The Listening Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

  Colin stopped his pacing and stared at her. How could he, even when he was young and foolish, have thought he could care for this woman?

  “You planned this.”

  “I didn’t plan to get pregnant, but now that I am, I see that it was a good thing.”

  “I’m not going to kill him for you, Patrice. Get whoever you’ve been sleeping with to do your dirty work.”

  “Darling, I’ve been sleeping with you. Ramon knows I’ve always been fond of you. Now, sit down so that we can discuss our future.”

  Colin could only look at her and shake his head.

  “This is what you told Sunday.”

  “I had no choice. And it was kinder than letting her go on thinking she had a chance with you.”

  Colin jerked open the door. For the first time in his life he wanted to strike a woman, and it was best for to get out while he still had control.

  “Think about it, Colin. Once you get over the shock of being a papa, you’ll see how right it is.”

  He went out and slammed the door so hard that the side of the building shook. Out on the street he was jostled by two men headed toward the saloon.

  “Colin, Herb’s lookin’ for ya.”

  “Yeah? Thanks.”

  Colin walked rapidly away, turned into the darkness between two buildings, stopped and leaned against the side of one of them. Breathing deeply, he tried to think rationally, but his mind was clouded with rage. Years ago T.C. had told him Patrice was trouble. Colin suspected that before she married Ramon, she had wanted T.C. and he had not been interested.

  He desperately wanted to talk to Sunday. He went down the street to the boarding house. Her room was at the side. It was dark. He turned away and crossed the street. A light shone from the kitchen window and from T.C.’s bedroom. Colin let himself in and went to the office where he had left his bedroll, rolled it out and lay down.

  He had a lot of thinking to do.

  “Did I hear Colin come in?”

  Jane stood at the foot of the bed, happy but uncomfortable, not knowing how to act on this night of all nights when she would sleep in the arms of her husband.

  “He’ll not come in.”

  “He missed supper.”

  “He’s got a lot on his mind.” T.C. smiled down at her. “Are you nervous about being here with me, sweetheart?”

  “A… little.”

  “I’m a little bit scared of you,” he confessed. He took her hand and placed her palm over his heart. “Feel this. My heart is about to run away with me.”

  “I can’t imagine your being scared of anything”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, honey. I’ve been scared to death I was going to lose you. I took the first chance I had to bind you to me.”

  “I’m glad you did.” She smiled up at him.

  His eyes searched hers for a long moment before he bent his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  “I’ll go out for a little while.”

  Jane watched him go out the door and wanted to run after him and beg him not to leave. This thing between them was too new, too fragile, for her to really believe that it was true. What had she done to deserve the love of a man like Timothy Charles Kilkenny? He was too honest, too decent, to say words he didn’t mean. And there was no reason for him to do so.

  It was almost beyond belief that this was her wedding night; that in a few minutes she would be in bed with her husband. She knew about what took place in the marriage bed, but she didn’t know how to do it. Lord, help her not to be a disappointment to him.

  Wondering if she had done everything she should have done, Jane lay in bed waiting for her husband. She had washed in the basin, used the chamber pot she found under the bed, and put on the nightdress she had worn only one time since it was washed. Trying not to look at her scratched face in the mirror when she stood before the bureau, she took the pins from her hair and turned away to brush it.

  Jane listened for T.C.’s footsteps in the hallway. It still seemed to her that what had happened, was happening, was to someone else. She had never known a closeness with anyone, never shared her thoughts or her dreams with anyone but a dying man. She had talked endlessly to Doc late at night when it had seemed to her they were the only two people in the world. Though she had not been sure he was even listening, she had stopped short of revealing her terrible secret.

  T.C. opened the door and came into the room. His eyes held hers as he came toward the bed, sat down beside her and studied her white face, her mane of thick dark-red hair gathered at the back of her neck and tied with a ribbon, her trembling mouth. He held out his hand. She placed her palm against his. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it gently and sweetly and with deep dedication.

