by Anthology
A frown pulled on her brows. Why was she wallowing in self-pity? She’d made a decision last night, decided which path she’d take. Eyeing Morgan’s handsome profile, she squared her shoulders. It was time to start traveling.
Morgan glanced over just then, caught her staring at him. Cora couldn’t pull her eyes away, even when warmth pooled in her womb, as if it was preparing to carry his child as she had Nathan. Morgan frowned, not angrily, but confused, almost as if he sensed something. He broke the connection by lowering his head, and a spark of life seeped out of Cora.
The trail before her seemed longer and more burden-filled than the journey from Ohio had. The pitiful thought made her want to kick herself. She’d never shied away from hard work and wasn’t about to start. Determination caught her spine. She’d survived the trek from Ohio, and would this one, too, even though it was different in so many ways and left a piece of her vulnerable in a place she’d never been before. What she needed was a bit of faith.
Folding her hands in her lap, Cora closed her eyes. Please Lord, I know You have already given me so much and I’m extremely thankful for all Your bounty, but if I have one wish left, if there is one miracle You can perform for me, let it be for Morgan to learn to love me. Even just a portion as much as I love him will suffice.
“Cora?”
Morgan’s tone was soft, and reminded her of last night, when he’d led her back to their bed. A great warmth flooded her, as brilliant as the summer sun. “Yes?”
The slight frown furrowing the brows above the blue eyes looking upon her so tenderly would have made her swoon had she been standing. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked. “Perhaps you should go lie down. I know the storm kept you up last night.”
His concern was genuine, and she balled her fingers to keep them from sneaking across the table to touch his arm. It was an obsession she had—touching him—and last night increased it severely. “I’m fine,” she assured.
“You were—”
“I was praying,” she cut him off.
A red hue appeared on his cheeks. “Oh.” He glanced down at his food. “I guess I forgot to say grace.”
A giggle slipped out. Whether it was due to his sheepish statement or his blush, she really didn’t know, nor mind. He cared about her, and that’s all that mattered. “I wasn’t saying grace for you, nor reprimanding you for not.” Cora rose and went to gather the pitcher of milk. Prayers aren’t answered immediately, she knew that, understood it would take work on her part. Bringing the milk and a glass back to the table, she refilled Nathan’s small cup and then filled the glass for Morgan.
“I was making a wish,” she answered, resolute. She was more than willing to do anything it took.
“A wish?” Morgan asked, glancing at the hand she rested upon his shoulder—her fingers had settled there of their own accord—and then up at her.
The scent of wintry air wafted from his broad frame. A shiver tickled her at the thought of rubbing his shoulders, massaging the bulk beneath his shirt. Someday she’d be able to do that, and that knowledge was enough for now. “Yes,” she answered, smiling. “A wish.” She gave his shoulder a slight squeeze before carrying the pitcher back to the counter, giddy at the prospect of the day she’d be able to touch him, kiss him, whenever she wished.
“I hope it wasn’t a Christmas wish.” His tone was light, or maybe sounded that way because she was more than a bit giddy.
“Oh, why’s that?” she asked.
He nodded toward the door. “Because snow is falling by the bucket out there, I highly doubt it’s going to let up all day.”
White flakes still clung to the hat and coat he’d hung next to the door. She’d been inside, snug and warm, and fretting, while he’d been outside for hours, seeing to their livelihoods. “Are the cattle...”
“They’re fine. They’re close enough to the ranch for the boys to get feed to them. Hopefully the wind won’t pick up again.” He drank his milk, set the empty glass down. “But traveling to town anytime soon will be out of the question.”
“Oh, well, as long as the cattle are fine, the rest doesn’t matter. We have everything we need right here.”
Morgan gathered the empty dishes in front of Nathan and slid them across the table. “So your wish wasn’t for something in the window at Rieser’s?”
She carried the dishes to the sink. “No, what I wished for can’t be bought at the general store. It can’t be bought anywhere.”
