Dare to Dream (17 page)

He rose and stretched. His woman would be waiting on the eggs and milk. She needed to eat, to keep her strength up. And she wanted a proper bath. He quirked an eyebrow. That was a lot of water to haul. He supposed she was worth it. He’d give her anything.

Shit fire! I forgot all about the dress!

Engulfed by a sense of well-being she had never before experienced, Meghan mixed biscuit ingredients and set them aside as she waited for the milk.

The cooked bacon sat on the back of the stove to stay warm. Once the eggs were fried, she’d add flour to the fat for rue, needing only milk to make the gravy. In the meantime, she needed a snack to tide her over. Two pieces of bacon gave her the energy to occupy herself with a spit bath, washing only the essentials, face, armpits, and crotch. The latter seemed a tad tender but in a good way. What she wouldn’t give for a soak in a hot tub. She flipped her braid over her shoulder. Oh, how she wanted to wash her hair.

As clean as she was likely to get, and afraid to get caught naked, Meghan wrapped a blanket around her and went in search of clean clothes. She pushed the parlor door wide, surprised to find the room had not only one window, but two. The wavy, bubble-filled panes let in the light while the solid pine door between them promised to keep intruders out, at least until they broke a window. A stone fireplace with what appeared to be a built-in woodbox covered most of the opposing wall. While the bin may have been intended for firewood, clothes storage seemed to be the current use.

Will and Charlie’s clothes lay near the top, but as she dug deeper, she discovered smaller things. The farther she went, the smaller they became. Charlie was indeed a packrat. She held up several pairs of patched pants to gauge a possible fit. While Will appeared to have always been tall, he seemed to have gone through a chunky phase between growth spurts. She laid several tops and bottoms aside to try. Underwear must not have fared as well as outer garments.

Meghan was thankful for once her boobs weren’t as big as Donna’s. If they were they’d be knocking her knees soon from the gravitational pull. She hated to wear britches that hadn’t been laundered in God knows when without panties, but what choice did she have? She’d wash the rest if they fit. She shimmied the pants on under the blanket and then reached for a soft gray plaid flannel shirt just as the kitchen door crashed open.

“Meghan!”

“Eeep!” She swallowed her heart, pulled the shirt closed, and called, “In here.”

Will stormed into the room and snatched her by the shoulders as if he wanted to shake her like a maraca. Instead, he hugged her. Maybe she wasn’t the only one afraid everything would disappear.

The thought warmed her. He must believe her, if only a little. She laid her ear over his racing heart. “I was looking for something to wear. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Of course not, take whatever you want. I didn’t mean to scare you, but my hands were full, so I had to kick the door. Come see,” Will blustered to hide his all too apparent chagrin. He pulled her hand away from her chest, and the shirt gaped. With a leer, he did up the buttons, managing to rub his thumbs over her breasts each time before tugging her into the other room.

The infamous number two washtub sat in the middle of the kitchen. If she drew up her knees, she might fit okay. While not much of a tub, it would serve.

“Once you get the biscuits out of the oven, I’ll stoke the fire under the boiler. You have to feed me first, or I’ll be too weak to haul water.”

“Sit down before you faint.” Meghan led him to a chair and gave him a shove.

She added a cup of fresh milk to the dry mix in the bowl and stirred. With floured hands, she kneaded the dough. The weight of Will’s gaze bored into her back as she worked. Once she placed the biscuit pan in the oven, her attention turned to the eggs.

“Are Charlie and your grandpa coming?”

“Nope. Just you and me.”

She cracked six eggs in the bacon fat. Once they were done, she fished them out and set them aside while she made the gravy. Her right hand contracted as she tried to lift the large skillet to pour the gravy in a bowl. She flexed her fingers, and the sensation went away.

“Would you mind helping with the pan? It’s sort of heavy.”

Will hastened to do as she asked, pretending not to have witnessed the spasm, even going so far as to lay out plates and put the gravy bowl, bacon, and eggs on the table for her. Meghan appreciated his effort.

She pulled the baking pan from the oven and slid the biscuits off into a large bowl. Meghan sat them in front of Will, who immediately snatched one and juggled it from hand to hand.

Meghan rolled her eyes and helped herself to the eggs and bacon. She reached for a biscuit only to have her hand grabbed before she attained her goal. She looked up to find Will grinning, a half-eaten biscuit in his left hand. She raised an eyebrow.

“Marry me.”

“What?” Meghan laughed.

“Marry me. A beautiful woman who can bake like this is perfection in my eyes. Marry me before someone else finds out about these.” He waved his biscuit in the air.

“Too late, your grandpa already knows.” She mentally kicked herself. For a split second she’d thought he proposed. Will only loved her biscuits and lusted after her body. Still, she’d heard of worse reasons to marry. She removed her hand from his and took a biscuit, split it, and smothered it in gravy.

The meal continued mostly in silence, except for the appreciative sounds Will made over the food. Every once in a while, Meg caught him grinning. He seemed full of himself for some reason. Perhaps men always acted this way after sex, at least the ones who stuck around. She had little experience to draw on. Her sexual encounters had been few.

Will went to fetch water while Meghan tidied up the kitchen. Donna always teased Meghan was technically a virgin again after five years of abstinence, vibrators notwithstanding. In which case, she could have taken double honors soon, if not for this morning. The sensory memory flooded her, and her skin heated. A blast of cold air from the doorway broke her thoughts.

Will trudged in with two brimming buckets and kicked the door closed behind him. Meghan hurriedly raised the boiler lid so he could pour them in. He picked up the empty buckets, kissed her neck with cold lips that sent a shiver down her spine, and headed back outside for more.

