Hyacinth (Wildflowers Of Montana Book 2)

by Vanessa Vale

  The sound of her footsteps—heavy with perhaps dread—on the back steps had me breaking from my thoughts. She wore a pale blue dress that made her skin appear almost as if made of porcelain, but the high color in her cheeks gave away her distress.

  “Good morning,” she said, her voice prim, once she stopped before me. She folded her hands together and rested them over her belly.

  I removed my hat and ran a hand through my hair, pushing it so it wouldn't fall over my forehead. “You are beautiful, Hyacinth.”

  I would say those words over and over again until she believed me, no matter how long it took. She didn't meet my eye, but she didn't look away either. “The weather is fine,” she replied. I grinned, for she was ever the diplomat, and she was stalling.

  “It is indeed. I will spend my day branding cattle considering your answer to my request from last night.”

  She looked up at me, a bleak expression on her face. She made the simple task seem as dire as if I'd asked her to go and kill one of her sisters with a soup spoon. “I need to go. Miss Trudy needs me to polish the silver.”

  While I'd never known Hyacinth to lie, I did not think she was telling the complete truth either.

  “When exactly did Miss Trudy ask you to do the silver?” Her mouth fell open at my question, for she was most certainly caught. “Last winter?” I added when she wouldn't respond.

  “I can't tell you—” She leaned toward me and I caught the scent of lilacs. “—what you ask of me.”

  I spoke quietly, forcing her to remain close. From this distance, I could see freckles across her nose. “Why not?”

  “It's unseemly.” She was no longer speaking about silver polishing.

  I couldn't help but touch her, to feel the softness of her skin, so I grazed my knuckles over her cheek. “Not between you and me.”

  “Jackson,” she chided, but turned her cheek into my touch.

  I watched as her skin turned red at the contact. “What color, love?”

  She shook her head.

  “What color?” I repeated, prodding.

  “Pale pink!” she shouted, then quickly covered her mouth with her fingers as if she'd surprised herself.

  My eyes widened at her outburst more than the answer itself.

  “Good girl, Hyacinth,” I stroked her cheek again. “I'm very proud of you.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and she swallowed. “Why? Why would you even think that?”

  “Because you did something bold, something that was just for me. Even more so for raising your voice.”

  She wiped the tears away. “You like that I raised my voice?”

  “You never shout, love, so it is good to see you have real emotions.”

  “You don't think I feel?”

  Her scent, soft and sweet and as flowery as her name, drifted through the air. It was enough to make me hard, just the hint of it. Of course, just guessing at her nipple color had me taking my cock in hand the night before, but now? Now that I knew they were pale pink, I'd have to somehow ride a horse with a cock stand.

  “I think you feel, but I think you don't share it with anyone. I like that you shared anger with me. You're to share everything with me.”

  She didn't look reassured by the idea, but wary instead. There was a reason she was so reserved; I'd just proven it wasn't completely her true nature. It was time to push her once again.

  “Know this—my cock will be hard all day thinking about your perfect breasts. As for you, go back to the mirror, love. Take off all your clothes again.”

  “I can't be naked in the daytime!”

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. I felt the heat of her, her delicate bones beneath my fingers. “Yes, you can. Take off all your clothes,” I repeated. “Look at your body in the mirror and this time touch yourself, everywhere, until you're pussy's slick and wet. Tonight at seven, you are going to tell me what you did for that to happen.”

  “I...I don't know what you mean,” she countered, but by the flush of her cheeks I considered otherwise.

  “I want to know what gets you hot. Do as I say, Hyacinth, and I'll see you at seven.” I dropped my hand and left her with her mouth open. She was surprised by my abruptness, not giving her any time to argue. I'd think of those luscious lips stretched wide around my cock. It was going to be a long day.

  ***

  “What are you doing to that poor Hyacinth?”

