Love's Last Stand

by S. B. Moores

  Abigail had always been drawn to the subtle desire that smoldered behind Justin’s otherwise steady gaze. She enjoyed it, needed it, but she always kept a respectful distance. Justin could be teased, but he wasn’t attracted to casual flirting. She couldn’t lead him by the nose down a garden path, like most of the other young men who paraded to her family’s farm to try to court her. As clear as his desire for her might be, he would have her only on his terms. No other man challenged her so, and she did not know what to make of it. Until now. Now it was if a veil had been taken from her eyes, letting her finally see the depth and sincerity of Justin’s feelings. For as long as she had known him, his love for her had never wavered. It had been steady as rock, but it was a rock to which she was never chained. His love wasn’t possessive. It left her free to pursue whatever life, or man, she wanted, while Justin waited patiently for her to come to him. When she was ready.

  Recent events had impressed on Abigail the need to make certain decisions in her life, if she wasn’t going to let others make them for her. But now Justin’s gentlemanly demeanor seemed to close a door. Perhaps he behaved so because her father had hired him. He was, after all, an employee, practically her servant. Though nothing about him was or could be servile, the distance between them had been growing.

  She watched him, in his sheepskin coat, as he fed the picketed horses, moving among the animals with an ease born of a lifetime of familiarity with their needs. Normally she would have helped, but Justin seemed not to need or want it. For all intents and purposes, he had settled into a role as Abigail Whitfield’s hired man, and the thought disturbed her. She couldn’t read Justin’s thoughts, but he couldn’t be happy as anyone’s servant.

  He lifted a heavy bucket of oats and passed it back and forth among the hungry charges. With his broad back and sinewed arms flexing, he stroked the animal’s necks and withers, clucking and cooing as he attended them. He was at home with the horses, and they with him. This sparked a small ember of jealousy in Abigail, and not because she, too, wanted to be at ease with horses. She would be, if her plans with Toby succeeded. She would also gain a measure of independence few young women in Tennessee ever experienced, or wanted to experience.

  She stood up and tossed the bible behind her into the tent. She walked over to the line of tethered horses and picked up a currying brush, then began stroking the flanks of a mare who stood between her and Justin. The animal’s flanks quivered. Justin dropped the hoof he’d been inspecting, stood up, and looked at her over the back of the mare.

  “Have you decided to get more experience before you go into business?” he asked.

  She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she knew he was joking and kept her sudden anger in check. “I don’t pay my employees to question me,” she said with a smirk.

  “Sorry. I thought your father had hired me.”

  She almost threw the brush at him, but stopped herself. Their harsh exchange surprised her, even though it was meant in jest. Did he still resent her business with Toby? She stepped around the rear end of the horse, trailing her hand along the animal’s back, to make sure she didn’t frighten it. She looked down at Justin, who scraped at another of the horse’s hooves with an iron pick.

  “Tell me truthfully, Justin. Do you begrudge me the right to go into business?”

  Justin continued inspecting the hoof a few seconds more. Then he let the horse drop its hoof and stood up.

  “No,” he said. “You’re a free woman, and . . .” His voice trailed off and he looked away from her and back to the horses.

  “And what?”

  “I’ve got work to do, Abby, and I have no wish to debate the merits of the Whitfields’ plans.”

  “The Whitfields’ plans?” She pressed him. “Don’t forget Toby and the Johnsons. Do you resent that our families have the resources to support an enterprise?”

  “If I did, I would not say it.”

  “Well, they do,” she said. “And I am sorry the Sterlings have been visited by misfortune and poor times.”

  “As am I,” he said with discomfort.

  He turned to face the horses and Abigail suddenly felt ashamed to have confronted him.

  “Justin, it’s not my fault that I am well born, and I do not apologize for it. If I am to be successful, I will have to use my family’s wealth.”

  Justin turned to face her. “I’ve never begrudged you the Whitfields’ wealth, you know that,” he said hotly. “If you were poor as field mice, and I were the sultan of Arabia, I would gladly lavish riches on you. As poor as I am—”

  “So that’s it,” she cut in. “Because you would lavish riches on me if you could, you feel the Whitfields should return the sentiment. Or perhaps Toby Johnson.”

  “No! You don’t understand.” He threw down the pick he had been using on the horses’ hooves and took a step backward, but his anger appeared to abate. He held his hands up in frustration. “You, you’re a woman. Sometimes I wish you were Toby Johnson, and we could settle things with our fists until one of us says ‘uncle.’ ”

  Her anger vanished, too, and she laughed out loud.

  “The Whitfields owe me nothing,” he said. “And I certainly don’t expect—”

  Lightning struck a tree less than thirty yards from where they stood. The crack of splintering wood and a deafening concussion seemed to finish Justin’s statement for him.

  A muffled cry escaped Abigail’s throat. For a fraction of a second they stood still as statues, but the shrieks of the frightened horses brought them back to their senses. The animals reared and jerked against the ropes that staked them to the ground. Another bolt of lightning flashed. Justin lunged at her, catching her about the waist and propelling her away from the colliding, thrashing animals. They tumbled together onto the ground away from the horses’ trampling hooves.

