by Lisa Bingham
He’d obviously been incapable of keeping his own wife happy.
He’d obviously been incapable of satisfying Jesse’s needs.
“Please don’t send me away,” Ginny pleaded again.
“I won’t. I won’t.” But he didn’t know how to assure her that he would never send her away. He could only fear that one day he would return home from one of his trips to find that she had gone of her own free will.
Just as Jesse had done.
Chapter 11
Orrin’s wagon was nearly loaded and secured when he saw a lone rider trotting up to the house. Since it was barely light, Orrin knew that the man couldn’t be coming for a social call. When he recognized one of his employees he swore, sensing immediately that something was wrong.
Just as he’d suspected, Clive Benson brought bad news. He squinted down at Orrin with rheumy blue eyes and draped his hands over the saddle horn.
“Jake Newley fell from his wagon this morning,” he stated without preamble, then spit onto the ground.
“Was he hurt?”
“Yep. Got caught in the traces. The horses drug him for a spell before he got loose. Busted a pair of ribs and got banged up real bad.”
“Then I’ll have to take his deliveries as well as my own,” Orrin replied. “Tell him he’ll receive his pay same as always and not to get any ideas about plowing.”
Clive grinned. “I’ll tell him. But it prob’ly won’t do no good.”
Orrin snorted and saluted the man as Clive donned his hat and rode back in the direction of Eden. Once he’d disappeared Orrin damned his bad luck and glared up at the rising sun. It was bad enough that he’d been scheduled to leave for most of the week, but now he would be gone for nearly a month. He didn’t want to go. But as much as he would like to stay home, the situation couldn’t be helped.
Entering the house, he found Ginny bent over a misshapen loaf of bread.
“I just got some bad news.”
He saw the way she looked up at him, her feelings carefully masked.
“Oh?”
“One of my men was hurt. I’ll have to combine our runs and take a wagon down to Moab.”
She wiped her fingers on her apron. “Where is Moab?”
“A settlement in the center of the territory. I’ll be gone a little less than a month.”
At that she paled. “A month!”
“Damn, I’m sorry, Ginny. But it’s my responsibility.”
She waved away his explanation as if she needed no reminder of his duties, and Orrin felt a burst of warmth at her offhanded action. Jesse had constantly berated him for giving her such short notice. For putting his business first, she’d always said.
But Ginny, brave little Ginny, straightened her shoulders and gritted her teeth. “I’ll put some more of your clothes together.”
When she tried to pass him he caught her arm and stopped her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“But I didn’t mean to be gone so long. Not so soon.” He reached out to trace her lips. “Will you miss me?”
She didn’t speak.
“I’ll miss you.”
“I-I’ll miss you, too.”
“Now, that didn’t hurt, did it?”
She chuckled, and he rubbed her arm, making her distinctly conscious of the fact that they would be apart a month. And a month was a very long time.
A month without his smile.
A month without his touch.
Growing uncomfortable at her own wanton thoughts, Ginny moved away. But she didn’t miss the flash of disappointment that crossed his features.
“You’ll have to take over some of my chores.”
“Chores?”
“Feed the stock, milk the cow. I’ll try to arrange for one of the Carrigan boys to come and do the heavy work.” He lifted a shiny pail from a peg by the front door, and Ginny eyed the container with suspicion.
“I’ll need to ride over to the Carrigans’ on my way into town. You may as well milk the cow while I ready the wagon.”
“Milk the cow,” she repeated.
He gave her the shiny bucket. “Betsy is already tied to the last stall.”
“Betsy?”
“The cow.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. The cow.”
Ginny took the pail and walked to the door.
“You might want your cape. It’s chilly out this early.”
Ginny reached for the woolen wrap that Orrin had hung on a peg nearby. The fine indigo fabric had been intended for carriage rides and walks in the park, not trips to the barn. Unless she admitted that she had no experience in such chores, she had no choice but to march out to the barn and milk the cow.
Ginny drew open the door and stepped into the weak light of the morning, shivering against the cool kiss of the breeze. As if they knew the purpose of her errand, a half dozen cats appeared and scampered along beside her.
Ginny took a hesitant step, peering into the shadows. “Whoop, whoop, whoop,” she called in a barely audible voice. Her hands lifted and fell in a halfhearted attempt to discourage any snipes that might be in the area.
“Where ya goin’?”
Imogene watched her from her perch on the corral fence. Her boots rested on the lowest rung while her arms wound about the support post.
When Ginny didn’t immediately answer, Imogene jumped down into one of the few puddles left in the yard, splashing mud in all directions. She looped her thumbs around the straps of her overalls and ambled toward Ginny.
Not for the first time, Ginny was struck by how much Imogene looked like a boy. With her scuffed boots, soiled overalls, and short, curly hair she could have passed for any one of the rapscallions in Plymouth who chased after the peddler wagons, waiting for something to fall from the racks.
“Where ya goin’?” Imogene asked again, obviously impatient about having to repeat herself.
“I’m going to milk the cow.” Lifting her skirts, she passed Imogene, but she had only taken a few steps before the girl spoke again.
“Best watch out for Betsy.”
“Oh?”
