by Tess LeSue
“Are you here just to harangue me?” Matt tossed the fish guts into the river.
“No. I’m here to tell you to do your husbandly duty. Nothing brings a person back to life like a bit of—”
“That’s enough!” Matt cut her off. Goddamn it, he was blushing.
“It’s the most natural urge there is,” Seline kept on, ignoring his bashfulness. “Nothing reminds you that you’re alive like skin on skin. When it’s someone you actually like,” she added. “And she sure likes you.”
He should have lit out of there before she continued, but he didn’t. Part of him wanted to hear what she had to say. Because, truth be told, he was out of his depth with his wife.
“Look, Slater, I know you’ve lived half your life in the woods with the bears and the badgers, and you don’t have even half an idea of what a woman needs at a time like this. Or ever. So I’m here to tell you. What she needs is you.”
Matt shook his head. She didn’t need him. He’d done nothing but fail her.
“Yes, she damn well does,” Seline argued.
“You don’t know that.”
“Ha! Do you know how many idiot husbands have come crawling up my skirts instead of going to bed with their grieving wives? Too damn many. The longer you let this go on, the worse it’ll be. Grief is a lonely hell. Get in there with her and fuck her through it.”
“Jesus, Seline.” He got to his feet. “Do you have to be so crude?”
Seline gave a shrug. “What do you expect? I’m a whore. And not even a fancy one.” She kicked her feet back and forth in the water and sighed, looking older than her years. “Sex is a powerful thing. Most of the idiots I see don’t even know it. They go at it like they’re tossing back a glass of cheap hooch. It’s just an itch to scratch for them. But it can be a powerful weapon, or a moment of grace. I’ve been raped and I’ve been used, but I’ve also been made love to.” Her eyes were sad. “And those moments of love were the best moments of my entire life. They reached places in me I thought had been destroyed. You’ve got the power to reach her, Slater. To show her that things ain’t over. That it’s just the season before things grow again.”
Matt stared at the bloody knife. “What if she says no?”
Seline shrugged. “Then she says no and you stop. But you ain’t going to know what she’ll say unless you try it. She married you, didn’t she? She must want you. But she’s an eastern lady, and they have some queer ideas about what’s proper. I don’t imagine she’d be starting things.”
Matt had a disturbing thought. “How did you know that we haven’t . . . ?”
Seline laughed. “Fucking’s my business. You got that pent-up look.”
“I don’t want to take advantage of her.”
“Hell and damnation, honey, you won’t. If you were the type to take advantage of her, you would have done it by now.”
He turned that over in his mind as he finished filleting the fish.
Seline let out a moony sigh. “Your brother was just the same. Your momma sure made some fine men.”
He made a noise of disgust. He didn’t want to hear about Seline and his brother.
She took the hint and fell silent, although he heard her give a few more moony sighs, so he was under no illusion what she was thinking about.
“Hey,” Seline called when he was done and moving off, “are there any more like you at home?”
“Yeah,” he called over his shoulder, “Tom. Only he don’t stay home much.”
“Well, you tell him to come calling at my place if he ever passes through California.”
Matt snorted. It wasn’t likely. Tom was even more uncomfortable with women than he was.
34
GOD HELP HIM, he was going to do it. He was going to seduce her. At least, he was going to try.
Matt could barely think, he was so nervous. He was so unsteady he cut himself shaving and had to ask Seline to finish the job. He was scared he might slit his own throat; it was much safer to let her handle the blade and swipe away his whiskers. While she had him, she also forced him to sit still so she could cut his hair. Although she seemed less interested in his hair than whether he’d done everything she’d told him to do.
“You pitched the tent already?” she asked. “Somewhere nice and private? Somewhere pretty?” He nodded and she shrieked. “Don’t move or I’ll cut your ear off!”
He froze.
“And you sent those little ’uns to pick flowers, like I told you?”
He’d learned his lesson about nodding and merely grunted an assent.
