Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise (11 page)

❧

Julia could smell the honeysuckle now, so strong was the memory, and she glanced around as though awakening from a dream. She was in a wagon with Luke and Sarah and the children, and there was no honeysuckle in sight. Tears filled her eyes. She thought she would give anything to feel again what she had felt back then, to be young and wildly in love, heedless of what might happen.

But then, she was exactly where she was because she had been young and in love and heedless. She and Jimmy had continued to meet all through June, He had assisted his father in his office during the day, but every evening he had been at Julia's house. They had taken long walks or simply sat together talking; but whatever they did, they hadn't been able to keep their hands from each other long, and they had made love again and again, Jimmy had murmured words of love and passion to her, and Julia had soaked them up, even as she drank in his kisses and caresses. She couldn't get enough of him because she knew that soon it would be over.

She had suspected even before Jimmy came home that she was pregnant. She had missed her monthly, and then she had started feeling sick to her stomach when she awoke in the mornings. By the end of June, she was certain. She was going to bear his child.

Julia hadn't told Jimmy, She hadn't even thought of it. She had known that he wouldn't marry her—couldn't marry her, even if by some mad chance he might want to. He was a Banks, son of a doctor and descendant of judges and bankers. And she was a Turner, daughter of a drunk and descendant of poor white trash. His parents would never have allowed him to marry her. And, sadly, she had been sure that despite his words of love, Jimmy wouldn't even want to marry her when it came right down to it. She hadn't wanted to spoil the beauty of their love by telling him. What if he thought that she was trying to force him into marrying her? He would be horrified and repulsed. She hadn't wanted to hear his refusal.

But she had been determined not to bear his child out of wedlock. She would not allow that shame to rest on her child, Jimmy's child. She would not let him carry the stigma of illegitimacy. She had gone to a doctor in another town to confirm her condition, using the money she had stored up in the old cookie jar above the sink. The doctor had told her that she was indeed pregnant, and she had known that the end had come for her idyllic love with Jimmy

The next time Will Dobson had called on her, she had asked him if he still wanted to marry her. He had been dumbfounded, having been turned down so often that he'd given up asking. She had explained her situation, wanting him to know exactly what he was getting into. He had gazed at her for a moment, then nodded, "Sure, Julie. I want you that bad. You know I do,"

They had been married on July second. She hadn't told Jimmy about her pregnancy or her impending marriage. She had planned to tell him the night before the wedding, but at the last minute she had been unable to utter the words. She had made love with him with passion, regret, and sadness that night, and she hadn't seen him again since.

Until this afternoon.

Seeing Jimmy in that store had shaken her to the core. She didn't know what she felt, exactly. Not love. That had died long ago; it had been years, after all. She supposed it was shock; she hadn't expected to ever see him again. Running into him like that had jarred loose the memories and old feelings, and she had felt them all again, like an ache in a bone broken long ago.

Oh, James! Tears welled in Julia's eyes. He was still so handsome, maybe even more so. She wondered what he had thought of her. Had he been dismayed at how old she had grown? Had it appalled him that he had once found this woman attractive? Had he noticed the lines in her face, the darkening of her hair, the roughness of her hands? But that was silly. Of course he had seen those things; he couldn't help but see them.

Julia wanted to cry, but she couldn't with Luke and Sarah sitting right beside her. The ride home seemed endless.

❧

The children took their baths that evening in a large tin washtub in the kitchen and went straight to bed. Luke emptied the round washtub and brought in the long tub the adults used for bathing. They filled it with bucketsful of rainwater and warmed it with pots of water heated on the stove.

Julia took the first bath, and Luke and Sarah went outside to give her time alone. They walked around the barn and the animal pens, chatting about the farm, the livestock, and crop he was planting. His arm was looped over her shoulders, and hers was around his waist. They moved with the ease of familiarity, yet they were acutely aware of every place their bodies touched.

Luke loved being with Sarah like this—the quiet talk, the closeness, the intimacy. They stopped beneath the apricot tree in front. Luke reached up to pull down a branch, and they were showered with its petals. They smiled at each other and sniffed at the blossoms. Luke thought of the evening a few weeks ago when they had sat in the swing on the front porch. Sarah had smelled of the apricots she'd cooked that afternoon, tart and sweet. He remembered the scent of her skin, the smoothness, the taste, and he hardened at the memory.

He let go of the branch and reached over to brush a few white petals from Sarah's dark hair. One lay against her cheek, creamy against the pale pink of her skin and soft as velvet. He lifted it from her smooth skin. The familiar tangle of awe and love and lust for Sarah coiled in his abdomen. He rubbed the petal between his fingers, and its moisture dampened his skin. He thought of digging his fingers into Sarah's Besh, pulling her to him, sinking into her...

It took effort to turn away. He glanced toward the house. "Think she's through?"

"I imagine." Sarah had felt the heat of Luke's glance, and it had stirred her. She wished she weren't pregnant. She wished she could take his hands and pull him down to the ground with her right there beneath the white splendor of blossoms.

