Winter Woman

by Jenna Kernan

  “And so I am.” He petted the hair upon her head in even strokes. “Delia, I should have left you a horse.”

  “Yes, you should have. I would have been here yesterday.”

  “You need me to get down to the Rendezvous,” he said. Something about the stubborn tilt of his chin made her wonder if he dared her to deny it.

  “I need you for more than that.”

  His eyes grew intense. The black pupils seemed large, crowding out the circle of vibrant blue.

  “We’ll get there. I promise.”

  She knew then, he would kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed and his mouth found hers. The warm pressure sent desire rippling through her, tightening her nipples into hard buds.

  His hands slid down her back, drawing her in and deepening the kiss to a sensuous blending of tongues. He delved into the hidden recesses of her mouth. She could feel the hot thrusting rhythm of his kiss stoking her until she glowed from within. It was difficult to stand. Her body seemed weak with the longing he drew from her.

  He guided her gently to the ground. The smell of soft grass surrounded her. She cried out in a throaty moan when his lips left hers. The sound changed to a sigh as his kisses moved to her neck, climbing with exquisite leisure to the hollow behind her ear.

  His lips milked her lobe, sucking like a babe. She reached for him, near frantic. He allowed her to draw him close. Her fingernails scored the hide-covered shoulder. Her hips rose up to press against his hovering body. From deep within her came the velvety moisture of wanting.

  She needed to feel his skin pressed tight to hers. As if in answer to her desire, he rolled her to his stomach and dragged her buckskin dress slowly up her legs. He gave her time to refuse. Instead, she tugged at his shirt lacing. The afternoon sun touched her back for just a moment. Then she was lying in the grass. He swiftly removed his clothing.

  She stared at him, kneeling by the brook. John was too modest to reveal himself so boldly. Looking at Thomas, she suddenly felt cheated that John had denied her this pleasure. Thomas was beautiful, just as hard and rugged as these mountains.

  His shoulders were so broad. The labor of trapping and hunting had sculpted his brawn into well-defined planes. Even the muscles of his stomach bulged and knotted. Her hand ran over the sensitive skin of her soft belly and her eyes moved to the most obvious difference between them. So that was what it looked like. She’d touch it in the dark, knowing the feel of a man moving within her body and wondered.

  Her gaze returned to his eyes. She found him studying her body as well. Knowing his gaze was upon her caused the throbbing anticipation to grow more urgent. She reached for his hand and pulled him down beside her.

  “Delia, you’re so beautiful, lying there. I can’t believe my eyes.”

  He held her face in his two large hands, keeping her from lowering her head. She blushed.

  “Not skinny anymore?” she asked.

  “Only in the right places. You filled out real nice.”

  His rough hands caressed her breasts. His head lowered to take her hardened nipple into his mouth. The heat and moisture of his kiss fired her blood. She arched back in his arms, giving him full access to her aching breast. One hand reached down between her thighs. He groaned as he found her wet and ready.

  She opened her legs to him, rocking her hips up to meet his. He never paused, as if hesitation might allow her to think, consider, deny. Swift as a diving eagle, he plunged himself into her warm body.

  He held her tightly, kissing her mouth, and thrust into her again and again. She matched the driving rhythm he set. Then her graceful movement changed into a wild, desperate thrusting. Need made her frantic. An avalanche of sensation spun out from her core, sending exquisite shock waves through her. A long moan escaped her lips.

  He held her shuddering body in a rigid embrace. A throaty cry reached her ears and he fell slack upon her. He crushed the breath from her for an instant, then rolled to his side, drawing her along until she lay beside him.

  She stared at the blue sky. Impossible to believe she gazed at the same sky that had snowed and snowed until she had been buried alive.

  “Is there anything you ain’t good at?” Thomas whispered into her ear. Then nipped at her with sharp teeth.

  She smiled, basking in the sunshine and the gentle hand that stroked her hair.

