A Reason to Believe

by McKade, Maureen

  Rye nodded without comment then went to round up Collie.

  SEVENTEEN

  AFTER a late supper of fresh venison steaks and a variety of vegetables from the garden, Dulcie rose to clear the table. “You’re welcome to stay in the loft again,” she said to Rye and Collie.

  “I think someone’s ready to go up there already,” Rye said, looking deliberately at Collie, whose eyelids were at half-mast.

  “I ain’t tired.” Collie’s yawn contradicted his words.

  Dulcie fought a smile. “Maybe you’d like to wash the dishes then.”

  Collie’s panicked gaze leapt to Rye. “Maybe I’d best go on up.” He held up a hand wrapped in a scarf. “Gotta heal so I can help in the field tomorrow.”

  “We’ll see how it looks in the morning,” Rye said, canting an eyebrow at the boy. “Go on up and hit the sack.”

  Collie didn’t appear too pleased by Rye’s words, but he didn’t argue. He climbed the ladder into the loft.

  “What happened to his hand?” Dulcie asked in a low voice so she wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Broken blisters from raking. Kid didn’t even say anything, just kept on working.”

  Dulcie slid plates into the dishwater, her conscience baiting her. “I hope he knows he doesn’t have to earn his keep.”

  Rye paused. “Thanks, Dulcie.”

  His sincere tone warmed her face, and she sought another subject. “Where will you go after the harvest is in?”

  Rye moved close to Dulcie, and she could smell soap and leather and an enticing scent all his own. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “You could stay here.” The words were out before Dulcie could stop them. “I mean, there are always things to be done, and as long as you’re willing to work for room and board . . .”

  Rye faced her, his gaze steady but oddly sad. “As much as I like you and Madeline, I have to find a paying job.”

  Dulcie choked back her disappointment and plunged her hands into the soapy water. She washed a dish and slid it into the pan of clear, hot water. Without asking, Rye picked up a towel and wiped the plate.

  They worked in silence that wasn’t quite comfortable, but wasn’t taut either. Instead, it felt expectant, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Finally, Rye wiped the last dish, and Dulcie put it away. Each carrying a pan, they tossed the dishwater and rinse water out into the yard.

  Back in the cabin, without the children or chores to distract them, Dulcie grew increasingly restless. She was aware of a thrumming in her body, a reaction to Rye’s presence.

  “I’d best get some sleep, too,” Rye said.

  The lamp’s light cast sinister shadows across Rye’s handsome features, but the shadows lied. Dulcie had trusted Rye with her most precious possession, and he’d proven he was a man like no other man she’d known.

  “I can’t sleep yet and I wouldn’t mind some company,” she said softly, her heart kicking against her ribs.

  Rye studied her, the blue of his eyes nearly eclipsed by the black circles. “All right.” He walked with stealthy grace to one of the rocking chairs and sat down.

  Dulcie’s heart thundered in her ears and her palms grew moist. She was courting peril, tempting herself with the nearness of a man. But Rye wasn’t just any man. She trusted him as she’d trusted no other. Yet that wasn’t the danger. It was herself she didn’t trust.

  If she truly wanted to preserve her pride and independence, she wouldn’t have asked him to sit with her. Although angry with herself, undeniable excitement thrummed through her.

  To try to gain back her composure, she tiptoed into the bedroom. She gazed down at Madeline, sleeping peacefully for the first time in three days. Tears filled her eyes, and one trailed down her cheek to drip onto the sheet covering her daughter. Dulcie swept the tear away and bent down to kiss Madeline’s cool brow.

  As she straightened, she glanced at the trunk at the end of the bed. The whiskey called to her, tempted her with its numbing promise. For one night she wanted to forget her horrific fear for Madeline’s life; she wanted to lay aside her responsibility of providing for her daughter; and she wanted to smother her sinful yearnings for Rye.

  Her gaze flicked to the man in the other room and collided with his. His expression was hidden in the dull lamplight, but his eyes burned with a need she recognized too well. She’d seen it often enough in the mirror.

