Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  He climbed into bed, and they lay side by side in the darkness, each overtly aware of the narrow width of the mattress, the warmth of their combined bodies.

  Orrin’s arms reached for her.

  She pushed him away. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “I would think the answer is obvious. I’m going to make love to my wife.”

  When he tried to bend closer, she smacked him in the center of his chest.

  “You will do no such thing!” Her eyes grew wide. It was bad enough that he wanted to do … that. But with his children in the same room? “I will not have you carrying on with three impressionable girls less than a foot away from the bed.” Her tone clearly conveyed that she was aghast that he would even dream of performing such intimacies with his own daughters so near.

  Orrin’s gaze flicked to the three urchins asleep in the trundle bed on the floor. “They’re only babies. They don’t know what we’re doing.”

  Ginny felt a scalding heat flood her cheeks. “Babies or not, I won’t have it.”

  “Most children sleep in their parents’ room.”

  “I don’t care about the habits of most parents. This parent won’t allow it.”

  Orrin scowled. “Is it really the kids you’re concerned about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His eyes roamed over her features in a tangible caress. In the dim lamplight they were filled with silent apology. “I hurt you last time, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It can be beautiful. Exciting.”

  His head dipped, and his lips touched the corner of her mouth. A shimmering effervescence flowed from that spot through her veins to settle deep within her.

  “Don’t,” she murmured in protest.

  “Don’t what? Don’t talk to you this way? Don’t touch you this way?” He stared at her mouth. “We’re married,” he stated, as if that explained everything.

  But it didn’t explain the way he was making her feel. And it didn’t explain the wanton urge she had to experience more of his touch, see more of his smiles.

  His head dipped again, and his lips took her own. Her fists trembled against his chest; her fingers hesitated, then opened, hovering just above the warmth of his torso. The pressure of his mouth increased, becoming more insistent, more arousing. And suddenly she wanted to touch him. It couldn’t be wrong. They were married.

  “Daddy?”

  The two of them sprang apart.

  Orrin cringed when he found Eunice staring at him.

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  Eunice studied Ginny, Orrin. Then her thumb slipped into her mouth. Her chin trembled, and she obviously wondered what to make of such a scene.

  “I need a drink of water,” she finally said.

  Orrin sighed. Pulling the covers aside, he scooped Eunice up and padded into the other room.

  Ginny flung an arm over her eyes, realizing just how close she’d come to succumbing to Orrin’s embraces right in front of three innocent children.

  Never again. Never, never again. Not with them watching.

  When Orrin returned and placed Eunice on the trundle bed, Ginny lay upon the mattress, her back turned firmly against him. She felt the way he settled into bed, then hesitated.

  “Good night, Ginny.”

  The only answer was the stiffening of her body. Damn, damn, damn. How was he supposed to woo his wife when his children were never far away? Somehow he was going to have to sway her to his own way of thinking. Otherwise he might be forced to build a whole new dad-blasted house.

  Plymouth, Missouri

  A self-satisfied grin tugged at Billy Wicks’s lips as he settled back against the pillows of the bed he’d rented at Ma’s Boarding House. Everyone in town knew that Ma’s was a discreet little whorehouse on the outskirts of town. But only Ma’s girls knew that Billy Wicks frequented the establishment at least four or five times a week—whenever the tomblike atmosphere of the Parker Bank became too much for a man to stand.

  A cool feminine finger slid across his stomach.

  “Billy, honey.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Tell me I’m responsible for that smile.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  The sloe-eyed prostitute in his arms had entertained him for a good hour. She had a taste for the exotic that Billy always appreciated. But his mind couldn’t concentrate on her firm breasts and tight buttocks.

  Billy assured himself over and over again that he wasn’t affected by the news of Ginny’s child, but a giddiness settled into his brain—a giddiness that was aided, no doubt, by the bottle of whiskey that sat on the bedside table. The gleam of the lamp revealed that only a scant inch of liquid remained.

