by Kelly Long
HIS MOUTH CAME DOWN ON HERS IN A FIRM CARESS
She’d never been kissed before and had no idea how to respond, but the intimate touch was over so quickly that she thought maybe she’d imagined it.
She stared up at the firm line of his jaw. “Did—did you kiss me?”
She felt him shrug, then nestle her closer.
“I’ve never kissed before,” he confessed.
Joel Umble has never kissed before, when he has a mouth that seems made for such things . . . She couldn’t believe it.
He went on a few more steps, then cleared his throat. “Was it—right?”
“I’ve never kissed before either,” she whispered.
Also by Kelly Long
The Amish Bride of Ice Mountain
An Amish Man of Ice Mountain
The Amish Heart of Ice Mountain
And read more by Kelly Long in
An Amish Christmas Quilt
The Amish Christmas Sleigh
The Amish Christmas Candle
An Amish Courtship ON ICE MOUNTAIN
KELLY LONG
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
HIS MOUTH CAME DOWN ON HERS IN A FIRM CARESS
Also by Kelly Long
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2017 by Kelly Long
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ISBN: 978-1-4201-4125-2
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-4126-9
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Prologue
Ice Mountain
Fall, 1950
Twelve-year-old Joel Umble crept forward on his hands and knees in the thick pine needles, then paused to kneel upright, extending his right palm to the big wolf caught in the steel trap. The animal had nearly chewed its front left foot off in an attempt to escape the cruel teeth of the metal and now gave a threatening growl.
“Kumme, hund, peace between you and me,” the buwe murmured. “I will pray for your healing and set you free.” He swallowed, never breaking his gaze from the large golden eyes that were dilated with pain and rage. Joel inched closer, praying aloud, until he’d stretched his palm and fingers to their utmost.
Savage white teeth closed with a snap, and Joel drew a thankful breath when the long muzzle and black nose lowered and he felt the brush of the animal against his skin; seeking, scenting, roughly tender . . .
The sudden report of a gun seemed to shake the ground beneath Joel’s knees, and his arm was splattered by the wolf’s blood. He twisted in surprise and fury as his older bruder Judah lowered the weapon. “Joel, you’re a fool. Praying for a pelt . . . What would Fater have said?”
Joel blinked away angry tears and turned back to the dead animal, sinking his hand into the thick gray fur. “Fater did not trap,” he bit out.
Joel heard Judah step closer, the pine crunching beneath his boots. “The wolf was mine and what is mine, I keep. Remember that, Joel.”
“And what is Gott’s?”
“What He takes, little penitent.” Judah laughed with open cruelty. “Now geh back to the cabin; I must skin the beast.”
Joel got unsteadily to his feet, then walked away from the wolf as his bruder passed him with a hunting knife drawn.
Chapter One
Ice Mountain
March 10, 1958
Despite the frost in the moonlit air, nineteen-year-old Martha Yoder wanted a bath in the creek. She grew tired, every so often, of cramming herself into the tiny hip tub her family used all winter. She gathered towels and a clean nachtgown and slipped out of the cabin before anyone might notice she was gone. The moon cast a halo of light on the surface of the deep snow as she plowed her way to the small shed where tools were kept. She wanted an ax, in case part of the creek had frozen over a bit.
She whistled as she made her way along the moonlit path, the sound comforting in the still of the nacht—not that she needed any solace to be alone. Caring for her aged grossmuder made the winter days long in the cabin, and though there were her mamm and daed also, Martha was the most able-bodied and handy.
And then there was the problem of Judah . . .
Tall, pompous Judah Umble had been pursuing her since she’d turned sixteen, but there was something about him that made her cold at times . . . Not the clean cold of a winter’s nacht, like now, she thought . . . but rather a cold of the soul that she could not quite explain. She pushed away thoughts of Judah, not wanting to interrupt her mental peace, and finally reached the creek. Casting a quick, perceptive glance around, she dropped the axe and her armload of things and began to strip down to her bare skin.
The cold exhilarated, and she gave a little squeal of delight as she ran and plunged, toes first, into the swirling water. She stood for a moment, her unbound hair caught in the current, and gloried in simply being alive . . .
