Follow your instincts, Fiona. This is a dance as old as time, and your body will know what to do. Let yourself fly.
Fiona reached for his hips and pulled him forward, impaling herself on his staff. A moment of bewilderment was followed quickly by the need to move. He filled her completely, utterly. She looked at his face, his eyes closed and his jaw tight.
“Ethan, look at me.”
He cracked one eye. “Tell me when I can move.”
She chuffed a laugh. “Five minutes ago.”
“Thank God.” He pulled out and then pushed in, slowly at first. Then he picked up speed. Her body welcomed his, moving with his rhythm without thought.
She hung on to him, her nails digging into his backside. Her body tightened further with each thrust, reaching for something, for that magic moment of pure pleasure she had been told of.
Then without warning, she found it. Every inch of her skin echoed with the ecstasy emanating from her core. She screamed his name and exploded into a thousand pieces. He grunted and thrust into her faster, harder. She rode the waves of joy with him until he shouted her name and pulsed deep within her.
Stars danced behind her eyes as she floated back to earth, full of bliss and wonder. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Now wasn’t the time to weep. It was the time to rejoice.
Fiona had finally found home.
Morning arrived with the tweeting of early spring birds that had returned despite the snow. Ethan woke after a good night’s sleep, the first time in a very long time. Fiona lay beside him, her red hair covering the yellow pillowcase. The locks sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the window. She was a goddess in the flesh, the most passionate woman he had ever met.
He surely did not want to know how much of what she did was knowledge imparted to her by his sister and sisters-in-law. No, he would rather accept the gift of her passion and live the rest of his life enjoying it.
Today was the first day of the rest of their lives together. He didn’t know how Fiona had made it to his house in the snowstorm only a few days ago, but he would be grateful for it.
“What are you thinking about?” Her voice startled him. She watched him from her pillow, her eyes wide in her freckled face.
“How lovely this morning is.” He kissed her nose. “I’ll go make coffee.”
She smiled after he jumped out of bed then hopped as the cold floor assaulted his feet. Spring might have arrived according to the calendar, but Mother Nature didn’t seem to know that. He pulled on his trousers and boots as quick as he could.
Sunshine streamed through the window in the kitchen, making the necklace on the table shine. He stopped short and stared at it. He’d given it to Nicky for Fiona, and now here it was again, back in his cabin.
He sat down and picked up the beads, the stones warm from the sun. Ethan was finally ready to let Bonita go for good. Giving away the necklace to Fiona wasn’t the right path to take. No, he had to say goodbye to that which he’d had and hello to that which awaited him with the lovely redhead in his bed.
“Nicky said you gave those to her. I don’t know what happened to them after that.” Fiona wore a pretty white dress with purple flowers on it. The Malloy women must have made sure she had clothes to wear. She sat down at the table across from him. “Did you bring them back with you?”
Ethan shook his head. “No, but I know what to do now.” He smiled at her, a great weight lifted from his shoulders. “I need to say goodbye.”
Fiona nodded. “What can I do?”
“Eat breakfast and then go with me?” He waited while she looked at him, her expression serious.
“I would go anywhere with you, Ethan.”
He kissed her hard and then set to work making breakfast for his wife. After they ate, he helped her with her coat and they set off, hand in hand. The sun had warmed up the air somewhat, but it was barely above freezing. Their breaths fogged the morning air as they walked. Fiona’s strides matched his.
They arrived at the small cemetery in half an hour. Fiona knelt down and started clearing the snow and debris from Bonita’s grave. Ethan’s heart hitched at the kindness of her gesture. His new wife had obviously taken care of others all her life, and that extended to the woman who had part of the first half of his life.
Ethan knelt beside Fiona and opened his hand. The necklace had brought them together, perhaps at Bonita’s will or perhaps because it was meant to be. He draped it across the top of the simple stone he’d had made.
A soft bird song split the air, woo-oo-oo-oo-oo. A mourning dove sat atop a nearby branch, watching them. Ethan looked up at the bird and it hopped closer, letting out another woo-oo-oo-oo-oo. To his surprise, it flew toward him, landing three feet away. Its gray and brown head shone in the morning sun.
Something told him the bird knew why they were there.
“Good morning.” He knew speaking to the bird was ridiculous, but Fiona didn’t question him, nor did she look surprised.
“You have a friend.”
“Did you come to say goodbye?”
Woo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
The bird bobbed its head, blinking its dark eyes.
“I think you came to say goodbye, didn’t you?” Ethan knew Bonita had had beliefs about the world, the spirits in all living things. He was sure this dove had arrived through the force of her spirit. It gave him a chance to end the first half of his life and begin the second.
Fiona stood slowly. “She is awful tame.”
The dove moved again, this time to the top of the grave marker. It blinked again. Woo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
“I grieved for too long. I know that, Bonita. I’m sorry you had to help me.” The bird blinked at him. “Thank you.”
The bird edged closer to the necklace, its feet closing around the chain.
“Goodbye, Bonita.”
Woo-oo-oo-oo-oo.