  It had been so long since anyone had loved her, almost a lifetime. She wondered if he could possibly know how he filled that vacant place in her heart. They sat quietly for a while just holding hands. The wonder of the love they had found kept them in an awed silence. Jane loved this man with the silver eyes. She loved the sound of his voice, the uncompromising line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. Most of all she loved the strength of his character.

  Jane made a silent vow to do everything in her power to be a good wife, a helpmate. But if fate tore them apart, if after all he found he couldn’t bear the pressure of being married to the bastard daughter of one of the most hated men in the Colorado Territory, she would have a thousand sweet memories to call forth and cherish.

  “Mrs. Kilkenny. Do you like the sound of that?”

  “I like the sound of Mrs. T.C. Kilkenny.”

  “You’re awful pretty, Mrs. Kilkenny.” He bent over her. A soft, loving light shone from his silver eyes. Then his mouth was warm and sweet against hers.

  “It’s not true, but I like to hear it.” Her arms slid up to encircle his neck. “You’re pretty, too.”

  “It’s not true, but I like to hear it.” He laughed softly after repeating her words; then he whispered against her lips, “I love you.” His words and the sound of his deep voice caused her heart to stumble, then to jump with joy. His eyes caressed her flushed face and moved to her hair, and with gentle fingers he brushed the strands at her temples. “I’ll never, never force you… or hurt you.”

  Jane nodded and sighed deeply. She blocked out everything but this moment… this night. She heard his ragged breathing as if from far away.

  “Can I call you Timmie when we’re… together like this?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Come to bed, Timmie,” she whispered. Oh, Lord! Did he think her brazen?

  He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, studying her with an ineffably tender expression.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered humbly, but his eyes shone with amusement, and she knew her invitation had pleased him.

  Jane watched as he removed his shirt and hung it on a peg. His shoulders were broad and heavily muscled. She remembered Bill’s telling her that T.C. was the one to beat in an exhibition of bare-knuckle fighting. His chest had a soft sprinkling of dark hair that tapered to his waist.

  Could this magnificent man really be her husband?

  His eyes caught hers. The tightness in her stomach intensified. He bent to blow out the lamp and the room went dark. She could still see him in her mind’s eye: dark hair falling over his forehead, eyebrows that were as thick and straight as if put there by the stroke of a paintbrush, eyes that seemed to look into her very soul.

  It seemed to her hours, but could only have been a minute or two until she felt the blanket being lifted and his weight on the bed.

  T.C. stretched out beside her, raised his arm over her head and rolled her to him so that she lay alongside him, her cheek on his shoulder. Jane’s body tensed as she tried to stop trembling. Her hand slid automatically over the warm hard flesh of his chest

  “You’re trembling, honey.” His voice was soft, urgent. He moved his hand caressingly up and down her back. “Don’t be scared of me.”

  “
I’m not. You… feel different without—”

  “—My clothes on? I am different, sweetheart. I’m hard and rough, you’re soft and sweet.” He took her hand and placed it palm down on his chest and moved it up and down. “Do you like being here in my arms?”

  “It’s heavenly—”

  “For me too.”

  He found her lips. Her mouth was as eager as his. While they kissed, his hand stroked her from her hip up her side to her breast and moved back and forth. Small and firm, yet incredibly soft, it filled his hand. No one had ever touched her there. Even through the cloth of her nightdress his fingers sent a message to the core of her femininity.

  “Someday I’m going to love you with nothing between us at all.” His voice was a ragged whisper.

  “You can.” Her whisper was a mere breath in the night.

  Jane’s fingers worked at the buttons on her nightdress. When it was open, she pressed her naked breast into his palm. His hand shaped itself over her tender offering.

  “Sweetheart, I want to… touch you everywhere. I’m so hungry for you—”

  His rough, calloused fingers found her nipple and stroked it to a hard peak. He ground his teeth and tightened his buttocks. His desire for her was a deep pain gnawing his vitals, but he was determined not to show any aggression.

