Holding on to Heaven (7 page)

Against the walls, benches held slumbering children. Predictably, the young men huddled together at one far end of the barn, the women on the opposite side. Lauren wound her way through the throng in search of Belle and Emily. Spying them near a large table set up for beverages, she waved and then joined them.

Belle fidgeted with her fingers. "I've been on pins and needles waiting you."

Lauren scanned the room. "Why, I’m not tardy?"

"You’re not, but I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he walks in."

Lauren glanced over her shoulder. "Who?"

"Creed," Emily said. "Wonder if he’s still licking his wounds?"

Lauren straightened her back. "It never occurred to him a woman could best him in a horse race."

"I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t show." Em rolled her eyes. "Last time I saw him, Anna had cornered him under a cottonwood."

"Anna-Schmanna." Lauren clenched her teeth and seethed. "I won’t miss him. I plan to have a glorious evening and my chance of success is better if he doesn’t show."

Belle and Em exchanged glances and more giggles.

"You two are impossible! I’m off to find Brand."

Lauren spun around and saw Brand heading in their direction from across the barn. He greeted her with a smile and entered into a light banter with Belle and Em’s beaus. Brand’s witty chatter and generous laughter punctuated the conversation. How could brothers be so dissimilar? While all the Gatlin siblings resembled one another, Creed and Brand were complete opposites in temperament. Women seemed to flock to Creed like ticks on a dog and she didn’t want to be one of them.

Strains of a two-step rang in the air and soon the dance floor overflowed with people. On the sidelines, the elderly and feeble clapped their weathered hands and tapped their feet to the merry tunes.

Her mood lighter, her foot tapping against the wooden planks, flashbacks from the day dissipated . . . until Anna and Creed walked in. Puffy, red-rimmed eyes bore evidence of Anna’s tears, and Creed’s stiff posture alluded to the strain between them. The musicians struck up a waltz and Brand led her onto the dance floor. Light on his feet, he executed the steps in perfect harmony with the notes. Looking over his shoulder she saw Creed and Anna join the dancers. She didn’t want to look at him, speak to him. He’d seen her at her worst, swearing like a pirate and now cheating in a race.

Anna and Creed were beside them, his voice rising above the music. "Still trying to best everyone, Miss McCain?"

Without thought, she gave him a snide retort. "The waltz should prove as effortless as the race."

The sardonic smirk returned before he dipped into an exaggerated bow "Touché." He straightened. "I know this, whether astride a horse or executing a waltz, you’re truly a vision."

She itched to slap him, run her nails down that scornful, utterly gorgeous face.

Brand tossed his head back with a laugh. "My brother slept through deportment in school."

"As he did with riding lessons, dance lessons and who knows what else?" A small sense of victory found her.

"Not swearing lessons, however, Miss McCain. I think we’re evenly matched there."

She wrenched Brand from the dance floor. "I need fresh air."

Beneath a canopy of sparkling stars, he turned to her with a shake of his head. "Pay no mind to Creed. He’s a bear on the outside, a lamb at heart."

She looked up at the full moon. "I don’t think he has one."

"He does, believe me, but he’s not himself these days. Anna’s giving him a hard time, and getting whipped in that race today didn’t help."

The anger left her; in fact, right now the exchange with Creed seemed immature if not comical. She had to give the man credit for the fast comeback with the swearing comment. "Thank you for setting me straight, Brand. I needed that."

The last guest left Full Circle when dawn broke over the horizon. Exhausted, Lauren struggled up the stairs to her bedchamber, changed into a nightdress and climbed beneath the covers. In her heart, she knew she’d tangle with Creed Gatlin again.

It seemed inevitable.

* * * *

Lauren stood on the front porch and inhaled a gulp of fresh air. The land surrounding the ranch had blossomed into a cradle of verdant splendor after the two-day rain. Edgy after spending too many hours inside, she couldn’t wait to take Adobe riding.

Hank walked from a nearby stall. "Morning, Lauren. You’re up early."

"I’m going riding
before
Jonathan arrives." She scrunched her face. "Oh, I forgot the apple and the lunch my aunt packed."

He leaned the fork against a wall. "Run back. I'll saddle Adobe."

