Eden

by Carolyn Davidson

  His mouth opened against the curve of her breast, his fingers curled beneath it, cherishing the soft weight in his hand. A man who had eaten a thousand meals, tasting much of what life offered, a man whose hunger had been tempted in many ways, found satisfaction now in soft flesh that warmed to his touch, offering a delight for his appetite, at a table unlike any other.

  The table—a bed with clean sheets, still bearing the scent of cold, winter air; the meal—a banquet for the senses. His mouth opened on flesh that enticed him, his tongue tasting the innocence of a girl on the threshold of womanhood, teasing the tender crest of a breast, growing taut beneath his touch. With a patience he hadn’t known he possessed, he found nourishment for his hunger, and in so doing unknowingly lost his heart to the fragile creature beside him.

  He held her close, his hands moving carefully over her skin, down the length of her back, to the rounding of her bottom and then even lower, caressing the curves of thigh and calf, the slender legs that trembled in his hands. He made the return trip, up the length of curving legs, long fingers touching the crease of her body where hips and buttocks joined. His fingers ached to sweep to the front of her slender form and he chanced the need, hoping he would not frighten her overmuch.

  His fingers trailed over the line of her hip and his wide palm almost spanned the slope of her belly, his fingertip dipping into the tiny crater midway to his goal. She shivered when he touched her there, as if she had not realized it could be a source of pleasure. And then his fingers moved carefully, tenderly into the patch of curls that hid the treasures he determined to uncover. She was slick, damp beneath his caress, obeying his unspoken urging to open for him. He felt quick relief that she was not unwilling to be touched in such a way, for her hips rose a bit as if she would meet his fondling fingertips and she sighed against his throat as though she had discovered a sensation unknown to her. Her arms curved to enclose him, her body yearning closer as if to narrow the gap between them.

  He lifted a bit, bending to her, his mouth at her breast once more as he pressed his fingers against her hot flesh, seeking out the sheath that welcomed him. And then hesitated as she stilled beneath his touch. He would not take her to himself until she was ready, would not force her to take his flesh within her until she could hold him without pain. His fingers moved just within her body, stretching her a bit, pressing on sensitive places that were virgin, heretofore untouched.

  “Do you like this, sweetheart?” His voice was a low murmur, and he waited, careful to move in slow increments, readying her for what was to come. For should she fail to soften for the strokes of his surging masculinity probing against virgin flesh, he would wait. However long it took, he would woo her, court her to his will, male coaxing female, desire seeking response.

  The pattern of his caresses changed, his touch more intense now, increasing contact with her tender flesh, as she joined the rhythm he’d found. To his joy, she cried out, a sound of surprise, of anticipation.

  “John, it feels so strange, almost as if I’m floating, and yet…something’s happening, and I don’t—” Her breath caught in a gasp of delight as he sought her pleasure, and she rose in a spasm that seemed to fill her with exultation, for she groaned and then sobbed, her body twisting beneath his silent leading, her words broken and hushed.

  She cried aloud again, clutching him to herself, eager in her movements as she pulled him atop her body. “I need more, John. I need you to be closer to me. I want…I don’t know…Please, John.”

  “I know what you want, sweetheart. Hush now, let me do this….” He covered her, his big body casting its shadow over her slender self, his hands gentle as they moved her thighs apart to make room for his body there where it yearned to be. And then he lowered his hips against hers, his manhood thrusting carefully at the opening he prayed would admit him without giving pain to the body she’d offered so generously into his keeping.

  There was no help for it. John was a big man, his arousal was far beyond that of an early-morning reminder that his manhood functioned normally. And in this moment when he yearned for a simple task, he was faced with the knowledge that his wife was small, totally untried and woefully ignorant of what was to come.

  But she was intelligent, and willing, two attributes that promised success in his taking of his bride. She twisted beneath him, feeling the pinching discomfort of a man’s throbbing arousal, there where she was the most sensitive, and as if she knew what she must do, she calmed herself, breathing deeply and curling against him to meet the invasion he offered.

