by Night Song
“I wish you’d written me about the child, that’s all.”
“Chase—”
“Hear me out, please?”
She nodded.
“Cara, I’ve been carrying around all this anger because of how I felt when I found out you’d planned on denying me my child. A free-born child means a lot to a former slave. Being free all your life, I doubt you know just how much.”
The pain in his voice drew her eyes back to his, and he did not hide the hurt in his heart. Never, never had it crossed her mind that because he had been a slave, a free-born child would mean so much.
His voice softened as he continued. “It has to do with legitimacy, Cara. Remember the story I told you about my grandmother, that night you fell off the sawhorse and hurt your ankle?”
She did. His grandmother had called him a dirty black African bastard. Cara would always remember that tale.
“Well, I swore I would never father a child I could not give my name. When I found out you’d planned on leaving, I wanted to hurt someone—no, hurt you.”
“And you have,” she whispered without shame. Tears were stinging her eyes.
Chase felt his heart rising to his throat. “Cara, look—”
“Chase, I didn’t think about what the baby might mean to you. We’d never discussed the possibility of children. I mean, you told Sophie to tell me where I could get in touch with you in case I needed you, but you never said a thing to me. When I found out I was carrying, I didn’t know how you’d take to the idea of fatherhood. You said you were never going to marry, remember?”
He did.
“So I decided I had to look out for myself and the baby.”
“I would have helped, Cara.”
The passionate conviction in his declaration drew her gaze back to his. “You would have, wouldn’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. When we first met, I told you my intentions were honorable.”
“Yes, you did, but it was such a game between us. Chase, I’ve relied on myself for so long . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I know how hard it is to put your fate in someone else’s hands, Cara. I’m the same way.” He reached over and laid his hands atop hers. She laced her fingers with his. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Can you forgive me, these last few weeks?”
Cara looked down at their entwined fingers and whispered, “Can you forgive me?”
He stood slowly and held out his arms, “Come here.”
Cara went to him and he held her tightly. “Chase, I’m so, so sorry.”
“So am I, darlin’. So am I.”
Cara wanted so much for them to start anew. She dearly loved this man. The last month had been a nightmare, but now maybe it was over.
Chase spoke into her hair, “I’ve spent the last few days asking myself what kind of marriage I wanted us to have. I don’t really know, but I do know it can’t be one with all this bitterness.”
Cara agreed.
“Cara, I know we don’t love each other, but in the beginning, before everything got so complicated, we did enjoy being together, didn’t we?”
“Yes, we did.” The echo of his words rang loud in her ears. I know we don’t love each other.
He looked down into her face. “Why are you crying?”
She backed up and hastily wiped at the telling tears. “I’m not crying. I—you’re right. Just because we’re not in love doesn’t mean we can’t make this work. Other couples have done it.”
“I asked myself something else.”
“What?”
“I’ve never made a secret of how much I desire you, Cara Lee. And I asked myself if I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking at you, but never touching you . . .”
The hot whisper of his voice, the thought of touching him again made her go weak with desire.
“Will you share my bed? I’m not asking that we be intimate right away. We still need time to adjust to each other, but I don’t want you sleeping down the hall away from me, schoolmarm. Not anymore.”
Cara’s heart soared. His mask had disappeared. She looked up into the eyes of Chase, her Chase, and said, “Then I suppose we should start moving my things.”
It didn’t take them long to get Cara moved into Chase’s larger room down the hall. Her additional furniture made the room seem very small, but for Cara the slightly cramped quarters exuded the intimacy she imagined a husband and wife would share. Husband. He was all she could have hoped for: honorable, handsome, caring. She wanted this marriage to work. The truce they’d forget tonight made her feel as if that were indeed possible.
He smiled. “We’ll move the rest of the things in tomorrow. Ready for bed?”
She was. It had been a long day.
While Chase added wood to the fire, Cara began her preparations for bed by taking the pins from her hair. The thick mass unwound slowly, and she slid her fingers in to massage her scalp. She glanced up at Chase and saw that his eyes were riveted on her. She smiled at his interest, got up, and retrieved her hairbrush from the top of her dresser. She sat with her back to him at the small vanity table and began to brush her hair. She could see him reflected over her shoulder in the mirror. He hadn’t moved. She combed through her hair and braided it, then under his watching eyes, began to undo the buttons of her shirt.
Holding his attention, she opened the buttons at her wrist. She shimmied out of her skirt and stood there in her slip and drawers as she took off the blouse, then she moved past him over to the wardrobe and pulled out a long flannel nightgown.
Chase’s manhood swelled as he watched her. He supposed he, too, should get undressed, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from his beautiful wife. The removal of the blouse revealed the camisole underneath and the sweet brown curve of her bare shoulders. She hung up the blouse on one of the pegs nailed into the back of the door. She looked good enough to eat. When she sat on the bed and began to remove her stockings and shoes, Chase got a good enough look at the expanse of her legs to keep him awake for weeks imagining and remembering the feel of them entwined around his waist.
“Something wrong?” she asked innocently.
“No, just adjusting to you.”
