Anything for You

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  His breath pulsed savagely against her as he loosened the ribbons on her chemise. The brush of his fingers against her inflamed her craving. As he swept her remaining clothes aside, she clung to him, wanting the joy only he could give her.

  His fingers skimmed higher along her leg as his lips branded fire into her. She moaned when his tongue circled her breast before drawing its tip into his mouth, taunting it to hardness beneath his gentle assault. Moving against him with the rhythm his hand was creating on her thigh, all thought faded.

  She gasped his name when his fingers sought the depths of the flame within her. Each probing stroke accelerated the blazing heat until it threatened to devour her. Hearing his breathless voice against her ear, she could not understand anything but desire.

  When he leaned over her again, his rasping breaths filled her mouth as he melded them into one. Everything evaporated in the craving which consumed her. She became the sensation of his body over and within her. As need metamorphosed into ecstasy, she shattered into perfection.

  A knock on the door woke Gypsy. She rubbed her eyes as it swung open.

  Adam peeked in and asked, “A cup of swamp water to get your day started before the other flunkeys get here, Gypsy?”

  “That sounds excellent.” She wished he would come closer, so she could let her fingers curve along his unyielding jaw again. “And another piece of that pie before it gets gobbled up.”

  He shoved the door aside as he carried two cups toward her. “What pie?”

  “The sweet potato pie.”

  He put the cups on the table. “Sweet potato pie? Are you all right?” He put his hand on her forehead. “You’re all sweaty. Did your fever return last night? Maybe you should stay in bed today.”

  When he tucked the blanket more tightly around her, Gypsy stretched past him to look at the floor.

  “What do you want?” he asked. “Did you lose something?”

  She stared up at him. Why didn’t he know she wanted him? Didn’t he know she had lost her virginity to him?

  Or had she?

  Her fingers groped at her throat where the high collar of her nightgown was damp, but not torn from his passionate haste. The pillow beside her bore no indentation from his head resting there as they slept cuddled together. Frowning, she reached up to touch the front of his shirt. No buttons were missing.

  His hand over hers imprisoned her fingers against the rough flannel. “Can I hope this is your answer?” Gentle humor filled his voice. “Do you want me?”

  Shouts came from the kitchen as the other flunkeys arrived for the beginning of the day. Adam bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Telling her he would let the others know she was going to rest a while longer, he walked out of the room.

  She hid her face in her hands. For the love of heaven, the ecstasy had been only her imagination heightened by a fever that was not as hot as his touch had been—a touch she must never allow herself to savor beyond her fantasies, or this last, most precious dream could be destroyed forever.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  At the sound of footsteps which were lighter than any male boots, Gypsy paused. The glitter of interest in the flunkeys’ eyes warned her who was walking toward them. She wiped her hands on her apron as she turned to greet Rose Quinlan, who looked like an angel in pale pink wool.

  “Miss Elliott?” Rose’s squeaky voice ruined the perfection of her pose and reminded Gypsy that Rose could not be much more than a girl.

  “This is a surprise,” Gypsy answered. When the young woman’s brows wrinkled in a frown, she added, “A very pleasant surprise. How can I help you, Miss Quinlan?”

  Rose turned her back on the men staring at her. Raising her chin in disgust, she pointed toward Gypsy’s room. “I would appreciate some privacy.”

  “Go ahead, Miss Quinlan. I’ll be with you as soon as I finish here.”

  “As soon as—but this is important!”

  “So is being sure the jacks are fed.” Gypsy smiled coldly. “Farley wouldn’t be pleased if his loggers went hungry.”

  Rose turned on her heel and walked toward Gypsy’s room.

  When the men started to grumble, Gypsy ordered, “Get to work. You can complain just as well while you’re working. As soon as Adam and Oscar get back from delivering lunch, tell them to start tonight’s desserts.”

  She went to her room before someone could see her relief that Adam was not here. If he had an inkling of how her fantasies had come to life in her fevered mind, she did not know what she would do. Or what he would do. Would he laugh? Or would he try to persuade her to make that dream come true in his arms?

