Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  She’d filled his thoughts every waking hour. Not just because they’d made love that last morning together, but because she’d somehow wriggled her way into his heart. Therein lay the danger. Because he knew that if she left him as Jesse had done, it would destroy him.

  After leading the horses into their stalls, Orrin headed for home. While he’d been in the barn darkness had stretched out over the valley like a woolen cloak.

  Now he could see that a weak light shone from the windows. Ginny was there. She was there! Orrin laughed softly in defiance of the relief thundering through his veins and loped toward the door. He was finally home.

  Home.

  Ginny swallowed and tried not to look too closely at the stew bubbling in the pot in front of her. At least when Orrin returned she could show him that she had conquered one household task. She had finally mastered a few edible dishes. Unfortunately, she had discovered that the smell of stew was one thing her stomach could not tolerate.

  She slammed the lid onto the pot and whirled, ready to rush outside for some fresh air, when she found herself face-to-face with her husband. He stood silhouetted in the doorway, the evening shadows spilling around his broad shoulders and lean form.

  “Orrin?” she breathed, wondering if she’d merely dreamed his presence. She’d been hoping he would return for so long.

  But his smile was slow, sweet, and oh, so real.

  “Hello, Ginny.”

  With utmost casualness he approached her. He stared at her long and hard, then drew her close. “Damn, I’ve missed you,” he uttered just before his lips took her own.

  In the space of a heartbeat she knew this was no dream, no illusion. Though she had tried to hold on to the memories of those last pleasure-filled moments in Orrin’s arms, she’d wondered if their joy had been that intense, the passion that strong. But as her mouth opened beneath his searching caress and she held him tightly the memories became dim in comparison to the reality of being in Orrin’s arms.

  When he drew away they were both smiling.

  “You’re home,” she exclaimed, her hands sifting through the familiar wheat-brown hair, her eyes lovingly caressing each feature.

  “Miss me?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes.” She gripped his shoulders, needing the reassurance of taut flesh to prove he had finally returned.

  He sniffed. “Something smells good.”

  Ginny didn’t even think about the scent of meat and gravy that hung in the air.

  “Been taking lessons while I’ve been gone?” To Ginny’s utmost horror, Orrin lifted the lid from the pot.

  The smell of the stew rose about her like a twining, living thing. It seemed to reach within her, wrapping tightly around her throat, plunging into her stomach to claw, claw, claw…

  “Excuse me.” Before he could respond she rushed out to the bushes. Although her stomach was empty—had been empty for hours—her muscles heaved. Dry retching gripped her. Finally she shuddered and sagged weakly against a tree.

  She turned, needing to gather herself together before stepping back into the house. But he was there behind her. His eyes flicked to her stomach, then back. When he looked at her she read the question he did not speak aloud.

  Her head dipped in a nod.

  He seemed to think before his eyes lit up with an almost boyish pleasure.

  “A son,” he said, stepping forward. “We’ll have a fine, healthy son.”

  Then he clasped her in a fierce embrace.

  A son.

  Her eyes squeezed closed in pain. Her hands clenched against the solid line of his back.

  Only she could taste the sadness and guilt that gathered like storm clouds around them.

  Later Ginny put the last of the dinner dishes away. From the other room she could hear the squabbling of the children as they prepared for bed.

  “The girls look good.”

  She hadn’t even heard his approach. Yet when his arms slipped around her shoulders, she couldn’t help closing her eyes so that she could more fully absorb the feel of him.

  “I know I’ve said it before, but I missed you. I missed you so damned much.”

  She couldn’t deny the warmth that coursed through her at the words. “I counted each hour you were gone,” she whispered, barely believing that she’d allowed herself to speak the words aloud. But she’d thought of him so many times each day that now the words couldn’t be held back.

  He touched her stomach, then cupped the swell of her breast. The familiar thundering expectancy blossomed within her. But the children wouldn’t fall asleep for hours. Not with the excitement of their father’s return.

  It was Ginny who turned, then deepened the embrace. Her arms stole around his neck and pulled him down toward her.

  “I need you to kiss me.”

  Though her words startled him, she saw the flare of desire deep inside his eyes. The molten gold color of his eyes warmed the section of her heart that had feared his reaction to her pregnancy.

  He hadn’t suspected a thing.

  A tiny sliver of despair pricked her at such a selfish thought, but she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t. Not tonight. Tomorrow she would tell him. After she’d spent the night in his arms.

  “Kiss me, Orrin,” she urged.

  The words had barely been formed before his mouth slanted hungrily over her own. She lifted on tiptoes, straining closer and closer still, as if searching for a way to be absorbed into his very soul.

  Her fingers grasped his hair as Orrin’s palms swept down her back. She knew that he, too, was wondering how soon they could be alone together.

  “Daddy! Daddy!”

  The two of them sprang back when the bedroom door opened and his children rushed inside. Their new nightgowns swirled around their feet, giving no hint to the battle Ginny had fought to get them to wear the garments.

  Apparently enjoying the fuss the children made as they scrambled to be held and receive his undivided attention, Orrin allowed them to lead him to the carpetbag he’d dropped by the door. He revealed their surprises—little wooden-jointed dolls he’d paid dearly for somewhere on his trip.

