Coming Home to Wyoming (Peaceful Valley Series Book 1) (11 page)

“To begin with,” he began, “what you did yesterday was wrong. One hundred percent, on every count, wrong. It was mean-spirited, and cruel, and uncalled for, and you knew that when you did it. Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not planning to marry Amelia Pomeroy, and I never was. She’s a very nice woman, and a genuine lady, and I know that she’s had marriage in mind for a while, but that’s not going to happen, for a lot of reasons. A couple of times lately she’s mentioned that I could sell this place, and move back east with her, somewhere, to a big city, and go to work as a cattle trader—whatever the hell that is.

“None of that surprised me. Amelia told me right from the start that she hated everything about cattle ranching, including cattle and horses, and that was fine with me—as far as it went. Not every woman’s cut out to be a cattle rancher’s wife.”

“That’s odd,” Elyn suggested smugly. “She seems very attached to at least
one
cattle rancher I know—and to one very nice little ranch. With her head for business, I’ll just bet she knows to the penny what this place is worth.”

She didn’t have time to rethink or regret the remark before Griff hauled her up from the chair, and dumped her facedown over the sink. Holding her there with his astonishingly strong left hand, he pushed up her skirt with his
right
hand
,
reached underneath, and with one hard tug, yanked her drawers all the way down to her knees.

Elyn reacted instinctively by squirming frantically, kicking, and flailing her arms—with no apparent result other than making him madder than he already was. And once he had her securely pinned there, helpless and swearing, he reached into the big, salt-glazed crock, and—just as her dream had foretold—pulled out the largest,
baddest
of the big wooden spoons.

Elyn was no stranger to the intense sting of a wooden spoon applied to her bottom. A big wooden spoon had been Martha’s favorite kitchen tool, as well as a favorite spanking implement—painful enough to get her point across, yet safe enough, used properly, to avoid leaving welts. And Martha had had years of experience at using it properly—on a
lot
of rebellious and disobedient young backsides.

Griff, on the other hand, didn’t make even the slightest effort to use the spoon “properly.” Perhaps because he lacked Martha’s extensive background in the fine art of spanking, and perhaps because, at this point, he just plain didn’t give a damn about leaving a few well-deserved welts.

And as if being spanked bare wasn’t humiliating enough for Elyn—with her head in the sink and every whack across her naked behind echoing around the small kitchen like a rifle shot—Griff was using the occasion to continue his lecture about good manners, hospitality, and—in the most frustrating phrase of the entire lecture—how to “
behave like a goddamned
lady!”

For the first time in her adult life, Elyn finally understood another phrase she’d heard from Griff at his most exasperated—that often repeated, probably much overstated threat to “set her ass on fire.” Tonight, though, when the whacks began landing within an inch of one another, in overlapping ovals that felt like a hail of fire and brimstone, Elyn began to howl loudly enough to frighten the usually stoic and unflappable Amos. The intrepid Coyote Warrior fled to the parlor with his tail between his legs, and tried to stuff himself under the sofa

A mere fifteen solid strokes later, Elyn was up and dancing around the kitchen— with her ass on fire.

Well, she would admit to herself later, not
literally
on fire, maybe, but as close as she ever wanted to get. She had learned one lesson very,
very
well, though, about jealousy—what she’d heard people call the “green-eyed monster.” And what she remembered best was something Martha had once read to her—written by a famous, long dead Quaker named William Penn.

The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.

A sentiment worth remembering, Elyn decided, as she inspected her tender backside in the mirror. She could even make Friend Penn’s words into a sampler—if only she’d been paying attention while Martha showed her all those damned embroidery stitches.

The next few days were awkward, with Griff and Elyn sharing a small house that suddenly seemed even smaller. She had declined his offer of his room—the only full bedroom—in favor of a cot she made up for herself in an unfinished area adjoining the parlor. The space, presently used for storage, had been intended as a second bedroom. There was no door or partition at all, until Griff nailed up a large quilt to provide a degree of privacy.

The following Saturday, Elyn awoke just before dawn, and found Griff already awake and preparing to ride into town to see Amelia off for Boston. She asked him to wait a moment, went quickly into her “room,” and returned with a small envelope.

“She probably won’t read it,” Elyn explained, “or believe what I wrote, but I wanted to at least…”

Griff turned the envelope over in his hand. “She’ll read it. Do you mind if I ask…”

“It’s an apology,” she said softly. “More like eating crow, I guess. A
lot
of crow.”

He smiled. “How’d that go down?”

“Not easy,” she replied, making a face. “I can’t remember the last time I had so much to swallow. I guess I’ll get used to the taste, though, with enough practice.”

“The letter is a good beginning,” he said. “I’ll be sure she gets it, and let you know what she says.”

“I’m not so sure I’ll want to hear that,” Elyn moaned. “I know Amelia’s a lady and all, but you might just be surprised to hear how a so-called lady can cuss when she’s got her bustle out of joint.”

