Gray, Ginna

by The Witness

  Out of consideration for Sam, the party was quiet and brief. One by one, after wishing Lauren and Sam health, happiness and long life, the guests departed, until there was only family left.

  Sam and Augustus were still stiff and awkward with each other, but both were trying to mend fences. As Augustus and his sister and brother-in-law prepared to leave, he clamped his son's uninjured shoulder and muttered a gruff, "Take care of yourself, son. And if there's anything you need—anything at all— you just let me know."

  "Actually, Dad, I could use a cellphone. But not one registered to me."

  "You got it. I'll bring you one in a couple of days."

  Eunice and Walter added their well wishes and each gave Lauren a kiss and a hug and welcomed her to the family. When it came Augustus's turn, his eyes were suspiciously moist as he cupped her cheek in his callused palm. "I've always wanted a daughter, and I have a hunch you're just what that boy of mine needs. I'm glad he found you, little one," he said, and leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  When he straightened he glanced at Sam, who was watching them intently. "When all this is over, I hope you can talk him into coming home to the ranch where he belongs."

  Lauren answered with a wan smile. She could hardly explain to this hopeful father that she had no influence over his son, that within a year this marriage would probably be dissolved. She felt like a complete fraud.

  After another flurry of hugs, Augustus and his sister and brother-in-law departed. No sooner had Lauren closed the door behind them than Annie stepped out of the bedroom carrying two shopping bags stuffed with clothing and toilet articles.

  Sam cocked one eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

  "Yes. I'm moving into the hogan. While you are with us, you and Lauren will stay here in this house. Your bag is already in the bedroom."

  "Oh, no, please. We couldn't possibly put you out of your home," Lauren objected.

  "C'mon, Grandma, be reasonable. You can't live in the hogan."

  "Why not? I was born in a hogan and lived most of my life in one. I prefer them. It was your grandfather who insisted on building this house for me. I moved into it merely to please him."

  "For Pete's sake, the only source of heat in that place is a woodstove. Look, Lauren and I can stay at Larry's."

  "That arrangement was fine for a few days, but not for months. Your cousin's place is too small, and it would be a strain on his family. Besides, newlyweds need privacy."

  "Okay, then, Lauren and I will move into the hogan."

  "Does your wife know how to cook on a wood-stove?" The pained look that flashed across Sam's face told her all she needed to know. Annie folded her arms and smiled smugly. "There, you see. I will move into the hogan."

  "Lauren is good at adapting. We'll manage just fi—"

  "No. It will be best if you stay here. It will be easier for her to take care of you and nurse you back to health that way."

  "Dammit—"

  "Give up, cousin," Larry said from the kitchen doorway. "I have talked to her, Zeta has talked to her, but it makes no difference. She's been looking for an excuse to move back into the hogan ever since our grandfather died. Now that she has one, there is no stopping her." He looked at Annie and shook his head with affectionate exasperation. "You're a stubborn old woman, Annie Zah. Hold on a minute and let me help Sam to the bedroom and Zeta and I will take you to the hogan."

  "Go ahead," Sam said. "I can make it that far on my own."

  "Okay, if you're sure."

  "Well, apparently we're going to be living here for a while," Lauren said uneasily when they had gone.

  "Looks like it," Sam agreed. He sat slouched on the sofa with his head resting against the back, watching her.

  Twisting her hands together, Lauren shifted under that intent stare. "You really should be in bed, Sam. You look exhausted."

  "You'll get no argument from me." Wincing, he struggled to stand, and instantly Lauren leaped forward.

  He accepted her help getting to his feet, but when she tried to slip her arm around his waist and support him as he walked, he brushed her aside. "That's all right. I can manage. There's nothing wrong with my legs."

  Accepting the rejection, Lauren hovered anxiously at his heels as he slowly made his way into Annie's bedroom.

  By the time he sat down on the edge of the bed he was pale and breathing hard, and when Lauren knelt before him to remove his moccasins he did not object.

  "Now, let's get you out of these clothes and into bed," she said when done and went to work unbuttoning his shirt.

  "You know, usually it's the groom who takes the bride's clothes off," Sam murmured.

