by Gina Danna
Chapter Twenty-Two
East Tennessee, December 1862
Dinner at the Parker residence, consisting of beef stew and bread, was more than she’d eaten in a long time. And there was ample laughter, a simple delight that had been in short supply as well.
Her father actually acted like the gentleman she’d always known. Conversation flowed with no mishaps and no mistaken names. It helped that many of the subjects were about years long before the bloodshed, before lives were lost and homes destroyed.
Emma enjoyed herself for the first time in ages. They had baths prepared for her and Nathan and she assumed for her father and Jack, given their appearance at the table. A bath…it was a luxury she would never take for granted again.
Another sip of wine, though, and she’d be asleep at the table. What scandal! She giggled at the thought. Travelling the countryside with an unrelated man, a slave and her senile father was enough to raise eyebrows in itself. But their hosts were unaware of the impropriety because Jack had told them a tale about his marriage to Emma and about their son. She was seized by the thought that what he said was the way it should have been, before Caroline changed everything.
Yet, she should not forget Billy, who had made the ultimate sacrifice to save her. She put down the wine glass as her thoughts strayed, causing her to miss the last part of the ongoing conversation.
Jack stared at her with his emerald eyes. Had they deepened in color because of the wine or because of his desire for her? She prayed it was the first reason, but because she didn’t have a friendly relationship with God, she feared it was the latter.
“My lovely wife and I thank you for your hospitality,” Jack said, rising from his chair and coming around to her. Easing her chair back, he cupped her elbow. “We’ve had a long trip, with much more ahead of us, so we bid you good night.”
She blinked, feeling slightly lightheaded and was glad for his support. With a smile, she added, “Lovely meal. Thank you.”
“But of course, my dear,” Patricia replied warmly. “You look tired. Go get some rest.”
“We will.” Jack directed her to the stairs. “John Henry?”
Her father chuckled. She thought he sounded better, more like his old self, and she was thankful for that.
“I do think I’ll be up shortly, my boy.”
On the first step, Emma lost her balance. Jack caught her, scooping her up, and her head fell against his chest. She heard a low rumble and knew he was laughing at her. She wanted to protest but didn’t have the strength. How much wine had she drunk? Wrapped in his warm arms, she dismissed the question and allowed herself to relax.
Closing the door behind them, Jack walked to the bed and set her down near it. She stumbled and giggled as he caught her again. She gazed at him from hooded eyes. He was so handsome. Her hand reached up to touch his cheek.
He gave her a low chuckle and drew her hand down. “Let’s get you into bed.”
She tilted her head. “What if...”
“Shhh,” he whispered.
With a frown, she was going to try asking again but then felt his nimble fingers undoing the buttons on her bodice. She felt the pull of the placket as he skimmed down to her waist and reached to undo her cuffs.
At the ties to her crinoline, he paused. “Why did you bring this contraption?”
“A proper lady wouldn’t leave home without it,” she murmured as he plucked the tie free, as well as the ties for the over and under petticoats.
With the ease of a practiced rake, he pushed her bodice off her shoulders and arms to let the dress and undergarments fall to the floor. “Well, it should be left here.”
She bent her head to look down at herself. Standing before him in only her chemise, corset, pantalets and stockings, instead of being chilled, she felt warmth spread through her. Her blood raced as the thudding of her heart grew faster. Desire pooled inside her, coiling in her lower stomach.
He reached for the tie on her corset lacings and yanked them free. Placing his hands on her waist, he pushed in and the busk hooks unsnapped. With a grin of accomplishment, he peeled the garment away from her.
Feet frozen to the floor, she felt fully exposed even though she still wore her chemise and pantalets. When his hands reached under her pantalets, releasing the garters and rolling down her stockings, she plopped back onto the mattress.
The fire of his fingers on her bare calves had given her chills. Her toes curled. As he stood up from kneeling before her, she bit her bottom lip, embarrassed. He watched her mouth. She wished she could stop biting her lip, but it took a long time for the commands from her wine-sodden brain to register.