Imogene eyed her long and hard, as if debating whether or not she should tell Ginny anything. Finally she shoved her fists into her pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels. “She’s got a mean streak, that cow. She charged on one of the neighbors last November and nearly killed ’im.”
Ginny’s lips tightened in irritation. “A milk cow? Nearly killed someone?”
Imogene gazed at her woefully. “You’ve never been on a farm out west, have you?”
“Well, no.”
“We’ve got a different kind of milk cow here than you’ve got back east. They’re real ornery.”
Imogene’s eyes were so clear and guileless, how could Ginny disbelieve her?
“Just remember to talk sweet to her—she’ll only give milk if you can talk her into it,” Imogene warned. “And watch out for her hooves.”
“Hooves?”
“Cows in these parts have been known to slash a mountain lion’s head clean off.”
“I—”
“And whatever you do, don’t walk up on her right side. She’s blind in that eye.”
“Thank you, Imogene.”
Turning, Ginny picked her way through the yard to the barn. Once there, she eased the door open and stepped inside.
A moan rose to her throat when the fecund smell assaulted her senses, and her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. Good grief! The place smelled worse than Plymouth’s alleys.
She tiptoed down the line of stalls. The horses watched her with bored acceptance. The cats twined about her feet, mewing and howling and begging for attention. Finally, at the far end of the barn, Ginny located Betsy’s stall and stopped.
She was supposed to milk that?
Imogene hadn’t lied to her. The animal was huge—bigger than any Ginny had ever seen before—with great bony hips and long legs ending in sharp hooves. Sandwiched into the narrow stall
, the animal only had to step to the side to crush Ginny against the support posts.
Ginny uttered a quick prayer. She had to do it. She had to milk this cow. Her only other choice was to march up to the house and admit to Orrin that she was a useless woman who had no helpful knowledge other than lacemaking and embroidery.
Steeling her shoulders, Ginny reached out to open the gate and gingerly touched the cow on one bony hip. “Easy, girl,” she murmured. “Easy.”
The cow flicked at her with its tail.
A squeak of surprise burst from Ginny’s throat, but she laid her hand on the animal again. “Easy now. I just need to take your milk.”
The cats meowed in protest and the cow bellowed in disgust. Ginny swallowed, then took a step forward. Her foot slid, and Ginny couldn’t control the grimace of disgust when she found she’d stepped straight into a cow pie.
“Oh, really,” she groaned in distaste, lifting her foot and shaking it slightly.
When the cow lowed again, Ginny apprehensively studied the animal’s hooves but forced herself onward. She approached the huge animal cautiously, patted it, spoke to it in a reedy voice. Finally, when she’d reached Betsy’s side, she placed the pail on the ground.
The cats yowled and rubbed at her legs as Ginny bent, trying to reach the udder. But she realized she couldn’t manage from a standing position, so, huffing in frustration, Ginny crouched in the straw. Immediately the cats crawled around her, crying vociferously for some sort of attention.
Batting them away, Ginny apologized to Betsy and curled her fingers around the teats. “All right, Betsy. Give me your milk.”
Nothing happened.
Shifting a little, Ginny pulled on one teat.
Nothing.
Ginny eased a little closer, holding Betsy more firmly. “Come on, now. Give me the milk. Please.”
Still no milk.
Becoming a little desperate, Ginny tugged. The cow bawled in protest, kicking out with one foot and knocking over the pail. Ginny squealed and flung herself back against the stall. Then, when she discovered the cow wasn’t going to trample her, she repositioned the bucket and pulled a kitten out of the center. Once again she tried to extract the milk from Betsy’s swollen udder. She tried talking, tried crooning, tried pleading.
But no milk.
Drawn by the hushed sound of her voice, Orrin entered the barn and walked down the center aisle. When he caught sight of Ginny tangled beneath a wriggling mass of cats, pleading with the cow to give up the milk, he started to laugh.
Ginny jerked upright. “What’s so funny?”
Orrin opened his mouth to respond, only to chuckle even harder.
Ginny glared at him in annoyance. “If you think it’s so darned funny, then you milk the thing.”
Orrin forced his lips into a solemn line. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
But she heard the buried amusement in his tone and saw the twinkle in his eyes.
Reading her rising annoyance, he drew her out of the stall. Showing none of Ginny’s trepidation, he slapped Betsy on the rump and pushed the animal out of the way. Taking the rope around Betsy’s neck, Orrin pulled her into the center aisle of the barn. He tied her to one of the support beams, then stepped back into the stall to retrieve a three-legged stool.
“Come here.”
Ginny cautiously approached, making a wide circle around Betsy’s blind eye, wondering what Orrin planned to do next. He merely settled upon the seat, then gestured for her to watch.
“You’ll never get the milk by talking nice to her,” Orrin teased. His fingers closed firmly around a pair of teats. “She’s just like any other woman. Treat her with a little respect, a little tenderness, and a steady touch. That’s why farmers know how to pleasure a—”
“Orrin Ghant!”
Orrin chuckled again and settled a little closer against Betsy’s side. “Come over here and watch.”
“But that’s Betsy’s blind side.”
Orrin peered at her curiously. “Betsy’s not blind.”
