The Longing (25 page)

Kyle snorted, but Richard’s laugh made Kyle
feel like belting him. “What’s so damned funny, Cameron?”

“Nothing, I was just...listening. I’m sorry
you’re having problems.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” Kyle lifted his mug
to salute his friend. “I’m the sorriest son of a bitch here.
Somebody shoot me and end my misery.”

A pair of handcuffs clanked onto the oak bar
beside Kyle and he looked up to see Duke standing beside him with a
badge on his chest and a revolver strapped to his hip. “I would
help you out, but I’m still on duty.” Duke’s sharp gaze surveyed
the tavern as if trouble might be lurking somewhere in the shadows.
“What am I missing here?”

“Kyle hasn’t consummated his marriage
yet.”

“Great. I get to be humiliated here, too.”
Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, his thoughts growing duller by
the drink. “What the hell am I going to do?”

“Don’t ask me,” Duke said, leaning against
the bar, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “I stay away from
virgins and marriage.”

“Good advice.” Kyle eased back on his stool.
“Thanks for offering it too late.”

“What’s Amelia afraid of?” Boyd asked.

“I don’t know.” Kyle glanced to either side
to make sure they weren’t being overheard. Satisfied his personal
life was being shared only by his brothers and his best friend,
Kyle rested his mug on his thigh and looked at Boyd. “She was
scared to death on our wedding night. I couldn’t force the issue
with her, and I haven’t been able to since.”

“No wonder you’re nuts,” Boyd said, his voice
sympathetic. “I’d say the hell with it and visit one of my
affectionate friends.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“I would!” Richard declared. “You have
rights, Kyle. If Amelia isn’t performing her wifely duty, you’re
entitled to seek comfort elsewhere.”

Kyle dismissed their comments. He didn’t know
about Richard, but Boyd wouldn’t cheat on his own wife any more
than Kyle would.

“Maybe you’re too aggressive,” Duke said.
“Maybe you just went too fast with Amelia.”

“I told her I’d slow down.”

Duke braced his hand on the bar. “Well, maybe
you need to be less threatening and just, I don’t know, lie on your
back and let her take control of things.”

“I’d bind my hands and hang from the damned
bedpost if that’s all it would take.” Kyle leaned his elbows on the
bar and set his glass down. It clinked against the handcuffs and he
nudged them aside with the bottom of his mug. The cool metal
glimmered up at him, glowing and shimmering in the lantern light
until Kyle couldn’t seem to draw his gaze away. “Duke, do you have
another set of cuffs?”

“Of course. They’re at the office.”

“Give me the key to this set.”

“What for?”

“Just give me the key.” He turned toward his
brothers and Richard. “Keep your fat mouths shut about this.”

A wicked grin broke across Boyd’s face. “What
I wouldn’t give to see this show.”

It
was just after dawn when Amelia staggered across the lumberyard,
but the instant she opened the heavy wooden door of the mess hall,
the clamor inside threatened to deafen her. Men yelled ribald
comments at each other while slinging food onto their plates.
Wooden-legged chairs were dragged beneath denim-covered bottoms,
screeching loudly across pine floorboards until it raised the hair
on Amelia's neck. Serving ladles whacked plates then clanked back
into the pans before they were hoisted and banged in front of the
next man at the table.

To Amelia’s surprise, her mother stood by the
stove with her apron on seemingly oblivious to the painful din.
She’d been helping with lunch and supper, but Shorty had been the
king of the breakfast hour. By the look on his face, he viewed her
mother’s presence as the ultimate invasion of his privacy.

“Good morning,” Amelia said, sagging against
the doorframe, praying she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by
losing her stomach in the mess hall. God, she felt awful.

Not one person heard her. She squinted
against the noise as the ache in her head mushroomed. With
deliberate intent Amelia walked to the stove, removed two lids from
the pots, and turned to the rowdy group before her. She lifted the
lids and slammed them together with the force of a lead cymbal man
in a marching band.

Ears that were accustomed to screaming saws
and crashing lumber were not as fatigued at five-thirty in the
morning. Heads jerked up and forks clattered to the table as every
man present sought the source of his abuse. Her husband stared at
her in shock, his eyes as round as the sausage patties in the
middle of the table. “I guess I won’t ask how you’re feeling,” he
said.