“Maybe it’s a good thing it took you so long to get your nerve up,” she said as the scissors rasped, sending his dark hair tumbling into his lap. “If you’d decided to do this back in the desert, there wouldn’t be so much as a grass stalk to pick, let alone any flowers.”
After the Basin, they’d faced the Forty Mile Desert, another merciless stretch of land that just about desiccated them. But there were certainly plenty of flowers now that they were in the lower reaches of the Sierra Nevadas. Susannah and Ginger had taken his instructions to heart and had strung long chains of wildflowers every which way around the tent.
“It’s your honeymoon,” Susannah told him impatiently when he commented that they might be overdoing it. “That’s what you told us.”
“Do they have this many flowers on honeymoons back east?” he’d asked. It seemed a bit much, in his opinion.
“More,” Susannah told him, outraged. “When Felicity duBonnet’s brother got married, they had seven hundred lilies. That’s what Felicity said.”
“I thought lilies were for death?” Ginger wrinkled her nose.
“These are different lilies than those ones. Big, trumpety ones. They smell a lot. We had them in the greenhouse.”
Females and flowers, Matt thought in bewilderment. He was glad he’d asked the girls to help, or he would have been sure to botch it.
“You look very nice,” Susannah whispered to him, when he slunk back from getting his hair cut. “It’s good to see you washed your shirt too.”
“Thanks,” he whispered back.
“You shaved,” Georgiana blurted when she saw him. She was far enough out of her grief that her gaze lingered on his haircut and dropped to the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. Maybe Seline was right, Matt thought. Maybe she was ready to make their marriage a real one . . . His stomach gave an unsteady jolt.
He saw the children hovering by the wagon, watching them closely. Thank God they had no idea what people really got up to on honeymoons or he might have died of embarrassment. It was bad enough that he caught the LeFoy girls smirking at one another. And he had no beard to hide his blush anymore.
“Yeah, I shaved,” he said stupidly. “I thought we might go for a walk?”
“At this time of day?” She frowned at him. The brilliant sunset was in full bloom, and the camp was buzzing with evening activity. This was one of her busiest times of day.
“Yeah.” God, he seemed to have swallowed his tongue. “Seline said she could feed the kids.”
“Did she?” One dark eyebrow rose archly. She still didn’t like Seline, and she certainly didn’t approve of Matt speaking to her. Which was also a good sign, wasn’t it? If she was jealous, it meant she cared.
“Yeah.” Hell. Was that all he could say? Yeah. He sounded like an idiot.
Idiot or not, she took off her apron and came with him. She looked tired, which made him feel guilty as hell. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was taking advantage of her. She should be left alone to grieve.
Only . . .
Seline was right: the loneliness of her grief was wearing Georgiana away. He could see it in the tiredness around her eyes and the brittle way that she moved, like an old woman. He led her gently through the grassland, crossing the stream where the twins had rolled boulders in to use as
stepping stones. She didn’t notice the setup until they were almost right on top of it.
“What’s this?” she gasped.
They’d reached the rolling hill where he’d pitched the tent. She stopped dead at the sight of it. They’d done a good job of it, if he did say so himself. The tent glowed pale against the stands of pine and ash, facing the easy slope of grass leading down to the stream. A lantern burned on the picnic rug, ready for the evening to fall. The girls had garlanded the entrance of the tent with wild roses, larkspur and late-flowering yarrow, and there was a bunch of wallflowers propped in a water pitcher in the middle of the rug.
Georgiana looked stupefied. There was a hint of her old self in those summer blue eyes. It gave Matt a lick of courage.
“I thought you deserved a break,” he said honestly. “I’ve got supper waiting for us.” A supper cooked by Seline, but he wasn’t dumb enough to tell her that.
Gingerly, she sank to the blanket. “There’s enough food here for ten people.”
“Yeah.” That was the twins’ doing. He’d tried telling them that Georgiana’s appetite wasn’t as large as theirs, but they didn’t believe it. They’d even harassed Seline into baking a pie. Maybe so they could eat the leftover stewed fruit. When he’d left the camp, they’d been sitting with huge bowls of the stuff, their mouths smeared with sugary syrup.
