Frontier Woman

by Joan Johnston

  “Where are we going?” Cricket asked breathlessly.

  “Somewhere we can be alone.”

  “But Amy—”

  “Amy’s gone to the house with Seth.”

  Cricket’s pulse quickened with anticipation. She could only imagine what Creed intended to do at the river. Would he undress her? Would he undress himself and do with her what husbands did to wives? She only knew she wanted something, needed something, and that only Creed could give it to her.

  Cricket was watching Creed’s face closely, so she noticed right away when the burning desire she’d seen in his eyes gave way to a gamut of other emotions—confusion, disgust, frustration—until now his golden gaze reflected something very like . . . was that regret she saw?

  Suddenly Creed stopped dead in his tracks and let go of his hold on her thighs, standing her upright and placing his hands on her shoulders so she stood facing him on wobbly legs.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Creed said.

  “You what?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Doesn’t happen often, but occasionally it does. This is one of those times.”

  Cricket’s body quivered with need. The knowledge that her need wasn’t going to be assuaged channeled all that energy into anger. “We’re not going to the river?”

  “You’re going back to the house to tell Amy that Tom will be late getting home for supper tonight. His work at the gin is taking longer than he thought it would.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Cricket watched Creed take several deep breaths, but the sexual sparks that flew between them singed them both, smoldering, burning, threatening to become a raging inferno. Then he drew himself upright and blew a breath of air from his mouth as though to put out the fire . . . but it only fanned the flames.

  “I’m going down to the river and cool off,” he bit out at last. “Then I’m going to go help Tom finish up. Will you relay Tom’s message to Amy for me?”

  “I’ll be glad to give her the message.”

  Creed sighed gustily again before he said, “Thanks, Brava, I—”

  “As soon as I take a swim in the river. Why should you be the only one who gets to cool off?” Cricket sauntered away from Creed, unbuttoning her dress as she went.

  “You stop that, Brava. Do you hear me? Stop what you’re doing right now.”

  Cricket ignored Creed’s panicked shouts and kept walking. He caught up to her seconds later and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Cricket wasn’t sure of that herself. It had only been an enjoyable game tempting Creed, making him tremble, making him gasp and shudder. But the desperate need she felt now wasn’t amusing. She couldn’t let Creed stop playing, because she wanted to know how the game ended. She smiled at Creed, a provocative smile that invited and promised more than she could possibly know she was inviting or promising.

  Creed’s lips flattened in an angry line, and his entire body tensed as he sought to gather control of his wayward senses.

  Cricket felt a sense of the inevitable when he scooped her up in his arms once more and headed for the river as fast as he could go. She didn’t have time to say anything before they reached the steep banks shaded by several giant cypress trees. Her heart galloped with excitement, as she imagined what would happen next.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Creed said.

  “Yes.”

  “Then enjoy your swim.” With that, Creed threw her out into the deepest part of the river.

  Cricket came up sputtering, furious and humiliated. “You . . . you . . .” Her entire bullwhacking vocabulary deserted her in the face of his rejection.

  Creed fought the urge to go in after her. “I’m going to rinse off at the house and join Tom. I’ll see you at supper.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  Cricket slapped her palms on the surface of the cool water in frustration. Of course, once he’d gone she recalled several quite colorful names to call him, but she was quickly forced to abandon her tantrum to concentrate on staying afloat. Her skirt puffed up around her like a balloon, and her shoes felt like anchors. With the extra effort required by her waterlogged shoes and the long dress, Cricket was hot and tired by the time she finally swam to the edge of the river and dragged herself up its steep, muddy bank.

  Cricket squished her way back to the garden, where she found Amy working by herself.

  “My goodness! What happened to you?” Amy asked as she rose to greet the bedraggled Cricket.

  Cricket wrung out the skirt of her soggy dress, making a mud puddle on the ground in front of Amy. “I decided to take a swim.”

  “With all your clothes on?”

  “Creed threw me in,” she snapped back. “I thought he was going to—” Cricket stopped, realizing what she’d been about to admit.

  “Let’s get you changed, and we can talk,” Amy said, urging Cricket toward the house.

  “I don’t have anything else to wear.”

  “We’ll find something, don’t worry.”

  What Amy found was one of her calico short gowns and a pair of Creed’s osnaburg trousers. Cricket was delighted to be back in pants. Creed was going to be upset she wasn’t in a dress, and it served him right for throwing her in the river. While she was dressing, Cricket remembered to tell Amy that Tom would be late for supper.

  “That’ll work out fine,” Amy said, “because I still have a lot of work to do myself. Would you mind if we walked outside while we talk? I need to check on my fruit trees.”

  Cricket didn’t question why Amy was responsible for the trees; she simply followed her out the back door of the house and down toward the river where peach, quince, fig, and plum trees grew. Then Amy led Cricket to another garden where grapes, watermelon, and strawberries had been planted.

  “The watermelon and strawberries will be ripe in July. I have the most delicious recipe for watermelon preserves. You cut the rind in chunks and put it in brine until . . .” Amy stopped her enthusiastic recitation when she saw Cricket’s eyebrows had nearly reached the top of her forehead. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to remember any of this, but with the cloves and ginger and . . .” Amy smiled and stopped herself. “You simply must come back again to visit when all this fruit is ripe.”