His gaze once again captured hers, and the way his eyes grew cloudy and his face took on a pained appearance threatened to stop her heart. “I’m sorry, Cora,” he whispered so softly she wondered if he’d actually spoken.
A chill rippled through her as if she’d just stepped outside and tumbled into an oversize snowbank.
“Down,” Nathan said, squirming in his seat.
Unable to move, her gaze danced for a moment, between her son and Morgan’s extremely sorrowful face. He hadn’t done anything, not to her nor anyone else that she knew of. He certainly couldn’t take responsibility for the weather. Yet his apology was so sincere she sought for a response that might ease his distress.
“Down,” Nathan repeated.
“I’ll get you, buddy,” Morgan said, turning to the child.
“Wait,” she said so loud both Morgan and Nathan held stunned expressions. Her mind was still a blank, unable to come up with a way to comfort her husband. Yes, her husband, she repeated silently. Sighing, she turned to the sink. “I’ll get a cloth and wash the jelly from his fingers.”
The tasty breakfast had turned to a glob in Morgan’s gut. He hadn’t noticed Nathan’s hands were covered in jelly, not with the amount of remorse flaring inside him.
Nathan started to lick the fingers clean before Cora arrived with the cloth. The sight would have been enough to make Morgan laugh, had he not been so depressed. “As long as the cattle are fine,” she’d said. Why hadn’t he thought of that before opening his mouth? The cattle were what caused her husband’s demise, and here he was carrying on about them. And of course her wish couldn’t be bought in town, there was no doubt it was that Orville wasn’t dead. He should have stayed in the barn; at least there his foot wasn’t planted in his mouth and his heart wasn’t on his sleeve—well, maybe it was, but the cowboys wouldn’t notice.
After she cleaned Nathan’s fingers, the child held up his arms. “Moga!”
Morgan lifted Nathan from his chair, and extracted giggles as he jostled the child in the air while carrying him across the room, to where they sat down on the rug in front of the fireplace. A bit of separation from Cora would do him good. His insides were swirling, remembering how she’d snuggled up against him last night. Holding her like that, he’d slept more soundly than he had in a long time. Months even. Yet, the simple action had made him want things he couldn’t have even more. He’d been itching to get back inside since he’d walked out the door before the sun rose, and the weather hadn’t had a thing to do with it.
“Pay!” Nathan grabbed a ball and shoved it across the small space.
Morgan picked up the toy and rolled it in his hands. Another one of Cora’s handiworks. She’d wrapped scraps of cloth into a ball shape. The woman was amazing in so many ways.
“Mama,” Nathan said, pointing across the room.
“Yes,” Morgan agreed, rolling the ball toward Nathan. “That’s your mama.”
The boy scowled, little lines covered his forehead, and he pointed a chubby finger at Morgan. “Papa?”
A tiny gasp echoed across the room. Morgan swung around in time to see the ashen look on Cora’s face before she spun to face the sink along the far wall. The invisible knife lodged in his chest all but gutted him.
Morgan retrieved the ball. “Here, buddy, catch.”
The ball rolled over Nathan’s legs. The child giggled and scrambled to catch the toy. Easily diverted, soon the child’s giggles were nonstop as they rolled the toy to and fro. However, Morgan’s depressed mind couldn’t be
sidetracked and he wondered what the hell he was doing. He couldn’t play ball with Nathan all day. The child would soon tire of the game. The cowboys—the four men who worked for him—were hunkered down in the bunkhouse. He could join them, but being cooped up in a room half the size of the cabin with four men playing cards and smoking cigars held no appeal. Besides, a man would have to have a death wish to wander in the raging blizzard outside.
He’d downplayed the storm for Cora’s sake. In all actuality, a person could get lost going to the outhouse, which was why he came to the cabin, to make sure she didn’t attempt going outside for anything. When he built their house, the one he’d ordered plans for last month, they’d have a water closet. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about such things. His justifications played havoc on him again. When had he gotten so good at making up excuses, lying to himself? He’d worry about her no matter how many water closets their house boasted.
