was no help for his duplicity there.

  But here, in their marriage bed, there would be only honesty. Honesty and faithfulness.

  “It’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “I suspect it will. But I think we’ll be able to make it easier if you do your part.” He thought her eyes held a glow of eager anticipation as she nodded and her fingers unfolded to measure the length of his male organ. “Lower my trousers, sweet.” His hips lifted, and with only a minute hesitation, she obliged his request, bending low to slide his garments down his legs.

  He wore no shoes or stockings, and the denim pants and soft, cotton drawers slid off easily. Her haste in casting them aside gave him new hope, and he held out his arms to her as she turned back to him. “Come lie down with me. Here, by my side. I want to kiss you and feel you against me.”

  She obliged, readily, he thought, stretching out full length next to him, her feet only reaching to his shins as they faced each other on his pillow. Against his chest, her breasts were firm, and she moved, brushing them across the width of his broad body, closing her eyes as her breath trembled in her throat. His arm was beneath her, holding her close, and he took her mouth, teasing her lips with his tongue, careful to allow her the choice of accepting him or refusing the intimacy he asked with silent pleading.

  She opened to him, hesitant for a moment, and then eager as he explored her mouth and drew her tongue into a duel. With timid gestures at first, she ran her own across the roof of his mouth, then into the caverns of his cheeks, and he shivered and gasped at the sensations that flooded his body.

  A chuckle erupted from her and he drew back to watch as she grinned at him. “I like that,” she told him. “I didn’t know kissing could make me feel so shaky inside.”

  “Where inside?”

  “From top almost to bottom.” She shook her head, as if unable to explain the wonder of her awakening. “I feel all twitchy.”

  “Where?” he asked again, already knowing the answer, and then slid his hand to cup her soft mound. “Here?”

  She nodded, inhaling sharply as his fingers gently separated the folds of flesh and found her softness. She was slick beneath his fingertips, and he explored tenderly, brushing against her feminine flesh with delicate movements, yet with pressure firm enough to bring wonderment to her eyes.

  “Do you like that, sweet?”

  Augusta nodded, squirming against his fingers. “It makes me shiver, way inside. How can it do that, Jon?”

  “It’s the way you’re made, love. We’re all born with the ability to experience joy and pleasure in the marriage bed.” And then he pressed within the tight opening and heard her gasp, a combination of astonishment and fearful anticipation. “Shh,” he whispered. “Let me do this. It’ll make it easier for you.”

  She was trusting, his Gussie, and her eyes closed as she relaxed beneath his caresses, allowing the presence of his hand to do as it would. He followed her lead, listening for each breath she took, aware of each movement of hip and thigh. And when her legs parted to allow him the access he needed, he kissed her deeply, and his fingers found the depths of her body, stretching and preparing her for his taking.

  A moan sighed from her throat and he eased from her, then searched out the source of her pleasure and was rewarded by soft cries that encouraged his attentions. She clung to him, her hips unable to cease their movement. She bit at his mouth, and her tongue raced to imitate the rhythm he created against her flesh. Her body was damp with the straining of her flesh for the completion he offered, and then, with a gasping cry, she stiffened in his arm and arched against his touch.

  “Ah, Gussie, sweetheart,” he whispered, holding her against himself as she shivered and sobbed, his hand petting her, easing her, and bringing her to yet another peak of pleasure.

  “Sweetheart…ah, baby.” He held her close, rocking her gently, even as his body demanded satisfaction. And when he could wait no longer, he whispered against her ear, his words hopeful.

  “Can you move up here and lie on top of me? I don’t think I can manage to love you the way I want to, sweet. But if you’ll do as I say…”

  “Yes…all right,” she whispered, her voice a series of breathless sounds as she followed his directions to straddle him. He eased her thigh from the site of his wound and she shifted obligingly, and then he lifted her to guide himself to the very rim of her female opening.

  “You’ll have to do this,” he said, subduing the urge to thrust upward, ignoring the pain that burned his hip with each movement. Her fingers clasped him, and he inhaled sharply, reining in the terrible need to surge against her touch. “Ease down on me, sweetheart,” he gasped. “Take me inside.” And as she worked to obey him, he could only wish, for the first time in his adult life, that he’d not been so generously endowed.

  She lifted her head as her body opened to him, their eyes meeting, his narrowed, hers widening as the pain of his penetration became apparent. Quivering, she bit her lip and forced herself to contain him, tears squeezing from her eyes as she closed them from his sight.

  “If it hurts too much, we’ll wait,” he said, his words harsh as he sought to catch his breath.