  “That feels good—” Her voice was urgent. She reached for his lips and kissed him with a hunger that surprised him. Her mouth was warm and sweet. She parted her lips, yielded and accepted the wanderings of his.

  Her mound was pressed to his thigh. He could feel the heat through her nightdress. His hand, traveling from her back to the hem, slipped carefully under to flatten against her buttocks and hold her tighter to him.

  The freedom to touch him made her almost giddy. Her palm slid down through the soft hair on his chest to his flat, quivering stomach. Her middle finger discovered his navel and lingered to feel it.

  haven between her thighs and slipped into the warm wetness.

  Something powerful throbbed in the area below her stomach. She moved restlessly, held him tighter, then began to squirm and arch toward his hand, to whimper as his fingers continued to work their magic.

  “Do you feel what I feel? Tell me.”

  “Yes! Oh, yes!”

  “The sweet pain?”

  “Yes! Please—” Her arms clutched him, her hips moved in invitation. Blood swam in her head, pounded in her veins; and through it all, she heard his murmured endearments.

  There was no room for fear as her desire for him consumed her. He lifted himself above her and, using all his strength of will to hold back, he slipped into her. She was warm, moist. He was so filled with love and desire that he forgot about the barrier that was sure to be there and rammed through it at the first thrust.

  Jane jerked and gasped. He pulled out immediately.

  “Sweetheart!”

  “Don’t go!” She pressed on his buttocks.

  “Sure?”

  “Please!”

  She called his name as he entered her again, and he called hers. With muttered words of love, he moved within her in a careful rhythm that increased in speed and intensity as her body adjusted to his invasion. She was swept along with him in the turbulence of their desire. It was like flying, drowning, sinking, floating.

  She heard the thunderous beating of his heart against her naked breast and heard his hoarse, murmured cries in her ear. A stunning, beautiful bloom of glorious rapture made her respond with a fierce ardor matching his. Through the crescendo of emotions, a sudden joy erupted within her and burst over her like a great splashing wave.

  The climax of their joining left them gasping. Hands that had guided her hips now moved to either side of her and relieved her limp body of part of his crushing weight. He eased himself from between her thighs and shifted to lie beside her. His face to hers, he smoothed her rumpled hair and moved his mouth tenderly ever her throbbing lips. She gave quick answer, returned his kisses, then pressed her cheek on the smooth hardness of his shoulder.

  Jane moved her hand down to his firm buttock and kept it there in a silent claim of possession. A tear pooled in her eye as she curled up in his arms, feeling the peace of being loved and cherished.

  “Did I hurt you, honey?”

  “It was beautiful, wonderful—”

  “My Indian. ancestors say it’s a gift from the gods, and each time we give each other a little part of ourselves.”

  “I wanted to give you all of myself. I could feel you all through me. I keep thinking… is this real?”

  “It’s real, sweetheart. Did you ever think you’d be like this with a conniving, sneaky, stony-hearted horse’s ass?”

  “Mercy me! Did I call you all… that?”

  “You sure did. Do you want to take it back?”

  “I’ll take back the conniving, sneaky, stony-hearted part.” She laughed happily, nibbling at his chin. He hugged her, marveling at his luck in finding her and the miracle that she loved him.

  T.C. held his breath as her fingers began to trace the line of downy hair from the light furring on his chest to his navel and beyond to the aroused flesh that refused to lie quietly.

  She was a treasure a man would die for.

  Later, she lay on his chest, her face nestled in the curve of his neck. They were silent and awed by the bliss they had found together. They lay in the warm cocoon of each other’s arms. His fingers caressed the hair around her ears.

  A long contented sigh escaped her.

  “You’ve had a busy day, Mrs. Kilkenny.”

  “I don’t want to sleep and waste a minute of this.”

