She forced a brave smile. "I know."
"Then let it go for now."
"All right."
"Let it go and answer my question. Will you marry me?"
"Oh, Sam…"
"You said that already."
Delilah couldn't sit still. She got up and went to the big window and looked out at the mountain. Most of the snow had melted away in the last few days, but near the crest, glittery fingers of white still filled every gully and crevasse.
She heard Sam rise from the table and approach her. Then his arms came around her. With a sigh, she leaned back in them.
"You never showed me the slipper," she said.
He chuckled, the sound low and good against her back. She felt him relax a little, and was glad. He spoke softly, close to her ear. "See the big round boulder balanced on the ledge about three-quarters of the way to the top?"
She nodded.
"Pretend there's a line straight up from there." He pointed then and she drew a bead on the summit using his finger for a sight. "See it?"
"Yes—yes, I do." She smiled. It was so clear, now she'd found it, the sharp shelf that looked like a pointy toe, the spike in the rock that could have been the high heel, the sloping ridge that formed the instep.
She saw the place where they'd stood in the storm, that high spot that made the cradle where the heel of the lady's foot would rest. It was there that she'd kissed him for the first time, and accepted what would happen when they reached the haven of the cabin once more.
Sam made his demand again. "Marry me."
With him so close, pressed up against her, it was hard to think of anything but him, and what they'd shared, and could go on sharing—for the rest of their lives. Of his hands on her body, his smile across a room, of the way they got in and took care of what needed to be done, side-by-side.
Considered in the light of their commonality, his proposal was more than tempting. But he was pushing her so hard and so abruptly; that bothered her. And there was another thing that disturbed her, too.
He said he wanted to marry her right away—but he hadn't said a thing about love.
But then, to be fair, neither had she.
And, now she was down to it, did she love Sam?
He growled in her ear. "Say yes."
"I'm thinking."
"You think too much."
"If you wanted some brainless fool, you wouldn't have gone after me."
"Point taken. Now tell me you'll marry me."
She turned in his arms. "Why?"
That gave him pause. "Hell and damnation, Delilah."
She pushed him away. "Don't swear at me, answer me. Why do you want to marry me?"
He dragged in a breath. "Because we're good together. And I want us to go on being good together, from now on."
"Fine. What else?" She waited, refusing to simply ask the question, Do you love me? and be done with it. She was like any other woman. She wanted words of love, and she wanted them because he chose to say them—not because she'd asked for them.
But he looked totally flummoxed. "What do you mean, what else? What else is there?"
"Oh for heaven's sake, Sam."
"You're mine," he said flatly. "I want the whole damn world to know it."
Delilah felt like screaming. This was getting worse instead of better. "Great. 'You're mine,'" she imitated his possessive words. "You sound like one of my brothers, talking to one of their wives."
"I am like your brothers. I've never denied it. I've read a few more books than any of them, maybe, spent a little more time figuring out what I want from life and then going after it. But make no mistake. In the ways that really matter, Jared and Patrick and Brendan and I are all brothers under the skin. We've all got our wild sides. And we've all been looking for the right woman—and scared to death we'd find her."
He came at her again, his jaw set, his eyes lit with a reckless light. She backed up, and felt the sink rim behind her. He put his hands on either side of her, imprisoning her there. "There's nowhere to run, sweetheart. For either of us. I've found the right woman for me—you. And you scare the hell out of me. That's a pure fact. But I won't let you go."
She looked up at him, trying to understand. "I scare you?"
He nodded. "You bet, sweetheart. I said you were mine. But you didn't let me finish…"
"Y-yes?"
"I'm also yours. At your mercy. You could really hurt me, if you wanted. Because I'm open to you."
"Oh, Sam…" She reached up, touched his lips, felt his breath on her skin. "I would never hurt you. I swear. I … I love you."
The words passed her lips on a sigh. And she had no wish whatsoever to call them back. Because she knew they were true. Of all the sweet, gentle men she might have chosen, it was this wild, troublesome one she would have. She was his, he was hers. She loved him. That was that.
"Then marry me," he said.
She lifted her chin. "All right."
He didn't move for a moment. Then he loosed a triumphant shout that echoed to the rafters. And after that, he pulled her close for one of those kisses that always obliterated rational thought.
She held back. "But not tonight."
He tensed. "When?"
She laid down her terms. "We will be married in the North Magdalene Community Church—and my scamp of a father will give me away."
He looked pained. "Lilah, I have not set foot in a church in twenty-two years."
"It is not God's fault that your father was … misguided. But be that as it may, you are allowed your own beliefs, and you may wrestle with them on your own. However, this is my wedding, too. And I will have it in my church."
"Lilah—"
"I'm not finished. Let me see. I'm sure we can arrange the small ceremony for some time in the next few weeks. And during that time, you can contact your sister and mother and see if they want to attend."
"But I haven't spoken to either of them in years."
"Precisely my point. They're your family. And my family too, once we're married. I want to get to know them, if they want to know me at all."
"All right," he said. "Fine."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I agree to your terms. Though it would be a hell of a lot simpler to—"
She touched his mouth again. "Life is not always simple, Sam Fletcher."
