"Mae? I, er…you were...are nice."
"Forget it John. Do what you want, I'm going to sleep. I'm too tired to deal with you right now." When she noticed he'd neared, she dropped her arms to her sides and didn't move away. Her bright emerald eyes met his. "Let's just admit how bad of an idea this entire trip is. We can inquire at the next town about a stagecoach…I can…"
His mouth crushed hers, surprising him far more than her. She didn't move away when he placed his hands on both side of her face holding her in place, not wanting her to. She tasted like everything he ever imagined since meeting her, sweet and fiery. Her hands covered his, and Mae returned his kiss. It took all he had within him to keep from moaning.
Past the point of rational thought, he pressed his tongue to her lips and her mouth opened, inviting him in. Minutes passed, lacing one to another with only the sound of their breathing and suckling. The silken tresses fell down her back, and John smoothed them back from her face. When his hand slid to the small of her back, she pulled away and stepped back. Her wide eyes locked to his face, she moved further away and rounded the bed. Without a word, she pulled the remaining blanket away and lay down with her back to him and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders.
"I'm sorry Mae, I didn't mean to…"
"No explanation necessary. Of course you didn't John. Why in the world would you?"
Not sure what could be said to make things better, he began to arrange the blankets on the floor. He removed his clothes and lay down.
In the darkness, John listened to Mae's breathing until he was sure she slept, then got up and went to blow out the lamp. He glanced at her and couldn't help but wonder what would happen to her. In sleep, her beauty could only be described as pure. Innocent, the furthest word one would normally use when referring to Mae. Desirable, intriguing and ultimately dangerous, those were a much better fit.
He focused on her pursed lips and without thought touched his own. The light reflected a shiny tear sliding down from the corner of her eye. She cried in her sleep. Had he caused it?
Once again the heaviness fell upon him at wondering if he was indeed the cause of her sorrow. The first reaction was to reach out and wipe the errant tear. Instead John blew out the lamp instead. On the bedroll, he stared up at the ceiling. From now on, he'd make more of an effort to keep a distance from her. The kiss was a mistake. Now he'd gotten the curiosity out of his system, it would be easier to control any impulses in the future. Yet down deep he knew it was a lie; he'd never forget the taste of Mae's kiss.
The next morning, Mae ate breakfast downstairs while John bathed. Mrs. Clearwater poured coffee into a large sturdy mug for her. She'd lingered in bed as long as possible enjoying the comfort of the soft mattress. When she'd first awakened, the sight of a sleeping John kept her attention. On his back, he was sprawled on the blankets, his breathing even, on hand curled under his jaw. Thankfully, guilt didn't assail, as he seemed as comfortable as she on the downy bed coverings she'd shed from the bed.
Mrs. Clearwater placed a plate replete with eggs and potatoes before the woman smiled brightly at Mae's enthusiastic eating.
"Is there a stagecoach stop in the next town?" Mae blurted between bites, realizing her mistake when the woman's concerned gaze focused on her bruised lip.
"No dear there isn't, not a regular stop anyway. The route runs south of here, so you'd have to double back a ways." She looked over her shoulder toward the staircase. "Does he beat you often?"
Mae met the woman's eyes evenly. "No John does not hit me. He'd never lay a hand on me. Thank you for your concern, but we really were accosted." She waved away the woman's apology. "I asked because I planned to recommend your home to my -- my mother when she travels to visit me."
"Oh dear, that would be lovely. If she comes through here, I'd love to meet her."
John descended the stairs, his eyes immediately seeking her. "Good morning." With wet hair brushed away from his face and a clean shirt, he looked refreshed and unfortunately as handsome as ever.
Both women responded and Mrs. Clearwater hustled to the stove to fetch his breakfast.
"There isn't a stagecoach stop along this road," Mae told him keeping her eyes on her coffee cup and her voice to a whisper.
"I will get you to Texas Mae," he replied in a low tone. "It's going to be fine, I will ensure nothing else will happen between us to make this trip harder than it needs to be."
She hoped so. Because it was already proving to be an ordeal.
7
With a deep sigh, Mae watched as John returned from behind some trees. It had been two days since they'd left the Clearwater's house, and she had to acknowledge the overnight stay there helped her rest up considerably. They'd maintained a cordial existence between them with no talk of the kiss. A sort of interesting mutual understanding kept the hours together from turning awkward. Yes, as long as they stayed a safe distance away, they could co-exist without incident. Admittedly her mind revisited the kiss on occasion. However, she was able to rein her thoughts under control while in John's presence.
Mae shifted closer to the campfire and poked at a piece of wood pushing it toward the flames. Without looking, she sensed John settling onto the log next to her. They'd avoided any conversation about anything personal. Actually, they'd barely spoken more than necessary, so his question startled her.
"Why are you really going to see your father?"
Because Miss Lady insisted, would have kept at her until she'd run out of excuses for not going. "I suppose it's more curiosity than anything else. Miss Lady seems to think he owes me an explanation for never having anything to do with me. Plus he's very ill. It may be my last opportunity to speak with him." She also wanted to hear his reasons for not seeking her out.