  Lauren glanced up and was startled to find that he was watching her, his dark eyes heated and intent beneath heavy eyelids. Though helpless to prevent the blush that spread upward from her chest all the way to her hairline, she ducked her head and finished unfastening buttons. When she stripped away his shirt the sight of his broad shoulders and all that bronze skin made her mouth go dry. Desire coursed through her in a hot tide, but she managed to reply with credible insouciance, "I suppose so. But then, most grooms aren't recovering from a gunshot wound, are they?"

  What is the matter with you? Lauren silently admonished. Has making love with Sam turned you into a sex maniac? For heaven's sake! The man was shot and in critical shape just two nights ago. And you'd do well to remember that this is not a true marriage.

  "Now your trousers," Lauren said briskly, doing her best to act unconcerned and not to stare at his body. To make it easier for her to unfasten his pants, Sam lay back on the bed and continued watching her through slitted eyes.

  With as much dignity as she could muster, she lowered the zipper and he lifted his hips to allow her to tug his wool trousers down to his ankles then slip them off, leaving him in only a pair of snug navy briefs. Quickly averting her eyes, Lauren made a production of neatly folding his shirt and trousers and placing them on a chair.

  Her nerves were twanging, and when she turned and saw Sam lying there, spread-eagle, wearing only that scrap of blue cotton knit a trembling began deep inside her.

  Gritting her teeth, she marched back to the bed. "Okay, now, sit up." She grasped his hand, pulled him to a sitting position and used her other hand to throw back the bedspread and covers.

  It was difficult, but finally Sam was settled in bed with the covers tucked up to his armpits. "There. All set," Lauren declared with profound relief. "If there's nothing else you need, I'll just go lock up for the night and get ready for bed myself."

  "Go ahead. I'm good," Sam replied. His face wore his usual stern, impassive expression, but those dark eyes still watched her with unnerving intensity.

  Annie's home was tiny—a living room, kitchen with eating area and one bedroom with an attached bathroom. It didn't take long for Lauren to lock both doors and turn out the lights in the other part of the house. Sam was still awake when she returned. Doing her best not to look at him, she took the duffle bag into the bathroom and shut the door.

  Lauren took her time in the shower, shampooing her hair and shaving her legs. Afterward she applied lotion onto her lower legs and feet and dusted her body with the scented talc she found on Annie's counter. She had to towel-dry her hair, as Annie didn't appear to have a blow-dryer, nor had Sam thought to purchase one for her before they left Denver. When her hair was merely damp she combed through it, then donned the flannel nightgown that until now had remained folded in the duffle bag.

  The garment covered her from neck to toe, the only adornment a modest lace yoke trimmed in pale blue ribbon and a two-inch ruffle of matching lace at each wrist.

  After dawdling so long, Lauren expected Sam to be asleep, but when she stepped from the bathroom his dark eyes were trained on the door, as though he'd been waiting for her.

  "Sam, why aren't you asleep?"

  As she sat down on the edge of the bed beside him the smell of clean sheets that had been dried in the sunshine rose to tease her nose, and she realized t
hat Annie must have put fresh linens on the bed before she left.

  Trying not to think of the implications of that, Lauren gave Sam an assessing look. "Is something wrong? How do you feel?"

  "I'm okay."

  "How's your shoulder. Any pain?"

  "Some, but nothing I can't live with."

  "Would you like for me to get you one of the painkillers Dr. Sani left for you?"

  "No."

  "Do you have a fever?" She felt his forehead. "Mmm, you feel normal. That's good."

  "I told you, I'm fine." Sam removed her hand from his head. "Stop mothering me, Lauren," he warned in a low voice that sent a trickle of goose bumps down her spine.

  "Sorry," she said contritely. "Would you like a drink of water before you go to sleep?"

  "No."

  "Isn't there anything you want?"

  Something flickered in Sam's eyes, something dangerous, and unbearably exciting. His gaze skimmed over her face, drifted downward over her neck and shoulders, then settled on her breasts. When he looked up again his eyes were dark and blazing with fire. "Yes," he said in a husky voice. "I want you."