The dove flew off, the necklace clasped in its small toes. Within moments, it disappeared behind a copse of trees. Bonita was gone and he could finally move on. She would reside in his heart forever, but he was ready to live again.
“I’m glad you had her in your life.” Fiona touched the letters on the stone. “It made you who you are.”
Ethan nodded, peace settling over his heart. They stood and laced their hands together. Ethan walked away from the grief that had held him frozen for so long, and into the sunshine of a new life with a new wife. Fiona smelled of soap and sunshine and woman. He could fall in love with her easily.
As they walked, she tugged his hand and began to run. He laughed and raced her in earnest back to home. He couldn’t wait to find out what else she had learned.
About the Author
Beth Williamson, who also writes as Emma Lang, is an award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her books range from sensual to scorching hot. She is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by Romantic Times Magazine, in both 2009 and 2010.
Beth has always been a dreamer, never able to escape her imagination. It led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books and her family. She has a weakness for shoes and purses, as well as bookstores. Her path in life has taken several right turns, but she’s been with the man of her dreams for more than twenty years.
Beth works full-time and writes romance novels evenings, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness. She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and Western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat. For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.
Life might be chaotic, as life usually is, but Beth always keeps a smile on her face, a song in her heart and a cowboy on her mind. ;)
www.bethwilliamson.com
Look for these titles by Beth Williamson
Now Available:<
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Marielle’s Marshal
Branded
Endless Heart (as Emma Lang)
The Malloy Family
The Bounty
The Prize
The Reward
The Treasure
The Gift
The Tribute
The Legacy
Hell for Leather
The Fortune
The Prospect
The Jewel
Devils on Horseback
Nate
Jake
Zeke
Lee
Gideon
Private Lives
On His Knees
When life falls apart, love can make you whole again.
The Jewel
© 2014 Beth Williamson
The Malloy Family, Book 11
As the “beautiful” sister, Isabelle Chastain always struggled to be taken seriously. But as her family immigrates to Oregon Territory, she loses her sister Francesca to marriage, and her parents to dysentery. It’s time to take control.
With an empty wagon and a broken heart, she and her younger sister Charlotte turn for home to search for another sister, Josephine, left behind to recover from typhoid. The last thing Isabelle needs in her path is a naked, bleeding man left to die in the dirt.
Dazzled by a friend’s stories of California gold, college professor Mason Bennett left North Carolina to get his share. All his dreams of adventure and riches got him, however, was robbed, beaten, and left for dead.
As Isabelle stitches him up, he discovers her wit is as sharp as her needle. But when vagabonds seize their wagon, they must band together to save themselves—or any hope for a happy future could disappear.
Warning: Saddle up for an Old West yarn, complete with a beautiful woman with more strength than ten men, a professor turned cowboy, a love that defies the odds, and adventure that will leave you gasping for more.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Jewel:
Mason Bennett hit the ground hard enough to make his teeth clack together. He skidded across the dirt, the rocks and sticks tearing at his skin. After what seemed like an hour, but was probably ten seconds, he slammed into a small mound and stopped.
He lay there, unmoving. The fall had stripped his lungs of air and probably two feet of skin. He waited for the sound of gunshots, but none came. Minutes ticked by while every inch of his body let him know exactly what injuries had occurred. The horses rode away and he strained to hear every sound until he heard nothing. Thank God they had believed his ruse.
Or rather, not quite a ruse. While he needed to play dead, he thought he might actually be half-dead. He was most assuredly naked. The sun rose and the morning grew warm and he lay there, unmoving and full of pain.
He could be thankful they hadn’t shot him through the heart after they’d throw him from the horse. But thankful was the last emotion on his mind. Sons of bitches had taken everything except his life. No, he was angry and a wee bit vengeful.
Time slowed to a crawl as he lay there, the sun rising higher into the sky and baking his raw skin. Flies and other manner of multi-legged critters found him lying prone and thought to stay awhile. He could die. Right here. Right now. A sobering thought.
Hours passed in his pit of misery in the dirt before the sound of a wagon and oxen reached his ears and he managed to lift one arm. He waved it back and forth to get someone’s attention. Being naked, dirty and bloody might be a deterrent from whoever might actually see his pitiful wave. Yet he had to try.
“Iz, did you see that?” A young girl’s voice drifted across the tall grass.
Mason grunted and waved his arm harder.
“It’s a person. You see? There’s an arm! Stop the wagon.”
He mumbled something that may have been “thank you”, but the dirt cloud entered his mouth, ceasing intelligible speech. How could he have stooped to the point he was left to rot like a piece of refuse? He should be back in North Carolina teaching, but no, he was here in the middle of nowhere, hurt, penniless, naked and alone.
Oh, how far he had fallen.
“Stop the wagon. Hell and damnation, Iz, you are gonna run over the body.”
Body? Whose body? His body? Mason tried to move, but he managed to only grunt and flail his arm some more. He hoped the foul-mouthed girl would find him.
The jangle of harnesses preceded the crunch of the wheels on the hard-packed earth. Another puff of dirt hit his face and he attempted to duck his head and avoid the worst of it.