  Closing the door, she forced a polite smile. She pushed all thoughts of Adam from her head as her smile became a frown.

  Rose turned from examining the items on the table. Without apologizing for her curiosity, the blonde sat on the chair as if she were a queen awaiting an audience with her humblest subject.

  Gypsy sat on her bed and asked, “What is it you didn’t want to discuss out there?”

  “I want to leave Calvin.”

  “What?” This was the last thing she had expected Rose to say. “Why?”

  Nervously, she rubbed her gloved hands together. “I have my reasons, Miss Elliott.” She touched a bump beneath her glove.

  Gypsy guessed it must be a large gem set in a ring. After hearing the adoration in Farley’s voice each time he spoke of his mistress, she should have guessed he was beggaring himself to buy Rose grand gifts.

  “Why do you want to leave Farley?” Gypsy asked.

  Rose moistened her wide, bottom lip. “I would prefer to leave private matters out of this.”

  Gypsy leaned her elbow on the iron footboard. “Then why did you want to speak to me?”

  “I want you to convince Calvin to let me leave.”

  “Me?” She choked, then laughed. “I don’t know what you think, but it’s purely business between Calvin Farley and me.”

  Rose put her hand over Gypsy’s fingers, which were ingrained with flour. “I’m not suggesting something ridiculous like your replacing me.”

  “I hope not.” She bit back her retort that she had repulsed Farley’s eager proposition the first year she worked at the camp.

  “Miss Elliott, he respects you. He’ll listen to you.”

  “About what?”

  Rising, Rose went to the mirror and adjusted her hat with trembling fingers. Gypsy frowned as she noticed gray crescents beneath Rose’s eyes. Rice powder could not disguise her fear.

  With her hands clasped in a pose of vulnerability, she whispered, “I’m afraid to stay here.”

  “Afraid?” Gypsy stood. “Of what? Certainly not of Farley! The man dotes on you.”

  “It’s not Calvin. It’s—it’s—” Her face lost all remaining color. “It’s someone else.”

  “One of my men?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Elliott.” Tears bubbled from her eyes, and her lip shivered. “I feel his eyes.”

  “You should be accustomed to the stares of the men.”

  “Nissa Jensen is leaving. Her girl was killed. Calvin told me, but he said I shouldn’t worry.”

  “He’s right.”

  A calculated expression aged her face. “I know what you’re thinking. You consider me a mindless fool who has nothing to be frightened of.”

  “How can you expect me to speak to Farley when you won’t tell me why you think you’re in danger?” The temptation to laugh taunted her. Rose Quinlan was scared by shadows. Gypsy wondered how Farley’s mistress would act if she had received the threatening notes Gypsy had. She let out her breath in a soft sigh. There had been no more letters. Maybe whoever was sending them had gotten tired of the sadistic game.

  “All I want you to do is tell him to listen to me,” Rose moaned.

  “I—”

  “Please, Gypsy!”

  She blinked at the fervor in the blonde’s voice. Rose must be terrified. “All right.”

  “Today?”

&n
bsp; “I can’t promise that.”

  “By tomorrow.”

  Sighing, Gypsy nodded. When Rose mumbled her thanks and left, Gypsy sank to the bed. She rested her head on the iron rail as the familiar tightness cramped her chest.

  Why did I agree?

  Rubbing her aching head, she knew if she had not acquiesced, Rose would have created an uproar. This was easier. After a quick conversation with Farley, Rose’s fears would be his problem.

  Gypsy did not appease the flunkeys’ curiosity when she came back into the kitchen. She simply asked how the work was progressing.

  While she was talking with Hank about how long to cook the whole wheat bread, she heard a terrified screech. She whirled to see Bert shaking his arm. Flames rose from his right sleeve. Whipping off her apron, she leaped to wrap it around Bert’s sleeve. Fire ate the thin muslin.

  She pushed him toward the door. “Go!”

  “Help me! Help me! For the love of heaven, help me!”