* * *
Despite the hard work he did on a daily basis, it was not an unusual occurrence that twenty-year-old Joel Umble couldn’t sleep. The hour was nigh on ten o’clock, he knew, but the moonlight that slid through the single window of his and Judah’s room beckoned him somehow. He knew his bruder would scorn him for such ideas as the call of the moon, but for once, he didn’t seem to care. He slid naked from his narrow bed and went to the window, the sill just bumping his lean hip. He pressed his forehead against the cold glass and felt his restlessness grow, especially when Judah began to snore.
A brisk walk in the snow, he thought, turning to quickly get into his clothes with as little noise as possible. He’d become adept over
the years at slipping out of the haus, seeking peace and time alone, away from Judah’s cruelty and his mamm’s anxious thoughts. And tonight was no exception. He crossed the kitchen, stopped to stroke his mother’s cat, Puddles, and then went out into the nacht.
It was times like this that he missed his fater most of all—the great, tall man who’d slung him over a broad shoulder and galloped along like the fastest horse—they’d often shared a walk in the woods together. His daed had taught him the ways of nature and the wild, letting Joel see the Living Gott in every tree, leaf, and creature. It had been a blessing to have such a man in his life, even if it had only been for a short time.
He walked easily now through the deep snow, hands fisted and stuffed in the pockets of his heavy black coat. He pulled his dark hat down closer as the wind picked up, then nearly stopped still when the sound of a woman’s voice came to him, high, melodic, carried by the nacht air from the nearby creek like a siren’s song.
He followed the sound, finding himself strangely drawn toward it, then came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the creek bank when he saw the naked back of a girl. He retreated partially behind a nearby pine tree, but she soon stopped singing, as if aware somehow of his presence.
She turned in the water and he stared, transfixed from his half-hidden position—at twenty years old, he’d never seen a woman’s body before.
“Who’s there?”
He caught his breath when he recognized Martha Yoder . . . He realized that he’d been too busy looking at her body to notice her face, but now he turned and pressed his back hard against the tree.
“No one,” he muttered, answering her before he could help himself.
“I’m getting out. Don’t tell me it’s not you, Judah Umble! How dare you spy on me like this . . .”
Judah? Ach, praise Gott she thinks it’s my bruder . . . Though the image of her white skin was burned into his brain. He felt hesitantly for the ground beneath his boots and had started to move away when he tripped and sprawled face forward in the snow . . .
* * *
Martha was furious. Not only did the man have the nerve to seek her out in broad daylight, now he was stalking her by the light of the moon. She grabbed up her pile of clothing and hastily put it on, careless of the pin fastenings that pricked her skin here and there, and marched over to where he was moving, scrambling to get to his feet.
“Gut for you—falling on your face, Judah,” she pronounced to the tall frame of the man. His hat had come off, and his black hair seemed more tousled than usual in the half light. She hugged her belongings to her and waited for him to rise. He seemed to be taking a long time about it . . .
“Are you hurt?” she finally snapped in exasperation.
“Nee,” he whispered. “Just geh.”
She tossed her head. “Judah Umble, I can’t leave you lying here in the snow. You’ll freeze to death.”
“And you won’t?”
“Nee, I won’t. I’ve got the blood for it. Now, get up.”
She sighed and reached a single arm down to tug fretfully at his coat sleeve, and then lost her balance, her toes colder than she cared to admit. She gave a small cry as she pitched forward on her hands and knees in the snow, and she saw his head turn out of the corner of her eye.
Then she gasped, amazed and shamed. Her bottom lip began to quiver. “Joel?”
Chapter Two
Martha stared into his dark blue eyes, knowing the color by heart, even in the play of shadows and moonlight. Joel Umble was all she ever dreamed of, but he was as far away as a star—much too intelligent for her, and twice as beautiful, in her mind.
The hot, heavy fall of the inside of his wool coat hit her back, shaking her from her reverie. “What—?” she gasped, breaking off in a squeak as he swung her up into his arms, nestling her against the breadth of his chest.
“I’ll have you home as quickly as I can,” he said, his husky voice soothing. “Relax against me. It’s all right.”
Martha brushed away the hot tears that threatened to freeze on her cheeks. It was one thing to know that he was speaking to her as he might a hurt child or an injured creature, but quite another to think that he’d seen her nakedness. If Judah had seen her, it wouldn’t have mattered so much—his eyes stripped her bare every time he looked at her. But Joel . . . Joel is so gut and kind and pure . . .
“It’s not all right,” she struggled to say as more tears tightened her throat. “You—you saw me.”
“It was dark. Calm down.”
