High Plains Promise (Love on the High Plains Book 2) (8 page)

“And it's her heart. If she wants to risk it with him again, that's her choice, isn't it?”

“Why are you taking his side, Rebecca?” Mrs. Spencer narrowed her eyes at her oldest child.

“I'm not, Mother. I just think that since this is all she's ever wanted… well, why shouldn't one of us have the chance at happiness?”

Her mother gave her a long, speaking look, and then flounced out of the room.

“Rebecca,” James said softly, “she isn't the only one with that chance. Do you want me to talk to them?”

She reached out her hand and he grasped it, lifting her to her feet. “Not today, James. I think Mother's reached the limit of what she can handle today. But soon, please?”

She knew she was begging. Hated it. James glanced at the closed door to the parlor and pressed one brief, chaste kiss to her lips.

“Oh yes, Rebecca. I'll talk to them soon.” He smudged her lips with his once more and then released her. It was time for him to go home.

Melissa had been tucked into bed for the night. Allison had retrieved her clothing from her parents' home, while Becky kept Mrs. Spencer occupied. Now her possessions were stashed in Samantha's bureau and wardrobe. Wesley's late wife's clothing had been added to the empty guest room, to be dealt with later. The bed had been turned down earlier and awaited them. Wesley sat on the armchair in the corner of the room.

Allison approached and he pulled her onto his lap. This was it. The moment he'd waited and longed for so many years. The night he finally got to make his virgin bride into his wife. Suddenly, he didn't want to. Cody had been right. Her mother had been right. He was taking advantage of her willingness, and he was in no condition to give anything good back to her.

“What's wrong, Wes?” she asked him, perceptive as usual.

“Everything,” he replied honestly, his heart aching. “This isn't right.”

“Wesley, this is the first right thing we've done in years. It's perfect.” She put her hands on his cheeks and leaned in to kiss him. “There. Now things are just as they should be.”

He looked at her, confused.

“We didn't get to kiss at our wedding. It felt… incomplete. Now I really feel married.”

“You really are,” he said, amazed by his girl, as usual. “I wish I could be better for you.”

“You will be. For now, Wes, let me take care of you. Later on, when you're better, you can return the favor.”

What an angel. He claimed her lips for another sweet kiss. She was his wife. She loved him. He turned her, so she was straddling his lap, pressing her down onto the growing rigidness of his sex. Now he desired her, but she felt strange to him. For four long years he'd been caressed by eager, experienced hands. Allison, it seemed, had no idea she should touch him and encourage him. Her hands stayed planted firmly on his shoulders. She didn't grind herself against him, or rub her breasts on his chest. Her lack of experience confused him.

He tried again, pressing his tongue into her mouth. She submitted, but did not respond. He sat back, defeated.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This just feels wrong. I mean, it's not you, Allie. You're still the right girl, the same sweetheart I wanted so badly four years ago. But I'm not the right man anymore. I dreamed about this perfect wedding night, the two of us giving our innocence to each other. But I ruined that dream. For the last four years I've been experiencing passion. And now… I have no innocence left to give.”

“Then give me your experience, Wes,” she urged. “I don't know what I'm doing, but I want you as much as ever. Teach me to be the wife you want. Teach me how to please you.”

“It's not that, Allie, I…” He broke off as she kissed him again. This time she understood what he wanted and unleashed her innocent passion, driving her tongue deep and running her hands over his shirt. She let instinct guide her, that and her own innate desires. In her mind, she called up images of all the liberties they'd taken, back when they were betrothed. How lovely his hands had felt on her body. Now he was her husband. He could touch her any way he wanted, but he was holding back.

She ran her hands down his arms, until she could lace her fingers through his. Then she lifted and placed his hands on her breasts.

“Please, Wes. Don't stop. Make me your wife right now.”

“Oh, Lord, Allie,” he groaned, “is that really what you want?”

“It is, darling. Touch me.”

His hands curled involuntarily, cupping the luscious globes. Eagerly her nipples rose to meet his touch, and he grasped the tender peaks through her shirtwaist.

“Oh yes,” Allison sighed. She had finally broken through Wesley's restraint.

“Kiss me, Allie.”

She laid her mouth on his and he worked the hard nubs, rolling and twisting them until she was panting with pleasure.

“More, darling,” she begged. He opened the buttons of her blouse and slid the garment off her shoulders, dropping it onto the floor. Her chemise quickly followed, leaving her eager breasts exposed to his touch. Unable to restrain herself, she lifted his hand back to her breast again. He tenderly chafed one nipple while leaning down to take the other in his mouth.

“Oh! Oh!” she whimpered. Now she was grinding her mound against him. Soon she would be ready for direct stimulation there, and then penetration. He was ready, but his darling virgin would need more caresses before he breached that untried portal.

