Eden Creek

by Lisa Bingham

  Edging around a pile of trunks, Orrin pointed out a set of bunks built into the far wall. “When I lived here with my father I always took the upper bed. One night when I was about fifteen I got drunk on some cider and fell onto the floor. After that Pa always made me sleep on the lower bunk. Said he didn’t want to step out of bed some day only to have me roll out and squash him flat.”

  Ginny smiled at his tale, and some of her nervousness dissipated. But it had been so long, she didn’t know quite what to do or say.

  “You must have loved him very much.”

  He nodded. “This land was settled by my father.”

  “What happened?”

  “We came here together—I was just a boy, really—cleared the land above Eden Creek, and built the cabin.”

  “And?”

  “When the war came my father felt an … allegiance to the home he’d left behind. Though I was married by then, I went with him.” The husky quality of his voice became an open raggedness. “He died of gangrene less than a year later.” He released her and moved toward the open door. “This land is more his than mine. I feel him here.”

  Ginny sensed the shadow that settled over him. Clearly Orrin missed his father, had loved him and respected him.

  When she would have comforted him, however, he turned and leaned in the doorway.

  “Now how did we get on such a subject?” he asked idly.

  She shrugged but couldn’t prevent the way her eyes studied him more intently. In truth, he looked ludicrous in the nightshirt he wore. It was far too tight and short, revealing his firm, muscular calves in a less-than-dignified fashion.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He took hold of the nightshirt and glanced down at himself as if searching for some kind of flaw in the fabric.

  “You’re a very sweet man, Orrin Ghant.”

  He shot a quick look of surprise in her direction. “How’s that?”

  “Wearing a nightshirt all this time just for my benefit.”

  He grinned, a boyish grin that made her heart lurch even as she saw a flash of how he must have looked before the burdens of a household had made him older.

  “It’s a damned foolish thing to wear in bed. If God had wanted a man to wear a dress, he would have given him breasts.”

  “You do look a little silly.”

  “Does that mean I don’t have to wear it anymore?” His voice was low and playful and infinitely appealing as he stalked her.

  She giggled and backed away. “No. I think you should continue to wear it.”

  “Why?”

  “The children.”

  “The children have already seen all there is to see.”

  “Orrin!”

  “Well, at least down to the underwear.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “But you’ve seen all there is to see.”

  His gaze became just a little wicked, and Ginny realized she had only a few inches left for her escape. “I never!”

  “I saw the way you were watching me in the mirror at Ida’s.”

  She groaned in embarrassment and tried to dodge him, but his arm whipped around her torso, hauling her close as he continued his teasing.

  “Of course, it was dark, and you probably didn’t get a good enough look. I’d be more than happy to give you another peek.”

  She tried to stop him, but he swept her into his arms until her feet dangled above the floor.

  Suddenly the game took on a different tone. Ginny found herself breast to breast, hip to hip with her husband.

  Her husband.

  He’d been gone so long.

  Too long.

  She wanted him to touch her.

  Kiss her.

  Orrin grew very still, very quiet.

  “Kiss me, Orrin.”

  “I will,” he promised. “That and much, much more.” He set her feet back on the floor, then cradled her head between his palms as he stared deep into her eyes. “Tell me you feel it, too,” he urged as his head bent toward her own.

  “What?” she asked, half afraid of his answer.

  “The yearning.”

  She couldn’t speak. How could she tell him in words what happened to her each time he touched her? How could she explain the anticipation, the greed?

  One of his hands trailed down the rope of her braid, his fingers brushing lightly against the side of her breast.

  Reaching the end, he tugged at the ribbon that bound it, loosening the tight plait.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, wondering why he delayed the inevitable.

  “Shh. Tonight we’re going to take things slowly and enjoy.”

  Slowly? Her heart was already racing faster than a locomotive. She wanted him to kiss her, hold her, yet he had become fascinated with removing the braid from her hair. He delighted in the texture of the strands, the weight, the crimped curl. Moving inch by inch, his fingers slipped into the braid, tugged the tresses free, then crept a little higher to repeat the process.

