by Tina Susedik
Her skin prickled. Her nipples hardened and sent messages of pure desire through her. And all he’d done was kiss her.
Sarah moaned when he broke the kiss, and tried to bring his lips back to hers. But he began peppering kisses over her cheeks, eyes, and forehead. Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her when he nibbled on her earlobe. Her skin burned wherever his lips touched and his hot breath brushed over her. She tipped her head to give him better access to the side of her neck.
His thigh moved between her legs, and he rubbed against her mound until she thought she’d die from the sensations racing through her. His teeth nipped beneath her chin, then she felt his lips caress along her skin uncovered by the blouse she wore.
A scurrying nearby broke through her hazy senses being awakened by this man. Jack stepped away from her, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths.
A tall-eared jackrabbit, chased by a coyote, darted from sagebrush to sagebrush. The coyote stopped, its body silhouetted against the night sky. Shivers ran down Sarah’s spine that had nothing to do with the coyote’s appearance . . . but instead, the noise she’d heard before the animals interrupted them.
Something that had sounded like boots scraping and a man swearing under his breath.
Jack raked his fingers through his hair and looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
He was sorry? Well, she sure as heck wasn’t, and she wouldn’t let him get away with apologies.
She touched her swollen lips. “You may be sorry, but I’m sure not.” At his raised eyebrows, she blurted, “I have never been kissed like that before. It’s something I’ll never, ever forget.”
He huffed. “I’m not sorry I kissed you, Sarah. I’m sorry I kissed you in such an open place. Hell, anyone could have seen us. The women here are finally adjusting to the fact that you’re not after their men. If they see us,” he swept his hand out, “doing what we were doing, then they might think you’re a loose woman and may ignore you again.”
Sarah slapped her hands at her waist. “It’s not as if you or I are married to other people. We’re both single and obviously attracted to each other. What we do is none of their business.”
“That’s easy to say. Not easy for a woman to live through. And if any of the single men had seen us, they may think you’re easy pickings.”
“You mean men like Horace.”
Jack pulled her into his embrace. Contentment replaced Sarah’s earlier passion. How could one man create such opposing feelings in her?
He nodded against her hair. “Yes. Men like Horace.”
“So, no more kissing?”
“Yes. I mean no.” He stepped back, picked up the quilt, and handed it to her. “What I mean is, yes, no more kissing.”
Disappointment washed through her as he escorted her back to her wagon and walked away. Damn the man. Obviously he was attracted to her. Yet he was probably right. If word got out about what they’d done, she’d be branded a scarlet woman—even if all they did was kiss.
Thinking about doing more wasn’t a crime, was it?
Sarah pulled aside the heavy canvas covering and disappeared inside, knowing she’d have another night of tossing and turning.
Chapter 9
A week passed. A week of hot, dry weather, making walking nearly unbearable. A week of thinking about that night with Jack. At bedtime, trying to fall asleep, she replayed those kisses over and over. Each morning when she woke after a fitful sleep, it was the first thing she thought of. All day long as she plodded alongside her oxen, trying to keep the damn things in line, her mouth burned from his kiss. Her female parts flared, recalling his lips on her neck, chest, and ears.
Dark clouds formed in the distance. Over clanging chains, children yelling, and the raucous calls of the animals, Sarah thought she heard thunder. The land needed rain. The further west they traveled, the more the badly needed grass turned brown and bristly. The water in the wagons was perilously low.
And to make her mood even worse, Jack hadn’t done more than ride past in the morning, tipping his hat in his usual dapper way. Only once did he check on her wheels, when she visited with Greta.
What was wrong with him? Was he truly sorry he’d kissed her? If he was trying to convince her the evening had meant nothing to him, then he was fooling himself. The evidence of his arousal was still imprinted against her stomach. No man in that condition could say he wasn’t affected.
Had he gone back to ‘just being friends?’ If that was the case, at least friends talked to each other. She could just smack the man—if he ever got close enough. The way she missed his kisses, she’d probably yank his head down and plant a good one on his mouth—and it wouldn’t matter who watched.
Sarah licked her dry lips. Who on earth would want to kiss lips so cracked they bled? She had to cover them in axle grease to soothe them. With the wind blowing dust around, her lips were coated with grease and covered in dust.
The only man showing interest was the one she wished would stay away. After the night of the dance, Horace was more persistent in his pursuit. His comments about kissing bordered on insulting. Had he seen her and Jack? At least Horace hadn’t touched her—yet. The way he curled his fingers into his palms when he spoke to her, as if itching to lay a hand on her, made her want to cover herself from head to foot in several layers of thorn-studded clothing.
Then there was Horace’s attitude toward Tommy, as if her son came between them. She’d been keeping her boy in the wagon and out of the sun and dirt—and away from Horace—as much as she could. She was sick of walking, sick of her blasted oxen, and sick of the dust that coated everything inside and out. As soon as they hit water, everyone would be soaking their dried-out wagon wheels, as well as their cracked skin.
The dark clouds, almost purple in color, loomed lower. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. The storm was getting closer. With the sun still shining in the east and the storm approaching from the west, an eerie feeling settled in her chest.
