by Jodi Thomas
He didn’t argue. The war had pushed many children on the streets when a widow couldn’t take care of them. But Sloan was no more a father than McCall was a mother. Did she think she could keep Winter with her while she wandered from adventure to adventure? She was looking for a reason to die more than one to live, but he’d never confront her with such a fact. “I never thought about having kids, and if I had, I always guessed it would be the usual way.”
“The usual way?” McCall answered.
“You know, by sleeping with his mother.” Sloan was glad it was dark, for her question embarrassed him. He might not know much about men and women, but he knew enough to guess that folks didn’t go around talking about such things as having children. He moved another step away and mumbled to himself, “Seems to me we skipped the fun part.”
“Well,” McCall followed him into the shadows, “I’m Winter’s mother and you’ve already slept with me.”
She wasn’t making it easy. If he were turning down this huge responsibility she’d so lightly tossed at him, he’d have to do so with more directness. “I mean…” All the words that came to mind were gutter talk men used when no women were listening. Not the kind of things he’d ever be able to say to McCall. “I mean, a man becomes a father when he…”
She stared directly at him with that warrior stance that said she’d fight to the death, and he might as well surrender while he was still breathing.
“Do you mean that if you bedded me and I were Winter’s mother, then you’d take on the responsibility?”
“Of course,” he answered. “It would be the only right thing to do.”
“Then bed me and be done with it, for I am Winter’s mother from this time on and there seems to be no other man to serve as his father. My grandfather always told me a child must have a man to look to as he grows.”
Anger boiled over his embarrassment. “Are you asking me to sleep with you just so I’ll be a father to Winter?”
“If that’s the price you ask.” McCall straightened her clothes.
“Even if I wanted to share a night with you, McCall, I wouldn’t do it because you were sacrificing yourself for the child. I care as much about Winter as you do.”
“Then you don’t want to make love to me?” She was charging again like a warring general opening up another line of attack. Even in the darkness he could see the fire in her eyes. A fire that would probably burn him to cinders at any moment.
“I didn’t say that.” Sloan could never be that big a liar to her, or to himself. “I’ve thought about making love to you. Hell, the thought occupies most of my time, when I’m not worrying about staying alive. But I’m not bedding any woman just so I can be tied down.”
McCall stomped in frustration. “You’re mad. First you won’t sleep with me, then you tell me you think about it every waking moment. What’s the great dilemma? I’m no untouched flower. Several times a year when I was married, my husband asked me to raise my hem for a few minutes so he could do what he called ‘his duty.’ I never minded all that much, and it doesn’t hurt but a moment before it’s over. My own father told me the day before I married not to go on about such a thing, like most women do.”
Sloan didn’t hear any thunder, but he sure felt the lightning strike him as her words registered. He always thought women valued their virtue over all else. Here she was using it like a card in a deck she played, telling him it would be no great thing if he had her. She seemed to think the act was no more important than making soap. Just part of life, nothing else. The idea not only astonished him, it hurt his pride. “Have you ever made anyone else such an offer?”
“I’ve never had a child who needed a father before,” McCall answered. “Plus, I’ve never known a man I thought I could tolerate atop me even for a few minutes beside Holden and maybe you.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” Sloan said. The sarcasm curdled in his voice. “But come hell or high water, I’m not sleeping with you for such a reason.”
Her lips pressed together. Sloan knew she was debating. What would she try next, pulling a rifle on him and demanding he be Winter’s father? Couldn’t she see that he was barely able to stay alive himself? What kind of father would he be? Hell, he swore again, what kind of lover does she think I’ll be?
Lifting her chin an inch, she turned away. Retreating silently, but as always with honor.
Sloan followed her back to the corner of the wagon. He didn’t want to end their conversation like this. “Don’t worry about the boy. I told you, he’ll survive.”
McCall leaned against the wheel. She was silent for so long, he didn’t think she’d heard him. Then softly she whispered, “That’s what they said about me…but they were wrong.”
Watching her closely, Sloan suddenly realized the truth. She identified with the boy. Maybe a part of her was Winter. The little kid that had never been allowed to be a child. The girl who’d had to be a woman too soon. The young woman forced to play the part of widow before she even knew what it was like to live with love.
Without hesitation, he folded her into his arms. He’d fight the general in her, but he could never turn away from the child she needed to trust him enough to be. Like the sleeping boy at their feet, she needed to feel the warmth of arms holding her.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered. “We’ll find a place for Winter.”
“I know.” His chest muffled her words. “Just as I know there will never be a place for me.”
Sloan remembered a line from a poem he’d seen once in a paper. Something about, What do we do with the widows when the war is won? Their men will never come marching home, but they’ll go on, one by one.
Her husband had been the lucky one, Sloan realized. He’d died a hero, but she’d had to go on with only memories. She’d been there for him, but Holden Harrison would never be there for his wife. Sloan held her as she cried softly. Tears for Winter, tears for herself, tears for a world gone crazy. Her pain was so deep it left a cavern in her he’d never be able to fill. She wanted a hero, and he was only a man.