  It was more than he could control. He was suddenly lost, loosing the taut rein he’d held so firmly. His body surged forward and she was penetrated with one swift movement by the evidence of his passion. She was pierced to her depths by his manhood, and he held still as he recognized that his bride lay without moving beneath him.

  But, if he’d thought to hear her cry out, if he’d expected tears of anger at the dissolving of his forbearance or rebellion at the feel of strong hands on her body—if he’d had any fear of Katie’s response to his loving, his worries were dissolved in but a moment. For beneath him, his bride inhaled deeply, then curled her legs around his hips, drawing him deeply into her feminine warmth, held him close with arms that imprisoned his body even as she came nigh unto capturing his heart.

  Her whisper touched his ear, and he lifted from her, his eyes seeking out the tears he feared would be his reward, and finding only the radiance of a woman who has found a joy she had not known existed. The knowledge that Katie meshed her movements with his, that she luxuriated in the feel of his skin against her own, thrust him past the boundary he’d thought to place on himself, cast him into the deep waters of fulfillment, into a place where his good intentions were of no use, where his passion held reign.

  For long moments he felt the rush of blood through his veins that foretold the spilling of his seed, and then he was lost. Lost in the arms of Katie, who held him with the strength of a woman, who clung to him with the tenacity of a bride, luminous, basking in the ecstacy of joining with her chosen mate.

  He lifted his weight from her and she rolled toward him, rising over him, triumph alive on her shadowed features. “I’m really your wife now, John.” As though she were well pleased with her chosen position, Katie leaned against his chest, her arms crossed, her face close enough to kiss should he lean upward just a bit.

  “Did I hurt you badly, sweetheart?”

  Her eyes filled now with tears, tears he’d thought to see there long moments past. But their presence seemed not to give evidence of pain or fear, but the heartfelt joy of a woman who has tasted the confidence of pleasing her mate.

  “Oh, no, John. It hurt a little when you—you know, when you came inside me. But then it was just…it was good, John. I felt like you were a part of me, like we were all of a piece, the two of us.”

  “Katie, have you ever heard anything read out of the Bible? Did you ever go to church?”

  “A couple of times, not often. The Schraders weren’t much for churchgoing. He said it was a waste of time, all that hymn singing and that preacher man telling folks what to do.”

  “Well, in the Bible there’s a line that speaks about married folks. It says something like ‘…and the two of them shall become one flesh.’ I think that’s what He meant Katie. The act of coming together in bed and joining our bodies.”

  “Well, even if it did hurt a little, it was nice, John.”

  He smiled and his hand brushed the hair back from her temple. “Next time it’ll be better than nice, Katie. I promise you.”

  WHEN THE SUN ROSE it shimmered off new-fallen snow, almost a foot of the white stuff covering the ground.

  “There’s nothing much worse than a late-winter storm,” John said as he ate his breakfast. His gaze traveled to the window, the worry evident upon his face. “We’ll need to ride over the meadows and pastures, anywhere the cows may have gone to seek shelter to birth their babies,” he said.

  “Will they
live in this cold weather?” Katie frowned as she thought of tiny calves in the snow.

  “They will if we find them and bring them into the barn.” He stood and circled the table to where she sat and bent to kiss her, long and lingeringly. “Are you all right, Katie? I didn’t hurt you?”

  She smiled, her spirits leaping as she recalled the bliss he’d offered her, the joy he’d given with a generous heart. “You didn’t hurt me, John. Well, just a bit, but I didn’t mind. It was a good hurt.”

  “You take my breath away, girl,” he told her, his eyes darkening with a look she cherished, as though he saw and approved all she was. “With just a little encouragement, I could be persuaded to stay here with you today. But I can’t neglect my work, honey.

