by Lily Reynard
* * *
Three days later
Tuesday, May 18
Larkin emerged from behind the barn, buttoning up his pants. He and Sarah were still sleeping chastely in the same bed, and Larkin's desire for her was growing worse every evening. It had gotten to the point that the first thing he did in the morning, before starting his chores, was to find a discreet corner to pull out his cock and try to relieve his need.
She's driving me crazy, and I don't know how much longer I can keep my hands off her, he thought ruefully.
At this point, he should be making a trip to town to buy supplies and maybe spend an hour or two visiting one of the ladies of the line.
Truth be told, though, as hard up as he was right now for a particular type of female company, he didn't want Texas Mattie or Queen Annie, or any of the other soiled doves who had set up shop on the outskirts of Twin Forks. He wanted Sarah.
He wanted her badly enough to keep torturing himself by sharing her bed without doing more than cuddling with her. Though the cuddling was damned fine, as was the feeling of waking up every morning with her soft, deliciously curvy body in his arms.
Dammit. I can't really be falling for her, can I? And won't Walt laugh himself silly if he comes home to find I've gone all spoony over Sarah too?
He growled at himself as he headed for the stables. You're a damned lunkhead, Larkin Williams.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarah emerge from the back door with a basket in her hand and make a beeline for the henhouse.
Despite the frustration imposed by her resolute chastity when he could tell that she wanted him too, he'd been enjoying the comfortable domestic routine that they had quickly fallen into. He liked her air of quiet cheerfulness as she did her chores, and he sure as hell loved her cooking.
She continued to pose a fascinating conundrum—clearly unafraid of hard work, but also oddly ignorant of some of the basic aspects of farm life.
In particular, he'd been enjoying watching her do daily battle over egg collecting with Mrs. Biddy, their orneriest hen. It took real effort not to laugh out loud and alert her to his presence.
But really, anyone who had been raised around chickens would have chased that Mrs. Biddy away from her nest box with a broom or a stick, not continued to use a fancy umbrella.
His amusement at Sarah's misadventures with the hens made him think about how long it had been since he had wanted to laugh out loud. He used to enjoy joking and laughing with Walt and Mr. Edwards, but after Walt's parents died, the urge to laugh had died along with them.
But now, there was just something so comfortable and easy about Sarah's presence—not to mention her beauty and her ripe, luscious body—that made him crave her company.
Sure, he wanted raise her skirts and see how it felt to ride her while he ran his hands all over her soft, smooth skin. But he also enjoyed sitting with her at the kitchen table and eating one of the meals that she prepared for him while they talked about all sorts of things.
And all the little things she did, from filling vases in the kitchen with fresh, living flowers, to baking pies and other mouthwatering desserts, made this house feel like a home again. He was sure going to miss her when she left on the next train out of town.
But she doesn't have to go, whispered a voice in his head. Maybe Walt wasn't wrong to want a woman's touch around the ranch again.
But whatever ultimately happened between Walt and Sarah, Larkin knew that he wasn't marriage material. He'd inherited his old man's temper, and he'd seen how that had poisoned Da's relationships with Mam and everyone else around him, including Larkin.
For the first time in his life, Larkin regretted that he'd remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. But it was for the best—that way, he'd never put a woman through the hell that his Da had put his Mam through.
Walt would be all right, though. He liked taking care of things, and he was mostly easy-going and slow to anger. And most importantly, Walt had grown up watching how his dad treated his mom, and learning how to be good husband.
Larkin finished his morning chores and headed back to the house to wash up before breakfast.
A short time later, his face and hands still damp, Larkin sat down to a stack of fluffy, golden-brown flapjacks with melted butter and huckleberry syrup, with strips of crisp bacon and a couple of scrambled eggs on the side.
"What will you be working on today?" asked Sarah, as she poured him coffee before seating herself.
Larkin contemplated another day of hard labor of digging holes and planting fenceposts. It had been a while since he'd taken a day off, since he'd just worked through Sunday.
Then he thought about his shopping list and the fact that he'd be able to start stringing barbed wire soon. And how pleasant it would be to go on a drive with Sarah at his side. She probably needed a few things as well.
He grinned at her. "How would you feel about writing up a list of supplies we're running low on—flour, sugar, coffee, anything you need—and driving into town with me?"
To his pleasure, she brightened instantly. "I would like that very much! And there are a few things that I would like to purchase, especially some yarn for knitting."
"Mrs. Brody out at the Pronghorn Springs Ranch likes to knit, so Silas Green at the Twin Forks Dry Goods and General Store usually orders in a few hanks of yarn from one of the sheep ranches over in Ten Mile Creek. If you want colors, you'll have to dye the yarn yourself, though."
With a rueful look, Sarah touched her hair. "I brought a few bottles of dye with me. Though I no longer have any mauve," she said wryly.
Larkin chuckled at the reminder of the practical joke that her brother had played on her.
Now that he'd gotten used to the unearthly color, he liked it. It looked good with her eyes and complexion.
