Harris Channing (15 page)

She lifted her arms to welcome him.
His kisses made her forget she was a lady, forget she was a virgin, and forget
everything that hurt. She didn't want to think anything, only feel. Her body
was alive, every cell pulsating with wanton fervor.

His gaze traveled the length of her
body, his eyes flashing with lust and admiration. "You are glorious,"
he mumbled. "And you are playing with fire."

"I know," she said,
scanning every inch of him. Broad shoulders, well toned muscles, his waist
narrow, his legs long and strong but it was his cock that had her attention.
Even beneath the loose fitting trousers she could see his arousal. She took
pleasure in the fact that she excited him. It boosted her esteem, and roused
her curiosity.

"Oh,
it feels nice," her friend Colleen told her. "But the best part is
just being kissed and held. Lucas likes the other best and I don't mind,
especially when he takes his time."

Without another word, he crawled
atop her, his knee between hers as he parted her legs. Lifting his hand, he
caressed her face as he moved ever closer to kiss her. Tilting her head, she
gasped for breath, impatient to feel his mouth upon hers.

So slow and deliberate were his
actions that she grew more and more impatient. Why did he make her wait? What
was he doing? Was he taking his time or tormenting her?

Her thoughts swirled through her
mind. Shouldn't she stop him? Shouldn't she push him away? But how could she,
when his lips made her forget. His hands caressing her body had the memories of
her family momentarily forgotten. Oh, how she wanted to forget. Needed to
remember that there was still pleasure left to be had.

She rose up to claim the longed for
connection, her mouth open to his, and she gently sucked his lower lip. His
whiskers scratched her tender flesh, the sensation not painful, but a pleasant
burn.

He pulled away, the smile on his
face illuminated by the pale firelight. Why did he taunt with his kisses? She
was here, ready for him, was he truly going to turn her away?

"Where are you going?"
she asked.

"Nowhere,"
he mumbled. "I am gazing upon my savior."

Wrapping
her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer, her breasts pressed, against
his torso, her heart beating so rapidly that she thought it may explode. She
quivered as moisture slipped from her core and a delightful twinge rattled from
deep within her belly.

As if
sensing her complete surrender, David moved down her body, his hands trembling
as he unfastened the buttons that held her bodice together. She lay still, watching
him, memorizing every aspect of his face. His features strong and bold, his
nose straight, his eyes expressive, and his mouth so fabulously kissable, she
licked her lips in want of more.

Freeing
her from her bodice, he offered her a steamy glance before cupping her linen
clothed breasts.

Her
breath caught in her throat and the chill that followed had her writing. She
moaned when he pushed aside her shift and with the pad of his thumb circled the
nipple until it hardened into a sensitive pebble.

He leaned
over her, their eyes making contact as he asked if he should continue without
saying a word. "Don't stop," she muttered. "I want to feel your
hands on me."

He
chuckled, his eyes sparkling as he drew the aroused nipple into his mouth. He
sucked gently, the nerves sending gentle, erotic ripples throughout her body.
Nothing she had ever experienced felt so good. She entwined her fingers in his
hair, urging him to do more, to fill the void that had her aching. To take away
the grief that plagued her every breath. To help her forget for a moment that
her family was gone from her forever.

"You ought to only lay with your husband," Ma
said, setting aside her sewing and staring at her with a seriousness she
usually held in reserve for church sermons. "I know it's not good to speak
of such things but boys are starting to notice you and your Pa worries that
I've let you be wild for too long."

"Lay with my husband?" she asked, staring at her
sloppily darned stocking. Oh, how she hated to sew. "I don't think I want
to get married at all."

"You will," her mother smiled. "And when you
do, your husband is going to want a woman untouched by other men. Promise me
you'll be a good girl."

"Of course I promise. That's the easiest promise I'll
ever make."

And up
until now, that had been the truth.

Guilt had
her opening her eyes. "David," she cried out, shoving at his broad
shoulders. "We can't do this. It's wrong, so wrong."

He pulled
away, the desire in his eyes flashing to confusion. "What?" he asked,
a dark curl landing on his forehead and giving him a delightfully boyish
appearance.

"I
can't. I want to. I want you, but I can't." Her words came out in a
pathetic rush that had her cringing. "Until I'm married I can't."

He pushed
himself up, the confusion fleeing, his countenance now overcome by rage.
"What games are you playing?" he shouted. "I already told you I
won't marry you."