And he would breach it. He knew that now. It was inevitable, not just because he was terribly aroused, but because she was correct. Nothing had been right in the last four years, until this moment.

Wesley's hands left Allison's breasts and she moaned in disappointment, but then sighed with relief as he lifted her skirt. There were too many layers of clothing separating them, and she wanted more than to be close. She wanted to be one. For as long as she could remember, it was all she'd wanted. Now, straddling his thighs, his thickly erect phallus pressed against her, she wanted to hurry the moment. She felt no fear, only eagerness.

Wesley opened the drawstring of her bloomers and reached inside, cupping her sex with one hand and pressing inward. He felt her copious moisture and pressed through the folds to enter her tightness with one fingertip.

“Sweet virgin bride,” he whispered, stroking her maidenhead. “You deserve a better husband.”

“I have the husband I want,” she gritted out, between gasping sobs of pleasure. Then she wailed as his questing fingers pulled back, just far enough to stroke an erect nub of sensitive tissue.

“All that for one little touch,” he asked, amazed at her responsiveness. “What sounds will you make if I do this?”

He began to circle her willing, wet little clitoris and with his mouth he returned to her nipples, sucking each one in turn until the stimulation proved too much and she squealed in wild pleasure, arching her back as her orgasm overtook her. Warm fluids flooded her delicate folds and he knew she was ready. He stood, his free hand under her bottom, supporting her, and carried her to the bed.

She watched him with slumberous eyes, as he eased her skirt and bloomers from her sated body. Then he removed his clothing. Though it was the first time she'd seen a naked man, this was a small community with many farms, not to mention household pets. She'd seen animals mate a time or two, and knew what that swelling of the male organ meant. At the sight of Wesley's heavy erection, she smiled. He wanted her as badly as all that, did he? It didn't seem possible that such a thick penis would fit inside her, but she was ready for him to try nonetheless. It was time to be his wife, past time. Allison opened her thighs wide.

Wesley knelt between them. He parted her lips with one hand and with the other placed the head of his sex against her untried opening.

“I'm taking you now, Allie,” he warned her. If anything, she opened wider, presenting her innocent sex for his plundering.

“I love you, Wesley,” she said sweetly. He thrust into her, splitting her hymen and filling her completely in a single fluid movement.

Allison gasped at the flash of pain, her hands fisting in the sheets.

The sharp sensation of her deflowering faded, though the stretched feeling remained as he pulled back and pushed into her again, sliding his erection in and out of her delicate passage.

Though Wesley had bedded his first wife hundreds of times in their brief years of marriage, this was different. He had never experienced the tightness of a virgin. Allison was every bit as eager as he'd hoped, that long ago day in the farmhouse. Once she recovered from the sting, she began to squirm around, pressing herself upwards to meet the slow, easy strokes that claimed every inch of her for himself. He lowered his body on top of her, embracing her as he increased the intensity of his thrusts.

Allison was whimpering now, and he looked down at her lovely face. Was she in pain? No. It was pleasure. She was building towards another orgasm, just from the pressure of his sex in her body. With all the willpower he had, Wesley restrained his climax, giving pleasure to his bride, silently urging her on. Her head turned to one side and he nipped her neck. The unexpected sting brought her the rest of the way to a shivering, whimpering peak, which had her contracting hard around him. Her pleasure triggered his, and before he even realized it, he was right on the brink, and then flying over, growling as he filled his bride with his seed.

Wesley relaxed on top of Allison's prone body. He slowly returned to awareness. Allison, too, was alert, looking up at the ceiling. He realized suddenly how rough he'd been with her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, catching her eyes.

“Oh, yes,” she sighed. “How lovely. Thank you, Wes.”

“It was my pleasure, Allie, believe me.” He touched his lips to hers.

“When can we do it again?”

He choked at her question. “Aren't you sore?” He slid from her.

“No,” she replied. “I feel fine. And I have years to make up for.”

“Tomorrow,” Wes promised. “I haven't got anything left tonight.”

“All right then,” she replied. He pulled the blankets over them and cuddled her close. In their utter satiation, neither one remembered to pull on nightclothes before drifting into a deeply restorative sleep.

A few days after Christmas, Wesley walked down the street to the bank with the winter sun shining brightly on his head. He felt quite marvelous and at peace with the world. As he walked, admiring the attractive collection of houses and businesses lining the cobblestone streets, his mind replayed the lovely week he'd spent with his new bride. Allison was absolutely everything he'd hoped she would be. Put simply, a proper wife. The morning after their wedding, she'd taken one look at the haphazard kitchen and taken everything out of the cabinets and drawers. All day Christmas Eve she'd worked, discarding moldy bits of food and rusted implements. Then she'd washed everything that was left and put it away sensibly, where anyone would be able to find it.

