by Hebby Roman
***
Clint raised his arms and helped Abby dismount. He held her tightly, and she slid down the length of his body. He stifled a groan. Just feeling her against him, he grew and lengthened, hard as a fence post.
And Abby must have felt his body's response, too, because her eyes widened and she licked her lips. And oh, how he'd love to kiss her, right here and right now. But not in front of her son. Not yet, not until there was an understanding between them.
An understanding…when had he decided to marry her? Because that was where he was headed, wasn't it?
She threw him a sidelong glance and backed up a step.
He moved to Jezebel and undid a knot holding the quilt bunched behind his saddle and handed it to Abby. She took the quilt from him and wandered toward the river, stopping on a knoll overlooking the rushing, tumbling water.
He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for strength.
Why had he suggested this? They were leaving tomorrow. Was it some kind of test he'd given himself? And if it was—would he get through it?
Chewing the soft inside of his mouth, he managed to swallow, fighting down the bile in his throat. He grabbed the picnic basket Leticia had packed. His housekeeper had filled it to the brim with biscuit sandwiches stuffed with slabs of ham and chunks of Cheddar cheese, along with deviled eggs, homemade pickles, and a peach cobbler.
Abby had returned and proudly pointed at Kevin, ranging over the pasture on Esther. “I can't get over how easily he's learned to ride.”
“I told you the boy was a natural.” He stroked his jaw. “I should give him Esther, don't you think?” He unknotted two canteens with sweet tea and slung them over his shoulder.
Abby covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh, Clint, I don't know… A horse is such a big responsibility. And I would have to feed her. I don't know…”
“Make Kevin responsible for her keep. You have another stall in the barn. He'd only need to make a little money to keep her in hay and oats.”
She turned on him, her green eyes flashing and her hands fisted at her waist. “I don't want him to work—not like my brothers and sisters. I don't want that for his childhood.”
He understood her position, given what her family had been through. But he disagreed. If children worked or did chores and learned to be responsible for things they wanted, it was different than what her father had done.
He followed her to the quilt and set the basket and canteens down. “Why don't you ask Kevin what he wants, to have Esther and work odd jobs or not have a horse?”
She lifted her chin and looked at him. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She nodded. “You're right. It's only fair to give Kevin the choice. I think I see the difference from what my father did… It might be a good way to teach him responsibility.”
He touched her arm. “I'm glad you understand what I meant.”
She leaned into him, and he ached to take her into his arms and kiss her until she begged for air. But her son wasn't far away, and she'd avoided him in the live oak copse under the mistletoe.
What did she want from him? A friendship? He didn't know if he could leave it at that—he'd never wanted a woman like this before. Never felt as if he was destined to share his life with a woman.
Not long after the food was spread out, Kevin had wolfed down his lunch in a matter of moments. And then he'd headed straight for the river. For a young boy, the river held an irresistible pull. Thinking about it, made Clint's heart ache.
He had managed to choke down a few bites of Leticia's cooking with the help of generous swallows of sweet tea. He'd stayed on the quilt with Abby while Kevin ranged up and down the river, tossing stones into the water. Kevin had even shucked off his boots and gone wading for a few minutes, but luckily, this time of the year, the water was too cold and he'd come back fast enough.
But the whole time Kevin was at the river, Clint couldn't take his eyes off him, couldn't relax. He was wound as tight as the old grandfather clock in his ranch house's parlor.
Abby, God bless her, had rested her hand on his thigh as they sat with their legs stretched out on the quilt, letting the touch of her hand reassure him that nothing terrible would happen.
A flock of his sheep came into view and they filed by, one-by-one, down to the river to drink.
Clint plucked a blade of grass and nibbled on it, watching his sheep. “Carlos, my foreman, thinks I should replace some of the sheep with goats. A lot of ranchers are doing it. Goats forage on weeds and brush the sheep won't eat. It would be a better use of the land. And mohair is fashionable in Europe right now.” He spit out the blade of grass. “I want to do a little research when we get back to town, but I'm seriously considering it.”
