“Cosi why are they all calving at the same time?”
“Happens that range cows no matter when they’re bred tend to birth close together. No one ever said cows were smart. Ketch figures that one drifts off and the others just follow. But I’ve got to get back.”
“Be careful, Cosi.”
Erin no longer counted the hours. The next wagon load came a long while after Cosi’s, the next longer still. When Ray and Pete came in together with their horses tied to the back of the wagon, Erin knew the others would soon follow. True dark had fallen along with a blinding snow and a rising wind that cut through to the bone.
She had fed and milked Bessie again, watering down the small amount of milk to share with the last ten calves. They had already made over another box stall for them. Shooing the men up to the house for hot baths and food, she asked them to take the children with them. Alone and aching, she managed to finish the evening chores, thinking about Mace and the loss this storm would bring. For the first time, Erin felt as if she, too, had a stake in the ranch. And that, although they were apart, she and Mace were working together to salvage what they could.
Cosi rode in with a calf thrown over the front of his saddle as she was struggling to make her way to the house. He motioned for her to go on, and this time Erin didn’t stop to argue.
She was huddled in a heated blanket at the table, a half-finished bowl of soup in front of her, barely able to keep her eyes open, when Mace and Ketch returned.
Snow dusted their coats and hats, and she forced herself to stand, intending to get food for them.
“Sit right where you were, Erin,” Mace ordered, stripping off his gloves. “We’ll tend to ourselves.”
With her hands braced against the edge of the table, she shrugged off the blanket, moving slowly to the stove, shaking her head to ward off the sleep that was threatening to overcome her.
Mace watched her, but his skin was stinging as the heat of the kitchen began to make itself felt. He was too tired to argue with her, too grateful for the soup and hot coffee she set in front of him to do more than nod his thanks.
“There’s plenty of hot water for you and Ketch to take a bath and get warm,” she whispered, swaying where she stood.
“We’ll be fine. Go to bed.”
“How many did you manage to save?” she asked, determined to drag up strength from somewhere, needing to prove that in her own way she was as strong as Sky had been. Maybe she could not ride out and gather calves with the men, but she’d seen to their being fed and warm.
“Don’t know,” Mace mumbled, longing to rest his head on his arms and sleep where he was.
Ketch refused the bath. “Can’t stand straight as it is. Toes near frozen. Bed’s the only place I wanna be.”
Erin watched him go and turned expectantly to Mace. “Do you want help?”
“Gonna scrub my back?” he teased, fighting to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t believe that she had waited up for all of them with hot food. He’d expected her to be snug in bed like Jake and Becky by the time he rode in. He eyed the steaming water in the tub and longed for nothing more than to sink into its heat and warm his bones, but there were hungry calves to be seen to. Pushing away from the table, he rose, surprised to find that Erin was by his side.
“Would you want me to scrub your back, Mace?” she asked, telling herself it was the lines of weariness on his face that made her offer.
“Can’t. Like to, though. Calves needing to be fed.”
She knew he didn’t realize that he was stumbling over his words, nor did he know she had already seen to the feeding as far as she could. “Unless you know some magic way to get Bessie to give more milk when she’s been drained dry, there’s no sense in going back out there.”
Shaking off the sleeping fog that clouded his mind, beckoning him to succumb to its lure, he stared at Erin, trying to make sense of what she said. “Bessie’s been milked dry?”
“Yes. The children told me what had to be done for the calves.”
“And you did it?”
She nodded, placing one hand on his arm. Through his shirt, she felt the cold of his skin, and she tugged him along, surprised to find that he followed her. “You’re chilled to the bone, so don’t argue.” With hands that shook, she reached up to open the buttons on his shirt, refusing to meet his suddenly alert gaze.
“Think you’re gonna boss me?”
“Tonight, yes.”
“Can’t argue?”
