Jane Bonander (18 page)

She turned away, too, tears threatening as she tucked Marymae closer and hurried toward the house. She didn’t even wince as pebbles and twigs dug into her bare feet and wind funneled through the opening of her robe. Somehow, she knew that no matter what she’d gone through in her life, it wasn’t enough to help her understand his.

Once inside, she put the baby on the kitchen table, unwrapped the blankets McCloud had covered her with, and examined her. Noting Marymae’s rosy cheeks, she gave the baby a wry smile. “You enjoyed your little escapade this morning, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

Marymae kicked and giggled, making gurgling sounds in her throat which erupted into bubbles that broke and dripped down the sides of her mouth.

Julia lifted her into her arms again and pressed her lips to the baby’s forehead. It was cool. And her eyes didn’t have that glassy look, as they did when she was fevered.

She pulled back and examined Marymae further. “What did he give you? You look like you haven’t even been sick.”

Marymae tugged at Julia’s braid and babbled an answer.

She changed the baby and gave her a bottle, then put her down for a nap. Dressing quickly, Julia buttoned the bodice of her dress as she dashed toward the kitchen. The clock struck eleven. She’d slept for almost an additional ten hours.

As she prepared lunch, she felt a tug of pride at the way McCloud had taken over Marymae’s care. Even her father hadn’t been that considerate when she’d been sick, not even offering to do anything for himself, much less anyone else.

She stopped slicing bread as McCloud’s words, so filled with pain and shame, filled her head. His friend, Nathan Wolfe, had been right. McCloud had suffered more than any white man could, or any man at all should.

She stacked the bread on a plate and put it on the table. His sense of responsibility bothered her. Not that she didn’t like it. It just bothered her. Never in her life had anyone cared for her while she was sick. Not since her mother had died. With each headache, she had dragged herself through her housework. Her cooking. The care of her father and sister and, most recently, Marymae.

When they had all been struck with the grippe, including her, she was the one who got up and tended to everyone else. When she’d sprained her ankle, Papa had fashioned a crutch for her so she could get around, but had not once offered to do her chores, or told Josette to help. That time when she, alone, had eaten berries Josette had picked, she had stomach cramps for two days. But no one had offered to do her work.

She bit back a sob. Why did McCloud act as if he cared? It was one thing to love him in spite of his faults. Quite another to discover that perhaps he didn’t have as many as she’d thought.

Lost in a world of her own, she went to the dark pantry to get jam and butter. As she opened the door, she heard a faint hissing sound. Curious, she lit a squat candle and raised it toward the noise.

A
t the sound of her scream, Wolf had his hammer midair. It almost came down on his thumb. Flinging the hammer aside, he raced to the house. Julia stood in the corner by the stove, her face white and her hands over her mouth.

“What is it?” When he got no response, he felt a stab of panic. Gripping her shoulders, he shook her. “Julia? Damnit, what’s wrong?”

She pointed past him, her eyes huge. “The … pantry.” Her voice shook.

Frowning, he turned toward the pantry door. She grabbed his arm.

“Be careful,” she warned, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s a rattlesnake. Coiled on top of the potatoes, I think.”

Wolf reached for his knife as he moved toward the door. Sweat dripped down his back and his heart thumped hard. He had hoped he’d overcome his fear the day in the cave. But as he approached the pantry, he knew he hadn’t.

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and tried to push away the dark, painful memories. Sucking in a resigned breath, he stepped inside.

She’d dropped the candle, but fortunately, it had not fallen over. Shuttered, its light snaked into the dark space. He heard the noise.

Raising his knife, he aimed, ready to strike. Then he saw it. A bubble of laughter rumbled from his chest. Putting his knife in the. leather sheath on his belt, he reached down and picked up the snake, ignoring the squiggling tail, and stepped out of the pantry.

Julia squeezed her eyes shut when he emerged, the snake wiggling from his fist. “Get it out! Get it out of here! Out! Out! Out!”

“Christ, Julia, it’s only a garden snake.”

Julia opened one squinty eye and watched him go out the back door. He returned without it. “Did you kill it?”

“A garden snake won’t hurt you.” A smile lingered on his lips.

She shook her head. “I don’t care, McCloud. I
hate
snakes. I absolutely
hate
them!” She rubbed her arms with her hands. “And … and are you sure it wasn’t a rattlesnake? I heard the noise, McCloud. I heard it. I really did.” She swallowed a shudder, remembering.

He went back into the pantry, returning with an old tin lard bucket. He shook it at her. “Beans, Julia.”

Her mouth opened and she frowned. “What?”

“He disrupted a can of your dried beans.”

She motioned toward the door. “Throw them out.”

“The snake wasn’t
in
the can.”

“I don’t care. As long as I know there was a reptile anywhere near my food, I won’t use it. I’ll starve first. I hate snakes. I loathe them.” She swallowed another convulsive shudder.

