"I'm not a jailer, Lucas. You'll stay because you want to, or not at all. I won't be chasing after you. The decision is yours."
A breeze snaked inside the barn door. The lantern's flame guttered and spat. Beside him, the gray horse snorted and flicked a fly with its coarse tail. Lucas steadied himself against the stall gate. "M-Miss Coulson? She wants me to stay?"
"Yes, she does, Lucas."
Something had to go wrong. This was looking too good. The agent probably had a rule to keep this from happening. But he had the money. If something went wrong, he'd take it and go. "Okay," he said. "Okay."
Hayes grinned, pushed himself away from the stall and lifted his saddle down from the horizontal side. "Good. Now I have a more pleasant task ahead of me. I'm taking Miss Coulson home."
* * *
Thea waited in the spotless kitchen, the lantern backlighting her marvelous hair. She turned from the table. Booker wiped his boots on the rag rug she'd placed on the floor.
He'd seen it again today, even on her special day, the way she dedicated herself to tending to others, the way she quietly saw to it that all the work was accomplished. She possessed a subtle talent for getting things done without drawing attention to herself.
"What did he say?"
He studied her, poised and self-disciplined, qualities he'd shown an obvious lack of today. "He said okay."
She slid her fingers around one of the spindles on the chair back. "Do you think he'll stay?"
Booker wished he knew. At least he understood now. "I told him the decision was up to him. He has to want to stay."
She averted her head and tucked a clean towel around the leftover loaves of bread.
"Are you ready to go home?" Booker asked, stepping closer.
She nodded.
"I saddled Gideon. Your father took the springboard."
She nodded again and a glistening drop fell to the back of her hand.
He reached out and touched her shoulder, gently turning her toward him. An ache pooled in his chest. Surely the heavens mourned and the earth tilted in sympathy when this woman cried. At that moment, nothing else mattered but her happiness. "Please don't do that," he whispered.
She whisked the tears away impatiently and tried to turn her head. Booker caught her chin.
"I can't bear to think of how he lived before he came here," she said in a quavering voice. "I grieve for a little boy who had no one to love him, no one to care if he buttoned his coat all the way or cleaned his teeth before bed. I can't bear to imagine the things he's seen and the loneliness he's lived in his short life."
Booker had to swallow and take a slow, deep breath.
"He should have had someone to love him," she said on an angry sob. "If he runs away and I don't know where he is or what's happening to him, I'll—I'll..."
He pulled her against his chest, his own heart ready to join hers in anguish. "Thea," he said against the top of her head. "We can't make up for Lucas's past. We can only take care of right here and now and try to see to his future."
His words must have comforted her somewhat, because she relaxed against him in an easy embrace. She curled a fist against his chest, and her other hand crept to his arm, just above his elbow, where her fingers curled around his bicep and sent a betraying shudder up the back of his neck.
Booker cherished her fragrant hair beneath his nose, her soft breasts against his chest, and he wrapped an arm across her back, flattening his other palm in the hollow of her spine. Heat stormed in his blood. They stood like that for long minutes, Booker wishing he wore no shirt so he could feel her hair and skin against his sensitized flesh, until she slowly raised her head from his chest and lifted her nerve-shattering blue-green gaze to his face.
"Yes," she said on a sigh. "We must take care of here and now."
Her dewy lips caught and held his attention, and he struggled to remember what she spoke of. His here and now was folded against the throbbing front of his body in a delight-mustering, unpretentious embrace.
He lowered his head at the same time she raised her face, and he met her lips, closing his eyes and savoring the soft, sweet taste of her. Her palm flattened against his shirt and skimmed to his shoulder.
Thea had never known anything as good as Booker's muscle-strapped arms around her body, his insistent lips plying her mouth with his insatiable kiss. He pulled his head back and studied her face. Thea raised her thumb to touch the intriguing crease at the corner of his mouth. Booker's dark eyes smoldered, and his half-open mouth covered hers again, his firm lips and velvet tongue drawing an openmouthed kiss in return. Their tongues curled and flattened, tasted and tempted, drawing a low groan from Booker and chest-bursting excitement in Thea's heart.