  Billy chuckled, feeling a surge of satisfaction. He’d planted his seed in Ginny on the first try!

  The thought was so pleasing, he considered availing himself once again of the prostitute’s charms.

  But not yet. First he had some planning to do.

  Doc Lamb had unwittingly provided the answer to his dilemma. If Ginny were indeed pregnant with Billy’s child, then he only had to wed her, bed her, and bring her back to Plymouth.

  Holding his glass up to the light, he studied the amber liquid with great delight. Once Ginny Parker became his wife it was only a matter of time until he became president of the Parker Bank. With a ready-made heir, his position was secure.

  But first he had to find Virginia.

  A sourness settled in his stomach. If not for the death of his father, Billy would have remained in Plymouth for the past month. But he’d been forced to return to Tennessee to avoid the backlash of ill feelings that might have resulted had he not appeared.

  To Billy’s infinite dismay, he’d found that the whole trip had been wasted anyway. His father’s estate had been given to his older brother, lock, stock, and distillery. So Billy had come back to Plymouth posthaste.

  His features hardened. Damn it! Where had Ginny gone? He would have to marry her quickly to avoid a scandal. After all, a bank president could occasionally visit a cathouse if he were discreet, but he couldn’t have a child out of wedlock. People had to trust him. And who could trust a man whose brat was born too soon?

  He drained his glass in one gulp, but the burn of alcohol couldn’t compete with the fury growing in his stomach. Damn that girl anyway! How dare she leave him this way?

  He stared blearily at the opposite wall, a sudden sobering chill entering his veins.

  Did Herbert Parker know of Ginny’s condition?

  The metallic bite of panic mixed with the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Herbert Parker was a conservative and religious man. If he knew that Billy had seduced his daughter…

  No. If he did, Billy would have heard from him long before now.

  Wouldn’t he?

  The thought pierced the cloud of alcohol and sobered him for just a moment. The hand that held the glass trembled, and he threw the shot glass against the opposite wall.

  The woman in his arms cowered. But as the glass bounced against the paper-thin partition and dropped to the floor with a heavy thump, Billy thought only of his predicament. He couldn’t deny that his employer would be less than pleased if he knew the truth. And Billy would be the one to suffer the consequences.

  “Billy, honey?” When she spoke, the prostitute’s voice held a slight tinge of fear. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shut up,” he growled, pushing her onto her back and slanting his mouth over hers. “Just shut up and pretend you’re a lady. A fine, upstanding, genteel lady.”

  The woman noted the cruelty in his eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen it. But she’d learned long ago not to fight Billy Wicks. It was far better to give in to him and play along.

  Then, with a little luck, he would leave her alone. Until the next time.

  Chapter 10

  During those first few weeks of adjustment, spring came to Eden Creek. The warm breezes melted the last slushy patches of snow away and began to absorb the water from
the soil. The moist, fragrant air was rich with the smells of new grass, soft tender leaves, and winter wheat. Overnight a carpet of wildflowers sprang up to blanket the meadow—soft pinks, brilliant yellows, subtle blues. Somehow, within the space of a few days, the winter dullness of the valley slipped away for good to be replaced by a burst of life.

  To her infinite surprise Ginny felt as if she belonged there. Perhaps it was the fact that the arrival of her trunks and crates allowed her to make Orrin’s house seem more like her home. Perhaps it was because he took his daughters with him into the fields each day. Or perhaps, just perhaps, it was because Ginny was beginning to fall in love with her husband.

  At first she’d grown self-conscious and nervous each time he entered the room. She’d lain rigidly upon the bed at night, aware of the way Orrin rested close beside her.

  But with each day that passed Orrin made every effort to help her feel welcome. He tolerantly rearranged the furniture and hung curtains. He allowed her time to become familiar with her new duties and responsibilities and saw to it that—at least when he was nearby—his children treated her with respect. And if Imogene still shot her scathing looks, or Eunice cried every time Ginny appeared, they knew better than to do it when Orrin was around.