  “I’d like that. I have a passion for strawberries,” Cricket admitted. Which, she thought to herself, she’d eat fresh. Preserves sounded entirely too complicated.

  “You tell Jarrett to bring you, then. I’m sure you can get him to do anything you’d like, he’s so much in love with you.”

  Cricket snickered in disbelief. “From what I’ve seen, it’s the husbands who do the ordering around.”

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because it’s true. Wives are just servants who do what they’re told. Look at you, grubbing away on your knees like some slave—”

  “Oh, Cricket, no! It’s not like that at all. I work because I like to work, because life would be empty of meaning for me if I weren’t helping Tom in every way I can. He works so hard to make a home for us that’s everything we want and need. And he loves me, Cricket. He cares for me and makes me feel needed, like Jarrett needs you and—”

  “Creed married me because he had to,” Cricket said flatly, “and for no other reason.”

  The admission was so unexpected that Amy stood with her mouth open, unable to continue. At last she asked, “Are you expecting Creed’s child, Cricket?”

  Cricket blushed. She didn’t know if she was pregnant or not.

  Amy drew her own conclusions from Cricket’s silence and enfolded Cricket in her arms. “Oh, you poor dear. I’m so sorry. So sorry. What can that man be thinking to throw you into the river like that,” she muttered under her breath. “And with you in your condition.”

  Cricket pulled herself from Amy’s embrace, aware Amy had put the wrong construction on the fact Creed had been forced to marry her. The temptation was there
to explain to Amy the strange events that had made her a wife, despite her deep reservations about becoming one. But Cricket had held her own counsel for too many years, and the longstanding barriers didn’t fall.

  “I know Jarrett cares for you,” Amy said, “but I think the more important question right now is how you feel about him.”

  “What?”

  “How do you feel about Jarrett? Do you love him?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Why ‘of course not’?”

  Cricket struggled to explain. “I’m not like other girls. Before Creed came along I . . . I never felt anything like the things I feel now.”

  “And now?”

  They’d wandered back to the orchard, and Cricket sat down and leaned her head against the bark of a peach tree. Amy sat down across from her in the shade.

  Cricket needed to talk to someone about the strange things she’d been feeling, and Sloan wasn’t available. She let down the walls a little and admitted reluctantly to Amy, “It’s confusing. Sometimes I want Creed to touch me . . . and sometimes I want to touch him.”

  “What you’re feeling is what any woman feels with a man she loves,” Amy explained.

  “I told you I don’t love Creed.”

  “Then how do you explain these feelings that never happened before?”

  “I don’t,” Cricket replied stubbornly. “They don’t mean anything.”

  “Have it your way,” Amy said. “Only remember the next time you’re having those special feelings that they have to come from somewhere, and usually they arise from loving and caring. It’s about time we start back to the house, so we’ll both have time to clean up before supper.”

  Cricket followed Amy back to the house in silence, her forehead wrinkled in a pensive frown. Was it possible she loved Jarrett Creed? The thought was so unbelievable as to be laughable. Yet how could she explain the feelings that he elicited in her? How could she explain why she let him touch her and kiss her, when she found the prospect of kissing any other man intolerable? How could she explain why she found such pleasure in the feel of his flesh under her fingertips?

  “Tomorrow I want to spend some time working on my ornamental gardens. Would you like to join me?”

  Cricket was startled from her reverie. “What?”

  “I asked if you’d like to work in my flower gardens with me tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Yes, I would,” Cricket said. “I’d like that very much.”

  Amy looped her arm through Cricket’s as they walked back to the house together. Cricket was surprised by how easy it was to talk with Amy, almost as easy as talking with Sloan.

  “Amy?”

  “What, Cricket?”

  “How do you know when you’re in love?”

  Amy smiled. “You’ll know.”

  Cricket grimaced. “That’s no help.”

  “It’s all the help I can give. After supper, would you help me write the invitations for the reception?”

  “Are you sure you want to have this party?”

  “Absolutely,” Amy said with a smile.

  “Will I have to dance?”

  Amy laughed. “Only once, Cricket. It’s traditional for the bride and groom to have a first dance together.”

  After supper, Amy and Cricket sat down in the parlor with pen and paper to invite the surrounding planters and their wives to the party. “We should have plenty of time this week to get ready,” Amy said.

  And that gives me one week to learn how to dance, Cricket thought. She shifted her gaze to Creed, who sat on the other side of the room, talking with Tom.

  Creed was restless. He wanted to go to bed, and he wanted Cricket to come with him. But how was he going to ask? Since he’d thrown her in the river, she wasn’t talking to him. Things might have turned out so differently if he’d had a little more self-control—or a little less, he thought irritably. He rubbed the back of his neck to ease the tension. She’d caught him off guard with all that touching. If he wasn’t careful, Cricket was going to incite him to consummate this marriage, and he didn’t want that to happen. Did he?

  For their own reasons, both Creed and Cricket wanted to be alone to talk. So when Creed’s restlessness finally drove him from his chair, Cricket asked, “Is it bedtime?”

