Sweet Annie

by Cheryl St. John

  How she needed those words. "Still?"

  "Always."

  "Did anyone ever watch you shave?"

  "Gil. Didn't have the same effect, believe me."

  She laughed and snuggled her face against his chest where she'd wanted to place her cheek ever since she'd first seen him without his shirt.

  "Do I know any of them?"

  "Who?"

  "Those women you made love with years ago."

  "It wasn't love and Lord, no!"

  “Well, I wanted to be sure, just in case I was sitting beside someone in church or shopping at the mercan­tile or perhaps borrowing a book from the library, that I didn't have to wonder if this woman or that woman had seen your chest—and all the other parts of you."

  He was silent a long moment.

  “Like that woman who works at the cafe or one of the girls who takes in laundry. Perhaps Mrs. Kren­shaw."

  He pulled her head away from his chest and looked her in the eyes, his raised eyebrows creasing his fore­head. "You're teasing me!"

  She chuckled at his astonishment and loved that she could make him laugh...and groan...and lose control. Her insides turned to liquid again.

  He rolled her to her back and leaned over her to kiss her soundly. "If you have any more questions, ask them now, 'cause I don't intend for this to be a nightly subject. I barely remember anyway."

  "I think I know enough," she said, brushing her finger across his lip.

  He loved her with his eyes, surveyed her face, her hair, then reached to pull a pin from the tangled mass.

  "I must look a fright." Suddenly self-conscious, she reached up to her mangled coiffure and removed the remaining hairpins.

  "Oh, yes, a fright. I don't know how I'll stand lookin' at you every morning for the rest of my life."

  She placed her hands on his forearm, found the soft hairs there and rubbed. She'd always admired his face, but he was equally incredible all over. So different from her. And so perfect. "Looking at you is such a joy. Can you possibly feel that way about me?"

  "Looking at you is like feeling the sun on your face on a mild afternoon. It's like sittin' by a fire and en­joying the heat until your skin feels tight, but you don't want to move away because it feels so good."

  She contemplated him in amazement. "Me? Really, you think those things about me? You speak like a poet, do you know that? If you had never touched me, I would have been seduced by your pretty words."

  "Someday I'll put that to the test." He ran a finger down her shoulder to the edge of the sheet that cov­ered her breasts and lazily skimmed it back and forth. "Right now touching you is much more fun than talkin'."

  "What about the food?"

  "Man cannot live by ham and bread alone."

  His words were teasing, but the passion in his eyes was real. Annie brushed her fingers along his smoothly shaven jaw, understanding that he'd shaved for her— for this. She caressed his silky thick hair and drew her finger across his brow, down his nose, across his lower lip. "Loving you this much almost hurts," she told him, serious now. "Loving you is fierce and greedy and—and confusing. Sometimes tender, sometimes so desperate I ache inside. I hoped this ache would go away after we were married, but I feel it still."

  Luke kissed her tenderly. "Just so you feel me lovin' you back. Feel it?"

  She closed her eyes, concentrated on her senses and heard his breath, felt the thud of his heart beneath her palm, smelled his salty skin and the musk of their lovemaking. "I feel it," she whispered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  They awoke early Sunday morning, and Luke boiled coffee. "I forgot about a teapot and tea," he apolo­gized.

  They sat at the table with the sun streaming through the new panes of window glass. The smell of the bis­cuits he'd showed her how to make lingered in the air. Annie wore her wrapper and a pair of Luke's wool socks. "That's okay," she assured him. "I'll try a cup of your coffee."

  He leaned across the table to set down a cup and fill it, and she admired the hair and muscle visible in the open V of his shirt. Her belly quivered at the mem­ories of their afternoon and night together. Embar­rassed, she changed the direction of her thoughts. "Are we going to church?"

  "Do you want to?" He sat across from her. "Burt is handling the livery today, so I can do anything you'd like." He sipped his coffee.