She
scurried away from him, fumbling with her shift and bodice but her hands shook
and dear God she felt like an idiot. "I'm not asking you to marry me!"
Humiliated, that's what she was! She almost wished she had gone through with it
just to avoid this horrific scene. "I promised my mother!"

He
glowered at her and then let out a frustrated growl. "I see. You'd have me
break my vows to my wife and yet a promise to your mother keeps you from giving
and accepting comfort?"

"I'm
sorry." She set her hand atop her stomach and fought back the urge to
vomit. The whole world was wrong and she had no one left to right it.

Grabbing
his coat and boots he stalked to the door.

"Where
are you going?" she asked, tears rolling down her cheeks, unchecked.

"I'll
sleep in the barn and away from you," he said through gritted teeth.
"Damn you Bobbie for making me forget and damn you doubly for forcing me
to remember."

"Please
don't go. I couldn't live with myself if something happens to you."

He
laughed without humor. "Don't concern yourself with me Miss Shallcross. I
have lived through larger heartbreaks than not bedding you."

Finally,
her own anger surged. He was being completely irrational and unfair.
"Good!" she shouted. "I for one wouldn't want to share my bed
with you
and
Sarah."

The fury
that illuminated his face had her wishing she could crawl beneath the
floorboards. Why did her tongue have to be so sharp?

He lifted
a brow and sneered. "As if alive you are half the woman she is."

His words
cut, just as he intended and her ire grew. "Drink yourself to death,
freeze in search of your liquid comfort," she yelled. "I will feel no
guilt at your passing for it’s obvious that in the ground is where you want to
be."

"Good,
you understand. There’s no changing me."

"I’m
tired of fighting. My compassion is spent. My life shattered. You are the most
selfish man I have had the misfortune to stumble across. If only I had headed
north that night rather than south."

"Reg
Crocker?" His voice took on an icy tone. "He wouldn't have stopped as
I did. But why not go north tomorrow. I'm certain he would love nothing more
than to share his ridiculous bed with you. But be forewarned, he will not sleep
on a pallet before the fireplace as I do."

Pulling
open the door, he stepped out into the night. Without a glance, he yanked the
door closed ending their argument with a resounding thud.

Chapter 12

"Little
temptress!" David shouted at Ned. The horse blew out a breath as if in
retort. "And what do you know? You're gelded." He grabbed a handful
of hay and tossed it to the floor intent on making a bed. Damnation but his
mood was sour and his cock ached. He hadn't felt this bad since Sarah turned
him away from their bed. Their last night together.

"I don't want to David. I'm tired and you've already
planted your seed. No need." She pulled the blanket up beneath her chin.

"So, you intend to cut me off from our marriage
bed?"

She raised a brow, imperious as always. "I am
suffering in this place, you will suffer too."

"I told you come spring we would be on our way."

"And I told you I wanted to leave now!" Her
shrill voice still echoed through his head.

"When did you become such an insufferable brat?"

"When you became a callous husband."

"By insisting on a few more months in the mine?"
His ire flared. Didn't she understand that he needed to prove himself to not
only her family but his own? "Don't you realize you are asking me to give
up our security, our child's future? I've pulled more ore out of the mine this
past week than the entire time we've been here."

"Do you really think a played out mine is going to
make us rich?"

"We're wealthier now then we were when we left
Tennessee. I've found a vein…"

"What do I care for money when I'm living in
squalor?" She rolled over on her side. "Now, leave me alone. I have
been sick all day and I don't want you sweating all over me."

Grabbing
a blanket, he sank down upon his makeshift bed. Sweat clung to his face and his
hands shook. What would Sarah think of him now and what the devil was going on?
Why were these terrible memories surfacing? Why was his mind trying to soil his
Sarah? Leaning back, he closed his eyes but the drafty barn did little to aid
sleep.

He let
out a low growl. What the devil was he doing in the barn while Bobbie lay
comfortable in his house, enjoying his bed and his fire! Lying all the way down
he used his arm for a pillow and knew the answer. Drunk or sober, clean or
filthy, he was still gentleman enough not to turn a lady out.

And, now
in the quiet of the stable, with nothing but the wind whispering through the
boards and Ned's contented chewing, he realized he wasn't really mad at her for
turning him away. She had been right. He would have been no better than Jasper
taking advantage of Sarah in a weak moment. It was one thing to make love to a
tender heart like Bobbie, but he wouldn't use her. No, he cared too much about
her for that.

"Dear
God," he moaned. "When did I actually develop feelings for her?"
Guilt had him on his hands and knees, searching for the flask.