  “Yes, yes it is.” Creed extended his hand to her.

  Cricket rose and crossed to him, putting her hand in his, as it seemed natural to do. The touch was electric, jolting both of them.

  Cricket’s new awareness of him transmitted itself to Creed. He tried to ignore the need that spread through him like a brushfire.

  Cricket pretended there was nothing different, but her stomach was doing somersaults. Great. Now he was making her sick.

  Tom and Amy exchanged a conspiratorial smile. The two lovers might have had a brief spat, but it was obviously mended now.

  “Good night, Jarrett, Cricket,” Tom said.

  His words broke the trance, but not the spell. Cricket and Creed never took their eyes off one another as they ascended the staircase to privacy.

  He wanted nothing from her.

  She wanted nothing from him.

  At least, that’s what they told themselves as they headed for the bedroom.

  Chapter 15

  LOOK AT YOUR LEG!”

  Creed had been dressing and undressing in the dark for the past three days, so this was the first time Cricket had seen the spot where she’d bitten him. It looked awful. She reached out to touch the horrible black-and-blue discoloration, which was surrounded by a perfect set of teeth marks. His naked thigh felt hot under her fingertips.

  At Creed’s sharp intake of air Cricket looked up at him and asked, “Does it still hurt?”

  Creed grabbed her wrist and removed her hand. “No, it’s fine.” Creed’s trousers were halfway down, but he pulled them up again.

  “Cricket, we have to—”

  “Creed, we need to—”

  “Talk.”

  They both smiled, but it did little to relieve the tension. Creed gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and when she was settled, he sat down next to her. Cricket forced her eyes to stay on Creed’s face, despite their desire to drift downward to his naked chest.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  As anxious as she was, Cricket would have agreed to anything. “All right.” She took a deep breath.

  Creed waited patiently, saying nothing until she finally blurted, “I need you to teach me how to dance.”

  When Creed’s brows rose, Cricket glared and said defensively, “Amy says you and I have to dance at the party she’s giving. And I . . .” Cricket paused.

  “. . . don’t know how,” Creed finished for her.

  “There wasn’t any reason to know how. Who was I ever going to dance with?” she said. “Well?”

  “I see your problem. Of course, I’ll be glad to teach you.” Creed wondered if Cricket knew how unusual it was for her to be concerned about doing the conventional thing.

  Cricket’s relief was tangible. “You will? You’ll teach me to dance?”

  “Yes, Brava, I will.” Creed smiled at her, wondering how she’d managed to make him feel giddy and young and caught up in an adventure. This had to stop.

  “I’ll teach you to dance, but I have something to ask in return.”

  The sparkle wavered in Cricket’s eyes, and the tension slipped back into her body. “What do you want?”

  Creed wasn’t really sure of the answer to that question. He wanted Cricket warm and supple in his arms. He wanted to bury himself deep inside her and stay there. He’d begun to feel a husbandly possessiveness that was entirely inappropriate under the circumstances. He was also very much afraid that if he ever made Cricket his wife in fact, it wouldn’t be so easy to give her up once the business with Sloan and Antonio was resolved. There was no room in a Ranger’s life for a woman, especially a woman who promised to be as much pure hell-raising trouble as Creighton Stewart.

  So what he wanted
had very little relationship to what he planned to ask of Cricket. Quite simply, she had to keep her hands off him. Creed felt a flush rising on his neck. The mere thought of her fingertips on his skin made him hard. He tried to summon anger at his predicament, hoping that would take his mind off his urgent need. The worst of it was, he knew Cricket’s desire to touch him was merely the result of her insatiable curiosity. What had happened between them today could have happened with any man. She was learning for the first time what it meant to have a woman’s feelings and, ironically, acted very much like a child with a new toy.

  However, if she continued teasing him the way she had this afternoon, he wouldn’t be responsible for the consequences. He’d created his own diablito, and he wasn’t sure of the best way to control her. Knowing Cricket, if he demanded she leave him alone, she was likely to do the exact opposite. Suddenly, Creed chuckled to himself. If he wanted her to stop touching him, maybe the solution was to demand that she continue her affections.

  “After the incident at the river today, I think it’s clear we have to establish some new rules,” he said.

  “New rules?”

  Cricket had suspected this conversation was coming. Rather, she’d anticipated it. Still, she wasn’t sure whether she was ready to do “it” with Creed, because she wasn’t yet sure of her feelings. Amy had said she’d know when she was in love. She’d expected to feel something momentous, something extraordinary. The most she could say was that she didn’t find the idea of spending time with Creed distasteful at all. Was that what it meant to be in love?

  “A man has certain needs, Cricket, that have to be satisfied when he’s aroused by a woman. If you intend to continue teasing me as you did today, then I intend to see that you satisfy those needs.”

  Cricket bristled automatically at Creed’s demanding tone of voice but forced herself to curb her antagonism while she took time to evaluate his speech. She’d encountered a lot of new feelings lately. Maybe the same thing had happened to Creed. Unfortunately, even based on her limited knowledge, what he’d said didn’t sound like the words a man used to a woman he loved. But then, what did she really know about love?