  Most endearing was the way Orrin had given her time to come to grips with her own emotions. Wisely, he refrained from forcing her into any marital intimacies—not that he didn’t touch her. In fact, he’d begun a gradual sensual campaign.

  His smiles were more frequent, slow, rich, warm. At meals he took more time with his food in order to talk with her. Occasionally, when she gave him his plate or a mug of coffee, he saw to it that his hand brushed hers. Soon he began to help her clean up afterward. And if that involved resting a hand against her back while he set a plate on a shelf over her head, or finding her fingers in a pan of soapy water, Ginny didn’t complain.

  She was too intrigued.

  Ginny found herself counting the hours until Orrin would return from the fields. Never in her life had she felt this way about a man. He accompanied her every minute, whether in thought or deed. If she awakened in the night to find her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his waist, it didn’t matter.

  In time, Ginny sensed her own insecurities being washed away beneath Orrin’s gentle care. She felt wanted. Needed. She even followed him into the fields one day, then delighted in their close proximity when Orrin taught her how to plow.

  Soon her memories of Billy Wicks and his betrayal began to fade. She had turned to Billy out of loneliness, and he knew just what to say, just what to do to make her rely on him. But Billy had wanted to conquer her. Like a boy who wanted to master a new toy.

  Orrin treated her with respect.

  So what was she going to do? The child within her was not going to go away—nor were the circumstances of its conception. And yet, in the blackness of the night, Ginny couldn’t deny that she was beginning to wish that the baby was Orrin’s.

  Her head told her she should tell him the truth.

  Her heart told her to hold on to the lie.

  Ginny paused and trembled in the act of buttoning the maroon linsey-woolsey day dress that was the simplest thing she owned. She turned to look back at the man sprawled upon the narrow bed. One of his thighs had pushed free of the covers, revealing masculine, hair-splattered skin. Though she hadn’t told him so out loud, Ginny found it sweet the way he’d continued to wear the nightshirt for her benefit. He’d been so courteous and attentive, she didn’t know quite what to think. It was as if he were trying to make her feel cherished.

  Deciding his efforts deserved some reward, Ginny hurried into the keeping room. By the time Orrin stumbled out of the bedroom nearly an hour later, Ginny had already begun her surprise. After a great deal of bullying she’d managed to stoke the fire in the stove until it raged like the depths of Hades. Coffee bubbled at the back, a pan of scrambled eggs at the front. Potatoes had been peeled, sliced, and fried with a half pound of bacon, which now sat on a huge platter she’d put on the warming shelf. The kitchen was awash in smells—smells that had already sent Ginny to the privy twice to empty her stomach. But now she stood proud and pale and waited for Orrin to begin his breakfast.

  “What’s this?” He wiped the sleep from his eyes, staring blearily at the plate she’d set down at his customary place.

  “Breakfast,” she announced proudly.

  “Breakfast,” Orrin echoed dully, looking down at the plate of gummy eggs, singed potatoes, and half-cooked bacon. “Breakfast,” he muttered again in disbelief. He tried to offer her a wide smile, but it felt forced even to his own lips. “Breakfast,” he said to himself, the word emerging more as a plea as Ginny gave him a mug filled to the rim with the blackest, thickest coffee he’d ever seen in his life.

  “Sit down,” she invited.

  He sank into his chair, then quickly covered himself when the too-tight nightshirt rode up past his knees. Damn it! There were certain parts of a man’s body where he wasn’t supposed to feel a draft.

  The meal was an exercise in torture. What with cold air drifting up the nightshirt, coffee that tasted like Mississippi mud, and raw bacon, he considered standing up and going into the cellar to get his own food. But Ginny watched him with barely concealed eagerness. “It’s good,” he lied around a mouthful of food he somehow had to force himself to swallow.

  Her grin of accomplishment made the food a little easier to bear. Yet when she turned her back to get the coffeepot he quickly spit the food in the dish towel she’d provided as a napkin.

