Come Spring (33 page)

Buck Scott would never take charity from anyone. Especially her. And she knew well enough he wouldn’t give up his life here at Blue Creek.

“You going to eat or talk?” He had pulled Buttons up on his lap and was handing her more cornbread and sliced elk.

“I’m not hungry now.” She reached for the wine bottle.

“Go easy on that. I can’t carry you both home.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, her lips already pleasantly numb, her cheeks tingling.

Buck reached out and took the bottle of plum wine. Maybe after enough of it he could forget the impossible ideas—old ideas he thought had long since died—thoughts that she’d dredged up in his mind. He glanced around the sunny meadow, at the pine boughs bare of snow, at the melting patches that seemed to retreat back to the shadows even as he watched. Buck took another pull on the bottle. Maybe the heady stuff would help him forget that Annika Storm would be leaving soon and that he wouldn’t have to put up with her constant nagging anymore.

As the sun slipped behind the mountain the temperature in the meadow dropped quickly. Buck toted Buttons down the hill while Annika followed, carrying the remains of the picnic. By the time they reached the cabin, Buttons was asleep on Buck’s shoulder.

“The fire’s gone out,” Annika told him as they entered the cold, dark room. She rubbed her arms and left her coat on while he put Baby Buttons to bed with her clothes on and then started the fire going again.

The cabin was cold and lifeless. Annika lit the lamps while Buck stoked the fire until it was blazing. Soon the room was growing warm again. Annika hung her coat on the peg beside Buck’s.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“I had enough this afternoon.”

She put the leftover cornbread in a bread box and shook out the towel. There was nothing left to do, no dishes to wipe up, so she took out her journal and ink and sat down at the table to record her thoughts.

Buck pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table, emptied the remains of the plum wine into a mug, and leaned back, his legs extended toward the fire. He watched Annika as she worked over her journal, and although he couldn’t read the words from where he sat, he could still see the fine, even strokes of her pen against the white pages.

Annika looked up and found him watching her intently. He was sipping at the wine, staring at her over the rim of the cup.

“The pass will be clear in a day or two,” he said matter-of-factly.

Without warning, her eyes flooded with tears. She ducked her head and blinked furiously. Teardrops fell and splashed across her neatly penned words and stained the page. Unable to face him, she glanced here and there about the room; at the mantel with the tins and crocks of medicinal cures lined up unevenly on the thick piece of wood, at the dirt floor, at the hearth, and then at the broom made of willow twigs standing in the corner. Annika took in every detail of the room but she couldn’t meet his eyes.

He could see she was trying valiantly not to cry even as tears ran unheeded down her cheeks. It gave him little satisfaction to know she was in pain, for he was hurting more than he ever had in his lifetime, Buck drained the cup and set it down harder than he intended.

She jumped at the sound that broke the strained silence and put her pen down on the journal. Batting away tears, Annika sniffed, then finally met his gaze. Her voice broke on every word. She shook her head. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then stay.”

“I can’t.”

They stared at each other for a moment before she said, “Come home with me.”

Buck shoved away from the table and stood up. He walked to the mantel, braced his hands on it, and then leaned his forehead against the wood. He thought of what his life would be like if he were forced to live in town again. He’d only felt comfortable in two places—the hills of Kentucky and here in Blue Creek Valley. He didn’t need to subject himself to the restrictions and ridicule of civilization. He didn’t think he could do it anymore. “I can’t,” he told her bluntly.

Unable to bear the strain any longer, Annika stood up and crossed the room until she stood directly behind him. He stiffened visibly but did not move. She slipped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his broad back. The flannel shirt was soft and worn, the skin beneath it emanated his warmth. She could feel his every breath, could hear the steady but rapid beat of his heart. The sound marked a beat within her like the steady pulse of a metronome.

Annika began to sway from side to side, slowly, sensuously, listening to the beat of his heart. It had been weeks since she had heard any music. Accustomed to attending a chamber concert or a soiree at least once a week, she was a bit surprised to admit she had not noticed the lack of music in her life. Had Buck ever danced? She would never have the opportunity to dance with him in public. Would he dance with her now?

“Dance with me, Buck,” she whispered against his broad back.

He turned away from the fire and slipped his arm around her. She laid her hand in his open palm. They moved to the matching beat inside their hearts, the small space in the cabin restricting them to short, sliding steps which soon slowed to a slow sway as Buck held her in his arms. As if they truly heard an orchestra they soon slowed as if the music had faded away. Annika leaned back in the curve of his arm and let her gaze touch his hair, his eyes, his lips.

“Love me tonight, Buck. Love me once more before I go.”

In a move rougher than he intended, Buck covered her mouth, with his. His tongue dove between her lips as he ground his lips against hers. Annika moaned and wrapped her arms about his neck. She wanted to inhale him, to enfold and consume him, to absorb him until there was nothing left of either of them but one all-enveloping flame.

Buck held her fast, pressing her up against him with a near-vicious hold, unable to let her go now that he had her in his arms again. She had been his prisoner in the beginning, but now he was hers. She had bound him to her gradually, at first with her beauty, then her presence. He was captured by her radiant smile, her little kindnesses, and then her body. He couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go, and yet, he couldn’t keep her unless she were willing to stay. He knew enough about taming wild animals to know that sometimes hanging on meant letting go.