“Oh good, you didn’t run over his head.”
He was quite happy about that.
“Do not get too close, Charlie. He could be armed.” This was a new voice, one that danced across his ears. Beautiful, dulcet tones that could only belong to an angel.
“Uh, no I don’t think he’s armed, Iz.” The young voice grew closer and a pair of women’s boots, scuffed and worn, stopped in front of him.
“How do you know that? He could have it hidden in his trousers.”
A freckled face appeared in his line of vision, upside down, and frowning. “He ain’t wearing trousers, or any clothes for that matter. Plus he’s all beat up and bloody.”
“What do you mean he isn’t wearing clothes? Are you saying the man is naked?” Another thump and rapid footsteps. “Sweet heavens.”
“I told you.” The young face moved closer, her brown eyes clear and intelligent. “Why are you naked, mister?”
“It would take an exceptionally long time to tell the story. I believe tending my wounds and finding adequate clothing is more pressing.” His voice was as rough as the ground beneath him.
“You talk like Josephine. She’s my sister and she used to be a governess. My name is Charlotte Chastain, but everyone calls me Charlie.” She smiled and he could see the beautiful young woman she would be in several years.
“You should not be speaking to a naked man, Charlie. Please return to the wagon at once.” There was the beautiful-voiced woman again.
“He’s banged up pretty bad. Too bad Maman isn’t here to doctor him.” Charlie straightened. “I guess you’ll have to do it.”
A long exhalation of breath. “What a marvelous idea.” Her tone said it was anything but. “Why don’t you fetch some water and bandages from the wagon?”
“Yes!” The young woman ran off, leaving him with the other stranger.
“I know you can hear me, so I will not raise my voice any higher or she will hear me.” Definitely not a happy conversation. “I am Isabelle Chastain. My sister is fifteen years old and impressionable. She is my responsibility. I will do my best to help you with your wounds, but I will not expose her to a naked man one second longer than necessary. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, indeed, I do, madam. I would appreciate your assistance more than you can imagine.” He gritted his teeth against the pain from his raw skin. “I would be eternally grateful if you had some sort of clothing I can borrow.”
There were a few moments of silence before she spoke. “I happen to have men’s clothing that should fit you. Please wait here.”
Mason wanted to point out he could hardly lift his arm much less vacate the general area. He grunted in response in case she required one. The sound of retreating footsteps met his ears. Although he couldn’t make out the words, the Chastain sisters were conversing with rapid-fire words. Several long minutes later, Isabelle returned and laid a blanket on him.
“This will have to do for now. I’m afraid your wounds require me to dig out dirt and gravel from your skin.” She knelt down beside him with a basin. “I have some herbs and plants that will also help, if you’ll allow me to use them.”
Mason turned his head until he was able to see her. He was glad he was prone or he might have fallen backward.
Isabelle Chastain was a goddess in human form.
Her eyes were the green of spring grass, framed by the longest eyelashes known to man. Her face was a work of art, high cheekbones and a classic jawline. The most exquisit
e chestnut-colored hair was piled atop her perfect head. The crowning glory to the picture she presented was her mouth. Plump, red lips pouted over straight, white teeth.
“Have you looked your fill?” Her perfect mouth twisted.
“I apologize, Miss Chastain. I banged my head quite a bit when I was tossed from a horse.”
“Hmph. I’ve heard every excuse a man can conjure to explain staring at me. I recognize I am pleasing to the eye, but I wish nearly every day I were plain. Then I would know if someone saw me for who I truly am.” She dunked a rag in the water. “This is going to hurt.”
Mason noted she had healing blisters on her hands. He had only a few moments to digest her thoughts on her beauty before she began cleaning wounds on his shoulder. Pain lanced through him and he squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps if he didn’t look upon such beauty, he could lesson the affects of her doctoring.
“Have you experience in providing first aid?” He grasped on to the first topic that occurred to him.
“My mother was a very skilled nurse. She had more than twenty years experience and taught each of her daughters how to administer medical care.” Her voice had tightened.
“While I am sure she taught you well, right now it appears she forgot to instruct you in the art of medication.” He gritted his teeth.
“We are in the untamed west, mister. Medication is hard to come by, especially after being on a wagon train for five months. We are lucky to have food and fresh water. I have herbs and plants to use, which will have to suffice.” She moved to his arm, her hands sure and strong.
“You’re a pioneer?” He couldn’t have been more surprised to hear that piece of information.
“We were. My sister and I are no longer with the wagon train.” She offered nothing further and his pain-addled mind couldn’t find the energy to push for more.
The end of a curse hides behind a riddle—and the final clue in the heart of a woman.
The Spirit of the Wolf
© 2014 Karen Kay
The Lost Clan, Book 2
Grey Coyote stands on the knife edge of desperation. An ancient curse dooms his people to a half-life in the mists, neither living nor dead—unless he can solve a deceptively simple riddle. As time runs short, he’s sure the answer lies in beating a white trapper in a game of chance.
The Present: The Malloy Family, Book 8.5 Page 7
