Dorothy Garlock (40 page)

“Goddammit, Johanna! That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” His voice boomed impatiently, but not angrily, and she smiled.

Johanna got up out of bed, fully aware that only a thin nightdress covered her naked body and that his eyes were on her. On sore, bare feet she walked around behind him and stood looking down on the top of his head. Her glance found the crushed paper and tobacco in his tight fist. She closed her eyes tightly in an effort to still her pounding heart.

“Have you ever wondered why Jacy is so open with her expressions of affection, Burr?” Once she started talking, the words came easier. “She learned it from Papa. Every day, from the time she was old enough to understand to the day they died, Papa would tell Mama he loved her. Sometimes it was at the supper table, or when she was working about the house. He would say, ‘Have I told you today that I love you?’ and she would say, ‘Yes,
querido,
but tell me again.’” Burr sat rigidly in the chair; the only movement was that of his two big fists opening and closing. Johanna hurried on before she lost her nerve. “If love is nourished it will grow strong. Fail to feed it and it will wither and die. Burr, I cannot stay here as an . . . unloved wife.”

Boldly she moved around to the side of the chair, so that she could see his face.

“Unloved? What are you talking about?” His voice was strained, husky.

Her dancing nerves made her voice almost a shout. “Do you want me to stay to keep your house and take care of Bucko, or do you want me to stay because you . . . love me? You acted as if you did when you brought me home last night.”

A brief silence ensued, and Johanna colored as the enormity of her words hit her. Slowly his expression changed from shock to wonderment and his eyes and mouth became tender. His voice, when it reached her, was deep and sincere.

“I want you to stay because I love you.” He clasped her arm and pulled her onto his lap. “If loving you means not being able to sleep without seeing your face, and not being able to eat unless you’re at the table, and not speaking to you unless I’m either sore at you or acting the fool . . . and being crazy out of my head when you . . . were gone!” He leaned his head back against the chair and studied every feature of her face, his eyes lingering on her softly parted lips. “The first time I saw you, you were standing in that dirty, cluttered kitchen. You were bright and shiny as a new silver dollar—the sun coming through the window shone on your hair. I thought you were a vision. You were too beautiful to be real; too beautiful for the likes of me. I knew you’d never see me as anything other than the old man’s bastard son, so I wrapped myself in bitterness to keep from hurting so much.” He gave her a tender, apologetic look. “Ben knew, and understood that I wanted you to take to me like Jacy did to Luis, but you didn’t, and I told myself I didn’t care. Then the idea fell right in my lap . . . the way to get you to marry me, for Luis’s sake, I told myself, so Jacy would be happy in the valley.”

Johanna tried to speak but failed. She lifted trembling hands and stroked the hair back from his face, then with palms against his cheeks she leaned forward and tenderly kissed his lips, before resting her head against his shoulder. Gently, he adjusted her on his lap, and pulled her nightdress over her bare feet. She snuggled in his arms, and felt his heart beat as wildly as her own.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Her voice was the softest of sounds. He searched her face for reassurance and when she smiled radiantly at him he saw the love in her eyes and believed it. With a thankful groan that came from deep inside him, he rested his face against hers. All that mattered was their newly declared love and the need to be close to each other. At first he didn’t seek her lips, but nestled his warm mouth close against her face with a gentle reverence that made her heart turn over.

“That time in my room . . . I hated myself for what I did to you. Can you forgive me?” With restrained passion, he caressed her face and threaded his fingers through her hair. “I’ve been such a fool,” he whispered huskily. “Tenderness is . . . much better.”

Her arms tightened and she moved her mouth to his. “Not all the time, Burr . . . darling.”

His lips found hers in a kiss of deep dedication and promise. She knew they would always be together and her happiness was overwhelming. Their lips met and met again, each kiss sweeter than the one before. His hand moved down her back and over her hips, stroking, caressing. Gradually his kisses became more forceful and he whispered endearments against her lips, which she offered so eagerly. They kissed and murmured to each other and were lost in the wonder of their new intimacy.

