“Afternoon, Miss Lee,” Jarvis said. He was wearing a dark brown suit with matching vest over his white shirt, and a brown striped tie.
She brought the ax down on a log. It split and she pulled the ax free. “What can I do for you, Jarvis?”
“Thought I’d introduce you to my daughter, Hazel.”
Spring eyed the woman. Dressed as finely as Glenda Cale in a pale gray walking ensemble and a fashionable little hat, Hazel gave Spring a quick nod.
“Hello,” Spring said.
Jarvis continued, “And my secretary, Leland Swan.”
“Miss Lee,” Swan said, eyeing her distastefully.
“Mr. Swan.” He was younger than Jarvis, also taller and leaner. She didn’t know why he seemed so put out, but she didn’t care. Wanting to get to the reason they’d stopped, she asked, “Lost again?” She saw her horses watching.
Jarvis smiled. “No. I came to inquire about the possibility of buying the land you own by the river. The parcel that used to belong to Matt Ketchum. I plan to open a mill. The one owned by Porter James is old and dated.”
She resumed chopping. “It’s not for sale.”
“Suppose I make you a generous offer.”
She brought the ax down again with such force, Hazel jumped. Spring worked the blade free. “Suppose you understand what I said. It isn’t for sale.”
“A woman alone can always use more money.”
She almost asked him what he knew about a woman alone. His refusal to hear her was proof he was accustomed to getting his way, but so was she, and saw no need to argue or repeat herself. She addressed his companions. “Hazel, Mr. Leland. It was nice meeting you. Have a good afternoon, Mr. Jarvis.” She turned to go up to the house. She’d finish chopping later.
Jarvis snapped, “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
She stopped and asked quietly. “Or what? I’m carrying an ax and wearing a gun belt. What do you have to stop me besides your temper and a loud voice?”
She watched a smile curve Hazel’s mouth before it quickly disappeared.
Her father’s lips tightened. “I’m offering you good money for land Ketchum said you stole.”
“Stole? When Matt Ketchum says it’s raining, folks know to get up and go look for themselves. You should do the same.”
He studied her as if assessing her mettle. “This is not the end,” he finally promised.
“Yes, it is. Set foot on my land again and I’ll shoot you for trespassing. If you believe I’m bluffing, Hazel will be taking your remains home in a box.”
She set out towards her cabin and left them standing there. Hearing the buggy pull away a few moments later, she kept walking.
The work had left her sweaty and smelly, so she lit the outside boiler for hot water for a bath. Knowing the process would take close to an hour, she went into the kitchen, washed her hands, and made a sandwich. Placing it on a small plate, she took it out to the back porch along with a tumbler of water. Clouds were moving in and the sun was fading. Rain was definitely on the way. As she ate, she thought back on Jarvis, and wondered if Porter James knew the man wanted to put him out of business. With the help of Odell, Ben, and many others in Paradise, Mr. James built his mill before she and Colt were born. Yes, the stone structure was old and inefficient when compared to newer ones built in the larger cities, but it served their community well and Mr. James knew more about wood than anyone else around. Did Jarvis possess the same extensive knowledge? Did he own a mill wherever he was from? Would he try and build elsewhere along the river now that she’d turned him down? She had no answers, but she was certain that if Matt Ketchum was tied to the plans, Jarvis would have his hands full. In addition to being a foul-mouthed drunk, Matt was selfish, spoiled, and lazy. When she worked for his father, Mitch, there was no job the then-sixteen-year-old Matt didn’t pass off to someone else. If he wanted to sleep in, he was allowed. If he showed up drunk, that was overlooked. Many of the hired hands grumbled about his irresponsible, self-centered ways, especially when they were forced to take on the work he didn’t want to do, like mucking out stables or chopping wood needed to repair the fences, but no one dared approach his father to complain. Why his behavior was tolerated, she didn’t know. Since it wasn’t the hands’ place to ask, they did his chores and cursed both father and son among themselves. After Mitch Ketchum’s death, because Matt’s whereabouts were unknown, the five thousand acres of Ketchum land went into foreclosure, contrary to his lies to Jarvis. At the bank auction, Odell and Spring purchased a few parcels that gave her and her horses access to the Paradise River. Her grandfather, the land’s original owner, bought back a portion that held pine, creeks, and the foothills known for good hunting. Randolph Nelson purchased the remainder to access the grass-filled valley and rest of the river frontage for his cattle. Had Jarvis accused Nelson of stealing the land, too, or was the claim leveled at her alone? Either way, she didn’t see Nelson relinquishing any of his vast acreage to accommodate a sawmill and the river access the enterprise would need. With any luck, Jarvis would accept defeat, leave Paradise, and go back to wherever he’d come from, but with Matt Ketchum involved and stirring the pot, that was probably just wishful thinking.
An hour later Spring stepped out of the bath and wrapped her wet body in a drying sheet. Fashioning a towel around her dripping hair, she padded to the kitchen in a pair of old moccasins to put on a pot of coffee so it would be ready when she dried off. Seeing McCray standing by the sofa stopped her cold.
