It seemed silly to cry over bread dough, but at the moment it seemed the most important thing in the world to her. If she’d had her iron stove, she could have had Ethan and some other men build a temporary shelter around it and could have kept it hot in spite of the rain. She could have baked bread and pies all night. She had made all the dough, even the pie dough, had peeled apples all day long. Then came the rain. The apples sat turning brown, and her big plans for starting to sell food tomorrow were dashed. The little tragedy seemed to have brought on a torrent of emotions, even made Toby’s death more intensely painful again. She had been so determined not to give up, but now she wondered if maybe she should after all. Who was she, a city girl and soon to be only seventeen, a girl inexperienced in this kind of living, to think she could come here like these other rugged pioneers and make a go of it?
Lightning flashed, and thunder cracked loudly overhead, as though to tell of her fate. This was all she had. Somehow she had to make it work, but tonight she was just too tired and too disappointed to care. Tonight she needed to cry as she had not cried since Toby died; to feel sorry for herself; to rant and wail and physically feel her grief. Oh, how it hurt to remember seeing Nolan Ives taking that stove away.
“Ally?”
She sat up at the sound of her name.
“Let me in. It’s pouring out here! I know you’re crying.”
Allyson recognized Ethan’s voice. She untied the flaps and he ducked inside, removing a slicker and his hat and throwing them in a corner. The tent was big enough for at least four people, but not big enough for a man like Ethan to stand up. He remained bent over as he moved closer, then sat down near her.
“I couldn’t sleep because of the storm. My damn tent is leaking. Besides, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to come by, knowing how disappointed you were about everything.” He reached out hesitantly and touched her hair. “I could hear you crying even with all the rain and thunder.”
All her inner warnings against anything more than a casual friendship with this man left her. Tonight she needed his company, needed to be held by someone stronger. She was tired of being strong all on her own. She had been doing that most of her life.
“Will you…hold me for a little while?”
Ethan gladly obliged. He put an arm around her and pulled her onto his lap, holding her close and letting her cry against his shoulder. He still wished he could kill Nolan Ives. “Hey, this isn’t the Ally I know.”
“I wanted…that stove so bad,” she wept. “It isn’t…fair.”
He thought about how his mother had died, how Violet died, taking her baby with her. “A lot of things in life aren’t fair, Ally, but we have to put up with them anyway. We just have to keep going.”
Ally breathed deeply of the smell of him, a manly scent of leather and out-of-doors. Here was a man who didn’t cry just because he didn’t have a cookstove. Here was a man who knew how to get by on almost nothing, and tonight she needed his strength. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered.
Ethan struggled against the urge to do much more than hold her. He had not been with a woman for a long time, and this one had haunted him since he met her. He wanted to hold her forever, wanted to take care of her. It had seemed impossible, but tonight she was so soft in his arms, so vulnerable. Maybe if he had the chance to show her the pleasures of being a woman…
He chastised himself for the thought. “You could use a shot of whiskey,” he told her. “I have a small flask in my slicker. I think you should take a swallow. It will relax you and you can sleep. You haven’t had enough rest for five or six days now, maybe longer. God knows it couldn’t have been comfortable for you riding that orphan train.”
He gently set her off his lap and moved to get the whiskey from his slicker.
“I’ve never drunk whiskey before,” she answered, taking a handkerchief from under her pillow and wiping at her eyes and nose. Her slender shoulders shook in a lingering sob.
Ethan returned to sit beside her. “Well, one shot will cure your crying,” he told her. “The burning sensation will make you forget your troubles for a moment.” He grinned, taking a cork from the small flask and swallowing some himself.
Allyson watched, wondering if tales she had heard about Indians and whiskey were true. Was she in danger, allowing herself to be alone in such close quarters with this dark, experienced, maybe dangerous man? She felt different tonight, a new longing in her soul to eradicate the child in her, the lingering, youthful innocence that made her vulnerable to men like Nolan Ives. She had noticed how tough some older women talked, mainly the prostitutes who plied their “wares” in the streets, hanging around the gambling tables. They seemed so strong, knew how to handle men, never seemed afraid. If she was more like them, maybe she could have gotten her stove back. Maybe there was some kind of secret to being a full woman that she didn’t know about, something missing in her quest to be independent that she still hadn’t learned, in spite of living in the streets of New York.
Ethan handed her the flask. “Take a quick gulp. Don’t just taste it first or you’ll be afraid to take a big swallow.”
She watched his dark eyes. Was he trying to trick her? Seduce her? She had to be careful. Still, if she was going to make it on her own, she had to know about life, about men. Maybe they were able to take advantage of her because there was still something she didn’t know about how to handle them, something the painted ladies of the streets seemed to fully understand. All she knew was that some men were cruel, like Henry Bartel and Nolan Ives; and some were totally good, like Toby. Ethan Temple was neither all good nor all bad, and one thing about him made him different from any of the others: he was Indian.