His gaze was hot and intense. "It's settled then. You've promised to marry me. You won't find some way to back out once we get home?"
She felt uneasy again. He really did seem to be pushing awfully hard about this. "Do you think I won't keep my word?"
"I think lots of things can happen between now and a church wedding."
"They won't. I've promised. We'll be married."
"Good. Now let me show you what else you can do with those lips, besides giving orders."
"Oh, Sam…"
He grinned. "Oh, Lilah…" The teasing words were husky.
He pulled her close then, and she knew he would not be denied or put off this time. That was okay with her; she didn't want to put him off.
His mouth covered hers with a hot, rash intensity that stole all thought away. Delilah surrendered to his touch, eagerly tangling her clutching fingers in his hair.
He groaned into her mouth, and began tugging her shirt open. After that, he made short work of her bra. He kissed her breasts, one and then the other, standing there before the window, with the afternoon sun slanting in to bathe them in its glow.
And Delilah gloried in it, giving back his hungry touch in kind, feeling his hardness against the cove of her womanhood, rubbing her body against his, driving his passion higher still.
He muttered her name against her heated skin, and then began working at the clasp of her belt. She understood, and helped him, and then set to work on his clothes as well.
Soon enough, they stood before the window naked. He left, and came back with a condom. She slid it on. He lifted her. Her legs clasped his hips and then he was inside her, thrus
ting, demanding every bit of her.
And she gave herself up willingly, crying his name, as he moved first slowly and deeply, and then faster and faster within her. She held him, as he held her, deep and fast and hard. She cried out his name as she went over the edge and then stayed with him, as he found his release as well.
Sweating, satiated, they remained upright for endless moments, holding onto each other for dear life. And then at last he carried her, staggering a little, to the bed. They fell across the mattress, arms wrapped around each other. He held her close against him. She closed her eyes and buried her head against his neck. He nuzzled her hair and whispered her name.
She could feel his love, she told herself, beyond his desire and the commonality they shared. True, he had not actually said the words. But he'd said other words that amounted to the same thing.
She was sure he loved her. Why else would he want to marry her? Of course he loved her. She would allow no doubt in her heart. It was just a matter of time before he told her so.
He moved then, to remove the condom and then flip the blanket over them. She snuggled up against him and let the sweet languor that came after lovemaking draw her down toward the edge of sleep.
She hovered at the rim of consciousness for a timeless while, thinking that soon they would get up, maybe go out for a walk, then come in and make dinner. Then he'd work on his carving for awhile; she might read.
They'd go to bed, make love again, slowly and tenderly. And then go to sleep.
And when they woke up, it would be time to get ready to go home to the real world, where she would start planning her wedding—to wild Sam Fletcher…
Feeling suddenly restless, she rolled over.
"Lilah?" Sam muttered groggily, reaching for her. "You all right?"
"Fine," she told him softly. "Go to sleep."
He snuggled up against her. She held him and lay still. But she found she wasn't sleepy; her sweet lassitude had fled.
They spent the next morning packing up and closing up the cabin, and they were ready to leave at noon. Delilah climbed into the Bronco beside Sam and spared a last, misty glance across the lake at Ladyslipper Peak before they drove away.
"Sorry to leave?" Sam asked from the driver's seat.
"Yes," she confessed. "I guess I am."
"Don't worry. We'll be back."
She smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."
He shifted the truck into gear and turned around, then headed into the trees the way they had come seven days ago.
It was a pleasant, companionable ride home. Delilah looked out the window at the trees and the mountains and gave Sam a warm smile each time he glanced her way. She wondered a little about how her plants had held up, how things had worked out between Brendan and Amy, but she carefully avoided thinking about anything else.
Things would work out. She and Sam would take it all one step at a time.
They stopped in Grass Valley on the way, and bought groceries. Sam suggested they fill either her refrigerator or his. No need to stock two kitchens, since they were together now.
Delilah stopped dead in the aisle. It hadn't occurred to her that they'd be living together before the wedding. But apparently, he assumed they would.
He was pushing the cart, and had rolled on to the canned tomatoes before he realized that she was still back with the green beans.
He turned. "Lilah? What's the matter?"
She had a painfully clear image of Nellie, of the way her face would look when she heard the news that Delilah and Sam Fletcher were cohabitating.
It shouldn't matter. Delilah knew it. It was small-minded of her that she let it matter. But it did.
"Lilah?" Sam was looking worried.
She hurried to catch up with him. "Sam…" A lady with a toddler in her cart rolled by. Delilah waited until she had passed.
"What? What is it?"
"Sam. I just can't do it. I just can't."
"What?" His eyes bored into her. "What can't you do?"
"Live with you before we're married. I know it's old-fashioned. And hypocritical, too. But I'm the schoolteacher, and I—"
"You're right," he said. "It is hypocritical."
"Sam, please—"
"But I understand your position."
She gaped at him. "You do?"
"You think you have a certain image to uphold."
"Well, I do. I do have an image."
"An image you'd have no problem with whatsoever if you'd only marry me right now."
"Oh, Sam…"
"So let's go to Reno."
"Sam…"
"All right, all right. Have it your way. We'll buy food for both houses … and that wedding better be coming up pretty damn quick."
