Crossings (25 page)

With his mouth burning an imprint on hers, he laid her down atop the bedroll as his seeking hands slid down her shoulders. The blanket fell open in the front, and the air against her wet clothing caused her to shiver. Carrigan brought his weight on top of her, searing his body heat into her breasts and pelvis. His fingers explored her well-defined curves with featherlight strokes that caused a cascade of tingles to radiate from her every nerve ending. Of their own accord, her legs parted when his wide hands splayed over her rib cage and scooted her upward a notch.

His mouth separated from hers, and he caught her
nipple in a light grate of his teeth. The combination of clingy, damp cotton over her breast mixed with Carrigan's tongue as he drew the bead into the heat of his moist mouth brought Helena to a full-fledged arousal she fervently wanted to complete. Her breasts grew tender with slight prickles where Carrigan continued his assault through her chemise. She would have unfastened the buttons herself if he hadn't done so. His tongue gently flicked over her swollen nipples in turn, laving her until she squirmed beneath him. Her fingers kneaded his flexing back muscles, the nails lightly digging into his flesh. All sounds ceased in her ears except for the choppy sighs coming from her throat. She could no longer hear the fire popping softly or the horses whickering, or the water beating against the shore.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the brilliance of stars in heaven's throne. They were on safe ground here . . . where no one could judge either of them for giving in to their bodies' needs. It was the only way Helena could rationalize her behavior. The sensuality of nature in Carrigan's world on this mountain had called her . . . and she let herself be taken in by it.

His hand swept over her slim waist, bunching the sodden gathers of her petticoat into his strong fist. When he found the cord on her drawers, he pulled the end and undid the bow. She helped him rid her of the cleaving garment, kicking her feet out of the legs until she was free of it. Rather than bring her petticoat down, Carrigan left the wad of cotton resting on her pelvis, the most intimate part of her exposed for his perusal. She felt accessible and unsure. Carrigan had undoubtedly had sex with countless women, while she had only experienced one man. Would he find her too eager . . . or too lacking in knowledge?

She had no time to ponder her uncertainties as Carrigan dexterously stripped his trousers and kneeled over her. His erection was thick and firm . . . flawless. Sex had never been anything she'd been
afraid of before, and she told herself there was nothing to fear. She knew Carrigan. He was her husband. But the other time she'd fallen into passion's arms, she'd been in love. And love's emotions had orchestrated what she would do. Now she had to act on brazen desires, putting all thoughts aside other than this man's body inside hers. With Carrigan, sex would be for the passion of it and nothing more.

Her arms stretched out for him, and he fit into her embrace. She held him tightly, burning her face in the arc of his neck and pressing kisses along his skin. She could taste the cleanliness of soap, and a salty trace of perspiration teased the tip of her tongue. Willing and eager, she forgot about everything in her life but this one moment. She clung to him as he dove into her. Her responding gasp was soft and lost in the hoarseness of his groan. His next thrust was deep and earth-shattering. She felt herself tightly closing around him as if she'd never known a man before. He moved with strong, smooth strokes that had her lifting to meet each one. She began to throb where he joined her. She looked up at him and saw his forehead bathed in a sweat of forced control. He continued the rocking movements, each lunge of sexual pleasure driving her to the brink of climax.

Her palms limply held on to his shoulders, then lowered to her sides as tingles swirled in her fingers. Carrigan caught her hands in his, entwining them, squeezing them . . . bringing them over her head where he held her still. All the while he kept on in a pace that soon grew frantic and rushed, his breath a broken moan. Helena couldn't hold back any longer. She surrendered to the raw power of his body, focusing on the pounding length of him as his tempo culminated into pulsing release. He'd pushed her over the edge, and she fell right alongside of him, reaching out to take all she could, knowing this may be the last time she'd ever know him in this way.

Carrigan's chest crushed her as he pressed himself
over her breasts, spent and damp with satisfaction. She felt his heart beating against her own as they caught their breath. Sliding her legs over the backs of his knees, she kept him inside her. Savoring and reveling in the vibrating release that still had a hold on her. She'd missed being in the arms of a lover . . . missed the amorous nights and the soft laughter afterward.

