The feel of the earth and the smell of new grass gave him purpose. “I’m making a mess of this, Jayne, but I’m sincere. Love is amazing. At first it’s a mountain stream, all fresh and new. Sometimes the excitement trickles to nothing, but other times the stream grows big and strong and it turns into a river. Rivers feed farms and families. They’re the blood of the land.”
“I know about rivers,” she replied. “They carry away the rain.”
Her voice was barely a whisper, faint with coming sleep, so he said nothing. Instead he listened to the hum of the earth, the stirring of a breeze and the sleep-induced rhythm of her breath blending into the day. He didn’t bother to stifle a yawn of his own. Instead he laid himself next to her and curled on his side, being careful to keep a good twelve inches between them.
He was staring at a tiny mole on the nape of her neck when she scooted back and nestled her hips against his. He should have pulled away, but instead he slid his shoulder beneath her head. Earlier today, she’d offered him comfort with a simple hug. He was just returning the favor.
Soaking in the rays of the sun, Ethan closed his eyes and fell sound asleep.
Jayne woke up from her nap with Ethan’s knee pinning her legs to the ground and his hand resting on her tummy. His quiet snores filled her ear, and puffs of his breath were tickling her neck and making her shiver. She wanted the moment to last all afternoon, so she held still and let him sleep.
As his snoring changed to deep inhalations, he slid his hand up her torso and cupped her breast. A rush of heat pulsed from her chest to toes, and she had to force herself to lie still. Ethan would be horrified if he woke up now and, to tell the truth, she was enthralled with the sensations coming from his touch. His fingers were doing wicked things to the tender tip of her breast, and he didn’t seem at all inclined to stop. To keep from moaning, she bit her lip and clutched a fistful of the blanket. Ethan pressed tighter, cupping her bottom with his hips, fully aroused and searching.
Struggling to breathe evenly, she thought about his mountain stream. Maybe this was their start. Maybe he was dreaming about her and not remembering his wife. Maybe they had a chance. She was about to test that hope with a touch of her own when his hand stopped moving in mid-caress. His breath caught and he jerked away from her.
“Holy hell,” he muttered, pushing to his feet.
Jayne pretended to be asleep, but she stole a peek at him as he walked to the roan. After adjusting his pants, he unhooked the canteen, gulped water and then scrubbed his face with his hand. Without looking at her, he said, “Wake up. We have to go.”
He’d helped himself to a little sugar. Now it was time for a little sass. Jayne sat up, stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “I fell asleep. What were you saying about the birds and the bees?”
He glowered at her. “Nothing I’m going to repeat.”
“Are you sure? I liked what I heard before I dozed.”
Ethan jammed the plug in the canteen so hard that the water sloshed, then he looked straight at her. “I’m a damn fool. Don’t listen to a word I say. Ever.”
That was fine with Jayne. Actions spoke louder than words, and he’d just been holding her close. Raton was miles away and they’d be alone on the trail, sharing meals and a blanket of stars. A smart woman could do a lot of persuading in that time, and that’s what she planned to do.
Two days later, Ethan decided that he had lost his mind. What else could explain these strange mood shifts? One minute he’d be telling Jayne a funny story about growing up in Missouri and the next he’d feel so bitter he could taste his own bile. It was all so damn unfair. For no good reason, he’d lost his family to a pointless fire. His wife was dead, and he wasn’t.
Mother Nature had driven that point home in spades when he’d woken up with his hand on Jayne’s breast and Old Faithful rubbing up against her bottom. He’d been dreaming in vivid color and full sensation. It had been the kind of dream he’d once cherished because it brought Laura to life. He could see her again, smell her skin, touch her hair—but it wasn’t Laura who had been in his thoughts at that moment.
It was the damnably cheerful woman riding about twenty paces in front of him. The ride to Raton had turned to pure hell, and it was all her fault.