  Anything she'd like was quite tempting. She smiled to herself. Annie couldn't help imagining facing her parents, friends and townspeople, and having them thinking about Luke and Annie's private moments on their wedding night. "Let's not go."

  "All right. Guy and Lizzy are bringing our gifts this afternoon. You'll have a lot to do once those things get here. Until then we could make plans. Go over the things we're going to need to make this place a home."

  She glanced over his shoulder at the bare window. "Fabric for curtains should be on the list."

  Luke got up and found a wrinkled piece of brown paper and a pencil. "Right. A list." He touched the tip of the pencil to his tongue and scratched out a word.

  Annie thought of the notes he'd sent her and ten­derness washed over her. Astonished that he was truly her husband now, she swallowed welling tears. His strength and agility were tempered by tenderness and compassion. She remembered him walloping Burdy after being provoked, thought of the tasks he per­formed every day which required power and muscle, and compared that to the poetic words he spoke and the gentle way he touched her.

  How had she ever deserved him? What divine quirk of fate had brought this man into her life at an early age and made him fall in love with her?

  "Tea. And a kettle," he added, still absorbed in his list. "Sorry about the bucket, you'll need a pitcher and bowl for washing."

  "The bucket gets the job done. Can we afford to pay for these things?''

  "We have a bank note for the house, but we're not destitute," he assured her. "It'll be tight for a while."

  "Maybe I can contribute?" she suggested timidly, accustomed to any mention of performing tasks being sternly ruled out by her mother.

  “How?'' he asked without hesitation.

  His interest startled her. Now she had to think the idea over. The freedom to actually think about it with­out fear of censure was exhilarating. Annie straight­ened in her chair. "The girls and their mothers were largely impressed by my sewing skills. Lizzy's mother said I have a real sense for style and fabrics. I prom­ised to make Charmaine's wedding dress...perhaps I could find ladies to sew for."

  He didn't say anything, so she hurried to make the idea as plausible as she could. "You'll be gone every day at the livery, and I doubt that the house will take that much time to keep clean. Not that it's too small, I didn't mean that, I only meant that with just the two of us..."

  Luke tapped the pencil against his cup. "Could you do that here? Or would you need a place to work?''

  Annie's jaw dropped. The suggestion hadn't dis­turbed him in the least! She started to get excited about the idea. "I could do it here. There's plenty of light and I could use the kitchen table for cutting!"

  "What would you need?" he asked, the pencil once again hovering over the paper.

  "I have scissors and thimbles and just about every­thing I can think of."

  "A comfortable chair," he said. "You'd need a nice place to sit."

  Tears smarted behind her eyes. She scooted from her chair and wrapped her arms around him from be­hind, kissing his ear and his brow. "Oh, Luke! You are the most incredible man!"

  He dropped his writing tools and slid his chair back so he could pull her onto his lap.

  She framed his face and kissed him. "Thank you, Luke."

  "For what?"

  "You truly don't know, do you?"

  "No."

  "For letting me be a real person," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "For loving me."

  "It's an easy thing loving you." His hands moved up her sides to the swell of her breasts. "You don't have anything on under here, do you?''

  �
�Uh—a nightgown.''

  He made a face. "One of those flannel contraptions that buttons up to your throat?''

  "Not exactly."

  He parted her wrapper at the neck. “What, then?''

  She flattened her palm over her chest to hold the robe shut. "Something Charmaine and Lizzy gave me. It was the first thing I found when I opened my trunk this morning."

  "Well, let's see."

  He'd already seen her in the bright light of day and her abnormality hadn't put a damper on his ardor or his desire for her. Feeling scandalous, but also eager to see his reaction, she got to her feet and slowly, watching his face the whole time, opened her wrapper.

  His gaze touched every curve of her body through the sheer fabric and he swallowed. "Oh, my."

  The list didn't get finished until after lunch.

  "Did he like the nightgown?" Lizzy asked in a hushed voice as they washed the few dishes they'd used to eat the casserole and pie she'd brought.