They walked slowly back to the house, each lost in his own thoughts. Sarah knew that if she touched Luke's skin, it would be blazing hot.

Inside, they found that Julia had emptied the tub for them, and they refilled it. Julia had gone upstairs to her room. The house was quiet and dark around them. The air in the kitchen was warm and steamy. Luke began to undress, and Sarah sat down in one of the chairs, watching him. As he pulled off each garment, she felt it viscerally. Her eyes grew soft and dreamy.

Luke dropped his clothes onto the floor and stepped into the tub. He sat down and leaned back, eyes closed, luxuriating in the warm water lapping his body. He remembered how when they were first married and still sleeping apart, he used to go down to the chinaberry tree while Sarah bathed. He would stand there and torture himself with images of her naked body in the tub. Now she sat in the kitchen with him while he bathed, and he with her, so familiar, so married that they were like parts of one another. But one thing hadn't changed—the torture in his body when he couldn't make love to her.

He sighed and ducked under the water to wet his hair. He picked up the bar of soap, but Sarah took it out of his hands and knelt beside the tub. She worked the bar into suds between her hands, then began to soap his hair. "You shouldn't get down on the floor like that in your condition." he admonished her.

Sarah worked her fingers through his hair. "You're still mine. I like taking care of you."

A faint smile touched Luke's lips, and he sighed with pleasure, his eyes drifting closed. He enjoyed the touch of her fingers on his scalp, but far more pleasurable was the knowledge that she enjoyed taking care of him, that she thought of him as belonging to her. He relaxed and let her hands work their hypnotic spell. He could have fallen asleep except for the tendrils of fire her ministrations created in his loins.

Sarah took a pitcher and sluiced clean water over his head, rinsing away the soap. "Lean forward."

He obeyed her, resting his arms on his knees. Sarah washed his back, her hands slippery with soap. Tension grew in his abdomen. Her fingers slid around his ribs to the thick musculature of his chest. Luke wrapped his hands around her wrists, stopping her. He looked at her, his eyes amused, yet hot.

"You better let me finish the rest, or I'm liable to come right out of the tub after you."

Sarah sat back on her heels, smiling like a cat that got in the cream. "Maybe I want you to."

Luke caressed her cheek, leaving a trail of dampness on her skin. He knew an overwhelming desire to lick it off with his tongue. "Maybe I do, too. But Sarah..."

"Yes. I know. Old Dr. Banks said ..." Sarah sighed and stood up. She started walking away, then turned and grinned impishly. "Do you think we ought to ask the new Dr. Banks?"

Luke snorted. "He'd say the same thing. Now, stop teasing me." He scowled, thinking of her talking to Jimmy Banks about such intimacies. "And if I ever hear of you talking to that man about our bedroom matters, I'll..."

"You'll what?" She seemed overwhelmingly unafraid.

"I'll beat you."

"Uh-huh." Sarah gazed at him with patent disbelief. "Like you always do."

"I'll keep you in bed for a week."

The curve of her lips was intentionally provocative. "Then I'll ask him tomorrow."

Luke slowly rubbed his forefinger back and forth across his lips, watching her. He enjoyed their sexual banter, the way she teased him into hardness from clear across the room. Talking to Sarah could be sexier than the naked bodies of the women he had known before. He wanted to continue the talk until he couldn't take it anymore and then come out of the tub and kiss the teasing smile off her face. But if he did that, he was sure to wind up pulling her down to the kitchen floor and taking her right there.

Luke silently picked up the rag and began to wash off. But even though there was no more teasing, the heat didn't leave his blood.

When he was through, he dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and sat down to wait for Sarah. He wasn't about to forgo the pleasure of watching her undress and bathe, no matter how tempting and frustrating it was.

Sarah poured another steaming kettle of water into the tub to warm it, then sat down and bent over to unfasten her shoes. It was getting more and more awkward for her to perform that task, the way her abdomen was growing. Luke smiled and went down on one knee in front of her, playfully pushing her hand away.

"Here. I'll do that."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

Sarah straightened and leaned back in the chair with a little sigh. Luke unlaced the ties efficiently and pulled off her shoe. He set the shoe down on the floor, but he continued to hold her foot. Gently his fingers massaged her foot, and Sarah went limp all over. "Oh, Luke, that feels so good."

"Like it?"

"Yes. It's heavenly. I didn't realize how my feet hurt. They must be swelling again like they did with Emily."

His thumbs slid along the sole of her foot, rubbing away the ache. He hated to think of anything causing her pain or discomfort. "You better start resting more. I'll tell Julia to make sure you sit down with your feet up several times a day."

"But Luke..."

"No buts. You'll do as I say." He removed her other shoe and repeated the slow, gentle massage on that foot, too.

Sarah smiled down at him. She loved Luke's concern for her. Sometimes her love for him was so great that she thought she would burst from it. His head was bent, his thick silver and gold hair falling forward to hide his face. His hair was drying in the warmth of the kitchen, turning into fine, silky strands. Sarah knew just how it would feel against her fingers, slipping, curling.

