by Tina Susedik
Sarah bit her bottom lip as Jack pulled away from her. The couples dancing around them gave them a wide berth. Were they expecting the men to come to blows?
“What would you know about polite society, Manny?”
“Enough to know when a man cuts in, you gotta give up the woman, Billabard.”
Jack clenched his fists at his sides.
This wasn’t good. “It’s all right,” Sarah said, stepping between the two men. Hopefully neither would take a swing at the other with her in the middle. “I did say I’d dance with Mister Manny.” At least the song was nearly half over.
Before Jack could argue, Horace grabbed her hand and pulled her into the mass of dancers. Even though society dictated that couples dance the waltz without touching more than their hands, Horace yanked her against his chest and ground his crotch against her pelvis.
“If you don’t back off right now, Horace Manny, I’ll hurt you so you won’t be able to walk for a week.”
“Ah, honey, this is a slow dance. A slow and ro-man-tic dance.” He drew out the word as if saying it that way made it so.
Sarah pushed against his chest. “I’m not your honey, nor will I ever be your honey. I agreed to dance with you to be polite. Now you be polite and hold me properly.”
His whiskey-laden breath blew across her nostrils. His body might be clean, but his breath was still rancid. She turned her head away from him. Did the man just kiss her hair?
“You smell so good, Sarah. Good enough to eat.”
Sarah ground her teeth before answering. Jack stood on the edge of the makeshift dance floor, hands clenched into fists, his scowl fierce enough to scare away a mountain lion. How could she pacify one man who was bent on pursuing her without Jack coming to her rescue?
“Mister Manny, how many times do I have to tell you I have not given you permission to call me by my proper name? I insist you call me by my married name.”
Horace finally moved arms-length away and frowned. “Why can Billabard call you Sarah, and I can’t?”
“Because I gave him permission to do so.”
“Why him and why not me?”
How did she tell him he disgusted her with his obscene comments and smelly body? Besides his offensive behavior, he scared her; scared her so much that she was afraid of being alone and in a position for him to attack her.
The song finally ended, and surprisingly Horace hadn’t stepped on her toes once. She tugged her hands free. “Thank you for the dance, but I need to find Tommy now.”
At her son’s name, Horace puckered his brow and thinned his lips. Why would her six-year-old son be a problem for him?
“Not so fast, Miz Nickelson. You gave Billabard two dances, so now I get two.”
Before she could protest, he twirled her into a polka. Within a few seconds, she formulated a plan. One that she hoped would keep him from wanting to dance with her the rest of the night.
“Ouch.”
“Oops, sorry.” She bit back a smile as she tromped on his foot. “I’m just not used to doing the polka.”
Another twirl and she trounced on his other foot. All right, so maybe that one wasn’t on purpose. The way the man was stomping and attempting to twirl her around as Jack had, she couldn’t keep up with his steps. By the sixth time she’d battered his feet, he stopped, making the other dancers jerk their way around them.
“You don’t know how to do the polka, Miz Nickelson?”
“No. I’m sorry. I never had much of a chance to attend dances.”
Holding onto her elbow, he limped his way to Greta and Jed. Jack and Tommy were nowhere in sight.
“I need a drink,” he said over his shoulder as he scurried away.
Greta grinned. “Did you really have to step on his toes so many times, my dear?”
Heat rose up Sarah’s neck to her face. “They weren’t all planned. Just a few. It would have been easier to dance with a herd of buffalo.”
“At least he’ll leave you alone for the night.”
Horace had disappeared into the crowd of men surrounding a makeshift bar. “One can only hope.” After a moment of relief, she turned to her friends. “Where are Tommy and Jack?”
“Tommy had to use the necessary, so Jack took him. It was a good thing he did.”
“Why?”
“I suppose you couldn’t see his glare, when you kept trying to keep Horace’s hands off you.” Greta scowled. “I believe he was ready to pound the man into the ground.”
“Humph. He has no reason to do that.” Maybe if she acted naïve, Greta would drop the subject. “I was simply dancing. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I’ve told you before, Jack is smitten with you. Besides, it was plain enough for anyone with eyes, you enjoyed dancing with him more than with Horace.” Greta tapped Sarah’s forearm. “I think you’re smitten with Mister Billabard, too.”
Where was Tommy when she needed him to interrupt a conversation? Sarah stood on her tiptoes, peering over the crowd. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Greta.”
“You keep telling yourself that, my dear.”
Sarah chewed her lip worriedly. Her feelings for Jack were growing by the day. Having him hold her, even for a public dance, was like nothing she’d ever felt before, making her giddy and excited. Wanting him to hold her closer, maybe even steal a kiss or two. It had been so long since she’d been held, let alone kissed. Would his mouth feel warm? Would she find comfort in his arms, or something more?
Another thought struck her, one that brought her from her musing. What would it be like when she married a stranger?
“Mommy, Mommy!” Tommy grabbed her hand and jumped up and down.
Finally, the boy shows up. “What, honey?”
“We seed an eagle swoop down and catched a fish. Didn’t we, Mister Bard?”