***

"Fine,
I'll sleep while you freeze to death. That won't upset me or increase my worry
and guilt two-fold."

Roberta
paced before the fire, Alfred watching her from the comfort of the bed. He let
out a yawn, as if bored with their antics. "How can you sleep when he's
out in the cold night digging around for a drop of drink?"

She
plopped down on his pallet before the fire and held his pillow to her breast.
The soft scent of soap mixed with David's natural scent wafted into her senses
and her body reacted. Why did she have to warm to the coldest man she'd ever
met? And despite her anger and her hurt, why did she want to run out into the
night and ask him to come inside?

It made
no sense. He didn't want her and compared her to Sarah at every turn. Hurt her
with his words and yet she wanted to help him. Wanted to burrow into his heart
as he had into hers.

"I
must be insane," she mumbled. "He has taken care of himself in this
climate for years. He doesn’t need me to be his nursemaid. He doesn't need me
at all."

As if
sensing her despair, Alfred jumped from the bed, his toenails clicking on the
wooden floor planks as he ambled over. Curling up at her side, he placed his
head on her lap and stared up at her with soulful eyes.

"Thank
goodness you still need me, even if it's just for beef jerky and a head
scratch."

She lay
down on her side, the fire warm on her face. Alfred grumbled and melded his
body next to hers. Holding him close, she shut her eyes and decided that maybe
a little sleep before going to the barn to fetch David might be just what she
needed. After all, she was so very tired. This day needed to end.

Thankfully,
the warm dozy feeling took hold and as she reached for sleep, Albert stood. She
held on to him but his soft coat slipped from her now outstretched fingertips.
Her hand fell to the floor but she was too tired bring it back. And what did it
matter if she was laid out on the floor? No one was there to see her pathetic
display.

***

David
woke with a start. How long had be been asleep? God, not long enough to feel
rested but long enough for his entire body to ache.

His teeth
chattered, his limbs twitched and damnation he felt hot. Did he have a fever?
In the dead of winter, sleeping in a barn, his system void of drink and now he
was sick? He probably caught Bobbie's illness and would have to suffer on his
own.

Sitting
up, he leaned back against the drafty barn wall. He moaned, his hands shaking
so hard that he had trouble pulling the blanket under his chin.

"Dear
God," he prayed for death. He'd felt bad before, but never this bad. And
holy hell how he wanted a drink.

He stared
at the empty flask and once again threw it against the barn wall. Was one drop
too much to ask?

And his
skin? Why did it itch, it was too cold for bugs to be crawling on him and yet
he fully expected to pull back the blanket to find spiders feasting on his
tingling flesh.

"Damn
it all to hell!" he shouted, staggering to his feet. He had to get out of
the barn, something in there didn't agree with him. Yes, there was something in
the straw that had him feeling off. Some sort of weed or herb or something
mixed in with the summer grass.

Ned stuck
his head over his stall door and offered David a blank stare, long strands of
hay dangling from his soft, gray muzzle. "I don't know if you should be
eating that." He stumbled toward the beast, tripping over his own feet and
landing hard on the packed earth of the stable floor. His sudden movement had
Ned backing up, the sound of the beast kicking the back of the stall loud
enough to irritate and drive him to his feet.

"Ned,
stop that! The last thing I need is to have to repair your blasted stall!"

His legs
quaked beneath him as he stumbled toward the exit. The door closed, he pulled
off his gloves and fumbled with the latch. Had it always been so damned hard to
open? Over and over he dropped the damned contraption until he was certain he
would be stuck in the filthy barn until Bobbie found his dead body!

"Come
on!" he shouted. Lord, but he needed out! Out into the fresh winter air.
Out of the suffocating barn.

With his
heart thundering in his chest, he finally managed to open the door. Rushing out
into the predawn night, he fell to his knees and scooping up a handful of snow,
buried his face in its icy relief. He could almost feel the melt turn to a
boil. He was so hot…so irritated…so confused. What was happening? Was he going
to die? Was he finally going to get his wish? To be forever with Sarah?

The
notion had him fighting. Was it possible he didn't want to die? That perhaps
there was something to live for?

"No,"
he mumbled. "I think death is my just desserts." So why was he
struggling toward the cabin? Why the sudden urge to see Bobbie and ask her to
help him?

Without
answering the questions that swirled around his brain, he crawled up the step
to the door and using the door latch as a handle, he hoisted himself upright.
Opening the door, he stepped inside, his eyes drawn to the slender frame lying
on the floor, her arm outstretched.