“Is that what they call goats' coats—mohair? I never knew. If you cross to México, there are a lot of blankets and serapes made from mohair. Elisa has a goat-hair serape she wears when it rains, and she says it sheds water.”
“Yeah, the Mexicans have been raising goats on this land for a couple of centuries. And the goats give rich milk for cheese, too.”
“Sounds like a good idea, Clint.”
He nodded and looked up to see Kevin coming back from the river. Clint hoped they could wrap this up and return to the safety of the ranch house.
But the boy had a shit-eating grin on his face and was hiding something behind his back. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the quilt and held out his hands, showing what he'd been hiding, an old cane fishing pole and a dented tin can, overflowing with dirt.
“Look what I got, Ma and Clint. Miguel gave me the pole, and Leticia let me dig for worms in her vegetable garden.” He angled his gaze at Clint. “I've never been fishing, Sheriff, would you teach me how to fish, please.”
Clint sucked in his breath, not knowing how to respond, not wanting to appear a coward in the boy's eyes. But he couldn't tell Kevin about Timothy. It just wouldn't be right to call up the specter of his nephew and dampen Kevin's enthusiasm.
He shut his eyes for a moment. He wasn't surprised by Miguel's gift before the shearing crew had moved on. Miguel was their foreman, and he'd asked to fish the river while the crew had been camped here. Clint had readily agreed.
But Leticia. He shook his head. He couldn't believe she'd been complicit in this…not after what had happened and him forgiving her.
Maybe she felt it was time for him to move on. But it wasn't her place to push him.
Kevin must have seen him shake his head because the boy's face fell and his shoulders drooped. The cane pole fell to the ground, forgotten.
Abby rose to her feet and went to her son. “The Sheriff isn't feeling well right now. What if I showed you how to fish? I used to fish when I was young girl. I think I know how to thread a worm on a hook.”
“Aw, Ma, I'd rather the Sheriff and me—”
“Sheriff Graham has a touch of indigestion.” She glanced sharply at her son.
“Oh, all right then.” He hunched his shoulders and kicked at a dirt clod.
Clint gulped. It was kind of Abby to understand what he was going through and try to rescue him. But he couldn't let her face his demons for him, and he didn't want to disappoint Kevin either. It was obvious the boy wanted a man to teach him to fish.
But could he face the river…for Kevin's sake? It was harder than facing down a drunk, vicious killer during his bounty hunter days.
He shook himself. It had to be done, especially if he was thinking about marrying Abby and making Kevin part of his family.
He got to his feet. “Your Mama's being kind, but I'm feeling better now.” He leaned down and picked up the tin can and poked at the dirt inside. “Hmmm, looks like a bunch of good worms.”
Kevin's face lit up like a Christmas candle. “What kinda fish do you think we'll get? Miguel said the fishing is awful good here.”
“Yep, Devil's River has some nice fishing. I'd say we'll get some perch and small-mouth bass. Maybe even a c
atfish or two. All good eating fried up in corn meal.”
Kevin tugged on his arm. “What are we waiting for?”
Clint managed a grin. “Let's go then.” He threw his arm around Kevin's shoulders but stopped long enough to turn and look back at Abby. “You want to come with us?”
She stood at the edge of the quilt, gazing at them, as if rooted to the spot. Her green eyes were watery and she was fingering the cameo she always wore.
She shook her head. “No, you two go ahead. I'll stay here and repack the picnic basket and enjoy the sunshine. But don't take all afternoon. Time enough for another day.”
His heart wrenched in his chest, she was so kind and understanding and…wise. Like his sister Jenny had been. Love poured through him, chilling his skin for a second with the intensity of the feeling.
He nodded. “We won't be long. The fishing here is pretty easy. Bunch of hungry fish, especially for juicy worms.” He winked at her. “Holler if you need us.”
