The Man from Stone Creek

by Linda Lael Miller

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I built it for you,” he said, and then he set the wagon moving again. “I just didn’t know at the time who you’d turn out to be, that’s all.”

  Major Blackstone waited, the collar of his coat pulled up around his ears, on the porch of the first house. With a shy smile, he made his way out to the gate as Sam reined the buckboard to a halt.

  “Welcome to Stone Creek, Maddie O’Ballivan,” he said, catching and holding her gaze.

  “Thank you,” Maddie answered. She too felt shy; the major was Abigail’s father, after all. It must have seemed strange to him, seeing Maddie as Sam’s bride, taking a place he’d surely imagined for his lost daughter.

  The major seemed to see right inside Maddie’s mind. He reached up and patted her hand. “It’ll be a fine thing, having you here,” he told her, gruffly gentle. “A fine thing indeed.”

  Ben leaped down from the back of the wagon, Neptune barking at his heels. “Where’s the bunkhouse?” he asked.

  Major Blackstone smiled. “You won’t be living in the bunkhouse,” he said. “I’ve got a room ready for you upstairs.”

  Ben’s eyes widened. “My dog, too?”

  “Your dog, too,” the major said. His wise eyes swung to Terran, still in the back of the buckboard. Took him in in a way that made him part of things. “You’d best stay a spell, too. Help your friend get settled in.” He looked at Maddie again, then Sam. “Let the newlyweds have some time to get used to each other.”

  Terran, subdued since Maddie had taken him aside, the first night in Flagstaff and told him the truth about the both of them, let out a heartening whoop, grabbed his things and jumped down just as Ben had.

  The major rounded the wagon, untied Dobbin and Sam’s gelding. “We’ll see to these critters,” he said. “Won’t we, boys? Nice barn waiting for them.”

  Sam shifted on the seat to watch. “Obliged,” he said.

  “The old fella,” the major noted, examining Dobbin with a practiced eye, “looks ready for the pasture.” He patted the tired horse fondly, but looked at Sam. “You ever name the other one?”

  “Apollo,” Sam answered. He and Maddie had agreed on the name on their wedding night, between bouts of lovemaking. Apollo, he’d said, was the sun god. There had been enough darkness in their lives up to then, and now it was time for light.

  The boys, neither of whom had seen more than a skiff of snow in their lives, had already figured out how to bunch the stuff into balls and fling it at each other, and their laughter rang like music, with Neptune contributing joyous yelps.

  They’d be starting school in town in a few days, but for now they could play. They’d been through so much, both of them.

  “What are you sitting here for?” the major demanded good-naturedly, his eyes resting with affection on Sam. “Seems to me, you could think of better things to do.”

  Maddie blushed. Sam laughed and turned the team toward the other house, perhaps a mile away.

  A few minutes later they pulled up to the door of a barn, so new that the wood was still unweathered and fragrant with pitch.

  “You could go on inside the house if you want,” Sam said.

  Maddie smiled. “No, sir,” she answered. “You’re not getting out of carrying me over the threshold, Sam O’Ballivan.”

  He chuckled. “It was worth a try,” he said.

  Maddie swatted at him, laughing.

  They unhitched the team together, put the weary horses in their stalls, groomed and fed and watered them. Sam took a while to groom Dionysus, too, and to check the animal’s lame foot, now healed. When the work was done, Sam said he’d fetch their belongings from the wagon later, took Maddie by the hand and led her around to the front porch.

  At the door he paused, placed his hands on either side of Maddie’s face, and kissed her gently.

  “This is your house, Maddie. Yours and Terran’s and mine. Let’s remember Abigail and Warren—they’ll always be part of our lives—but under this roof, there will be no ghosts. Agreed?”

  Maddie swallowed. Nodded.

  Sam swept her up into his arms, so suddenly that it took her breath away. He opened the door and they were over the threshold.

  A spinet gleamed, next to the fireplace, though there was, as yet, no other furniture.

  Maddie took in an audible breath at the sight of it.

  “Wedding gift from the major,” Sam said, setting her on her feet.

