“The same bed—oh no, I couldn’t. I’ll want my own bed. I’ll want my own room, Gabe. You’ll have your room, and I’ll have mine. We’ll want our privacy. Now,” she said, giving him a patronizing little pat on the chest. “I’m tired. I need some sleep. We have a big day planned tomorrow, and I don’t want to be too tired to enjoy it. The hot spring is lovely, very relaxing. I don’t swim, but I had fun with your sister and Birdie.
“Mother told me Mr. Buxton once ran this place as a brothel. Doreen worked here plying her trade. I found the notion intriguing, naughty, but intriguing all the same. I can’t imagine Doreen as a prostitute. She seems so matronly and genuine, truly a lovely woman, not at all coarse or crass as I would expect.
“We come from very different backgrounds, Gabe. I hadn’t realized. Mother knew all about you and your family. I’m glad I came. I can’t wait to see more of your home and learn more of your family. I should be angry with Mother for keeping secrets and with you for not telling me about you and your family. I think you should have trusted me to understand, Gabe. Let’s not keep secrets from one another.”
Gabe dropped his hands to his side and stood stiff as a post, unable to respond. What could he have told her? How could he have explained?
As for his future existence as husband to Edditha, it rose up before his mind’s eye a rather cold, lonely, and unfulfilling picture. Surely he could change, convince Edditha intimacy between a man and a wife would be preferable to, to…stark cohabitation.
Well, he’d start changing her mind tonight. Pulling her into his chest, he put his lips to hers. Startled, her mouth opened and he inserted his tongue. She struggled a bit at first and whimpered, but then she stopped resisting, growing stiff as a poker with her breath coming in short little huffs of indignation. And he realized he’d botched it, he’d made her angry. He let her go—it was no use.
Managing to shrug him off with a little giggle, she said, “I believe there is a bit of your father in you after all, Gabriel Buxton. The man they hung that is.”
He knew she’d meant it as a joke, but her thrust went deep. He hated being compared to his birth-father in any way. His sire’s disreputable reputation prevented him from defending himself against bullies and taunts his whole life for fear he’d be judged just like him.
In response to Edditha’s thoughtless comparison, he lashed out. “I don’t want to sleep alone, Edditha. My wife will sleep beside me every night. I sleep in the raw. Always have.”
He stalked out into the black of night, going he didn’t know where. Taking long strides, he kept marching, bypassing the hot spring with the sounds of his father’s laughter in his ears. Not Buck’s laughter, but the father he never knew but had heard of, a jeering laugh, an evil laugh. He didn’t stop walking until he entered the canyon, and then he realized his destination. He was headed for Petra’s boulder. Petra’s boulder, the place of his birth, the place he’d always retreated to when his mind wouldn’t let him rest.
Chapter Twelve
Birdie hated herself—she liked Edditha Millican. It pained her, but she could find no faults. As it turned out, Edditha wasn’t at all prudish about parading around in her drawers and chemise. On the contrary, she giggled and blushed and was thoroughly ecstatic. At first, she was fearful of getting in the hot spring. She complained she couldn’t see the bottom, especially in the dark, but then she squealed in delight. Skittish, yes, and much too girlie-girlie to Birdie’s mind, but she’d waded in, even stuck her bottom in the center of the lifebuoy and drifted around, her feet kicking and arms paddling as she giggled, obviously enjoying herself in the shallows.
In bed, Birdie lay utterly despondent, ruminating about the events of the evening. Edditha Millican would make Gabe the perfect wife. Beautiful, gracious, a good sport, irritatingly obedient and pliable—no, Edditha would be perfect. And Birdie hated her, hated herself for hating her, but most of all she hated Gabriel Buxton because he didn’t know what he’d be missing, and he didn’t have a clue what he was getting.
She had no other choice but to leave.
But where to go?
Back home to marry Corney?
Run off to Aunt Maria?
Maybe go away, far away?
