Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

“You hate me, don’t you? You wish I’d never come.” Her tears had stopped, but they’d been replaced by a tangible fear.

  “That’s not true! I’m glad you came.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He reached out to squeeze her shoulder in emphasis.

  He missed.

  Orrin swore and sprang away, his feet kicking at the covers. He burst free and all but ran to the window. Once there he swept aside the curtains and held on to them with a white-knuckled grip.

  “Orrin?”

  “Go to sleep, Ginny.”

  “But—”

  “Nothing’s going to happen tonight. I promise.”

  He stared out at the rain drumming against the ground and tried to ignore the pounding of his own body and the way her breast had filled his palm.

  He heard nothing more for some time and had almost begun to believe she’d fallen asleep when she said, “You didn’t really want a wife, did you?”

  A heavy fist seemed to close around his heart. He thought carefully before responding. “I needed a wife.”

  The rain hissed against the glass.

  “But you didn’t want one, did you?”

  Her voice was hesitant and gentle. And Orrin couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t live pretending.

  But he didn’t want to hurt her either. She was a sweet woman. She would be kind and gentle to his children. Even with all her baggage, she would probably make his house a home.

  “No. I didn’t really want a wife.”

  Neither of them slept Little more than a half hour had passed before Orrin dressed and left the room. Ginny lay in bed, waiting out the dawn, wondering if her husband would return. And what she would do if he did.

  At first light she gave up any pretense of sleep, dressed in her warmest woolen underwear and clothing, and packed her things. She was peeking out of the window to see if she could catch sight of Orrin when the soft snick of the key in the lock warned her of his arrival.

  The door opened. Wary earth-brown eyes met her from a face that was creased with exhaustion and stubbled with a day’s growth of beard. No words were spoken. Instead they tried to avoid the awkwardness and the tension.

  Ginny chanced a comment. “You look awful. Did you spend the whole night with your horses?” Judging by his betraying start, Ginny had hit the nail on the head. “You could have stayed here, you know.”

  “No. I couldn’t. Not without going back on my promise not to touch you last night.”

  At that moment Ginny had no doubt that Orrin Ghant wanted to touch her. Now. And last night’s vow was no longer binding.

  “We ought to get going,” he stated abruptly.

  “Of course.”

  He came into the room and gathered her bags. He was about to leave when Ginny stopped him. Offering him a rueful smile, she reached up to pluck a piece of straw from his hair.

  “I’m afraid everyone in Ogden will know where you’ve spent the night if you don’t let me fix you up.”

  Deftly picking at the stray leaves, Ginny discovered that his hair was indeed soft and silky. It spilled against her skin, just a little too long, a little too untidy. Soon the straw was gone, but she didn’t back away.

  “There’s some pieces wedged under my collar if you could reach them.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers sifted through the waves of hair and touched the back of his neck.

  “Here?”

  “Over a little more.”

  She found the straw, then stilled. His flesh was so warm, so inviting.

  How could she think such a thing after all that had happened to her?

  “Ginny…”

  But he never finished what he’d been about to say.

  “We should be going.”

  He didn’t answer. Instead his gaze bounced to the soft curves of her lips.

  She couldn’t move.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Ginny.”

  She managed a jerky nod.

  “A man should kiss his wife each morning.” His head dipped and his lips parted ever so slightly. “Shut your eyes, Ginny.”

  Her lashes closed just as his mouth brushed against her own, firm and gentle and sure.

  A pleasured sigh slipped from her throat, and he stepped closer, increasing the pressure with nothing more than the subtle tilt of his head and the artless persuasion of his lips.

  As the kiss deepened Ginny felt the soft nudge of his tongue, and her eyes opened in confusion.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispered. “Please open your mouth.”

  His plea brought her own unconscious response. He stepped closer, widening his stance to make room for her feet. His lips covered hers even as their thighs and torsos met. Once again she felt the questing intrusion of his tongue, and she made a sound of protest. But he smiled against her, tasting her softly, gently, then withdrawing.

