Forever and a Day

by Mary McBride

  As they talked, she had watched the water wash over the contours of his chest, intrigued by the way the soft hair flattened then sprang quickly back to life. By the time their conversation had turned to farming, Honey had barely been able to remain on the bed. Her hungry eyes had begun to devour the man in the washtub, and her hands had fairly itched to slide over his glistening muscles.

  With her heart nearly bursting with emotion, the proposal of marriage had sprung from her lips without even passing through her brain. It had surprised Honey almost as much as it had Gideon. But she didn’t regret it. In fact, she was glad for once her brain had failed to censor her heart.

  You didn’t even know he was alive a week ago, her brain told her now. How could you love so fast? And marriage! That’s forever. Longer. Forever and a day. This is crazy!

  But it wasn’t, her heart replied. Hadn’t her mother loved her father the minute she’d laid eyes on him? And hadn’t she given herself to him that very day?

  She slid off the end of the bed and curled her arms around Gideon’s neck, pressing her lips to the damp hair at his temple. “I can barely breathe for loving you, Gideon,” she whispered.

  He wasn’t breathing at all, he thought. And when Honey’s hand slid down his chest and came to rest over his heart, Gideon knew she had to feel the hard hammering there. It would be a pure miracle if it didn’t burst right out through his ribs. He kept his eyes closed tight, trying with every ounce of his being to maintain control, to keep from succumbing to her whispers, her warmth, her gentle touch. To keep his mind cool while his body was hot enough to boil the water in the tub.

  “Love me, Gideon.”

  Her breath shivered over his ear, sending a shock of wanting clear through him.

  He covered her hand with his. His voice was thick with desire, edged with restraint. “Ed, honey, I...”

  Her warm tongue tested his ear then and her voice was barely more than moist breath. “Love me, Gideon, please. I want you so.”

  His restraint—what there was of it—snapped like wire strung too tight between fence posts, and all his defenses collapsed as Gideon reached back and pulled Honey around to the side of the washtub and drew her close. The visions that swirled through his head then were of the two of them, somewhere, Kansas perhaps, lost in the midst of tall green corn with sunshine pouring through the golden tassels and wind singing through the broad curved leaves.

  He wanted nothing more in the world that moment than to possess that vision in all its beauty and warmth and innocence. He wanted this woman with a fierceness that he could no longer deny. Drawing his legs beneath him then, in one fluid movement Gideon rose from the water with Honey cradled in his arms. She gave a happy, surprised little cry, lifting her arms to circle his neck as he carried her to the bed.

  It was sunset now and the white sheets where he laid her reflected the rich colors of day’s end—the warm golds and brilliant pinks. Gideon smelled like soap and sweet, sweet summertime. His skin, still wet from the bath, was cool and smooth beneath Honey’s palms.

  There was nothing cool or smooth about his kiss though. He held her head between his hands, angling it for the ferocious ravishment of his mouth, the plunder of his tongue. It seemed less kiss than claiming. When Gideon sank his teeth softly into her lower lip, a searing heat went rushing through her like wildfire, and Honey strangled a gasp.

  Gideon rose on an elbow, breathing hard, his fingers still tangled in her hair. Honey read the question burning in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m only a little afraid. I’ve never... Oh, Gideon, I want to do this right, to please you and I...I don’t know what to do...or how... or...”

  “Ssh.” He stilled her with a brief, undemanding kiss, then his lips quirked into a grin. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve done this, sweetheart, it’s like my first time, too. I’ll take it as slow as I can,” he said, dipping his head to nibble at each corner of her trembling mouth. “Lord, you taste good.”

  Honey sighed as much with pleasure as with relief. “Should I...should I touch you?” she asked, sliding her hand as far as his waist.

  Gideon’s grin weakened as he drew in a rough breath and captured her wayward hand with his. “Not yet. Let me touch you.” He levered up farther on his elbow and slowly peeled the drapery of bath sheet from Honey’s shoulders.