  “I’ll be gone till well past noon. It’ll take that long to make half a circuit of the pastures. We’ll go in pairs and cover as much ground as we can.”

  “I’ll fix something to eat that I can keep warm for you. Take a biscuit along with you, John, in case you get hungry before dinner. I’ll wrap it up for you.”

  She found a thin dish towel and folded two biscuits into it, then tucked it into his pocket as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his warm jacket.

  The cabin seemed chilled without his presence, for his body moving across the porch, then down across the small yard and toward the barn held a warmth she craved. That she would ever yearn for a man’s hands on her, his mouth against hers and his arms circling her in a warm embrace was far from any expectation she had ever dreamed of. The touch of another’s hand against her skin had heretofore heralded pain to some extent, either that of a man’s blow or a woman’s sharp, pinching fingers if she did not respond as quickly or as efficiently as their evil minds required of her.

  A warm bed, a mattress beneath her body at night and clothing to keep the chill of winter from her skin—those were the things dreams had been made of. A relief from fear, of physical abuse at the hands of another.

  Until now. Until John’s care and concern had made her aware of so much more.

  And now she became aware of an aching deep within her belly, one she’d known was imminent; the cramping announcing the time of her woman’s curse, as Mrs. Schrader had called it.

  And she was without the old petticoat she needed that would keep her clothing protected from staining, for John had forgotten it. A towel would have to do, she decided, and she set about the task of tending to her physical needs.

  By the time she’d put a batch of bread to rise atop the warming oven, she was aching in a familiar way. When the soup she prepared for their noon meal was simmering on the back of the stove, she recognized that the cramping she knew as normal had increased to more than mild discomfort.

  And when John appeared at the back door, stomping his feet and brushing snow from his jacket, she was ready to find a corner in which to lay her weary body.

  His concern was quick and to the point. “What’s wrong, Katie? You look kinda peaked, like a good, stiff wind could blow you away. I’ve never seen you look so pale, honey.” His arms reached for her and she sought the haven of his embrace, her head resting against his heart, her arms circling his waist as she leaned on the strength he offered.

  “I don’t usually feel so puny when I have this problem, John, but today’s just a bad time for me.” She shot him a wry look, one he seemed to be able to easily interpret.

  “You need that doggone petticoat, don’t you, sweetheart, and I forgot about digging it out for you. Let me fetch it from the tack room. It’s not dirty or greasy or anything. I just stuck it in the bin and haven’t used it yet.”

  “After you eat, John. Your soup is hot and I made corn bread to go with it. It’s not a very good dinner, but there’ll be fresh bread for supper tonight.

  “John?” The speaking of his name was a query and he responded in but an instant.

  “What is it, Katie? What do you want?”

  She wriggled against him, lifting her face to meet his gaze. “I need to tell you something, John. I want you to know that I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life. You know just how to make me happy. When I look at you I feel good, like all my wishes have come true. I just want to spend my life with you and live all my days and nights in this cabin.” She looked away, over his shoulder and a blush covered her cheeks.

  “That sounds foolish, I know, but it’s how I feel, John.”

  “You couldn’t sound foolish no matter what, Katie. You make me proud to know that you care about me.”

  She lifted her hands to her eyes, wiping away the traces of tears and backed from him. “You need to sit down at the table and let me get you a bowl of soup. You must be hungry. Did you find a lot of calves out there?”

  “Only one that worries me,” he said, stepping to the sink and washing his hands quickly. “One of the cows didn’t make it and the calf is in need of a mama. I thought maybe you’d come out to the barn this afternoon and take a turn at feeding him.”

  “Could I? Do you think I’d be able to do it right? I’ve never done such a thing, but I’ll try.” Her excitement was vivid, her eyes lighting with pleasure as she spoke. “As soon as we eat and I clear up, I’ll put on warm clothes and come out to help you.”

  “I don’t want you to be chilled. Make sure you bundle up good.”