  A startled laugh burst from Lauren's throat. "Sam! You know we can't."

  "Wanna bet?"

  "But...but I thought...that is..."

  "What?"

  "Well...I didn't think this was going to be a real marriage. I was going to sleep on the sofa."

  "To hell with that." Sliding his hand beneath her damp hair, he cupped the back of her neck and tried to tug her down on top of him, but she resisted.

  "Wait, Sam...your shoulder."

  "Let me worry about my shoulder."

  His gaze skimmed over the high-necked nightgown, and a ghost of a smile hovered around his mouth. "I bought this thing because I thought it would be a turnoff, but damned if it isn't sexy as hell." His hand slid from her neck over her shoulder, then with his forefinger he traced the lower edge of the lace yoke down over the tops of her breasts and up to the other shoulder.

  Lauren closed her eyes partway and trembled. Even through the lace his touch left a trail of fire on her flesh. Smiling that slow, devastating smile, Sam fingered the row of tiny buttons that ran down the center of the lace yoke from the neck down the blue ribbon threaded through the lower edge. Watching Lauren's face, he worked the top button open, then the second, the third.

  When the last one popped free he hooked his forefinger into the opening and tugged her closer.

  Mesmerized by his touch and the intent look in those dark eyes, Lauren could not find the will to resist. "S-Sam this isn't a good idea."

  "Shh. We'll do this slow and careful," he murmured.

  He slid the garment off one of her shoulders, then the other. At his urging Lauren slipped her arms out of the sleeves, and the soft flannel and lace puddled around her hips. Sam cupped one breast in his palm, lifted it, squeezed. His thumb swept across the velvety nipple, and she moaned as it pebbled.

  He treated the other breast to the same gentle abrasion, then braced up on one elbow and circled each turgid nub with his tongue.

  Lauren threw her head back and gasped. "Oh, Sam."

  He drew a nipple into his mouth, and she cried out and arched her back. He drew on her deeply, and she clasped his head between her palms to pull him closer, wanting—needing—more.

  After lavishing the same attention to her other breast Sam eased back a bit and urged, "Lift up a second, sweetheart. There, that's it," he whispered, and shoved the nightgown downward over her hips. As it slid to the floor he hooked his hand around her neck again, gave a sharp tug, and Lauren found herself sprawled on top of him. He felt warm and firm, and so sexy she couldn't think. Before she could respond, he rolled to his side with her. With a little cry, she clutched at his shoulders, but when her fingers encountered the edge of the bandage on his back she stiffened. "Sam, I don't think—"

  "Then don't. Don't think. Just feel. Feel how much I want you." He took her hand and guided it downward, and as her fingers wrapped around him, Sam grimaced with exquisite pleasure.

  "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

  Lauren jerked her hand away and tried to scoot back, but he held her fast and growled, "God, no. Relax, babe. Everything will be fine."

  Looking deep into her eyes, he rocked his hips against her, and smiled when she gasped with pleasure. "Now. I want you to do exactly as I say." He kissed his way up her neck and nibbled her earlobe, and in a voice gone gravelly with passion, he whispered instructions in her ear that made Lauren's face flame.

  "Sam!"

  He leaned back and chuckled as her shocked expression turned to curiosity. "Can we really do that?"

  "Why don't you try it and find out?"

  Gnawing at her lower lip, shyly at first, then with growing confidence and boldness, she did as he asked.

  "Yes. Yes, that's the way," Sam grated between clenched teeth. "That's it. Oh, God, yes! Yes!"

  "Ahhhh, babe."

  Nineteen

  The weeks and months that followed were the happiest of Lauren's life. She recognized the irony of that, given her situation, but it was true nevertheless.

  Though Sam would always be the strong, silent type, he was gradually loosening up. In his own masterful way, he was affectionate and attentive and a wonderful lover. He made love to her frequently and with a depth of passion that never failed to rock her right down to her toes and leave her so limp she felt boneless.

  If their lovemaking had hurt him or inhibited his recovery in any way, it wasn't apparent. As Sam had promised his father, he recovered quickly from his wound and was up and around within a week of their wedding. After only a month, he was as strong and agile as ever. Except for the puckered scar on his shoulder, you'd never know he had been shot.