  “I am!” She tugged on his left arm as shouts came from the other men, drowning out Bert’s cries of pain. “Outside! Come outside.”

  “Help me!” he screeched again.

  She shoved him through the back door. The flames whooshed close to her hair. His feet slid on the ice as he teetered, off balance. She pushed him into the snow. Dropping to her knees, she pressed his right arm into a drift. Smoke rose as the snow hissed and melted. Scooping more snow onto his arm, she ordered him not to move.

  His face was the same gray as the dirty snow. She slowly unwound the charred apron and frowned when she saw the wool had seared into his tortured skin.

  “Here, Gypsy,” came a tight voice from behind her.

  She took the knife and bandaging Adam handed her. Within a minute, she had Bert’s arm bound. She stepped back as Adam assisted Bert to his feet.

  “Go over to Chauncey and tell him to give you a bottle of salve,” she ordered quietly. “Tell him to charge it to the kitchen. Then go back to the bunkhouse and put some right over the bandage. Get in bed and rest. I’ll change the bandages tomorrow. I think we got it out before any permanent damage could be done.”

  Bert gulped as he stared at his arm. When he started to speak, a peculiar expression crossed his face. She almost gasped as she recalled how he had looked the night he confronted her in the kitchen. He wore the same angry scowl as he stamped away, swaying on every step.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Adam glared at the injured man. “He looked riled that you saved his arm.”

  Gypsy shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Slipping his arm around her waist, Adam guided her toward the kitchen. “Come inside before you get cold.” His voice softened. “Have I ever told you how magnificent I think you are?”

  “No!”

  He laughed. “You needn’t sound so flabbergasted by a simple compliment, especially when it’s true.”

  Gypsy wanted to smile, but her lips were too tight. If she spoke to him about the sensuous dream that had left her as sweaty as if the fever had returned, she was not sure what he would do. Laugh? She hoped not. Urge her to make her fantasy come true? He already did that with every touch, with every glance of his fiery eyes.

  Pushing past Adam, she went into the kitchen. She shooed the flunkeys back to their tasks with a warning to be careful. Again she resisted the laugh swirling through her. She was the one who needed to be careful. Adam was assaulting her heart, which must remain barricaded away.

  “What else can happen today?” she asked with a sigh as she began to slice the bread.

  “What do you mean?” asked Adam as he took another knife and matched her motions.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come now, Gypsy. Even you, at your most cryptic, don’t make statements like that.”

  She continued to place the slices on the oilcloth. Not looking at him was easier. If she saw her yearnings mirrored in his eyes, she might not be able to fight the temptation any longer. “I wish things would go back to the way they were before.”

  “Before I arrived?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Her brief smile disappeared. “It’s Rose.”

  He grimaced. “What’s wrong with that empty-headed woman now?”

  “She’s frightened of someone.”

  “Farley?”

  Putting the knife onto her lap, she met Adam’s eyes without flinching. If she concentrated on Rose and her silly problems, she could keep her own cravings silent. “Not Farley, but she wouldn’t tell me who. She pretends not to know, but I suspect she does.”

  “You don’t sound very sure.”

  “I’m not.”

  He leaned across the table and tilted her chin so she could not avoid his gaze, which was filled with curiosity and concern. When his finger grazed her cheek, she rose and carried the bread to the counter. For the love of heaven, even a casual touch threatened to undo her resolve. She walked to the bucket by the stove to rinse crumbs from her hands.

  “Gypsy, what are you hiding?”

  While she dried her hands on a tattered towel, she said, “Nothing. I have no idea why she came here to talk to me. She’s been jealous of every meeting between Farley and me.” A short laugh burst from her lips. “As if I wanted to steal her lover from her.”

  “She knows you could.”

  “Adam, if you want to play at pretty talk, go find Rose and cozy up with her.”

  He crossed the room to her. “That wasn’t a compliment, Gypsy. That was the truth.” His hand slid across her shoulder to curve along her neck. With his thumb tipping her mouth toward his, he whispered, “Any man with a bit of life in him would see you were infinitely more alluring than that child.”