Eyes wide, he stared at her in the thin, nearly transparent sheet and began coughing. Turning his back, he croaked, “Lord, Spring. Are you trying to kill me?”
Her smile peeped through. “How long have you been here?”
“A second or so.” Peeking over his shoulder at her, his gaze slowly brushed her from the towel on her head to the moccasins on her feet, before he faced away again. He cleared his throat. “I knocked and got no answer, so I went to the barns. Didn’t find you there, so I tried the back door. It was open. I’ve just walked in. I didn’t know you were bathing.”
He turned back to her and the intensity reflected in his eyes warmed her blood so thoroughly, she thought steam might rise from the sheet. He added, “I would’ve waited outside on the porch, but it’s raining.”
She saw the downpour through the window and his wet slicker hanging from a peg on the fireplace. “It’s okay, put on some coffee. I’ll be right back.”
He gave her a nod, and she left him alone.
In the kitchen, Garrett hoped preparing the coffee would take his mind off what he’d just seen because he was hard as a length of oak. Granted, last night they’d made love and he’d seen her beautifully nude. However, having her appear with the thin sheet wrapped around her so sinuously in the middle of the afternoon was so unexpected, he was still trying to catch his breath. Tempted by the lure of her veiled nipples and the bare curves of her neck and shoulders he’d wanted to walk over and gently unwrap her as if she were his own personal boon. Even now, his hands longed to slowly circle the sheet over the swells of her hips and thighs before exploring the warm dampness hidden between. Realizing he was only making himself harder, he fought to focus on the coffee-making instead, but it was futile. He wanted her as much as he had last night.
Once the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and set the pot on the table. He’d just taken a seat and a sip of his coffee when she returned wearing her usual man’s shirt and a pair of soft buckskin trousers. He was both relieved and disappointed. As if having read his mind, she said, “I can put the sheet on again, if you want.”
He choked on the swallow. Picking up a napkin, he wiped his mouth and shot her an amused, quelling look. “You’re really trying to put me in my grave, aren’t you?”
Her sassy smile made him want to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until sunrise. “Be warned. The next time you’re in that sheet, it won’t be on you for long.”
Having poured herself a cup, she sipped and replied
, “I’m holding you to that.”
He enjoyed this playful side of her and wished to be gifted with it more often.
She asked, “So how did you and my brother get along today?”
“We did well.” He told her about meeting Lucky the dog, and Ed Prescott, but refused to bring up the visit to Boyer’s hog farm. He’d taken a bath as soon as he reached the boardinghouse to rid his nose and skin of the putrid stench he swore still clung to him and his clothing.
Spring said, “Ed’s grandparents were very kind to me and Colt after our mother passed on.”
For a few moments she stared silently out at what he guessed was the past, and he was again reminded how much he didn’t know about her. “What were you like as a child?” he asked softly.
“Quiet and well-mannered, like all little girls were supposed to be.”
“Really?”
“Surprised?”
“A bit. I assumed you were rambunctious and rebellious.”
“No. I learned to embroider and read. I knew how to set a proper table, play hymns on our old piano. I was the perfect, properly raised young woman—who loved horses.” She quieted again, as if thinking back, then confessed almost wistfully, “That’s the only part of that girl that remains.”
“Your love of horses.” He wondered if she missed being that girl, and if the cost of having to leave her behind still weighed heavily.
She nodded. “Once Ben and Odell taught me to ride, I fell in love. My mother tried to limit how often I rode because proper young girls shouldn’t smell like horses, she often said. We argued about it a lot, but she finally just gave up, and I rode as often as I could.”
“Why horses?”
“Because unlike some people, they’re loyal, and if you treat them well and provide for them properly, they love you unconditionally and they don’t judge. They also have distinct personalities. Some are serious like Cheyenne, some are jokesters. I’ve run into a few that were downright mean. I enjoy figuring out just who a horse is.”
He’d thought back to Prescott’s grieving mare. He’d received quite an equine education today. “You’re a very fascinating woman, Spring Lee.”
“Unlike Spring Rain, the quiet and shy little girl, Spring Rain, the woman, is rude, sometimes crude, obnoxious, and set in her ways.”
“That’s what’s so fascinating.”
“Is that the standard word you use for luring a woman into bed?”
“Is it working?”
She smiled, and he realized how much he enjoyed seeing it.
“It seems to be.”
“Then how about you come over here and let’s see if I can lure you with something more substantial.”
She rose, walked over, and settled down on his lap. He ran a slow hand up her strong spine and down her soft but work-hardened forearm and savored her strength. As the silence between them grew thick with anticipation, he knew he wanted to be with this woman for the rest of his days. Rather than risk shattering the moment by confessing it, he leaned in and gently kissed her until it flared and deepened. Feeding on her rising desire and letting her feed on his, he eased her closer. Her body was warm, her soft-skinned neck scented from her bath. The thick black braid down her back, still damp. He moved his lips from her mouth to the shell of her ear and his hand to the small swell of her breast. Coaxing the nipple to come out and play, he savored the hushed sound of her arousal, and slowly began undoing her buttons. Drawn to her warmth, he nuzzled the exposed skin of her throat and asked, “Where’s your shift?” She was deliciously bare inside the shirt.