Ethan, did you see those wildflowers? They’re gorgeous… Look at that cloud. It’s shaped like a cottontail rabbit… Ethan, breathe deep. You can smell spring…
Like a fool, he’d inhaled through his nose. Sure enough, he smelled warm grass, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Instead he’d huffed. “It smells like cow dung to me.”
And as for the damn cloud, it hadn’t looked a thing like a cottontail. It looked like what it was—a cloud—and that’s what he had told her. He’d been trying to make her mad enough to shut up, but instead she had pointed to the sky, told him to squint and darn near convinced him that the cloud had two ears and a puffy tail.
She had a way of sliding into his thoughts, but he’d managed to keep his distance in a physical sense. He had made it a rule to stay at least five feet away from her at all times and especially at night. The downside of the plan was having a clear view of her in the firelight. Her hair shimmered when she brushed it, and her breasts filled her shirt in a way that left little to his imagination.
“Ethan, look!”
At the sight of her peering over the trail’s edge, he swallowed a curse. He knew what she’d discovered. Rainbow Falls was a piece of heaven on earth, and he had intended to ride by it without stopping.
Scowling, he rode up next to her and peered into the canyon. Just as he recalled, a rushing creek spilled over an old rockslide, curved along copper-colored boulders and formed a deep pool. The still water mirrored the sky and the trees, and patches of primrose were in full bloom.
It was too damn pretty to be tolerated. “We have some daylight left. Let’s keep going.”
Jayne smiled up at him like an elf. “Remember what you said about boys learning to fish?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You can teach me.” She gave a deliberate yawn. “Plus I’m plain worn out. I’d really like to stop.”
Ethan didn’t stand a chance against the fatigue in her wide eyes. He had a string and a hook in his pocket, but under no circumstances would he break his five-foot rule. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll catch and clean, and you cook. How does that sound?”
“We have a deal.” When she offered him her hand, he took it before he could think. Fire shot through him. Why did she have to be so damn pretty and so god-awful optimistic? Why did she have to turn clouds into bunny rabbits and trout into a feast?
With a quick grin, she turned Buck and rode down the narrow canyon trail. Ethan wanted to ride in the opposite direction, but he couldn’t. He’d just have to be careful to keep his distance. Five feet wasn’t far enough, but surely ten would be plenty.
After they tethered the horses and set up camp, Ethan went fishing. He had a knack, and soon they were eating trout and canned peaches. Just as he planned, Jayne was on one side of the fire and he was on the other. She had to shout to be heard over the rushing water, and that was just fine by Ethan.
After she’d taken the last bite of her meal, she set the plate down and flopped on her back with her fingers laced behind her neck. Peering into the pinyon branches, she said, “We have company.”
Ethan looked up and saw a pair of squirrels chasing each other. Every now and then, the male stopped and shook his tail at the female. It was mating behavior in all its earthly splendor.
“It’s looks like Sammy Squirrel is in love,” said Jayne.
Ethan harrumphed at her. Sammy Squirrel was a lust-filled rodent. He wanted one thing from the female, and Ethan knew for a fact that it wasn’t love. “He’s just being a squirrel,” he said.
A pinecone thudded to the ground as the female leaped to a lower branch with Sammy in hot pursuit. When a high-pitched twittering crescendoed, there wasn’t a doubt in Ethan’s mind that Sammy
was having his way with the female.
He glanced at Jayne. Her cheeks had blushed a pretty pink and she looked both wide-eyed and shy. Overhead, the pine needles were still shivering. A twig landed smack in Ethan’s coffee cup.
“Damn rodents,” he muttered as he fished it out with his finger. “I hate squirrels.”
Jayne’s lips pulled into an odd smile. “Why?”
He wasn’t about to engage in a debate about the worth of horny rodents, not when he had been having similar thoughts all day. Old Sammy had it easy. He’d eat his supper, have a go at the female and fall asleep. That’s exactly what Ethan wanted to do, but he had a conscience that wouldn’t let him use Jayne in that way, even if she’d let him. He had promised to protect her, and that meant from himself as well as LeFarge.