Something was wrong. The wind stopped, but clouds whipped overhead, obscuring the sun. The wagons in front of her halted.
“Whoa, Rose. Whoa, Tulip.” She pulled on the harness.
A man galloped through the wagons. “Unhitch, unhitch! A cyclone is a-comin’. Circle the wagons. A cyclone is a-comin’!” With his arms flapping, man and horse raced away.
“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Tommy peeked his head between the opening in the canvas.
“Stay inside, Tommy. A bad storm is coming.” Barely glancing at the rapidly darkening sky, she tried unhitching the oxen’s yoke. With their eyes rolled back in their heads, both Rose and Tulip fought her. “Damn it. Not now!”
The earth shook beneath her feet. Were buffalo trying to outrun the storm? As quickly as the wind stopped, it roared to life. Dust and dried grass slammed into her. The oxen jerked from her hands, threatening to run off. Should she get Tommy out of the wagon and let the oxen have their heads?
At a loss of what to do, she nearly gave up, when a pair of muscular arms grabbed the yoke, opened it, and slapped the oxen on their hindquarters.
“Get Tommy,” Jack yelled above the pandemonium. “Get beneath the wagon and cover your heads.”
As he yanked the wagon into place in the circle, she grabbed Tommy. The noise was so loud, she barely heard his cries. “It’s okay. We’ll be safe.”
She prayed they would be. Nearly tossing her son underneath the wagon, she followed and lay over him, pulling her skirt over their heads. The wagon shook. Pots hanging on the side rattled and clanged. An arm came around her.
“We’re going to be all right,” he yelled in her ear. “Keep your head down. Even though the cyclone is passing to the west of us, we’re still going to be hit by high winds.”
/> Having Jack talking to her, practically laying on top of her and Tommy, gave her a sense of security. Even as the wind buffeted them, sending loose items rolling across the ground, she knew they’d be safe with him here.
The storm screamed and bellowed around them, making further conversation impossible. Dirt assaulted her side when, for an interminable second, the wagon rose then dropped back down. Jack jerked and grunted.
Beneath her, Tommy shook. She kissed the side of his head, the only thing she could do to assure him.
It seemed as if hours passed before the wind slowed. Jack never let go of her the entire time. Thank goodness it was dark enough to hide the fact that her bloomers were showing.
She flipped back her skirt from her head and chanced a peek from beneath the wagon. Drops of rain hit the parched earth, sending up puffs of dust. First one, then two, then a deluge.
Jack slid away from her, then came back. “There’s no thunder or lightning, and the rain is coming straight down. We need to take advantage and open the rain barrels.”
Sarah scooted backward. The rain drenched her legs, then her back the instant she was exposed, washing away the dust and dirt. The cold water was delightful, refreshing, and the best thing she’d felt since they’d left the river a week ago.
She removed the rain barrel lid, turning up her face and letting the water stream over her skin. She flipped the soaked brim of her bonnet from her forehead. Mud splashed over Tommy’s clothes as he jumped up and down. So much for the rain cleaning them.
With the lid leaning against a wheel, she took in the damage to her wagon. A rip in her canvas could be easily sewn closed. A kettle was missing, but then she wasn’t cooking, anyway. She’d have to remove the items from the inside where the rain was pouring in. Other than that, they’d fared the storm well.
Or so she thought until Jack limped to her side. “What happened? Are you all right?”
He held his leg up and rolled his ankle back and forth. “Damn wheel hit me when it came back down.”
Guilt washed through her. If he hadn’t come to their aid, he wouldn’t have been injured. “Take your boot off and let me look at it.”
Water swirled around the brim of his hat and down his back. He glanced around them. “I’ll be fine. There are others in worse shape than myself.”
As quickly as the storm had attacked, it stopped, the wall of rain moving east across the prairie.
“Are you folks all right?” Greta asked, trudging through the mud with her family. “I’ve never been so scared in my entire life.” She looked over Sarah’s shoulder and gasped.
Sara followed Greta’s line of sight. “Oh, no!”
Half the wagons had been tossed on their sides, their wheels spinning. Bags of flour spilled from ripped canvases. Drops of water pinged on kettles and dishes were flung about the area. Splintered rain barrels, smashed canvas bows, and yokes were scattered among other debris.
“Folks,” Mister Hunt called out, “we’re going to spend a few days here to assess the damage and make repairs. It’s still a week before we arrive at Fort Laramie, so the sooner we can head out the better. Everyone round up their cattle, and we’ll start making repairs. My men will help wherever they can.”
People scattered to gather their belongings. Children were sent in pairs to collect items strewn by the storm. Sarah picked up one of Tommy’s shirts from the ground and wrung out the water, snapped it in the air, and draped it over a wheel. She paused. Someone stood behind her.
Prickles rose on the back of her neck when a hand clamped on her shoulder.
“Hey, Miz Sarah.”
Damn it, Horace. She shrugged his hand away. “What do you want, Mister Manny?”
“Just checkin’ on you to make sure you’re all right. I can help you if’n you want.”
