by Merry Farmer
“I love you too, Greg,” she said, though there was no joy in it. What could she do? What could she possibly do?
Greg answered her heart’s question by swaying closer to her and slanting his mouth over hers. The touch of lips against lips spilled warmth and joy through her. She circled her arms around him, humming with need. Every part of her wanted this man in her arms. His kiss seared her, branded his name on her soul. She opened to him, letting him taste her and slide his tongue along hers.
She wanted more of him, all of him. Whatever cold she’d felt before was gone. All that was left was an irresistible heat between them, the pulse of life. The rain drummed on the canvas, but it couldn’t hide his sigh of longing or her answer.
“Yes,” she said, pouring her whole self into kissing Greg. “This is what I want.”
“I only want you,” he answered.
His arms tightened around her, hands sliding across the thin, wet fabric of her chemise. The flimsy garment might as well not have been there. He spread his hand across her side, then stroked around to cradle her breast. Darcy gasped at the deliciousness of the sensation, her body surging to life. Her nipples were already taut from the cold and the rain, but his touch sent them aching with need. She’d never realized a man’s touch could drive thought from her head so effectively.
As smoothly as he could in their cramped surroundings, Greg laid her on her back and stretched himself over her. Their bodies touched in so many places—thighs, hips, arms, stomachs, and lips. She felt the hard spear of him press against her thigh and wanted more. She wanted to know him, explore him. With deliberate movements, she traced her fingertips down the firm muscles of his sides, then tugged his shirt out of his trousers. He tensed and hummed as she spread her hands across the warm flesh of his back. It felt so good to touch him this way, but still she wanted more.
She wriggled her hips, working her way out of her wet drawers. The motion rubbed against Greg’s erection, and he growled.
“Darcy,” he said. “I can’t go much further before I won’t be able to go back.”
“I don’t want you to go back,” she said, sliding her drawers down and kicking them off. “I want you.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re asking?” he murmured against her ear, kissing her earlobe and her neck.
“Yes,” she answered, splaying her hands across his sides once more.
He kissed his way to her collarbone and lower, licking across her nipple, then suckling her. Darcy cried out with the bliss of it, her core aching for more. He responded to her cry by teasing his hand down over her stomach and abdomen to delve his fingers into the curls between her legs. She gasped and jerked against him at the sensations he raised, desire burning hotter. His touch was so tender, and yet so commanding as he explored her. The wanting that consumed her reached to towering heights.
His fingers slid deeper, brushing over a part of her that flared with pleasure at his touch. She sighed with the intensity of it. It was more than just a fleeting caress. He circled that spot with his fingertips, gently yet insistently, and her body reacted by soaring to untold levels of pleasure.
“Greg,” she cried his name, digging her fingertips into his back as he continued his ministrations.
“I’m a fool,” he answered her, voice rough with longing. “I’m a fool for not having sent for you to be my bride.”
Those words, combined with the magic his fingers were working on her, sent her crashing over the cliff of pleasure. Wave after wave of intense joy pitched through her, teasing and satisfying the ache within her. The completeness of it was near perfect.
Before she had come down completely from that bliss, Greg shifted above her. He undid his trousers enough to free his hard staff. Darcy wanted to see him, to touch him and learn this unique part of him, but the urgency that rippled off of him was too much. He needed her now as much as she’d needed his touch moments ago.
With infinite care, he positioned himself between her thighs. She gasped with anticipation at the pressure of his staff seeking her opening. Instantly, her body was on fire again, wanting him as she’d never wanted anything. She giggled at the feeling of it, and when he plunged into her, those giggles turned to breathless, passionate gasps. Even the brief twinge of pain that his invasion caused was a wonder.
He felt so good inside of her that she could barely contain her thoughts. He fit and stretched and filled her with a perfection that she felt down to her soul. When he started to move with firm, insistent strokes that swept through her, she cried out to greet each one. His body was powerful, possessing hers with a fluidity that made her blood sing at the amazing friction. It went beyond that. Desperate cries of longing escaped from his lungs as he took her, his rhythm faster and harder as sense left him and desire took over. It was beauty and bliss in its purest form, something she never wanted to be without.