  “Or-rin.”

  “Shhh.”

  He reached the plane of her bosom, and his knuckles brushed against the sensitive curves. Instinctively she pulled his other hand down to help with the task.

  “Please,” she breathed.

  He smiled, still maintaining his snaillike pace.

  She nestled closer to him, seeking the warmth of his body. But it only held her restlessness at bay for a moment; then her need increased tenfold.

  He finished unplaiting her hair and spread the silky tresses over her shoulders like a tangled cape.

  “Come here.” He led her to the bed. Sure that he meant to love her, she waited until he’d covered the ticking with blankets and motioned for her to sit.

  Once she’d taken her place on the edge he climbed onto the mattress behind her and took up the hairbrush he’d slipped into the bedclothes. Propping his back on the wall, he drew her closer, then began to brush her hair.

  Never had Ginny imagined that such a simple task could be fraught with so much pleasure. The brush passed from the top of her head to the ends of her hip-length hair with slow, steady strokes, over and over again, until she felt the tension begin to build deep inside her body.

  “Feel good?”

  “Mmmm.” She could barely manage that simple response.

  Her shoulder blades rested against his chest, and her hips were cradled between his thighs. He continued with his tantalizing strokes, brushing her hair from her shoulders, over her breasts, and down to her waist.

  Ginny surrendered to the sensations he inspired. Soon the curls fell about her in silken waves; her body felt weightless and full of a shimmering light. Then Orrin turned her. The pleasure she felt in his arms grew in intensity.

  “Sleepy?”

  Her gaze flicked to the strong shape of his mouth. “No.”

  The muscles beneath her palms tensed. He held her with such infinite tenderness that she felt a brief pang of guilt, but she pushed it away.

  Slowly his palms passed down the length of her back. And as the strands of her hair gave way he drew her closer. First her shoulders, then her torso, her waist.

  Her head arched back, and her eyes fluttered closed, then opened.

  “How can you make me feel this way? We’ve only been married a few months.”

  He buried his lips against her neck. “Oh, sweetheart this is how it’s supposed to be.” Then his mouth closed over her own.

  Ginny had already been inundated with so many sensations—sight sound, and touch—she didn’t think that more could crowd into her brain. But she was wrong. Oh, so wrong. She began to pay strict attention to the pressure and persuasion of his touch, wanting to increase the pleasure, wanting to return the sweetness.

  Orrin nudged her backward toward the ticking, bit by tiny bit.

  “Slow down, slow down.”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  A light flared deep in his eyes. “Neither do I.”

  He took her mouth in a hungry kiss
and settled more firmly beside her on the bunk, his legs tangling with the delicate fabric of her nightdress.

  She felt him hard and strong against her. She had missed him so much in the past weeks. He’d become a part of her. When he was away a portion of her heart had gone with him.

  “Tell me you aren’t sorry you married me,” she pleaded, needing to hear the words.

  When he looked at her he was fiercely intent. “I’m so glad you came into my life, Ginny Ghant. You and I are going to build a life together. Moments like these will be some of the best.”

  Then he was kissing her again, and Ginny willingly pushed all other thoughts aside. Soon the promise of his touch caused all else to flee until she didn’t care what had gone on before or what would happen after. She only knew that she wanted this man, needed him.

  Loved him.

  The night seemed suddenly too short and the time they’d spent apart too long. Ginny’s eyes closed. Her fingers tugged on the hem of Orrin’s nightshirt until it rode high on his waist and she could feel the firm muscles of his buttocks.

  Then Orrin was doing the same, pulling the delicate lawn of her nightdress high above her hips. Dotting intimate kisses across her skin, he stretched over her, his weight pressing her into the ticking beneath her back. Then, just when she feared she couldn’t bear another moment of this intimate torture, he slowly entered her.