  “Ah, Ed, honey,” he whispered as his warm gaze slid from her collarbone over her breasts and firm, flat belly. “Look at you, darlin’. You’re beautiful. You’re so damn beautiful.”

  His fingertips drifted down from her neck to trace a lazy figure eight around her breasts. Eyes blazing as he watched their crests tighten in response to his touch, Gideon lowered his head to take one rosy bud in his mouth. Honey’s fingers threaded through his hair as his warm tongue played over her nipple.

  “Gideon,” she murmured. “You’re making me all wild and skittery inside.”

  He lifted his head only long enough to reply “Good” and then lavished the same attention on her other breast while his hand moved slowly over the flare of her hip and down her legs. When his fingers found the damp heat between Honey’s thighs, he caught her little moan of pleasure with his mouth. And now it was Honey whose teeth dragged gently on his lip, whose tongue invited him more deeply, more sweetly inside her.

  She whimpered and her hips thrust upward against his hand.

  “Slow,” Gideon whispered against her ear. His voice was ragged, hoarse, as if even his vocal cords had tightened along with the rest of him in a fierce effort to hold back until he gave her the pleasure she so eagerly sought. The pleasure this beauty deserved her first time, her every time. Maybe he couldn’t give her the world, he thought, but he could make it magically explode for her.

  He forced himself to turn his thoughts inward, away from her warm sleekness, toward Kansas or wherever it was that the corn grew tall as elephants and the wind stalked like a green beast through the fields. If he could be there someday, with Honey, maybe his life could begin again, could happily end. Maybe. Maybe. The words pounded in his brain like a chant, distracting him from his own increasing need. Maybe. And then Honey was arching against his body, hot as pure sunshine, gasping, sighing his name like a sweet summer wind.

  “Gideon.”

  The whole room seemed to shimmer as Honey opened her eyes. Her whole body was shimmering, from her scalp to the tips of her toes. Then Gideon was kissing her again, urgently now, as his body moved over hers and his knee separated her legs. He whispered something quick, something she couldn’t quite comprehend, just before his mouth took away her breath and consumed her little cry of pain and surprise as he thrust into her, filling her, completely, beautifully.

  “Slow.” The word rumbled deep in his throat as if he were talking to himself. His big hands grasped her hips and held them still for the slow and rhythmic movements that soon set Honey burning again, reigniting the fire that she was sure had burnt itself out only moments before. And when his pace increased she moved with him, her hands roaming restlessly up and down his slick back, her breasts damp with his musky sweat, his name like a song on her lips.

  There was a tight coil deep inside her. It tightened until Honey didn’t think she could stand it another second, and then it sprang loose and wild at the same moment that Gideon shuddered fiercely and bit down on a groan.

  He sank into the crook of her neck, his heart battering against hers, replicating the rhythm of her own. In the silence, as evening fell about them and darkness penetrated the room, Honey was sure she could hear their hearts beating as one, singing the same song. She knew no other heart would ever match hers the way Gideon’s did now. Now. Tomorrow. Forever.

  She drifted into sleep listening to that precious music.

  * * *

  Something brushed against Gideon’s shoulder. He twitched in his sleep, then his hand snapped up and grabbed, twisting and crushing the object in his grasp. At the sound of a small voice crying out, he came full
y awake to find a hank of Honey’s long, dark hair in his tight fist.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” she said softly.

  “It’s all right.” He hadn’t meant to sound gruff, but he did. He had been dreaming he was back in prison, in solitary, on the cold stone floor of a cell. When the soft hair brushed his shoulder, he’d immediately taken it for a rat. Some of them were nearly as big as cats in Jefferson City.

  Not a rat at all though. Rather a cat, purring now and curling sensuously against him. Gideon shifted his arm to pull Honey closer. He stroked her silky hair.

  The room was nearly dark with only wavering light from a torch or two somewhere down below on the street. Noise from the saloon drifted up through their open window. The string band was playing a sprightly tune Gideon didn’t recognize. That was what happened when you lost five years of your life in a hellhole like the Missouri State Penitentiary, he thought as he stared at the dark ceiling. The whole world carried on, writing new books, making up new songs, making love—while men moldered in cold, silent cells, alone.