“Snakes are beneficial, Julia. They’re good for—”

“I don’t care
what
they’re good for. Don’t you understand? I go crazy when I see one. I can’t explain it. I just do. My heart pounds so hard I’m afraid it’s going to break a rib. I can hardly breathe, I’m so frightened.” He was no longer smiling. She noted the dark pantry entrance. “Oh, McCloud,” she said with an understanding smile.

He shrugged, his own smile slight. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

Grateful he hadn’t teased her, she said, “I was going to ask you to search the pantry to make sure there aren’t any more of them lurking around. I don’t suppose you would.” She paused, giving him a hopeful look. “Would you?”

He rubbed his neck, then dragged his hand over his face. “Sure.”

She turned and faced the counter. “Would you mind bringing some strawberry jam? I mean, if you can?” she called over her shoulder.

She heard a muffled curse. “Where in the hell is it?”

Frowning, she put down her knife, went to the door and stepped inside. It was dark, but to Julia it was both intimate and arousing. “It’s right in front of you.” She reached past him to grab the jam off the shelf. “Bring the butter, would you?”

He stood there, stock-still, tense as a wire.

“McCloud?” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Oh, McCloud.” She winced, knowing what he was going through. “I’m so sorry.”

He picked up the butter and gave her a gentle push out the door. “There you go, apologizing for something that isn’t your fault. I have to get over this sooner or later.”

She released a sympathetic sigh. “Yes. I should get over my fear, too. But I don’t plan on ferreting snakes in my pantry to do it.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I’ve heard it’s best to tackle the problem head-on.”

“Then I guess I’ll never get over it.” Her fear was real, but she sensed that McCloud’s was more serious.

Later, after they’d finished lunch and Julia had put Marymae down for her afternoon nap, McCloud came looking for her.

“I want to show you something,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

His hands were rough and warm, his grip firm. She liked it. Hastily putting her quilt squares down, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

He gave her a half smile. As usual, it made her insides mushy. “Not this time.”

She followed him to the back door. “Are we going far?”

He gave her a suggestive leer. “How far do you want to go?”

She swatted at him. “I mean, should I wake the baby?”

He shook his head. “No need. This won’t take long.” He ushered her outside. Baptiste was tethered near the door.

Julia balked. “I hate to leave the baby here alone, McCloud.”

“All right. Put her in the travel basket. I think I can handle both of you.”

She hurried into the bedroom and lifted Marymae out of her crib and into the basket Helga Williams had given them, then covered her with a warm blanket. Julia was grateful the baby could sleep through anything.

Once on Baptiste’s back, she clung to McCloud’s waist. He held the basket in front of him. They rode south, toward the rocky slope of the mountain, stopping at a willow thicket. California oak, laurel, and chaparral grew in abundance around them.

He dismounted, put the basket on the ground and lifted his arms to help her down.

She went into them, feeling their strength. But instead of releasing her, he held her fast and studied her.

Her heart hammered. “What is it?”

One side of his mouth lifted. “I like having you out here in the middle of nowhere all to myself.”

Her pulse fluttered. “You have me to yourself every day, McCloud. We live alone, remember?”

“Yeah.” His smile widened and his eyes danced. “But this is different.”

Like the lovesick fool she was, she had to ask. “Why?”

“Because nothing is more exciting than making love in wild, uncivilized places, Julia.”

In spite of her desire for him, she thought back to the times he’d taken Josette out to “pick berries.” Had they … ? She forced it from her mind. No sense borrowing misery. It usually came calling without being invited.

She lifted her skirt to avoid getting it snagged on the bristly undergrowth and followed McCloud down a cool, shady path. Under a group of pines stood the old, dilapidated outbuilding where she and Josette used to play house. But unlike before, it was sided with screen and barbed wire.

“I’d forgotten about the shed. Why is it covered that way?”

“You’ll see.” He went through a number of maneuvers to open the wire-clad door. Gripping Marymae’s basket with one hand, he stepped inside, and Julia followed. It wasn’t dark. The boards were so rotten, light seeped in everywhere. But it was warm and smelled sweet.

He put the basket in which Marymae slept by the door, lit one lamp, then another, until the room was bathed in light. His bedroll was unfurled along one wall. “Do you plan to sleep here?”

“Not if I can help it.” There was a smile in his voice.

Julia scanned the shelves, bringing one hand to her chest as she sucked in a quiet breath. “What are you doing?”

“I’m drying fruit. Come here,” he urged, taking her arm and tugging her around the small stove toward the back of the room.

There were layers upon layers of shelves covered with chicken wire and cheesecloth. Each layer held countless peaches and pears, all sliced, all beginning to dry.

“You really
are
doing this,” she mused, remembering back to the night they’d stayed with Earl and Helga Williams. The night they’d gotten married. In spite of herself, she felt a tingle of delight. “When have you had time?”

“There’s always time, Julia. I think this crop will be ready to sell by the end of the month. But,” he added, “I can’t continue to do this here. The bears can be troublesome. That’s why I had to put barbed wire over the screen.”