  Their strident breathing filled the room. A tension hung about them, soft and sticky like honey, and oh, so beguiling. In an instant Ginny knew that it would only be a matter of time until he made love to her.

  She drew away, avoiding his intent glance. “We’d better get going.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They ate in the hotel café, dining on eggs, biscuits, and coffee. Except for the most basic pleasantries, they didn’t speak. Instead they concentrated on their food, their silent meal accompanied by the clang of cutlery from the other curious patrons.

  At one point a huge redheaded man lumbered up to Orrin and slapped him on the back with such force that Orrin nearly went face first into his eggs.

  “You ol’ devil!” The man chuckled heartily, jabbed Orrin in the ribs, then stared at Ginny with obvious interest.

  Ginny smothered a smile when Orrin surveyed the room in evident embarrassment. “Raleigh.”

  “Can’t say as if I fault your judgment, Orrin. She’s a fine-lookin’ woman.”

  Ginny delighted in the dull flush that was beginning to spread up his neck.

  “And how do those kids like their new ma?”

  Orrin fiddled with his spoon and cleared his throat. “They don’t know.”

  The burly man gazed at Ginny, then remembered his manners and pulled his hat from his head. “They don’t know?” His humor vanished, leaving a blatant amazement. “You mean she hasn’t met ’em?” he asked in a whisper that carried clear across the room.

  Ginny noted that an unusual hush settled over the café, and a few of the other patrons peered surreptitiously in their direction.

  “She really hasn’t met ’em yet?”

  Orrin sighed, obviously impatient with the other man’s nosiness. “No.”

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered.” The man took a step toward Ginny. He wedged his hat beneath his arm and offered his palm to shake. When she took his meaty fist, he patted her reassuringly with his free hand. “Good luck to you, ma’am.” Then, with a final pat, he released her and strode away, punching his hat back into shape.

  “What was that all about?” Ginny asked when he’d gone.

  Orrin shrugged, but the flush lingered in his cheeks. And for some reason, as they rose to leave, Ginny could have sworn she heard one or two comments that sounded very much like “poor woman … Ghant gang.”

  After they’d settled their bill Orrin led the way outside, his walk purposeful, as if he were suddenly eager to be home.

  “How far is Eden Creek?” Ginny asked, scurrying to keep up.

  “About twenty miles. It will take nearly ten hours.”

  “Ten hours!” Ginny stopped in amazement. By her calculations they should arrive in three hours, five at the most.

  “Usually it takes about half that time, but it has been raining hard. No telling the condition of the road. It may even take longer.” Beyond that he didn’t explain, and it was up to Ginny to draw her own conclusions.

  Orrin had hitched his team and brought the wagon to the hotel while she dressed, so it took only a moment for him to check to see that the ropes and canvas cover
s were taut and secure.

  “Go ahead and climb aboard.”

  Ginny waited patiently for him to help her.

  “Well, what are you standing there for?” he asked, glancing up from the strap of leather he’d been adjusting near one of the horse’s flanks.

  Realizing Orrin wasn’t about to offer any assistance, Ginny gathered her skirts. At the edge of the walk she paused, grimacing at the rippling ooze and manure that pockmarked the road. With all the rainy weather she was surprised that the wagon and team hadn’t sunk into oblivion.

  She stepped into the street and tiptoed through the ankle-deep mud. It took all of her self-control not to react as the muck settled around her feet.

  Once she’d reached the front wheel, she eyed the high seat. How in the world was a body supposed to clamber up to the bench?

  Orrin remained unaware of her dilemma, so—huffing silently to herself—she wadded her skirts together as much as she could. A passing stranger whistled softly at the indecent amount of ankle she displayed, and she shot him an indignant look. Flustered, she reached out for the wagon seat and stepped onto the rung of the wheel, praying that she could pull herself aboard without any more damage to her pride.

  Unfortunately, the mud had other ideas. She had managed to lift only one foot off the ground when the horses shifted, the mire caught at her shoes, and she teetered, trying to regain her balance. Squealing, she grasped the seat and held on for dear life, her feet dangling in the air.