“Not a word, Mace Dalton,” she returned, sliding her hands inside the opened shirt to push it off his shoulders. His union suit was damp, attesting to the labor he’d been through. Erin murmured soothing sounds, ignoring her own tiredness, her hands entangling with his as they both made an effort to get him undressed.
Mace shivered as he sat down to kick off his boots and watched Erin add another kettle of boiling water to the tub. He was still trying to make sense of what she had said she did. Why? The question plagued him. She had exhausted herself to save the pitiful number of calves that they had managed to find. He knew he was not thinking straight, fighting as he was not only his own exhaustion, but the loss of untold animals because of the storm.
Rising, he started to open the buttons of his fly and stopped. “You don’t have to stay, Erin. I can manage.” At least he had the sense to stop and ask. She looked flustered, those expressive green eyes darting every which way but toward him.
Even in his weariness, Mace released a male power that she couldn’t ignore. The dark curling mat of hair formed a wedge that narrowed to disappear below his waistband. The lamplight spread a golden glow over him, and Erin, although she had tried not to watch him, found her gaze was drawn to him. Perhaps it was the lingering sense that they had worked together to salvage what they could from the storm that made her stay. For once, Erin didn’t want to question the why of it. She just knew she needed to be near him, wanted him to allow her to do for him as a wife would, as only a wife could.
When she finally shook her head, Mace snagged her gaze with his and held it while he finished stripping off his damp clothes. He expected her to flee before he stepped into the tub and sank down into its offered heat with his knees scrunched up to his chest.
Erin came to kneel behind him, taking up the cloth and soap.
“You really intend to wash my back?”
“You’re tired.”
“And you’re not?” he asked, bracing himself for the first touch of her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was as bad as he thought it would be and twice as good. The bad brought a heat rising from deep inside him, a heat that made him grateful for the close confines of the tub. Like the first time he had seen Erin, he was full, aching and hard, but he had learned to control himself. The goodness of her rubbing hard on his shoulders and neck muscles, which were painful now that warmth seeped into his body, brought a pleasured groan from him.
His eyes drifted closed, but his body wouldn’t let his mind rest. It kept coming up with these impossible images of Erin truly being his wife, of the hands not only kneading the ache from hours of work, but touching him with a woman’s need set free. Pleasured sighs escaped his lips when she abandoned the soaped cloth and used the heels of her hands with surprising strength to ease the tension from his neck. He wanted to stop her when she began to wash his arm, but he had been a long, long time without a woman’s care. For once his guard was down and he allowed himself to enjoy her tenderly given ministrations.
For Erin there was both joy and agony in touching Mace this intimately. She tried to tell herself he was merely a bigger version of Jake, but that became impossible when his low rumbling groans seemed to be whispered into her ear. Her own exhaustion had disappeared, or maybe retreated, when she saw the lines relax on his face as color returned with warmth to his skin. It was awkward for her to get close to the tub, so she had to stretch across his chest to reach his other arm. It took a few moments for her to realize that his breathing evened out. Pausing, Erin leaned back on he
r heels to look at him.
His head lolled to one side, his lips slightly parted. His chest rose and fell with regularity and Erin smiled. She reached to brush the hair from his forehead, unwilling to wake him, but knowing he couldn’t stay as he was. The tub was much too small for him.
“Mace,” she whispered, cupping his dark stubbled cheek. She couldn’t resist touching his lips or lightly brushing across his mustache with one fingertip. She called his name again, this time gently shaking his shoulder.
He came to with a start, his eyes blinking until her face, so near to his, was firmly in focus. “So damn tired,” he murmured, struggling to stand. Water dripped to the floor as Erin whipped a blanket off the chair and did some struggling of her own to stand and wrap it around him
“So cold.”
“I know you are, Mace. Help me get you into bed and you’ll soon be warm.” Sliding his arm around her shoulders, Erin managed to hang on to the two ends of the blanket, praying he wouldn’t trip on it. She coaxed him to walk with her, again repeating her prayer for the strength to help him.