  “I bet Ginny would be happy to help you make some clothes for them.”

  To his obvious surprise, Eunice and Baby Grace turned to her immediately. Even Imogene seemed a bit intrigued.

  Orrin smiled at her, a tender light shining from his eyes. Ginny realized that it was important to him that his children accept her.

  Rising, Ginny went to her sewing basket and withdrew a bag of rags. “Why don’t you pick out the colors you like?”

  They immediately bent over their task, leaving Ginny and Orrin to exchange an unspoken promise.

  Soon.

  “I brought something for you, too.” Orrin picked up the box he’d leaned against the door. “I saw this as I was passing through Salt Lake City. I hope you like it.”

  Ginny hurried to open her own present, surprised by how much pleasure she felt at the unexpected gift. But as she opened the box she knew her anticipation had in no way prepared her for what she might find. Lying within a bed of tissue paper lay a beautiful pink gown.

  “Oh.” The word was barely audible, but it must have conveyed her wonder because Orrin grinned, his arms coming around her. “I know it’s a little impractical on a farm, and I know it’s highly impractical for church.” His voice lowered. “But I dreamed of how you’d look in pink. And I hope some day you’ll wear it Just for me.”

  Ginny reached out to finger the exquisite fabric and the delicate trim. Glancing up at Orrin, she blinked at the unexpected sheen of tears. “Thank you. It’s lovely.”

  Now, more than ever, she wanted to have him to herself. She wanted to hold him and show him how much she loved him. Not just because he made her pulse pound, not just because he filled her days with wonder, but because this proud, no-nonsense man had cared enough about her to do something as totally spontaneous and impractical as buying her a pink gown.

  The bubbly sound of the childre
n’s chatter filled the room, and it soon became apparent that it would be some time before they settled down to sleep again. Sighing in regret Ginny slipped from Orrin’s embrace to make hot milk with nutmeg. She brought out the plate of cookies she and the children had baked and reveled in Orrin’s obvious delight.

  Finally the children began to yawn and falter. Orrin led them into the other room and tucked them into bed. Ginny didn’t protest when he changed into his nightshirt, then promised to return for her as soon as he’d told the children a story.

  Knowing that she had only a few minutes to herself, Ginny cleaned the cookie crumbs from the table, then washed her face at the dry sink. Hurrying to one of the trunks pushed into a corner against the far wall, she delved into the stacks of summer gowns and underclothes until she located her finest lawn nightgown. She stripped off her clothing and pulled the nightdress over her head.

  As the delicate fabric skimmed over her breasts and hips Ginny felt truly pretty. And even with the thickening of her waist and the tenderness of her breasts she knew that her husband wanted her. Just as she wanted him.

  Blowing out the lamp on the table, she went into the bedroom. To her surprise, Orrin’s story had long since finished.

  “Orrin?”

  Her call garnered only a sleepy grunt as a reply.

  Tiptoeing toward the bed, she felt a rush of disappointment, then a tug of tenderness. He’d fallen asleep. The man had been in such an all-fired hurry to return, he’d worn himself out in the process.

  Smiling ruefully to herself, Ginny lay down beside him and pulled the quilt over their shoulders. Orrin muttered something and rolled toward her, draping his arm around her waist.

  “So … tired,” he mumbled.

  “I know. Sleep now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Shh.”

  The darkness settled between them with a silken weight. Yet just when she thought Orrin had drifted into sleep he roused himself enough to say, “Did I tell you there’s a whole pile of baggage waiting for you in Ogden?”

  Ginny didn’t understand. “Baggage?”

  He smiled against the top of her head. “Someone mentioned something about a piano.”

  A piano. Her mother had sent the rest of her things!

  Ginny uttered a muffled squeal of glee. “It’s here?”

  “I don’t know where”—his words were interrupted by a jaw-popping yawn—“we’re going to put it all.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s here! That’s what counts.”

  He chuckled, and his arms tightened. “Had I known … a piano would have made you that happy … I would have bought you one weeks ago.”

  “Did you bring it in the wagon?”

  “Wasn’t room.” He rubbed her arm in an enticing caress. “Besides, your parents sent an escort … to see that it arrived safely.”

  When he didn’t speak, Ginny knew that Orrin was swiftly falling back asleep, and she nudged him gently.

  “An escort?”

  “He’ll … bring it up sometime toward the end … of the week.”

  An escort? No one was supposed to know about her things. No one but her mother. “Who? Who is bringing it?”

  He took a deep, sleepy breath that bordered on being a snore.

  “Orrin? Who will bring my things?”

  Groggily he answered, “Friend of … family. Man named … Wicks. Billy Wicks.”

  Ginny’s heart became a lump of lead in her chest. Sweet heaven, Billy was coming to Eden Creek.

  Chapter 13

  Orrin awoke with a start, his pulse pounding. For a moment he stared into the night, dragging air into his lungs, wondering what had awakened him.

  He looked over the side of the bed, thinking something had happened to the children. But they slept soundly, their limbs tangled, their heads sharing a common pillow.

