Jane Bonander (7 page)

He had a strange yearning in his gut, one that wished she would always be this receptive to him. But regrettably, he knew that come morning, things would be back the way they’d been before, and would undoubtedly be forever.

She yawned, covering her mouth at the last minute, expelling a hiccough at the end. “Oh, my,” she said on a small giggle. “I think it’s time for me to go to bed. Funny, though, I feel awfully good for being so sleepy.”

Wolf hid his smile with his hand. She was crocked.

“Well,” said Helga, “I’m keeping the baby in the crib in our room tonight, dear.” She gave Wolf a sly grin. “Can’t have a baby in the room on your wedding night.”

“Hmmm?” Julia yawned again, her eyes at half-mast.

“The baby will be fine, dear, you just run along now.”

Wolf took Julia’s arm, surprised when she leaned against him.

“You taking me up to bed?” She looked at him, her eyes a languid shade of blue.

“I’m taking you to bed,” he repeated, leading her toward the stairs.

Julia turned in his arms and peered over his shoulder. “ ‘Night, all!”

She continued to lean against him as they took the stairs to their room. He liked her there. She fit perfectly, especially all soft and pliable from the champagne.

Once inside their room, she whirled away, spinning in the center of the room. When she faltered, he caught her.

“Oh, heavens.” She uttered another giggle. “I guess I won’t do that again. For some reason, the floor is slanted.”

“You’ve had too much champagne,” he said with a smile.

She stood in front of him, swaying a bit. Punching her finger into his chest, she answered, “Don’t be silly. I’m just feeling
really
good, that’s all.”

She walked her fingers to his neck, then to the back of his head, into his hair. His scalp prickled at her touch. A thickness gathered in his groin. “Your hair is the color of ink. I saw that the first time you rode in on Baptiste. You looked like you belonged together. Both so … so wild … and dark … and dangerous.”

“What else did you see, Miss Julia?” He wanted to remember everything about this night, because he knew he’d never see her like this again.

She sighed, hiccoughing again. “Oops,” she said, grinning openly, her smile transforming her features from merely pretty to beautiful. “Well, lemmesee.” She pinched at her lips. “Let me see,” she repeated, saying the words distinctly. “Your face,” she began, touching his cheekbones. “I kinda like it. Everyone thinks I’m a prude, you know. They don’t understand that there’s this part of me, deep down inside, that wants …”

There was a sultriness about her that tied his gut into knots. “That wants … what, Miss Julia?”

She stared up at him, her eyes filled with warmth and heat and desire. He ached for this to be the real her, but for him, it would never be.

She ran one hand along his shoulder to his arm. “I like your shoulders. Big and strong. But,” she said, her gaze turning sad, “you’ve got scars on your back. I saw them.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m sorry someone beat you. Who beat you, Wolf?”

He caught a tear with his finger, then gently pressed his thumbs beneath her eyes. His name on her tongue was like nectar. He savored it, knowing that at any other time she wouldn’t have said it. “Lady, you are drunk.”

She whirled away, her mood changing again as she picked up the nightgown that lay on the bed. “Gotta get ready for bed.” She stared at him, still swaying slightly. “Turn, turn, turn,” she ordered, twirling her finger at him.

Wolf crossed to the window and looked out into the black, bleak night. There was a fierce aching in his gut, a yearning for the kind of life that had eluded him. He looked up, noting for the first time that she was reflected in the glass. Decency told him to close his eyes; necessity made him a voyeur.

She stepped out of her dress, sending it sprawling with an uninhibited kick. She looked pretty today, all gussied up in a fine dress to get married. He preferred her in trousers, for then he could watch her sweet ass move. But the dress was nice; she had a tiny waist and her breasts were outlined subtly behind the snug bodice.

Her undergarments were unadorned, like she was, yet so unlike her right now. He told himself he would watch only until her breasts sprang free of the garment that held them, but when it happened, he couldn’t turn away or shut his eyes.

They were perfect. Firm and round, with nipples so pale he could barely detect them. When attempting to untie her petticoat, she swayed, reaching out to the bedpost to catch herself. Her breasts shook, the nipples tightened hard by the cool air of the room.

With a shuddering breath, Wolf lowered his head and closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists on either side of the window. He’d never seen nipples that fair, or breasts that firm, for that matter. Every woman he’d ever bedded had dark nipples and dark hair—everywhere. His new wife’s wouldn’t be. The thought of finding out sent waves of hunger nipping at his groin.

“McCloud?” she said, quiet laughter making her voice shake.

He took another breath and turned. She stood in front of him, holding the nightgown out by the seams. It was white with wide pink stripes … and the size of a circus tent.

“Do you think she expected both of us to wear this?” She laughed again, her cheeks brightly stained. She slipped it on over her head, allowing him a view of her breasts again. His mouth went dry until she had the gown on, then he, too, had to laugh.