A short time later, she urged the horse down the long drive and then entered an open meadow. Wildflowers bloomed—prairie larkspur, silky aster, and columbine—in an arresting display of beauty amid the long-needled pines and hardwoods.

Like Adobe’s gait, her thoughts meandered. She hadn't seen Creed since the barbeque a week ago, yet the scenes from that day played out in her head like an act from
Moliere's infamous
L'Ecole des femmes.
The French playwright championed young lovers yet ridiculed the conventions of marriage.

Brand, Belle and Em had called on her yesterday, the
latter eager to report Creed had broken it off with Anna. The gossip delighted Lauren. She’d spent the day with her guests riding and when they returned, her aunt had insisted they stay for supper. She cared for Brand, but didn’t feel a wild rush when he entered a room. That physical reaction happened only when she encountered his older brother.

Adobe reached the end of the field and stopped. With gentle pressure on the reins, she urged him toward a dense copse of elm where they’d meet up with a narrow path. At the end of the trail, a shallow pond came into view, the ideal place to take a swim on a hot afternoon.

Bluebirds chattered from the nearby trees, their melodic songs lifting her spirits. "Bluebirds are a symbol of happiness," Aunt Estelle had said. "If you spot one, you'll find joy all day long." She could use a pinch of cheer to dispel her sullen thoughts today.

After dismounting, she tethered Adobe to a low branch and retrieved the bundle tied to the saddle strings¾a red and white checkered napkin with an apple and two blueberry biscuits. She opened the bundle, took a bite from the apple and held the remainder out for the horse.

The clear blue water beckoned her. While scanning the surrounding woods, she heard the scurry of small critters searching for food and overhead, a hawk cried out. She removed her boots, rolled the riding pants down her hips and removed her shirt. Before entering the turquoise pond, she dipped one toe in and released a gratifying sigh.
Warm as bath water.
Feeling reckless, and wearing only her camisole and pantalets, she dove in.

She flipped onto her back when she came up for air, allowing her long hair to float behind her. Studying the clouds above, daydreams found her. She relived the race with a twinge of guilt. Her desperate need to win seemed trivial now, not to mention childish. She vowed the next time she saw Creed she’d confess her sin, admit she’d cheated. Her spirits and body refreshed, she left the water, plucked her clothing from the ground and walked toward Adobe. The stallion’s ears hugged his massive head; he blew air through his snout and pawed the ground. The hair on her forearms stood at attention. She couldn’t shake the feeling someone watched her.

Wheat-colored swamp reeds rustled before a man walked from a thicket of wild sumac. She stared into Creed’s eyes, aware of her thundering heart and the sculpted planes of his gorgeous face. Covering herself with a gasp, anger found her. "Were you spying on me again? Don’t you have a more pleasant way of spending a Sunday afternoon?"

His cool gaze swept over her. "I wasn’t spying. This is the shortest route to Full Circle from my place, isn’t it?"

Confusion stormed her brain. "I suppose, but I would have foregone my swim if you’d spoken up."

"Why should I? I’ve been coming here for years. Besides, only a fool would speak up and ruin the view."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "Maybe you have been coming here for years, but the pond is on Full Circle property."

His jaw twitched when he advanced one slow foot at a time. Her blood boiled, whether from anger or passion she didn’t know. ‘The wily fox after the hapless hen,’ her mind screamed. ‘Run!’

He caught her wrist before she had time to mount and spun her around. His warm breath fanned her cheek and the intoxicating scents of leather, horse and man washed over her. Without thought, she brought her free hand up and connected with his cheek. And then stared at the fresh, red handprint. What had she done? She fought the urge to touch him, wipe away her impulsive anger.

Pulling her against him, he grabbed a length of her hair and arched her neck back. His mouth came down on hers, demanding and hard. A whimper came from her throat and sane reason deserted her.

She couldn't remember how they ended up on the grass, her beneath him, his weight pressing down on her. When he found her lips again, liquid fire pushed through her veins and spread outward to her limbs. He tasted of tobacco and pine needles.

She strained beneath him when his hands rolled the pantalets from her hips. He tore camisole while exposing her breasts. A part of her hoped he’d stop, another prayed he wouldn't.