He gently placed her bare feet on top of the mattress. It was soft and warm from the fire, but she was bereft without him. She whimpered when he went to put her clothes across the tabletop.
“Jack,” she called.
His brows furrowed as he shook his head and pointed to the dresser drawer sitting on the floor. It was Nathan’s makeshift bed. She blinked, trying hard to focus through the wine haze. The babe was deep asleep on the soft sheeting. It must have felt so much better than the wool he’d slept on for the past month or so.
“Be quiet, sweetling,” he whispered. “Let the babe sleep.”
He returned to her side but remained standing.
“And you? Will you sleep?”
A faint smile crossed his face.
“Sleep, Emma,” he murmured softly, close to her ear, and he kissed her forehead. Tucking the comforter around her, he turned away.
“Jack.” She reached for him. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded. She wanted him next to her, to hold her.
He looked at her, not moving, deep in thought. He’d held her every night for the past week after it had turned cold. And he’d told the Parkers they were married, so they now shared a room. Surely, he wouldn’t reject her now.
Fear and embarrassment collided within her, the heaviness of his denial growing with each second that passed. The room wobbled before her as she tried to remain awake.
Suddenly, she heard his reply. It was a heavy sigh, resignation or regret, she didn’t know which. She struggled to focus as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of his trousers after removing his boots and stockings. The only thing remaining was his drawers. He padded to the opposite side of the bed. It dipped as he slid beneath the covers. He drew her close and spooned against her back as they’d done when sleeping outside.
“Now it’s time to sleep, Emma,” he murmured into her ear, his voice vibrating against her bare neck. Relaxing completely, she slipped into oblivion.
#
It had been a bad idea, a very bad idea. When Emma nestled next to him, Jack thought his body would explode. Clad only in her chemise and pantalets, she molded her body to his. He could feel her softness and the growing heat inside himself. She snuggled within his embrace, her buttocks against his hardened shaft, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. With his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer still, brushing her breast with his hand.
He would have sworn she moaned in her sleep as he touched her. He was a damned jackass for doing it, but he wanted her badly. It had been way too long since he’d been with a woman. But he desired Emma alone. Only she could quench the fire that burned inside him. It’d be so easy to just lift her chemise and hips, to enter her through the split in her pantalets.
That thought made him release her from his tight embrace. It was utter madness. He wouldn’t take her, not like that. What was he thinking, what had he become? When she sighed and shivered, it sent another bolt of desire through him. Memories of her in the stream, wearing little more than what she was now wearing, returned full force. The taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft skin. He wanted it again and more. Fire raged through him, coiling down his chest to his belly and tightening hard below. Damn!
He wanted to get up but didn’t. Where would he go? Nowhere. Desperately he tried to distract himself by thinking abou
t the war, the men he’d left behind. He even tried to conjure images of the blood and hell of the battlefield.
It was going to be a long night.
He shut his eyes, and sleep finally came.
Drifting through the haze of slumber, he found himself on a battlefield. Where it was, he didn’t know. Did it really matter?
Amid the smoke of gunpowder, he heard the orders. Advance. He sent the command down the line and heard the clanking of metal and leather as weapons were hoisted and positioned, ready to fire as the enemy came forward. The air filled with the streaking sound of cannonballs and grapeshot. Bullets whizzed between men, a few hitting their mark in flesh, unleashing howls of pain from the victims. The screeching and the reek of sulfur, burnt wood, fouled bodies and death was terrible to hear and smell.
He focused on the line before him, not knowing or caring whose it was. Across the field were other men, following their commanders to their deaths, like him and his troops. For what reasons, it didn’t matter. Just move forward, aim, shoot, reload, go forward again. Half the men before his command dropped like flies at the next onslaught, and as his troops stepped over their bleeding bodies, he noted they all looked like Rathborne. Odd, really…
“Ready. Aim. Fire!” he yelled. They all followed his command, and as he turned to see the results, Charles Silvers stood there, his gun pointed at Jack just as a Union bullet hit between his eyes…blood, blood everywhere…
“Jack!”