  As Honey snuggled against him, Gideon sighed inwardly. He had just made love to a beautiful woman. He had just given and received more passion than ever before in his life. He ought to be lying here glowing like a log on the grate, or up crowing like a rooster. Instead he was cursing himself for his loss of control, for taking Honey’s innocence when he had nothing to offer her in return.

  Hell, she was so innocent he wasn’t even sure she knew the risk she was taking or the consequences of their lovemaking. What if she ended up carrying his child? At the thought, Gideon’s heart felt as if it were folding in upon itself. He’d had a son with Cora, a child he’d never even laid eyes on, a boy buried in a little grave somewhere in West Texas. He had Dwight Samuel to thank for that.

  Honey moved sinuously, draping one leg over his, pressing her small hand over his heart. “Do you suppose we’ve made a baby, Gideon?” she murmured, as if she had read his very thoughts.

  Christ Almighty! He hoped not. “I doubt it,” he said tersely. “It’s pretty unlikely the first time.”

  She was quiet, letting her fingers drift over his chest. Finally she said, “That’s how my mother got me. Her first time. One skyrocketing Fourth of July night with my father. She told me she loved him the minute she laid eyes on him.”

  Gideon chuckled softly as he began to thread his fingers through her hair. “That would explain it then, I guess.”

  “What?”

  “That peculiar light in your eyes. Must have something to do with all those fireworks when you took hold.”

  Honey sighed. “Maybe. My father went away the very next day and Mama married somebody else to give me a name. That was my papa, Ned.”

  “Cassidy?” He remembered the name she had told him originally. Still, Gideon had a hard time picturing Race Logan abandoning a pregnant female. He had an even harder time imagining the tall, virile banker allowing his child to be raised by another man. He recalled his own torment when Cora had run off with Dwight. And he felt an even more piercing stab of pain now imagining Honey turning to another man, child or no child.

  He smoothed a hand along Honey’s arm, and asked as much out of curiosity as a wish to change the subject, “What happened to Cassidy?”

  She didn’t answer, but moved more closely against him.

  “Honey? What happened?” he pressed.

  “He died.” Her voice was cool, almost indifferent, then it warmed slightly as she continued. “My real father, Race Logan, came back from the war and claimed Mama and me, and we lived happily ever after.”

  Not all that happily from the sound of it, Gideon thought as his fingers combed idly through her long hair. If anybody deserved to be happy, it was this warm, loving woman. He only wished he would be the one to provide her with that happiness. Given half a chance, he could. He was sure of that. Only problem was nobody was going to give him that chance.

  Not Race Logan, that was for sure. Not now. The banker had promised a parole after Gideon upheld his part of their bargain. Once he had lured Dwight Samuel and his gang into the doomed holdup in Santa Fe, he was supposed to return to Jefferson City, pick up his papers and then he’d be a free man. Gideon wasn’t sure he’d ever trusted that to happen. Now he knew it never would. If he had figured Logan right, Gideon thought, the banker would just as soon see him rot in hell right now for what he’d done to his daughter.

  Fair enough, Gideon thought. He’d feel the same way about any man who hightailed it with his daughter, not to mention taking her to bed. And besides, the parole—whether it happened or not—wasn’t why he’d agreed to come to New Mexico in the first place. His purpose had been revenge, pure and simple. He’d come to find his cousin and his runaway wife. He’d never been quite sure, though, what he’d meant to do to Dwight and Cora once he’d found them. Now, with Cora dead, there was only his cousin to be dealt with.

  Honey’s hair warmed to the touch of his hand, slipped like smooth summer lake water through his fingers. He wondered if her property in Kansas had a lake, and fleetingly imagined the two of them swimming in it, naked and joyous as children. But that was just a dream, one he’d likely keep dreaming now for the rest of his life.