"But you don't agree he owes you?" he urged her to continue.
"No." She shrugged keeping her eyes on the rising flares. "I can understand his decision to not marry my mother and stay in Virginia."
"Because she was a prostitute?"
"No, it was not the reason. My mother was not a prostitute when she became pregnant with me. It was out of necessity to raise me and support us that she turned our home into what it is today. She not only had to find a way to provide for me after her father died, but also for Miss Lady and Lucinda, who was also just a babe." Not wanting him to know how much his assumptions affected her, she kept her voice even. "My father had his reasons nonetheless, and I'm not sure I care to know what they are."
"I understand," John replied, his gray eyes searching her face. "Do you remember him?"
Why did he want to continue this conversation? "Barely. He came to see me when I was between three and four. He brought me a doll and gave mother some money for me. I suppose he came to see if I resembled him, to ensure I was truly his daughter." She decided to trudge on so his questions would hopefully end. "Mother said he was shocked at how much I favored him. Yet when she begged him to take me and raise me away from the life she'd carved out, once again he refused her. Said he had a wife and was starting a new life, had no room for a child born out of wedlock. So he left and never contacted me again. Until now."
Emotions she could not discern flickered in his eyes, his brow knit he studied the flames for a few minutes. "So then it was just your mother and you? What happened to her? Where is she now?"
More questions and this time she pondered whether to reply or not. Her mother, she rarely allowed herself to think about the woman and her tragic life. "My mother grew more sad, melancholy after my father's last visit. I believe he was the love of her life, as she never allowed another person to get close to her."
"Not even you." John stated, his eyes never leaving her face. "She left you?"
With a bitter chuckle, she replied. "No, not even me, kept me at an arms distance. And no she did not leave, not physically anyway. She became addicted to opium, a way to escape I suppose. She threw herself into making money, working and hiring more girls. Although she had lovers, she never permitted a ma
n to lay with her for more than one night. She had no repeat customers. Soon her addiction to the drug took its toll, and she rarely left her bedroom. She died when I was thirteen, in her room. Miss Lady raised me after."
John reached for her, and she braced for it. Since the night at the Clearwater's, how she'd ached for his arms to surround her and the warmth of his body to sooth her. As if shocked by what he was about to do, he pulled back and stood instead. He looked away toward the horizon away from her. "Why did you choose to continue in the business?"
Ah, the reason for his withdrawal. This time the familiar pang of being judged stung. She'd be damned before he'd know it. She forced her words to come out matter-of-factly and shrugged once again. "I didn't know anything else. As my relatives in Northern Virginia disowned my mother, I had no family, other than a colored woman, her daughter. My life was the thriving brothel. Perhaps I could have taken the money we'd saved and moved away. Nonetheless, I figured sooner or later, unless I moved across the country, someone would recognize or remember me. The inevitable will happen. I made my choice and continued the life my mother carved out for me. I've come to the conclusion and accepted not to aspire to a normal life."
"I suppose not."
His simple statement pierced deeper than she expected and Mae stood. "I'm going to clean up. It's getting near sundown." She stumbled toward the tree line, tears stinging her eyes. The truth always hurt, its bite relentless and searing. John would never see her as anything other than a prostitute. It was not just his judgment, but his reaction, which made her clench her jaw in frustration. What the heck was the matter with her? It wasn't like her to be so sensitive. The sooner this damn trip was over, the better off she'd be.
The coolness of the water was refreshing, and Mae lingered, walking along the shoreline. Why did she sometimes dream of a different life? It made no sense to allow herself the illusion of an impossible outcome. This time away from her home and the familiar was beginning to affect her in a way, which was not good. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing for her.
Returning toward the campsite, the sound of horses brought her out of her musings, and she peered around a tree to see John walking toward a newly arrived couple perched high on a wagon. A man and woman who looked to be in their thirties. The man climbed down and extended his hand, and the men shook. The woman, a brunette wearing a bonnet that obstructed her face, looked on as the man motioned to her with his hand.
Mae remained at a distance, not sure she was in the mood to deal with strangers. The men talked for a few minutes, seeming to come to some sort of agreement when they shook hands again.
Her back straight, Mae forced a neutral look when John turned toward where she stood and waved her over. Her stomach pitched at the matching expectant expressions on the couple's face. What agreement had John just made? Would she travel with them to Texas so he could leave her?
When she finally approached, the woman now stood next to the man, his arm protectively around her shoulders. When Mae neared them, the man's eyes widened just a bit, enough Mae noticed. How she hated the reaction she brought out in men. It was always the same, quickly masked interest like now or a leering expectation. She plastered a fake smile on her face and closed the distance until she stood next to John.
"Mae, this is Mister and Misses Jacobs." John motioned to the couple smiling at her.
The man spoke first. "I'm Ryan, and this is my wife Patricia." He held out his hand, and she noted his eyes were now gentle when meeting hers. When she held her hand out, his fingers wrapped around it. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance Missus McClain."