  I turned at the sound of my father's voice. He was just coming out of one of the stalls, pitchfork in hand. The stable was cool and dimly lit, the scent of hay and horses heavy in the morning air.

  My only response was a raised eyebrow.

  “You've been here two months and you've been mooning over that girl since you first laid eyes on her.”

  Everyone knew my father as Big Ed. He was big, but I was bigger. After leaving the army, there was no question I'd join him here at the Lenox ranch. I'd seen enough adventure—good and bad—to last me a lifetime and I wanted to settle down. I'd hoped to find a woman to warm my bed as well as my heart; I just hadn't expected it to happen so fast.

  “She's the one, Dad. There's no question.”

  “You've got her blushing and tongue tied and more addled than her sisters.”

  “She needs a little addling,” I countered.

  He eyed me closely. “Damn straight. You think you're the one to do it?”

  “Damn straight.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You're not worried?”

  I knew to what he spoke. My nightmares had woken him a time or two since I'd come to the ranch. “She should find a man that doesn't wake up in a cold sweat reliving the past, but there's no way in hell I'll let anyone else have her. She's mine, Dad.”

  “Maybe you can help each other.” His words were filled with hope so I didn't want to discourage that, although I wasn't quite as hopeful.

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “Good. Then keep it up.” He turned on his heel and went back into the stall.

  “Dad?” I called.

  He stuck his head out of the open doorway.

  “What if I'm too hard on her?” I asked. “I don't want to scare her away.”

  He stepped out of the stall with his usual long stride and came over to me, slapped my arm. “You'll know the difference. Hell, you're not going to beat the woman.”

  The idea of someone laying a hand on Hyacinth made my jaw clench.

  “She wants to step out from her little, safe world, but won't do it without someone leading her,” he said. “Look at Rose. She wanted to have a ranch of her own, but needed Chance to make her see it was with him. It had always been with him. She knew what she wanted and did step out of the safe world. For Hyacinth, you've taken on that task, therefore you're going to have to prod her past whatever fears she has, all the while telling her you'll be there to keep her safe, to catch her if she falls.

  The reason Rose thrives so is because Chance is there to let her stretch her wings, but to keep her from breaking that darned neck of hers at the same time.” He ran a hand over his face. “I'm not an expert on women, but I think that's what they truly want, a man to be there to catch them if they fall.”

  My father may not have considered himself an expert on women, but I realized then that his strong marriage to my mother was proving otherwise.

  I thought on his words as I went about my work. Was Hyacinth trapped and silently screaming to get out? Women didn't have the same liberties as men—she couldn't go off on an adventure if she dreamed it, not without a chaperone. Few job opportunities were available and they did not meet Hyacinth's nature. She certainly didn't want to wear pants and run a ranch like Rose did. She might be a fine schoolteacher, but she had enough siblings to keep that desire to a minimum. Until she married, she would remain on the Lenox ranch, sitting quietly as her family overwhelmed and stifled her. She was lost in the craziness.

  Did she want adventure? What were her dreams? I didn't know them, but I was going to find out. I want
ed to set her free, but in order to do that, she had to want it. I didn't just mean in life, but in the bedroom as well. Hyacinth was a passionate woman. She hid it very well, but I knew it to be true. I had to awaken that keen arousal in her so that once we were married, I would set her body free as well. When we fucked, there would be nothing held back. I'd show her everything that could be between a man and a woman, and then some. I just had to hope my balls wouldn't ache and fall off in the meantime.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HYACINTH

  My hands roamed over my body; the curve of my hips, the slight curve of my belly, around to have my fingers feel the slight indentations above my bottom. I turned my back to the mirror and I looked over my shoulders. They looked like dimples. My legs were long and I was reasonably well formed; I did not need a corset to promote my bosom, for it was ample enough on its own. I'd seen myself naked before as I passed the mirror in the washroom on the way to the tub. It had only been in passing though, never stopping and lingering to study it before. I had a birthmark on the inside of my right thigh, a dark contrast to the pale skin there. The curls hiding my womanhood were springy and as dark as the hair on my head. I'd put my hair up in a snug bun, but when loose it would hang down almost to those newfound dimples.