  Prison was what was real. Gideon had never truly counted on Logan’s ability to get him out. Now he knew the banker would gladly slam the door himself and throw away the key. So his well-made plan was going to have to change some. The fake holdup was going to be a real one, at least for him, and while Dwight and his thugs were being picked off one by one, Gideon was going to arrange his own parole—a quick and permanent trip across the border.

  Despite Honey Logan. Or maybe because of her. Despite his feelings for her. Or maybe because of those feelings that were already making his heart ache like a rotten tooth. He loved her. That was a fact. But still he had to leave her. He couldn’t go back to prison. Not now. Not again.

  Once was enough. He’d been tough enough once. But not twice. And not now. For as surely as Gideon knew he loved Honey Logan, he also knew that with the first crack of the whip, the first boot in his ribs, the first cold touch of the hard stone floor and the first long silence of solitary—without Honey—his mind would snap and he would never be whole again.

  Right now his mind snapped back to the present, to Honey’s soft hand traveling slowly over his abdomen, moving down.

  He stopped her, clasping his fingers gently around her wrist, berating himself for not getting up as soon as he woke, getting dressed, getting away from...

  “I want to touch you,” she said, her breath shivering over his breast, her hair shimmering across his skin. “Don’t you want me to, Gideon?”

  His sigh was as frayed as each and every one of his nerves. Once, twice? he wondered. How many times could he take her, how many times could he pour his love into her without tempting fate beyond its limits? And how could he say no when this was all he would ever have of her, when a single night would have to provide them both with a lifetime of loving?

  “Touch me, darlin’,” he whispered hoarsely. “I love your sweet, soft hands.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kate Logan tugged off a glove, then used the heel of her hand to rub a patch of dirt from the window of the train southbound from Santa Fe to Cerrillos. When her view was cleared, though, she hardly noticed the passing landscape or the bright incandescence of the morning sky.

  Every once in a while she moved her foot to reassure herself that the small leather valise was still safely stowed on the floor beneath the folds of her long gray skirt. Once again she clicked open the filigreed watch pinned to the lapel of her jacket, then tucked in her chin to read it.

  Nine o’clock. Race would have been to the bank by now, she thought. If she had done a good enough job rearranging the contents of his safe, he’d never notice the missing cash or the fact that there were only eight gold ingots now rather than a dozen. She didn’t believe she could count on that owlish teller keeping his promise not to tell Race
she had been in the bank, but if she was lucky, her husband wouldn’t realize she was gone until late afternoon, when she was already coming back from Cerrillos on the northbound train. Coming back with their daughter.

  Kate dropped her gaze to her lap where her fingers were twisting the gold ring she had worn for so many years. She felt the rhythm of her heartbeat change, making her take in a quick, unsteady breath. Whatever had possessed her to think she could fool Race? Kate wondered. Her husband would know she was gone just from the feel of the air—just as she could detect his absence. The world wasn’t right when they were apart. The sun didn’t slant properly. Something was always wrong with the air. It felt too thin to sustain a proper breath, too vapid to sustain life.

  Staring at the ragged line where the rough hills pushed against the sky, Kate wondered if she’d ever draw a proper breath again. She wasn’t sure Race would ever forgive her for what she was doing. In all the years they’d been married, she had never defied his will. Argued with him, yes. Confronted him with her opinions, most definitely. But defied him? Gone behind his back? Never. But, until now, there had never been a reason.

  She could have shown him the ransom demand, then argued till she was breathless and blue in the face that he shouldn’t go, that it was too dangerous, that his hot temper clouded his judgment especially where Honey was concerned. She could have pleaded that Race, at the age of fifty-four, wasn’t a match for the younger, more desperate Summerfield. All to no avail.

  Her mouth flattened out into a grim line. She was doing what she had to do—for Honey, for Race. Honey would be indignant about being bailed out of another scrape and would harbor a grudge for being made to feel, once again, useless and irresponsible. But the girl would get over it eventually.

  Race, on the other hand, might never forgive Kate for this deception. She knew him so well, and she knew his stubborn pride. The wound she was inflicting now might never heal.