Fumbling with his door, she wished she had the foresight to have lit the lamp within the room, for she couldn’t remember where his bed was. Erin didn’t want to think about the one night she had dared enter this room. It was best forgotten.
Mace tumbled down on the bed, taking her with him. Erin tried to free herself of his arms, which instantly snuggled her close, his hands locking together so that she was caught.
“Wake up, Mace. You’ve got to let me go. I need to get you covered.”
“Warm.”
Erin wasn’t sure what made her still. The sleepy murmur didn’t sound…right. “Mace?” she queried just as his leg covered both of hers. “Mace, you’re awake, aren’t you? You can’t be sleeping?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
Chapter Sixteen
Seconds went by and she tried to coax him into answering. “Mace, let me cover you. You’ll get sick if you don’t get warm.”
“Can’t leave. Dying.”
“Dying? Who’s dying?” she begged to know, frightened to hear defeat in his mumbling voice. Was he talking about Sky? The calves? “Mace, talk to me. Tell me.”
“Can’t save all. Tried.”
“Oh, Mace, don’t blame yourself. You did try to get them all to safety. You didn’t fail. You didn’t,” she repeated, twisting within the confines of his arms to lay her hand against his chest.
“Not enough.”
The need to comfort him made her tremble. He nestled his head on her breast and she knew he had to hear the increased beat of her heart. His skin was still chilled, the blanket she had wrapped around him tangled half beneath him. He didn’t know what he was doing, she told herself. He’s half-asleep, far too exhausted to know.
“Listen to me, Mace. You’ve got to let me cover you. You need to be warm and rest.” Pushing at the arm that held her imprisoned, Erin managed to move it.
“So cold.”
There was a plea in those two words that stilled her.
“Sleep. So warm.”
The damp heat of his cheek, the warmth of his breath—both pierced the cloth covering her breast. Erin pulled and yanked whatever she could of the quilt beneath them and the blanket he had to cover them.
“You’ll sleep. You’ll rest and—”
“Hush, Erin,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms. “Stay. Stay with me and hold me. I need you to.”
I need you. Erin repeated the words to herself, words she had dreamed of hearing from him. The initial panic she felt subsided. He had called her name. Hers. Not Sky’s.
And he couldn’t have been asleep!
But Erin instantly lost the thought of making that accusation. The seconds passed and tension left her body as she welcomed the weight of his leg across hers. His hair brushed her cheek and she felt the angular jut of his masculine hip pressed against her side.
“Better,” Mace murmured, filled with a peace he had longed to feel again. Sleep was trying to stake its claim on him, and he knew he should heed its call. But Erin lay beside him, still and wary. Her lower back rested on his arm, the knot of her apron tie pressing his skin. She couldn’t be comfortable dressed as she was. He shifted so that she rolled toward him. Ignoring her whispered query, he untied the bow and began to rub her back.
“Better still?” he whispered against the soft, lush swell of her breast that cushioned his cheek. He was rewarded with a series of sighs, each sweeter sounding than the last. Sleep was forced to release its claim as another stole into its place.
The soothing touch of his strong hand brought meaningless sounds of pleasure that Erin had no thought to hide from him. It felt so good, so right, to be held within his arms, their bodies’ natural warmth creating a haven from the cold outside. With her arm free, she cradled his cheek, her eyes drifting close as contentment unlike any she had known filled her. She prayed the baby would sleep, feeling cosseted, as she was, and not begin the vigorous kicking it was wont to do at night.
Mace lifted her a bit, sliding the apron out and tossing it aside. He drew the quilt up from the side, making a cocoon to keep their body heat contained. His body curved the fit of hers, one hand cupping her hip, the other gently pressing the extended swell of her stomach.
She was a woman who carried life within her, and never had he needed to touch all that meant life as he did tonight.
Even with his eyes open, his mind supplied him with the images of tiny russet-coated bodies lying stiff and frozen in the snow. Death. He had been surrounded by so much death. He fought not to remember wading through knee-high drifts of snow to find another dead calf. But as the hours had passed and it grew dark to see, that was all he was able to find.