She took the flask from him, and with all the daring and determination with which she did everything else, she tipped it up and took a huge swallow. Immediately she gagged and coughed, pounding at her chest and gasping for breath. Ethan laughed lightly. “What did I tell you? Kind of makes you forget your other troubles, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, unable to talk. She reached for the bucket of drinking water she kept in the tent and dipped out a ladle full, quickly drinking it down to cool her throat. She took several deep breaths then, wondering how on earth some men could drink the stuff like water. “Ethan Temple,” she finally gasped, “what are you doing with whiskey in Indian Territory? You know it’s not allowed in Guthrie or anyplace else south of Kansas and north of Texas.”
“Oh, I get around. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I just don’t generally let anybody know I’ve got it, especially my Indian friends or relatives. See how privileged and trusted you are? You’re one of the few who knows I have any of this stuff on me.” He took another swallow, then corked it. “Feel better?”
She watched him carefully. “How much does it take to get you drunk?”
He chuckled. “A hell of a lot more than two swallows. All that did was warm my bones against the cold rain.” He studied her pretty face, glad to see she seemed to have forgotten some of her troubles already. “On the other hand, it wouldn’t take much for a little thing like you who’s never drunk any before.”
Allyson felt a little light-headed, figuring it was because she had eaten hardly anything all day. She smiled. “You’re right about it making you forget other things for the moment. Maybe I should have another swallow.”
Ethan handed her the flask. He couldn’t help wondering if a little more firewater might soften her up enough to awaken the woman in her. He knew damn well it was wrong, but he wanted her, and if this was the only way to have her, then so be it. Maybe with a little whiskey in her, she could get over the fear she felt for all men. Maybe once he showed her the pleasure of taking a man, she would realize they could and should be together. Maybe then she would forget this crazy idea of trying to make it alone. And maybe…just maybe…she would realize that she loved him, Indian or not.
He watched her take another swallow, followed by more choking and panting. He took the flask from
her. “That’s probably enough.”
Allyson quickly drank a little more water, wondering why Ethan’s smile looked more handsome than usual tonight. Was it because of the soft lantern light? She watched him remove his gunbelt, his boots. Why was he doing that? His hair was worn loose tonight, and she thought that if he were shirtless and painted, he would look like some warrior out of the books she had read and pictures she had seen about Indians. She leaned her head against his shoulder then. “What am I going to do, Ethan?”
He put an arm around her. “That’s your decision. I told you before I’d take you to Fort Supply if you want to give this up. You’d be protected there until you decide what to do next.”
She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling as though she was lightly floating. “I can’t give in to somebody like Nolan Ives because of Toby, if for no other reason. I know it could work if I could just get started right. I’ve never given in to anybody in my whole life.”
With his free hand, Ethan touched her small face. “Maybe it’s time you did,” he told her. “But not to Nolan Ives.” He wondered why he had said the words, wondered why suddenly it all seemed so right when he knew damn well it wasn’t. How else was he going to convince her to give this all up and let him take care of her, without showing her the wonders of being a woman? He had felt her attraction for him, knew she was fighting a battle on the inside over her feelings.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered.
He held her chin in his hand, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. “I think you do. Ever since that night I kissed you, you’ve been wondering about it, and I’ve been in near-pain wanting to kiss you again. You do have a power over men, Ally, and you don’t even know it. If you were a full woman, you’d know what I’m talking about, and I can’t stand the thought of any other man showing you the way but me.”
She watched his eyes. Was he right? Would she discover some secret power if she gave in to the woman inside her that she held back only because of bad memories? Was it possible for one man to erase those memories and make them sweet? It was so hard to think straight, being so full of grief and disappointment…and feeling so strange from the whiskey. What had this man done to her? Was he just using her for his own fun tonight? Still, she thought maybe he was right that she needed to know all of it; and at the moment he was also right that there was no one else who could show her but him. He had been so good to her, protected her, helped her, defended her…“Ethan, I don’t—”
Her words were cut off by his kiss, a deep, sweet, warm kiss that awakened an intense curiosity in her soul and made her return the kiss willingly. She remembered she had liked it when he parted her lips that first time he kissed her. This time she opened them willingly, and she felt Ethan laying her back onto the bedroll, yet she didn’t really feel like she was there at all. It seemed they were floating gently, and where she would normally have demanded that he stop, she could not bring herself to utter a word.
“I think I love you, Ally Mills,” he said softly, moving his lips to her neck. Slowly his hand moved to a breast, only this time she did not feel the horror she had felt the first time. He squeezed it gently, and through the thin cotton material of her dress and chemise, she could actually feel her nipple tingle. He kept moving his thumb over it, and fire seemed to sweep through her at his touch. “It’s all right,” he assured her, moving down to kiss her breast. The new touch made her gasp his name, and to her own astonishment, she lay still while he unbuttoned the front of her dress. He moved his hand inside, under her chemise. He touched her naked breast, gently fondling it while he found her lips again, kissing her savagely.
