by Prairie Wife
The tiny things taunted him, but he was persistent and laboriously peeled each one away from its mooring. Her ivory skin was exposed an inch at a time, until the dress fell away and she stepped out of it, turning back. She stood before him in a lace-trimmed corset, her breasts spilling over the top and stealing his breath.
"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen," he told her.
She gave him a provocative smile. "Is that the truth?"
"I wouldn't say so if it wasn't."
She leaned in to brush her softness against his chest. Large dusky nipples peeked over the top of her corset.
With catlike grace, she moved around him, touching him where he stood, stroking herself against his back, coming to face him again. With the back of her hand she reached down and brushed against his erection.
Sam tensed his body and felt blood rush to the place she had touched. He'd never dreamed such feverish goings-on in the middle of the day. He'd been married twenty years and never done this in the kitchen in broad daylight.
He definitely received the message that she was willing. No pussyfooting around between them. He liked that.
Sam swept her up and carried her into the bedroom, where he tossed her into the middle of the bed and followed. She laughed and scrambled to her knees, then watched him with hooded eyes while he removed her corset and plumped her breasts in his palms.
Her gaze constantly moved across his arms and chest, down to the front of his trousers, as though she was eager to see more. What kind of heaven on earth had he gone and found himself without even trying?
She shucked off her pantaloons and stood on her knees before him in the middle of the bed, pale skin creased by her corset, her breasts full and round with rosy nipples. Her eyes devoured him and her full pouty lips begged for his kisses. He leaned toward her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.
"Your turn, cowboy."
Sam stood beside the bed to remove his trousers.
Unembarrassed, she watched. Sam didn't know if his wife had ever looked at him naked. If she had, she'd never let him see her looking.
"Touch me here, cowboy." She took his hand and guided it where she wanted him to explore.
Uninhibited. He'd never known the full implication of the word before. He learned it now.
Two hours of pleasure with Eden had him more physically spent than a week of mucking stalls and handling horses. She liked it fast, she liked it slow; she liked it fierce, she liked it easy. Eden just plain liked it.
All that and her hair was barely even mussed. Later she sat across from him at the table, dressed in his shirt with the sleeves rolled back over her slender white arms, and she still looked as fresh and pretty as she had that morning. Hellfire, but she was young.
"I don't know how I got so fortunate," he said, finishing a bite of cold ham. "But I'm gonna take gifts to those Cheyenne if ever I learn who they were."
Eden giggled.
"I kept thinkin' all along I was too old for you."
"You're not old, Sam." She pushed the beans around on her plate and ate a bite of bread. "You're seasoned. Just right."
He chuckled. Minutes later, pouring himself coffee, he sobered. He had no idea what was going to come of this. And he was too proud to ask. Would Eden think about staying now? They'd done things backward, but he would jump for a chance to court her. She hadn't mentioned her plans.
"I don't suppose we should let on. About this."
"It would be prudent to keep our silence," she agreed.
When they returned that afternoon, he told the others they'd gone for a ride. No one seemed to think strangely of it. And the afternoon wasn't mentioned again.
He and Eden shared secret smiles... and Sam considered his options.
***
Another two weeks went by, bringing colder temperatures and frost. Coats and caps and gloves came out of storage, and a supply of firewood was laid by.
Amy was adding salt pork to a pot of beans one afternoon when there was a tap on the kitchen door. No one ever bothered to knock; their home was accessible all hours of the day and most of the evening. Puzzled, she walked to the door and opened it.
Rachel Douglas stood on the back porch, a frayed coat pulled around her girth, her nose red from the wind.
"Come in," Amy urged, taking her sleeve and drawing her inside.
Rachel pulled a scarf from her head and stuffed it in the pocket of her coat along with her wool mittens.
"It's so good to see you," Amy said.
"I'm here to work." A hesitant smile brightened her features.
"Work?" Amy asked, puzzled.
"Your husband hired on Jack. But I'll earn my own keep."