With a deep gasp and a cry, the force and intensity of his thrusts changed. He tensed, then slowly released, spent and hot. Even the weight of him as he relaxed on top of her was wonderful. She tightened her arms around him, wrapped her legs over his as he rolled to the side.
“Darcy,” he murmured, as if that was the only prayer he would ever need.
“Yes,” she answered, affirming everything he could possibly have said and everything they had done.
She lay in his arms, her body still entwined with his. The rain continued to beat on the canvas above her. Outside, the world was a mess of confusion and problems, but in the shelter of Greg’s wagon, hidden under his blanket, life was as perfect as it could be. Their troubles would be back again tomorrow, but for the moment, everything was sunshine and light.
Chapter Eight
The rain didn’t matter. The fact that everything that wasn’t soaked to the bone was damp through didn’t matter. Even the distant roll of thunder that shook him awake in the middle of the night didn’t matter. Greg had Darcy in his arms.
Every sensible part of him knew that they shouldn’t have done what they’d done. It may have been acceptable out here in the West—a place where rules were relaxed and where people turned a blind eye when there wasn’t time or a preacher on hand to make things right—but in his heart, Greg didn’t think that was right for him. Worse still, Darcy wasn’t really his to love, not until Conrad was out of the picture. But the way Darcy felt pressed against him, her skin warm and moist, her breathing slow and steady as she slept as if she’d never slept before, filled him with joy that he couldn’t put words to.
He had to make this right, he just had to. But how? Any way he looked at things, the choices were grim. If Darcy broke her promise to marry Conrad, she would have to pay back the twenty dollars Conrad had spent to bring her out to the frontier. Darcy didn’t have the money and couldn’t earn it in time.
Another thought pinched at Greg as he lay awake in the early morning hours. He had the money. He did. He had every cent that he’d saved up for the last few years to buy his land in Oregon. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to pay off Conrad. The problem was, if he handed all of his hard-won money over to get Darcy out of the deal she’d made, he wouldn’t have enough left to buy a postage stamp, let alone a farm or a ranch. He wouldn’t be able to provide for Darcy, at least not to start with. The thought of Darcy having to work even harder and to face so much uncertainty, all because of him, was almost as bad as thinking of her with Conrad. At least with Conrad, she would have a home and a position. But how could he let her go with that bully now?
The questions wouldn’t leave him alone for the rest of the night, and by the time dawn broke over the sodden and defeated cluster of wagons, Greg was no closer to knowing what he should do than he had been the day before.
“We don’t have to think of an answer right now,” Darcy told him once she had awaken and seen how distressed he was over things.
“What are you saying?” He blinked at her, helping her back into her still-damp clothes from the day before. “Are you saying we should just pretend that nothi
ng happened between us? That we don’t love each other and want each other?”
“No, not that.” She shifted to kneel in front of where he was crouched, folding up the blanket that had covered them the night before. She rested her slender hands on either side of his face and smiled at him. “We love each other, Greg. That’s a beautiful thing. And I never knew that two hearts could beat as one the way ours did last night.”
Greg dropped the blanket and pulled her into his arms. “I can’t let you go back to him.”
“But you can’t take me away as though there aren’t problems and obligations to work through,” she finished his thought.
Greg sighed, turning away from her and finishing his work. “This is not the way that love is supposed to be.”
To his surprise, Darcy laughed. “Nothing in my life has been the way things are supposed to be. I’m used to it. I know things will work out somehow.”
“But in the meantime, you’re going to walk back over to Conrad’s wagon and cook his supper and pretend that we didn’t make love last night,” he said, trying not to sound bitter.
Darcy shrugged. “What harm could it do? We’re still a few days away from Ft. Bridger and the parting of the ways. We still have time to work out how we’re going to make this situation right.”