“Who was he?” Carrigan's sudden husky voice came to her ears.

*  *  *

She'd known he'd ask. The time had come when she could no longer avoid the truth. “Kurt,” she said quietly. “His name was Kurt von Shiller.”

Carrigan rolled onto his side, taking Helena with him so that her face was even with his. His arm reached over the dip of her waist, the tickle of his hair caressing her bare shoulder. He grabbed the blanket and draped it fully over her, making sure she was snug. Giving her a brief but tender kiss, he waited for her to elaborate. A tale she would have to expound on now.

“I met him when I was fifteen. My mother said it was time for me to stop playing like a child and going to school with Emilie. I had to wear my hair in pins instead of braids. Mother made me new skirts and dresses that reached the floor and would accommodate my hoops and a corset. That was the year Emilie and I began to drift apart. I didn't want it to happen that way, but I was five years older than her and was expected to find a husband, marry, and set up my own house. I wasn't allowed to run wild through the fields anymore or make daisy chains for my hair with Emilie.”

Carrigan's fingers worked over her shoulder, then downward until he touched the chain around her neck. The gold cross hugged the curve of her right breast where her chemise was still parted and left her
naked. She made an attempt to at least button the top button, but Carrigan touched her wrist.

“Don't hide yourself from me,” he said slowly. “I've waited too long to look at you.”

Helena let her hand fall to Carrigan's and their fingers meshed. “One evening I was invited for supper and to spend the night at Preacher von Shiller's house for spiritual affirmation. There were several von Shiller brothers in the home, and a half dozen other students from the Bible class besides myself had been invited. After a pleasant supper, the oldest von Shiller boy excused himself from the parlor and went to smoke a cigar on the porch. In a minute he was back. There was an excited animation on his face when he announced Kurt was home.” Helena recalled the moment with crystal clarity. Nearly every face in the room had blanched. Not at all the kind of reception she could have imagined for a returning brother. But she instantly found out the reason for their reservations. “Kurt, I learned, was the black-sheep brother who had run away to California when he was twelve years old. The family hadn't seen him for nine years.”

Obsi came over to them, his chin dripping water from a recent drink. He walked a tight circle at Carrigan's feet, then curled into a ball and put his muzzle on his outstretched paws.

Helena continued with her story while the hoots of an owl interloped on her words. “Preacher von Shiller made him come into the house, where we were able to get a good look at him. He wore a sombrero and chaps. We girls were not impressed. We thought his appearance was outlandish. But his face was beautiful, and he was big and blond with fair skin.” A contrast to the coloring of the man she lay next to now. She didn't want to compare them, because there was no comparison. The two were miles different in character and mannerisms, but each was a fixed part of her life. “I remember he was rather silent and ill
at ease with all of us staring at him, talking politely around him . . . waiting for him to explain his sudden presence at his family's home. But he didn't, and no one asked. He soon excused himself and said he was going to bed. In the morning we found out Kurt left the house very early before any of us were up, and I didn't see him again for a year.”

Carrigan tucked a curl behind her ear and stroked the side of her neck with a soft, complacent touch. That he said nothing while she spoke made her wonder what he was thinking. He didn't interject his opinion or ask any questions. Rather, he allowed her to control the one-sided conversation in whichever manner she chose. She appreciated his leniency and decided to take things slow.

“After he was gone, I did find out the reason he'd left in the first place. His parents were high-minded people who thought their first duty was to the Lord and church, not their children. I learned that when Kurt was younger, his mother was too busy with the parish to give him much attention. And so, much of the time he'd been left in the charge of his older brothers, who were allowed to punish him. He resented their abusive ways, and that was what had made him run away.” Helena paused to search Carrigan's eyes. They were devoid of emotion, the fire's light mirrored in his pupils. She had to ask, “What are you thinking?”

“I'm not thinking anything.” His head was supported by the hand of his bent arm. “I'm listening.”