“Never been better.” Amelia placed the lids
back on the pots, then finger-combed her hair back, realizing with
dawning horror that it was still hanging loose down her back. She’d
been so preoccupied with wanting to know if she’d pleased Kyle last
night, if he’d learned her secret, that she’d just yanked on her
clothes and begged one of the men at the depot to take her to the
lumberyard.

Mortified, Amelia turned away from the room
full of shocked stares and filled her bowl, but could barely
swallow the first bite of her breakfast. “What is this?” she asked,
her eyes tearing from an effort to choke down the gooey lump.

“Sagamite,” Shorty answered. “It's Indian
meal and brown sugar all fried up together.”

“I did the measuring and mixing,” her mother
added proudly.

Amelia glanced around the table. “Have any of
you tried this?”

“Not yet.”

“Nope.”

“I'm fixin' to.”

She waited patiently while Jeb, Ray, and
Willie spooned the lumped-up gruel into their mouths. As the pasty
glob registered on their taste buds, faces turned red and one by
one each man repeatedly gagged on his food. Jeb and Ray got theirs
down, but Willie returned the gruel to his bowl with a disgusting
splat.

“What the hell is that?” Willie demanded,
backhanding the drool from his lips.

“I just said it was sagamite, ya fool!”

“It tastes more like sh—”

“Willie! Wouldn't you say it has yeast in
it?” Amelia asked to keep the men from killing each other.

“There ain't yeast in sagamite,” Shorty
argued.

Amelia stuck her spoon in the middle of the
lump where it stood like a flagpole on a prairie. “There's yeast in
here. Mother, who showed you how to mix this?”

Victoria pointed straight at Shorty. Insulted
by her accusing finger, Shorty thrust his jaw out. “I told you
three cups of meal to each cup of brown sugar.”

“You said to each spoon of yeast.”

Shorty's eyes rounded. “You poisoned my
delicious sagamite with yeast?”

“Well, you cut my beautiful pie to pieces
yesterday!”

“I was trying to help you serve it.”

“Well, I was trying to help you make
breakfast, you ingrate!”

“You keep your bustles and clumsy fingers out
of my kitchen!” Shorty bellowed, his face red.

Kyle slammed his fist on the table and stood
up. His expression was dark and stern and Amelia knew he was going
to order her and her mother to leave the mill.

“Kyle, wait! Mama just wants to help us.
Please. This is the only way she can do that.” Before he could
comment, Amelia turned back to Shorty. “Would you and Mama please
make the crew something they can eat so we can all get back to
work?”

Without another glance at Kyle or her mother,
Amelia pulled open the door. “Wait a minute,” Kyle commanded. With
her heart in her throat, Amelia ignored him and stepped outside. If
he was going to chastise her, she didn’t want it to be in front of
the crew.

He followed her outside and closed the door
behind him, then guided her around to the side of the building. “I
thought you would spend the morning in bed, which is obviously what
you should have done. What are you doing here?”

Coming to see him, to see if she’d passed
muster as his wife, but she couldn’t blurt out her question like a
harlot waiting for payment. “What time did we finally go to bed?”
she asked, hoping his expression would answer the question she
couldn’t ask.

“About ten o’clock for you. I was with Boyd
and Richard until around midnight.”

“What?” Amelia pushed away from the building.
“We went to bed together, didn’t we?” His eyebrows lifted and her
stomach flipped. “You carried me into the bedroom, Kyle. You took
my dress off and we...you...didn’t we?”

Kyle shook his head. “We didn’t consummate
our vows last night if that’s what you’re asking. You’d had too
much to drink.”

She sagged against the worn wallboards,
unable to believe nothing had changed between them. God, she’d
wanted that first time over with. Now it loomed in her future like
a disease. Even though she’d asked him to make love with her, Kyle
hadn’t taken advantage of her. Some men would have jumped at the
opportunity. But not Kyle. She should have known.

“We have to consummate our vows, Kyle.”

“I agree.”

“Then let’s just do it.”

“All right.”

“Tonight.”