She picked up a piece of fruit and put it in her mouth, surprised at how sweet and chewy it was. “Have you a buyer?” Her mouth watered.

“MacMillan and Sons will buy the whole lot and ship it east.”

Happiness and a frisson of hope burst through her. She turned, throwing herself at him. “It’s wonderful, McCloud. Wonderful.”

His arms folded around her. “Am
I
wonderful, too?”

Happiness rose up inside her like dandelion fluff. “Maybe,” she answered on a breath.

As they stood together, Julia felt the stirrings of desire. She raised her face to his and stroked his chest, then linked her arms over his shoulders. He lowered his head to her mouth, the force of it opening hers. The kiss was hot. Wet. Filled with indecent promise.

He broke the kiss. “Take off your drawers, Julia.”

A dampness exploded between her legs, and she swallowed hard, relishing the feeling of hunger. But she’d never been subservient. She put her palm on the front of his shirt. “I beg your pardon?”

He grinned. “You heard me.”

“Yes. I heard you.” She returned his smile, feeling a sense of power. “You take off yours first.”

“Only if you’ll unbutton my jeans.”

She stepped closer, her heart hammering and her knees quaking as she put tentative fingers on the fabric of his jeans. Sucking in a ragged breath, she felt him imprisoned there, long, turgid, and ready.

She reached her fingers inside, touching the satiny surface of him, and unbuttoned his fly. His breath was as shaky as her own, and her feeling of power grew. When he sprang free, she murmured her delight.

Forcing herself to step away, she ordered, “Take them off.”

He did, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. He was magnificent. The tail of his shirt hung open on either side of him, framing his thick root and black hair.

Julia swallowed the urge to purr.

“Do you want to touch it?”

The query was improper. Erotic. She was weak with hunger and found she could hardly stand. “Yes.”

His grin was quick. “As soon as you take off your drawers.”

She moved away and reached under her dress and petticoat for the tie. As her shaky fingers fumbled with the knot, she watched him shrug out of his shirt. He was, without a doubt, the most perfect man in the world.

“Did you have this planned?” She shook with desire.

His grin was hot enough to scald milk as he watched her. “Oh, yeah.”

She untied her drawers and stepped out of them, kicking them so they landed on top of his jeans.

A smile quirked his mouth. “You’ve got too many clothes on.”

“You promised I could touch you,” she reminded him.

He drew her hand to his root and she gripped gently, amazed at the texture, for he was like rock encased in velvet. She moved the skin back and forth, eliciting a primitive groan from her husband. Her sense of power increased.

He pulled up her skirts and lifted her, coaxing her to bring her legs around his back. She felt him plunge into her, and she hung on and rode until desire exploded inside her.

He sank to the floor, bringing her with him without breaking contact. They sat together, neither speaking. Julia listened for sound from outside, but nothing penetrated their harsh, raspy breathing or the thundering of their hearts.

He hardened inside her. Placing a knee on either
side of him, she rose, then settled onto him, discovering the pleasure of control. His fingers found her cleft, and he nudged it with his thumbs, teaching her to ride. This time when she came, she cried out as spasm after spasm rocked her.

She slumped against him, and he fell backward, drawing her with him. She lay on top, feeling the pounding of his heart. His hand roamed her back, snaking under her dress, where he caressed her bottom.

“I want to see your beautiful ass, Julia.”

His words, though crude, made her feel desirable. “Do you always get what you want?”

“I didn’t want much until I met you.”

He sounded so serious. “And now?”

“And now I want you.”

Her pulse raced. She ran her palms over his shoulders, down his arms, letting her fingers find the sharp delineation of his muscles. “As simple as that?”

His hand continued to stroke her bottom. “No. It’s not simple at all. It’s complicated as hell.”

She rose and studied him, her intuition warning her not to be glib. “What makes it complicated, McCloud?”

His eyes held hers. “You don’t know anything about me, Julia. You don’t—”

She pressed two fingers over his lips to quiet him. She didn’t know what he wanted to say, but she was quite sure she didn’t want to hear it. Not now.

“You wanted to see my … bottom,” she reminded him.

He gave her a lazy smile. “I’d be much obliged.”

She pulled herself up and stared at him, lifting one quizzical eyebrow.

“Please.” His eyes were hot.

With a shaky laugh, she rolled away, her desire for him returning. She would do anything he asked. Anything at all. She had a feeling he would do anything for her, too. But she had much to learn. She stood and unbuttoned her dress, pulling it down over her petticoat and stepping out of it.

“Now that thing you wear over your breasts.” The order was soft, seductive.

“It’s a camisole.” She pulled on the tie at her waist then unbuttoned it slowly.

He grinned his bright, evil grin. “Women wear too damned many clothes,” he said, his gaze locked with hers.

She got to the bottom button and hesitated.

“That’s the way, Julia. Make me wait.”

Lowering her gaze, she hid her look of confusion. It hadn’t been her intention to seduce him. “McCloud—” she began.