"And if you want to send anyone a letter, Silas serves as the town postmaster, as well," he continued.
"That's all right," she said quickly. He noted how her pink tongue darted out to nervously wet her full lips, and he fantasized about licking them himself.
"You don't want to let your Da know that you arrived here safely?" Larkin asked, though he knew that Sarah's father had wanted to keep her a spinster.
She shuddered, and he was shocked at the terror that flashed across her expression before her features smoothed out to their usual good humor.
"No," she whispered, looking down at her plate. "I don't want him—or anyone else from back home—to know where I am."
Larkin stared at her, feeling an icy punch to his gut. In her letters, Sarah had never mentioned anything about her father beating her, but Larkin recognized that look when he saw it. He'd spent a lot of his childhood real familiar with fear and dread.
Someone hurt her. Protectiveness surged up inside him, accompanied by rage. I won't let anyone lay a finger on her, ever again.
His feelings must have shown on his face—damn his temper! Sarah shrank away from him, then tried to hide her reaction by going to fetch more coffee to refill their cups.
When she returned, coffee pot in her hand, Larkin had managed to master his anger.
Making an effort to keep his tone calm and gentle, as if she were a spooked horse, he said, "You don't ever have to be afraid of me, Sarah."
"I wasn't—" she began, but he cut her off with a curt gesture.
"As long as you're a guest under my roof, I'll do everything I can to protect you. I won't let anyone hurt you."
Eyes wide, she stared at him.
He added, "And I know that the same goes for Walt, too. We don't hold truck with anyone hurtin' women or children."
The tension eased from her shoulders. "Thank you, Larkin." She topped up his coffee cup and smiled. "I appreciate your chivalry. And I'm not afraid of you. I just had a bad memory, that's all."
He nodded. He understood, all too well.
After they finished eating breakfast, he went out to hitch Cincinnati to the wagon while Sarah washed the dishes and set yesterday'
s stew to warming on the stove, awaiting their return from town.
It was a beautiful day for a drive, warm but not too hot.
As they left the ranch, Larkin pointed out a herd of tan-and-white pronghorn grazing on a hillside among the cattle. Then Sarah excitedly pointed at a group of tall, long-legged, long-necked birds moving through the pasture at the base of the hill.
"Sandhill cranes," Larkin told her, smiling at her open delight.
When they rolled into town sometime later, Larkin was aware that they were the center of attention, though he wasn't sure whether it was due to Sarah's bright purple hair or just the fact that she was that rarest of creatures in Twin Forks—a respectable woman.
He pulled up in front of the Twin Forks Dry Goods and General Store and helped Sarah down from the wagon, aware that every male eye on the street was fastened on them and observing their every move with keen interest.
They entered the store, which had started life as a small wooden shack and had been successively enlarged every summer until it was now one of the largest buildings in town, with two big plate glass windows at the front displaying a selection of miner's tools and stacks of tobacco tins, and a second story with more glass windows, where Silas lived.
"Howdy, Larkin, Miss Hunter," Silas Green greeted them from behind the long plank counter. Behind him, shelves crowded with all manner of bottles, jars, and tins ran the length of the store.
Silas was a grizzled man in his fifties, with a balding head and a permanently reddened nose and cheeks. He'd arrived in town years ago, hoping to make a fortune in gold, and had quickly decided that there was better money to be made in selling supplies to miners rather than working a claim himself.
"Hey, Silas," Larkin replied.
Sarah looked startled to be addressed by name. Larkin chuckled and whispered, "Silas here is the town's biggest gossip. He knows everything that's going on."
From the back of the store, a feminine voice called, "Larkin? Sarah? Why, hello!"
Emmaline Kottinger appeared from behind a stack of egg crates at the back of the store, looking neat as a pin with her shining chestnut hair braided and coiled around her head and wearing a blue high-necked shirtwaist and skirts. She advanced on them, smiling warmly, a large woven-willow shopping basket looped in the crook of her elbow.
"Howdy, Mrs. K," Larkin said, lifting his hat to her.
He'd always had a soft spot for Mrs. Kottinger. Everyone liked "Mrs. K," as she was universally known in town. She might be the minister's wife, but she wasn't one of those rigid, judgmental types. Instead, she and the reverend had gotten a reputation for working hard to help improve life in these parts. Larkin hadn't forgotten their tireless work last year, nursing the ill and dying during the deadly epidemic. Afterwards, Mrs. K had begun hosting weekly dances in the Hotel Bede's dining room, where everyone was invited as long as they remained sober and respectful.
"Emma!" Sarah said, with obvious delight. "It's so nice to see you!"
Mrs. K enfolded Sarah in a hug, and with a pang of wistful envy, Larkin noticed how enthusiastically Sarah returned the other woman's embrace.
"You've been on my mind," Mrs. K said as they parted. "I've been wondering how your introduction to life in Twin Forks and to the E&W Ranch has been going."