A grin tipped his lips. “Go home and sleep
for a few hours and I’ll come get you at noon.”

“Noon? Won’t it be better to wait until
tonight?”

“No.” He put his finger across her mouth to
stop her question, then kissed her on the forehead. “I have a
surprise for you, Amy. Just be ready at noon.”

Amelia could barely return Kyle’s smile when he swung her up into
their carriage and drove to a wooded area a mile or so north of her
mother’s house. She’d been expecting him to pull off her clothes
and drag her into bed the minute he entered the house, but he
hadn’t even glanced toward the bedroom before rushing her
outside.

Kyle secured the horses, then took Amelia’s
hand and guided her into the woods and down a long narrow path. She
stepped over a fallen tree limb then nearly bumped into Kyle’s back
when he stopped suddenly.

He released her hand then tested his weight
on his injured leg before bracing his good foot against a huge
boulder. Hooking his toes and fingers in the small crevices, he
slowly scaled the side of the rock then climbed on top of the
massive stone. He disappeared for two or three minutes, then
returned and dusted his hands on his trousers. He squatted on the
balls of his feet and looked down at her. “Give me your hand,” he
said, reaching for her. “There’s no other way around.”

Amelia glanced to her left where the bank
dropped several feet into the gorge. To her right was another bank
rising high overhead. Though she hadn’t realized it, Kyle had been
leading her along the wide shelf of a cliff that swept down into
the gorge. “Are you serious?”

“It’s the only way to see what’s on the other
side.”

Amelia lifted a brow. “Do I really want to
know?”

“I sure hope so,” he said, his voice filled
with quiet desperation. “Come on. I won’t let you fall.”

Amelia hiked up her dress, grasped Kyle’s
hand, and hooked her toe in a wide crevice. “How are we going to
get off this thing?” she asked, hoisting herself up to the next
foothold.

“We’re not. We’re going to live in a cave and
drink wine and forget about sawmills and contracts and obligations
that wear us out.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said, and immediately
lost her footing.

“Whoa!” Kyle wobbled above her before
regaining his balance. “I’d like to experience a night or two in
our cave before you kill me.”

Amelia snorted as she grasped a protruding
shank of rock and anchored her foot. She tipped her head back and
met Kyle’s twinkling eyes. “If you keep making me laugh, I’m never
going to make it up there.”

“I’ll fill the bathtub tonight if you
do.”

Amelia laughed and scanned the side of the
craggy rock, then took her first cautious step.

“There’s a ridge about eight inches above
your left foot,” Kyle said, leaning over the edge, a tense
expression on his face as she worked her way toward him. “Hook your
right hand in that hole.”

“What hole?”

“Two feet to your right.”

Amelia studied the side of the rock until she
found the hole. “What’s on the other side?”

“Something special.”

“It better be worth scraped shins and broken
fingernails.”

“One more step. There you go. I’ve got you.”
Kyle reached behind her, cupped her bottom, and hauled her over the
edge. He fell backward and Amelia yelped as she slipped between his
knees, her body sprawling across his. He scooped her hair back and
captured the length in one hand. “I’m glad you made it.”

“Of course I made it. I climb like a monkey,”
she said, lifting her nose in haughty arrogance.

He laughed. “I noticed your tail wagging
while you were climbing.”

She swatted his shoulder. “You owe me a bath,
Grayson.”

“My pleasure. I’ll even wash your back if you
like.” He sat up and pulled her up beside him. “Your hair fell
down.”

“I noticed.” She reached up to fix it, but he
caught her hands and pulled them away.

“I like it loose.”

His beautiful mouth was only inches away. She
could tip her face back and simply lean in to a kiss. Their gazes
held for several seconds, but he didn’t kiss her. He sat beside her
with a relaxed, serene expression on his face. He was leaning back
on one hand, his other arm resting on an upraised, bent knee. The
breeze lifted his hair and ruffled the sleeves of his tan shirt.
Amelia took in their peaceful surroundings then turned to Kyle.
“You’re happy out here, aren’t you?”

“I like the woods.”

She tilted her head, searched his face.
“That’s what’s different about you today. You’re not a lumber boss
out here or a tense husband. You’re just Kyle.”