He cradled the back of her head and held her steady for the thrust and parry of their delicious duel. Thea met each nuance with no sense of impropriety or fear. Heart pounding, she reveled in his kiss, in his touch. She was entitled. She'd waited so long.
Booker pulled his mouth from hers and trailed his lips across her jaw, tasted her ear, bit the column of her neck in a nip that sent shivers down her arm and awakened every inch of flesh. Her clothing became hot and restrictive, and she thought of that massive tree bed upstairs.
Her pulse pounded. Booker took her hand from his shoulder and pressed a damp kiss against the backs of her knuckles. Thea turned her hand and touched him with her fingertips. She ran her index finger across his bottom lip, enjoying the silken texture and moist warmth. He took her wrist, caught her fingertip with his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted her, and bit her gently.
Thea wanted to climb inside of him and die of pleasure in his heat and strength. Her lips parted, and her breath escaped in a shallow pant. And to imagine, there was more! How could their tender embraces get any better?
Booker nudged his thigh against her skirt, against that part of her that responded with a tiny eloquent throb, and answered her unspoken question. Oh, yes. It could get better.
She wondered how they would eventually get past this stage. Did one of them just undress, or would he invite her upstairs? How would he say it? Would she be embarrassed? Would the lantern be lit or would they hide themselves in darkness?
He kissed her again then, his mouth working its graceful magic on her senses and his rock-hard thigh doing unspeakable things to her long-denied body. For the first time she wondered how many women he'd tempted with his kisses, how many he'd pleasured with his hands and mouth and... But any others didn't matter, she realized. He was with her now, and they must see to the future.
Booker bracketed her shoulders and eased her away. Hazily, Thea regarded his incalculable black eyes. The future with this man seemed too good to be true.
"I'd better get you home," he said.
She nodded and dropped her gaze.
He caught her chin on a knuckle and brought her face up, pressing a gentle kiss against her lips. "How much time will you need to arrange the wedding, Thea?"
Her heart smiled. Booker Hayes was anxious to marry her! "A week," she promised them both. "Only one week."
bookmark:Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Seven days, seven nights. It was the longest week of her life.
Even though she stayed busier than usual, what with food to arrange and moving her belongings to the new house, it seemed to Thea like the days and nights would never pass.
On Thursday Trudy called her in for another fitting, and she stood for what seemed hours while Trudy pinned and hemmed and Madeline gave her sidelong glances.
She had dreaded this part of the ritual. Standing in the sewing room before Trudy and her half sister dredged up memories she'd rather forget. Memories of how they'd clucked and lamented over her size as an impressionable schoolgirl. How they'd tried to dress her like they did themselves in frills and lace, and how she'd wanted to disappear before their eyes—before they could display her and she died of shame.
"You were right about t
his dress, Thea," her stepmother commented. "It's understated enough not to draw attention, but it has a certain hint of sophistication that compliments you."
Thea turned and surveyed herself in the mirror. The cream-colored satin toned down her orange hair and freckled skin more than pure white would have. And the fitted bodice and waist proved she had an adequate figure.
She pictured herself in the sunny church on Saturday morning and actually felt feminine.
"Even with the slippers, Mr. Hayes is taller than you. Oh, what good fortune!" Trudy clapped her hands with glee.
Thea met Madeline's gaze. She couldn't blame them. She'd given up, too. She'd been dedicated to the needs of her family and the community until Booker Hayes had shown up. At long last she would have a few needs of her own met.
The thought warmed her heart.
Never having had any children of their own, Odessa and Adler Woodridge excitedly offered to hold the reception at their home. Since they lived in a central location, and close enough to Omaha to make last-minute trips easy, Thea accepted their generous offer. On Friday evening before the wedding, Denzel, Booker and Red Horse stacked the planks for the dance floor in the wagon bed and hauled them to the Woodridge farm.