Keeping her back to the man, she noticed Jack talking with Sam. Why wouldn’t he turn around and see Horace was pestering her again? Since Jack hadn’t bothered to show up for a week, he wouldn’t know the man was being more of a nuisance.
“I’m fine. Tommy’s fine. My wagon is fine. Why don’t you go help the others?” Or go jump off the nearest cliff—if there had actually been one on the flat prairie.
Horace ran a finger down her forearm. “‘Cause I’d rather be helping you.”
Did she dare elbow him in the stomach? Stomp on his foot? Slam the back of her head into his face and break his nose?
“Mommy, Mommy.” Tommy ran up to her. His freckles stood out against his pale face.
Thank heavens for little interrupters. “What, honey?” She knelt in front of him.
“Go away, brat. Your mother and me are talking.”
Sarah glared at Horace over her shoulder. What did he have against her son? “Mister Manny, you will not talk to my son like that.”
“He’s mean like Daddy.” Tommy’s bottom lip trembled.
Horace clamped his hand on Tommy’s shoulder and jerked him away from her.
“Why, you little bastard.” He raised his other hand to strike. “I’ll teach you to talk about your elders like that.”
Sarah jumped to her feet and dug her nails into the back of Horace’s hand. “Mister Manny! You unhand my son right this second before I do something you’ll regret.”
Horace’s chuckle was soft. The anger in his eyes wasn’t. He removed his hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “Lady, there ain’t anything you can do to me that I’d regret.” His eyes raked her from head to toe.
If only she could hit him. Knock him into the mud and get in a few well-placed kicks. But she didn’t want Tommy to learn to solve problems with violence. Besides, the man was bigger than her and would probably hit back. “What is your problem with my son, Mister Manny?”
“I hate children. They just get in the way of more,” he licked his lips and leered at her, “pleasant activities. You know, like . . .”
“Sir, this is neither the time nor the place for this discussion. Now go do something productive like helping right the wagons.”
Horace tipped his soggy hat. “You just name the time and place, little lady, and I’ll be there.” With a sneer at Tommy, he headed toward the overturned wagons.
Sarah couldn’t repress a shudder. Now she had to fear for herself and worry about Tommy. Horace was like those lions she’d read about who killed the father, then the babies of a lioness so he could breed his own. Bile rose in her throat. There was no way she would let him near her son.
“Is everything all right, Sarah?” Jack nodded toward Horace’s retreating back. “Is he bothering you again?”
Irritation swept through her. What did he care? If he was so worried about Horace, why hadn’t he stopped each day to check on her? “He just wanted to make sure we weren’t hurt.”
If she told Jack about the conversation, he’d probably beat up Horace. Then again, maybe not. Their shared kiss last week must not have meant as much to him as her. But he had shown up when the storm hit to protect them. Oh, fiddlesticks.
She was so confused.
“Sarah.” He took off his hat. “I’m sorry I haven’t been stopping by each day. I . . .”
“Hey, Billabard,” Sam called. “We need you to help with the wagons.”
“Be right there,” he called over, then met her gaze. “I’d like to talk with you afterward if that’s okay. I’ll help you clean up.”
Sarah took in her surroundings. Her wagon had survived quite well considering the attack by the storm. “I don’t really need any help. Tommy and I will give a hand to the others who need it more. If you want to stop later, we can talk after Tommy is asleep.”
Jack slapped on his hat. “Later, then.”
Chapter 10
The sun dipped lower in the sky; red, orange, and pink swirls colliding together to make a
breathtaking view. Sarah leaned against the wagon wheel, arms crossed over her chest. The wagon master had come around informing everyone they would be leaving tomorrow as usual. With folks pitching in and working hard, wagons had been fixed, and what belongings were found scattered about the prairie returned to their rightful owners.
Sarah clutched her shawl tightly. Even with the heat of the day radiating from the ground, cold seeped into her bones. Between wondering what Jack wanted to talk to her about, worrying about what Horace might do to her and Tommy, and the storm, her nerves were shot. She refused to think about having to marry Mister Sampson, since that was months away.
Would Jack kiss her again tonight? Tingles spread from her scalp to her toes, settling in the place between her legs. Lordy, could he kiss. Maybe they could do more than kiss.
The idea of him touching her breasts, skimming his hands over her skin, made her heart skip a beat. Her stomach quivered, thinking about touching him. Would his muscles be hard and muscular, instead of soft and squishing like Peter’s? Did he have a hairy chest? Her nipples hardened at the thought of rubbing her breasts against him.
The sun dipped lower, now nearly at the horizon. The camp was settling down. Fires were extinguished. Wagons creaked as people retired for the night. Mothers made last calls to children. Even the animals were quiet. Daisy’s soft snoring came through the wagon. She was definitely going to have puppies, and soon, if her fat belly was any indication. Hopefully she’d wait until they reached Fort Laramie, where the train would rest for a few days.
“How are you tonight, Sarah?”
She jumped and slammed her hand over her heart. “Jack! Oh, my, you scared me.”
“Sorry. I guess the mud deadened the sound of my footsteps.” Still wearing his duster, he stood beside her and stared at the sunset. “Rough day.”