  Drying a plate, Annie felt herself blush. “Well, ac­tually, he didn't get to see it until this morning."

  "And?"

  "And I thought he was going to melt on that chair."

  They shared a laugh.

  "I told you he'd like it," Lizzy said.

  Later, after Guy and Lizzy had gone home, as Annie put away blankets and covered the bed with a brightly colored star quilt, she ruminated over the changes that had evolved in her life over the past months. Besides the miracle of Luke, the newly formed friendships and the acceptance she felt among the townspeople were like a dream come true. Her stifling existence had turned into the full life of a normal woman.

  The sadness that her parents couldn't enjoy her newfound abilities and confidence was the only dim spot in a bright future. She could only hope and pray that her mother would come around. Her father had seemed more willing to accept the changes and share in her happiness, but he wouldn't be free to show his approval while his wife still bore such hostility.

  The day passed too soon, and the night even more quickly.

  On Monday Luke took her to town to order a chair, and while they were there, she posted notices on the walls at the telegraph office and mercantile. That first week she had orders for three dresses.

  The work came as a blessing, filling her hands and her mind during the long hours that Luke spent at the livery.

  Sunday arrived as a brisk morning with the scent of wood smoke in the air. Since Luke had early-morning work getting rigs ready for the churchgoers, he es­corted her to the Renlows' on his way into town.

  Aunt Vera hugged her and served a cup of tea and a buttery cinnamon roll. Squealing when she saw An­nie in their kitchen, Charmaine pulled a chair beside her to share her latest news about school and the other girls.

  "I was beginning to feel as though I'd lost my best friend," she told Annie with a pout.

  "She's a bride, Charmaine," her mother scolded. "Newlyweds spend time getting to know each other."

  "What more is there to know? Luke's perfect. Right?"

  Annie nodded with a grin. That he was. "He said for me to ride along with you and he'll find me in church."

  Later, during the hymns, he found her standing be­side the Renlows and placed his hand at the small of her back. Annie smiled up, pleased as always to see him, smugly possessive and proud.

  This was family-dinner Sunday, and Charmaine had told her that the Renlows would be joining the gath­ering. Annie hadn't spoken to her parents since the wedding, and the prospect of their unpredictable wel­come troubled her.

  Her father greeted them after church, but her mother marched toward the Renlows' buggy as though she hadn't seen Annie.

  "You're coming for dinner," her father stated.

  "We'll be there as soon as I have the livery under control," Luke said with a nod. "After church a few rigs are returned and more are rented."

  "I never realized what a consuming occupation you have," Eldon said with a frown.

  "It'll be better when I can afford some help," Luke replied. "Until then, it's just me. Burt puts in a few hours a week as a favor. He's more of a friend than an employee."

  Annie joined Luke as he returned to the livery and handled the customers and the horses with his jacket removed and his shirtsleeves rolled back. She sat on a bench in her plaid shawl and watched him agilely reach and bend to harness animals and hook them to the buggies. He made the tasks look like a work of art, the symmetry and motion pleasing to the eye.

  Studying the clean lines of his body and the sus­penders that crossed his wide back, she allowed herself to think of the skin and muscle beneath the clothing, and before long she had to remove her shawl. At last he closed the wide double doors, leaving the two of them in shaded seclusion.

  "I'll be right back." He returned in a clean shirt, his coat hung over his shoulder on one finger. "Glad I left a few shirts here. I'll have to remember to keep one or two in the back. I'm sure your mother doesn't appreciate the smell of horse the way you do." A grin inched up one comer of his mouth.

  Annie got to her feet and stepped forward to kiss him.

  "Well," he said when the passionate embrace ended and his eyes had darkened to a sultry blue. "I missed you, too."

  She pressed herself against his solid frame, gloried in the masculine feel of his body and his immediate response. Some days the happiness was more than she could contain, more than one person could hold in a lifetime, and she thanked her lucky stars.