Her back stiffened, and she refused to look at John. The woman's smile became brighter when Mae turned to her. Instead of shaking her hand, the tiny brunette threw her arms around Mae and embraced her. "I am so happy your husband has agreed to allow us to ride with you the rest of the way to Texas. I've been so lonely for female companionship." The woman gushed. Mae noted upon closer inspection Patricia Jacobs was a pretty woman, her dark brown eyes seeming to fill her face, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose making her seem young.
"Oh," Mae replied finally meeting John's steady gaze. "Well welcome. Please, come sit by the fire. Are you hungry? There is some stew left."
"No thank you and please call me Patty." The women stayed close to Mae's side as they walked away from the men. "We ate not so long ago and were looking for a place to make camp and spend the night away near water when we happened upon your husband and the wagon."
While the men unhitched the horses and led them to the nearby creek, Mae sat back down in the same place where she'd just gotten up from minutes earlier. Patty Jacobs eyed her with curiosity. "Your husband told us you are newlyweds. It must be hard for you to be on such a hard trip so soon after being wed."
"Yes, well it wasn't exactly planned," Mae started and then wondered how much John had said. "Nonetheless, it has not been too dreadful."
The men returned and the four of them drank coffee, discussing the travel ahead. Finally Ryan stood and stretched. "Well folks, we appreciate it plenty you're allowing us to ride together. For safety reasons, I feel better knowing there are two men to keep these beautiful ladies protected." His eyes lingered on his wife, and Mae had to look away at the affection glances crossed between them.
"You told them we were married?" Mae asked, as the couple disappeared into the back of their wagon. "How are we going to pull this off for the rest of the journey?"
"I had to. I agree with Ryan. The deeper we get to untamed territory, the safer it will be with two men. Besides, he is a clergyman," John replied as if it explained everything. He stood dusting his pants. "I'll get my bedroll."
"Don't you think they will suspect you lied when you sleep out here, and I sleep in the back of the wagon?"
He hadn't thought. She could tell by the way his eyes flew to their wagon and back to her. "I…er…damn." John slumped back down. "I don't know what I was thinking. I should have told them we were brother and sister."
"Right." Mae stood and looked down at him. "Come John, it's getting late. Let's go to sleep. I promise not to touch you." She smirked at his shocked expression and walked away.
John was smart enough to stay outside the wagon until she settled onto the makeshift bed in the back of the wagon. She'd pushed as many goods as she could to the front to allow more space sideways. Her stomach flipped when he climbed in and sat next to her. Without preamble, he removed his shirt and lay with his back to her while leaving plenty of space between them. "Good night Mae."
"Good night John," She replied and lay on her back as well, listening to his breathing until a soft snore sounded. Then she finally was able to relax. Through the darkness, she couldn't make out much, but she noted how, up close, his back was quite wide, tapering to a slender waist. Heat emanated from his large body, and she wanted nothing more than to snuggle against it for warmth. Instead she pulled a blanket over him and a separate one over herself.
What would the morning bring? They still had another two weeks of travel, and somehow they would have to keep up the pretense of being married. Of all the things she'd endured so far, this would be the hardest. The stagecoach would have been a lot less trouble.
She'd been smitten with him upon meeting him five years ago when he arrived to Widow's Peak, and it lasted through the years and his long absences when the regiment was sent away. Each time he returned to town, she'd found a way to catch glimpses of him in town or when he'd ridden by to corral up his men. Rarely when he did enter her house to see about his men, she'd memorized each word he spoke and each expression.
Her feelings had changed over the years. No longer a young impressionable girl, she now knew without a doubt and no matter how much she tried to tell herself otherwise, she loved John McClain. He was her impossible. She'd accepted it long ago and kept the feelings locked inside. If only she keep it from affecting her in any manner when near him. Her brain understood the danger of it, the hurt would come from the feeling,
of course her foolish heart didn't know any better. It didn't understand the sentiment would never be returned. If anything the next few days would give her some memories to keep for the rest of her life. She relaxed and closed her eyes to await slumber.
A sunray broke through the cover on the back of the wagon crossing over her face and Mae's eyes flickered open. John was now sprawled on his back; one arm over his eyes the other across his chest. Mae studied the tendrils of hair splayed on the blanket next to her. His hair was too long; maybe she'd ask if he would like her to cut it. She reached over to touch it when he spoke and she drew her hand back.
"Good morning." The grogginess of his voice told her he's just woken.
"How did you know I was awake?"
He huffed with impatience. "Your breathing pattern changed." John's sat up and reached for his shirt. "Best get on with it. We need to be on the road." He grumbled and climbed out of the wagon putting distance between them.
"Well now I know you're not in the best mood in the mornings." She called after him. "God, I'm so tired of traveling," Mae mumbled and rolled onto his empty spot wrapping the discarded blanket over her head. She inhaled his scent, and closed her eyes.
8
John practically sprinted to the creek. It was torture for him to lie next to Mae and not make her his. His entire body demanded it. When he reached the water and splashed the cold liquid onto his face, his breathing hitched from the shock. How would he survive another night, much less several next to her and not touch her? She'd made it easy for him the night before by bantering and then ensuring there was more space. It wasn't enough, as he'd woken several times during the night when they'd touched, either her leg moving against him or his hand against her back.
Westbound Awakening Page 6
