If Wishes Were Kisses: Six Beloved Americana Romances, a Collection (Small Town Swains)

by Pamela Morsi

  Hannah shook her head, smiling and expectant.

  "Well, when they took him before the judge and the judge asked him what he had to say for himself, do you know what he said?"

  Hannah didn't.

  "He said, Judge, if I can't kill my own wife, whose wife can I kill?' "

  Hannah gave him a look of mock disgust and playfully punched him in the ribs.

  "That's a terrible story!" she said giggling.

  Henry Lee was laughing, too. And then he reached up and gently combed his fingers through Hannah's hair. They both sobered immediately as Henry Lee brought a hank of it to his lips, never taking his eyes off Hannah's face.

  "Your hair is so beautiful," he whispered. "It seems such a shame to hide it from me."

  "I never meant to hide it," she replied so quietly he barely heard her.

  He brought the hair to his lips again, still gazing at her, then he rubbed his cheek with it. Slowly he began gathering it into his hand, pulling her closer and closer by inches until she could feel his breath on her face. He kissed the hair he still held in his hand in reverence, then he brushed her own lips with the kiss he had left on her hair. Hannah, wide-eyed, opened her mouth to speak, but when Henry Lee saw her lips part, he couldn't hold back any longer and he turned his head slightly to capture her mouth against his.

  He felt, more than heard, her tiny gasp of surprise and pleasure. He deepened the kiss slightly, drawing her into his arms tightly until he could feel her nipples hardening against his chest. She returned his kiss timidly, as if she was unsure how to please him. But please him she did. He let his tongue leisurely drift along her teeth until she opened for him, he entered her mouth teasingly, gauging her reaction. He felt her jerk slightly in fear and immediately retreated. He would not press her, he could kiss her elsewhere and come back with his tongue when she was more ready.

  He trailed a fiery path of tiny kisses along her cheek, to her ear and down her neck. Reaching the sensitive skin at the base of her throat he gave her a tender little love bite. She gasped his name and he smiled against her creamy flesh.

  “You like that, Hannah darlin'?" he whispered into her bare skin. He grasped her breasts in his hands, weighing and kneading the generous orbs. The front of her torn dress slipped lower, but she was beyond noticing.

  His hot breath raised gooseflesh on her naked shoulders, and he went after that rough smoothness with his teeth and tongue until she was squirming against him, simultaneously easing and fanning fire between them.

  Henry Lee was at cross purposes with himself. He couldn't reach Hannah's bosom to taste the hard pouting nipples he held in his hands, but he was unwilling to give up the pleasing pressure of her luscious bottom against the evidence of his lust.

  Compromising, he released her breasts and planted his hands firmly on the ground beside him. He raised his buttocks off the ground, bringing Hannah's bosom within the reach of his mouth. Hannah's eyes opened wide at suddenly finding herself in midair, and when she saw where Henry Lee intended to put his mouth, she arched her back toward him, offering herself eagerly.

  Henry Lee grasped the edge of her chemise with his teeth, pulling it down just enough to bare her left breast. He looked up into her eyes and watched her watching him. Hannah was not sure that she could breathe. Her naked breast seemed inordinately exposed in the dappled sunshine of the shade of the catalpa tree and in sharp contrast to her husband's thick dark hair and tan skin so close by. She looked into the depths of his blue eyes, now flashing with desire and firing her own. Her hand moved to his hair and gently clutching a handful, she brought his mouth to her breast.

  Henry Lee wanted to savor the taste of her. He would not be greedy with her offering. For a moment he simply held his mouth close to the thickened pulsing crest, teasing it with his hot breath, until he heard a plea from Hannah's lips that was as near pain as it was pleasure.

  He traced the edges of the circle surrounding the peak with his tongue, before popping the distended nipple in his mouth. He suckled gently, then with more force as her breathing quickened and she strained against him. He grasped her nipple gently with his teeth and then used his tongue to lash it back and forth. Her squirming reaction threatened her precarious perch and Henry Lee immediately released her breast and lowered himself to the ground.