  She shook her head, clenching her jaw stubbornly. “No, I can do this.” Her head thrust back as she lifted a bit, easing from him, and then she lowered herself quickly, crying out as the membrane of her virginity was breached by the length of his manhood. Leaning forward, she clutched his shoulders and her head lay against his throat. He held it there, aware of waves and curls cascading over his body like a soft, silken veil.

  “Is that all?” she asked, her breathing shattered, her body trembling.

  “No, not by a long shot,” he told her, lifting her hips with his wide hands and then lowering her again to enclose himself within her depths. Again he lifted her, and by the third time, she’d caught the rhythm he needed and rose on her knees to accommodate him.

  “Ah, Gussie, sweetheart.” His voice rose and fell as he called her name, whispering the endearments he’d stored up for just such a time.

  In this moment it mattered not that he’d been with other women through the years. Their memories were as if they had never been, erased by the magic of holding Augusta against his body, of knowing she’d chosen to give herself
into his keeping.

  This, this was what his soul had yearned for all those times when he’d taken his pleasure in the body of a stranger or someone he’d shared himself with for a short time, knowing it was only a breathing space. Knowing that he had yet to find the woman who would complete his life and be his for all the years to come.

  And now, with Gussie in his arms, with her slender body containing him, gloving his manhood, giving him the very essence of her feminine strength, he was fulfilled, recognizing finally that this woman, and all she represented in his life, was what he’d been seeking. He strained upward, touching the depths of her womanhood, aware of nothing but the slender creature who held him with the force of passion unrestrained.

  And when he felt the rush of heat, the overpowering sensation of losing himself in her, he cried aloud words he’d never before offered to another.

  “I love you. Ah, Gussie, I love you.”

  During the next four days he rested, only rising to use the slop jar Augusta left in the corner for him. She changed his bandage daily, spending hours cooking for him, and then returning to the shelter for the afternoon. Their nights were spent in each other’s arms, Cleary aware that he’d been fortunate not to harm himself during the events of their wedding night.

  His vow to leave Augusta alone, allowing her time to heal, was partly for his own benefit, the thought of not being in control somehow going against his grain. Today he felt a renewal of strength, bending a bit, checking the wound for seepage and exercising his leg with walks through the house.

  She’d barely closed the door after dinner, promising to return in time to prepare their supper, when he decided his wound had ceased paining him enough to allow his seeking out the bedroom upstairs. Augusta would have a fit, he supposed, but he was determined to try hoisting the mattress on his back.

  To his relief, Nicholas stopped by, and between the two of them they hauled the heavy, awkward burden back up the stairs and onto the bed where it belonged. If Nicholas spotted the barely discernible bloodstain on the sheet Augusta had scrubbed to remove, he didn’t mention it.

  Cleary knew it was there, had watched her, listening to her mumbling as she worked at removing the spot that first morning. Now the memories it brought to mind gave him satisfaction in the proof of his bride’s purity.

  Nick broke into his thoughts, his question casual. “Are you sure you’ll be ready to ride in a week or two?”

  “More like two, probably,” Cleary answered. “I want to get this whole mess cleared up, Nick. I need to get on with my life.”

  “I don’t blame you.” He sounded relieved. “In the meantime, I’ll see that everything is going according to schedule. The men from Washington are coming in next week. Messing with government funds will put this whole gang in prison for a long time.” He dropped to a chair near the window.

  “Now tell me again about this brother of Augusta’s. I’ll see if I can pick up anything on him through my contacts in Colorado and Wyoming.”

  “Did you ever have a hunch, Nick?” Without waiting for more than an agreeable nod, Cleary plunged ahead. “Well, I’m willing to lay odds that he’s the fella I knew as Gus in Wyoming. He was sent to prison in Colorado, while the rest of the gang was held in Laramie. He had second thoughts all along, I think, and he’s not a hardened criminal.”

  His pause was long, and he sought understanding from the banker. “I almost wish there wasn’t a chance in hell of him showing up here. I’ll bet you a plug nickel, when he sees me my cover’s gonna be blown to kingdom come.”

  Nicholas grimaced. “And how is Augusta going to feel when she realizes you were responsible for putting him in prison to begin with?”

  Cleary shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to take my chances with that, won’t I?”

  “She’s a bright lady,” Nick said bluntly. “She’s not going to support him and turn her back on you.”

  “He’s her brother. And if he sees me here, he’ll fill Augusta in, and she’ll be madder than hell that I haven’t been honest with her.”

  “Doesn’t she have a clue what you’re up to? Where does she think you’ve been going when you leave town?” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I can’t figure out how you ever managed to persuade her to let you get this close.” And then he looked down at the toes of his boots, and Cleary thought he hid a smile.

  “On the other hand, maybe I don’t want to really know the answer to that one.”