“I’ve run into a few ladies like that,” he said, chuckling. “Often enough to know to stay out of range when the feathers start flying.” He glanced at the hall clock. “I’ll try to be back by later afternoon, but if I’m not, and you need anything, Will and Bob will be around to help out.”

“I’m sure I won’t be needing anything, but thank you anyway.” She paused for a moment. “I want you to know that I appreciate it, Griff. How good you’ve been to me, I mean, even after what… how I acted, with Amelia. I guess it doesn’t help much, this late, but I didn’t really mean to drive her away like this, and ruin everything for you and her.”

Griff sighed. “You didn’t ruin anything—except maybe my appetite a couple of times. This was never the right place for a woman like Amelia, and I wasn’t the right man. She’ll be happier in a big city. Maybe find a man who doesn’t track mud on her carpets, and smell like…” he grinned, “like hard work and horse sweat. Anyway, I need to get moving. You stay warm now. It’s going to freeze tonight, for sure. I filled the wood box when I got up, so you should be…”

“Go on, Griff,” she told him. “Jack’s out there waiting, and probably freezing his butt by now. I don’t want you to be late on my account. Besides, I’d rather be here, freezing my
own
tail off, than handing that letter of mine to Amelia and listening to what happens next.”

He opened the door and started out, then turned around, put both hands on her shoulders, and kissed her very gently—on the mouth.

Bewildered, and with her three middle fingers pressed to her lips, Elyn stood in the doorway, shivering, until Griff and Jack were almost to the road and out of sight.

* * *

Elyn may have been bewildered by the unexpected kiss, but she wasn’t about to dismiss it as merely a friendly gesture, or a kind attempt to relieve her guilt. Her instincts were telling her that the kiss was a good deal more—a new beginning to a journey that had first begun when she was too young to know how to make it last.

What she was about to discover, though, was that a new beginning to even the most worthwhile journey can still be difficult when you’re still carrying old baggage.

When Griff returned from town around four that afternoon, she was already dressed for bed, in the one nightdress she owned that didn’t have ruffles and rosebuds. She had arranged herself on the sofa, with her legs curled beneath her, a book in her lap, and a welcoming fire glowing in the fireplace. Her hair was freshly washed and shining, combed out to its full length, at just above her waist.

She had been pinching her cheeks every five minutes for the last hour, and practicing her first words to him for two
.

And at first, the spell she was trying to cast seemed to be working. Griff smiled when he saw her sitting there, and came over to join her on the sofa.

“Well, she’s on her way to Boston,” he announced, not cheerfully, but with obvious relief. “I gave her your letter. She said she’d read it on the train, and write to you when she found the time.”

Elyn nodded. She was annoyed, but less than eager to get into a drawn-out discussion of Amelia’s last tender moments in Griff’s company. Instead, she summoned her courage, slipped her hand into his, and asked nervously… about the weather.

“You’re so terribly cold,” she observed, rubbing his upper arms and giving a false shiver of her own. “Is it going to snow tonight, do you think?”

“More like mid-morning tomorrow, but there’s a storm coming this way, that’s for sure. A big one. I’m just glad Amelia got off before it got here. She’s never liked traveling by stagecoach, especially when the weather’s this cold. I’m hoping she’ll be more comfortable when she gets on the train.”

“I hope that too,” Elyn agreed, between clenched teeth. When she stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of the fireplace, Griff followed her.

He glanced down at the fire, and then knelt down to add several logs. “If you’re that cold, you should probably go on to bed and get warm,” he advised, touching the sleeve of her nightgown. “I can make supper for myself.”

“I’m very warm, actually. I just put this on because I did the wash today, and…”

Griff reached over and pushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “I always think of your hair as red. In this light, it looks gold, though.”

Elyn held her breath and waited. And after a moment, she remembered to close her eyes and sigh, as the fatally desirable heroines did in the penny dreadful novels she used to read at Martha and Abner’s—under the covers.

And Griff reacted exactly as the handsome heroes did in the forbidden romances—by taking her in his arms, and kissing her. A deep, hard, passionate kiss that wasn’t at all like the first. With her eyes still tightly closed, Elyn threw her arms around his neck and returned the kiss, with her lips parted, the way Hannah Jackson had explained to her that men liked it.

Griff apparently liked it as well, because his hand moved quickly to the tiny pearl buttons of her nightdress and began undoing them, one by one. Elyn, naked underneath, and trembling, felt his warm hand sliding up her thigh, moving with a kind of deliberate, tantalizing slowness across her stomach, and coming to rest on a part of her lower belly that no man had ever touched before—other than the one very old doctor with cold hands, when she was six years old.

Elyn moved her feet slightly and parted her thighs for him, only half-aware that she was doing it. The need to have his fingers inside her was urgent now, and overwhelming.

But first, the nightdress. Without conscious thought, and in one languid motion, she lifted both her arms, so that he could pull the long flannel gown over her head and let it fall to her feet.

The sensation of his hot mouth on her breasts caused Elyn’s knees to go weak, and when he took her nipple between his lips, she began to moan and make small mewling sounds that embarrassed her, but that she couldn’t control.