  “How did he know? How did you know?”

  Sam rested his hands lightly on either side of her waist. A charge went through Maddie, and much as she wanted to sit at that spinet and let loose all the music she’d been storing up inside since the last time she’d played, she wanted something else more.

  “Terran talks a lot,” Sam told her, and grinned.

  Maddie felt flushed, even though they’d just come in from a cold, snow-spread day and the fire on the hearth was burning low. “Do we own any furniture at all?” she asked practically.

  Sam’s blue eyes twinkled. “A table, a bathtub and a bed.”

  Maddie’s tongue tied itself in a tidy knot.

  Sam look her hand, led her into the kitchen at the back of the house. There was another fireplace there, with flames flickering inside, a big wood stove with a tap on the hot-water reservoir, and a long, plain table with benches on either side.

  Maddie pictured herself cooking there, pictured all of them, her and Sam and Terran, at the table, laughing as they shared a meal.

  Meanwhile, Sam went out the back door and came back shortly with a large, round tub. He set it down close to the stove, which was already pumping delicious warmth into the spacious room, and turned the tap to let hot water flow into it.

  “You first,” he said, picking up a bucket and carrying it to the sink, where he began pumping cold water into it.

  Maddie looked around. “You mean—undress?”

  “Unless you want to bathe in your clothes,” Sam said, lifting the lid on the reservoir and emptying the bucket into it. He went back to the sink, when Maddie just stood there, and commenced to pumping again.

  “Undress?” Maddie echoed stupidly. “Right here?”

  Sam grinned at her, over one shoulder. “Right here,” he said.

  Maddie took off her bonnet first, then her heavy cloak. Laid them aside on one of the benches lining the table. She wanted a bath; she was cold, at least on the outside, and they’d traveled a long way from Flagstaff. On the inside, she felt feverish, and a familiar tension was building.

  “You’re going to—watch?”

  “I certainly am,” Sam said.

  “Sam,” Maddie choked out, “this is a kitchen.”

  He stopped his filling and carrying and emptying to run his gaze over her. It scorched as it passed, and made her nipples harden against her camisole and the bodice of her new woolen dress. “There is no room in this house,” he said, “where I won’t make love to you, sooner or later.”

  A delicious shiver went through Maddie. She began unbuttoning the front of her dress, but she fumbled so that it took forever. Sam, usually eager to help with the process, stood back, watching with a possessive heat in his eyes.

  Maddie stripped until she was naked, waiting for Sam to take her.

  Instead, he gestured rather grandly toward the tub.

  Maddie stepped in, sank down into the water with a sigh. Sam brought her soap and a towel, and fetched some of her things from the wagon. Then he went back for more while she bathed.

  When she’d finished, she stood, dripping, and he admired her for a long moment before wrapping a towel around her.

  “Venus,” he murmured, “rising from the sea.”

  Maddie’s heart fluttered its wings.

  She wanted Sam to kiss her, make love to her. Instead he helped her out of the tub and pointed toward the rear stairs.

  “Our room is at the far end of the hall,” he said. He dragged the tub to the back door and Maddie felt a rush of cold air as he emptied it.


  She nodded, covered in gooseflesh, and started for the steps, looked back to see Sam turning the tap on the stove. Hot water steamed into the tub. When he began to peel off his clothes, Maddie turned strangely shy and bolted.

  Sam’s laughter followed her to the second floor.

  Their bedroom, like the kitchen and the parlor, boasted a fireplace. A blaze had been laid, and Maddie struck a match to it, stalling. The bed was huge, a mahogany four-poster with fluffy pillows and a colorful quilt, turned back to reveal white linen sheets.

  Maddie swallowed. The light shifted and fat snowflakes began to drift past the windows.

  She moved closer to the fire, wishing she had a nightgown, but the towel would have to do. There was no way she was going back down those stairs to the kitchen for her valise. Sam was there, and he was naked in the bathtub.