Finally Burr lifted his head. “This is our wedding night, Mrs. Calloway. I know of a more comfortable place to spend it.”

She nuzzled her nose against his face before shyly slipping off his lap. Her face, arms, and legs were scratched and her hair was hanging down her back, but she’d never felt more beautiful.

“Go along,” he said, giving her a gentle push toward the bed. “I’ll add more wood to the fire.”

As if in a dream Johanna moved the one pillow to the center of the bed and slid in under the quilt. It seemed a long time before Burr came to the bed, and when he did it was silently. She looked up and he was there. He removed his shirt and his powerful shoulders and chest were white in the semidarkness of the room. She closed her eyes when his hands went to the buttons on his pants. Cool air hit her body when he raised the covers, and the bed sagged as he lowered himself in beside her. She went into his arms eagerly. His powerful heart thumped furiously against hers.

“Sweetheart . . .” he murmured, holding her against his trembling hardness. “You’re tired and sore. I’ll just hold you.”

“Not
that
tired and not
that
sore, darling,” she whispered before he found her parted lips and caressed them with the tip of his tongue.

“Can we get rid of this?” he asked urgently, his fingers plucking at her gown.

She drew away from him and quickly wriggled out of the nightdress, then stretched the length of her naked body against his. He drew in a ragged breath, whispered an endearment, and clung tightly to her. She wound her arms about his neck and the sweet burning pressure of his lips on hers fused them together, blotting out everything except their passion.

What happened between them was wondrous . . . miraculous . . . incredible. His velvety touch between her thighs sent involuntary little shudders of delight surging through her. He spoke to her in tender words, soothing her, quieting her.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You’re mine forever. Oh, love, you don’t know how much I wanted you to love me, how much I hungered to hold you, taste you, feel your arms around my neck.” His hands shook as they moved over her and into her hair, catching the silver strands and bringing them to his face. “It’s like sunshine,” he whispered.

Burr entered her slowly and reverently. His great body trembled violently with the effort it took to hold back. He penetrated deeper and deeper, making no sharp or hard thrusts. Only slow, sensuous motion, deliberate and controlled. He lifted his head to look at her when he rested snugly against her pelvis, embedded to the hilt. The long release of his breath warmed her mouth.

“Look at me,” he whispered hoarsely. “I swear to give you my love until the day I die.”

“And I . . . you, my beloved,” she vowed. They spoke mouth to mouth, sharing breaths and quick, hard kisses.

His hands held her face in a vicelike grip, his body, muscular and hard, delighted her senses beyond belief. She clutched him tightly and ran her slender fingers over the warm skin of his back. The heat radiated from his body to hers, sending her into a rapture of love so exquisite she felt as if her soul had left her and joined with his.

Unable to further articulate his feelings with words, Burr did so with his body. She kissed him with fiery sweetness. Needing desperately to ride the crest of his own urge, Burr slowly and deliberately plunged and withdrew until her excitement spiraled and she clasped him tightly, resisting his withdrawal. The movement of her hips drove him over the edge into his own blazing rapture. Then the joyous fulfillment raced through Johanna, alive, pulsating, taking her breath.

When they reached earth again he gazed at her with intense delight, glorying in the loveliness of her face. Again and again he kissed her soft mouth. Her laugh was low and wonderfully happy. She wriggled and released a soft, purring sigh as she spread her fingers behind his head and pulled his mouth down to hers.

“I love you,” he said, and listened while she echoed his words. “I’ve finally caught my little silver fox.”

“I’m so happy I could cry.” Tears brimmed at the corners of her eyes. “I was so envious of Jacy and Luis. Oh, Burr, I didn’t think you’d ever . . . love me—”

Soft murmurs came from his throat and he kissed her lips and wiped at the tears on her face.

“Don’t cry. I never want you to cry, again,” he whispered. “I love all your proud courage.”

Hours later, as dawn broke, Johanna caressed her husband’s face with her fingertips. She lay on her back, contented, with the weight of his head on her shoulder.

“Are you awake? Please wake up, darling. There so much to say, I can’t wait to say it.” He stirred and grunted a reply. She giggled. “Burr, can you imagine what our children will look like?”