She reached out and skimmed her fingers lightly across his hair. Luke looked up at her. Sarah knew the look—his mouth widening, the skin across his cheekbones stretching tautly, his eyes suddenly a blue flame. He wanted her.

His hands slid up her stockinged leg to the garter. He pulled it off and slowly rolled down her stocking, his fingers lingering over her skin. Sarah saw the sheen of moisture along his upper lip and felt the faint tremor of his fingers.

Luke watched her face for the subtle signs of passions that he knew so well. She wanted him just as much.

He pulled the stocking off her foot, crumpling it in his hand, and sat staring down at the floor, struggling within himself.

"I'm sorry," Sarah whispered, knowing full well the ache and the temptation inside him.

"Oh, Sarah," Luke moved up and forward, wrapping his arms around her waist. His body curved over the mound of her belly, and he buried his face in her breasts. "You're so beautiful. I feel like a devil sometimes, wanting you like this and knowing that it would hurt you. How could I want it so much when it would hurt you?"

Sarah hugged him to her, and her hands moved soothingly over his hair and back. "You're not a devil!" Her usually soft voice was fierce. "Don't you say that! Don't even think it. You aren't the only one who wants to make love. I want it, too."

Luke rubbed his cheek against her like a cat. "I can't get enough of you. I never have been able to. I lie awake at night thinking about making love to you, remembering how your skin feels under my hands, how you moan that soft little way."

"Luke..." Sarah's cheeks flushed, and her loins turned to liquid.

"I always know when we make love that you love me. That you belong to me and I belong to you."

"Of course, we belong to each other . And I always love you."

"I know, but..." Luke paused, unable to articulate exactly what he felt when they made love—the piercing sweetness of coming home, the joy so fierce it shattered him, the complete joining and utter closeness. Making love to Sarah was more than just pleasure; it was a need as great as the one to eat or to drink or to fight for his life. "Sometimes it tears me apart to stay away from you."

Sarah kissed his bright head. "Then make love to me."

"No." He pulled away. "I can't. It could hurt you."

"
Could
. That means only a possibility."

"Even a possibility is too much."

"But just once. . . and I'm not terribly far along. The baby's not due for over two months."

Luke's face contorted with frustration. "Sarah, please don't tempt me."

Sarah worried at her lower lip. She didn't fear any hurt to herself, and because the baby was so much a part of her, she had less fear than Luke of hurting it. She had felt no pain the last time Luke had made love to her. How could it hurt her or the baby when there was no pain, only pleasure?

Luke stood up and moved away, leaving Sarah to take off the other stocking by herself. He leaned against the kitchen counter, and watched her undress, unable to keep his eyes off her. She took off her clothes without any conscious attempt to entice him. If it had been her choice alone, she would choose to make love with him now. But she knew Luke and his intense sense of responsibility, his fear of harming her in any way. She wouldn't try to tease him into doing something he thought wrong, for she knew the burden of guilt Luke would feel if he did.

Sarah eased down into the tub with the exaggerated caution of a pregnant woman. She took up the bar of soap and began to wash. Luke gazed at her. Her breasts had grown, as they had when she was pregnant with Emily. Her wet nipples tightened in the coolness of the air. Luke's tongue stole out to moisten his lips, and his fingers curled around the edge of the countertop.

Sarah rested her heel on the edge of the tub and began to wash her extended leg. Her legs were still slim and lovely, unaffected by the weight of her pregnancy. Luke thought of them wrapped around his back, tight and strong. He crossed his arms across his chest, clamping his hands under his arms. His breath came faster in his throat. Even the mound of Sarah's belly was beautiful to him. He wanted to trail kisses across it.

Luke swallowed. He ought to turn away and not look at her. He ought to go upstairs. But he couldn't. He thought of the time when they were first married, when he had wanted her so passionately, yet had stayed out of her bed. He had managed it then; surely he could now. But then he had not made love to her. Then he had only dreamed of her body. He hadn't known her inch by inch as he did now. He hadn't felt the utter softness of her skin or the eagerness of her response. He hadn't known how glorious it was to explode within her. Now he knew all those things, and it made it twice as hard to stay away from her.

Sarah took the pins from her hair and shook it loose. It tumbled down over her white shoulders and chest, parting over her breasts so that the pinkish brown nipples peeped through. Her hair turned wet quickly in the water and clung to her skin. Luke couldn't take his eyes off her breasts, couldn't stop remembering the smell and texture of her hair. How often he had pulled it like a dark curtain across his face, burying himself in its softness. How often he had felt it trailing across his skin as Sarah moved over his body, kissing him.

He swallowed. His entire body was rigid with desire. His blood was on fire, his loins heavy and aching. He had to have her. He knew he couldn't.

Sarah washed her hair and rinsed it. Then she rose and stepped out of the tub, picking up her towel to dry off. Her hair hung, dark and wet, all the way to her hips. When it was dry, it would float around her shoulders and back like a cloud. Sometimes after they bathed, they would sit in front of the fire together and Luke would brush her hair dry, watching the play of the firelight over her face and body.