  I'd avoided touching my breasts or between my thighs, for it wasn't done. I'd never paid much heed to my nipples before, what color they actually were or the way they tightened in response to Jackson's voice and the words he spoke. They were sensitive against my chemise and bound tightly behind my corset. They almost felt chafed in their confinement. Now, as I watched and thought of what Jackson wanted me to do, they transformed from soft tips to tight peaks. I couldn't help but cup my breasts, feel their soft weight and brush my thumbs over the aching nipples. I felt the heat of the touch, especially when I traded the thought of my hands cupping them to being Jackson's. That lightning of pleasure shot down and between my legs and I ached there as well. When I clenched the muscles deep inside, it didn't help. In fact, my body wanted my hands—Jackson's hands—there.

  Looking at the door, I ensured the bolt was turned on the lock, listened intently for any footfall in the hallway or coming up the stairs, then turned my back on the door—as if that would hide me. I slid my hand down below my navel and through the curls. Lower still, I ran fingers over my woman's flesh. I'd touched myself there before when bathing, but I'd never done it standing before a mirror, without a reason to do so. The fact that my only reasoning now was because Jackson insisted surely made me crazy. Somehow, and for some reason, I wanted to please him.

  He'd done nothing to make me fear him; he'd not touched me in any inappropriate way. Having him dictate I do it to myself, in private, should have been wrong, but I didn't actually care. For once, I was being the naughty one, the daring one and it felt...good. Exciting. Perhaps that was why I did it, because it—Jackson—was the first exciting thing that had crossed my path in a long time, if not ever. Was it because it was a novelty or was it Jackson himself?

  He'd said he wanted to know what made my pussy slick and wet. I hadn't the foggiest idea what my pussy was, but now that I'd played with my nipples, I had an idea, for my womanhood was now slick, the curls there damp and my thighs were coated with wetness. When I moved my hand further, the folds I touched were swollen and very slick. I lifted my fingers, and they were coated in a clear, slightly sticky fluid.

  This had to be to what Jackson was referring, but I did not know the reason why it did so. I put my hand back between my legs and moved it around, learning my curves and dips and secret places. There was one place that had me gasping, for when I bumped it with my fingertips, a burst of white-hot pleasure coursed through me and my knees almost buckled. I felt the wetness seeping from me, so I reached back and found the source, dipping my fingers into the well.

  A gasp slipped from between my lips and I moved my fingers back and forth between the little nub and inside. The room became quite warm and I felt my hair cling to my temples, but I didn't care. When I heard a door slam downstairs, I startled and looked up, seeing my reflection in the mirror. I was completely wanton, my hand between my widened legs to rub and stroke over flesh that had been awakened to pleasure I never knew existed. My cheeks were flushed, my forehead damp, my eyes overly bright. Realizing what I was doing, I pulled my hand back and stood upright, grabbing my clothes from the floor and hastily redressing.

  What had I been doing? I shouldn't be feeling this kind of pleasure.

  I silently chided my ridiculously wanton behavior, and myself, for I was not to feel anything. Just talking with Jackson had made me do ridiculous things, but at the same time things that felt so incredibly good. Was it wrong if it felt so delicious? If my hands on my body that made me feel this way, what would it be like if it were Jackson's hands? I moaned at the very idea.

  A knock on the door had me fumbling with the buttons of my dress.

  “Just a minute!” I cried.

  When I was finally presentable after one last confirmation in the mirror, I opened to door. Miss Trudy stood waiting for me in the hallway and looked me over.

  “Are you well, dear?” she asked. The noise of dinner preparation filtered up to us. I flushed hotly as she'd caught me away from my chores doing something so decadently wrong.

  I ran my hand over my hair. “Yes, fine.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You're very flush. You're not coming down with something?”