Booker spotted Thea and Zoe on the return trip and jumped onto their wagon seat, waving the men off.
"I can use your help," Thea said. "I wanted to have all the food and linens here at my aunt's tonight so I wouldn't have to think of anything tomorrow."
"Think you'll be nervous?"
She shrugged with a smile.
"Where's Lucas?"
"With my father."
Booker reached over and touched Zoe's hair. "How's the pumpkin?"
Zoe cast him a genuine smile.
Uncle Snake met them in the yard. He gave Thea a sound hug. An inch or so shorter than she, he grinned up. "Your mama would sure be happy for you. I remember how pretty she was on her wedding day."
No one could know how much she'd wished for her mother these past weeks. Thea touched her cheek to his stubbled one. "I wish she could be here."
Uncle Snake squeezed her hand. "She is."
He and Booker carried the baskets into her aunt's kitchen. Odessa poured coffee, and they visited for a brief time. Thea still had a few last-minute chores back at Booker's house, so she gathered Zoe and Booker.
Zoe fell asleep on the ride, and Booker carried her up to her room. Thea undressed her and together they tucked her into bed. Perhaps this was what being married felt like. She folded Zoe's quilt and placed it over the footboard. Was this the way husbands and wives did things?
Booker followed her down the hall to the room he'd provided for her use. She'd already moved most of her belongings, except for the things she would need tonight and tomorrow. He lit the lamp and watched her kneel and sort through a trunk. "What are you looking for?"
"I remembered a strand of pearls that were my mother's. I thought I'd wear them tomorrow. I think my jewelry case is in here. Ah." She retrieved the rough-textured, tapestry-covered box and opened it. She started to lift the necklace out, then let it fall back. "No. They're longer than I remembered."
"So? Let's see." He reached into the box.
"I don't know—" she hesitated "—I don't think they'd look right on me." Thea's cheeks grew warm.
"Look." Booker let the glossy pearls slide through his dark fingers. "If it's too long, you can double it. Stand up here and turn around."
"No, I—"
"Come on." He led her to the mirror over the wash-stand and wrapped the strand around her neck. She contemplated the lovely jewels against her somber brown dress. Booker adjusted the necklace, sliding the pearls along her skin until he'd wrapped it around her neck twice and fastened it. The cool pearls caressed the base of her throat.
She met his obsidian gaze in the mirror. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck.
"You're so lovely it pains me," he said softly.
Her heart tripped against her breast.
"Let me see your hair," he said, his voice low and gruff.
In the mirror, her gaze skittered from his to her unruly hair. Several strands had come loose during their ride and spiraled against her neck and cheek. Might as well break him in a little at a time, she thought with wry amusement. He'd see it sooner or later. Just like he'd soon see her body and her freckled skin.
She reached behind and plucked the pins from her hair. Booker's hands pushed hers aside and took over the task, dropping pins on the washstand. The knot loosened and draped over her shoulder. He untwined the hank of hair and threaded his fingers through, grazing her neck and sending shudders coursing through her body.
She turned her head to gauge his expression and he captured her mouth in an eager kiss. He coaxed her shoulder with a gentle hand until she turned easily. Cupping her face in both hands, he drew the kiss out, delicately nudging her nose with his, playfully darting his tongue along the crevice of her parted lips, lingering at the corners, nipping at her lower lip, driving her mad.
His kiss was too gentle, too considerate, too teasing and unsettling. Thea grasped his shirtfront and pulled herself against him, closer to his evasive mouth, closer to the hard-muscled, boundless attraction of his body.
As if sensing her need for a deeper connection, for a less tender fusion, Booker covered her mouth in an ardent, all-consuming clash of lips and teeth and tongues, and tugged her against his wildly beating heart.
Thea's fickle body gave itself over to his, pressing, fluttering, yearning, on a blast of quick-springing desire. He kissed her until her knees grew boneless and she slumped against him. He kissed her until she couldn't breathe and he had to let her up for a staggering breath. Then he kissed her again until he made her completely, perfectly, accessibly his.