  He was full, hard, and ready and her wiggling bottom wasn't doing anything for his control. He brought his mouth to hers and rolled her on her back. Jerking her skirt up past her knees, he ran his hand slowly up her cotton stocking, finding the tender exposed flesh between her garter and her drawers. Hesitating there, to give her time to reconcile herself to his touch, he raised his head and gazed into her partially dosed eyes.

  "Open your mouth, Hannah," he whispered. "I want to kiss you with my tongue."

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but Henry Lee saw the glaze of desire in them, and when she eagerly complied Henry Lee roughly thrust his tongue into the depths of her sweet mouth.

  She tasted good. She tasted so good. Nothing that he had ever tasted was better than her. He never wanted to taste anything else. He explored deeper and deeper, tempting her throat, fencing with her tongue. She was like his whiskey, warm and smooth.

  Whiskey! His mind screamed at him. The whiskey must be burning up, either that or spoiling.

  To hell with the whiskey! he told himself angrily. He slid his hand up to the apex of her drawers covering her aching mound. She jerked spasmodically at his touch causing him to groan into her mouth.

  You never let your whiskey ruin! His mind kept admonishing him.

  Forget the whiskey! He fought back. Hannah opened her thighs to him, and he could feel the heat and wetness through her drawers.

  It's the wedding whiskey. The voice got through. If he let the wedding whiskey ruin, it might ruin the marriage.

  He told himself that it was superstitious nonsense, but he knew he didn't want the wedding whiskey to ruin. It was a symbol of too much.

  With a groan of pure agony, Henry Lee pulled away from her. He stared down at her, she was flushed from her cheeks to her waist, her eyes were hooded and sleepy with desire. Her breathing was quick and short. His hand still covered her feminine mound and she was pulsing and hot against him. No man could leave a woman like this. It couldn't be done. You couldn't just roll off and walk away. It was impossible.

  Henry Lee thrust himself away from her and lay beside her on his back, shading his eyes with his arm as he waited to get control of his breathing.

  Hannah lay beside him, shuddering in desire. What had happened? Why had he stopped? Her whole body seemed to be throbbing and the ache between her legs had turned from pleasure to pain when he had taken his hand away. Instinctively she dropped her own hand to that boiling fire, but it was not the same. Suddenly realizing what she was doing, she pulled her hand away, ashamed that she had touched herself.

  Henry Lee saw the gesture and whiskey or no whiskey, he would not ignore her need. Turning back to her, he loosened the tie on her drawers and allowed his hand to explore the silky skin beneath. Setting his jaw firmly he determined to ignore the pounding hardness in his trousers. He wasn't about to make her his woman here on the ground, like an animal. But he knew a bit more than most men about a woman's pleasure and he wanted to give it to her.

  "Easy, darlin'," he consoled in a whisper. "I'm going to make it fine, real fine. I'm going to soothe this yearning, I promise." He accented his words with tender kisses along her throat and strong skillful strokes of his hand.

  "It's like a prairie fire," he whispered against her flesh. "You get ahead of it and start your own flame. When the two fires meet up, they consume each other."

  His hand found the soft down covering of her womanhood and caressed it tenderly. He heard Hannah's gasp of desire and felt her pressing eagerly against his hand.

  Finding the tiny nub that focused her pleasure, he flicked it leisurely and was rewarded with her cry of delight. Cupping his face in her hands, she pulled him to her. The kiss
was neither tentative nor shy and Henry Lee heard only the roaring of his own blood in his ears as he struggled for control.

  Hannah's body was about to go up in smoke. She could no longer tell where her flesh stopped, and Henry Lee's began. Seeking the hidden wonders of his mouth, she pressed herself against him. She was so open, so empty and he could fill her, she wanted him to fill her.

  The heel of his palm pressed with such wondrous effect against the treacherous slope that led to the valley of her womanhood. When his fingers reached that unexplored cavern, she cried out his name.

  "Yes! Henry Lee! Oh Yes!" She arched her back instinctively and spread her thighs for him, begging for the consolation of his questing hand.

  "That's right, Hannah," he whispered against her throat. "Open up for me and I'll give you a sweet cure for what is steaming inside you."