“She likes sweet things,” Flip insisted innocently.
“You don’t want her too full,” Seline had warned Matt.
“Too full for what?”
She gave him a significant look.
Matt had turned bright red and taken himself off at that point.
“Is that wine?” Georgiana sounded astonished. Astonished was better than tired, at least.
“Blackberry wine.” He’d never had it before. Seline had donated that too.
Georgiana had gone all still now. She knew what was up; that was clear. How could she not? The tent wasn’t just pitched, it was lit with low lamplight, so it glowed like a firefly in the lavender dusk; through the open flaps, she could see the strands of wildflowers and the thick pile of quilts. The scene screamed seduction.
As did his extreme awkwardness.
He busied himself pouring the wine, the scent of the rich fruit rising to join the smell of river water and forest and flowers.
“It’s good,” she said quietly once she’d tasted it.
He didn’t know what to say next, so he didn’t say anything. He busied himself making them plates of food. They ate in silence, the tension getting thicker by the moment. The lavender dusk became a deep purple evening. Cicada song rose from the forest behind them, and the fresh perfume of pine and roses and water intensified. They ate the food and drank the wine and sank into their silence. A full yellow moon broke over the horizon, heavy in the summer night and seeming close enough to touch.
She made a hopeless little noise when she saw it. “Did you arrange that as well?”
It wasn’t a good hopeless little noise. She sounded panicked.
Matt put his plate down. This wasn’t right. It should have been as romantic as all hell, but instead it just felt . . . wrong. He’d ambushed her. And she wasn’t exactly swooning.
“Ah hell,” he said, “I cain’t do this.”
She was staring at him like she was a baby rabbit about to be clubbed. He sighed.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. I just thought . . . you look so lonely, and so sad. I thought this might cheer you up. But it was dumb. You don’t need to be cheered up. You just need to be left alone. I got no right foisting myself on you like this, especially after what I promised you before our wedding.” He poured himself another glass of wine. “Why don’t we just have dinner and forget the damn tent is even there. Whenever you want, I’ll walk you back to the camp.”
They were close enough to the camp that he could hear the faint sound of the LeFoy girls singing as they washed their dishes. Even that distant song should have been romantic, he thought glumly. But of course it wasn’t. The woman had just lost her son.
“Sorry,” he mumbled again. He’d lost his appetite. He was so stupid. This whole thing was stupid. It was an insult to Wilby’s memory.
“It’s fine,” she said, but her voice was trembling. Her eyes had filled with tears.
“No, it’s not. It wasn’t fair. You’re in no state to be . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence and drained his wine instead.
“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t seem to have much appetite either, judging by the way she pushed her food around the plate.
“Just enjoy the peace,” he suggested gruffly. “You deserve a night with no chores.”
And that’s what he gave her. They drank the wine and ate the pie, and then lay back on the rug, cushioned by soft grass, staring up at the huge sky, the stars clearer than ever in the mountain air. Matt relaxed now that he wasn’t aiming for seduction. The night unfolded gently, a slow and beautiful late summer evening. He could smell her beside him, that scent he couldn’t name that was uniquely Georgiana. He heard her breathe a deep, contented sigh and he smiled. He closed his eyes and soaked it in. This was the best he’d felt for weeks. He got so relaxed that he drifted off to sleep, listening to the wind in the pines and the soft sound of her breathing beside him.
* * *
• • •
GEORGIANA FELT LIKE she’d stepped through a magic veil into another world. The night closed in, lusciously purple, humming with the sounds of summer insects and thick with herbal scents. It was like something from a dream.
Every breath she took was a tonic. She could taste the night on her tongue. A playful mountain breeze dashed over their small field and soughed through the pines.
She felt like she’d been buried deep in the earth and had only just emerged, pebbles of dank soil falling from her as she faced the wild and breathing night. It was the first time since Wilby’s death that she’d been away from the camp, away from the wagon, away from the tomb of her tent and away from the scrutiny of people.