  Ginny’s eyes flew open to focus on the man who held her, caressed her. The fire within her seemed to build even more, filling her soul with a relentless desire.

  Orrin’s hand slid from her knee to her thigh, adjusting her slightly so that their connection became even more intense.

  Her body seemed to burst like fireworks, and she held tightly to Orrin’s shoulders for some anchor in reality.

  As the world settled back around them Orrin pulled her against his chest.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She shook her head. “No.” Feeling less reticent with each moment spent in his embrace, she rubbed his forearms.

  He kissed her. “You’re sure? I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby. I plan to take care of you both.”

  Ginny’s fingers curled into his arms. “I’m fine.”

  But the words left the bitter taint of desperation on her tongue.

  I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby. I plan to take care of you both.

  The child. In one flashing moment Ginny remembered her child. Remembered the lies. Remembered her silence. In a spark of guilt, her happiness faltered and died.

  Tell him, a voice within her urged.

  But even as she opened her mouth to speak to him she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t.

  Much later, after Orrin’s breathing had stilled, she rolled away.

  She heard a soft, sleepy grunt and started when Orrin pulled her back against him so that they curled spoon-fashion into one another.

  “I love you,” Orrin said into her hair, more asleep than awake.

  The words struck Ginny to the core.

  She loved him, too. More than she would ever have the power to explain. And as much as she knew her own love would withstand the test of time, Ginny couldn’t find the courage to tell him her secrets. His hands rested low on her stomach, unknowingly cupping and warming the child she nurtured.

  The child that belonged to another man.

  She fought back the sting of tears. As the hours faded one into another Orrin’s words seemed to echo in the room about her.

  “I don’t want to hurt you. Or the baby. I plan to take care of you both.”

  He would keep his promise. She knew he would.

  But who would see to it that Orrin wasn’t hurt?

  Chapter 14

  “You sure sleep a lot.”

  Ginny jerked awake at the sound of Imogene’s voice. She was completely dressed and lying in Orrin’s real bedroom, not the tiny one-room cabin. Save for the tangle of her hair and the ache of her body, there was no evidence of what she and Orrin had done the night before. Even so, she had the feeling that Imogene knew more than she should.

  Underscoring that point, Imogene leaned closer. “We got comp’ny.” she announced, then she gave an indignant sniff before marching from the room.

  Slipping from the bed, Ginny hurried to bathe from the pitcher and basin, then dressed in a woolen day gown. As she neared the door her nose twitched at the smell of bacon and coffee.

  Wondering if Orrin were making breakfast for their mysterious guest, she cautiously opened the door and peered outside.

  Ida Carrigan turned from her place behind the stove and plunked her hands on her hips, grinning at Ginny’s reticent entry. “Good morning! You’re just in time for breakfast.” She took a hot pad from the hutch and poured a stream of coffee into a tin mug, then gave it to Ginny. “Get some of this into your stomach, girl. You look like you’re about to faint. I may not visit too often, but it’s not a subject for swooning.”

  The strong scent of the coffee wafted around Ginny’s head, and she strode to the table and set it down before answering Ida. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were coming, or I would have been awake to greet you properly.”

  “Nonsense.” Ida waved away whatever explanations she might have been about to give. “Didn’t know I was comin’ myself until I saw Bud Campbell on his way to help some young fella heading up the canyon with a wagonful of trunks and crates and such.”

  Billy.

  “The … man is here already?” she asked carefully, praying that she didn’t appear as pale as she suddenly felt.

  “Not yet,” Ida warned, tempering Ginny’s dread a little. “Evidently that man—Wicks, I think he said his name was—had some problems at the pass. Orrin sent Bud to help him lighten the wagon, but they should be here before noon. I thought I’d do the neighborly thing and bring a few of my girls to help you unpack.”

  The door opened, and three of Ida’s children stepped into the kitchen. One carried a pail of milk, the second eggs, and the last Orrin’s shaving kettle.