“Shhhh,” he whispered against her hair. “You’re not dead, darlin’. You only think you are.”
“I’m tired of all the sadness,” she cried. “I want to feel alive just once before I’m too old to feel anything. Walk with me back to the clearing, then hold me like you did last night. Hold me close.”
Sloan glanced over McCall’s shoulder at a movement in the shadows of the wagon. He looked closely, not believing what he saw. Alyce Wren was holding out a blanket and pointing with her head toward the woods.
He couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do more than take McCall into the shadows where no one would see them. He’d like to make her feel alive again, the kind of alive that great hero of a husband never made her feel. But it galled him to think that Alyce Wren was pushing him. The old woman had decided somewhere along the line that he should be the one to bring McCall out of her mourning, but this was going too far. He kind of wanted the decision to make love to be his own. He didn’t want to do it because McCall needed a father for Winter, or because Alyce Wren thought it was time.
“We can’t leave the boy.” He forced each word out.
Alyce shook the blanket harder.
“He’ll sleep now,” McCall said.
“What if Eppie wakes up and I’m not here to protect her? She goes half mad every time anyone except us gets within ten feet of her.”
Alyce waved the blanket like a flag in a windstorm. She shook her finger so hard toward the trees, she rocked the entire wagon.
“Alyce Wren will comfort her.” McCall snuggled beneath his arm.
He knew she’d let him make love to her tonight. She was vulnerable. Winter’s grief had brought back her own. He wouldn’t put it past her to be acting now, trying another strategy when her last advance failed. But he had to know that she wanted him, not just anyone. She’d come to matter too much to him. He didn’t want to just bed McCall, he wanted to make love to her.
“I c
an’t,” he answered as his hands moved lovingly along her back. He must be very careful about turning her down. He had to think of some way to tell her there would be time later.
Alyce snorted from the wagon’s interior and tossed the blanket out on the ground. She’d finally given up on her not-so-subtle hint.
Sloan smiled and lowered his face into McCall’s hair to keep from laughing. “I’d love to walk with you,” he whispered low in her ear. “I’d love to hold you in the moonlight of the clearing and lower you in the grass and make love to you. Not the kind of love where a woman only raises her hem, but the kind that blends two bodies so close together there is no beginning to one or ending to the other.”
“I was only asking for a walk.” McCall pulled away slightly.
Sloan’s arms remained tight around her. “No, you weren’t, lovely lady. You asked for more, far more. More than I may ever be able to give in this lifetime.” His hands spread wide over her back and pulled her closer. He could feel the softness of her breasts against his chest and he knew she could feel the hardness of his need against her skirt.
“I won’t ask again.” She lightly kissed his lips as if testing.
“You won’t have to,” he whispered as his hands moved along her sides and warmed her through the cotton blouse. “But come to me when there’s no reason besides loving. I’ll do the best I can for the boy. I’ll protect him with my life. But sleep with me because you want to, not out of sacrifice or duty.”
She didn’t answer as he kissed her lightly.
Suddenly, the need to taste her was greater than any need he’d ever known. He felt he might die of starvation if he didn’t have just a little more of her. Nothing they’d said mattered. All that mattered was her.
Lifting her in his arms, he moved into the shadows. “I have to hold you and kiss you before I say good night, McCall. And for once, I plan to do it without an audience.”
She didn’t answer or protest as he walked away from the wagon and the lights of the campfires.
They crossed into the line of trees along the creek bed until they were so deep into the shadows that he couldn’t see her face. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to see her; he only needed to feel and taste.
He lowered her feet to the ground but didn’t lessen the hold around her waist. Here, the wind whirled around, rattling the leaves in a breathy whistling sound. Here, he could hold her without anyone seeing or listening. Here, he could let himself believe for a while that he belonged at her side and that she was his. He put his hands on her shoulders and moved slowly down, feeling her in front of him now that he could no longer see her.
“There’s so much to loving.” He kissed her bottom lip, guessing the location of her mouth. “I may not be the best teacher, but I could start you off with one lesson tonight. A lesson long overdue.”
Cupping her face with both his hands, his mouth lowered to hers. The kiss was long and demanding, not tender as his others had been. He wanted her to feel him, only him. When she parted her lips to protest, the kiss deepened. He felt her body stiffen, but she didn’t pull away.
He lightened the pressure until his words just brushed her lips. “I want you to remember the feel of my kiss, McCall. You’ll never forget the taste of me, not after tonight. Just as I’ll never forget the taste of you.”
As he widened his stance for balance, he felt her lace her arms behind her back, as if willing herself not to push away or touch him except with her lips. She was silently telling him she’d take the full force of the lesson, even if she didn’t feel anything inside.
He wanted to scream for her to kiss him back, or put her arms around him, or press against him, but he knew she was doing all she could. She wasn’t running. He could almost hear her saying, “I’m staying,” as she had last night. As if the words were a promise she’d made to herself, to be kept no matter what she must endure.