Birdie wondered if maybe Jo wouldn’t mind if she tagged along and stayed with her for a while in her little cottage at the Ascension School for Girls. Maybe she could get work, wash dishes, scrub floors, mend clothes…anything. For damn sure, she couldn’t stay here. Even if Gabe lived in Portland, in her mind, she’d see him here at the hot spring. She would miss him and would probably read his letters to Buck and Van. With Jo gone, she’d naturally migrate out here to the hot spring to visit often.
She couldn’t do it. It would hurt too much.
Downstairs, she heard the men returning from their turn at the hot spring. Even though they were trying to be quiet, she heard one of them cuss when they thumped into a piece of furniture. Probably Petra’s rocking chair. The rocking chair bruised a lot of ankles, and it didn’t seem to matter where they put it in the room, that chair simply attracted ankles.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard Buck make his excuse to the wife who haunted this house. “Yeah, I know, I’m drunk. Blame Rafe. He’s the one who kept passin’ the bottle ’round. Had to oblige, guest and all. Night Petra darlin’, love you.”
Birdie guessed they must all be barefooted. All she heard was the squawk and creak of the risers as the men made their way to their rooms. The house went quiet again, the only sounds to be heard entered through her opened window, the sounds of the frogs singing, crickets chirping, and now and then the hoot of an owl. Jo sighed in her sleep beside her.
Outside, the moon bathed the landscape in a soft pearlescent blue. Shadows created a lacey pattern on the walls as a light breeze tickled the curtains. Birdie lay ashamed of herself, her tears trailing down her cheeks, leaking into her ears. She turned away from the moon, seeking sleep to escape the pain of her broken heart and shattered dreams. But Gabe’s taunting whisper, still the same little Curly-Birdie, you haven’t changed a bit, repeated itself in her brain until she wanted to scream the house down.
She wasn’t the same, and she certainly wasn’t a little girl, not anymore. But Gabe would never see her any other way—she had to face the truth. He would never love her as she wanted him to love her. Her aching need pooled low in her belly, and her fingers pressed against the hard pebble of the bud of her arousal. She moaned, angry with herself, feeling naughty for having lustful thoughts and a body that craved one man’s touch. It had to be lunacy.
Lunacy? Yes. Perhaps a moonlit swim in the hot spring, naked, no restrictions, just a brief dip to cool her passions and time to get perspective would produce a cure.
»»•««
His head full of too many conflicting ideas and his body thrumming with unsatisfied yearnings, Gabe slide down the canyon wall on the seat of his pants and headed for the hot spring, intent on taking a few hard laps back and forth to work off his frustrations.
As he neared the pool, the quiet struck him, and he felt a calm certainty wash over him. He’d have the pool to himself. He needed an escape for his restlessness. A good swim would take care of everything, just like it had in the past.
The torches inside of the bathing shelter were extinguished, so Gabe stripped and dove in. The warm water enveloped him in a liquid embrace, and he felt close to his mother. She was here with him, swimming right beside him; he could almost hear her laughter. He turned over on his back and stared at the stars. He then flipped back and began to stroke, stroke hard, pushing through the water, chasing the moonlight across the pool, back and forth, back and forth. At last, out of breath, he rolled over on his back.
A movement along the path, the swish sound of the long grass, and the crunch of gravel alerted him a critter had come down to the pool for a drink, possibly a swim. It could be a deer or a coyote.
The second he saw the patch of blue come out into the open before entering the shel
ter, Gabe knew who it was—Birdie.
He drifted to the shallow side of the pool near the bathing shelter. Righting himself, he stood up. His feet finding purchase in the sandy bottom, he waited and watched, ashamed and mesmerized.
She walked into the shelter, her hair catching the night breeze. Her blonde, wild, wispy, kinky coils caught the moon’s light and formed a glowing halo about her head.
Her back to the pool, she slipped out of her heavy walking shoes. She tugged at the shoulders of her blue dress, and it quickly slipped down to her waist.
Gabe couldn’t move, much less breathe. Her fair skin in the moonlight held a luster. The dress dropped down to her ankles, exposing her firm round buttocks. He almost ejaculated when she bent over to pick the dress up off the deck.
She must’ve heard his groan of agony. Her head turned toward the pool. “Who’s there?” Her arms crossed over her chest, and her dress held tight to her, she peered out beyond him.