  “More coffee?”

  “No!” he blurted before he could help himself, then added less forcefully, “No. Thank you. I’m … quite full.”

  She eyed his plate in disappointment. “Oh. I thought you’d eat more.”

  He searched for an answer even as he tugged at the hem of his shirt and stood. “It was all so … good, it just … filled me right up. And since I need to ride into Eden Creek and check on the office today, I don’t want to be stuffed.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive. Thank you.”

  He grabbed the dish towel and escaped into the bedroom, where he gathered a change of clothing. He had begun to strip when he remembered Ginny’s offended dignity at his dressing in the same room as the children. Swearing, he wadded the clothes into a ball and plodded back into the keeping room.

  Ginny met him on the other side of the door with a dinner pail. “Here.”

  He eyed the bucket with suspicion. “What is it?”

  “Your lunch.”

  His stomach churned.

  “I wrapped up what you didn’t eat for breakfast in some tissue paper. I know how you forget to eat once you’re in town.”

  Orrin swallowed hard and reluctantly took the food. “I appreciate the kindness.”

  “No trouble. No trouble at all.”

  “I’ll have to leave the children behind today.”

  There was only a slight pause before Ginny answered, “Fine.”

  Feeling like a man on the way to the gallows, Orrin took his clothes and his pail outside and dressed in the barn. Then, peeking into the lunch bucket, he shuddered. He couldn’t eat it. Not even to be nice. Not cold and congealed and lying in the bottom like a lump of axle grease.

  Groaning, he took the back door to the pigsty and dumped the contents into the trough. The pigs snorted and grunted, stampeding toward him, eager for a treat. Within a few feet they stopped, sniffed, then suddenly squealed and galloped toward the far end of the pen.

  Orrin couldn’t blame them. Not one little bit.

  Ginny entered the bedroom. She had made and served Orrin his breakfast—and judging by his reaction, her efforts had been successful. Now she needed to continue on to the next phase of her surprise. The children. It was high time she began to take over their care and show Orrin that she could be a good mother.

  However, the Ghant gang proved to be far from cooperative. They eyed her warily,
and for some reason her special breakfast didn’t soften their moods.

  Once they had finished they made a beeline for the door, but Ginny barred their way, standing with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her features firm.

  “I think you should dress properly before you go out to play.”

  Imogene’s chin jutted out at a stubborn angle. “We is dressed.”

  “Are.”

  “Are what?” She stamped her foot. “Hell, there’s nothing wrong with the way I talk!”

  At the sound of a curse coming from such a young child—a young female child—Ginny bit back a shocked gasp.

  “Imogene, a lady is as a lady does.”

  Imogene looked her up and down. “Get away from the door. We want to play.”

  “You may play as soon as you exchange those overalls for a set of dresses.”

  “We ain’t got no dresses.”

  “You haven’t any.” The young girl’s words sank into her consciousness. “You don’t have any dresses?” she asked in disbelief.

  Imogene glanced at her sisters, then back at Ginny. The sunlight from the window beside them tangled through her curly hair, revealing that it had not been properly combed in the better part of a month.

  “Nope. We don’t got no dresses, do we, Eunice?”

  Eunice removed a grubby finger from her mouth long enough to echo, “Nope.”

  Baby Grace, sure that this was some kind of game, repeated, “Nope, nope, nope!”

  “You’ve never had—”

  “Nope, nope!”

  “—a dress?”

  “Nope, nope!”

  “Ever?”

  “Nope!”

  “Grace!”

  Grace began to wail.

  “You yelled at her,” Eunice uttered brokenly, her eyes already filling with an answering misery.

  “Now look what you did,” Imogene accused, her mouth screwing into a disapproving line. “Now they’re both crying.”

  A wave of panic washed over Ginny. She didn’t know how to care for children! They were an alien breed to her. Why, oh why hadn’t Orrin taken them with him to town?

  “Please don’t cry. I’m sorry.”