He could make it right today, if he just had the courage. He could take the money that he had wrapped up in an oilskin and buried deep in his belongings and hand it over to Conrad. And he could kiss any sort of security or safety for Darcy goodbye when he did. He hated himself for being so hesitant about doing what he knew was right, but there was the future to consider. Darcy wanted security. Claiming her would mean he’d lose that.
“All right,” he breathed out at last. “As long as he doesn’t put his hands on you—”
“He hasn’t yet, so I don’t see why he would start now,” Darcy said.
“Because he’s a man,” Greg said. “One I don’t trust.”
“Well, if he does get ideas, I’ll put an end to them,” she assured him with a grin. “Honestly, I think his fondness for whiskey has made him a little less of a man,” she added with an arched eyebrow.
“Darcy, don’t joke about this, please,” he said.
She nodded, resting a hand on the side of his face. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”
He wasn’t sure he would see.
It was easy enough for Darcy to slip out of his wagon unnoticed. The camp was a mess of mud and wet grass, and the rain hadn’t entirely finished by the time they emerged into the daylight. Darcy went straight to work, tidying up Conrad’s camp and putting together whatever she could for breakfast, but when Conrad dragged his sorry backside out of his wagon and took a look at the state of his wagon and belongings, everything changed.
“What in the devil did you do, woman?” he bellowed at Darcy.
Greg stood from where he was crouching, trying in vain to start a fire so he could make some coffee.
“Me?” Darcy asked, straightening from the clothes she was wringing out.
“Can’t you keep a man’s things dry?” Conrad marched over to stand towering above Darcy. Bruce climbed out of the wagon too, swaying as if he was still drunk.
“I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Huber,” Darcy defended herself, “but rain is something that no one can control.”
“Well only a damned fool of a woman leaves everything laying out where it can get ruined like this,” Conrad shouted. “Ruined, I tell you, and it all cost me money. I should make you pay for every cent of it.”
“Nothing is ruined that can’t be put back to rights,” Darcy said, casting a sideways look to Greg as she spoke.
“I ought to teach you a lesson,” Conrad started to say, then caught Darcy’s look. He turned to see what she’d been looking at, and when he spotted Greg standing there, watching everything and ready to step in if he needed to, he sneered. “You and that young cowboy have it in for me, don’t you?”
“Greg is a friend,” Darcy said.
“Give it a rest, Conrad,” Bruce slurred. “My head hurts.”
At the same time, Greg said, “You keep talking to her like that and I’ll make sure you’re in too much pain to speak for a long time, Conrad.”
Conrad jerked straight in offense. “And who are you to go flapping your yap at me? You’re the one who kept telling me I should take this piece of nothing back.”
“I’ll clean up the camp, and as soon as we stop for the day, when the sun is out, I’ll do the washing and everything will be as good as new, you’ll see,” Darcy said.
Conrad wasn’t interested in a word of it. He twisted to face Darcy. “Hold your tongue, woman. I’ll deal with you later.”
“You will not.” Greg raised his voice and took a few steps closer to him.
“Oh, and are you going to tell me how I should conduct my business with my own wife?” Conrad moved to face him down.
“She’s not your wife yet,” Greg said, and if he had anything to do about it, he never would be.
“I can change that quick enough.” Conrad swaggered across the remaining space between the two of them until they stood toe-to-toe. “As soon as I find a preacher or a judge, or heck, as soon as we reach that fort. Someone there oughta be able to do it.”
“Pipe down, Conrad,” Bruce whined, holding his head. “All of you, just shut up.”
“A man like you doesn’t deserve a wife like Darcy,” Greg fired back. He couldn’t care less about Bruce’s state. Now that he was standing close, Greg could smell the whiskey on Conrad. The two of them must have been drinking in Conrad’s wagon, either the night before or even that morning. It would have been so easy to punch Conrad in the face and end his bullying right then.