"Too late now little hell-cat."

His words sent shivers down her spine.
His hand came up and cupped her breast, kneading, caressing, pitching her into a frenzied state. H
er nipples hardened to tight, small nubs when he took one between his
thumb and finger. A small moan escaped her lips. She yearned for something more, but what?

Through a numb haze she watched him remove his clothing, and gasped when the warm skin of his torso connected with hers. Their lips met again, this time gentle, soft. He teased her mouth open with his tongue and wound his fingers through the hair at the sides of her head. She felt trapped, claimed.

A sensation of drowning clogged her lungs, and doubt fled from her mind. He wanted her and she wanted him. She groaned against the thrust of his tongue, welcomed it. Somewhere near the juncture of her thighs, a muscle clenched.

He spoke, his breaths ragged. "You’ve never been with a man, have you?"

Heat rushed up her neck, competing with more private parts of her body. She managed a weak shake of her head. Nudging her legs apart with his knees, he loomed above her, all dark and mysterious. "This will hurt some."

Some? What did he mean?

Pressure at the entrance of her sex couldn’t have prepared her for the sensation of fullness that came next. He encountered a barrier and a dull ache took flight in her pelvis. Pushing against his chest seemed futile while his weight pressed down on her.

His throaty voice mesmerized her. "The pain will be brief if you don’t fight it."

A deep moan caught in her throat when he drove in. He stopped and drew a deep breath, his words a whisper, "I’m sorry."

She concentrated on her own breathing until the discomfort abated and marveled over the subtle ripples of pleasure replacing it. The methodical rhythm, the slide of bliss urged her into a tempo of abandon. Her flesh tingled and her head spun. Controlling her thoughts or the synchronized cadence of her hips with his eluded her. With every muscle of her spine stretched taut, she rocked into him. Why hadn’t anyone told her such pleasure existed? True, she didn’t have a mother to talk to, but Nelly would have some explaining to do.

Euphoria came in waves at first, like the tide washing into shore. And meteors flashed in the sky while she tumbled through an abyss. She wound her hands in his hair, couldn’t speak and wouldn’t know what to say if she did. A hot flame licked her skin. She soared and dipped, and rose a final time in an all-consuming release.

Creed’s breaths came in quick pants and groans before he buried his manhood deep inside her. In a final moan, he collapsed on top of her. The minutes passed; she couldn’t hold his weight much longer.

Finally, he rolled off of her, pulling her damp body into his arms. "Are you all right?"

She hesitated. "Quite."

"I didn't know you’d be at the pond, and I certainly didn’t intend for that to happen."

Still reeling from the pleasure, she answered with a meek, "Me either." She paused to think back on their earlier conversation. "Why were you on your way to Full Circle?"

"I wanted to see you, talk to you before…"

"Before?"

"I leave."

His words didn’t register at first. "Leave? Where are you going?"

"Finn answered Lincoln’s call for more troops."

She rose up on an elbow and looked down at him. "He volunteered to fight? Her mind raced. "He signed on with the Union army?"

Creed gave a short chuckle. "Well, yes, he wouldn’t sign up with the Rebs."

"I’m a Reb," she whispered while collecting her scrambled thoughts. "What does that have to do with you?"

"I can't let him go alone."

She closed her eyes. "You enlisted too, didn’t you?"

"Yes."

"But you’ll be fighting on southern soil, shooting at my friends, cousins, neighbors."

"And they’ll be shooting at Finn. I’m not asking you to understand, but I felt compelled to see you before I left."

She pushed from the ground and came to her feet. "You’ll get your fool head shot off." Conflicting emotion skittered through her mind—panic, sorrow and anger. "You should have told me before you-you tumbled me in the grass."

"I already told you, it just happened. I’m not sorry it happened, are you?"

She turned away from him.

"Don’t do that, Lauren, play the martyr with me. You couldn’t have stopped that no more than I."

Storming toward the clothing she left by the water, she pulled the trousers over her hips and slipped her arms into the sleeves of the shirt. "Oh, I don’t know. If you had told me first thing you were leaving, I might have the God-given sense to stay the hell away from you."