  Gently suckling her hard, pointed nipple, his fingers teased the entrance to her woman-place and explored it without hesitation.

  Pushing eagerly against the pressure of his hand, Hannah incoherently whined her need.

  "You are so tight, Hannah," he whispered, his hot words burning the flesh of her breast. "So soft, so tight, oh, Hannah darlin', I'm going to make it real good for you."

  As proof of his words he allowed one curious digit to delve inside as his thumb came up to tease the rigid little fuse that impudently peeked out of the curl-covered slope.

  No longer able to embrace him, Hannah flung her hands to the ground, digging her nails deeply into the grass as if to anchor herself to the earth. Her head flailed back and forth as mindless, primitive whimpering escaped her lips.

  She was trembling on the edge as he nipped the creamy flesh of her bosom and kissed the sting away.

  A tremor began growing within her and Henry Lee, feeling it inside her, lavished his attention with renewed fervor.

  “Feel me inside you, Hannah," he whispered hoarsely. "Feel me touching you, stroking you. Touch me back, Hannah. Squeeze my hand, yes, Hannah darlin', let me know you like it."

  She exploded screaming his name as the muscles that surrounded his fingers contracted in ecstasy.

  Henry Lee was watching her as she strained against him, her head thrown back in wanton pleasure. His own body ached with unassuaged need, but a smile of satisfaction spread across his face. He had never felt more a man.

  As her passion eased, Henry Lee released her from his intimate caress. Clutching her damp womanly pelt possessively, he was hesitant to relinquish his claim. He pulled her tenderly into his embrace, nuzzling her neck, as he ignored the rock-hard evidence of his own lack of fulfillment.

  "Oh, Henry Lee," Hannah's voice was breathless with wonder. "What have you done to me? I never knew anything could be like that."

  Pulling back a little so that he could look into her eyes, Henry Lee couldn't keep from smiling in pride.

  "There's more, Hannah, so much more." His eyes were alight with mischief. "And I'm willing to teach you everything that I know."

  She giggled at his teasing and he pulled her into his arms, pressing his aching manhood against her.

  The whiskey. His memory floated back unerringly. He was right to give her pleasure, but his own could wait. His whiskey was going to burn or his still explode if he allowed himself to make his decisions from his trousers instead of his brain.

  He pulled away from her before he had time to talk himself out of it.

  "I've got a lot of things to do this afternoon, Hannah," he explained feebly. Planting a hasty kiss on her forehead he stood and gave her one last longing look. "I'll see you at supper," he said as calmly as if he'd just chanced to pass her.

  Hannah glanced down at her condition and quickly pulled up her chemise covering her naked bosom and thrust down her skirt that was bunched up all the way to her waist, not daring to stop to readjust her untied drawers.

  "Henry Lee?" she asked tentatively, feeling both a sense of closeness at what they had shared and estrangement at his sudden erratic behavior.

  He heard her confusion and desire in his name, and he could not face her. He couldn't look her in the eye.

  Turning away from her, he answered simply, "I've got to get back to work."

  Hannah sat up stunned and watched him walk away. Her confusion turned to dismay as she realized that she must have injured him somehow. He was walking strangely, partially bent over, as if he couldn't straighten up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The clatter of the rails and the intermittent, rhythmic motion of the rail car could not lull Hannah out of her anxious excitement. Dressed in her new blue calico and fancy bonnet, she sat next to a dashing, well-dressed man in a brown suede coat and string tie, who just happened to be her husband. Their mood was light and carefree, as if the last few difficult days had not happened.

  Not that Hannah had forgot the incident under the catalpa tree. It had hung between them like an inflexible barrier for the last two days. Then this morning when she had awakened just a little before dawn, she found Henry Lee in the kitchen, coffee already made, and in a talkative, friendly mood. A sharp contrast from his previous constant absence and few mumbled words. He'd had the wagon hitched, loaded and ready and his excitement and enthusiasm for the trip was contagious.

  She had been somewhat surprised to find a coffin loaded in the back of the wagon. She had been unaware that Henry Lee did that kind of work on the side, but she was very proud. She remembered how pleased the Hensley family had been with the coffin he'd made, and although this one did not seem as nice, she knew his work must be good for him to get requests all the way from Muskogee.