He raised his head. “I know what they’d better look like,” he growled.

“I want to start a school, Burr—and fix up the house. May I have a sewing machine? I saw one in a catalog. I’ll make curtains and we’ll put rugs on the floors—cowhides will do. We’ll have a wedding feast on Thanksgiving and invite everyone. Oh, Burr, darling, won’t Luis and Ben be pleased? They love you, but not as much as I do!” She sounded amazingly like her young sister. Burr laughed and kissed her nose.

“I can see that I’m going to be clay in your hands, Mrs. Calloway. How many turkeys do you want?”

Johanna laughed with delight. “You’ll never be clay in anyone’s hands, Burnett Englebretson Calloway.” She clutched his face between her hands. “You’re a fraud! You’re not one bit as mean as you want everyone to think you are!”

The chuckle came from deep in his chest; she could feel the vibration against her heart.

“You just try to leave me and you’ll find out how mean
I
can be!”

She gave the hair at the nape of his neck a little jerk.

“What was that for?” He lifted his head and looked inquiringly into her laughing blue eyes.

“That was for nailing my beautiful hat over the barn door!”

The throaty laugh came again, and he gazed at her with all the love she’d ever hoped to see in his eyes. “Have I told you today that I love you, Mrs. Calloway?”

“Yes,
querido,
” she whispered, “but tell me again.”

A
round her was silence, utter and complete except for the wind that raced down the valley, stirring the tall grasses and whispering through the pine trees. A cone fell now and then without a sound to the grass-cushioned earth. It was a beautiful morning and this was a beautiful place. Johanna walked slowly through the gate and approached the graves reverently. For the past twelve Septembers she had made this pilgrimage to the cemetery. Not only did she enjoy the serenity of the place, but it was one of the few places she could go where she could look down on her home.

Turning now, she saw the stone house, surrounded with its split-rail fence, and shrubs, flowers, and hanging baskets trailing their bright blossoms. The morning sun shone on the tin roof of the new addition, on the sparkling, curtained windows, and on Grandpa Ben sitting on the porch. A smile played around the corners of Johanna’s mouth as a small, blond figure raced out of the house and climbed up onto his lap.
Dear, dear Ben,
she mused,
how he loves his grandchil
dren!
She should hurry on back before the scamp had him worn out.

There were scarcely more than a dozen graves inside the piled-stone enclosure, but at one end three markers stood straight and solid. Johanna walked over to read the inscriptions.

ANNA MARIE ENGLEBRETSON

1827–1847

Farewell, my love, your life is past,

My love for you through life will last.

I’ll grieve for you and sorrow take,

And love your child, for your sake.

B.N.C.

Through the years the headboard had weathered, but dabs of stain outlined the letters and they were as easy to read as the day they had been put there.

She walked a few feet away to another headboard.

JUANITA GAZARES

Beloved mother of Luis Gazares

1828–1860

Kind angels watch this sleeping dust,

Till Jesus comes to raise the just,

Then may she wake with sweet surprise,

And in her Savior’s image rise.

The markers were identical, except that one was much more weathered than the other. The thought crossed Johanna’s mind that Mack Macklin had probably never come to this cemetery and read the inscriptions. He would have scorned such sentiment.

Johanna stood beside the Indian woman’s grave for a few minutes. Before Bucko left five years ago to go East to school he had carved a headboard. The words were his. It read simply:

MOTHER

Shamed in life.

Brave in death.

Bucko had a brilliant mind indeed. Uncle Rafael Macklin had come to the valley for a visit and he had taken Bucko back East with him. The young man had finished his studies at the university in record time and joined his uncle in business.

Johanna passed on to another grave. The headboard was as neatly carved as the others.

O. MOONEY

1825–1875

Dear Mooney,
Johanna thought with a smile. No wonder he had always said, “Just call me Mooney.” It was after his death that they had discovered his name was Only. Mooney had died with an arrow in his back, but he had lived long enough to fire warning shots that alerted the roundup camp where Burr and the men had been working.