"It's been very nice so far," Sarah assured her. "Both Walt and Mr. Williams here have been very kind to me, and the ranch house is quite comfortable." She turned her head and included Larkin in her smile. "And the scenery in these parts is quite extraordinary. We saw all sorts of wild creatures on the drive out here this morning."
"But no bears, I hope," Mrs. K asked. "I'm terrified of the grizzlies—they're gigantic, and they have quite a reputation as man-eaters."
"Oh!" Sarah's eyes widened. "We haven't seen any bears." Her gaze returned to Larkin. "Are there grizzlies at the ranch?"
He shook his head. "Nope. We had one last year that made a habit of killing calves, so Walt and I took care of it." He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll just leave you two to catch up while I go put in my order for that barbed wire and the stuff on Sarah's list."
Sarah turned to Mrs. K. "Did you happen to see whether there was any hair dye in stock?" She reached up a tucked a stray strand of purple back under her useless little hat.
"I believe so." Mrs. K led Sarah to the back of the store, where soap and other toiletries section were kept.
Larkin stepped up to the long counter to begin placing his orders. In addition to the barbed wire, Sarah had asked for more baking powder, sugar, and flour.
Silas grinned at him.
"So, I heard that Walt ordered himself a mail-order bride." He jerked his chin in the direction of the two women who were now standing next to a carefully stacked pyramid of Castile soap bars. "Gotta say, I'm thinking about it myself, if you can order someone like her from a catalog. Where's she from?"
"Small town in Missouri," Larkin answered, pulling out his list.
"She sure don't sound like she's from Missouri," Silas commented. He took the list from Larkin and added, "Hell, she sounds like a schoolmarm from the East Coast, if you ask me." Then he looked up and scrutinized Larkin. "So, Walt's set on marryin' her?"
Larkin hesitated, not sure how to respond, especially since Sarah was planning to leave on the next train. Twin Forks was a small town, and if Silas had heard about Walt's mail-order bride, then Larkin guessed that everyone had heard by now.
Or did Walt tell everyone but me about his plans to marry Sarah? His chest grew tight at the thought that his best friend and foster brother had felt the need to keep a secret like that.
Then again, his conscience reminded him, his rejection of Sarah was why she had decided to leave in the first place. Maybe I should reconsider. Would it really be so bad if Sarah and Walt got hitched?
He thought about what it would be like to live under the same roof with Sarah and Walt, with them enjoying wedded bliss upstairs and Larkin in his lonely room downstairs, and scowled.
Silas' brows shot up, and Larkin cursed his inability to hide his emotions.
"Nothing's settled yet," Larkin said. "Sarah—I mean, Miss Hunter—will be visiting us—uh, Walt—for a few weeks. And then I guess they'll decide whether getting hitched is a good idea."
"Well, if things don't work out between Walt and his girl…" Silas gave Larkin a sly look, "Or between you and Miss Hunter, well, she won't have to return home unwed. With a pretty face like that, every man in town will want to court her." He chuckled. "How's her cooking and housekeeping?"
"Terrible," Larkin lied, the news that Sarah might have other suitors here sending a surge of irrational possessiveness shooting straight to his mouth. "She didn't even know how to milk a cow."
"Huh." Silas glanced over at Sarah and Mrs. K, who were now examining a selection of bottles on a shelf.
"In any case, Walt's all-fired sweet on her, and you can tell anyone who asks that she's not available," Larkin finished firmly. "Now, about that barbed wire…"
When they loaded up the wagon with their purchases sometime later, Sarah said in an excited tone, "Look what Emma found! And it was the only bottle too!"
Beaming, she displayed her prize, which bore a colorful label that read, Hall's Vegetable Sicilian Hair Renewer. Restores hair to its original color.
"I don't know, Sarah," Larkin said, as he prepared to lift her up onto the wagon seat. "I'm partial to that purple shade, myself."
She laughed and shook her head.
Larkin walked around the wagon, shaking his head. His conversation with Silas had driven home that Walt's bride was getting under his skin and that he didn't want Sarah to leave on the next train.
But he didn't want to feel like an outsider in the house that was his second home, either. It was a real conundrum…not to mention that he was in serious danger of developing feelings for the delectable Sarah himself.
I need to make some kind of decision before Walt returns on Friday.
Chapter Twelve
&nbs
p; Sarah returned to the ranch in high spirits. Not only had she enjoyed the pleasant drive in Larkin's quiet but surprisingly friendly company, but Green's General Store had had yarn in stock, and best of all, Emma had guided her to where the last remaining bottle of hair dye stood, tucked behind a selection of hair oils and baldness cures.
She couldn't wait to sit down with the knitting needles she had tucked into her carpetbag as she was scurrying around her bedroom back in Boston, frantically packing while listening for Father's return.
Unlike Liza, who had had the leisure to pack a trunk with her books and other belongings, and presumably had been able to enlist help in transporting that trunk to the train station, Sarah had only been able to take what she could fit into a single suitcase and carpetbag.