“I suppose she hasn’t hurt anyone either.”
“Betsy? She’s as gentle as a lamb.”
Ginny’s lips narrowed. “And I also suppose there’s no such thing as a snipe,” she continued slowly.
Once again Orrin offered her a curious look.
A flush rose to Ginny’s cheeks as she realized she’d been the butt of Imogene’s jokes more than once in the past few days. Refusing to comment, however, she motioned for Orrin to continue with his lesson.
“Hold her firmly like this, between your thumb and finger. Then wrap your fingers down and around the rest of the teat.”
A steady stream of milk shot from the cow into the pail below.
“Do it again,” Ginny ordered, watching him.
Orrin shot several steady streams of milk into the pail. Then, when the cats began to clamor greedily, he squirted some of the frothy milk toward them, making Ginny laugh when they caught the streams openmouthed, lapping and sneezing.
“Now you try it.” He patted his lap. “Come on.”
Gingerly she settled on one of his knees. His arms rested against her waist in a way that was much too familiar for a simple milking lesson. “Take the cow. Just like I showed you.”
Though his voice seemed to melt into her ear like sunlight, Ginny managed to follow his instructions.
“Go on.”
She tried, but barely a dribble of milk fell into the bucket.
“Here.” Orrin pressed his chest against her back. Then his hands closed over her own. “Like this.”
Ginny didn’t know how in the world she was supposed to concentrate on her job when she found herself held tightly in his arms, his fingers twining with her own. But finally she managed to master the task, and Orrin leaned back. His palms moved in slow circles against her shoulders, making her aware of the warmth of Orrin’s flesh next to her own.
She faltered.
“Tired?”
“Yes.”
But it was a lie. She could have completed the milking, albeit awkwardly. But when she stopped, Orrin’s arms circled her again as he finished the task.
When the last of the milk had been collected in the bucket, he moved the pail safely away from Betsy’s hooves, but he didn’t rise. Instead his chin dipped to nestle in the curve of her nape; his fingers spread wide against her stomach.
“You are so beautiful.”
“Don’t say things like that,” she replied weakly.
His chin nudged her. “Why not?”
“Because it’s…”
“Disturbing?” He smiled against her skin. “I like to disturb you, Ginny.”
She gripped his arms.
“I like the way you make those soft sighs deep in your throat. I like the way your cheeks blush like a newborn rose.” His lips moved against her skin, and she jerked when the tip of his tongue touched the sensitive hollow beneath her ear. “But most of all I like the way you respond to me. With such openness. Such honesty.”
Honesty.
“No,” she said, trying to still his words. Her fingers lifted to spread through the silky strands of his hair. But what had begun as an attempt to stop him was aborted the moment she touched him.
He pressed a string of kisses along her neck, and her hands curled reflexively into his hair. How did he do this to her? How did he make her feel so much?
“I wish I didn’t have to go. This will be your first time alone.” Orrin’s voice had grown husky, and his arms grew tense. “I’ll worry about you while I’m gone.”
No one had ever worried about her before. No one.
As if the words had released some restraint, he explored the contours of her stomach and ribs, then paused beneath the fullness of her breast. One thumb swept across the faint ridge of her corset.
She started, a shock of excitement flooding through her body.
“Shh.” His mouth rubbed against her skin, her hair. “Damn, I wish I didn’t have
to go,” he said again, as if by saying the words over and over his responsibility would vanish.
She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know how to tell him that she wished he would never have to leave. She could only rest, trembling in his arms, and pray that he would hold her a little longer. Just a little longer.
He captured her chin. Shifting in his lap, she sat so that she faced him.
“Touch me just once before I go.” His eyes burned intensely. “It’s a long way to Moab. The nights will be cold. Give me a memory to warm me.”
She should tell him that she’d wanted to touch him for days, she thought. She should tell him that she was beginning to care for him much more than she’d ever thought possible. She should tell him of Ruby’s lies and her own duplicity.
But she couldn’t.
She held his shoulders, absorbing the strength she found there. An urgency caused by the press of time welled within her. She wanted Orrin. She needed him. But she needed all of him. The husband, the lover, the friend.
Her thumbs extended to rest in the hollow at the base of his throat. His skin was slightly rough where the tiny wisps of hair grew.
“Don’t ever send me away, Orrin.” She bent closer, pressing her breasts against his chest “All my life I’ve been sent away when I’ve ceased to be convenient. Please don’t send me away.”
Orrin’s brow creased. His arms held her fiercely. “No, never.”
The barn shivered with unspoken secrets. Ginny could see them buried in Orrin’s eyes just as surely as she felt them weighing heavily against her heart. But she couldn’t tell him. Not yet.
Not now.
Orrin’s fingers moved up her spine to tangle in her hair. Just as the silence between them became almost unbearable he covered her lips with his own. And this time their embrace held so much more than gentle entreaty. Ginny could taste the desperation, the threat of separation, and the fear.
Unable to find the words to tell Orrin how she cared for him, she showed him. With each wanton touch, each greedy kiss, each muffled moan she showed him.
When Orrin broke away, Ginny lunged to her feet. She was embarrassed by how much she had revealed to him.