  Gradually the world drifted back into perspective. Her limbs were no longer heavy and relaxed. Her breathing settled into a slow steady draw. The grass beneath her began to scratch. The weight of Thomas’s leg across her middle became oppressive and she wondered how she could possibly be lying naked on the ground? Next came guilt. This was not her husband. Thomas had never mentioned marriage, only a stake. He had not told her he loved her. No, she was his partner. Regret rose up like a filling well. Her face flushed with embarrassment. How could she be so stupid? What if she became pregnant? Fear washed down her spine.

  His voice broke into her thoughts.

  “I didn’t understand at first why I lived through the pain and through the dangers. Now I do.”

  Her hands pushed frantically at his leg. He shifted and propped himself up on one elbow to look at her.

  “What is it, Delia?”

  “Let me up.”

  He frowned. His lips pressed into a grim line and his eyes darkened with anger.

  “How could I do such a thing?” she cried.

  He sat up and dragged both hands through his thick hair in frustration.

  “We didn’t do nothing wrong.”

  She quickly drew the dress on and shook out her hair, dislodging the bits of clinging straw.

  “Not wrong? My husband is gone only eleven months.”

  “He’s dead, Delia.” She raised her hand to strike him. “You ain’t,” he said.

  He waited. Her hand hit his cheek with a loud clap. He barely moved. Regret filled her. This was not his fault. His eyes never left her.

  “I still ain’t sorry. You are the most magnificent female I ever met, and that is what man and woman was made for.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He’d kept his eyes forward even when the sounds from behind him told him she was crying. Her hand left his waist to wipe her nose. He heard the little sniffs and her ragged intake of breath above the sound of the horse’s steady hooves. She was obviously trying not to draw his notice, so he gave her privacy.

  The stifled sobs tore at him like the claws of a bobcat. All he wanted to do was put his arms around her. Look what had happened the last time he had. She mentioned her husband and he couldn’t control the anger. Her face had gone pale when he harshly reminded her the man was dead. He was gone and Nash was tired of her throwing him between them every time he got too close.

  Hadn’t he just told her that he needed the furs to get them a stake? Once he had the money, he could buy her a farm or a business. He’d take her wherever she wanted. He planned to start again, with her.

  She still lived in the past, clinging to the memory of a dead man rather than accept the one who was aching for her.

  Maybe he wasn’t good enough. She was polished, educated and had religion. She probably thought of him as some kind of brute or hermit. Was she ashamed to love him? He ground his teeth together until they squeaked.

  How he dreaded making camp. The meal, the evening and after that—pure torture. Their lovemaking was precious to him, but not to her. She was crying and everything was spoiled between them. Somehow he had to patch this up. Three weeks remained before the Rendezvous. Three weeks to make amends and win her heart before he brought her out of the mountains.

  Delia managed to stop the flow of tears before they reached camp. If her face was swollen and her eyes red, he said nothing. How she wished she could ride with the pelts. Instead, her arms were looped about his narrow waist. His warm body urged her to lean against his broad back. She denied herself the pleasure, sitting stiffly behind him. She was a fallen woman. Somehow she had let her desires override every shred of moral decency. She’d
never forgive herself.

  A God-fearing woman waited until she was joined to a man in holy matrimony. Her eyes looked up at the billowing clouds. Please God, forgive me.

  She couldn’t blame Thomas. He was a man. Men were expected to find their pleasure if a woman allowed them. He never even said he loved her. All he mentioned was sharing his stake with her and making her a ten-percent partner. And when she explained that she must leave the mountains, he didn’t try to dissuade her. He didn’t ask her to stay or vow to never leave her. He merely said he understood. Well, what did she expect? Did she think he’d leave his trade to follow her East? He had made it quite clear that he hated the States. He’d never fit into her world in any case. She tried to imagine what the women of her congregation would think of Nash. She pictured him sitting in a pew clad in his buckskins, with his powder horn slung over his shoulders and his Hawkins rifle gripped in his right hand. A groan escaped her. She had never seen him without that blasted gun.