He maneuvered her in his strong arms until she had no choice but to lean her head against his chest. She heard the thud of his heart and smelled the rich male scent of his throat where his shirt gave way a bit. She was as close to him as she could ever hope to be, and she was utterly miserable.
After a few moments of feeling the rhythm of his long strides, though, she began to surrender to the warmth of his coat all around her. He’d even settled his strong, dimpled chin on top of her head, surrounding her with more heat. She began to feel a permeating lassitude and closed her eyes, as if in a dream.
“No sleeping,” he said in clear instruction as he dipped his head near her ear.
“I’m—not,” she protested, slurring her words with a secret smile; she fancied that she sounded like creek water moving over smooth stones.
“Martha . . .”
“Hmmm?”
She tilted her head back against his shoulder and lifted her chin to the moonlight. Joel Umble is carrying me home . . . She felt him sigh, a heavy exhalation and play of his chest: first out, then in. She tried to lift her lashes with lazy intent, to look up at him, but she couldn’t quite garner the energy. She half smiled at the effort and arched her back. She thought she heard what sounded like a groan reverberate through him, and then she was blinkingly, fiercely awake as his mouth came down on hers in a firm caress. She’d never been kissed before and had no idea how to respond, but the intimate touch was over so quickly that she thought maybe she’d imagined it.
She stared up at the firm line of his jaw. “Did—did you kiss me?”
She felt him shrug, then nestle her closer.
“I’ve never kissed before,” he confessed.
Joel Umble has never kissed before, when he has a mouth that seems made for such things . . . She couldn’t believe it.
He went on a few more steps, then cleared his throat. “Was it—right?”
“I’ve never kissed before either,” she whispered.
She watched him swallow hard and then he nodded. “We’re here.”
* * *
Joel knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Bishop Loftus had found out about his and Martha’s . . . meeting, he’d be seeking his wedding bed that nacht instead of his own narrow mattress. Fortunately (especially for Martha’s sake), he’d been able to make it back to his room without notice. He undressed and slipped into bed, then turned to face the wall. Tentatively, he touched his lips in the darkness, still feeling the tingle from Martha’s sweet mouth. He furrowed his brow in confusion.
What was this thing called kissing? How did it kumme about? What was Adam’s first kiss to Eve like? Probably better than I managed . . .
As he recalled the honeyed sweetness of Martha’s mouth, he ran a hand down his body beneath the warmth of the quilt and found himself aroused. He closed his eyes against the sensation and rolled over, trying not to think of Martha Yoder. But the images that appeared with luminous intensity in his mind would not be denied—hair like summer wheat shimmering in the moonlight; wide, questing brown eyes; full, pouty lips that seemed to beg to be touched with his tongue . . . His mouth watered, and he shifted restlessly.
He understood enough about desire to know it to be Gott-given, not some strange sin like Judah purported it to be. But he also knew that he’d seen Martha Yoder that nacht as only a husband should—if a husband ever would take the time to discover a wife in such a wondering way . . . From what he’d gathered with talk among the married men h
is age, bedding a wife seemed more like a grope and a gamble, all fervor and no finesse. Not that he understood any better, of course . . .
Yet after what had happened tonight—seeing her naked body, then kissing her with a quick passion he didn’t know he possessed, he realized there was only one thing to do. The honorable thing. He had to ask Martha to court with him. The thought brought a smile to his lips and increased his arousal.
Not that she’d seemed to expect any such action as courting on his part. He smothered a moan, pressing harder into the mattress, when he remembered setting her down on the porch of her family’s cabin. She’d stepped from his arms and coat, when he would have gladly let her take it, but then she’d stood almost proudly in the chill wind, her spine straight and her shoulders back.“Thank you for carrying me home, Joel Umble.” She’d lifted her chin and tossed her head like a wild filly, and he’d felt a rush of respect and awe for the girl as he’d helplessly traced the curved lines of her body beneath her clothing . . . Then she’d slipped inside and was gone.
He’d stood holding his coat in the chill, moonlight air, bereft but for the deep desire stirring within him. He’d shrugged into the heavy black wool, still warm from her body, and he’d started for home.
Now he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to close his eyes, only to jump when Judah kicked the side of his bed and he woke to realize that it was gray dawn.
* * *
“Well, why are ya up so early, girlie?” Martha’s grossmuder, Esther Yoder, propped herself up on a stick-thin elbow on her bed near the woodstove and muttered the question in her ninety-year-old voice.
