Dare to Dream

by Debbie Vaughan

  “Would you mind helping with the pan? It’s sort of heavy.”

  Will hastened to do as she asked, pretending not to have witnessed the spasm, even going so far as to lay out plates and put the gravy bowl, bacon, and eggs on the table for her. Meghan appreciated his effort.

  She pulled the baking pan from the oven and slid the biscuits off into a large bowl. Meghan sat them in front of Will, who immediately snatched one and juggled it from hand to hand.

  Meghan rolled her eyes and helped herself to the eggs and bacon. She reached for a biscuit only to have her hand grabbed before she attained her goal. She looked up to find Will grinning, a half-eaten biscuit in his left hand. She raised an eyebrow.

  “Marry me.”

  “What?” Meghan laughed.

  “Marry me. A beautiful woman who can bake like this is perfection in my eyes. Marry me before someone else finds out about these.” He waved his biscuit in the air.

  “Too late, your grandpa already knows.” She mentally kicked herself. For a split second she’d thought he proposed. Will only loved her biscuits and lusted after her body. Still, she’d heard of worse reasons to marry. She removed her hand from his and took a biscuit, split it, and smothered it in gravy.

  The meal continued mostly in silence, except for the appreciative sounds Will made over the food. Every once in a while, Meg caught him grinning. He seemed full of himself for some reason. Perhaps men always acted this way after sex, at least the ones who stuck around. She had little experience to draw on. Her sexual encounters had been few.

  Will went to fetch water while Meghan tidied up the kitchen. Donna always teased Meghan was technically a virgin again after five years of abstinence, vibrators notwithstanding. In which case, she could have taken double honors soon, if not for this morning. The sensory memory flooded her, and her skin heated. A blast of cold air from the doorway broke her thoughts.

  Will trudged in with two brimming buckets and kicked the door closed behind him. Meghan hurriedly raised the boiler lid so he could pour them in. He picked up the empty buckets, kissed her neck with cold lips that sent a shiver down her spine, and headed back outside for more.

  A marvel of the day, the stove would have fetched a hefty price at auction in her time. It sported all the accoutrements. While not the fully nickel-plated version, many parts sported the gleam of the polished metal. She’d seen an identical one in her reproduction 1886 Sears and Roebuck catalog for twenty-one dollars and ninety-five cents. Back home it would bring three to five thousand in mint condition.

  Back home? Her time? Meghan wasn’t sure how to phrase her thoughts under the circumstances. Both sounded odd in her mind.

  By the time she finished putting the remaining bacon in the biscuits for later, Will returned with more water. When did indoor plumbing become the norm? Not soon enough. She pulled on her coat as Will emptied the pails. As much as she hated the thought and the cold trek, a trip to the outhouse was in order. She threw back the blanket cordoning the sleeping area and picked up the chamber pot.

  The pot and her expression allayed any questions Will might have broached. He held the door open for her to pass. They parted company at the end of the porch. Will went straight, and Meghan turned left, following the path behind the house.

  When would toilet paper make an appearance in the average household? The catalog was bad enough, but what did they use when they got to the last page?

  Upon her return she left the chamber pot on the porch to air. Meghan opened the door to find the curtain around her bed removed. The empty water buckets sat on the bench by the entrance, and the parlor door stood ajar. She hung her coat on the peg and went to see what was going on.

  Will looked up and grinned when she entered. He’d been a busy boy. The velvet settee, chairs, and mahogany tables had been moved to one end of the long rectangular room. At the opposite end, Will assembled a bed frame like the one in the kitchen. By the fireplace rested a stack of firewood.

  “I thought we needed our own room. Charlie can’t stay out in the barn long without getting stove up. This room may not be as warm as the kitchen, but the fireplace works, and we’ll have a lot more privacy.”

