by Merry Farmer
“Then what are you worrying about, my dear? Enjoy life. Enjoy your husband. And let him enjoy you.”
Frowning, Callie turned back to her work. It still didn’t seem quite right to her, but she wasn’t sure if her reasons were valid. She wasn’t sure what her reasons were.
Callie’s tangled thoughts were distracted by another gunshot ringing out from the miner’s side of the camp. She flinched and jerked her head to see what was going on.
“You put that thing away or I’ll put it away for you. And you won’t like where I put it,” Mr. Evans shouted.
He was one of the men with a drawn gun, and Callie couldn’t tell if he had fired or someone else. No one appeared to have been shot.
“I’m getting goddamn tired of dealing with the lot of you!” Mr. Evans went on. “I’ve half a mind to leave you all here without so much as your britches!”
A volley of protests began to ring up from the miners, but Mr. Evans raised his gun and fired it into the air. The protests stopped.
“Get your things! All of you!”
Callie had to continue to mind their dinner to keep it from burning, but she and everyone else in the camp kept one eye on the situation unfolding in the miners’ section as they worked.
Under the threat of being shot by Mr. Evans and those who stepped up to aid him, each of the miners scurried back to their wagons and fetched their essential belongings, sacks and carpetbags. They gathered slowly in the space in front of their wagons. Mr. Evans had them line up as if joining the army. He had them wait too, walking up and down the line like he might just shoot one of them to relieve his headache. The men who had gone to round up the oxen, including John and Mr. Weingarten, returned to their wagons, buzzing with curiosity. The miners stood where they were, obedient but resentful, glaring back at the men who stared at them.
“What does Pete think he’s doing?” John muttered as he came to stand beside Callie as she served their supper.
Callie shook her head. She handed John his plate and the two of them sat to watch what happened next. As Mr. Evans inspected the line of miners, she chewed on a piece of bread, glad that she was sitting close enough for her and John’s legs to touch. She didn’t like the look of whatever Mr. Evans was planning.
“Now if you can’t play together like good children, Papa’s gonna have to split you up,” Pete lectured to the line of glaring, seething men.
“Is he trying to get a bullet in his back?” John’s rhetorical question sent a spike of dread straight to Callie’s stomach.
“You, Jed, go with the Houstons. George, with the Picketts. Albie, with the Sorensens.” John’s and Callie’s brows both rose as they realized what he was doing. “Cletus, go with the Finchs.”
“Hey! You can’t do this! We don’t want a dirty miner mixing with our children,” one of the travelers, Mr. Pickett, grumbled as George marched resentfully toward him.
“Who’re you calling dirty, you old stuffed shirt?” George snarled back at Mr. Pickett.
“This is the worst idea in the history of the frontier,” John exclaimed in muted awe.
“You’ll do as your told and you’ll like it!” Mr. Evans was in no mood for argument. “Kyle, go with the Farnsworths. Barney, with the Weingartens.”
Callie sat a little straighter as Barney swiped his pack from the ground and shuffled his way toward them, sending a look of daggers at Kyle as he walked in the opposite direction. Kyle glared right back before pointing a warning at Barney and going off to join the Farnsworth camp. Barney turned his attention to the Weingarten’s wagons, where Callie and John sat, and broke into a grin.
“Evenin’ folks. What’s for dinner?”
Once the miners were all divided, Mr. Evans had to deal with the cacophony of complaints pouring on him from all sides from the pioneers. The Weingartens didn’t complain. Mrs. Weingarten offered the ill-mannered Barney a bowl of stew, some bread, and ale while Mr. Weingarten kept a sharp eye on him.
Callie exchanged a gloomy glance with John as Barney laughed and made faces at the Weingarten grandchildren, either trying to entertain or scare them. It could have been worse. They’d only been saddled with Barney. And technically they themselves hadn’t had anyone lumped in with them. They ate in silence, but John stayed within sight of Callie as Mrs. Weingarten, her daughter, and Callie cleaned up. Mr. Evans found a way to appease the rest of the wagon train somehow, and as the sun set a tense quiet fell over the camp.
“I hope this doesn’t last long,” Callie whispered to John as they retired to their wagon for bed. Knowing that Barney was sleeping out by the Weingarten’s wagon, just a few yards away, made her cautious.
“I don’t see how it can last,” John replied, speaking softly but not whispering as he undressed. “It can’t possibly be a permanent solution.”
“I certainly hope not!”
Callie folded her clothes and set them aside, scooting around the tight quarters of the wagon on her knees to put out the lamp. Before she had finished turning around, John was right in front of her, sliding his hands up her sides and lifting her chemise clear off in one fluid motion. She squeaked in shock, and as soon as her arms were free, she clamped them across her breasts.
“John! What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I’m taking advantage of a tense situation and over-stepping my bounds at a time when you wouldn’t dare to call for help,” he answered, more than a little mischief in his tone.
Callie’s mouth dropped open and she blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scold him.
“And now I will continue to take advantage of your speechlessness,” John followed. He scooped Callie into his arms, closing his mouth over her open one and stealing a deep, wicked kiss.