  “Silly,” she said, impatient with herself. It wasn’t as though she and Sam hadn’t made love before. Why, practically the minute they’d exchanged “I do’s” in Flagstaff, he’d dragged her off to a hotel-room bed and ravished her so thoroughly that even the recollection of it aroused her.

  She paced.

  She added wood to the fire.

  She watched the snow.

  She looked at the big, inviting bed.

  She added more wood to the fire.

  And then the door opened and Maddie’s breath caught.

  Sam came in, naked except for a towel tied loosely at his waist.

  He held out a hand to Maddie, and she went to him, tentatively, for all the world like a blushing virgin bride.

  He kissed her. Tugged at her towel until it dropped away. Let his own fall to the floor.

  “Do you remember what I told you that first time?” he asked in a ragged, sleepy whisper, stroking her with his hands, nibbling lightly at her earlobe. “In the springhouse in Refugio?”

  Maddie remembered, all right. Her blood sang with the recollection.

  She swallowed, nodded. She’d waited for that particular promise to be fulfilled, nerves jumping with anticipation every time she thought of it, but Sam had withheld it.

  Not that she’d gone unsatisfied, because she hadn’t.

  Oh, she certainly hadn’t.

  “I wanted it to happen here,” he said.

  He guided her to the bed, laid her down gently on the sheets, cross-wise, with her hips on the edge.

  Maddie moaned.

  Sam knelt, parted her knees, set her heels on his shoulders. He chuckled when she shivered at the feel of his warm breath on the nest of moist curls between her legs.

  He stroked the insides of her thighs, slowly, making the flesh quiver in the wake of his fingertips.

  Maddie bit down on her lower lip, raised her hips slightly, instinctively offering herself to him.

  He slid his hands under her buttocks, lifted her higher still, a man preparing to feast. When he burrowed through and took her full in his mouth, she cried out.

  He withdrew, teased her with his tongue.

  She began to writhe, and a fine sheen of perspiration dampened the hair at her temples, the space between her breasts, the smooth skin of her belly.

  “Slowly,” he said.

  “No,” Maddie pleaded, breathless. “Fast.”

  She felt the shake of his head between her legs, and groaned in desperate frustration. He meant to take his time with her, and the thought of that made Maddie beg.

  He lapped at her. Kissed the insides of her thighs. Long, light, trailing kisses that made her whimper and plunge her fingers into his hair. He reached up, caressed her breasts, one at a time. Held her apart with the fingers of his other hand.

  “Sam!” she gasped when she could bear the wait no longer.

  He fell to her then, took her greedily, voraciously, granting her no quarter.

  The release was cataclysmic in scope; Maddie dug her heels into Sam’s shoulders and flew, and cried out again and again, until she was hoarse. At last, at last, she fell trembling to the bed, dazed with pleasure, wanting him inside her. Wanting him to put his baby in her.

  The craving was fierce, elemental as a wildfire or a torrential rainstorm.

  Sam held her apart with his fingers and began kissing her, and the sweet horror of it struck her all at once.

  He was going to make her do it again. Climb to those heights, flailing like flotsam atop a boiling geyser. She would burn in the unseen flames and, finally, leave herself completely behind.

  “I can’t,” she whispered.

  “You will,” he replied at his wicked leisure.

  And she did.

  Again.

  And then again.

  After that, they made love, and by the end, Maddie was so exhausted, she tumbled into the most profound slumber of her life.

  When she awakened, the room was dark, and Sam slept, his head resting on her stomach, his breathing deep and even.

  She smiled, twisted a tendril of his hair lightly around her finger.

  So this was what it was like, belonging somewhere. Having a real home.

  And home wasn’t a town, or a house, the way she’d always thought. It was a person.

  Home, for Maddie, was the brave, spacious heart of Sam O’Ballivan. A heart big enough to take her in, and Terran, as well. Come the spring, Terran’s name would be O’Ballivan, too.

  Tears of pure joy filled Maddie’s eyes. Then she snuggled in and went back to sleep, where dreams awaited, almost as sweet as reality.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-0177-8

  THE MAN FROM STONE CREEK

  Copyright © 2006 by Linda Lael Miller

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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