  Another thought slashed through her mind. What if she bore his child—a bastard? How would she explain a child born so many months after her husband’s death? Cold dread sank into her stomach.

  The night crept up the mountains, bringing with it a change in sounds and sights. Above her, bats darted and dove for insects, silhouettes against a dark blue background. She heard the tiny frogs singing in symphony. They almost seemed to be crying in one long wail.

  She raised her head to see the stars while the horses crossed a meadow. How much had changed since the last time she had looked at them. Thomas was rescued and she was lost.

  A coyote’s howl caused her to tighten her grip on Thomas’s shirt. Their echoing chorus sent a shudder down her spine. The little brothers of the wolves, she thought. She remembered the wolves, scratching and whining at her shabby hut until she thought she’d go mad.

  “We’re back,” said Nash. “Stay put. We ain’t staying.”

  She sat numbly on the horse and he slid to the ground and quickly gathered their belongings, adding them to the packhorse.

  He mounted up. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Downstream. We’ll be heading East now. Toward the Rendezvous.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. Conflicting emotions jumped within her like a bucket full of crickets. She’d be leaving him soon. And he’d be leaving her. Why had she allowed herself to surrender to him so close to the time they’d be parted? Perhaps that was exactly why. She forced herself to consider the possibility. Did she want to leave him? No, she did not. But she needed to leave this place. She wondered if he would ever consider going East and starting again? She shook her head. He belonged here.

  She leaned her cheek against the flat plane of his back and fell asleep listening to the comfort of his beating heart.

  She woke to the rushing of water. The sound overwhelmed even the birdsong. A new day was well underway before she opened her eyes to greet it.

  She nestled into the warm fur. This was not her pillow beneath her head. Her eyes blinked open. Thomas’s arm lay under her neck and was wrapped intimately across her ribs. His large hand splayed across her stomach. She turned her head to look at his sleeping face in outrage. That was when she saw the cheeks rough with a two-day growth of whiskers. Beneath his dark lashes were black circles. Her indignation ebbed. Had he ridden all night?

  She eased away from him, trying to slip from beneath the hides. He rolled toward her and dragged her back against his body.

  Her breath came in a quick gasp when her bottom pressed flush into the fold at his waist. His grip tightened and he groaned. A surge of desire so strong it frightened her shot through her chest and seemed to squeeze her heart. The feel of his hot breath upon her neck sent her into action. Not again, she vowed. She slapped and tugged at his arms until he roused enough to release her.

  “What the—Delia, what?” He blinked tiredly at her.

  “Let me up.”

  The hands were instantly withdrawn. He groaned again and rolled to his other side, dragging the bearskin with him.

  She pulled herself stiffly to her feet and surveyed her surroundings. They were camped behind a large boulder and several hardy trees. Through them she could see a river.

  “Careful of the waterfall,” he muttered.

  She looked back at him. Obviously he was not ready to rise. She took the shotgun and went to find a little privacy before exploring. The horses were tethered to a tree on a long lead. They stood head to tail, brushing away the flies from each other’s faces. She led them to the river and wrapped their ropes around the thick cane that grew along the bank. The pair began nibbling at the cane leaves.

  She followed the roaring sound of the river. The ground was damp and mossy here. She inched along until she saw the water drop from sight. The height was dizzying, so she sank to her belly and peered over the edge. The river tumbled and crashed into a frothing pool some hundred feet below her. Along the lower banks, she saw tree trunks cast up like scattered matchsticks. The water calmed only a few feet from the falls, seeming very deep and very blue. She crept back from the edge, wondering what the falls looked like from the bottom.

  Returning to the camp, she found Thomas still asleep, snoring now in long sawing strokes. She smiled. In sleep, he seemed younger. She could nearly imagine the boy he had been, before the loss of his wife, before the scars and the cynicism, before she knew him or loved him. Her body ached with the urge to strip off her dress and crawl back beneath the hides with him. She turned her back on the compelling sight.

  He seduces me even from his dreams.