Heaving a sigh, he stared up into a tree where the two squirrels were perched on a branch, eating nuts and no doubt resting up for round two. Ethan was giving serious consideration to fetching his rifle and making squirrel stew when the critters scampered away.
“Ethan?”
“What?” he growled.
“Are you upset? You’ve been cross all day.”
Hell yes, he was cross, but it was none of her business. “I’m all right.”
Jayne nodded and then looked up. He followed her gaze to a scrub jay that had perched on a low branch just above his head.
“The birds in Kentucky are bright colors,” she shouted over the rumble of the stream. “Do you have cardinals here?”
When Ethan turned his head to shout his answer, the jay took off. A glop of something vile landed smack on his shoulder. “Holy hell!”
The damn bird had crapped on him. It wasn’t just a little splat, either. The damn thing had left a blessing the size of a pancake.
“Oh, my God!” Jayne jumped to her feet, hurried to him and dropped to her knees between his sprawled legs. Before he could wrap his tongue around something other than a curse, she had opened the top two buttons of his shirt. “I’ve never seen that happen before.”
Ethan could only sputter.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. “I’ll wash it in the creek.”
He shook his head, not knowing whether he wanted to howl with laughter, cry with the need he felt with Jayne between his legs, or shake his fist at God who’d taken his wife and left him alone to suffer the wants of being a man. He ended up doing all three, with the hard laughter making his eyes water.
Chuckling with him, Jayne finished undoing the buttons while wrinkling her nose at the glop on his shoulder. “This is disgusting. Now I know why cowboys wear hats.”
Ethan laughed even harder, but wearing a hat had nothing to do with birds. He wore a hat to keep the sun off his face. With Jayne so close, he was taking the full force of her special heat and light. She smelled like the mesquite smoke from the campfire, and her eyes had a glow that tore his heart in two.
Feelings—good ones and hard ones alike—welled like a spring flood, and his heart thumped like a rock being dragged along the bottom of a streambed.
Being careful to keep the bird mess from his skin, she was sliding the shirt off his shoulder. He crooked his elbow to free his arm and sat still as she maneuvered the cotton around his back.
He turned his head to help and accidentally pressed his cheek against the side of her breast. When she didn’t pull away, Ethan knew that she’d say yes if he asked her to sleep with him tonight. The humor of the moment dissolved into a haze of miserable desire. His heart would always belong to Laura, and he intended to honor his wife’s memory until the day he died. He had to keep that promise. It was all that kept him from loving Jayne, and loving again meant risking a heartache he couldn’t endure.
After she freed his other arm from the sleeve, Jayne crouched between his knees and looked into his eyes, asking questions he didn’t want to answer. All he could do was stare at her, stony and silent, until she pushed to her feet with his dirty shirt crumpled in her hand.
Ethan stood and reached for the cotton. “You stay here. I’ll wash the damn shirt.”
She stuffed it into his hand and pulled her face into a frown. “Go right ahead. I’ll be upstream. Don’t come looking for me.”
Not sure what to say, he watched as she trudged past a boulder, then he glanced down at the spot where he’d been sitting. The bird had shed a pretty feather. It reminded him of Josh and everything he had lost, so he put it in his pocket and then walked to the pond.
Crouching behind a thicket of willows, he swished the shirt in the clear water and splashed his upper body. It wasn’t enough to clear his thoughts, so he stripped down to bare skin and waded into the waist-deep pool. His whole body tingled with the shock, but he still dunked below the surface. Holding his breath, he felt a pressure building in his lungs as Laura’s gentle presence came to him. He could see her eyes, her hair up in a loose knot, the tilt of her chin. It would have been a fine moment, but he had the distinct feeling she was annoyed with him.
Now, Ethan, be nice.
How often had she nudged him to hold his tongue? Almost every day, it had seemed. His chest burned with the old memory and a new shame. Jayne had done nothing but offer kindness and respect, and he’d been as sour as vinegar. She deserved better.