  Henry Lee had laughed and joked all the way to Ingalls. He smiled and teased and made outrageous compliments about her new dress and bonnet. It was almost as if, in his time away from her, he had thought up stories and jokes to entertain her. He was well-known for his charm, and this morning every scrap of it was directed toward his wife. Considering the strange situation that existed between them, Hannah couldn't imagine why, but she was not such a fool as to question her good fortune.

  Henry Lee's effervescent behavior was partly in response to what had happened under the catalpa tree, but also stemmed from nervous excitement. Never before had he smuggled whiskey so deep into the territory and he found the fear of discovery to be very heady stuff. The stationmaster had looked askance when he had brought in the coffin. Unlike Hannah, who accepted his lame excuse without question, the stationmaster found Henry Lee's story of shipping a friend's body to Muskogee unusual.

  Henry Lee insisted that the coffin be shipped on a later freight, rather than in the baggage car of the train that would carry himself and Hannah. If someone did decide to open it, or if it fell and burst open accidentally, he wanted a running start on the law.

  He just hoped that Harjo's brother-in-law could be trusted to read between the lines of the telegram that he had just dictated.

  COFFIN OF YOUR BROTHER-IN-LAW HARJO TO ARRIVE ON 6:30 KATY FREIGHT STOP WIFE AND I TO ATTEND FUNERAL STOP H. L. WATSON

  Outwitting the law was not the only concern that made Henry Lee nervous. Tonight he was going to take Hannah to his bed. Finally. He had spent two days listening to the drip of whiskey from the coiled condenser and planning the total and complete seduction of the woman he'd married. No more crazy loss of control and wallowing with her on the floor or the ground. He was going to make careful, exquisite love with her in the best bed in Muskogee.

  Thinking about it, he turned to give her a teasing smile. She looked wonderful in her new dress. He'd thought the bright blue would do more for her than the washed-out pastels or the severe blacks and browns that seemed to comprise the bulk of her wardrobe. Her clothes seemed too matronly, almost as if she had thrown her corset across the armoire years ago. He couldn't imagine why. Twenty-six was not such a great age, and today, smiling and giggling, high color in her cheeks, she didn't look a day over twenty. He vowed that he'd see that she had more clothes that flattered her. Her looks were not typical, but, he decid
ed, she was no less pretty as a result.

  Although Hannah had traveled a good bit in the Oklahoma Territory and in southern Kansas, this was her first trip through the Indian Territory, and she was both surprised and pleased by the difference in the scenery. While the Oklahoma Territory seemed ideally suited to the growing of wheat and corn, an endless flat prairie resembling what her family had left in Kansas, the Indian Territory was more wooded, hilly and less suited to farm life. As the train wound its way through the hills and valleys beside the Arkansas River, she commented on the contrast.

  "It's so different from the farmland across the border."

  "They sent scouts out here, when it became obvious that the government was going to move the tribes west of the Mississippi. The Indians looked for the type of land that seemed most familiar," he explained. "Woods for game and hills for running streams were more important than being able to plow a straight furrow," he told her. "The Indians never intended to farm in the way that white men did. They lived in Indian towns and hunted game. Their farming was more like a big garden where everyone took a share."

  "This land doesn't look very good for farming," Hannah agreed.

  Henry Lee nodded.

  "They made their choice more on sentiment than good business sense.”

  He hesitated a moment before adding, "My mother was a half-breed Cherokee."

  He watched, relieved as she easily accepted this piece of information. "Mama said that when the scouts saw the foothills of the Ozarks around Tahlequah, it reminded them of the Great Smokies and so they chose it, even though you can barely grow a weed in those rocky hills!"

  The two shared a laugh together. The impracticality of choosing a home based on the beauty of the land, rather than its ability to provide a living, was something that neither would have done. Both of them, however, secretly admired the spirit that maintained the courage to do that.

  They arrived in Tulsa a little before noon. They were to change trains with a layover of about two hours. Tulsa was a sleepy little village of a little over a thousand people.