  “You remember Manda Sue, my eldest. And Effie, she’s fifteen. And of course, you know Tilly.”

  Ginny smiled guiltily at the towheaded teenager, who now had her hair cut closely against her skull in a wispy halo of curls.

  “Don’t just stand there, girls. We’ve got work to do. Tilly, you go call Mr. Ghant and those children in to breakfast. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get to work.”

  Tilly cast a beseeching look at her mother but did as she was told.

  The table groaned beneath the weight of the food Ida had cooked. When the Ghants entered, they stared at the fare as if they’d died and gone to heaven.

  “Take a seat. Hope you don’t mind that I made myself at home. Never can stand to see an idle stove or a crowded larder. The food’s not fancy, but it’s hearty. There’s potatoes, eggs, and oatmeal. Fresh biscuits and preserves. And I’ll feel offended if there’s a bite of them left an hour from now.”

  Ginny took her seat and settled her skirts, trying to ignore the way Orrin’s eyes latched onto her and followed her every move.

  “Eat up,” he said, his dark, earth-brown gaze intent upon her face.

  Around her the family grabbed for platters and bowls, notably ecstatic over a reprieve from Ginny’s cooking, their chatter rising like an exuberant tide.

  Now that lids and protective dishcloths were removed, the warm scents of breakfast rose even more powerfully. The rich smells of bacon and biscuits settled within Ginny, causing her stomach to roll.

  “Something wrong?”

  Her head jerked up. “Wrong?”

  “You look a little pale all of a sudden.”

  “No. I’m fine. Just…” She looked away, then fought the lurch of her stomach when she came eye to eye with a platter of fried eggs.

  Ginny fought the reaction. She swallowed hard, but try as she might she couldn’t quiet her stomach.

  “Excuse me, I need to wash up first.” She rose from the table and scrambled
away from the bench. Lifting her skirts, she ran outside, reaching the privy just moments before she would have embarrassed herself.

  It took nearly a quarter of an hour for her to straighten and step from the outhouse. Wiping a trembling hand over her face, she moved into the coolness of the yard.

  “So how long have you and Orrin been married?”

  Ginny whirled to find Ida watching her with a twitching smile, her arms folded beneath her generous bosom.

  “Just a little over two months.”

  Ida’s expression faltered somewhat. “But you’ve known each other for a bit longer?”

  “No. We met just before the ceremony.”

  Ida’s smile slipped away, replaced by a solemn wariness. Her arms lowered, her fingers seeking the security of the pockets in her apron. “I see.”

  When Ida’s glance flicked to her stomach Ginny realized that at least one person in the community had guessed her secret. While Orrin had barely noticed the thickening of her stomach, Ida could probably pinpoint her pregnancy within a week or two of conception.

  “How did you know?”

  “When you’ve had as many babies as I’ve had it doesn’t take a crystal ball to see the signs. I’ve got pots to tend to,” she added before she gathered her skirts and turned away.

  Ginny watched her go, and a sadness gripped her. Ida obviously thought she’d trapped Orrin into marriage to provide a father for her child. At that moment Ginny discovered she needed Ida’s strength, her friendship. And she would do anything to keep it. Even if it meant revealing her own stupidity.

  “I thought he knew!” she called. “My mother arranged the marriage through Ruby Ghant, Orrin’s aunt. Mama told me that Ruby knew of my predicament and that Orrin needed a wife, perhaps as much as I needed a husband.” She took a step forward, willing Ida to believe her. “She told me Orrin knew the truth and it didn’t matter. She said he was willing to take another man’s child as long as I could be a mother to his daughters.” Ginny became desperate and her voice dropped. “What am I going to do?”

  Ida paused for a moment before saying, “I don’t know if I’m the person to be telling you anything.”

  “Please.”

  Ida sighed, her mouth pursing.

  “You’re the only friend I’ve got now, Ida,” Ginny continued. “At least I hope you’re a friend. I need someone to help me decide what to do.”