“I paid for her, fair and square,” Conrad bit back, snorting, then spitting on the ground. “She’s a good worker, and I’ll get my money’s worth out of her if it’s the last thing I do.”
“It will be the last thing you do if you so much as try,” Greg said.
“Please,” Darcy called to them, approaching with the shirt she’d been wringing out still tangled in her hands. “Let’s not fight about this now. There’s plenty of time to sort it out when we’re all feeling a bit calmer,” she said, looking straight at Greg.
“I thought I told you to hold your tongue.” Conrad whipped around to glare at Darcy. “Or do I have to smack you into obeying me, woman, because I will.”
Greg had had enough. “No you won’t.”
He grabbed hold of Conrad’s shoulder and spun him around, planting a first square against his jaw. The sting of the blow against his knuckles was nothing to the satisfaction of watching Conrad stumble. He didn’t fall, though, and when he shook himself, realizing what had happened, Conrad flew at him, fists raised. Bruce whooped in alarm.
Part of Greg shouted with relief as Conrad took a swing at him. The man may have been half drunk, but he had enough meat on him to land a solid punch. Greg felt the crack against his cheek and smiled. He threw his whole effort into fending Conrad off, landing punch after punch in the man’s stomach, his side, his face when he could reach it. Few things had ever felt so satisfying, and he threw himself into the fight with abandon.
“Stop!” Darcy shouted from the sidelines. “Stop this nonsense.”
“Get ’im, Conrad,” Bruce egged them on.
As much as Greg wanted to do whatever Darcy told him to do, he needed to teach Conrad a lesson. He landed another punch with a crunch, right across Conrad’s nose, letting out a grunt of satisfaction.
“Somebody is going to get hurt,” Darcy went on. “Please stop fighting.”
“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?”
The sound of Pete Evans shouting as he ran up to the fight knocked Greg out of his focus. He turned to find Pete, only to have Conrad land one last, sloppy punch against his jaw. It didn’t have enough force behind it to do more than snap Greg’s head to the side, but it was enough to keep Greg seething with rage.
“Hol
d up there,” Pete went on. He grabbed Greg’s arm and jerked him away from Conrad.
The full picture of what was happening came clear around Greg. A dozen men or more had come to watch the fight. Bruce stumbled up to pull Conrad away from Greg, and the two of them stood to the side, glaring bullets at him. Darcy stood nearby, clutching the wrung shirt to her chest and gaping at both men, enough fury in her eyes to make Greg wonder if picking the fight had been the right thing to do. He’d had to do something, though.
“What’s got you two all riled up?” Pete asked. “Or do I even need to ask?” He glanced to Darcy.
“It’s none of your business,” Conrad barked. “It’s not of any of you all’s business.”
“I refuse to stand here and let that man mistreat a woman like Darcy,” Greg answered Conrad’s obnoxious reply.
A few of the men around them hummed or murmured in agreement, and a few snorted and shook their heads, glaring at Darcy. “Bad luck,” one of them said before turning and going.
Darcy ignored it, stepping forward to Greg and Pete.
“You could have been seriously injured,” she scolded Greg.
“I was defending you,” he replied, hurt.
Darcy pursed her lips and shook her head. “I told you we had time to figure this out before we reached Ft. Bridger, that everything would come clear. That did not involve you getting into a fight and making Conrad mad.”
She tossed a look over her shoulder to where Conrad and Bruce had their heads together, grumbling. Conrad was swaying heavily now, blood seeping from his nose, his eye swelling up. Greg had the bad feeling he didn’t look much better.
“I don’t care if he’s mad,” Greg told her. “I want you as far away from him as soon as possible.”
“And so do I,” she snapped, stomping her foot, “but until I have twenty dollars to pay him back, that isn’t going to happen. Give me time, Greg.”
“I….” He stopped, whatever protest he had planned fading. Once again, he was bungling things beyond reason. But her logic was just as bad as his. Something needed to be done now, before it was too late.