  Luke tossed his coat on the bench with her shawl, brought his hands up her back, caressed her through her clothing, slid to the front where the hard nubs of her nipples poked against her dress and made an im­patient sound low in his throat.

  "I wish we were at home," she said, placing her hands over his and closing her eyes. The way he made her feel was like an opiate that made her blood ran hot, and she couldn't seem to get enough of that sweet indulgence. She'd discovered something she was graceful at, something that made her feel beautiful. Luke might have to compensate for her lack of agility on a dance floor, might have to carry her across a ratted street and give her balance when she climbed stairs, but there was nothing clumsy about the way she made love with him.

  "There's still a bed in the back," he reminded her, his eager lips blazing a path of keen sensation down her neck.

  Her skin tingled and her breath caught. "We'll be late."

  He touched his tongue to her ear. “They expect us to be late."

  She leaned back, gave him a sensual smile, and he swept her into his arms and strode toward the back of the building.

  She unbuttoned her dress while he knelt at her feet and removed her shoes and stockings, kissing the bare skin of her revealed limbs. She let her dress fall and he helped her step out of the pool of fabric, then grazed the sensitive backs of her knees and her calves slowly, maddeningly. He ran his palms up, caressing flesh -through her pantaloons. She untied the drawers quickly and he stripped them down, then kneaded her bottom.

  Annie tugged her chemise over her head. “You still have your clothes on.''

  He stood behind her and pressed his clothed body against her bare skin, cupped her breasts and teased the crests with his long strong fingers. "Observant of you."

  With disturbing slowness he rubbed her nipples while kissing the back of her neck, her shoulders, her ear, whispering love words and letting her feel his arousal through his clothing.

  Annie's senses were spiraling in ever mounting ten­sion.

  "How did I ever get such a beautiful wife?" he asked, nipping her ear.

  Annie shivered and turned in his arms to face him. "I feel beautiful with you."

  He lowered his head until his hot moist mouth found her nipple, and he pulled her against his clothed body. How utterly amazing that she had this effect on a man like him. She slid her knee up between his thighs. Making a sound that sent a frisson of heat down her belly, he stroked her bare back and bottom, pulling her flush against him. He kissed her hard.

  Annie pulled
away and watched his reaction. His gaze smoldered and his breathing changed, gratifying Annie immeasurably. It was her he desired—her body and her touches that made him whisper her name and shudder with sensation.

  She went to work on the buttons on his pants, and he cursed in his frustration to remove them quickly. Peeling open his shirt, she admired the strength and tone of his magnificent body, pressed him back upon the bed and took her fill of adrruring and stroking until he clenched his jaw and grabbed her wrists.

  With a minimum of words and the gentle coaxing of his work-roughened hands, he showed her she could sit astride him and freely control movement and ca­dence.

  When her limbs trembled, he helped her with strong hands and arms, spoke energy and passion, bracketed her hips firmly and bore the last exerting efforts him­self.

  Annie lay upon his chest, his heart thudding beneath her breast, feeling as though she had no bones left in her body. The last thing she wanted to do was dress and go see her parents, but the obligation remained.

  She sat and pulled together the open front of the shirt he still wore. "I think you'll need another shirt. This one seems to be wrinkled."

  "I guess I'll need to keep a larger supply," he chuckled.

  They dressed and he escorted her to the buggy he'd left waiting outside, all the while sharing sensual smiles and touches.

  Her stomach quivered when they reached the Sweetwater home—her home for as long as she'd been alive, but it had never felt as warm and welcoming as the modest dwelling Luke had built for her.

  Mort and Burdell and her father sat on the porch in their wool jackets, Will playing at their feet. When Will saw Annie making her way up the stairs with Luke's assistance, he jumped up to greet her. She bent and scooped him into her arms for a hug.

  "I'd better go see if they need help in the kitchen," she said, placing the child on his feet.

  "I think it's ready," her father replied. "We were just waiting for you."

  "Oh." She turned aside, ignoring Luke's eyes, and stepped into the house before she could blush.