Gabe slowly waded up the steps to the platform, his eyes never leaving her beautiful face.
He couldn’t speak. The sound of his heart beating vibrated in his ears. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. And his erection, my God, he feared he might actually die from it if he didn’t find release.
He heard her gasp. She pulled back, her dress held tight across her chest to cover her nakedness. His hand cupped her face and his fingers lightly touched her cool cheek. She shuddered. Slipping his hand down to her throat and then behind her neck, he drew her close. She didn’t protest or cry out but relaxed her arm allowing the dress to slip to the wooden floor.
He didn’t have enough fingers. He wanted to feel every part of her all at once. Her skin felt soft, like satin, cool satin. He put his lips to her forehead, her ear, seeking a path to her lips. His hands slid down over her shoulders to her butt. Within his grasp, he felt her muscles tighten when he pulled her in closer to his body, and he realized she’d reacted to his prodding, heat-seeking erection. He expected her to pull away, but instead, she ground her hips against him, and again he almost came.
Shifting a little to the side, he put one leg between her thighs, and she began to move against his leg, her mound grinding against his leg. He could feel the wetness, the sweet nectar of her flower on his thigh. His fingers found the honeyed spot and dove inside, his thumb working her nub.
She cried out, head back. His fingers moved faster and faster. Her breasts were against his chest, firm and full. He had to taste them. Her hips moved back and forth, pressing her sweet core against his wrist. His fingers were deep within her, and she reached down and began to stroke his cock. When his lips found her breast, and he suckled, he felt her begin to quake. The muscles within her womanly canal contracted in spasm. He lost control, and his seed erupted on her belly, dribbling down her hand as her orgasm tore through her body.
»»•««
Birdie knew her body and how it worked, knew how a man and a woman’s parts fit together and why. Her mother had seen to it, having been a prostitute, she understood the consequences and the temptations. And wanted to give her daughter as much knowledge as she could to save her from repeating her mother’s mistakes. She’d also given Birdie books, books with pictures that aroused and excited. Oh yes, Birdie knew her body well. She knew it well enough to know she didn’t need a man to give her pleasure. She could do it herself. At least that’s what she’d believed until Gabe’s fingers worked their magic and his lips and tongue feasted on her breasts. After this, her own manipulations would never be the same, or good enough.
»»•««
It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t be, but Gabe knew it for the truth. He didn’t love Edditha, not the way he should.
He loved Birdie in a way he shouldn’t.
Both loves were wrong, and his feelings were wrong. His lust for one and his—what?—his need for approval, acceptance from the other. Is that what Edditha represented? He had to be crazy.
He knew his heart for sure when he pulled Birdie down beside him to lay next to her on the deck floor. Staring into her eyes, yes, he surrendered to the lunacy, the madness, the desire. Her hair, her glorious mane of hair shone gossamer white in the moonlight. Her beautiful face, with her perfect little nose and her tempting, irresistible lips, swollen from his kisses held him spellbound. And those eyes; Birdie-Alice had deep, dark-brown eyes, eyes full of fiery sparks to set his body aflame.
His hands found her breast and his lips went to an erect nipple. She lay still, at first holding her breath and then out of control. Her fingers gripped his hair as his hand moved between her legs and his fingers dove into her core. He felt the barrier of her hymen, and it reminded him this was Birdie-Alice, Birdie-Alice his childhood friend, his almost-little-sister. She began to writhe on the threshold of another orgasm, and he whispered her name, the name he’d given her so long ago. “Curly-Birdie, my sweet little Curly-Birdie.”
»»•««
The name brought her back to her senses with a jolt. Her body stilled, heart pounding wildly against her ribcage and her womb pulsing, throbbing with unfulfilled desire. Cold, suddenly, she felt cold and stupid, so very stupid. Her mother warned her of this, warned her a girl could get herself in real trouble if she lost her head in the heat of passion. And that’s what she’d done—lost her wits.
“My name is Birdie-Alice Bollo. I will be twenty in less than three weeks. I am not your sweet little Curly-Birdie.”