For a moment Callie thought that the wagon had tipped to the side. Only after she could tear her focus away from the sensation of his lips teasing and tasting hers did she realize that John had lowered her to her back. He supported himself over top of her, continuing to kiss her as he maneuvered to settle his body comfortably above her. The shock of realizing that he’d wedged her legs apart—and that it felt amazingly natural for him to rest between them and not at all frightening—kept Callie deliciously befuddled for several long minutes.
“Callysta,” he whispered her name, eyebrow arched in a grin inches above her. “You can move your arms now.”
She realized that both arms were still crossed protectively over her chest. “No, I can’t,” she breathed heavily.
“Yes, you can.” He nodded, teasing her with false gravity.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, a giggle catching in her throat.
“I do think so.” His lips twitched as he fought his grin. “It’s dark. I’m not going to see anything.”
“The moon is out. You’re going to see everything.”
“All right,” he conceded, laughter clear in his voice. “I’m going to see everything, I admit it. But I promise I’ll like what I see.”
“That’s what worries me.”
He shook with genuine laughter, trying hard to be as silent about it as possible. His mirth was contagious, and Callie found herself giggling in earnest in spite of herself.
Without words, he dipped down to steal another short kiss, then traced his fingertips down one of Callie’s arms to her hand. Gently, he took hold of it and moved it away to rest by her side. If anything, that simple, sensual movement made Callie even more nervous. Now, not only was she worried about not making any noise, she could hardly breathe. The intimate parts of her were aching with expectation.
It didn’t help matters when he switched his weight to his other side, pressing even closer to those parts for a moment, to trace his fingertips down her other arm. He pulled her other hand away to place by her side as well. He settled his weight again, and it was all she could do not to let the soft, giddy sounds that wanted to escape from her throat out.
That was it. There was nothing left between his chest and her breasts. They were touching with all
that implied. She could feel the beat of his heart and was sure he could feel the hammering of hers. She was sure he could feel the hard nubs of her nipples against his flesh too. The thought of that did nothing but make them harder, make every bit of her sensitive skin tingle. Every breath created a hundred tiny frictions that gave rise to a thousand giddy pleasures.
It took Callie a minute to realize he was perfectly still above her. She blinked.
“What are you doing?” Her words came out in a breathless pant.
“I’m waiting for you to calm down,” he teased.
“I’m perfectly calm.”
He laughed, the sound deep in his throat, the vibrations shivering through her.
“You are not.”
Callie huffed out a breath and drew in another one to argue, but he stopped her.
“Shh. Be still.”
She tried, but every particle in her body continued to quiver.
“Shh,” he scolded her again when she tried to wiggle. “Be. Still.”
She tried to do as he said. She really tried. She focused on her breathing, not the warm, meaningful weight of his body above hers, not on the contours of his chest or the plains of his stomach. Not the contact of flesh between them or the stiff rod of him against her thigh. She tried to just breathe.
It got easier. She remembered that she had hands and arms, and that at the moment they were doing nothing useful. So she slid them up around his back to embrace him. He fit in her embrace like every perfection in the world.
“That’s better,” he whispered. “Now, close your eyes. Close your eyes and forget about everything outside this wagon. Forget about the miners and the pioneers. Forget about the wagons and the wilderness. Forget about the trail, where we’ve come from, where we’re going.”
It was so easy to do when he whispered those commands in a liquid voice, closer and closer to her ear. She closed her eyes and relaxed.
She didn’t tense when his lips brushed the soft skin at the base of her ear. He kissed again lower, over the pulse in her neck, lower still toward the base of her throat. She’d thought that only kisses on the lips were special and sensitive, but these kisses were something else entirely. These kisses turned her to melted butter.
He kissed lower, over the edge of her collarbone, over her heart. She felt the moist heat of his breath trail lower still, until his mouth closed over one of her nipples. Then she was tense all over again, but with a heady, silky tautness that had her inching her hips up toward the hardness between his legs.
The roughness of his tongue teased her even more. His hand cupped her other breast, kneading it gently, thumb brushing over her nipple. It was pure, sensual heaven. She let out a long breath, a purring sound that caught in her throat.
With a sudden snap of cold air, he raised himself on both arms and stopped.
“All right, that’s enough for tonight.” He feigned casualness, although the tremor in his voice was clear. He untangled himself and sank to lie on his side beside her.
“What?” Callie continued to lie there, stunned and sprawled, panting, waiting for her mind to rejoin her body. When it did, she swallowed a squawk of protest. “No! That is not fair!”
“Perfectly fair.” He cleared his throat, then continued in a mock scolding whisper, “There are people all around us, only yards away.”
Callie gasped in offense, turning to him, eyes wide, giggles bubbling once more. “You horrible man.”
“What if someone heard us?” He pretended to be concerned.
If she had had a spare pillow, she would have thrown it at him. Instead, she pummeled his shoulder with her fist.
“Stop!” he laughed, earning another swift punch. “Shh!”
“You are mean,” she hissed, heart so light she thought it might float up out of her throat.