  A wildfire passed through her, leaving banked embers in its wake, and she knew that tonight even whiskey couldn’t contain her body’s wantonness. Lifting her chin, she left the bedroom and sat down on the other rocking chair across from Rye.

  “How is she?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Sound asleep. Doesn’t feel like the fever has come back.”

  Rye nodded. “Good.” He grew serious. “It’s going to take at least two weeks to cut your wheat by hand. If we had a reaper, it’d only be a couple of days.”

  Dulcie blinked at the unexpected remark. Had she misread the look in his eyes? Or had she merely seen what she wanted to see? She swallowed her self-loathing. “Pa had one. He told me he sold it after Ma died.”

  “So he could buy whiskey?”

  She nodded, humiliated that Rye knew her father’s weakness so well.

  “Why did he drink?” Rye asked.

  Bitterness welled up in her. “Because he liked it.”

  “Why?”

  Dulcie scowled. “What difference does it make? He was a drunk.”

  His expression became pensive and his sight turned inward. “People drink for different reasons, Dulcie. Some drink because they’re scared, others drink to forget, and some drink because they hate themselves.” His pointed gaze pinned her. “Why do you drink, Dulcie?”

  Her blood ran cold, and the room zoomed in and out of focus. “Why would I drink?” she asked, hoping he couldn’t hear the thudding of her heart.

  Rye studied her, and she had the impression he saw things in her that nobody else did. “You tell me, Dulcie.”

  She dropped her gaze to her clenched hands in her lap. A half truth was better than lying. “Sometimes I get lonely.”

  “Everybody gets lonely one time or another.”

  She lifted her head, and pain and solitude reflected in his eyes, a mirror of her own. Perhaps she hadn’t been mistaken. Maybe his need was based on loneliness, too.

  Without conscious thought, she stood and walked to him, then knelt between his legs. She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head against his flat belly. She felt him lengthen and harden against her cheek. Passion flowed through her veins, hot and needy and reckless.

  “Do you get lonely, Rye?” she asked.

  “Yes.” The single word seemed to have been wrenched from someplace deep within him.

  Dulcie remained where she was, her need pulsing through her. She recalled her first time with Jerry, how it had been uncomfortable in the beginning, then there’d been only ecstasy. It was a pleasure she came to crave, but even when she’d learned of her husband’s infidelity, she never sought out another man. And while she’d hated Lamont for exacting her favors in return for passage home, Dulcie hated her body’s betrayal even more.

  However, Rye never demanded anything from her. She wanted to give him her body—herself—because he was kind, gentle, and compassionate. And because she desired his touch, desired him more than she’d desired any other man.

  Rye laid his hand on her head, his fingers caressing her scalp and combing through her hair. She trembled at the act that felt even more intimate than sex.

  “I want you, Rye.” The words came unbidden, yet they held the truth.

  His muscles tensed and his erection throbbed. “It’s not right. The children—”

  “Are asleep,” she finished. Not looking at his face, she could speak more freely. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like a woman.”

  For a moment, she thought he was going to push her away.

  “You don’t know me, Dulcie.
” It sounded as if the words were torn from him.

  She took a deep breath and raised her head to meet his hooded gaze. “I know you’re kind and gentle and would never hurt Madeline or me. And I know you want me as much as I want you.”

  Rye tangled his fingers in Dulcie’s hair and clenched the strands within his fists. He stared into her wide, luminous eyes, saw the need and desperation that drove her. He remembered too clearly how she’d looked through the window that night, lying on the bed, her legs spread and her hand beneath her gown. He’d barely been able to resist then. . . .

  God in heaven, he knew it was wrong, but his own needs overrode his conscience. He pulled her toward him, his hands buried in her soft hair. If he wanted, he could count every freckle that dotted her nose and cheeks, but anything as complicated as counting was lost to him. Canting his head slightly, he pressed his lips to hers. She moaned her approval, and her warm mouth slid across his.

  Dulcie returned his tender kiss then grew bolder as she traced his lower lip. He opened to her exploration and their tongues met, tentative at first, but timidity disappeared as passion flared, growing hotter.