Jesse had hired Jack Douglas. Amy had seen the Douglases in church, but she and Jesse hadn't discussed them since the day of the picnic when they'd first met them. She had had no inkling that Jesse needed another hand.
The door opened again and Jesse ushered Jack inside. "Amy, you know the Douglases," he said. "Jack's hired on."
"I can earn my own keep, too," Rachel insisted.
"Any duties Amy has for you will be of her choosing." Jesse addressed Amy again. "I set the boys to cleaning up the soddy a week or so ago, laying up wood and such. If you and Adele could rustle up blankets and a few homey things, it'll make a nice place for Jack and his missus to stay."
Amy nodded her agreement.
"Amy and her folks lived in the sod house before this house was built," Jesse told Rachel. "And Amy and I lived there for a time when we were first married. It's not fancy, but it's dry and warm."
Rachel had tears in her eyes after she exchanged a look with her husband. She turned to Amy. "Thank you."
"Your husband's a fine man, Mrs. Shelby," Jack said in his crisp English accent.
She looked at Jesse. "Yes, I know."
Jesse seemed embarrassed by the praise and led Jack back outside.
Mrs. Barnes came upon the women then and Amy introduced Rachel.
"Hang your coat," Amy said. "After dinner, we'll get the soddy all set up for you. You'll get by just fine out there."
Leda Bentley had been right about Rachel's skills in the house. She dove right in to help with meal preparation, and what she didn't know how to do, she asked about and learned.
"We have crates of cabbage in the root cellar that I want to get made into sauerkraut," Mrs. Barnes told her. "You can help me with that tomorrow."
Rachel smiled with satisfaction. Amy planned to limit the girl's activities due to her condition, but she sensed how important it was that Rachel feel she was pulling her own weight. She wouldn't take that away from her. There were plenty of light duties that would keep her busy and be a big help at the same time.
At dinner, Jack proudly joined the men at the table. He'd already been dubbed "the Duke" because of his accent, and he took the ribbing good-naturedly.
That night, with the Douglases tucked away in the cozy little soddy, Amy sat by the fire in the parlor, sewing. Her hands fell idle. Jesse's words that afternoon had dislodged a memory she'd been unable to stuff away again. She couldn't shake what he'd said about their first months and years of marriage.
This house had just been built; she and her parents had spent only a few weeks living in it. Jesse had moved from the barn to the soddy. After their wedding, they had retreated to the privacy of the sod house. They'd spent their wedding night there, and all the nights that followed... until her parents had decided to give them the big house and live at the homestead.
Amy pictured the young couple staying in the sod house now, preparing for bed, relishing the seclusion. She saw Rachel in her nightgown, her belly swollen with their child—and her rock of a heart betrayed her again.
Her throat felt thick and she could barely swallow.
Amy looked down to see she'd gripped the fabric so hard that the needle had pierced her thumb. The drop of blood that glistened there reminded her of Jesse cutting his hand and saying he couldn't feel it.
; Standing, she grabbed a shawl and stepped out on the back porch. Light spilled from the barns and the boardinghouse as usual. Across the expanse she saw Pitch carrying a bucket of water.
"Pitch?" she called.
He stopped in his tracks. "Ma'am?"
"Ask Jesse to come up to the house, will you, please?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Amy went back inside and fed a log to the fire. She rubbed her hands together and was lost in the flicker of the flames when she heard a floorboard creak behind her.
She turned to find Jesse in his sheepskin-lined coat. "You needed somethin', Amy?"
"Sit down. I'll get you coffee and a slice of peach pie."
He removed his coat and sat in the side chair. The rocker, Eden's personal throne, was still in the kitchen. After Amy brought his dessert, she perched on the ottoman before the fire. The room seemed unseasonably chilly this evening.
Jesse ate slowly. "I like your peach pie the best."
"I know."
He finished and set the plate on the floor. His gaze traveled the room and stopped on her clock. "Your clock ran down."