Allyson felt breathless, helpless. Never had she been this curious to know it all, to learn the secret of these womanly powers she was sure she would possess if she was fully awakened to a man. She breathed his name in deep sighs as he moved his lips to her breast then, tasting gently while he moved his hand down under her dress and up along her leg. Bad memories again flickered in her mind; but this time they were very dim, and she did not feel the compulsion to stop this man. There was a deeper need now, a terrible curiosity that had suddenly become more vivid.
She stared at the top of the tent, feeling as though she was lost in some magical dream from which she dared not awaken, not yet. She listened to the rain pelting against the tent and she felt lost in a world she’d never known, Ethan Temple’s world of danger and wildness. Why couldn’t she stop him? Had he somehow tricked her? Never had a man touched her like this without her feeling revulsion and fear. She tried to clear her mind, tried to determine if Ethan had just pulled off her bloomers, or if it was just her imagination. She could feel his hands, yet it was as though they were not touching her at all.
No! This was wrong! He was touching her in that secret place she had vowed no man would ever touch! A boy in the streets had tried that once when she was little, and it had frightened and shamed her. He would have done even more terrible things if Toby hadn’t come along and beat on him. Now here she was letting this Indian man she had only known a few days do the same to her, only it was somehow different. He was touching her in a way that made her whisper his name, made her want to let him touch her more. His fingers worked in magical circles, while he smothered her mouth again in a hungry kiss, so gentle yet so intimate. Suddenly all the curiosity and wonder at being woman came to a rush of desire and need unlike anything she had ever known, and something new and powerful moved through her loins so that she felt muscles pulling and could not keep from groaning Ethan’s name and arching up against his hand.
What had he done to her? And what did he think of her letting him do these things?
“Give it up, Ally. Marry me and let me take care of you.” He was licking at her neck, moving on top of her. “We’ve both been fighting it, but we know it’s the right thing to do.”
He met her mouth again, his hands moving down to grasp her bottom. Something hard probed between her legs. No! Henry Bartel had shown her his ugly manpart once, had forced her to the floor in a utility closet and tried to do something horrible to her. She had hit him with a can of powdered soap and screamed bloody murder, had gotten him into a lot of trouble. It took a long time to get over that nightmare and the sick feeling it had left in her stomach. He had meant to stick that ugly thing into her, and she had decided then and there that no man would ever do that.
Yet here was Ethan, so handsome, so kind to her, so helpful and protective. He’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? Did he really mean it, or was he just another Henry Bartel in different clothing, using a different approach to get himself into her? No! She wasn’t ready for this! She didn’t want to know yet. It was too frightening, too ugly. “Wait,” she whimpered.
Ethan did not seem to hear. In the next moment she felt the terrifying pain, realized in that quick second what he had done. To this point the whiskey had dulled her senses, but it did not take away the reality of what had just happened to her. She felt a fire between her legs, felt the terror of Henry Bartel all over again. She pushed at Ethan, beginning to panic. What had she done? She had gone against every rule she had set for herself. He had poured his whiskey into her as a way of doing dirty things. Surely he was no different from Mr. Bartel. She began gasping in protest, beating at his face.
Ethan was taken by surprise. He had thought she was ready for this, wanted it. He had moved slowly and gently, had relaxed her first with whiskey, fondled her until she had reached a sweet climax. She had seemed so willing, but before he had a chance to find his own relief, she was fighting him as though she was being raped! He quickly lost his penetration, achieving only a partial climax before he found himself having to hold her down and keep a hand over her mouth before she let everyone nearby think she was being attacked. “Stop it!” he commanded. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He ducked a fist, managing to get both her wrists into one powerful hand while keeping his full weight on her and his other hand clamped over her mouth. “Ally, it’s all righ
t. I didn’t come in here to hurt you. Please don’t do this.”
She whimpered through her nose, and tears began to spill out of her eyes.
“Ally, I love you. Do you believe that?”
She shook her head, and he kept a firm hold on her.
“Why? All I’ve done is help you, protect you. Tonight I just wanted to make love to you, show you what it’s like to be a woman. I thought we could overcome our differences, and that I could teach you that being with a man isn’t always a bad thing. I haven’t tricked you or tried to hurt you, Ally.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and began crying harder. Ethan wished there was a way to kick himself for thinking she was ready for this, for taking advantage of her vulnerability. What could he have been thinking? He had let her drink whiskey. Now she would think he had only done it to break down her inhibitions. “Ally, please listen to me. You can’t scream if I take my hand from your mouth, understand?” She just stared at him. “If you feel anything for me at all, don’t scream. If men come and find me in here with you, me being Indian and all, they’ll think the worst, and they’re likely to string me up. At the least, they’d beat the hell out of me and I’d be hauled off to Fort Supply under arrest. Is that what you want?”
She stared at him for several silent seconds, then shook her head again. Ethan carefully removed his hand from her mouth, and she gasped, more tears coming. “Please get off of me,” she whimpered.
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