  “You can’t stay awake for the next forty years, my love.”

  He tilted her face so that her lips might meet his, and their mouths played with tender warmth. Incapable of further speech, they kissed each other tenderly again and again.

  Chapter 22

  IT was a day like no other in Jane’s life.

  Several times during the night she had been dreamily aware that her husband’s arms were wrapped around her. Her back was pressed to his chest, her buttocks nestled in his lap, his knees were bent behind hers. Each time she awoke, his warm strong hand was cupped about her naked breast; and, feeling loved, cherished, and protected, she would drift back to sleep.

  This morning he had kissed her gently, urging her awake. The scent of him filled her brain. She lay trustingly against him, a soft thigh snug between his, and moaned sleepily, her hand moving up from his chest to his cheek while she nuzzled her face against his neck.

  “Wake up, sweetheart.”

  She tilted her head and gazed at him lovingly.

  “You grew whiskers in the night.” Her fingers stroked his cheek.

  “I’ll shave so I won’t scratch your soft skin.”

  “I’m glad the lady barber isn’t Theda Cruise.”

  “You don’t like the idea of that Theda shaving me?”

  “I’d shave you myself first!” She giggled happily.

  Content to lie quietly and look at each other, they didn’t speak for a long while. Finally T.C. stirred.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so we can talk.”

  What did he mean? Had he reconsidered? The stab of fear that shot through her almost took her breath. She went very still as if her blood were draining from her body. She held onto him with all her strength, fearing her happiness was slipping away.

  “But I’d much rather kiss you.” His lips played over her face before reaching hers. “I didn’t tell you this last night. For some crazy reason”—he kissed her on the nose—”it went right out of my mind, but sometime today we must go over some of Doc’s papers and put them in order so that I can send them to his solicitor.”

  Relief brought a moistness to her eyes.

  “Do you think he knows how happy I am?”

  “I think he does.”

  “At first, he tried hard not to let me know how scared he was. Then after a while he seemed to get used to the ide
a of dying, and later, when the pain was bad, I think he prayed for it.”

  “He may have fallen a little bit in love with you, sweetheart.”

  “No! He liked me and I liked him. I wish I could have known him longer.”

  “You’ll be very surprised when we go through his papers.”

  “I’ll help if you want me to. And I’ll help you with your books, if you like.”

  “Why do you think I married you?” he teased.

  “For this?” Her lips traveled over his face and she moved her lower body close against his. She was giddy with the freedom to touch him, tease him.

  “That too. Behave, Mrs. Jane Lovely Kilkenny. I’ve got more to say.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “No, sweetheart. I want to be sure you understand that I don’t want you worrying about what you told me last night. You’ve got me now to do your worrying.”

  Her palm cupped his cheek. The smile left her face as her serious blue eyes looked into his.

  “I got a bargain; you got a load of trouble.”

  “A trouble shared is only half a trouble. We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise you. We put the letters back behind your mother’s picture. The notes are in safekeeping should we need them to compare handwriting—although I doubt the bastard will be able to write when I get through with him.”

  “I’m going to burn the letters.”

  “I don’t want you to leave the house, honey, not even to go to the privy, unless someone is with you. I’ll see to it that Colin or Herb will be close by if I can’t be. And I don’t want you in the house alone. Understand? I’ll tell Mrs. Henderson that, if she must leave, to be sure that one of us or Sunday is here.”

  “I’m so much trouble to everyone.”

  “Shhh… You’re the sweetest trouble I ever had. I just hope the son of a bitch makes another move. If I don’t beat him to death, he’ll wish I had.”

  “Bill said you were a bare-knuckle champion.”

  He grinned. “Did he tell you that my uncle, Moose Kilkenny, taught me? He lost his championship to Pack Gallagher over at Laramie. I was there that day. Folks are still talking about that fight.”

  “I couldn’t bear to see someone hit you. I’d get a buggy whip and wade right in,” she said staunchly.