“We saw an eagle swoop down and catch a fish,” Sarah corrected.
Tommy pouted and stomped his foot. “That’s what I said, Mommy.”
Jack laid his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. Sarah took in the damp hem of Jack’s pants. Had they done more than watch the eagle when they were down by the water?
“Your mother is just correcting the way you speak, young man. So you sound like a gentleman.”
Tommy glanced up at Jack, adoration shining in his eyes. “Like you?”
Even in the dusk, Jack’s blush was evident. “Well, I’d like to think I’m a gentleman.”
His action toward her and Tommy proved the man was every bit a gentleman, one she approved of teaching her young son how to act. “Thank you,” she mouthed at him, ignoring Greta’s smug grin.
Tommy’s sudden yawn was wide enough to drive a wagon through. He leaned against her skirt.
“I believe it’s time to put you to bed, young man.”
“Aw, Mommy. I’m not tired.”
“Yes, you are. Besides, other children are going to bed. Right, Greta?”
“Of course they are. I saw my youngest heading to the wagon. Even though tomorrow is a day of rest, there’s lots of work to be done. And big boys like you are needed to help.”
Sarah took Tommy’s much smaller hand in hers. “C’mon, young man.” It always amazed her how one minute he was bounding all over the place and the next, ready to drop where he stood.
“I’m too tired to walk, Mommy.” His whine didn’t bode well for the hike back to their wagon, and as big as he was getting, it was becoming more difficult to carry him. Especially when she swore he doubled in weight when he fell asleep.
“I’ll carry him, Sarah.”
She met Jack’s eyes. There was something in his that confused her. Desire? Was Greta correct, was he interested in her? Sarah’s heart skipped a beat. Couldn’t be.
Jack swung Tommy into h
is arms. Immediately her son wrapped his arms around Jack’s neck and snuggled down. “I love you, Mister Bard,” he whispered.
Had she heard rightly? The only person he’d ever said that to was her. This was going to cause a huge problem when they got to Oregon City.
What did Jack think?
Eyes closed, he rubbed Tommy’s narrow back. His answer was so quiet, Sarah wasn’t able to catch what he said. Dare she ask?
When Jack opened his eyes, the pain in them nearly set her back a step. Nope. Not going to ask. Especially when he stepped around her.
“C’mon, Mommy,” Tommy mumbled over Jack’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”
The walk back to her wagon remained silent as they passed smoldering fires and mothers trying to get their children settled down so they could return to the festivities. Jack set Tommy at the wagon’s entrance. When he disappeared inside, Jack took her by the waist and lifted her as though she weighed nothing more than a hummingbird. Even through her skirt, her skin burned from his touch.
“I’ll wait until you get him settled.”
Before entering the wagon, she glanced over her shoulder. Jack leaned against the side, legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded over his chest, his chin tipped down. Whatever could he be thinking?
~ ~ ~
Jack wished he had his hat so he could hide his face. The tears pooling in his eyes burned. His chest hurt trying to hold back his grief. What would Sarah think if she saw him crying?
There were times, and they were coming fewer and far between, when some little thing brought back memories of Lily and the son he hadn’t had a chance to raise. Tommy’s loving declaration was one of those times. How he’d longed to hear those words from his lost child. And how he missed hearing them from his wife.
When those skinny little arms wrapped around his neck, and Tommy whispered those three words in his ear, it nearly brought him to his knees. The boy had grown heavier as they walked to Sarah’s wagon. He’d welcomed the weight, even though he thought his arms would fall off.
Sarah’s mumbled words were too quiet to hear. Then she sang a lullaby, a familiar tune Lily had hummed often as she’d stitched some small item of clothing for their child.
Jack couldn’t stand it. Pushing away from the wagon so hard it rocked, he stomped to the open prairie.
He tipped his head to the sky. One by one, stars began to twinkle in the dusk, almost to the beat of the polka being played in the distance, until it was if heaven decided to send its own version of the sun. Were the stars merely angels, sent to light up the sky? Fireflies flickered in the grass, as if pretending they were those stars, dropped from the sky.
A distant whoop from the dance brought him back from his fanciful thinking. A hand touched his arm.
“Are you all right?” Sarah wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and glanced up at the darkening sky. “I’m always amazed how much bigger everything looks out here. It’s like heaven is sharing the angels with us.”
His heart lurched at the words he’d been thinking. He gazed down at her. Her hair, hanging loose to her waist, sparkled like diamonds in the starlight. Her alabaster skin . . .
Good heavens, if anyone knew what he was thinking, they’d laugh at him for his poetic ways. He was a man, not some fop writing fancy verse. “Is Tommy asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to go back to the dance?” He hated asking, since he’d rather stay here and drink in her loveliness. Shit. There he went again.
“I told Tommy I’d stick around for a bit.” She continued staring at the sky. “Besides, I believe I’m all danced out. I’d rather stay out here and enjoy the beauty of the night.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He tore his eyes away from her when she glanced at him. A coyote howled in the distance, answered by another.
“Should I get a quilt so we can sit down?”