"I didn't really need it," she said. "It's a bother to keep it wound."
"I s'pose those families are enjoyin' their eggs, though."
"I suppose they are."
"You asked me to come in so you could feed me?" he asked finally.
"No." She arranged her skirts and finally looked at him. "I wanted to thank you. For hiring Jack."
"Why should you thank me?"
"We see less stages through the winter, Jesse, I know you didn't need the help."
"It'll work out. Deezer and one of the others are heading East for the winter."
"Okay. So you didn't do it for me."
He pursed his lips momentarily, then said, "I thought you were worried about Jack not having work over the winter and Rachel bein'... the way Rachel is and all."
"I don't think I was—worried I mean. But I'm pleased that she's here safe and sound."
"You're a caretaker, Amy, no way around it."
She didn't respond, but turned to gaze at the fire once again.
"Haven't seen lights in the windows of the soddy for a long time," he said reflectively. "Reminds me of when I used to come home to you at night."
Amy's pulse belied a hardened heart.
"You used to have a slice of pie ready for me then, too."
The hammering of her heart drowned out coherent thought.
"Sometimes we skipped the pie and went right to the lovin'."
She didn't feel the chill any longer. The fire seemed to be prickling her skin, setting her blood ablaze.
"Sometimes we didn't even sleep—"
His voice was right behind her ear, but she hadn't heard him move. He had knelt beside her.
"We had that quilt your aunt gave us for our weddin', and we'd lay it on the floor in front of the fire and let our skin touch everywhere and our hearts be filled to overflowin'."
"Jesse, don't—"
"Wasn't anything could have kept me away from you for a night then."
His breath tickled the hair on her neck and sent shivers skittering across her flesh. Her overheated body turned to liquid.
His teeth nipped her ear gently, and she made a sound like a newborn kitten mewling.
Jesse turned her on the ottoman so that she faced him instead of the fire. It didn't take much urging to insinuate his body between her knees and bring himself up against her. He cupped her head in both hands and kissed her breathless. He tasted like peaches and promised pleasure, and it was a seductive drug in her veins. His words were picture memories, vivid and searing. They showed her what they'd had...what they'd lost.
As if he was afraid to give her time to breathe or think, he plied her mouth with urgency and her senses with his inordinate brand of heady seduction.
Jesse separated their lips, and she opened her heavy lids to look into his eyes.
"Do you remember, Amy? Do you remember it wasn't pity or guilt or grief back then?"
She hadn't forgotten. She had buried. Built. Abandoned and moved on.
"If I went upstairs with you now, I'd know you were thanking me. Just like the last time when you were pityin' me. It wouldn't be you wanting me. Not the way I want you."
He released her and stood, letting air flow around her and chill her once again. She sat with her skirt draped between her wide-spread knees, her body thrumming and the taste of peaches on her tingling lips.
"Jesse," she whispered.
He turned. "'Night, Amy."
His broad form filled the doorway and disappeared.
"Jesse," she whispered again. The back door opened and closed. She squeezed her eyes shut and felt him. Heard his voice. Tasted his kisses. What had she done to him?
What had she done to them?
***
Nearly two hours later Jesse pulled the cork on the next bottle. He'd replenished his stash that week and a fresh crate had become his bedside table. He'd picked up the last bottle to find it half gone already, and had polished it off before he'd finished checking the horses.
This bottle was going down a lot smoother. He liked it when the whiskey slid down his throat so easily. He tried to hold out, tried to make it through a night without givin' in to the craving that now seemed to be in his head and on his skin, but he was so dry, and his belly ached with the need for just a little to soothe him to sleep.
Still, he wasn't hurtin' anybody. He didn't let his work suffer or his morning head stop him from taking care of business. Nobody cared. Amy didn't even really care, because when he was out here he wasn't bothering her, and she wasn't obligated to act like a wife.
He thought he heard a pounding in his head, but he hadn't even fallen asleep yet, so it couldn't be morning.