Chapter Eight
Abby sat across from Clint in front of the crackling fireplace. The night had turned cool and the fireplace's warmth was welcome. Soon Christmas would be upon them. She slanted a glance at Clint and knew exactly what to give him for Christmas.
But first, they'd need to get back to town, and in some ways, she dreaded it. The ranch had been peaceful for her and a much-needed holiday for her son.
Clint had faced his fears and taken her son fishing. They'd brought back a string of bass and catfish in no time. Leticia had fried them up for dinner with corn meal hush puppies and string beans from her garden.
Kevin had been exhausted from the long day and elated when Clint offered him Esther for keeps. Her son had whooped and hollered and jumped up and down, thanking them both over and over. With his chest puffed out, he'd trooped off to bed early, eager to get home and show off his new horse to his classmates.
For the first time, Clint had brought out liquor and poured them each a glass of whiskey, neat. She seldom imbibed, so she took tiny sips, but her head was light and her thoughts warm and fuzzy. They sat in companionable silence, staring at the fire.
Since she'd been a little girl, fires had fascinated her. She loved to gaze at the deep red heart and dancing blue flames. The fire mesmerized her with its changing shapes and flickering light.
She closed her eyes and settled her head against the back of the horsehair settee. She could almost imagine herself living here, in peace and contentment with Clint…almost.
She heard a rustle and opened her eyes to find Clint had risen from his chair and crossed to her, going down on his knees before her. He took her hand in his.
Her heart fluttered and rose to her throat. She looked at him and saw the naked yearning in his eyes. She knew that look, understood his longing. For she'd learned about yearning from him, and it was all she could do to keep her feelings in check.
He pulled her forward and she let him. Going into his arms felt natural, natural and right. Not like what she'd lived through before…not like Lucas. But she wouldn't think about Lucas now, couldn't think about him or she'd flee and hide.
And she wanted Clint to kiss her…and touch her. To teach her the gentle side of loving.
His arms tightened around her waist and he lowered his head, capturing her mouth. Like the whisper of a moth's wings, his lips gently brushed hers. His mouth was warm and moist, and soft, too, so soft for such a big, rough man. She kissed him back, savoring the taste of him.
And her body responded again, just as it had before. Her nipples hardened and peaked into tender buds. Between her thighs, she ached and grew wet. All of her skin was one sensitive organ that felt tight, like a too ripe plum. She needed him closer, wanted to rub against him like a purring cat. Wanted to feel his rock-hard chest crush her breasts and his calloused hands stroke her…all over.
Could she? Did she dare? Could she be as strong as Clint had been and face down her demons?
His kisses grew more heated, more passionate. She sighed and opened her mouth. Lucas had taught her how to kiss with an open mouth. But with her husband, it had seemed an obscene act. With Clint, all she wanted was to be closer to him, to savor the strength of his arms and relish the white-hot tingle of lightning that sparked between them.
Tentatively, he touched his tongue to hers and she responded, sliding her tongue inside his mouth and exploring there. He smelled of whiskey and leather and all man. She couldn't get enough of him.
He plundered her mouth and then reined himself back, retreating to kiss the corners of her mouth, nibbling on her bottom lip and running his tongue over the outline of her lips. She clung to him, letting him taste her, letting him love her as no other man had.
Love her?
His fingers were busy, too, parting the neck-high buttons on her calico dress. Enthralled by his touch and his tongue sliding down her neck, she let him unbutton her dress.
He pulled back and rested his hands on her shoulders. The heat from the fireplace warmed her neck and chest. The lace of her camisole peeked from beneath the open wedge of her dress. His gaze drank her in, and for once, she felt feminine and desirable, eliciting his desire without trying. So unlike Lucas.
She wouldn't think of Lucas, wouldn't allow the awful memories to ruin the moment.
He lifted his gaze and she read his silent question there. And God help her, she nodded.