  She came to rest on her back, reclining on her elbows. Justin was on his stomach, lying next to her. From the looks of it, they could have been enjoying an afternoon picnic, rather than having escaped being crushed by horses. The surprise and incongruity of it made her giddy with laughter. Justin laughed too, and laid his arm over her stomach.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The glint in Justin’s eyes told her he was asking about more than her physical condition. She didn’t have time to answer. A gust of wind brought a heavy sheet of cold rain pounding ferociously over them. Laughing again, they leaped to their feet and raced for the protection of the tent.

  “Check the fastening holds!” Justin shouted. Abigail complied, knowing that if the tent went down, they would spend a miserable night under wet canvas. Bracing themselves in the wind, they secured the tent from collapsing and were quickly soaked.

  Once inside the canvas shelter, they threw off their coats, but their wet clothing clung to their skin and did nothing to disguise Abigail’s gooseflesh or the smooth hardness of Justin’s chest.

  She rubbed at her crossed arms. “Come here and keep me warm.”

  Justin put his arms around her and held her tight.

  “That’s better.” Her hands roamed over his back.

  Justin bent his head and she met his lips in a hungry kiss, but their mouths were blocked by locks of wet hair. Without letting go of each other, they tossed and shook their heads to clear away the sopping strands. After each shake they kissed again, but somehow a persistent string of hair intruded on each kiss. She laughed at their efforts and started to pull away, but he held on to her.

  “After all of the obstacles I’ve faced in my life, and all the measures I’ve taken to win your heart, Abby, I will not let a bit of hair stop me from kissing you. I’ll shave my head bald in the morning, if I must.”

  “Don’t you dare. Old age will take your beautiful hair soon enough. Until then it’s mine, wet or dry.” She poked him in the ribs and he flinched enough to let go of her.

  She brushed his hair away from his face and they kissed again. Her body ached for Justin, but she resisted the urge to hurry. Sh
e wanted to savor each moment, each movement as it unfolded, and remember it forever. When she sensed some restraint in his kisses, one last, lingering shred of uncertainty crept over her. Should she make love to this man, this friend whom she’d known all her life? The single act would change their lives forever. But if they didn’t make love now, when? Would there ever be another chance? Her uncertainty drifted away like a storm warning that lingered in the air after the seas had calmed.

  As if on cue, the rain pelting against the canvas overhead began to slacken. Pale moonlight daubed the inside of the tent with a chalky white glow. Making love to Justin Sterling would simply be the most perfect, truthful thing she’d ever done in her life. More than that, at that moment she needed Justin’s body more than she needed her next breath.

  But Justin broke off his kisses and drew back slightly. The look in his eyes also questioned how far they could let things go.

  “Abby . . .”

  “Hush.” She put one hand his cheek. “You have always been a gentleman, Justin Sterling. Frustratingly so, at times. But tonight I trust you will not be sleeping under a tree.”

  He laughed. “If that’s the case, dear Abby, we should get you out of these wet clothes.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Quickly, but with the utmost care, they undid each other’s buttons, ties, and fastenings. As soon as a layer of clothing came loose, she or Justin would shuck it off and toss it into a growing heap in one corner of the tent. Finally, there was nothing covering their slick, wet skin. In the dim, moonlit tent, they tenderly held each other. Abigail savored the long-awaited sight of the body she had dreamed about so often. She wasn’t disappointed. Years of hard work had chiseled Justin’s arms, legs, and chest in ways Abigail had only seen in pictures of ancient Greek sculptures. She didn’t need to look at his beckoning sex, but he gently moaned when she cradled its firmness in her hands. She felt a moist, undeniable warmth between her legs, but her skin prickled in the chill of the air, sending her nipples erect.

  “Where is your blanket?” he asked. “I need you lying down.”

  She unrolled a blanket on top of the other bedding and, with shallow, quick breaths, they lay down together. She on her back, he on one elbow next to her. When he reached over her shoulder to pull her to him, his hand bumped something solid, covered in fabric. He picked up a small wool purse to move it and a chrome-barreled pocket pistol fell out onto her stomach with a heavy plop.

  “Whoa! What’s this?” He held up the tiny gun and admired it in the pale moonlight.

  “It’s just something for protection.”

  “It’s a pretty little thing, but are you expecting trouble?”

  “Of the worst kind.” She grinned. “My father gave me that. I like to take walks in the evening, and he feels better knowing I have it.”

  “Henry’s hand stays me even here,” he muttered.

  “Now is not a good time to mention my father.”

  “You are right, of course. I will focus on a matter of greater importance.”

  She took the gun out of his hand and set it down beside her. “I promise not to use this, at least not tonight.”

  “Indeed. Give me a few minutes to experience heaven first, before you send me there.” He smoothed his hand lightly over her belly, lingering on her breasts and her neck, then kissed her tenderly, brushing his lips over hers. She teased him, running her tongue lightly over his lips, but she gave a soft, pleasurable moan when he finally rose up over her. As he did so, he pushed the small pistol to a far corner of the tent with his left hand.

  “I am yours,” she whispered. “I have always been yours.”