“I see. Would you rather I undress in the other room?”
“No. Here is fine.” Then he added, “I’m going to go out and make sure the pump handle’s high. Don’t want it to be frozen in the morning. You go on and get into bed.”
Then he left.
Cara viewed his exit with a knowing smile.
When he returned she was snug beneath the quilts. She’d left the lamp by the bed lit but had doused all the others. “How’s the pump?”
He swung his eyes to her and smiled. He began on the buttons of his uniform. “Pump’s fine. How’s my bed?”
“Bed’s fine,” she replied, grinning.
He sat to remove his boots, then stood and shucked off his trousers. Dressed now in his union suit, he walked over to the door and hung his uniform next to her skirt and blouse. “It’s better if you sleep on the other side, schoolmarm. The man should sleep closest to the door.”
She moved over and felt the chill of the sheets. “You just want my spot because it’s all warmed up.”
“Smart woman.” He chuckled as he slid into bed. He settled in and said, “Ah, nice and warm like I like it.”
She punched him in the shoulder. He laughed.
Chase turned down the lamp, and they both lay there listening to the soft cracking of the fire.
“Know something, Sergeant?”
He smiled, realizing he’d missed her calling him by rank. “What?”
“This is going to be hard.”
He turned and leaned on his elbow. “What’s going to be hard?” Chase already had an answer: his manhood, but he doubted his answer had anything to do with the conversation.
“This adjusting you talked about. How long do you think it should last?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see, I suppose. Why?”
; She turned and looked up at him. “Oh, I don’t know, just curious is all.”
He leaned down and kissed her lips. “You think you could hold out for three or four days?”
She savored his kisses and whispered, “Probably not. Two days is all I can promise.”
He chuckled. “Two days it is. Now, let’s get some sleep. In two days, you’re going to need your strength.”
“So will you,” she countered.
Then they slept.
Chase awakened the next morning alone but with the smell of bacon and coffee in the air. All he could do was lie there and smile. Finally he got dressed and went downstairs.
Cara greeted him with a smile, then set ort the table a stack of flapjacks that were still hot and running with syrup and butter.
“You make a man seriously consider deserting, Mrs. Jefferson, feeding me like this. When I go back, army food’s going to taste worse than ever.”
“When are you leaving?” she asked, taking a seat and passing him the coffeepot.
“The day after the new year.”
“So soon.”
“Yes.”
Cara fought to keep the sadness from her voice. “Then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife so you’ll hurry back.”
“I’ll always hurry back.”
His eyes were as potent as flame, and Cara told him so. “It’s a little early in the day for you to be setting my clothes on fire, Chase Jefferson.”
“Is it? Sorry about that. When would it be more convenient?”
“You’re an outrageous man. Eat before your food gets cold.”
He did, but did not turn down his eyes.
And as a result, when Cara got up from the table after finishing her meal, she seriously doubted her ability to hold out for even one of the two days they’d agreed upon. Her nipples were hard from his devilish stares and heat had began to pulse between her thighs.
After breakfast he went out to check on the animals. When he returned he said, “Let’s have some fun today, Mrs. Jefferson. What would you like to do?”
Cara gave him a saucy smile.
“Not that, schoolmarm. We agreed. Two days, remember?” Then he added with a blazing gaze, “You were right. It’s getting to be damn hard.”
“Then we should spend the day adjusting. Let’s go have some fun.”
First order of business was a ride through the snow. Cara thought the idea grand when he suggested it. She hurried up to the room to pull on her warmest clothing and joined him outside. The cold fresh air was as invigorating as the kiss with which he greeted her. Just when she thought she was going to swoon, he withdrew, and they were off. The runners on the buggy made for a smooth ride across the snow. The weather was cold but not so extreme that it endangered the horses pulling them along.
Since they had no real destination in mind, Chase just headed the horses up the road.
It turned out to be a memorable morning. They saw snow hares and deer. They talked; they had a rousing snowball fight.
When they returned home laughing and cold, Cara ran into the house two steps ahead of his pelting snowballs. Laughing so hard it hurt to breathe, she positioned her body against the door to prevent him from entering. “Go away!”
“Open this door, woman!”
Cara jumped away from the door and took off at a run up the stairs. He was at her heels with a handful of the balled snow.
She yelled gleefully. “You quit throwing snow in the house!” He caught her in his arms and brought her back down the staircase. “You can’t get away from me.”
She threw back her head and laughed not only at the silliness of their play but at how good she felt inside.
They warmed up with cups of hot coffee and bowls of leftover stew. Chase settled into the front room to work on a survey report for the colonel, and Cara took to the kitchen to make bread.
She was in the process of kneading when he came in behind her and slipped his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck, and she lost all contact with the dough under her hands. “We’re supposed to be adjusting, Sergeant, not . . .” Her voice failed when she realized he was opening her blouse. When he pushed her camisole aside and filled his hands, she moaned. He ran his thumbs over the nipples until they tightened and pleaded.
He turned her then, lowering his mouth to her breasts. Sweet, hot pleasure filled her. He loved her for a few lightning-filled moments more, then closed up the blouse, and turned her back to the bread.