If
possible his pulsating heart skipped a half dozen beats as renewed terror took
hold of him with both hands. The memory of Sarah lying dead by the fireplace
replayed through his mind, transporting him back to that day. The day he took
his first drink. The day he buried her and then killed her attackers.

"Sarah?"
he mumbled her name, his vision tunneling as he focused upon his dead wife.
Stumbling forward he moved trancelike toward her. "Sarah?"

But she
stirred. Was it possible that he was awakening from a dream? Was his Sarah
alive and the past years nothing but a nightmare?

***

Cold air
sped across her body, gripping her in its frosty fingertips. Bobbie moved
unwillingly from sleep’s sweet embrace into the stifling grip of reality.
Opening her eyes, she focused on the jagged stones that made up the hearth.

David had
come back. Now, if he would just go bed, she could get back to the pleasure of
dreamless sleep.

"Oh,
dear God!" he shouted, his footfalls heavy upon the floor.

She
pressed her irritation down. It did no good to argue with a drunkard. He'd no
doubt found drink in the barn and was ready to take his place before the fire
to drink more, dream about Sarah and call out her name.

Lifting
her head, she met his gaze, but his eyes were not the eyes of an intoxicated
man. No, they were worse. They were the eyes of a crazed man. Eyes that didn't
see her. No, he looked through her.

She
fought the tendrils of sleep that clung to her and rose to her feet.
"David? Are you all right?"

His lips
lifted into a smile, his glassy eyes suddenly focusing upon her. The joy on his
countenance warmed her heart. She pushed herself upright and returned his
smile.

"You're
well!" He opened his arms and stumbled toward her.

Dear Lord
something wasn't right. She backed away, the skirt of her gown coming
precariously close to the fireplace.

"I
am, but you are most certainly not."

Rushing
forward, he lifted her into his arms and held on tight, his grip uncomfortable
as he squeezed her to his hard frame. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt
you. Never meant to make you so miserable."

Bobbie
pushed her palms against his shoulders. "David, please. Let me go."
His passion frightened her. His hold on her was overpowering.

"Never,"
he whispered in her hair.

He leaned
in and took her lips in the most passionate of kisses he had yet to bestow. The
need was raw, fierce and despite better judgment she leaned in, savoring the
contact. Oh, to be kissed in such a manner. He slipped his tongue between her
lips and held her closer still. She melted into him, her fingers clutching his
jacket. How she loved him.

He pulled
away and gazed down upon her. His cheeks glowed red with the cold, and the
smell of cold wind and snow clung to his perspiring flesh. "You're not
dead. All this time I thought you were dead."

Shame
washed over her, humiliation saturated every bit of her brain. He thought she
was her…Sarah. It was always Sarah. "No, I'm Bobbie. Roberta. Don't you
remember
me
?" Angry, she pushed
at him, needing to feel more distance, needing to get away from him! Wishing
beyond reason to be anywhere but where she was.

He
reached for her, latching onto her hand. "I'm sorry. I should have never
made you stay."

"You're
not making me stay. I'll be leaving soon," she shouted, pulling free and
marching toward the far side of the room. Jealousy nested in her heart. She
admitted to herself that she loved this oaf! Oh, God, she wished she didn't.

"Sarah,
where will you go? Home? I'll come with you." His voice took on a somber
quality, one that had her meeting his gaze. His face was drawn, his eyes hollow
and crazed. He was so sick. He trembled, his usually proud stance replaced by a
slouch. His body swayed, the smallest of breezes a threat to his upright
position.

Just like
that, her anger faded. "Come sit down. You need something to eat."

"No."

"Yes,"
she said emphatically, yet as she moved toward him, trepidation tugged at her
hem. She didn't know what to expect and despite her angry disappointment, her
compassion took hold. Reaching him, she grabbed his hand and led him toward the
bed. He followed her, his feet shuffling with each step.

"Do
we have any whiskey?" he asked, as he sat down on the edge of the
mattress.

"No."
She stared down at him, a dark curl rested atop his forehead, his green eyes
watery as he looked up at her. "You don't need it."

"You're
right. Now, that you're home, I don't need anything but you."

If only
those words were meant for her. Tears stung her eyes as she walked toward the
pantry. She'd see him fed, she'd repay her debt. But dear God it was going to
be hard to love a man that loved another. Of course, that wouldn't stop her.
No. Like her mother and her grandmother, she'd do what was needed. With a
grimace, she supposed that was her lot in life.