  Meghan didn’t hear any part of the rest. Her brain had ceased to function at our own room. He wasn’t a one-night Romeo. Her heart did a happy dance as her gaze wandered from the small bed to the large man squatted alongside. The additional heat of the fireplace might not be necessary. She watched him rise and stalk toward her, a devilish grin playing on his full lips.

  “Should we test the bunk to make sure it will hold us? I can light a fire.”

  “I’m pretty sure you just did.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to reach his lips. She kissed him slow, pouring all the passion he roused into her actions. When Meghan came up for air, she stood mesmerized by the tenderness tempering the lust in his eyes. She hadn’t been delusional. Will genuinely cared for her. Perhaps in time, those feelings would grow into something more, but for right now, in this moment, they were enough.

  She unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers before spreading them across his chest and over his muscular arms to slide the flannel off. Her eyes closed, and a sigh escaped as she caressed the hard swells of his biceps. She stroked his lightly furred forearms before dropping her hands to Will’s waistband. Meghan opened her eyes to address the buttons of his fly.

  She had no idea how she came to be here or how long she would be allowed to stay, but she planned to savor every moment like it might be her last. Would a day in Heaven be enough to make up for an eternity in Hell?

  Meghan pushed his pants down his hips along with his drawers. She knelt to pull them off, realizing too late his boots needed to be removed first. Rational thought disappeared all together with his erection at eye level. She chewed at her lower lip as she glided her hand over his length. All of this had fit…in her?

  She’d never seen an uncircumcised male before.

  Chapter 24

  Will held his breath, trying hard to rein his body in without much success. Her hand stroked his already throbbing shaft, but an expression of uncertainty played across her face. Unsure what to do, he did nothing, which at this moment, was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  He wanted to toss her on the bed and ravish her, but as she had taken the lead, he wanted to allow her time. What was she doing? He groaned as her small hand worked his foreskin back and forward ever so gently. Lightning shot from those nerves straight to his balls, tucking them tighter to his body. A shudder quaked through him.

  “Did I hurt you?” She gazed upward, eyes filled with concern. She didn’t remove her hand.

  God! How to answer such a question? Her soft touch about brought him to his knees. The pleasure might kill him slowly, but seemed an excellent way to die. Will took a deep, if somewhat ragged, breath and found his voice.

  “No.” He daren’t say more.

  “I didn’t know it moved,” she said by way of explaining—what?

  Will, counted backward from one hundred but got lost somewhere around ninety-two when she said, “Only this part seems different.”

  Jesus Christ! He tasted blood as he bit his tongue to keep from crying his thought aloud as her hand squeezed gently, sliding the foreskin back and forth again.

  “Different than what?” He hardly recognized the strangled voice as his own. She looked up, startled, before her expression turned thoughtful.

  “Sorry. I’ve never seen one intact before.” She turned bright red, and her hand dropped to her thigh.

  Meghan’s admission brought him up short. While well aware she’d lost her virginity, just how many pricks had she inspected? What did she mean by intact? He wasn’t thrilled with the direction his mind wandered and neither was his formerly happy cock.

  “Oh!” she said with surprise. “I think I scared it.”

  Will dropped his gaze to the head of his once proud erection disappearing into its sheath. He gasped when her hand grasped him a
t the base as if she feared the entire thing might crawl back inside.

  “I think they usually cut this bit off boy babies before they send them home from the hospital.”

  She guessed right! If her hand hadn’t held him, he would have lost his manhood all together.

  “Beg pardon?” He choked out the question. “Why on earth would anyone do something so horrible, much less to a wee babe?”

  Her expression turned thoughtful, then suspicious, and finally angry. “I’m not sure. The medical community says for hygienic purposes, to reduce infection. Now that I’ve seen one, I don’t believe them. How difficult could it be to clean such a little bit of skin? The United States is the only country doing routine circumcisions, anyway.”

  Will’s gut clenched, sickened by her words. Why make up such a thing? For what purpose? To ask would be to accuse her of lying, so he asked the other question plaguing his mind. “And you’ve never seen anyone…uncut?”