As he broke through the surface, he sucked in a lungful of air. The five-foot rule had to stay in place, but tonight he’d manage a bit of conversation. It was the least he could do for the woman who made him see bunny rabbits in the clouds.
Chapter Twelve
N eeding to get away from Ethan, Jayne fled upstream to the base of the rockslide where water was rushing in a roar that matched her thoughts. She found a flat boulder and sat, drawing her knees to her chest. The sun had dipped below the horizon and she felt the weight of dusk on her shoulders.
Tonight would be awful. They would sleep on opposite sides of the fire. She’d listen to Ethan’s breathing, or else he wouldn’t sleep at all. She’d ache to go to him, but she wouldn’t. He’d just made his feelings clear, and last night he had hurt her even worse. Jarred awake by a howling coyote, she had seen him standing with his hands on his hips, staring at the stars.
“What do you see?” she had asked.
“I see heaven.”
She had understood that he was remembering his family. Wanting to share that need, she had started to stand.
He had waved her off with a scowl. “Go back to sleep.”
She’d been hurt to the core. She had nothing but respect for his memories. Laura was as much a part of him as the schoolhouse where he had learned to read or the farm where he had grown up. Jayne understood that fact. She didn’t begrudge him a past love. What mattered to her was the here and now. She wanted to share his feelings, good and bad, but he’d cut her off as if she were a stranger.
Her rope of hope was beginning to fray. She’d had plenty of time to reflect on Ethan caressing her during that afternoon nap. She’d been the woman in his arms, but Laura most likely had been the woman in his dreams.
Aching inside, Jayne slid off the rock, stripped to her underthings and splashed water on her exposed skin. She was still worried about LeFarge, but her heart was in danger, too. The longer she stayed with Ethan, the harder it would be to leave him. She had her sewing tools and most of her clothes. If she stayed in Raton, she could find work and save.
She also had a new name. Tears pressed behind her eyes. Ethan had marked her as his wife in a legal sense, but he didn’t love her and he never would. It was time to face facts and move on with her life.
As she stepped out of the creek, a roll of thunder filled the canyon. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She had once weathered a tornado in a cellar, and she hadn’t forgotten the raw terror that had gripped her in the dark. To this day, thunder scared her half to death.
Jayne yanked on her clothes and hurried down the path to the camp where Ethan had already gathered their things and moved the horses. He had put on a fresh shirt and was dousing the campfire when he s
aw her.
“Mother Nature’s going to put on a show,” he said. “There’s a place to shelter in those rocks. We’ll have a view you won’t believe.”
Jayne glanced at the sky. “I hate storms.”
To her utter shock, Ethan broke into a smile. “That has to change. Storms are meant to be enjoyed, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
A clap of thunder rumbled through the air. “We better hurry,” he said, nodding at two leaning boulders that formed a huge vee. “I’ve already set up camp.”
The thunder clapped again and Jayne took off faster than a rabbit. A drop of rain smacked her cheek and the wind howled through the trees as she ran. She dived for cover in the vee just as the sky let loose with a deluge.
“We made it.” Breathing deep, she sat on the blanket Ethan had spread, drew her knees to her chest and covered herself with a second blanket.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “I can build a fire.”
She gave a tight shake of her head. “I’m fine. The blanket’s enough.”
He dropped down about five feet away from her. When the sky flashed white, he started to count. “One one-thousand, two one-thousand—”
At an earsplitting kaboom, Jayne buried her face against her knees. She felt like a child cowering at a storybook monster, but she couldn’t stop herself from trembling. Some feelings ran bone-deep and her fear of storms was one of them. When the reverberations passed, she dared to peer up at Ethan who was grinning like a fiend.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she said.
“I like storms.” In the purplish light she saw him staring across the landscape, lost in thought until he turned to her. “I didn’t start really watching them until I moved to the ranch. The thunder made me feel less alone, as if God really did understand the misery. As for the lightning, those flashes of brightness gave me hope.”
West of Heaven Page 13