He was shaking. Shaking hard. No, he was being shaken. The scene in his head dissipated. Charles’ bloody body scattered with the smoke.
“Jack!”
A woman’s voice. On the battlefield?
Someone was hitting his arm. He could hear her voice. Emma. Emma? His eyes flew open.
“Emma? What? What’s wrong?” He blinked, trying to clear the haze. Around him was a room, dimly lit by the weak flames in the fireplace. He was not on the battlefield. This wasn’t a hospital. Relief washed through him. The Parker’s.
“You were yelling, Jack,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice low. She ran her hands over his forehead and cheeks. “You’re perspiring.”
“Sweat, Emma, it’s sweat,” he muttered. “Only women would refer to it as perspiring. I dreamt I was on the battlefield, all the blood…” A shudder passed through him.
“There’s no war here,” she said soothingly, wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek. “No blood.” She kissed the corner of his mouth.
Lust returned to him as her lips touched his skin and her breasts smashed against his shoulder and arm. With a savage moan, he turned to her, pressing his lips against hers, his tongue tracing the seam between her lips. She parted them and he invaded her mouth, seeking, taking possession. Her tongue danced with his and sought to enter his mouth, exploring.
He eased her back down, caressing her neck with his lips, then cupping her breast. Squeezing lightly, he scraped his thumbnail across her hardened nipple. She moaned into his mouth, almost unraveling him. He needed to touch her skin, not the fabric covering it. He fisted the chemise up and slipped his fingers beneath and fondled her again.
“Emma,” he groaned, nibbling her neck.
Her hand threaded through his hair, not tightly, but she didn’t let go either as his mouth travelled to the nipple he had flicked. His lips surrounded it, devouring the nub and he suckled, tugging on the tip till she arched her shoulders, pushing herself to him. He released her and his tongue blazed a trail to her other breast. She quivered beneath him and he smiled as his tongue swirled around the hard pearl before he pulled it in, his teeth scraping it. At her mewl, he laved the sting away.
“Jack,” she whispered, her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly.
His hand wandered over her flat stomach and he vaguely noticed the gap at the waistband to the pantalets. She was too thin. His fingers traced between the split in her leggings, over her curls to her nether lips. He heard her gulp for air as he fingered between the folds of her wet and swollen flesh. He suckled harder as he slipped a finger inside her. She was soaking, ready for him. His manhood throbbed when he put a second finger in and withdrew it, only to slide it back in again.
She groaned, her back arched and her thighs parted more. He released her breast and kissed the valley between them as he positioned himself between her legs. With a glance up, he saw her eyes darken as her lips parted and she licked her bottom lip before tugging at it with her teeth. He watched her eyes as his fingers entered her slickness again, and her lids lowered as a moan escaped her.
He wanted her. She wanted him. It would be so easy. His shaft was at her weeping lower lips, and his body thrummed. He raised his hips to descend and enter her when everything stopped as the baby wailed.
It had the same effect on him as artillery fire. They briefly froze in place before he rolled off her. She leaped off the bed, pushing her chemise down to pad over to his son.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, lifting the squalling child into her arms.
Jack fell back onto the bed. He needed to have a talk with that boy.
Emma cooed to the baby, changed him, rocked him, giving him all the attention Jack wanted and needed. Frustrated, he washed in the water basin and dressed.
“Jack,” she said.
He sighed when he saw she’d covered herself with the blanket. So much for seeing her naked again. “Yes, my dear.”
She gave him a half smile, her cheeks reddening. “Go see if you can get us some milk, or get Tilly.”
He nodded and left the room.
When he descended the stairs, he saw the lower floor was washed in dawn’s light. The snow had stopped, which was good. He peered out the window. It didn’t look too deep. Water dripped off the overhang, so the snow was melting already. It meant a sloppy road, but at least it would be passable.