  “You are a tiny little thing, aren’t you?”

  She started when Orrin came up behind her and lifted her onto the seat, much as she’d hoped he would have done in the first place.

  “You could have helped me before.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “A true lady doesn’t ask about these sorts of things. A true gentleman extends such actions out of proper courtesy.”

  “Then most true ladies must spend a great deal of time in the mud.”

  As Orrin walked around to the other side Ginny ignored his soft chuckles. Carefully scraping her boots, she waited until Orrin had climbed up beside her, then she folded her fingers in her lap.

  “Hold on tight,” he warned before urging the horses into the street.

  Caught unawares, Ginny reached for the nearest handhold to keep from being thrown into the street. It was not until she heard the hiss of Orrin’s indrawn breath that she realized she’d latched onto his thigh.

  “I beg your pardon,” she apologized as she jerked upright and righted her bonnet, trying to control the flood of heat rushing into her cheeks.

  But Orrin merely took one look at her reddening face and said, “Be my guest Ginny. Be my guest.”

  Orrin had not exaggerated the time they would spend traveling. Soon they had passed the scattered homesteads where the rich earth lay waiting for seed, and cows and pigs huddled in the chill morning air, staring mournfully at the passing travelers. Then, as if beckoning them forward, the rocky foothills led toward the towering jaws of the canyon.

  Ginny took one last look at Ogden. “It must be pretty in the valley once the weather turns warmer,” she commented, deciding to be generous, since Ruby’s tales of the higher country being lush and green must have some basis. Even in Ogden.

  “The seasons are longer down here than in Eden, so most of the farmers begin planting early on. Come summer, you won’t be able to see over the tops of the corn being grown on either side of this road.”

  Ginny turned forward in her seat. “What do you grow?”

  “Alfalfa, oats. Grain brings in a fairly good crop.”

  “And you raise cows?”

  “Some. I only keep about thirty head myself, but the neighbors have dairy cows.”

  “Neighbors?” Ginny broke in. Ruby hadn’t told her anything about having families nearby. Somehow, in the course of their conversations, Ginny had received the impression that Orrin’s home was isolated, miles and miles away from anyone else.

  Orrin watched her openly now, allowing the horses to lead themselves down the rutted road. “The Carrigans live to the north, Johnsons to the west. Most of the other settlers live in Eden Creek or have places further up the canyon. The Carrigans’ place is the closest to mine. Only five miles away.”

  Five miles. Ginny lapsed into silence and held the edge of the wagon seat when the road became a little rougher and the conveyance jounced beneath them like a twelve-year-old mare. No wonder Ruby had led her to believe that there weren’t many neighbors nearby. There weren’t.

  The rocky canyon walls closed in upon them—walls that had been formed ages ago by the river that burbled and swirled a few yards away, cutting its path so deeply that Ginny couldn’t see the water from her perch on the opposite side. Because Eden lay on the other side of the mountain range, Ginny felt her pulse beat a little faster in anticipation. According to Ruby, paradise lay on the opposite slopes: rich pastureland, fresh, crisp air, sparkling clear waters.

  Barely half of their journey had been completed when the rain began again, pounding down on them with renewed force. Seeing that Orrin was occupied in controlling the team, Ginny was left to hold a torn piece of cloth over their heads to help stave off some of the storm. Her arms ached, and her body shook with the cold and damp that settled right through to her bones.

  “How much farther?” she shouted after what felt like hours.

  Orrin indicated the road ahead of them. “Eden Creek cuts a swath through the mountains for about ten miles before the canyon opens on the other side.”

  Ginny cringed when the wheels skidded slightly in the mud. On one side the sheer rock face of the mountain loomed so close that she could have reached out and scraped her knuckles against the craggy surface. On the opposite side the steep, muddy embankment plunged down toward the angry, swirling waters of Eden Creek.