There it was again.
"Jesse?"
"Amy?" What was she doin' out here? He hid the bottle under his bunk and went to let her in.
He blinked. Dark hair. A green dress. Not Amy.
"I hate to disturb you so late, but I'd be much obliged if you'd give me a hand."
Eden. Even her name was linked to dangerous temptation.
"What's wrong?"
"I had Adele help me into this dress this morning. It's not a practical garment for a woman who must dress without assistance, and I'm afraid I can't reach the buttons by myself."
"I'll— I can find Adele."
"No, no, I don't want to wake her, it's much too late. If you could just lend your assistance ever so briefly." She turned her back and lifted her hair with one hand.
Jesse squinted to focus on the row of tiny buttons. His fingers were too big and blunt. Unfastening them took forever, and he just wanted to be rid of her.
"This is so sweet of you," she purred.
The row of buttons seemed to trail into infinity. "Why don't females... make their dresses suh-sensible, so they can button 'em up the front?"
"Fashion simply defies logic, does it not?"
He had reached the end of the row of buttons, and Eden turned to face him.
"I especially like those buckskins I've seen you wear," she said. "A simple little lace by your throat to loosen and you can pull it off over your head."
She raised a hand and ran one finger teasingly across his shoulder and upper arm. "I wondered what you looked like without your shirt."
Dimly, he realized he'd removed his shirt some time ago.
"I've watched you with the horses, seen you load the coaches. You're very strong."
A belated warning went off in his head, deadened by alcohol, but there just the same. This woman was trouble.
"It's not right, you sleeping out here all by yourself," she said. "Not a deserving man like yourself."
"I don't think... I'm not..." Wrong, wrong. This was all wrong.
Eden used his confusion to inch herself forward and latch her forearm around his neck to bring his head down to her. "A woman like me knows how to appreciate a man."
Befo
re her behavior registered on his sluggish brain, she kissed him full on the mouth. Not primly, not hesitantly, but hungrily, her lips widening over his.
A tap sounded on the door. "Jesse?"
Eden hung on.
The door smacked against the wall.
Jesse raised his head and realized his hands were on Eden's waist, whether to push her away or not, he didn't remember.
In the open doorway, gripping her shawl with white-knuckled fingers and wearing a stricken expression, stood Amy.
Chapter Seven
Amy opened her mouth but no words came out. Her chest felt as though someone had struck her with a two-by-four. She stared at the scene before her, her befuddled mind grappling with what her eyes conveyed. Chest bare, eyes hooded, Jesse stood with his hands on Eden's waist. That sight captured her breath and drew out the painful moment like living a nightmare.
One strand of Eden's hair draped against her ivory-skinned neck. The bodice of her unbuttoned dress hung forward, exposing the tops of her breasts where they were pushed upward by a lacy corset. She lazily drew her hand across Jesse's shoulder and stepped back to adjust her dress. Wearing an expression like that of a cat who'd just lapped up a bowl of cream, she tucked away the strand of hair.
"Well, hello, Amy. We weren't expecting you."
Amy found her voice. "I can see that."
Jesse reached a hand toward her. "Amy, it's not—"
Following her first instinct, she turned and fled. She ran out of the boardinghouse and across the yard. "Amy!"
At the sound of his voice and his steps behind her, anger roiled up inside. Balling her fists, she changed her direction and, instead of heading into the house, she spun around, heading straight back for him.
Jesse saw her coming and planted his feet.
Amy came to a stop a foot away. Without forethought, she slapped him as hard as she could, jolting his head to the side. He stood that way for an endless moment, the night wind ruffling his hair. Slowly, he turned to look at her. He swayed on his feet as though the breeze might knock him over.
With her hands fisted in the fabric of her skirt, she used every ounce of control she possessed not to hit him again. Her breath came out in tight-chested pants. "Do not follow me into the house. I'm going to lock the door. And I'm going to lock the bedroom door."