He walked to the dining room, intending to go out back and find a cow or Tilly. From the corner of his eye, he noticed someone and his step faltered. A man sat in the wing-back armchair near the table.
“Mr. Parker, sir, good morning,” Jack greeted. “You startled me. Didn’t think anyone else’d be up yet.”
The man’s face was hard and cold, so unlike last night. It made Jack’s nerves jump. Fear snaked up his spine, and he wished he had his revolver.
“Mr. Fontaine,” his voice cool. “What’s your wife’s name again? I can’t seem to recall.”
Jack squinted, feeling as though he was on an iced-over pond with the sun melting the edges.
“Emma.”
“Emma, yes, I remember now.” Franklin Parker stood. He was a good-sized man, about Jack’s height, give or take an inch. And he was holding a revolver. “Nice chat I had with your father-in-law. He kept referring to her as Caroline.”
Jack froze. His eyes narrowed as he gauged the man. Thoughts scrambling, Jack considered possible responses, none of which were especially good. His main concern was whether he could get everyone out of there alive, including himself
“Caroline was his older daughter,” he answered. His mouth was dry as he swallowed the fear knotting in his throat. “And she was my first wife.”
“And Emma?” Franklin took a step, aiming the gun at him.
“She’s my current wife.” He prayed fervently to a God who hadn’t seemed to hear him before now. He gave Franklin a tight smile. “You’ll have to forgive John Henry. He was in charge of our militia and too close to a cannon when it was fired.” Jack touched his temple and gave a nod.
Franklin’s eyes widened for a second, but he didn’t lower the gun. “Your drawl sounds N’Orleans style.”
“I grew up not far from there, about thirty miles upriver, in Avoyelles Parish.”
“So, you a coward, boy, or a traitor?” The man’s eyes were like iron, his jaw ticked.
Jack’s mouth thinned. “I’m afraid, sir, I don’t understand what you’re implyin’.”
“Most of our boys are gone from around these parts, off fightin’. Why ain�
��t you?”
Jack tensed. He remembered news through the ranks of one of the Union’s victories, Admiral Farragut capturing New Orleans in April, before McClellan’s ships left for Virginia. The Confederacy’s largest port was under Union occupation, but not the entire state. He could use this information to his advantage, but he wanted to know first what John Henry had blathered about besides Caroline.
“My father-in-law’s home was burned by the Yankees,” he claimed. “I’ve a wife and son to care for, so I’m taking them to my parent’s home. Need to see them safe ‘fore I can fight more.”
Franklin frowned as he considered Jack’s explanation. It was obvious he couldn’t decide whether to believe it or not.
“Seems unsafe to be travelling there. But I’m taking a leap of faith, boy, in believing you. Could be you’re a Yankee anyhow, and I don’t take kindly to being duped,” the man said, but he lowered his weapon. “Snow isn’t deep. Sun’s to shine it ‘pears. Federals are all around here, though. Our son’s already at the war. We lost one for the cause as it is. I won’t have them bluebellies on my land lookin’ for the likes of you. I want you out of here.”
Jack nodded. He went to get Tilly and took her to Emma. As the slave girl held Nathan and parted her bodice for him to drink, Jack motioned to Emma.
“We’ve got to go. Franklin says there’re federals all around here. It’s not safe for us.”
Color drained from her face. “I’ll get us packed.”
“I’ll ready the wagon. Make sure your father is up and dressed.” He turned to leave, but she touched his arm. The embers of what almost happened earlier stirred his blood, and it took all his strength to dampen them.
“Jack, about…”
“Emma.” He knew what she was going to say, and he couldn’t bring himself to listen. He wasn’t good enough for her. He never had been, truth be told. And he couldn’t offer her his name so it was just as well they’d been interrupted. He needed to stay away from her. “Sorry about this morning. I won’t let it happen again.”