And then, as quickly as the lovely moment had begun, it stopped.

Griff picked up her discarded nightdress from the hearth, made an awkward and unsuccessful attempt to cover her with it, and then gave up and handed it to her.

“What’s wrong?” she cried. “I thought…”

Griff shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what… It was wrong.”

Elyn nodded. “I understand,” she said softly, but the small choke in her voice made it clear to Griff that she didn’t understand at all.

“I’m sorry, Elyn. I thought at first that… But it’s not right—for either of us, and it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

In a sudden rush of modesty, she pulled the wrinkled gown closer around her upper body.

“Don’t I have a say in what’s right for me, or fair?”

“Not about this, you don’t. You’re too young to know about…”

“I know that I love you,” she declared boldly. “And I’m not sixteen any longer.”

“That’s what I mean,” Griff replied with a deep sigh. “You can’t know something like that in what? Ten days?”

“I didn’t need ten days,” she persisted. “I’ve known it since the day you pulled me out of that apple tree. I was just too dumb and stubborn—and yes, too
young,
to speak my mind. I was afraid that saying something like that would scare you off for good.”

He chuckled. “You bet your life it would have scared me. There aren’t a lot of rules out here, but robbing the cradle is one that most folks agree on.”

“My ma and pa got married when she’d just turned fourteen.”

“Would you want that for a daughter of yours? If you had one, I mean?”

“What I’d want is for her to be happy, with a man she loved and respected—a man she could trust to do right by her and her kids—if she had any, I mean.”

“That’s a pretty tall order, and a lot to expect from the kind of man who’s spent most of his life in the saddle, doing his best not to put down roots.”

“You put down roots, here.”

“Only partly. If I found a piece of land that suited me better, I’d sell this place tomorrow, and walk away with no ties, no regrets, and money in my pocket.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it, Griffin Harper. You love this ranch, and you’ve put your heart and soul into it. It’s not just walking away from a few acres of land, either. It happens to a lot of women, that way. Their men just saddle up and ride away one day, without looking back.”

“That’s not the same thing. I couldn’t do something like that—not to a woman I cared about.”

Elyn smiled. “I know.”

She glanced out the kitchen window. “You’d best go out and see to the horses,” she said quietly. “I need to get supper on the table. I hate to tell you this, but you’re not much of a cook.”

Griff picked up his hat and left the house. He was halfway to the corral before he realized that he’d lost the argument. And by the time he heard the bell announcing supper, he understood that it was an argument he’d never really
wanted
to win.

Which meant that after supper, and after the dishes were washed and put away, he and Elyn would need to talk again. Maybe even in bed, this time, since that’s what she seemed to want. And for the first time in his life—since the first time he’d “had” a woman, anyway—he was nervous about it.

Griff had known a lot of women, over the years, and many of them—maybe
most
of them—he’d “known” mostly in the Biblical sense. “Carnal knowledge” was the phrase he’d heard as a child, and like most other children, he’d never known exactly what it meant, and was afraid to ask. Once he did
know
what it meant, he’d spent a lot of time trying to make up for lost time—by gathering up as much knowledge as he could in any single twenty-four hour day. And in the process, he’s also learned that the world was full of women who seemed to enjoy carnal knowledge of him as much as he enjoyed it with them.

None of those women, though, had been novices to “making love”—which wasn’t the right word for what had usually gone on, anyway. What was it, then? Lust, obviously—
his
for real, and theirs, possibly not so real, but convincing.

Making love to Elyn was going to be different. It would be real, and since it was her first time, as good for her as he could make it. He was just beginning to understand that he’d loved the
girl
since she was sixteen, and now, he’d fallen in love with the
woman
she’d become. Being in love was a first for him, and a little unnerving for a man who’d come to believe that he didn’t need a full-time woman in his life to be content. Now, he was being forced to admit to himself that he wanted, and needed, this
particular
woman in his life—for the
rest
of his life.

Which would mean, among other things, getting married.

* * *

Supper was quiet, with little conversation. Griff knew that for all of her brave, hopeful words, she was still unhappy about everything that he’d said earlier that day, and unsure of where they stood. For Griff, still uneasy about how to begin unraveling the mess he’d made of trying to explain his feelings, it was hard to see how he could backtrack and admit that he was in love with her, without making things worse than they already were. Elyn was smart, but proud as well, and fiercely stubborn. She might see his sudden willingness to make love to her as a clumsy effort at apologizing for having hurt her feelings, or worse yet, as a gentlemanly attempt to “let her down easy.”

He was just beginning to understand something else—what life could be like, living with a complicated, determined woman.

Griff had never had to seduce a woman before, since all of the women he’d known in that way—professional and otherwise—had always seemed pleased to climb into bed with him. A few minutes of kisses and fondling of breasts, moving quickly to the undoing of corset strings and the taking down of drawers. And then, a thorough exploration with his mouth and hands between the lady’s opened thighs, until she began to sigh and tremble, and beg him to come inside her.