He had rejected this life that Erin carried so many times, tiny little innocent that it was. Staking his claim with words was meaningless. He never asked Erin what she wished for. He never asked if she was well. If she needed a doctor to see her. Needed anything. And now he longed to touch this life she held safe within her, as if it would renew his beaten spirit.
And Erin? he asked himself. How would she feel? “What would she do if I curved my hand over her belly?”
“What did you say?” she whispered at his side.
Mace tensed. He didn’t know he had spoken aloud. But now that he had, he refused to lie, to take the words back. He said he needed her. He meant it. Needed her more than a man simply wanting a woman.
“Mace?” Erin queried sleepily.
Sliding his hand from her hip, he splayed his fingers over the swell of her belly. “Hush. I won’t hurt you.”
Rigid at his side, Erin tried to adjust to the strange sensation of his hand holding her. This wasn’t the same as Becky or Jake wanting to feel the baby move. This was Mace, and a flush started inside her at the feel of his light caressing motion. Her thoughts were not of his touch to the child near birth, but of how babies were first conceived. The feelings she had were not those of tenderness and warmth, but of need and hunger. Bewildered by her body’s reaction, Erin didn’t move. She was almost afraid to breathe.
She tried to still her thoughts, to stop the tremor that passed over her skin. She was making an effort not to press closer to him. But when his cheek made the same circular caress on her breast as his hand on her belly, Erin gave up trying. She’d found the reason for what Mace was doing. He simply wasn’t in his right mind. He was dreaming, most likely. He couldn’t want to touch her.
His lips pressed a tiny string of kisses over her breast until the damp warmth of his mouth and breath flooded inward from the already achingly tight nipple. She couldn’t hold back the small sound of pleasure. She excused this, too.
But when his mouth closed over the peak that seemed to rise to offer itself, she knew Mace was aware, and wanting. Wanting to touch her.
The steady, gentle suckling created in her a fierce hunger. Desire that had been tormented by remaining unsatisfied these months wouldn’t be stilled. And she
didn’t want it to be.
Erin made no move to stop him from opening the cloth buttons of her gown; she was lost in the wash of pleasure his attention to the ache in her breast was bringing to her. There was the feeling of sharp loss when he lifted his head, his hand spreading open the top of her gown.
Tiny kisses followed the plain edge of her camisole up to the hollow in her throat. He murmured satisfaction and dipped to taste the rapid beat of her pulse.
Her fingers slid into his hair, wanting to bring his mouth to hers.
“Sweet, lovely Erin,” he whispered against her skin, “always so giving, so damn soft.”
His lips wouldn’t be distracted from rimming the line of her chin, seeking the sensitive skin behind her ear. Her hand slid down to his shoulder, gently holding him, unwilling now to guide him to what she wanted.
She was melting from the inside out, lifting her shoulder at his urging, feeling the slide of cloth as her arm was freed from the sleeve. She savored his calling her lovely, savored and held the word against the times she had thought he found her ugly. And sweet, she added to herself. He found her sweet and soft and giving. She yearned to be all these things for him. She had longed to know the heated power of his touch, the passion she had tasted so briefly one night long ago. She needed to give Mace all that he wanted, all that he would take. For she loved him, loved him but would never offer those words to him, knowing her love would be rejected. She would give him ease for the devil that tormented him this night.
She felt fragile in his arms, as breakable as delicate bone china, and Mace tempered his desire. The sweet rising heat in his body sent insistent pressure to his loins when she sighed and shook against him. He cradled her head with his arm beneath her neck, the other hand smoothing her hair from her face. Lowering his mouth, he meant only to kiss her lightly, but Erin’s lips, soft and lushly damp from her tongue’s licking, turned his tender touch into possessive claim. This was where she belonged, in his arms, in his bed, with his lips stealing the taste and breath of her.
Gifts of Love Page 19