  Five days after the wedding Augustus returned to the reservation. Following along behind as he eased his pickup over the bumpy road was a large delivery van, and in the cab were three men.

  Sam, Lauren, Annie and Larry were sitting in lounge chairs on the front porch when the two trucks rolled to a stop in front of Annie's house.

  "What the devil is this?" Sam demanded.

  "Don't get your shorts in a wad, son. I brought you that cellphone you wanted."

  "Cellphone? Hell, it looks to me like you brought a whole microwave tower."

  "What, this? Naw, this is for Lauren."

  "Me?" Lauren said, surprised.

  "Yeah. Just a little wedding gift. C'mon, I'll show you. Open 'er up, men," Augustus yelled.

  Lauren rose, and the others did the same and followed Augustus around to the back of the truck. When the workmen threw the double doors open Augustus beamed and Lauren's jaw dropped.

  "A piano?" Tears stung her eyes when she swung to face Sam's father. "You bought me a piano?"

  "Yeah. My sister and Walter kept carrying on about how talented you are, so I thought you might like to have one to play while you're staying here."

  "But...but they're so expensive! This is really too much, Mr. Rawlins. I can't let you do this."

  "Can't stop me," he declared. "And Mr. Rawlins won't do, little girl. I'm your father-in-law now. You can call me Dad or Pappy or Pops—whatever suits you. Anything but that Mr. Rawlins stuff. As to the other, why, this is just a little bitty ol' piano. Probably not what you're used to playing at all, but I figured this little spinet was all Annie's place could hold. 'Course, if you don't like it..."

  "I love it! Truly, I do. It's just that—"

  "Now none of that. The piano is yours. I'm not taking it back. Besides, the world's in a sorry state if a man can't give a simple gift to his brand-new daughter.

  "If it'll make you feel any better, when all this mess is over, you can leave it with Annie. That way, her other grandchildren can have the use of it and it'll be here for you when you come to visit. You won't be needing it back at the Double R anyway. There's a big, brand-new grand piano waiting for you in the parlor there."

  "A grand..." Lauren gaped at him, at a loss for wor
ds.

  "Okay, you men. Take 'er inside," Augustus barked. "Annie, you mind showing 'um where you want this thing?"

  "Damn, Dad, you got a little carried away, didn't you?" Sam muttered.

  "Nonsense. I've been waiting for years for you to get married and give me a daughter. I intend to spoil her rotten, so just you be warned."

  Sam looked at Lauren. "You'll get no argument from me. If there was ever a woman who deserved to be indulged, it's my wife."

  Lauren heard the remark and it filled her heart with joy, but she was too excited and too busy supervising the men to comment. She danced from one foot to the other, barely able to contain herself.

  As they followed the movers into the house, Sam shook his head. "How the hell did you get this thing here without it splintering to pieces? That road has more craters than the moon."

  "We inched it in, that's how," his father replied. "Took us four hours to get from the visitor's center to here. I was determined that little gal was going to have a piano."

  One of the three men who came with Augustus was a piano tuner. He went to work on the instrument as soon as it was in place in Annie's living room, while Lauren paced impatiently.

  The instant he pronounced the job done, she slid onto the bench and spread her fingers over the keyboard. After she'd played only a few notes, every person in the room stood stock-still and listened with awe as the beautiful music flowed from her fingertips and filled the room.

  Soon, Larry's wife and two sons wandered over from their house next door. A few minutes later, a car full of people who had heard the music as they were driving by eased into the crowded living room. When Sam noticed more people outside, he opened the windows so they could hear better. Over an hour later, when Lauren finally took a break, the porch and area in front of the house were full of people.

  After that, word spread. Whenever passersby heard the music coming from Annie's house, they parked their pickups out front and sat and listened. Sometimes close family and friends slipped inside and sat quietly, absorbing the soul-stirring music, then slipped out again when it ended.

  The Navajos began referring to Lauren as the woman who makes music for the gods, a name that touched her deeply.