He cleared his throat again and put on a straight face to say, “Callysta?”
“What?”
“Your breasts are beautiful in the moonlight.”
Callie gasped, glancing quickly down to see that, yes, there was enough light for him to get quite a good look at a lot of her. Instead of covering herself, she punched him a third time for good measure. He laughed, louder than he should have, and fended off her attack by throwing an arm around her and rolling her over to lie with her back against his chest.
“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” he asked. Callie could hear the mischief in his voice even though she couldn’t see his face.
“Me?” she replied. “What’s gotten into you?”
His body shook as he worked on calming down and being still, as he’d told her to be. “I have no idea,” he sighed at length, snuggling her closer. “Can I blame it on trail fever?”
Callie was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt when he snuck a hand up across her bare stomach to fondle her breast.
“No.” She frowned, breathless at his touch. After just enough hesitation, she closed a hand over his and pushed it down from her breast.
Only he didn’t stop there, but let his hand continue to sail down, right down under the waist of her drawers and straight into the thatch of curls between her legs.
She gasped in earnest, playfulness gone. This touch was something she’d never imagined in her wildest fantasies. John held his breath with tension as his fingers delved deeper than she would have imagined, sliding to places that even she would have been reluctant to touch.
Hot pleasure flared to life. She thought he was going to withdraw his hand, but instead he paused to rub a small part of her that seemed so primed for receiving pleasure that a vocal sigh escaped from her in spite of wanting to keep quiet.
John was wicked enough to echo that sound. “You’re wet,” he whispered, warm and wicked.
She could only respond with a hot hum of agreement. The sweet ache between her legs pulsed as his fingers continued their magic. She shouldn’t want him to touch her like that as desperately as she did. She shouldn’t have held her breath in blissful anticipation when he left off teasing her nub to explore her wet folds. His hips ground against her backside, part of him so hard that she sighed with longing.
He stroked his fingertips over the entrance of her sex, the hottest part of her. When he slid a finger inside, she gasped and pressed into his hand. A moan escaped from her throat. He echoed it with a shaky sigh, and his finger pressed deeper. He slipped a second finger inside of her and stroked her from the inside.
Callie gasped as her body responded by bursting into splinters of desire. The tension that had been building with John’s touch flowed into liquid pleasure. Tremors gripped her core as her inner muscles squeezed John’s fingers inside of her. He groaned as if the joy of it was his as well as hers. She was turned inside out with the beauty of it. She didn’t want it to end.
Slowly, like the sun setting over the horizon, the burst of amazing pleasure wore itself out, leaving Callie hot and panting. John kept his hands where it was for several long, sweet moments. When he finally did move it, easing his fingers out of her, she sighed with disappointment.
“I’m sorry,” he spoke genuinely, shaken. “I went too far. I got carried away.”
Callie didn’t have any reply. At least not in words. Instead she hugged his arm, pressing her hand over his when it reached her abdomen. Her gesture was as possessive as his.
“I’m glad you like being touched like that,” he spoke again several minutes later, his voice steadier.
“How do you know I liked it?” She found her voice at last.
He pressed a smile into the skin of her neck, then whispered in her ear, “Because you came.”
“I what?” She half turned in his embrace.
To her surprise, he laughed in reply, burying his face in the pillow for a moment. He then shook his head and sighed.
“Can I explain some other time? I’m close enough to the edge right now that even talking about it is going to push me off the cliff.”
About six kinds of frustration throttled Callie. There
were too many things she didn’t know but wanted to.
“John,” she whispered over her shoulder. “If I had a cliff right now I would throw you off of it myself.”
He thought that was terribly funny, his body shaking with amusement.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. “I really am.”
“You’re sorry, all right.”
“And cruel.”
“Incredibly.”
“I shouldn’t take things that far if I’m not willing to follow through.”
“And why aren’t you willing to follow through?” She twisted her neck as far as she could in the hopes that he would see her withering look.
“Because there are people out there,” he said in all seriousness. Then his voice dropped back to its most naughty level. “I tend to make a fair amount of noise, and this wagon might rock clean off its axel.” He punctuated his words with a last, joyful laugh.
Callie shook her head, flopping back to her side and settling as if to sleep, even as the sparks of passion swirled through her again.
“You’re impossible,” she told him.
But in her mind and heart—and most definitely her body—she was beginning to feel that John Rye was very, very possible.
Chapter Fifteen
The wagon train reached the long-awaited river crossing a few days later, near sunset. People and wagons had been traveling west for more than a decade along the same trail, crossing the river to either head farther west to the Oregon Territory or south to places like Denver City. A small settlement of sorts had been set up to help people make the crossing just after the junction of the North and South Platte rivers.
There was no bridge over the river, but several large rafts had been constructed to float wagons across one by one with a rope strung across a narrow section of the river to guide them. Animals and people who could would ford the river, but the wagons would go over on the rafts. Since they arrived late in the day, Mr. Evans made the decision to start crossing in the morning, if conditions were favorable. So Callie and John lined their wagons up with everyone else to be ready at first light.