  “Maybe not.” Cleary sat on the edge of the bed, wishing Augusta would show up and make him lie down. His hip throbbed unmercifully, probably due to the workout it had gotten hauling the damn mattress up the stairs.

  The bandage was seeping, not much, but it was bloody, and he couldn’t reach it well enough to change the padding. He could only hope it wasn’t staining his trousers. She’d have to scrub them out after she worked on his hip.

  And that thought made his heart beat just a tad faster. Hell, the thought of her cool, slender hands touching him was enough to get him all in an uproar again, and he shifted uncomfortably on the mattress.

  Nick was astute enough to read the signs, although he probably attributed Cleary’s scooting around to discomfort. “You need to get off that hip. I’m going to find my way out your front door, and you’d better find a comfortable spot on that mattress. It’s time for me to get back to work. Dinner hour is over.”

  Cleary couldn’t hide the smile of satisfaction that settled on his face as he watched Nick cross the room and head out into the hallway. The sound of his boots on the stairs and then across the foyer announced his departure, and the opening and closing of the big front door was accompanied by a murmur of voices.

  “Jonathan?” Augusta’s voice floated up to the second floor, and she announced her intentions. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. I came back early to bring you some hot soup Bertha made for you.”

  Cleary stood and slid from his loosened trousers, tugging his stockinged feet from the pants legs, then turned his head awkwardly to peer down at his bandage. It was stained, but not badly. If he kept it from contact with the sheet, he wouldn’t make another mess for Augusta to clean up.

  She carried the tray up the stairs, frowning as she thought of the men hauling the mattress between them. Cleary shouldn’t have been exerting himself, and she would let him know she didn’t approve. In fact, before she walked through the doorway, she’d begun. “You know, you’ll never heal if you don’t take care of that wound.”

  He was on the bed, and aside from the bandage that circled his hips and the unbuttoned shirt he wore, the man was naked. Stark naked. And then she focused on the white sheeting she’d used to bind his wound. Stained with both fresh and dried blood, it brought fear to her heart and she made haste to deposit the tray on the bedside table.

  “Let me look,” she said, reaching into her apron pocket for the scissors she’d brought along. The pocket was deep, holding her supplies, along with another piece of soft muslin to use as a pad.

  “You’ve made it bleed.” Her words scolded him, and he didn’t even care, she thought, bending to cut the strips that circled his hips.

  The pad was stuck and she dampened it with water from his pitcher, easing it from the wound with care. Only a bit of oozing was evident now, and Augusta breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s stopped again,” she murmured. “But you’ve got no business running around when you’ve been wounded.”

  The woman was a tyrant, he decided, but she was his tyrant. He grinned at her. “Yeah, I found that out.” Her hands against his hip sent a message that threaded its way to his nether parts, and he grimaced as her gaze touched the swelling he could not control.

  “Jonathan, how can you think about…” Exasperation was apparent in the glance she cast, and he did his level best to look sheepish.

  “Some things a man can’t help, sweet. And I’m afraid that’s one of them.”

  She attempted a nonchalance her crimson cheeks belied. “Well, just ke
ep it under control while I replace your bandage and get some carbolic salve on that wound. I’ve got a roll of adhesive plaster that should hold the padding in place. It’ll be better than wrapping you up.” She worked quickly, and he watched as her blush grew in proportion to the expansion of his male parts.

  “You look about ready to run for your life,” he said as she smoothed the plaster across his hipbone. “Do I still frighten you?”

  “Of course not.” She shook her head and sorted out her belongings, dropping them into the cavernous pocket from whence they had appeared. “I want you to eat this soup, Jonathan. It’ll be good for you. Bertha said it would be especially good to help replace the blood you lost.”

  “All right.” He was more than agreeable, so long as Gussie would stay with him. Damn, he’d eat her soup and mind his manners, and even cover up with the sheet, if she’d only sit by him and offer her company.

  Propped with four pillows, he held the tray before him and spooned the soup into his mouth. “It’s good,” he told her between bites of savory chicken and swallows of thick broth. She looked pleased, he thought, her hands smoothing the sheet, her fingertips touching his leg through the fabric. “What are you thinking, Gussie?”

  Her gaze lifted to his face. “That I’m a most fortunate woman.”

  “How do you figure that?” He swiped at his mustache with the napkin and replaced it in his lap. “Getting married, you mean?”

  “Partly. And because I’m doing the work I came here to do. Because I met you, mostly.” Her eyes were a deeper shade of blue than he’d ever before noticed.

  “I never thought to marry anyone, Jon. You know that. And now I have a husband and a home. I’m thinking maybe you’ll be done with your wandering around the countryside on these mysterious trips you’ve been taking, now that you’re a family man.”