  Creek, she thought with a silent laugh. Whoever had had the audacity to call this churning, bubbling mass of water a creek hadn’t been right in the head. Orrin appeared casual, almost lackadaisical about the drive. Yet she knew that one wrong step of a horse, one wrong tug of the reins, and they’d slide off the road, go over the embankment, and crash into the river below.

  “Why don’t you hang on to me?”

  “What?”

  His hand snaked out, drawing her against his side. “Hang on.”

  She needed no further bidding but allowed the canvas to drape around them like a shawl while she gripped his waist.

  And somehow, despite the rain, the wind, and the dangerous road, she felt safe. A feeling she hadn’t experienced in years.

  In time the rocky outcroppings parted enough for traveling to become a little less nerve-racking. Ginny eventually straightened and stowed the cloth away. “We’re near Eden now?”

  Orrin offered her a smile that said she could have stayed where she was, but he didn’t press the issue. “’Bout twenty minutes away. We’ll stop in town for an hour or two. I need to unload supplies.”

  “At the mercantile?”

  “Mercantile?”

  “Ruby told me you owned a mercantile in Eden.”

  “She knows I don’t…” Orrin broke off, then shook his head. “It appears Ruby has been stretching the truth a mite.”

  Ginny fought against the unease that settled deep in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t own a mercantile … exactly.”

  “What do you own … exactly?”

  “A freighting office. Once a month my men and I make a trip into Ogden, rain or shine, and pick up a load of supplies. Then we divide the goods and deliver them to the areas that don’t have railroad service.”

  “Oh.” Ginny was a little disappointed in the fact that her new husband didn’t own a shining store with candy jars, cracker barrels, and shelves of goods, but she saw no shame in…

  Freighting?

  “Then you’re gone quite a bit,” she added slowly, not wanting to appear anxious about his being away from home, but not wanting to seem
too worried about having him stay with her when it sounded as if his job involved a good deal of travel.

  “Some. Since Jesse—”

  He broke off as if he’d made a huge gaffe.

  “Your first wife,” Ginny supplied.

  “Yes. Since my—she … died, I took on some men to do most of the long-distance work. I had to stay closer to Eden because of the children and all.”

  “The children?” she prompted, hoping he would tell her more about them, but he continued speaking about his business.

  “I’m gone about a week out of each month, not counting the trips into Ogden.”

  “I see.” Ginny digested that information, then lapsed into silence.

  So Ruby had been stretching the truth about Orrin’s work, she thought.

  If Ruby had embellished her tale, she could have exaggerated more than Orrin’s occupation. Ginny had relied heavily on Ruby’s promises in order to make her own decisions.

  And if she’d lied to Ginny, had she lied to Orrin as well?

  The wagon began to pick up speed, and Ginny sensed they were only minutes away from Eden Creek. Fighting any outward show of tension, she kept her eyes on the canyon walls as they spread wide and the road climbed up a steep hill.

  “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  Beside her Orrin nodded. “We’re here.”

  Chapter 5

  So this was Eden Creek.

  Ginny would have laughed aloud, but she couldn’t. Not without crying. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the quagmired road that stretched forward in a slippery sheet of ooze. Rising from the mud like some lump of indistinguishable slats and boards lay the general store, with its dirt-clumped stairs and dingy, cracked windows. On the opposite side of the street a shacklike edifice wallowed in the mire like a mud-stuck pullet. A rough sign above the door read EDEN CREEK PUBLIC SCHOOL. Around the two main buildings other shacks and minor structures lay scattered through the muck like flotsam left behind after a raging flood.

  This was to be her home. Home. For once the word had a dismal sound to it.

  Oblivious to her disbelief, Orrin drove the wagon beyond the general store to a smaller building hidden in the back. Ginny waited for him to reassure her and tell her this place was a joke. A horrible, horrible joke. But he merely pulled back on the reins, wrapped them around the brake, and slid from the seat into the mud. Even from her vantage point Ginny could see that he’d landed ankle-deep in the stuff. When he moved the mire clung tenaciously to his feet, making a thwucking sound as he walked to the back of the wagon box and began to untie the ropes that bound the canvas-topped merchandise.