Annika clung to him as his lips moved over hers possessively. She ran her hands through his hair and decided she very much liked the unkempt wildness of his curls, his broad shoulders, the corded muscles of his neck and shoulders. She knew as she stood there locked in his embrace that she would never love another man the way she loved Buck Scott. If she were doomed to live out her life an old maid like Auntie Ruth, then she wanted this night to remember and vowed to have it without regrets.

She tore her lips from his long enough to whisper, “Make love to me, Buck,” and was relieved to find her request was all the encouragement he needed to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed.

“We’re going to do this right this time,” he said against her lips. “No table.”

“What about Buttons?”

“She’s cursed with the Scott ability to sleep through anything. She didn’t wake up last time, did she?”

“But...”

Sensing her hesitation, Buck left Annika long enough to carry two chairs to Baby’s bedside and then drape a blanket over them so that if she should awaken, she would not be able to see Buck and Annika unless she crawled out of bed.

“Better?”

Annika nodded.

He walked to the bedside and began unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re taking off your pants?”

“It’s tradition. Get your things off or I’ll rip ‘em off and you won’t be able to leave until you mend them—and that might take years.”

She started crying again, her fingers frantic as they moved over the buttons of her jacket. “Don’t talk about it, Buck. Please don’t talk about it. I can’t stay and you won’t go.”

He pulled his shirt out of his waistband and shrugged it off. His pants fell to the floor. He pulled her into his arms again and reached around to unfasten her skirt. As he lowered his lips to hers again, he whispered, “Shut up, Alice.”

   17   

A
FRAID
he would carry out his threat, Annika undressed faster than she ever had in her life, but she could not bring herself to remove her chemise while he was watching. Stripped down to his long johns, Buck knelt before her and began to unbutton her shoes. The task complete, he set them aside, slipped her ruffled garters down her legs and then rolled down her stockings.

She expected him to stand up and take her in his arms, but he stayed where he was and began to massage the instep of her foot. Annika closed her eyes and leaned back on her elbows, relishing the relaxing warmth that invaded her as he continued to knead the sole of her foot. He released the first and lifted the second, rubbing her ankle, her instep, and then the ball of her foot. She sighed with pleasure and knew that if she could purr she would.

When he let go of her foot he reached out for her hand and pulled her to a sitting position on the side of the bed.

Still kneeling before her he whispered, “You’re so beautiful,” as he reached up and buried his face against her neck.

She put her arms around his neck again and held him close. The initial explosion of need had quieted now that the strain of holding back had ended. She was happy just to hold him, knowing that he would make love to her this night. Buck felt the same, she could tell simply by the way he was holding her now, as if she were some fragile snow flower that might disappear with the first breeze.

But his hands and lips were not still for long. Soon he was nuzzling her neck, scattering kisses along her jaw, tracing his tongue around the outer edge of her ear.

Annika moaned and lost herself in the pleasure that invaded her senses.

Buck captured her lips again and kissed her long and hard, his hands roving over her back, along her sides, and then up to cup her breasts. He thumbed her nipples until they were taut and straining against the thin fabric of her chemise. She clung to him, wordlessly begging for more.

He slipped his hands beneath the sheer fabric, careful not to tear the only underclothing she owned, and worked the material up and over her head. He put it aside and then bent to suckle at her nipples, one and then the other, until she was crying out with need.

Smiling, he rose, pulled down the blankets and pelts, and gently laid her back on the bed. He shucked off his underwear and joined her, noticing the way she turned away from the sight of his nudity.

“There’s nothing wrong with being naked, Annika.”

She buried her face against his shoulder.

“You ever seen a naked man before me?” He had to know, wanted to learn all about her before she left him. He would have the memories to keep.

“No.” Her answer was muffled; she shook her head against his shoulder.

“Good. Tell me about this fiancé of yours.” He put his lips against her breast again, gently teethed the nipple, and made her moan. “The one that never made you feel this way.”

Annika shook her head, barely able to get the words out. “Now? I can’t... talk about Richard... now!”

He traced his tongue from one nipple to the other. “I hope you never talk to him again without thinking of this minute.”

She grabbed his face between her palms and forced him to look at her. “No one, do you hear me, no one will ever make me feel the way you do.”

He shook his head. “You say that now. You’ll get back to Boston and your easy life and someone will come along.”

Frightened by his words she pulled him close. His big body was heavy, the bed ropes creaked as he covered her. “Don’t say that, Buck. Don’t talk like this. Please, don’t talk at all.”

He obliged her, kissed her as his hands played over her body, explored the silky length of her. His hand brushed the nest of curls between her legs and she surged upward, pressing herself against his palm. He slipped his fingers into her moist warmth and groaned against her lips. She was ready for him.

His engorged member throbbed against her thigh. Buck knew he couldn’t wait to enter her, but knew, too, the bittersweet truth; if he took her to Cheyenne tomorrow, this would be the last time they would make love.