“It was just going to be in the way,” she replied breathlessly.
Amused by that, he moved the open halves aside and took a hardened nipple into his mouth. She crooned against the sound of the rain striking the windows. Turning attention to the other breast, he was rewarded with more vocalized delight.
“You’re so good at this . . .”
He thanked her by giving another fervent kiss. “Thank you.”
She reached down to his thigh and gave him a heated squeeze. “This feels pretty substantial.”
He groaned with pleasure.
After a few more silent moments of kisses and potent strokes that set him on fire, she whispered, “Let’s see how much more substantial I can make it.” Standing, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom.
The bedroom lay in shadows from the darkness of the storm, but the desire in his eyes was as bright as her own. On their first night together she’d been unprepared for how powerful being with the right man could be. Now, as he eased her close and brushed his mouth over hers, she knew to expect the heat of his hard frame against her own, that his fiery, intense kisses would ignite a flame in her blood, and she’d savor the solid yet gentle weight of his encasing arm. When he languidly blazed a trail against the skin of her throat, cupped her breast bared by her already opened shirt, and slowly coaxed her nipple to life, the time he took no longer left her impatient. When he eased her shirt aside and bent to take her in his mouth, her core pulsed, and she crooned softly. He moved his mouth to lavish her other breast with lazy sucks and tiny bites. Never again would she be content with a quick, unsatisfying coupling. He’d proven there could be more, and as a result, she wanted to give him more: more kisses, more caresses of his strong arms and chest to seal her palms with the memory of his shape, form, and heated skin. She nibbled his bottom lip and slid her tongue temptingly against his own. He dragged her buckskins down and filled his large hands with her bare hips before fitting her to him.
“Substantial enough?” he asked playfully, moving heatedly against her.
She kissed him and reached down to boldly map his strong length. “I think so.”
He eased a hand between her thighs. She hissed out her pleasure and widened her stance. He dallied, impaled her with a finger, then two, and her hips took up the sultry rhythm. Through the haze brought on by lust, she watched him watching her. The intensity in his eyes showed he was feeding on her responses and it increased the flame of her desire.
She raised a hand to undo the buttons on his shirt but focusing was difficult. Her body was greedily enjoying the art flowing from his wonderful hands. When the task was finally accomplished, she ran her fingers down the ten buttons anchoring his gray flannel union suit, then deftly undid the front of his trousers. Kissing him, she took his hardness in hand, enjoying the warmth of his body encased in the thin, smooth fabric, and heard him groan. He took a moment to rid himself of his pants while she freed the buttons that marched from his collar to his groin and brushed her lips softly against each patch of skin she bared—his collarbone, his strong hair-dappled chest. She flicked her tongue against each flat nipple and bit them gently. Noting he had his head back and his eyes closed as her hands circled his sculpted frame filled her with a power that sent her passion even higher. Lowering herself to her knees, she freed her prize and flicked her tongue over the round head. His hiss was like music to her ears. After a few well-placed licks that made the muscles of his legs clinch in response, she eased him into her mouth and showed him her own art. As she worked, he slowly shucked out of the top half of the suit and once he was bared to the waist, she flicked her tongue against his navel and pulled the garment down to his knees. She moved her hands over the strong, steely muscles of his buttocks and fed on him with such purposeful intent, he grabbed her head to guide her movements, rocking his hips with erotic response. Groaning, he pulled free and stepped back. His harsh breathing made her smile. When she met his blazing eyes, he crooked a finger at her and she rose. “Yes?” she asked innocently. She rid herself of the buckskins pooled at her ankles and closed the short distance between them. He pulled her to him and kissed her intensely.
Moving to the bed, they continued, while outside the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed. She again allowed him the honor of inserting her sponge and he rewarded her by spreading her legs wide to pay a tribute so filled with art, the wicked licks made her explode and scream out his na
me. Rising up, he teased a finger over the damp, swollen bud and smiled into her passion-lidded eyes. “You want more?”
Her hips rose to meet the rhythm set by his continuing teasing circles, and she said breathlessly, “You’re so damn good at this, McCray.”
He slid two fingers inside her and she crooned passionately. Stroking his fingers languidly in and out, he leaned down to whisper against her ear, “And you’re so damn alluring, I want to taste every inch of you . . .”
Spring wrapped her hand possessively around the part of him that she’d given her own lusty tribute to and he husked out, “Lord, woman.” She smiled and sat up. Kissing him, she tasted herself on his lips and maneuvered herself in front of him. “Let me ride.”
He lay back. She straddled him, and as she impaled herself, she watched pleasure close his eyes. Raising herself up until only the tip of his shaft remained sheathed, she teased him that way again and again, until he growled, clamped his hands on her waist, and set a pace that was both rough and delicious. “You are trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
Wild Rain Page 11