  “No. I’m sure there must be some, probably a lot. I just never saw them.” She raised her eyes to search his face. “You aren’t asking about the male population in general, are you? What you want to know is how I came to see any. Well, I’ve seen plenty, dozens, at least!”

  He’d made her mad, but since he shared the emotion, they’d call this a draw.

  Dozens? He could count the women he’d been with on his two hands. Granted, he’d been with most more than once, but he was a man. That was to be expected. Hell, Charlie had taken him to Miss May’s on his sixteenth birthday as a rite of passage into manhood.

  Was she a whore then as Charlie had suggested? Why should the notion bother him if she was?

  Meghan rose from her knees to glare at him, and he returned the favor as best a man can with his britches round his ankles.

  “How many of these do you think Kathy has seen and, more importantly, felt?”

  “Leave Kathy out of this. She’s a whore. It’s what she does.”

  Meghan’s laughter rode on a wave of pain, like a sharp knife stuck between his ribs. “So, as a job requirement, my sleeping around would be okay? Seems pretty odd reasoning, even for the 1800s. I grew up in an orphanage, Will. We all worked from the time we were old enough to be helpful. From my thirteenth birthday until the day I left, I worked in the nursery. I changed a lot of diapers.”

  The pain in Will’s chest lessened. He smiled and reached for her.

  Meghan stepped back, scowling at his smile. “I’m not a virgin, Will. You didn’t concern yourself enough to ask before we screwed this morning. Does my impure state make you sick, or do you just need a tally? I’ve been with three men. No, to be completely accurate it was one boy and two men, although frankly, there wasn’t much difference. You make number four. One time each. The last was over five years ago. I’m sorry if my sullied condition bothers you, but I can’t change the past.”

  Will held his tongue. He hated the very idea of anyone else touching Meghan. She belonged to him. But they shouldn’t count. They came before, before he met her, before they made love. She’d called it screwing. Was that all it had been to her?

  His eyes met hers, both defiant. His hardened, hers filled.

  “Once,” she whispered as she shook her head, turned, and left him standing in the cold room with his britches around his ankles.

  He yanked his drawers up and reached for his pants. What the hell just happened? He located and shrugged into his shirt, buttoning randomly. Suddenly, all the air seemed to be squeezed from his lungs. Why?

  Will sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. This was to be their bed, their room, and she seemed so happy with the idea. What changed? When did their happiness turn cold? He analyzed each touch, every spoken word.

  He’d enjoyed her touch. Her abandon to curiosity had almost been his undoing. The problem wasn’t there. He was pretty sure he could even have recovered from the horrible story she told in the right hands. Her hands.

  She’d been with three men. Not so very many. Three more than he’d have liked, but as long as they came before him, he could make his peace. He wasn’t a saint.

  What word or act had done the damage?

  Meghan said they screwed. The whores at May’s referred to sex as a poke or a tumble. In his mind, the name lessened the importance of the act somehow. The terms fit what transpired at the brothel. A physical act, nothing more. He made love to Meghan, using his heart as much as his body. How could she not know the difference?

  Even as the thought came to him, he remembered her eyes brimming with tears, and knew he’d called her bluff. They didn’t really understand one another yet and, as a result, played their cards close to the vest, each afraid the other might use an unconscious tell to their advantage. She’d used the word to hurt him, as his questions had hurt her. Will ran his fingers through his hair.

  They’d both overplayed their hand and folded.

  Unused to dealing with a sensitive female, he was capable of dealing with a sensitive horse. Gentle hands and kindness went a long way to soothe a scared and timid creature. If you rushed the process, failure was your reward. He would change his methods to suit this filly, the most sensitive one he’d dealt with yet.

  He grinned. First, he’d better never let her hear him refer to her as a filly. She’d probably take umbrage, and rightly so. Now he needed to make amends.

  Chapter 25

  Way to go Meghan, nothing like scaring a guy’s Johnson half to death! Poor thing crawled back in its hidey-hole. It was supposed to be in hers.