Christmas morning, after a few gifts and a hearty breakfast, she'd attacked the rest of the house, placing linens in the linen closet, clothes in the bureaus and wardrobes, and quilts in a hope chest she found squirreled away in the attic.

The third day she'd cleaned and dusted and waxed and polished. She'd pressed Wesley into service, washing the windows inside and out, and then trimming the trees and hedges. Soon the exterior of the house matched that of the neighbors for orderly attractiveness, and the inside smelled clean. The only room she refused to deal with was the guest room, where all Samantha's belongings had been housed. That was to be Wesley's job, when he was ready. She'd gone in to retrieve a few items, which seemed to have been stashed there at random, and then shut the door, leaving it to be the keeper of Samantha's memory.

For the first time in he couldn't remember how long, he had been able to get up and dress, eat breakfast and leave the house and his tiny daughter, knowing both were in capable hands and would be well cared for while he was gone.

He was in capable hands too, and had been well cared for the last several nights. Yes, Allison had a lot to learn, but her enthusiasm made up for it, and she was picking up skills quickly. Suppressing a guilty grin, Wesley began to whistle as he walked along.

The bank was quiet this morning. No customers. His teller, George, behind his paneled counter with jail-like bars above, looked up at him and waved hesitantly. The telegraph office was housed in the bank, and young Christopher Fulton, another of Wesley's many cousins, looked up from his table of mysterious black boxes with an uncertain expression on his face. Wesley hadn't been back to work since that terrible day, and neither of the other men knew quite what to say or how to act. Was he a widower or a bridegroom? Should they be somber, or joyous? Wesley didn't know either, so he waved, crossed the pale pine floor to his office, and closed the door behind him, rolling up his sleeves to attend to the mountain of paperwork that had piled up in his absence.

He worked contentedly through the morning and then went to lunch at Lydia's, certain he'd never been happier in his life.

With Wesley gone to work, Allison also kept busy playing with Melissa. The little girl wanted to help with everything. Together they baked a cake, cleaned up the kitchen, and made the bed. Then, realizing there was nothing to make for dinner, they walked down to the mercantile and picked up a few things. Allison had no money, but James Heitschmidt let her have a few staples on credit. Goodness knew she'd worked for him long enough. The general store was looking a little dusty, she thought. Poor James would need someone new to help him out. It was too much work for just one person. Allison added a length of ribbon for Melissa's hair and a remnant of fabric to make a new dress for her baby doll. Also some laundry soap. It looked as though the washing at the Fulton home had been neglected for a while. There was so much to do, the tasks seemed overwhelming. She had to remind herself repeatedly, as she walked along the singlewide aisle lined with heavy barrels, in front of shelf after shelf of merchandise in boxes and cans, that of course it was going to take a while to establish order in a household that had never had any. It was part of what she'd known she was taking on when she married Wesley. She hadn't realized the extent of the mess, and was appalled, but not really all that shocked.

Melissa had slipped free of Allison's hand and she turned, wondering what the child was up to. No surprise, she was eyeing the candy.

“No, love,” Allison admonished, “it's almost lunchtime. And don't forget we also have cake.”

“I want candy,” Melissa pouted. “Mama always bought me candy.”

Allison considered. If that was the girl's pattern, her habit… She shook her head. It was not a good habit. “No, Melissa. Not today. No candy.”

The little girl began to whine.

“Well, Mr. Heitschmidt, I guess our shopping is done for today,” Allison said. “Come on, Melissa. Time to go.”

“I don't wanna go,” the child wailed. She seemed to be building up to a tantrum. Definitely time to leave.

“Mr. Heitschmidt!” The sound of noisy boots clomping on the wood floors broke through Melissa's increasing whines.

“What is it, Sheriff Brody? What's wrong?” The mercantile owner sounded as alarmed as Allison felt.

“We're forming a posse. There's a train robbery in progress. I need all the help I can get.

Suddenly Allison felt a chill, as a horrible realization dawned on her. Cody and Kristina were on that train. They were heading off for a brief honeymoon.

“Mr. Heitschmidt,” she gasped. He realized the implications instantly.

“Lock the mercantile, Allison. Just a moment, Sheriff. Let me get my coat. And my shotgun.”

Allison grabbed Melissa in one hand and the keys from their spot behind the counter in the other, and locked the door. The men could go out the back. Then she scooped up the little girl and ran, fast as her legs would carry her, down the half block and across the street to the bank where she flew into the lobby.

Brody was already there. How had he arrived so quickly? He was explaining to a wide-eyed Wesley what was happening.