  I shook my head, thinking of exactly why there was color in my cheeks. “No, I feel fine. It's a warm day.”

  “Would you like to talk about Jackson?”

  At his name, I flushed even further.

  “We all know you visit for a few minutes each morning and evening. He is being a gentleman.”

  It wasn't a question, for she knew he had made no advances being exposed as we we'd been.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Her gaze moved over me once again as if she knew what I'd been doing to myself.

  “We've talked to all of you girls about what happens between a man and a woman, at least to a certain extent.”

  She and Miss Esther had, in clear truths, told us how a man would have relations with a woman. When I was younger I doubted their words, but now I knew them to be accurate.

  “What we didn't tell you about were the feelings that went with it. When you find the right man, you'll know. Your body will recognize him. It will change.”

  “Change?”

  She smiled. “Not change in the physical sense, but it will awaken to his voice, his touch, even thoughts of him.”

  Perhaps she was a mind reader after all.

  “All right, Miss Trudy.” I wanted the conversation to be over for the topic was too close to the truth for my comfort. What would happen if she knew what I'd been doing?

  “It's all right for Jackson to be attentive, Hyacinth. It's all right for him to want you and for you to desire him in return. It's not wrong.”

  My mouth fell open. “It isn't?”

  She shook her head. “No, it's natural. Jackson is the man for you, just as Chance was for Rose.”

  “You're saying I should lay with him?” I whispered, looking down the hall toward the stairs, fearful the others would hear my words.

  “If you love him and he loves you.”

  Those words brought me back to my reality—my guilt filled, pleasureless reality. “No. I don't love him. I won't love anyone.”

  Miss Trudy's face softened with something akin to pity. “Hyacinth, you think you are unlovable? That you aren't worthy?”

  I lifted my chin and thought of Jane. Jane, who would never know her own pleasures elicited by her body or the secrets shared with a man.

  “I'm not worthy, Miss Trudy. If there is any attraction on Jackson's part, he should look elsewhere. I've told him that Elizabeth Seabury would be a good match.” I cleared my throat because I was wistful, for a few minutes in the washroom I'd forgotten myself. “I'm sure the corn needs to be shucked for d
inner.”

  Miss Trudy, thankfully, didn't stop me as I went down to the kitchen. I blindly stood over a basket and shucked ear after ear of corn as my sisters did their parts to put the evening meal together. Just a few visits with Jackson and I was worse off than ever. He'd given me a hint of what it was like between a man and a woman, what my body could be awakened to feel, but it was wrong. It was wrong for me to feel anything, so like a vault I'd seen at the bank, I pushed my feelings down and shut the door. I knew that if I met Jackson after dinner as he'd requested, it would be harder and harder to resist.

  So instead of meeting him in the middle of the field, I sat on the floor by my bedroom window and looked out, hopefully hidden, at the man standing there. I ached with the need to go out to him, but I couldn't. It would surely be easier to resist him now than even tomorrow.

  When he realized I wasn't coming to meet him, he put his hat on his head, turned and went to his house. Seeing him walking off had my throat clogging on unshed tears, had my heart breaking. Perhaps he would now turn his focus to Elizabeth Seabury, to whisper in her ear and ask her what color her nipples were. Woodenly, I went over to my bed, climbed in and threw the covers over my head. As silently as possible, I let the tears fall until there were none left. Only then did I fall asleep, Jackson's face filling my dreams.

  JACKSON

  When I realized she wasn't meeting me, I was angry—not at Hyacinth, but at myself. As I fiddled with the brim of my hat, I assumed I'd pushed her too hard, just as I'd expected. Regardless of my father's advice, Hyacinth did not respond to my more intent behavior. I'd scared her away. Then, as the sun fell behind the mountains and I turned back to the house, I realized I hadn't needed to scare her, for she'd scared herself. She was just plain petrified of something. What, I had no idea, but I was going to find out.