With the feelings she stirred within him, it probably wasn’t wise to spend any time with her, especially on a blanket. No one had ever considered him a wise man. “Sure. I’d like that.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Even though the sun had set for the night, a deep rosy hue lingered far across the horizon. This wasn’t a good idea. He hadn’t been with a woman since Lily. What if he couldn’t control himself? He may not be wise, but he was a gentleman.
Jack wiped his palms down his pants. Was he this nervous the first time he thought about kissing Lily? He didn’t think so. It had seemed to come naturally, like breathing. Maybe it was because they’d known each other most of their lives.
And he wanted to kiss Sarah. Wanted to do more than kiss Sarah. Wanted to hold her. Caress her. See if her skin was soft beneath her clothing. An ache grew in his lower regions. Hell.
This reaction was something that hadn’t happened since before Lily died. His conscience pinged. Why should he feel guilty? Lily had been gone for over four years. He was a man with a man’s needs. Sarah was a beautiful woman with, he hoped, a woman’s needs.
Jack raked his fingers through his hair. I’m no better than Manny. Well, maybe somewhat better, because he’d make sure Sarah enjoyed being with him, while Horace would be bent on attacking a woman and getting what he wanted from her.
“Here we go,” Sarah said, spreading out a patchwork quilt on the ground.
Before joining her, he willed the bulge in his pants to retreat. What would she think if she saw him in this state? Probably run for her wagon and never speak to him again. Besides, he shouldn’t be getting excited over another woman when he still loved his wife. Should he?
“Are you going to join me?”
After a few seconds and a deep breath, Jack faced her, noting how her eyes sparkled like dew over grass in the morning sun. He took a step closer. Sarah worried her bottom lip. His heart slammed in his chest, and his penis pulsed.
“Sarah?”
“Jack.” His name whispered from her as she shifted toward him.
One more step and he could touch her, something he’d wanted to do for some time, almost since the day he met her. Dare he? From the flicker of passion in Sarah’s eyes, she probably wouldn’t send him on his way.
Throwing caution to the wind, he cupped her cheek and ran his thumb over her skin, taking pleasure in its softness. His flesh warmed like it had the night he’d touched the tree. Sarah placed her hands on his forearms. Small tremors raced through his system. She licked her bottom lip.
He was lost.
If someone saw them, it was too damned bad. He needed to kiss her. Feel those full lips against his. See if they tasted as luscious as they looked.
He raised an eyebrow.
Thankfully she read his silent question and reduced the small distance between them, her breasts touching his chest. Even through layers of clothing, he swore they burned a hole into his skin. Hiding his desire for her was now impossible.
He leaned down. As soon as his lips touched hers, his world tilted. Surely she could feel his heart slamming in his chest. Surely his erection bulging against her was obvious. He swept his tongue over her lips. Her breath puffed against his.
Any second now she would certainly push him away.
~ ~ ~
She’d died and gone to heaven. Never had she been kissed the way Jack was kissing her. Her husband’s lips had been dry, quick, and ineffectual. Jack’s kiss was warm, wet, and overwhelming. Surely he must feel her heart pounding against him. She hooked her fingers behind his neck and held him closer.
What must he think of her? A widow, whose son slept a mere distance from them, acting like a wanton. The proper thing would be to push him away. But, oh, how she enjoyed his lips on hers, his hands cradling her cheeks. His . . . Was that . . .?
He moved his hands from her face and wrapped them around her waist, tugging her closer until h
er pelvis rested flush against his . . . Yes, his male member—his large male member.
His penis, or cock as Peter had called it, once when he wanted her to put it in her mouth. She’d refused him, and got a hard slap across her face for her rejection. At the time she’d been fiercely glad she’d said no. Peter had stomped out of their bedroom and headed straight for the tavern, returning the next morning reeking of whiskey and cheap perfume.
One more reason for him to get drunk and slap her around. At least he’d never tried shoving that thing anywhere near her mouth again.
But now, with this man, what seemed repulsive felt so right, as Jack pressed her close and slipped his tongue between her lips.
A heaviness settled in Sarah’s lower regions. She had to get closer, meld her body with his. As if they had a mind of their own, her hips swayed into his. She parted her legs, giving better access for his hardness against her privates.
How her fingers itched to strip Jack and run them over his bare skin. Instead, she kept them hooked behind his neck, running her thumbs up and down his neck, beneath his hair that had grown shaggy over his collar during the weeks on the trail.
At the start of her marriage, she’d been anxious, yet nervous to learn about what happened between a man and woman. Without a mother to explain things to her, Sarah went to her wedding night not knowing what to do. Deep down she’d thought there’d be more than a quick kiss, the raising of her nightgown, and her husband ramming into her untried body. It had been as unpleasant as plucking pin feathers from a chicken. And it hurt every time, each consecutive night, until she was pregnant with Tommy. Then he left her alone.
Why Peter had wanted a child he didn’t even call by name was beyond her. Maybe he’d been waiting for Tommy to grow up and join him in drinking and carousing. And why was she thinking about Peter when this handsome, amazing man was doing wonderful, new things to her body?