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve as she used the other to turn the spigot to release hot water from the boiler into the bucket. Now she wasn’t just stinky, she felt dirty. Will thought she was a whore. Three men in ten years made her a slut in this time. She started to giggle on the edge of hysteria. Technically, she remained a virgin since she hadn’t been born yet. If she wasn’t born, how could she have had sex? Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

  Donna would call Will a chauvinist pig, and she’d be right. Attitudes hadn’t changed much in a century. Perfectly acceptable for a young buck to sow his wild oats, but no one seemed to worry whose row was being plowed. Some father’s daughter—or son—had to give up their virtue.

  Meghan never understood casual sex. She needed the emotional element, which was why she hardly ever used her vibrator. Sure, it got the job done, but left her hollow and lonely. So why throw the rock of spite at Will? The hurt look on his face when she referred to their lovemaking as a screw almost killed her. But she didn’t know how to take the phrase back. How could she when she only knew her feelings for Will, not his for her? Well, she had an inkling now. He thought of it as more than casual sex, but how much more?

  She gave up counting buckets of water. Her arm ached. She took a break. She needed chocolate. She wanted Will. Meghan got a bacon biscuit from the tin she’d placed them in after breakfast and poured a cup of coffee. Donna would suggest a blow job as a way to make amends. He already thought her a whore. So oral sex hardly seemed the way to go, even if she had been sure of her technique. Was fellatio legal in these times? What would the Miss Manners of the 1800s say in answer to her question? She’d probably drop dead.

  Perhaps a peace offering would suffice until she came up with something better? She gulped her coffee and rose to get the ingredients together.

  She swore like a sailor and her right arm muscles spasmed by the time she got the tinned peaches open. Had she ever used a manual can opener before? She thought not. She put the cobbler in the oven with a sigh. The remainder of the water for her bath would have to be carried with her left hand.

  With the tub half full, she figured it was deep enough. The cobbler smelled done, so she removed the pan from the oven and set it in the warmer for later.

  A search for something resembling a bath towel proved futile. Surely they had something of the sort, but she had been unable to locate the hiding spot. She took a well-worn blanket from the chest to use in one’s place. She located the lye soap
and tried not to think what the harsh ingredients might do to her skin, much less her hair.

  Meghan planned to wash her hair come hell or high water. The gash seemed closed under her fingertips, but regardless, she couldn’t stand the itch any longer. Unbraiding her hair took a while with her uncooperative right hand, but she persisted until her hair hung in loose waves.

  She wedged a chair under the front door handle, not willing to risk the embarrassment of visitors, and then shed her clothes. She placed a pitcher by the tub and knelt to wash her face with one of the kitchen towels. The soap tingled her skin, but wasn’t too bad. Bent at the waist, she leaned forward and dunked her head in the water, using the pitcher to get her long hair uniformly wet. Meghan rubbed the bar over her head several times before setting the soap aside to work up lather.

  * * * *

  Will brought in the trunk from the barn to set at the foot of the bed. He heard her stirring about in the kitchen, but was determined to leave her alone until everything was ready. He laid a fire in the fireplace and surveyed his efforts. He hoped they’d do for now.

  He stood and arched his back until his spine cracked. He must be getting old. He caught wind of a wonderful aroma drifting from under the door. A compliment to her cooking would be a good start and far from a lie. Everything she’d made so far had been perfect.

  He eased the door open, not wanting to startle her by just bursting in. Turning his head to the right, he saw the chair under the door handle and frowned. Was she trying to bar his way? He turned his head to the left and forgot to breathe as his heart tried to escape his chest and his cock, the tight confines of his britches. He stepped through the doorway to gape.

  In the lantern light, her pale body bent over the tub rim, slender and perfect. Fair hair swirled in the water as her right arm groped for the pitcher. He grimaced when the spasm set in, watching her cradle the limb to her chest until the pain passed.