She began speaking before her brain could even process the scene. “Wes, did you hear about the… Oh, Sheriff. Thank God! You have to go Wes. You have to.”

“Calm down, Allie. What's going on?”

“Kristina and Cody are on that train.”

Wesley's face blanched and for a moment she could see conflict chase across his features.
Poor man, as though he hasn't been through enough, losing his wife, all the uncertainty of how to care for Melissa.
Conflict gave way to tenderness, as though the memory of the last week had risen in him. Then a visible wave of fear.
Please, God, don't let him be hurt. Don't let any of them be hurt.
At last, steely determination narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw.

Without another word, Wesley pulled on his heavy coat, kissed his wife and daughter, and ran for the door, Sheriff Brody close on his heels.

Trembling, Allison sank to the floor in a swirl of cranberry-colored skirts. She clutched Melissa, whose tantrum had stopped abruptly at the first sight of the sheriff, and prayed for all she was worth that everyone would come home all right. So many people she loved were in danger, and there was literally nothing more she could do.

Wesley walked home slowly from the vicarage. Night had long since fallen.

Thank God, Cody and Kristina were all right. By some miracle neither had been injured in the robbery or the resulting shootout. But they were both badly shaken. It had taken both Cody and Wesley to walk Kristina into her home, she was shaking so hard. Cody had been none too steady himself, so it had been Wesley who half-carried his childhood friend to her bed and set her gently on it. Cody had slipped in after her, taking her in his arms, shutting out the world before Wesley could even shut the door.

Truth be told, he wasn't doing so well himself. The carnage on the train had been the worst he'd ever seen. Tornados had fewer casualties. Twenty passengers had been shot in cold blood by the train robbers. Only the ones in the car with Cody and Kristina had been spared, due to the couple's quick thinking. Only nine survivors. Of the robbers, two had been killed, one captured, and two escaped. Somehow, Kristina's long-lost brother had been on the train. He hadn't survived, but he'd played a role in saving his sister, and for that he would always be hailed a hero. Poor Calvin. The kid was only twenty-one. James was going to take his loss really hard. Wesley didn't envy Sheriff Brody, telling him the sad news.

Wesley's front door loomed suddenly in front of him, and he jumped a little at its unexpected appearance.

He opened it slowly, almost not sure which way the handle turned or whether to push or pull. Hmmm. He must be slightly in shock.

In the parlor, Allison was sitting in the rocking chair by the stove, cradling Melissa in her arms, murmuring a little story about unicorns into the child's ear. Wesley took in the two golden heads, side by side. Melissa looked enough like Allison to be her child. It was a good thing. Allison was the only mother Melissa would remember. He shut the door a little harder than he intended, and the two of them looked up at the unexpected noise.

“Daddy!” Melissa chirped, jumping down and running to him. He scooped her up and kissed her.

“You see, darling,” Allison said. “Here's Daddy, safe and sound.”

The little girl pressed a loud, wet smooch on her father's cheek.

“All right, pretty girl, it's time for bed.” He scooped her up, but swayed a little. Allison pressed up against his side and helped him. He carried his daughter up to her room and tucked her into bed. Then he let Allison lead him away.

As he changed clothes, cleaned up, and prepared himself for bed, she hovered close to his side, obviously wild with unasked questions. He appreciated her restraint, recognizing it as temporary.

Sure enough, as soon as he had slipped under the covers, Allison blurted. “Are they all right?”

“Yes, love,” he replied. “Cody and Kristina came out without a scratch. I took them home, before I came here. They're fine. A lot of people weren't though.” He choked a bit, remembering.

Allison didn't say another word. She simply wrapped her arms around her husband and hugged him tight.

He cupped the back of her head in his hand and drew her to him for a rough, hard kiss. And then another, and another. Wesley was on the brink of losing control. He needed his wife, needed her badly, but she was still so new to passion, so innocent.

He reminded himself there was no reason to hurry. They would arrive at their destination whether he rushed or dawdled. Allison was inexperienced, but she was certainly willing enough. Forcing himself to slow down, he softened his kiss to one of aching tenderness.

Eager as always, Allison returned her husband's embrace. She held his head, fingers laced in his hair. His hands wandered scandalously over her body, stroking her full breasts, her narrow waist, her round soft hips. She moaned softly at his touch. This was going to be good.

Rebecca heard about the robbery through the gossip grapevine; that is, Ilse Jackson. The unpleasant young woman had long since appointed herself keeper of all information in Garden City. And what she didn't know, she quickly ferretted out. So when she pushed open the heavy wooden door of Rebecca's shop, setting the brass bell dancing in a flurry of metallic jangles, the proprietress knew from the expression on Ilse's face she was not here to discuss the color of gingham she wanted her new dress made out of.