  She held her breath as she waited for the caress of his lips. Slowly her fingers rose to explore the rough warmth of his cheek. His lips twitched, but she could read the truth in his luminous eyes. He wanted her. And she wanted him.

  When he released her without a kiss, she stared in amazement. He sat. Rubbing his left leg, he smiled an apology. She bit back her fury. Why was he still lying to her? Or was he? She was no longer sure of anything.

  “No matter what you think of Farley’s whore,” Adam said, “she’s so scared that she’s put aside her jealousy to beg you to spend time alone with her lover.” Meeting her confused eyes squarely, he asked, “So what are you going to do?”

  “I told her I’d talk to Farley.”

  “And get yourself entangled in this mess?”

  “I already am.”

  “You’re a fool.”

  That she had to agree with, but not for the reason he meant. She was a fool to entangle her life with a man who was not honest with her, but could be put in peril because of her. Others had deemed it a series of unfortunate accidents, as her brother, then her mother, then her father died. She feared it was a curse, that she was the curse. Only her sister had escaped the horror. She could not draw Adam into this torment.

  She dropped the towel onto the woodbox. “Maybe this is nothing more than Rose’s attempt to catch me in a compromising position with Farley.”

  He laughed with no hint of mirth. “You can’t believe that.”

  “I’d like to.” Staring at the red glow in the heart of the stove, she sighed. “It’s easier than believing someone is threatening a chit like Rose Quinlan.”

  She went to the window, where the wind blew past the glass to chill the cook shack. Snow floated in an endless cascade toward the ground.

  Once she would have found the number of snowstorms in the north woods inconceivable. Then she had lived in a safe womb filled with simple luxuries and love. She had delighted in traditions that flowed from one year to the next in a pattern as intricate and beautiful as the snowflakes. That had ended with the abruptness of a knife slicing through her heart.

  All gone.

  Rose’s fear resurrected memories of nearly a decade ago, when death came in blue or gray uniforms splattered with blood across unmoving young chests. Brass buttons shone brilli
antly in the sun setting across a field of death, a field where she and her siblings once had played, a field which tried to hide its scars beneath a pelt of grass.

  She blinked back unexpected tears as she touched the glass. The cold clung to her fingers as the ice melted beneath her touch. All her friendships must be as ephemeral as the frost, gone with the coming of spring thaw.

  Broad hands gently massaged her shoulders. She should halt Adam. Yet when he touched her, she was unsure if she could flee again—not when she yearned to stay in his arms.

  Slowly she faced him. “We have work to do, Adam.”

  “That we do.” His voice became grave as he added, “And it’s about time I got to it.”

  For once, her curiosity was silent. She rested her cheek against his chest, not wanting to think of what the future might hold. She simply wanted to be held, knowing how fleeting this muted happiness must be.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Gypsy had no answers for Rose’s dilemma or her own. She hurried through breakfast, then left the flunkeys to prepare lunch. Wanting to be done with what she had promised to do, she shuffled through the snow that was melting in the strengthening sunshine. She had heard the road monkeys complaining about having to redo the roads every day. The sleds must not hit a rut, or the load could slide off, injuring someone.

  Chauncey waved to her. The inkslinger slogged through the snow. “Howdy, Gypsy. Where are you off to?”

  “Farley’s office.”

  His lips became a straight line. “That doxy of his causing trouble for you again?”

  Forcing a smile, she wagged her finger. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a lady her personal business?”

  He kicked a rock beneath the snow. It popped out to careen across the snowbanks. “I saw that she-devil bustling to the cookhouse yesterday, looking ready to cause trouble. I hope she didn’t cause it for you.”

  “The only trouble I have is you.” She patted his arm as he looked at her with his hound-dog-brown eyes. “Why don’t you come over tonight and have a cup of swamp water with us?”

  “Maybe.” His smile returned. “You’re a good woman. Not like some around here.”