“I probably wouldn't have seen Kurt again if his father hadn't taken ill. Since there was no doctor, the neighbors took turns tending Preacher von Shiller. I was sitting up with him one night when Kurt returned home. He was taller than I remembered, his eyes bluer than cornflowers. For many nights after his arrival, we sat up together by his father's bedside or talked quietly in the next room. In those talks, he told me much about his early life, and one thing he said
that I will always—” She was on the verge of saying “cherish” when she stopped herself cold. She didn't want to intentionally wound Carrigan. “Always remember. He said that he had never known any pleasure in his home until I was in it. He told me that he'd made up his mind never to marry, but that I'd changed it. He was planning to start a cattle ranch in the Kansas Territory, and asked me if I would be afraid to share that kind of life with him. I told him I wasn't, and we became engaged soon after his father died.”

Helena grew extremely aware that she was revealing a part of herself that she'd tucked away. With the wedding gown of corded silk and tulle-ruche trim wrapped in paper on the bottom of the trunk in her bedroom. She felt open to attack. Though she didn't think he would, Carrigan could pass a harsh judgment on her when he heard the rest.

“I don't think I should go on. . . .” she whispered. “There's nothing really left to tell.”

“There's everything left. Continue.”

Helena swallowed, biting her lower lip. After she composed herself with a deep breath, she went on. “My family didn't approve of the match. Not because Kurt wanted to take me out west—my father was encouraged by this news, as he'd been wanting to leave New Providence and seek his fortune where the sun sets for quite some time—but because of Kurt's wild reputation. Kurt left for the Kansas Territory to view prospective sites for our ranch. Six months before my seventeenth birthday, he sent for me to show me where I would be living to make sure I could be the wife of a rancher. Traveling alone was out of the question, so an aunt of the von Shillers accompanied me as a chaperon.

“When I met Kurt, I was amazed by the vastness of the land and embraced the wide-open space. My chaperon didn't fair well on the journey. She took ill in Topeka and died three days later of pneumonia.”
Prickles coursed through Helena's hand, and she brought her arm down and rested her head on her inner arm. “Until other arrangements could be made, I was on my own and alone with my fiancé.”

This admission garnered an expression out of Carrigan. His face was as dark as pitch, and fraught with a distinct hardening of his eyes.

“Shall I stop?”

“No.”

Licking her lips, she pledged to be careful how she worded what happened next. “We left Topeka after sending word to my family that I was in need of a traveling companion home. When I had my first view of the ranch, I knew I'd made the right decision. I could easily feel at home in such a place. There were several hands on the property, and an Indian girl cook—the first Cheyenne woman I'd ever met—who didn't live in the house. They were quartered in bunkhouses. Even though Kurt and I shared the same roof, he and I lived respectfully. But . . . it became increasingly difficult for us to refrain from acting on our feelings.”

“You were in love with him.”

“Very much.” Of that, she would not lie or lessen the extent of her feelings. But what was to follow caused her to close her eyes so she wouldn't have to see Carrigan's reaction when she revealed the first part of her deepest secret. “I am not proud to say we consummated our marriage before we were lawfully wed. At that time, I was so in love and knew that we would marry, the lack of a certificate could not stop me.”

Unbidden, tears gathered as she slowly opened her eyes. She'd thought she was over crying.

Carrigan's mellow voice drifted to her. “Love makes people do things they normally wouldn't.” He sounded as if he knew of what he spoke.

“My father came for me and took me home,” she said in a rush, blinking back the moisture clouding
her vision. “Arrangements were made for a Christmas wedding. I wanted desperately to confide in Emilie. When we were younger, we told each other everything. But what had happened in the territory was too personal. Emilie was only twelve and so very impressionable. I couldn't tell her. It had been scandal enough that I traveled without being married.

“The week Kurt was to arrive in Pennsylvania, his partner rode into New Providence alone.” Helena could not stop the tears from spilling. “He bore news so horrible, the room spun when I heard what he had come to say. Kurt had drowned in a river crossing on his horse. . . . It had been raining and the current was . . . It carried him away. By the time he was rescued, he was . . . dead.”