His hands moved down her throat, sliding into the open collar of her blouse so that he could wrap his fingers around her neck and feel her blood pulse just beneath. He could feel life pumping through her. She was alive, no matter how much she wanted him to believe otherwise.
The kiss turned warm and loving, but still she didn’t respond. He gently nuzzled her throat and lightly brushed his lips over her eyelashes. But she didn’t move.
He tasted her deep and long, memorizing every detail of the feel of her. His hands moved up from her waist until they rested just below her breasts. Her heart pounded against his fingers and the weight of her breasts rested lightly atop his hands.
She was driving him mad. She’d offered to lift her skirts and he’d adamantly refused. Now, he was bruising her lips with the force of his kisses, but she was responding with the warmth of a china doll. He had no idea what she’d do if he unbuttoned her blouse and continued the lesson. He had no idea how he’d survive if he didn’t.
Sixteen
IN THE LAST remaining realms of sanity, Sloan stepped away. It was so dark he could barely discern McCall’s outline, but he could hear her breathing. Shallow breaths that told him the kiss had affected her, even if she would never admit it.
“Do you want me to stop?” Sloan’s words were low with longing; he barely recognized them as his own.
“What?” she whispered. Her voice shook slightly.
“Do you want more, McCall?” He’d make her see her own needs, even in the blackness. She might have buried a husband, but she was still very much alive. It was time she faced the fact. “Answer me!”
She didn’t move; even her arms remained locked behind her back. Her tall frame blended with the trees, making her almost invisible.
He waited, hearing only the pounding of his own heart. If she said no, he’d walk away and never touch her again.
Finally her words came, just above the wind. “If I say yes, will you think me weak?”
“No,” Sloan answered, fighting the urge to pull her to him.
“I’ve never been kissed or touched like that.”
“Like how?” He couldn’t tell by her voice if she was pleased or terrified.
“Like you’d swallow me whole if you could. Like I’m velvet and you can’t get enough of the feel of me.”
“Just answer the question. Do you want me to continue, McCall?”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lifted and fell slightly. “I think so.”
It took every drop of control he’d ever reserved to stand still and say, “Then prove it.”
She took the challenge like he’d known she would, like a fighter. “How?”
“Unbutton the top button of your blouse.”
For a moment she just stood still, then he saw her silhouette move. Her hands raised to her throat. “But you can’t see me. What difference does it make?”
“It doesn’t matter if I can see you. I’ll know,” he answered, swearing that someday he’d watch her undress again in bright sunlight. “Now the next button.”
“But…”
“Are you afraid?”
“No,” she answered, her hands moving down the front of her blouse. “But I see no point.”
“Now the next button, and then the next.”
He watched as the shadow’s hands lowered. “Is your blouse open all the way to the waist?”
“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Then pull the ties on your camisole.”
She complied, but he only guessed she’d followed his directions.
“Now, push the material aside until the night air touches your skin.”
The shadow shifted again, then straightened and locked her hands behind her back once more.
“Are you finished?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Are you cold?”
“A little,” she whispered.
“You won’t be in a minute.”
Very slowly, he stepped closer, until he could feel her breath at his throat. So close his knuckles brushed her as he worked, unbuttoning his shirt and spreadi
ng it wide so that his chest was bare. All she had to do was step away and he’d stop, but she didn’t move.
“Tonight you’re going to feel, McCall,” he said against her ear as he turned her face slightly and kissed her once more.
As before, she didn’t respond to his kiss, but stood frozen in his arms.
Moving his arms around her, he threaded his fingers through hers as he pulled her to him. The impact of his skin against hers sent a jolt through McCall that Sloan felt with his whole body. She stiffened, her fingers closed around his, and her mouth opened in shock.
He took advantage of her surprise as his mouth closed over hers. The softness of her skin against him was maddening, affecting him as much as it shocked her. Sloan didn’t want to use his hands to touch her. He wanted to feel McCall against his heart.
Sloan tasted deeply of the inside of her mouth as she struggled slightly, causing her bare breasts to rub against his chest. He released her mouth and kissed her throat. She still struggled, pushing and turning so that the wall of his chest molded her against him, driving reason from him as passion flooded in. She didn’t cry out and she didn’t turn loose of his hands, now locked behind her back.
He let her twist as if she were a wild animal trapped while he captured her mouth and kissed her. The warmth of him spread into her, and she no longer felt cold against him.
“Do you feel me now, McCall?” he whispered into her ear. “Are you alive enough to feel my heart pounding against yours?”
She didn’t answer, but turned her face away when he tried to capture her lips once more. Suddenly pulling her closer, he lowered his mouth to hers with more hunger than he’d meant to show. He knew she was fighting her own emotions and not him, for her fingers held his arms tightly at her back. He couldn’t have stepped away from her if he’d had the will to try.
With a hungry sigh of longing, she stopped struggling. The death grip she’d had on his hands loosened. His kiss turned gentle as she rested against him, a warrior tired of fighting all feeling. As he moved his mouth to her throat, he felt her breath coming quick and hard and her chest rising, pressing again and again into his. There was a softness and a wildness about her he’d never thought the woman he called General could have.