  Dulcie rose gracefully and he clasped her hips, pulling her toward him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sat on his lap as they continued to kiss. With her backside pressed against his groin, Rye squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control. He drew his mouth from hers, afraid her kisses would take him over the edge.

  Rye gasped. “Have to . . . slow down.”

  With flushed cheeks, Dulcie leaned back slightly. A wicked smile touched her kiss-swollen lips, and she shifted to kneel in front of him again. Before Rye could react, she attacked his trouser buttons and reached in to touch him.

  Rye arched upward, his hips coming off the chair. He grabbed her wrists. “What’re you doing?” he asked and was embarrassed by his trembling voice.

  She smiled, a light teasing grin. “If you have to ask, then it’s been too long.”

  Dulcie pulled out of his grasp and slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Her fingertips brushed his skin below and little arcs of pleasure rippled through him. When his shirt was completely undone, Dulcie stretched out to slip it off his shoulders.

  Rye stiffened, knowing what his shirt hid. If she saw the brand . . . He clasped her arms and stood, pulling her to her feet with him. Her body pressed against his from knee to chest.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” Rye whispered. He’d simply meant to distract her, but as he took his turn in removing her shirt, his excitement built. He unbuttoned the first few buttons then pulled the tails out of her waistband and lifted the shirt off over her head and tossed it aside. A dingy white camisole did little to hide her hard nipples.

  With shaking fingers, he untied the bow between her breasts, and kissed the freckles scattered between them. Her sharp inhalation made him smile against her milky skin. He reached up to draw the camisole straps down and inched them down her arms. More of her breasts were revealed until the cloth fell below her nipples. He growled low in his throat and captured a peak between his lips, gently worrying it with his tongue and mouth.

  She placed her hands on his head, but Rye couldn’t figure out if she wanted him to stop or keep going. As much as he wanted to continue, he released her nipple and looked up, questioning her with his expression.

  “Don’t stop.” The words exploded from her, along with a gasp.

  Relieved, Rye returned to lave her nipples, but even through the haze of passion, he remembered to keep his shirt covering his back. Some part of him reminded him he had no right making love to the widow of the man he’d killed, but his body was past listening to his conscience.

  Dulcie splayed her fingers through Rye’s hair and held him close. She arched her back, eagerly pressing her breasts against him. He could smell her feminine scent, and his blood roared through his veins.

  But before he could make another move, Dulcie pushed him away. “Don’t move.”

  Startled and confused, Rye stood motionless as Dulcie hurried into the bedroom and returned with a blanket, which she spread out on the floor. He released a pent-up sigh of relief. She hadn’t changed her mind.

  The lamp’s glow seemed to bring fire to Dulcie’s hair, with flames of red and gold flickering through her tendrils and forming a halo around her head. The lamp dusted her face and bare breasts with golden light. His arousal, which had faded slightly, sharpened once more.

  Dulcie grabbed his waistband, tugging him down onto the blanket until they knelt facing one another. He kissed her lips then kissed a trail down to her breasts, and finally to her belly. However, before he could release the buttons on her trousers, she pressed him to lie on his back. She tugged down his pants, leaving his drawers, which outlined his erection. Before he could reach for her, she wrapped her hand around him with only the thin cloth between them.

  Rye had sown his wild oats before he married, but he’d met few women as assertive in making love. However, he found himself elated by Dulcie’s brazenness, liked that she took pleasure in touching him.

  Suddenly she freed him from his underwear and her warm, wet mouth closed around him. Intense pleasure streaked through him, and he twined his fingers in her thick hair. He tried to hold back, tried to prolong his rise, but Dulcie’s mouth was too inviting. His release exploded, shattering him into a hundred pieces.

  For minutes Rye lay there, aware of Dulcie’s soft breasts against him and her head pillowed on his chest. He unclenched his hands and let loose her hair. Laying one hand on her silky cheek, he stroked her sleek back with the other.