He smiled and smoothed his hands down her arms, stroking gently. Then his clever fingers strayed underneath her arms and he stroked the fullness of the sides of her breasts. Her breath caught and she puddled beneath his tender touch, her insides turned to a mess of porridge.
His hands moved up and cupped her breasts, and his thumbs flicked over her too-sensitive nipples. She gasped and threw back her head, offering herself, pushing against his hands. Feeling the pulsing need, like an unbreakable cord, running from her breasts to between her legs.
He kissed her again and then trailed his lips down her throat. At the hollow of her throat, he licked and then blew on her heated flesh. She melted and leaned into him, craving his hands on her breasts and his mouth on hers.
His lips trailed down and he parted her dress wider with his hands. Now only the camisole covered her achy, flushed breasts. He lowered his head and drew one breast into his mouth, along with her silky camisole. And then like a baby, he suckled her.
She arched into him. He kissed and suckled her, and his hand strayed down and he cupped her woman's mound through the covering of her dress. Her body responded and she pressed herself against his hand.
His tongue flicked over her breast, and his clever fingers rubbed her between her thighs in her secret woman's place. Her woman's passage contracted and throbbed. She wanted to scream, to throw herself at him, to do something. She'd never felt like this before, never known what it meant when a woman…
And then the crest of pleasure spilled over her, carrying her along on wave after wave of ecstasy. She splintered and broke, like a fine crystal vase shattering. The pleasure was so pure as to almost border on pain. Now she understood why Lucas had forced her to do the things he had to make him…feel like this. For if this was the way she felt, how much more pleasurable must it be for a man when he spilled his seed?
She slumped against Clint and leaned forward, touching her forehead with his. Their breaths intermingled. The experience had been so intense tears stung the backs of her eyelids.
“I never knew how it could be for a woman…how it could feel.”
He kissed the top of her head. “I'm happy to show you this…and more. Much more.” He grasped her hand and placed it on the bulge in his jeans. The length of his shaft was as hard as an anvil.
She gasped. He was ready for her, so unlike her husband.
Was she ready?
Clint got to his feet and pulled her into his arms. He leaned down and caught her beneath her knees, lifting her. He carried her through a long hallway on the opposite side of the house from her
bedroom and Kevin's. He opened a door and then they were in another bedroom—Clint's bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind them.
She gazed at the big bed and then the awful images started.
Lucas and his obscene demands. Lucas and his ugly, hideous words thrown at her like angry bullets, stripping away her humanity. Making her nothing better than an animal, doing anything to make him happy, anything to stay safe.
She couldn't do this. She'd thought she could, but she couldn't.
She pushed against Clint's chest with the flat of her hands. “Please, please, put me down.”
“All right.” He put her down and nuzzled her neck.
But she pulled away. Taking his hands in hers, she said, “Clint, I can't do this. I thought I could.” She looked down at the hardwood floors, covered with brightly-colored rag rugs. “I know it isn't fair, not after…not after…”
He went down again, kneeling on an orange-and-yellow oval rug. “I apologize, Abby, but when you…responded, when I was able to—”
“Give me pleasure?” She wanted to choke on the word.
How terrible she was. She'd taken his gift, learning she could feel the pleasure of a woman. But because she couldn't face her own demons, she was refusing him that same gratification.
“I got carried away. I should have known better.” He lowered his head. “I know you're a God-fearing woman.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Abby, I want to marry you. I'm asking you to marry me…if you'll have me. I know I'm not—”
“Oh, Clint, don't, don't.” She shook her head and pulled her hands free. “You're so smart and kind and… It's not you, Clint. It's me. I'm already married. I can't marry you.”
“But your husband has deserted you. He's been gone for six years. Kevin doesn't even remember him.” He lifted his head and locked his gaze with hers, and the look in his eyes pleaded. “You're a grass widow already. After five years, you're technically free.”
She opened her mouth to tell him she couldn't marry like that—not being free of Lucas in the eyes of God.