  “And I intend to keep you that way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Following Day, 1835

  Bright sunlight lit the inside of the tent when Abigail’s eyes fluttered open in the morning. She smiled and stretched her arms over her head, until the cool air on her skin reminded her she was naked. She pulled the blanket up to cover her bare breasts. Justin wasn’t lying beside her, but the scent of coffee boiling over a fire wafted to her nose. Her smile broadened when memories of the night before flashed through her mind. She’d never expected love to be so fulfilling, so unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She sighed at the new, satisfying comfort of it. A milestone had been passed, and nothing could have made her happier. But her smile quickly disappeared when she realized the implications of what they’d done.

  She was going into business with Toby Johnson, and her parents expected the two of them to marry. She needed to disabuse her parents of that idea, if she could, as soon as possible. Justin would believe, and rightly so, that their lovemaking signaled a commitment. She wanted as much herself, but what would she tell her parents? Any hint of what had happened the night before would certainly terminate her father’s support for her horse farm. He might throw her out of the house altogether. That would resolve the matter once and for all, but Abigail wished she could make her parents understand her love for Justin without putting an end to her business with Toby, much less destroying her relationship with her family. She had to make them see reason, but it wouldn’t be easy. She resolved to bide her time and bring her parents around gradually to the idea that marrying Justin was the right thing to do. Even so, the joy and happiness at the wonderful love she’d reveled in earlier slid away. It was quickly replaced by an inky black cloud that covered her hopes with trepidation and fear.

  She sat up and gathered the scattered pieces of her clothing together to dress. The tent flap was closed but, given what had transpired the night before, Justin might come into the tent unannounced. Once she’d dressed and tied her boots, she took a deep breath, opened the tent flap, and stepped into the chill morning air. The coffee pot was indeed boiling, and there were two metal cups set on a rock next to the fire to warm. But Justin wasn’t there. She looked back and forth, thinking at first that he might have left camp altogether and gone down the trail, leaving the fallen woman to her own fate. But no; he was brushing the horses and readying them for the day. She picked up a cloth lying next to the cups and used it as a hot pad to pull the coffee pot away from the fire.

  “Are you ready for a cup?” She waved one of the tin cups in the air for Justin to see.

  He glanced her way and nodded. Then he gathered up his equipment and walked over to her.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning to you.” She brushed her hair back with one hand and held out a steaming cup of coffee to him, which he accepted. She was suddenly conscious that her hair must be a mess and her clothing as rumpled as the bedding she’d slept in. She felt her cheeks heat as she refastened her blouse where she’d missed a buttonhole. Then she brushed a few bits of grass away from her skirt. Justin wasn’t quite smiling, and she couldn’t tell from the tone of his voice what mood he was in.

  He sipped the coffee, his suddenly playful eyes watching her over the rim of his cup. “You look as though you slept in a barrel last night.”

  She put a hand on her hip, pretending offense, and opened her mouth to object, but he continued.

  “As bed-tossed and disheveled as you are, you are a delight to my eyes this morning.”

  She was caught off guard and her mouth hung open.

  He grinned and glanced at the trees around them. “The gentle, doe-eyed fawn and all of the colorful birds of this forest are quiet this morning. They’re in awe, I think, and silenced in the presence of your unnatural beauty.” He swept his free hand around to encompass their surroundings. “As for myself, I could not be happier if every morning of my life I met you in the same, truly dreadful condition in which you stand before me now.”

  She finally laughed.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

  “Never better.” She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to drag him back to the tent before breakfast, but dismay still held her and swamped her desire for him. “Justin, there is something I need to tell you.”

  “Trust me,�
�� he said. “I learned all I needed to know last night.” His eyes twinkled as he sipped again, but she could see his neck and shoulders stiffen.

  “No, you didn’t.” She gave him a grim smile, and the playful light in his eyes was gone in an instant. “Justin, all you learned last night is the simple truth, which is that I love you. I think I have always loved you. I always will.”

  “You said as much last night. You said it simply, that’s true, but with great eloquence.” But his lips pursed, as he knew another shoe was about to drop. “There is nothing more I need to hear.”

  “I wish that were so, but now I must tell you the complicated truth that follows us into the light of day.” She looked down at her boots. “As much as I love you, my life is not my own. Not yet, anyway.”

  Justin froze, then tossed the remaining coffee from his cup into the fire and looked away at the trees. “What’s that sound? Did you hear it? I think it was your father’s voice.”

  “Aye, it was. And, for the moment, at least, I can’t say no to him. But I will. I promise you—”

  “Stop. Say no more.” He tossed the empty cup onto a rations bag on the ground. “I think I know the rest of this complicated truth. Henry Whitfield doesn’t believe I’d make a worthy husband for his daughter.” He put his clenched fists on his hips.

  “My father’s opinions are old-fashioned and he is narrow of mind. But he intends well and I love him in spite of his shortcomings.”

  “Henry is my demise.”

  “You are plenty good enough for Father, and he knows it. He simply resists accepting it, but I will sway his feelings. And Mother will support me.”

  “Your mother has been kind to me. But to live with Henry, she must be a saint. I hope he appreciates her.”