  Her soft moans sent an arrow of renewed lust through him. He slid his hand across her cheek and down her smooth neck to her breast. Pinching her nipple gently, he listened to her breathing grow more ragged. Her scent drifted to him, enticed him.

  Rye gently rolled her onto her back and wasted little time removing what remained of his clothes, except for his shirt. He moved between her legs and gently brushed across her damp flesh. Her thighs stiffened, and her moan rolled through him. Shifting to lie down, he flicked his tongue across her, tasting her femininity.

  “What’re you doing?” Dulcie asked in a ragged voice.

  Rye raised his head and looked past her breasts to her wide eyes. “Giving you what you gave me,” he said softly.

  He returned to his delectable task, his hands splayed across her hips to hold her still. Dulcie shuddered continuously, her low moans bringing Rye to hardness once more.

  Dulcie had known pleasure with a man buried within her, but neither Jerry nor the peddler had ever kissed her this way. She shuddered as Rye’s tongue stroked across her in broad sweeps, slowing to give extra attention to the sensitive nubbin. On nights when she couldn’t fight the loneliness, she would touch herself in the same place, but never had it taken her voice and left her only with inarticulate moans.

  He reached up, pinched a nipple, and her belly and thighs quivered, tensing even more. Suddenly he sucked on the hard bud as his hands kneaded her breasts. Dulcie threw her hips upward as the tension exploded. She bit down on her fist, managing to hold back her cry so she wouldn’t wake the sleeping children.

  She fell back onto the blanket, her muscles limp and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Before she could regain her breath, Rye moved up over her body, his weight balanced on his arms and knees as he straddled her. Although it was odd he kept his shirt on, Dulcie liked how it hung from his torso and brushed her sensitive skin.

  He kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips. But she also tasted Rye beneath it, and excitement pulsed through her once more.

  “Ready?” His whispered question was followed by a delicious swipe of his tongue across her earlobe.

  Shuddering with desire, Dulcie nodded. Rye kissed her and slid into her in one smooth motion. She moaned around their kiss. Wrapping her legs around him, she locked her ankles at the back of his waist. He withdrew and began to thrust in slow, easy motions. Aftershocks rippled through her even as the coil in
her belly tightened once more.

  Dulcie pressed her head against the floor and closed her eyes, feeling him in her and around her. The tension grew, down her spine and into her buttocks, clenching and tightening, like a spring being wound tighter and tighter.

  “Look at me,” Rye said in a passion-husky voice.

  She opened her eyes. His hair stuck to his forehead and his face was flushed. He was panting, but a devilish smile curved his lips.

  “Let it go, Dulcie. I promise I’ll catch you.” Then he reached down between their bodies and rubbed her sensitive spot.

  Dulcie went over the edge and opened her mouth in a soundless scream. Her limbs stiffened and blackness dotted her vision. She was vaguely aware of Rye spilling into her.

  Dulcie lay limp and exhausted as Rye rolled off her, panting. She stared at the ceiling, trying to recall if she’d ever been so satisfied, so content. Rolling onto her side, she propped her head on her hand and gazed down at Rye. She smiled, amused that he still wore his shirt but nothing else.

  Rye opened his eyes, which were smoky with sated passion.

  “Nobody’s ever . . .” She broke off, embarrassed.

  Rye snagged her waist with his arm and pulled her over to lie snug against his side. “I’m glad.”

  He kissed her crown and closed his eyes. Dulcie tipped her head back and studied his face, which was still slightly flushed. A sweat-dampened curl fell across his brow and his long lashes brushed his cheeks. The faint shadow of whiskers covered his straight jaw and outlined his nicely shaped lips. Remembering the feel of those lips on her, she shivered as aftershocks from their lovemaking echoed through her.

  Curling close to Rye’s side, she realized she didn’t need whiskey to fall asleep tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough for the guilt to return.

  RYE woke and lay still in the faint lamplight as he tried to determine where he was. Throughout his years in the army, he’d awakened in various places, but he didn’t think this was one of them. He turned his head to see red hair fanned across his arm and chest.