  Settling back into the ticking, he covered his face with his hand. As his heart rate calmed and his muscles released their taut grip he tried to conjure the half-formed wisps of dreams that still lingered in his brain. But the more he tried to remember…

  Exhaling in defeat, he stretched out, seeking Ginny’s warmth. Instead he found cool, empty sheets that still smelled of the subtle perfume she wore. Something with roses. And cloves.

  “Ginny?” He lifted on his elbow and looked about the room. But with the trundle bed out, there was little space left for a person to stand, let alone hide.

  His brow creased in a frown, and, pushing the covers back, he swung his feet to the floor, swearing at the tangle of fabric from his nightshirt. Hurrying, sure that something was wrong, he wrenched open the door and entered the keeping room.

  There he stopped. Ginny slept in the rocking chair next to the window. Her head was propped against her fist, and her braid spilled over her shoulder in an untidy chestnut-colored rope.

  Orrin padded over to her, intent upon carrying her back to bed. The moonlight stroked her delicate features, illuminating the fragile bones, the pale skin…

  And the moist remnants of tears on her cheeks.

  Whatever he had expected, it had not been tears. She’d been happy to see him. And she’d been ecstatic about the dress and the news of her piano.

  So why had she been crying?

  He hunkered onto his knees beside her, at a loss as to what to do. Jesse had always been a sturdy, God-fearing woman. Although Orrin had loved her when he was a boy, had followed her all wide-eyed and calflike, there had always been something in her manner that had stated she could take care of herself. She’d come from pioneer stock, she’d often said. Her mother had journeyed over the plains with a pair of oxen and sixteen children, and Jesse would have been more than capable of doing the same if need be.

  But Ginny…

  His hand lifted, then skimmed across the length of her braid. Perhaps that was part of the appeal, but when Orrin was near Ginny he felt … needed. His eyes closed. He’d never realized how much he’d yearned to be needed. He’d never realized how much his soul had longed for someone who would allow him to nurture and comfort when necessary. He had no doubts that Ginny needed him. Even in sleep she looked forlorn.

  “Aw, Ginny.” He reached out a tentative finger to brush away the wet tracks.

  She jerked awake, cringing against the far side of the chair.

  “Shh,” Orrin offered soothingly.

  She tugged at her wrapper, and in that unguarded moment Orrin saw a blatant gleam of fear in her eyes.

  He drew back, wondering if his touch had caused her to be so afraid. She’d seemed willing enough to participate in his embraces, he thought, but perhaps he’d frightened her. Damn, had he taught her the wrong things about passion? He ached to think that she found his desire distasteful. He couldn’t offer her gold or silver or an easy life.

  All he had to offer her was himself.

  Knowing that he needed to court her yet again, he stood and entered the bedroom, yanking the blankets from the bed and stealing a hairbrush from the bureau. Throwing the covers over his shoulder, he returned to the keeping room.

  Ginny still sat on the rocking chair, and when he reappeared she watched him with wide eyes.

  Orrin offered her a smile filled with tenderness and rueful apology. “Come on.” He pulled her to her feet, then gently drew her toward the door.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shh.”

  To Ginny’s surprise, the air outside was warm and moist, filled with smells of spring.

  When they reached the edge of the stoop Orrin frowned at Ginny’s small bare feet. Though the day’s sun had been warm and steady, the ground had grown cool after dark.

  He swept Ginny into his arms. She automatically held on to him tightly, pressing one breast into his shoulder. But he tried to ignore the flood of excitement the motion brought to his own body.

  A brilliant moon lit the way as he wound past the chicken coop and barn, past the smokehouse and springhouse. And there, not more than a hundred yards away, lay the first
structure he’d ever built.

  Nearly a dozen years had passed since Orrin and his father had entered the valley and erected the small log cabin, yet it still stood strong and proud against the elements.

  Ginny evidently noted the small dwelling as well, because she shifted in his arms.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “This used to be my house. When I built the other one, I kept it for storage.”

  By now he had reached the grassy knoll where the cabin stood, and he set Ginny on her feet, maintaining his grip.

  “Why have you brought me here?”

  “Privacy.”

  He became aware of the nightgown she wore, nothing at all like those Jesse used to wear. He’d never seen anything so delicate. So feminine. The garment should have given an impression of primness with its high collar, long sleeves, and voluminous skirt, but there was nothing prim about it. Fragile lace spilled from her neck to tease the embroidery and tucking that covered the yoke at her shoulders. The placket of her gown ran from her neck to her waist, held together by less than a half dozen buttons, beckoning a man to push them free and slide the garment from her shoulders. And the fabric was so soft, so sheer, that when the breeze blew the cloth against her body Orrin could imagine seeing everything beneath.

  She shivered, reminding Orrin that although the night was warm, the breeze was cool. He quickened his pace.

  It had been some time since the building had been used. Orrin generally kept his carpentry tools inside, along with the wash tubs and empty trunks. It took three tries for him to jam his shoulder against the swollen door with enough force to budge the wood free. Then, offering Ginny a courtly bow, he drew her inside.

  Though the air had a musty smell like that of an attic, the room was neat and orderly. Each item had been stored in such a way that it could be retrieved with a minimum of fuss.