  She knew this lusting was wrong. This desperate desire to have him again was so urgent. Now that their time was limited to days, the struggle to do what was right grew more difficult. Why was this wicked temptation so strong?

  She moved beyond the rocks to reflect and pray. After a few minutes of contemplation she remembered her surroundings again. The sound of running water drew her notice. She felt better, confident of her own admission of sin and God’s forgiveness.

  Before heading back to camp, she wandered toward some shrubs in the woods. Delight bubbled up in her as she realized they were blueberry bushes covered with ripe berries. She picked and ate until she had her fill. Then she picked a heaping handful for Thomas. She cradled the little round berries against her stomach with one hand and retraced her footsteps. She stared at the plump morsels, the first fruit of the season.

  A sharp pain in her foot brought her suddenly to the ground. She looked down and discovered a pointed stick protruding from the earth like the blade of a knife. The end was covered with her blood. She grasped her foot and saw the wood had missed the tough rawhide bottom of her moccasin and sliced through the buckskin on the side. One tug released her foot from the leather. There was a small slit in the fleshy pad of her heel. The skin had closed up again. There was only a trickle of blood.

  The initial shock waned and her foot throbbed steadily. It almost felt as if the wood was still in her heel. She stared at the stick again, wondering why it stuck from the ground like a spear. Her fingers grasped and pulled, but she was unable to withdraw the thing from the ground.

  She looked at the scattered blueberries, muddy shotgun and began to cry. Her foot hurt and she wanted Nash to have his blueberries. She gathered up the ones in her reach. Slowly she rose from the ground and looked at the bits of dried leaves on her skirt. She sniffed loudly, still cradling the berries, and took her first step. The pain of weight bearing brought a cry from her lips. She sat again on the damp ground. The musty smell of fallen leaves was all around her.

  She allowed herself to cry a few more moments then decided she needed to call Nash. No doubt her cries would scare the wits out of him, but she could think of no other way to get back to camp.

  Nash rolled to his back and stared up at the green canopy of leaves above him. Something was wrong. He grabbed his Hawkins and rose to his feet, throwing off the cloak of hides.

  “Delia?” he called. He waited and hear
d no answer. The damned waterfall likely drowned out his call. The falls were why he had stopped just before dawn. He didn’t fancy facing the steep trail riding double in the dark with a horse heavily burdened behind him.

  He found traces of her on the mossy rocks.

  “Delia!” Indians be damned, he thought. Where the devil was she?

  The worry changed over to pure terror. He stood at the edge of the falls and peered over. Had she fallen? He scoured the traces of her footprints to a sign of a slip or fall. He found no trace of such a thing. He sighed, then pressed his hand across his mouth. A more horrifying possibility occurred to him. Had she jumped?

  She was upset that they had made love. She had cried most of the trip, except when she slept. Why hadn’t he comforted her instead of plodding along? Fool, he thought. Was she so distraught she would take her own life?

  No! Never that. Delia fought for life. She was here and he had to find her.

  He hovered at the cliff edge in fear. Below his feet, the water plunged and frothed with awesome power. He’d never forgive himself if something happened. How could he bring such sorrow to a woman who meant the world to him? He realized it now. This gut-twisting fear proved it. He loved Delia. He loved her with all his heart.

  Dear God, don’t take her. I’ll send her back to you. I’ll never touch her again, I swear. Just let her be alive.

  He dashed back from the brink and ran toward the woods. He had to get to the bottom and search. She was here. He had to find her.

  How could this happen twice? How could he lose Elizabeth and now Delia? You haven’t lost her. She’s here. She’s alive. Think.

  He raised his rifle skyward and fired. The blast echoed loud above the sound of the rushing water. He waited, listening to the hammering of his own heart and the pull of air into his lungs. Then came the sound of a shotgun. He had never heard a sound so sweet.

  He bounded over the carpet of fern. There she was—a little flash of tan amid the brown leaves.

  He scanned the area for bear, wolf or man.