As he’d predicted, Nathan grew bored with the ball. Morgan stood, scooping the child into his arms. “Should we bring the Christmas tree in the house?” he asked, glad he’d thought of something that might offer a distraction.
“Christmas Eve isn’t until tomorrow,” Cora said from where she stood at the counter, elbow deep in flour.
While riding fence lines a few days ago, Morgan had noticed the perfect little pine and had gone back out that evening to cut it down. It now stood under the porch awning near the front door. He’d never given the holiday much thought in the past, but this year it held a special appeal. Celebrating the day with Cora and Nathan had filled his mind as he’d hauled the little tree home. “I know,” he said. They were his family now, and though he couldn’t bring Orville back, he could provide them a holiday complete with a Christmas tree and gifts beneath it. “An extra day won’t bother that little tree none at all.” He nodded to Nathan sitting in the crook of his arm. “Or him.”
She smiled, and his stomach flipped, tried to climb up his throat where his heart had already planted itself. Her hazel eyes had more tiny streaks of colors than a summer sunset. A certain glow always radiated off her and today was no different. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied at her nape with a piece of ribbon, and her blue gingham dress, all but hidden by the white apron tied around her waist, hugged her womanly curves delightfully. His heart increased its choke hold. No matter what she was doing, how she was dressed, she was beyond beautiful, and there wasn’t a moment that passed where he didn’t wish he could hold her in his arms, love her as she deserved to be loved.
Just one kiss, he thought, as rationally as he could right now. If he could steal just one kiss, maybe then some of these desires would calm down.
Chapter Three
Cora, as calmly as possible, wiped the flour from her hands with her apron and walked across the room. Morgan watched as she approached, staring at her thoughtfully. An almost private smile had one corner of his mouth turning up, and that thrilled her as much as having his arm around her last night had. There was reluctance there, too, she noticed, in his hesitant grin, but she chose to overlook it. “I don’t think it’ll bother you one little bit, either,” she said, delighted with the opportunity to tease him. “Here, I’ll take Nathan while you get the tree.”
It was a stare-down for a moment, like two animals eyeing each other up, looking for trust or kin or whatever it is they look for. She held her ground, even when the charge between the two of them grew to the point she imagined created lightning. Instead of a winter blizzard, summer thunderheads should be descending from the sky. Leastwise that’s how her body felt—hot and sultry. She licked her lips, needing moisture of some kind.
Morgan shifted his gaze and stance, and held Nathan out for her to grasp.
“No,” Nathan insisted, wrapping his arms around Morgan’s neck.
Cora, half dizzy from fanciful thoughts leaping into her mind, reached up to unhook Nathan’s hands. The pads of her fingers brushed the skin of Morgan’s neck. The simple connection struck her insides, made her wonder if there was a thunderstorm brewing, but it was the way Morgan sucked in air that caused her to quickly pull the child from his arms. “Come here, so Morgan can get the tree,” she said, attempting to hide the disappointment now rushing from the floor up. Stopping the indignation before it overpowered her by reminding herself she needed to take baby steps—she couldn’t expect Morgan to simply pull her into his arms and kiss the daylights out of her simply because of a look—she stepped back.
“Tee,” Nathan said excitedly.
Very conscious that the air between them was still charged, she kept her eyes on Morgan. “Yes, a Christmas tree,” she said, shifting Nathan onto her hip. As Morgan moved, ready to fly out the door, she stopped him with her free hand. “Aren’t you going to put on your coat?”
His gaze went from her fingers on his arm to her face. That persuasive little grin was back on his face, surprising her in a heart-skittering way. “There’s no need,” he said. “It’s right beside the door.” He patted her fingers. “I’ll be right back.”
Her breath stalled in her chest. His touch—so innocent and gentle—rendered her speechless, while instincts soared inside her. Morgan wanted to kiss her. It wasn’t just her imagination. It was there, in his eyes. She swallowed, forcing her animated heart back into her chest, and nodded.
Still smiling, Morgan pulled open the door.