A marvel of the day, the stove would have fetched a hefty price at auction in her time. It sported all the accoutrements. While not the fully nickel-plated version, many parts sported the gleam of the polished metal. She’d seen an identical one in her reproduction 1886 Sears and Roebuck catalog for twenty-one dollars and ninety-five cents. Back home it would bring three to five thousand in mint condition.

Back home? Her time? Meghan wasn’t sure how to phrase her thoughts under the circumstances. Both sounded odd in her mind.

By the time she finished putting the remaining bacon in the biscuits for later, Will returned with more water.
When did indoor plumbing become the norm?
Not soon enough. She pulled on her coat as Will emptied the pails. As much as she hated the thought and the cold trek, a trip to the outhouse was in order. She threw back the blanket cordoning the sleeping area and picked up the chamber pot.

The pot and her expression allayed any questions Will might have broached. He held the door open for her to pass. They parted company at the end of the porch. Will went straight, and Meghan turned left, following the path behind the house.

When would toilet paper make an appearance in the average household? The catalog was bad enough, but what did they use when they got to the last page?

Upon her return she left the chamber pot on the porch to air. Meghan opened the door to find the curtain around her bed removed. The empty water buckets sat on the bench by the entrance, and the parlor door stood ajar. She hung her coat on the peg and went to see what was going on.

Will looked up and grinned when she entered. He’d been a busy boy. The velvet settee, chairs, and mahogany tables had been moved to one end of the long rectangular room. At the opposite end, Will assembled a bed frame like the one in the kitchen. By the fireplace rested a stack of firewood.

“I thought we needed our own room. Charlie can’t stay out in the barn long without getting stove up. This room may not be as warm as the kitchen, but the fireplace works, and we’ll have a lot more privacy.”

Meghan didn’t hear any part of the rest. Her brain had ceased to function at
our own room.
He wasn’t a one-night Romeo. Her heart did a happy dance as her gaze wandered from the small bed to the large man squatted alongside. The additional heat of the fireplace might not be necessary. She watched him rise and stalk toward her, a devilish grin playing on his full lips.

“Should we test the bunk to make sure it will hold us? I can light a fire.”

“I’m pretty sure you just did.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. She kissed him slow, pouring all the passion he roused into her actions. When Meghan came up for air, she stood mesmerized by the tenderness tempering the lust in his eyes. She hadn’t been delusional. Will genuinely cared for her. Perhaps in time, those feelings would grow into something more, but for right now, in this moment, they were enough.

She unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers before spreading them across his chest and over his muscular arms to slide the flannel off. Her eyes closed, and a sigh escaped as she caressed the hard swells of his biceps. She stroked his lightly furred forearms before dropping her hands to Will’s waistband. Meghan opened her eyes to address the buttons of his fly.

She had no idea how she came to be here or how long she would be allowed to stay, but she planned to savor every moment like it might be her last. Would a day in Heaven be enough to make up for an eternity in Hell?

Meghan pushed his pants down his hips along with his drawers. She knelt to pull them off, realizing too late his boots needed to be removed first. Rational thought disappeared all together with his erection at eye level. She chewed at her lower lip as she glided her hand over his length. All of this had fit…in her?

She’d never seen an uncircumcised male before.

Will held his breath, trying hard to rein his body in without much success. Her hand stroked his already throbbing shaft, but an expression of uncertainty played across her face. Unsure what to do, he did nothing, which at this moment, was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

He wanted to toss her on the bed and ravish her, but as she had taken the lead, he wanted to allow her time. What was she doing? He groaned as her small hand worked his foreskin back and forward ever so gently. Lightning shot from those nerves straight to his balls, tucking them tighter to his body. A shudder quaked through him.

“Did I hurt you?” She gazed upward, eyes filled with concern. She didn’t remove her hand.

God! How to answer such a question? Her soft touch about brought him to his knees. The pleasure might kill him slowly, but seemed an excellent way to die. Will took a deep, if somewhat ragged, breath and found his voice.

“No.” He daren’t say more.

“I didn’t know it moved,” she said by way of explaining—what?

Will, counted backward from one hundred but got lost somewhere around ninety-two when she said, “Only this part seems different.”

Jesus Christ!
He tasted blood as he bit his tongue to keep from crying his thought aloud as her hand squeezed gently, sliding the foreskin back and forth again.

“Different than what?” He hardly recognized the strangled voice as his own. She looked up, startled, before her expression turned thoughtful.

“Sorry. I’ve never seen one intact before.” She turned bright red, and her hand dropped to her thigh.

Meghan’s admission brought him up short. While well aware she’d lost her virginity, just how many pricks had she inspected? What did she mean by intact? He wasn’t thrilled with the direction his mind wandered and neither was his formerly happy cock.

“Oh!” she said with surprise. “I think I scared it.”

Will dropped his gaze to the head of his once proud erection disappearing into its sheath. He gasped when her hand grasped him at the base as if she feared the entire thing might crawl back inside.

“I think they usually cut this bit off boy babies before they send them home from the hospital.”

She guessed right! If her hand hadn’t held him, he would have lost his manhood all together.

“Beg pardon?” He choked out the question. “Why on earth would anyone do something so horrible, much less to a wee babe?”

Her expression turned thoughtful, then suspicious, and finally angry. “I’m not sure. The medical community says for hygienic purposes, to reduce infection. Now that I’ve seen one, I don’t believe them. How difficult could it be to clean such a little bit of skin? The United States is the only country doing routine circumcisions, anyway.”

Will’s gut clenched, sickened by her words. Why make up such a thing? For what purpose? To ask would be to accuse her of lying, so he asked the other question plaguing his mind. “And you’ve never seen anyone…uncut?”

“No. I’m sure there must be some, probably a lot. I just never saw them.” She raised her eyes to search his face. “You aren’t asking about the male population in general, are you? What you want to know is how I came to see any. Well, I’ve seen plenty, dozens, at least!”