She wiggled out from under him, scrambled to her feet to search for her dress. Glancing down, she realized she was standing on it and snatched it up to cover her naked body. Trembling, hands shaking, teeth chattering, she fumbled with the sleeves of the dress, having to turn them right-side out. She couldn’t get her arm through the sleeves, the fabric ripped. She couldn’t reach the buttons in the back. Impatient and desperate to run, she simply tied the sash of the dress in the back.
Before she could get away, Gabe had her in his arms. The warmth of his naked body, the feel of his bare shoulders, broad and strong, and the smell of him caused her to go limp for one brief second. Then cold reality set in, and Birdie stiffened her resolve to remain immune.
”Why did you do it? You could’ve warned me away. You should’ve warned me, Gabe. I would’ve left you alone in the pool. You never should’ve let me get farther than the shelter, that’s the rule. What were you thinking? Were you thinking, ah, Curly-Birdie, she’ll let me play with her? Diddle her, she’s easy, like her mama. She’ll spread her legs for me. She’ll do anything for me.”
“Birdie, no, shhh, no, Birdie,” came his ready protest. “I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m not playing. I’m not, Birdie, you have to believe me.”
“What about Edditha? You’re going to marry Edditha. Where does that leave me, Gabe? I love you. You’ve promised yourself to Edditha. She’s wonderful, everything I’m not. She’s of good family. She’s beautiful, refined. She’s perfect for you. I can see it. What am I to you, Gabe?”
“You’re everything, Birdie. I know that now.”
“I don’t believe you. You called me Curly-Birdie. You still think of me as a silly child. You think I should be grateful you even bother to acknowledge and indulge me. Am I supposed to be grateful for tonight? Grateful for your attention?
“I’ve always respected you, Gabe. I’ve always considered you an honorable man. Honorable, right up there with my father. He’s an honorable man too. But now…I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. You were going to take me, and God help me I was going to let you.”
The tears started to flow, a sob tore at her throat, and she turned and began to run. She couldn’t stand being near him one more second. She had to get away, get away as fast and as far as she could.
Chapter Thirteen
Birdie didn’t know how or why she’d allowed herself to be talked into going on this dratted picnic.
Her mother—she’d shamed her. “It was your plan, Birdie. I don’t think it right you not go along…participate.”
Jo had taken her by the elbow and hauled her into the pantry. Her voice a harsh whisper, she’d told her how it was going to be. “You absolutely will go, Birdie-Alice Bollo. I need all the moral support I can get. I’ve decided to let Daddy read my letter. I’ll show it to him when we get back. I want everyone to have a good time. I’m depending on you to help me. This thing with the Norquist outfit has Daddy worried. With Gabe home to help, maybe everything can get sorted out, and I can leave Daddy and Van here to run things on their own without too much worry. Put your happy face on, Birdie-Alice, we’re going on a picnic.”
The only person with less enthusiasm for this expedition than herself was Gabe. From the kitchen, she’d overheard him talking to Edditha and her mother on the front porch, trying to discourage them from going. “Are you sure, Edditha, you want to do this? We could have a picnic down by the hot spring in the shade. And afterward, take a dip in the pool.”
Birdie heard Mrs. Millican’s protest. “We’ll be fine, Gabriel. We’re of sturdy stock. Don’t worry about us.”
Gabe took a different tack. “Riding across open country for a couple of hours in the hot sun can be a bit uncomfortable for those unused to riding. Not to mention what it can do to the complexion.”
Corney, drat the man, butted in. “There’s room for all of you ladies to ride with me in the buggy. I’ll put the bonnet up. It would give me great pleasure to point out the names of the peaks we’ll be able to see on the Wallowas. We’ll be passing by some old mines today. I know a little about some of the history. We’ll see where the wagon trains traveled down into the Baker basin. The ruts are visible. Mrs. Millican, I believe I heard you mention your family arrived on that trail. Time will pass quickly. Birdie’s right, the aspen grove spring is well worth the trip, plenty of shade, lots of huckleberries.”
Birdie, finding herself licked and routed, resigned herself to it. They set off at mid-morning with Van and Gabe riding ahead of the buggy and she and Jo riding to the side, trying to stay out of the rising dust.
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