Cora wanted to fall to her knees, thank the heavens above for the glimmer she’d seen in Morgan’s eyes, but the blast of icy air screaming its way into the cabin hit her like an awakening. The door closed as swiftly as it had opened, and she gave her head a clearing shake. She’d seen the blizzard out the window above the sink, but through the open doorway, she hadn’t even been able to make out the barn, which was only a few yards from the cabin.
Her breathing, still far from normal, quickened even more as she stared at the door. The weather could play in her favor. Since they’d married, Morgan had never stayed a full day in the cabin. With the storm outside chores were limited. A spell of nervousness washed over her. She didn’t know much about seduction, how a woman went about enticing a man.
“Moga, tee,” Nathan said, interrupting her thoughts.
A joyful wave washed over her. Instincts, she suspected, would tell her what to do. After all, they hadn’t failed her so far. Smiling she kissed Nathan’s nose. “Yes, Morgan is getting the tree.” She no sooner said the words when the door flew open again. Wind and large flakes of snow swirled in as a tree, as wide as the door, seemed to walk itself forward.
Cora set Nathan in his high chair and pushed it up to the table. “You wait here,” she instructed, rushing to help Morgan, who was now dragging the pine inside by its trunk. “It’s huge,” she speculated as the bottom boughs caught on the door frame.
“Yeah, I guess it’s bigger than I thought,” Morgan said, giving the tree a hard tug.
The branches let loose of the door frame, spraying a shower of snow. She let out a screech and then laughed at the flakes floating in the air. Morgan held out an arm, as if to protect her as other branches swiped the door and spewed snow into the room.
“Bigger than you thought.” She repeated his answer while moving to the door, ready to close it when the top crossed the threshold. “I’d say it’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen.” Catching the hesitancy in his eyes, she added, “And the most perfect.”
She was defenseless against the all-out smile that appeared on his face then, not that she’d had any intention of fighting the happiness welling inside her—now or anytime he chose to flash such a gaze upon her.
“Watch out while I swing it around,” he warned.
By the time the tree was inside and the door shut, she and Morgan, as well as the floor, were covered with wet, cold snowflakes and bits of ice.
He propped the tree against the wall, the rest of the room now hidden behind its width, and shook his hand, flaying droplets. She squealed as bits of ice landed upon her cheeks, and stepped aside. Letting out a low laugh,
he caught her arm. “Come here, you’re covered with snow.”
Before she could react, his hands were working, knocking the snow off her hair, shoulders and dress sleeves. She stood before him, soaking up the bliss every touch instilled. Thrilled at the thought of touching him, she reached out, brushing the now melting flakes from his chest and shoulders. Much too soon, the snow was gone.
The air around them stilled, and the lightning-bolt charge was back. The rest of the world faded away, leaving nothing but her and Morgan at this particular moment in time. His hands settled on her hips and her palms drew to a rest on the bulk of his upper arms as their gazes locked together with a click that vibrated the length of her body as if someone had turned a key in an age-old lock.
There was an unmistakable want in his blue eyes—one that set a blazing fire in her very core. Cora’s lips tingled and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. The movement brought his gaze downward, which made the tingle mature into a full-fledged ache.
Morgan went ramrod stiff. Cora felt it, saw it and ignored it. The moment had presented itself, and she wasn’t going to let it slip away. Stretching onto the tips of her toes she placed one hand on his jaw to keep his head from moving, and taking the chance he’d completely reject her, touched her lips to his.
At first he didn’t move, stood there like a mighty oak with mile-long roots as their breaths mingled in a gentle, poignant connection that was heavy with prospect, but when she stepped forward, wrapped her other hand around his back and pressed her breasts against the hardness of his chest, he shifted so their bodies aligned.
It was as if the lightning she’d sensed earlier struck, sizzling along every inch that touched him and shook the floor beneath them. Cora cupped his cheek firmer, and pressed her lips against his again, longer and harder this time.
“Cora,” he whispered, his lips vibrating against hers.