The thought of Wilby wasn’t a fresh-cut pain tonight. It was a deeper ache, arthritic and dull. She didn’t feel the need to keep him in the forefront of her thoughts. There was something about being out here in the wild, in the dark, that let her release her tight grip on his memory.
The majesty of the mountains hulking behind the pines and the vast spread of the sky, along with the slow rise of the moon, which went from parchment yellow to bone white as it rose, and the infinite scattering of stars winking at her: all of it made her feel small. And in her smallness, she felt her grief diminish. Who was she? Only one creature among many. She could hear the scurry of creatures through the grass, the hooting of owls, the splashing of something in the river: so many creatures crawling on the earth, each of them with their own grief and pain.
She turned her head to where Matt was sprawled beside her. He had his pains as much as she had hers. On the trail through the desert he had told her about the loss of his parents. And about the nights he had sat up, alone, in the cabin he and his brothers had built, the only human for miles around. About how they’d left him to go wandering and how he’d been scared of the dark and the unexplained noises. About how he took to sitting up, rifle in hand, feeding the fire. So many long hours, alone, an orphaned boy in the wilderness.
And yet here he was, a man. No longer feeding the fire to keep the dark at bay. Able to smile, able to move through the world without pain and fear.
And one day she would be able to do the same.
She watched him sleep. The faintest of frowns marred his brow, but otherwise, he was peaceful. His eyelashes were thick fans, dark as sable, and his dimples were shallow grooves in his clean-shaven cheeks. She felt a pang. He’d gone to so much trouble. He’d even cut his hair and worn his nicest shirt. And then there was this feast and all these
flowers . . . She stole a glance at the inside of the tent, where the lantern still flickered, picking out the colors of the wildflowers: pink here, lacy white there. The nest of quilts looked inviting, but not inviting enough to tempt her away from the night outside. She was tired of being closeted away.
As quietly as possible, she cleared their supper off the rug, moving the great bunch of blue flowers in the pitcher, and then she pulled a quilt from the tent and tucked it around Matt. The night breezes had a cool edge. He opened his eyes a crack.
“Walk you back,” he mumbled.
“No,” she said quickly, “I like it here. Sleep.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Still mostly asleep, he turned his head to press his cheek against her hand. She ran her fingers gently through his hair and he sighed. “Sleep,” she said again.
“You?” His voice was thick. He was barely awake.
“Soon.”
He sighed and surrendered to sleep. She tucked the quilt around him. Then she extinguished the lanterns. There was no real need for them as the full moon cast a bright silvery light. She turned her face to the sky, bathing in it.
She didn’t know how long she sat there. It felt eternal. The peace sank into her bones. She drank the rest of the blackberry wine and listened to the symphony of the forest. The faint sounds of their small wagon train had faded away as the night aged and people drifted off to sleep, until Georgiana might have been the only person left in the world . . . save for Matt, who was breathing softly beside her.
She took off her boots and stockings, enjoying the feel of the cool grass against her toes. As she wriggled them in the silky grass, she picked at the leftover pie, pulling syrupy apple pieces loose and eating them with her fingers. It was magical, being so alone in such majesty. But perhaps it was only magical because Matt was here, she thought, licking apple syrup from her fingers. She might have been afraid if he wasn’t here beside her: afraid of the darkness and the forest and the unknown. But with him here, relaxed, she was relaxed too.
She was sticky now from pie and wine. Not just pie and wine, she amended, pulling a face. It had been a long time since she’d bathed properly. She must smell awfully ripe. It was amazing that he’d wanted to seduce her at all. She had a sudden urge to get clean, and she’d had just enough wine to consider going for a swim. There was a stream running through the field; it wasn’t a big one and would prove no risk to swim in. She doubted if it would even come up to her neck. The water was crystal clear in the moonlight, so clear she could make out the individual stones on the bottom when she reached the edge of it. She’d dragged a quilt from the tent with her to wrap around herself afterward. She dumped it on the banks and, feeling wicked, began peeling her clothes off. She darted a couple of quick looks at Matt, just to check that he was still sleeping—he was—and let her filthy traveling clothes fall away.