He spanned her waist with his enormous hands, stroked her ribs and spine and crushed one breast beneath his palm. He drew back and more tenderly cupped her through the fabric of her dress.
Thea ran her palms over his chest and tentatively touched the skin at the open throat of his shirt. Booker released her long enough to jerk his shirttails from his waistband and coax her hands underneath.
The instant her fingertips met his warm flesh, she was lost in a wave of sensation. His skin was fevered satin to her touch, smooth and firm—a heady, tangible, nerve-zinging pleasure.
She stroked her palms upward from his iron-hard belly to his curl-carpeted chest, and he sucked in a spontaneous breath. He reached behind her neck, and she thought for a moment he intended to remove the necklace. Instead, he manipulated the buttons on the back of her dress free.
Thea closed her eyes and waited without breathing while he worked his way down the buttonholes to her waist. So this was how. He hadn't needed to say a word. He urged the dress forward, and she begrudgingly released him to peel the sleeves down her arms. Her bodice bunched at her waist.
She wasn't the least bit embarrassed.
Booker bent his head and touched his mouth to her collarbone. Waves of pleasure lapped at a soul too long denied hope. She relished his breath against her flesh, his hair as it touched her cheek. She savored the coarse texture of his palms against her bare arms, thrilled at the tingle as his tongue grazed her shoulder.
Covering her lips with his, he moved her away just enough to urge her toward the bed. The backs of her molten knees hit the mattress and buckled. He released her mouth and tugged his shirt up and over his head in a fluid motion, not bothering to unbutton it, and followed her down, tugging on the ribbon that held the front of her chemise closed. The white cotton parted and his dark, hooded eyes drifted to the bare skin between her breasts.
"I knew you'd have freckles here," he whispered.
Thea would have brought her hand up to cover herself, but he lowered his head. She caught her breath. He touched his tongue to the spot he'd mentioned, turned his head and nuzzled her soft, sensitive flesh. His evening beard prickled, a titillating contrast, she discovered, and she drove her fingers through h
is silky hair.
He raised and kissed her, pressing her shoulders against the bed with his weight. Through the thin cotton chemise, his springy chest hair teased her breasts.
She was his tactile prisoner.
Through her haze of passion, Thea heard her name. "Thea?"
She stiffened and listened. Booker obviously heard it, too, and pulled away.
"Thea?" Lucas's voice called down the hall. "Zoe needs you."
"She'll be right there," Booker called over his shoulder.
Their gazes collided and danced away. Booker sat back, and Thea's hand fell from his shoulder. She touched her tongue to her puffy lips and frowned. She couldn't get her fingers to turn her sleeves right side out.
Booker moved and caught up her sleeves for her. "After you see to Zoe, I'll take you home."
Embarrassed now, she turned her back for him to button her dress. She tried ineffectually to gather her hair into order.
"It's okay," he said against her neck. "Just one more night."
She turned then and looked him full in the face. His eyes shone with an ardent light, his lips glossed and full from their kisses. The shadows the lantern cast defined each hill and plane of his solid shoulders and muscled torso.
"One more night," she agreed and turned, knowing in her impatient heart it would be the longest night of her life.
* * *
Lynette Rawlings, decked out in her best summer batiste dress, finished playing a hymn, and the last organ notes quavered on the morning air. Every head turned and every eye trained on Thea, where she stood in the rear doorway of the wood-frame church, a delicate bouquet of violets trembling in her grasp.
"This is it, Thea-girl," Jim Coulson said softly at her side. She thanked God for her father's size and strength as he took her elbow and led her toward the preacher and Booker. The aisle they walked seemed an interminable length, the parted onlookers an obscure sea of faces. Thea drank in the sight of Booker, tall and smart in his dark suit, shining knee-high black boots encasing his feet and calves.
Watching the play of emotion in his night-storm gaze as they neared, a ripple of excitement darted up her spine.
Land of Dreams Page 13