He left the kitchen without a word, leaving Cara dazed.
For the rest of the day he teased her like that, kissing her, caressing her in and out of her clothing, only to leave her dazzled and pulsing in response. By the time she set the plates out for dinner, he had her so flowing with warmth she could barely walk.
She had just set the last of the chocolate cake on a plate in front of him when his gaze let her know cake wasn’t the only item on his menu. He pulled her down into his lap, eased a hand into her hair, and guided her mouth to his kiss. He slid a caressing hand up beneath her skirt, then very gently, yet boldly pushed her drawers down and ultimately off. “You won’t need these,” he whispered hotly.
Cara could not help but ease her thighs apart under the fiery impetus of his touches. His kisses on her parted lips, his questing fingers, and her own need merged into sensations so potent she began to moan low in her throat. He opened her blouse and reacquainted himself with the nipples barely recovered from his last ardent sucking. She trembled passionately as he looked into her eyes, then trembled again as his fingers slowly rubbed a bit of the cake’s icing on first one dark bud and then the other. He bent and took an inordinate amount of time sucking and licking her clean. Cara swore she would die right then and there.
The only thing that saved her was the door pull’s ringing chime alerting them to a visitor outside. Chase kissed her lips in parting. He eased her from his lap and headed to the door as she hastily readjusted her clothing. As he opened the door, Cara spotted her drawers lying scandalously atop the table. She snatched them up, stuffed them into the pocket of her skirt, and turned to greet the guest.
It was Asa delivering the tub. Chase helped with the unloading, then he and Asa carried the tub upstairs to Cara’s old room. Asa left soon after, wanting to get back to town before the new falling snow made the road more difficult to negotiate.
After his departure, Cara grabbed her shawl. Pulling on her gloves, she stepped outside and began filling buckets with the snow in the yard. Chase came out to help, and soon they had more than enough to melt down on the stove for bathwater.
While Chase hauled the buckets of hot water up to the tub, Cara tended the fire in the room. When the combined warmth of the steamy water and the heat from the fire raised the surrounding temperature enough to make the room comfortable, Cara slipped down to Chase’s room to gather the things she would need. She smiled as she added the scented soap Chase had given her for Christmas. When she returned he was adding a final bucket of steaming hot water to the tub.
“Who’s first?” Cara asked.
“You are.”
The tone of his voice rippled across her heightened senses. She began to undress slowly. They’d been playing a sensual game all day. Now it was her turn to see how he liked being on the griddle.
She planned on pushing him over the edge. She refused to wait another day to make love. Delbert had said she had to wait six weeks after the accident before resuming conjugal play, and more than six weeks were past. She wanted her husband, and she wanted him tonight.
Cara undid the buttons at her throat, then down her front. She asked, “Are you staying?”
“Yes,” he told her. In fact, he pulled up one of the chairs in the nearly empty room and took a seat, then added, “This is the warmest room in the house.”
Cara planned on it getting much warmer. To that end, she shook off her blouse, undid the ribbons on the front of her camisole, and stepped into the glow cast by the fire. She could see him seated just outside th
e circle of light, his face hidden by the shadows.
“Is the water still hot?” he asked.
She tested it and nodded. She slid the camisole off her shoulders, baring herself sensually for his eyes, then slipped her skirt slowly down her hips. The sharp intake of his breath made her smile. She’d bet he’d forgotten he’d taken her drawers earlier and that beneath her skirt she was still as bare as he’d left her. Without a word, she stepped into the tub.
Chase remembered fantasizing about sitting in the shadows and watching her bathe, but this . . . He could barely stay seated. The sight of her standing, then flashing him a bewitching little smile was hard enough to take, but when she began to slide the soap lazily up and down her body, he had to grip the arms of the chair. The scent of the soap and the wafting fragrance of the salts she’d added heightened his response. It was for Chase the most erotic interlude of his life.
“Would you do my back, please, Chase?”
“Sure.”
When he walked into the light, Cara feared that the water would begin to simmer just from the heat of his dark eyes. He came to the tub and knelt, gave her a lingering kiss, and took the cloth and soap from her hand. He made her kneel with her back to him.
The initial feel of the cloth moving gently over her shoulder blades was glorious. She purred as it traced down her spine and circled the small of her back and the sides of her hips. His cloth-covered hand meandered up again, attending to those areas he’d neglected on the first pass. He dipped the cloth into the warm water to clear the soap from it, then used it to cascade a warm rinsing waterfall down her back. She arched responsively to the kisses he trailed up her damp spine. While his lips worked their way to the nape of her neck, his hands slipped around to gather up the weight of her breasts. She leaned back and let his strong chest support her. His hands played her like a delicate flute. And her body sang for him, rising and falling to the rhythm of the only man it had ever known.
Chase knew he had to take her tonight or die. Her damp skin under his lips and hands made him certain another day of denial would be impossible. He pulled back, leaving her only long enough to remove his clothes, then he returned to savor her soft nakedness pressed to his own.