  His head bent and his kiss was warm against her lips, a comfort she hadn’t known she needed so badly. That John should so readily comprehend, that this man understood her and sought to solve her problems without question was a small miracle, she decided. Her heart fluttered within her as she buried her nose in the warmth of his throat, her mouth opening to press a damp kiss against his skin, inhaling to catch the scent of all that made up the aroma that was uniquely his. Hay and horses, leather and the cold bite of snow; a blend that meshed man with the elements, and gave to the woman who held him a memory to hold to herself for the whole livelong day.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  KATIE FOUND THAT THERE was not a lot of talent involved in feeding a newborn calf, only the small creature’s will to live and ability to suckle from a bottle. And that she could handle, she discovered, with a great deal of satisfaction and delight. Bill Stanley, who had been passing by the stall while she was figuring her way through the procedure, informed her she was doing a “damn good job” of it, and he assigned her the task of twice-daily feedings over the next little while.

  Reporting to John on her success, she caught a frown on his face and backtracked hurriedly. “Don’t you think I can be trusted to do it well?” she asked dubiously.

  To which he only grinned and then grabbed her around the waist for a quick hug. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart. I just don’t want you to wear yourself out on a newborn calf. If you want to play mama cow for a while, it’s all right with me.”

  And so it was that Katie spent an hour or so a day in the barn, gaining confidence in her own abilities, and delighting John with her happiness at being able to help. It was after one of these sessions, when she had returned to the cabin and washed up, readying herself for the baking of bread, when she found a box in the bedroom that had not caught her notice until now, having been buried beneath a blanket in the corner.

  She opened it without thinking, only mildly curious as to its contents and was stunned to find books stacked neatly and closely, probably twenty or so volumes of literature, none of them familiar to her. But then, she’d not had access to any books in her short life, not having been schooled properly, but she was delighted that such a treasure trove was now available, should John set his seal of approval on her perusing them.

  “I’ve dragged that box with me all over the countryside,” John told her, entering the room behind her. When he turned to face her, his look was almost shamefaced, as if apologizing for setting such store on them. “My mama was a great one for reading and we always got a new book for Christmas, along with new socks and trousers and such. She read to us in the evenings and when I learned how to make sense of all those letters, it wa
s a big day in my life.”

  He lifted the cover of the box and drew forth a thick volume. “This is one of my favorites. Tells about a man marooned on an island, how he survived and about a friend he found there. We can read it together one day. Or perhaps I can read it to you during the evening.”

  Time had slipped away and Katie made haste to prepare their evening meal.

  After supper, they sat before the fireplace, a respite during which she planned her approach to him regarding his collection, and he asked her a question that had been in the back of his mind for the duration of their marriage.

  “Katie, didn’t you ever go to school? I mean, regular, everyday schooling in town? You told me you had a sister, I remember, and that she went to school. But weren’t you sent along with her? And where is she now?”

  Katie looked abashed, perhaps ashamed, he thought, and then carefully cleared her throat. “She’s still out at the farm, so far as I know. I think about her every day and wonder if she’s all right. I’d give a lot to see her, but I’m afraid to go out there, lest old Jacob should get his hands on me again.” She shivered and her sigh was deep as she looked up at him.

  “So far as school goes, Agnes and Jacob said I was not fit to be out in public, what with my being such a dolt and with nothing fit to wear, so they kept me at home. They sent Jane though, and she…”

  “Whoa! Back up there, honey. Let’s explain a little about Jane. Why did she get schooling when you didn’t?”

  “She’s my sister, kinda,” Katie said carefully. “Well, not really my sister, but one of Agnes’s shirttail relations, a girl who didn’t have a family when her folks died and the Schrader pair took her in to raise. She helped some with the work, but being family, so to speak, she didn’t have as many chores as I did. And Jacob didn’t very often beat on her, just once in a while. They sent her to school because she was blood-kin to Agnes and worth schooling. She brought her books home with her to read and study.