She reached up and kissed him, paying no attention to other passing shoppers who eyed them with knowing smiles. "Thank you."
"Come on. Let's get the milk and eggs."
They pulled up in front of her house at around four. Her little hatchback waited on the sidewalk, looking dusty from its week without use.
Her house had been built in the twenties, without a garage. Delilah found herself thinking of how she'd always planned one day to add one. It occurred to her right then that she probably never would. Sam's house was newer, nicer and bigger than hers. They'd be more likely to end up living there. The thought made her feel sad, somehow, that the dreams of her single life no longer amounted to much.
"Lilah?" Sam was smiling at her, leaning an arm on the steering wheel. "Why the glum look?"
She shook her head. "It's nothing. Really."
"You sure?"
"Yes. Really. I'm sure." She opened her door and stepped down from the truck.
The afternoon sun was warm on her back. Here, in North Magdalene, true spring had come. The grass was vibrant green, the trees had most of their leaves. Her roses, in the small plot in front of the porch, were in full bloom, some of the petals fallen and curling on the grass, since she hadn't been here to rake them up.
At the lake, it had been different. There, the winter was only just coming to an end. The world had seemed an intimate, closed-in place. Just Sam and herself and the cabin, the mountain and the lake and the tall, silent trees that whispered their windy secrets to each other, secrets no other ears could hear.
She realized Sam had gotten out on his side and was at the rear of the truck. He'd opened the back end, and was watching her.
She caught his look, a waiting kind of look. Though she saw a question in his eyes, he asked nothing this time. He said, "Let's get your things inside."
"Right. Good idea."
Within minutes, they had all her gear and groceries out of the truck and into the house. Then Sam said he ought to go on into town, check with Marty to see how the store had fared in his absence, take his things to his house and maybe pick up the mail.
They were in the kitchen by then, and Delilah was busy putting the groceries away.
Sam said, "That is one fine-looking chicken," of the bird she was just pulling out of the grocery bag.
She gave him a look. "Translation—you want chicken, this chicken. You want it tonight, and you're hoping I'll volunteer to cook it."
"No woman has ever read my mind as well as you do, sweetheart."
She grunted. "Dinner's at six-thirty. Be here or be sorry."
"Yes, ma'am." He grabbed her and kissed her.
"Get my mail, too, would you?" She gave him the combination to her mailbox.
He kissed her nose, hugged her close once more, and then he was gone.
Delilah put the rest of the food away, then unpacked her gear. She spared a moment to add the mountain lion and coyote to the menagerie on the kitchen table, telling herself that later she'd move them, perhaps put a few in each room, so she could enjoy Sam's beautiful gifts to her all over her house. After that, she took the now-dry water trays out from under her plants, which all appeared to have survived their week without care just fine. Next, she indulged in a hot shower and changed into fre
sh clothes.
By then, it was five, and time to get the chicken started. So she washed it off, patted it dry, stuck some vegetables in the cavity along with spices and a little salt, and put it in the oven to roast.
The phone rang just as she was assembling the ingredients for a salad. Delilah froze, with a bunch of radishes in one hand, and a head of red-leaf lettuce in the other. The phone went on ringing.
Not many times in her life had she not wanted to do something as much as she didn't want to answer that phone. She knew who it would be: Nellie, or Linda Lou, or someone else wondering where in the world she'd been for a week. Or worse, knowing where she'd been, and dying to hear all about it.
The phone rang again. And again. And Delilah knew that, while she could refuse to answer this time, she couldn't go on not answering forever.
She was going to marry Sam. The truth would come out. Might as well be open and aboveboard from the start.
Delilah set down the lettuce and radishes and went to the phone in the living room.
"Hello?"
"Delilah? You're home. At last." The breathless voice belonged to—who else?—Nellie.
"Yes, I'm home."
"Are you all right? Did he … hurt you in any way?"
"Who, Nellie?"
"Why, that wild man, Sam Fletcher."
"So you know I was with Sam."
Nellie drew in a sharp breath. "Sam? You call him Sam now?"
Delilah sighed. "Nellie? Are you my friend?"
"Well, of course I'm your friend…"
"Then will you stop making shocked little noises and tell me what is going on?"
Nellie was silent for a moment. Then she complained, "You could have said something, you know. You could have confided in me. What are friends for, after all?" Nellie paused, but not long enough for Delilah to actually answer her. "And why should I tell you what's happened since you left, you haven't told me a single thing about anything. And I was worried sick about you, too. Linda Lou and I didn't know what to do when you didn't show up for church and then didn't answer your phone for two days. I finally had to see Sheriff Pangborn—and you know how he is."
After a quick gulp of air, Nellie imitated the Sheriff's laid-back manner. "'Now, Miss Anderson, don't you go havin' a coronary on me there. I'm sure Miss Jones just forgot to mention she was going out of town for awhile, that's all. She'll turn up.' Can you believe that? 'Turn up,' he said, like you were something missing from a kitchen drawer or something. I vow, I have no idea who keeps electing that man. But I stood firm. And finally he agreed to check with those brothers of yours and your father and see if they knew anything."
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