She was drowning in a sea of fabric as she struggled with her drawers, kicking them out from beneath the folds of the gown. She unpinned her hair, running her fingers through the wheat-colored mass as it fell to her shoulders.

“You could see me in the window, couldn’t you?” She didn’t sound strident or angry.

“Why would you think that?” He wanted to bury his face in her hair, against her neck … her breasts.

She gave him a saucy, champagne-filled grin. “Because I can see myself in it now.”

He turned from her, feeling ashamed. “A gentleman wouldn’t take advantage.”

She came around in front of him, a dreamy expression on her face. “When you act like a gentleman, it confuses me,” she responded, touching his chest with her hand.

He swallowed hard, hoping to kill the desire that stirred in his loins. “Go to bed, Miss Julia.” His voice was husky. Harsh.

Her eyes continued to have a dreamy look. “I keep thinking about our kiss, McCloud. I think I’d like another.”

“You’re still drunk. You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

She leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his chest. “Try me.”

If he’d been any kind of gentleman, he would have refused. He couldn’t. He drove his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head with his hands, and drew her forward.

The moment their lips touched, something exploded inside him. Maybe it was the tiny whimper of pleasure that she made, maybe it was his own violent need for her, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.

He slanted his mouth over hers, nudging her lips with his tongue. When she opened for him, he ventured inside, liquefying the kiss, raping her tongue with tender strokes. In spite of the champagne, she tasted sweet and exotic, her mouth quivering like a virgin’s against his.

His hands left her head and roamed her back, over the gentle swell of her ass. He was hard as a rock behind the buttons of his fly, and the sting of hunger surged through him like fire.

She emitted a long, breathy sigh, then went limp against him. Catching her up in his arms, he studied her slack features. Her harlot’s mouth, with lips pink and sweet. The tiny, turned-up nose of a flirt, which she surely was not. Finely shaped tawny eyebrows over eyes that had thick, dark-edged lashes. Skin as soft as the petals of a flower.

But she’d passed out. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t remember anything in the morning. He, on the other hand, would remember all of it for the rest of his life.

A
herd of wild horses galloped through Julia’s head, crashing against her skull. She moaned as she rose up off the pillow, feeling a hard rush of nausea. Pulling in a deep, slow breath, she put her head down, swallowing repeatedly.

She rolled slowly onto her back, opening her eyes a crack, scanning the room. It was empty.
Thank you, God.
She didn’t remember much about the night before, but something told her she didn’t want to.

She rarely, if ever, drank. The last time she’d sipped any alcohol at all had been a few years ago at Christmas when Papa had whipped up a batch of grog for the neighbors. She’d awakened with a headache that had threatened to push her eyes out, and she’d vowed never to imbibe again.

Temperance might well be a virtue, but the last few days would have driven a saint to drink, she thought. And yesterday. Oh, yes, yesterday had been the most potent potable of all. Imagine having to marry a man she abhorred! She didn’t understand Papa’s reasoning.

It was no wonder she’d downed champagne as if it had been water.

Rolling to her side and facing the door, she curled into a ball, pressing her hands against her stomach as she thought about her nervousness the evening before. She hadn’t even recalled drinking more than two glasses, but she must have. She’d been jumpy as a cat, wondering how she and McCloud could possibly get through the night in the same room without her killing him for trying to … what? Had she expected him to attempt seduction? She didn’t think that even
he
was that big a fool.

The last thing she remembered was— Her stomach took a dive. Oh, God! He’d kissed her. How had she let that happen? Surely she’d fought him. She must have. Touching her mouth, she felt the slightest bit of chafing around it. She traced her lips. Had he put his tongue in her mouth? She shivered. Lord, yes. She remembered that well enough. Oddly, she didn’t feel revulsion. She should have, because he was nothing but a despicable rogue. No decent woman should feel the thrill she’d felt when he’d kissed her.

The door opened and McCloud entered with a cloth-covered tray. “Good morning, dear wife.” His evil grin was in place. “And how are you feeling this morning? Got a bit of a headache?”

“I feel just fine,” she lied, giving him a suspicious eye.

He put the tray on the stand by the bed and whipped off the cover. The smell of coffee and something rather sweet floated toward her, and surprisingly, it didn’t cause her stomach to heave.

“Quite a night we had, wasn’t it? I know
I
’
ll
never forget it.” He fussed with the contents on the tray like an overzealous servant.

Rolling over again, she brought the covers to her chin. Her head continued to pound, and though she was no longer quite so nauseated, there was a nervous sensation in her stomach. “What are you talking about?”

He poured coffee into a china cup from a silver coffee server. “What? You don’t remember? Look at the other pillow, Miss Julia.”

Julia rose up off the bed and looked at the pillow next to her. The case was wrinkled and there was a dent in it, indicating—

She turned, gasping as her headache quickened. “You said you’d sleep on the floor, you … you worm,” she hissed.

“Oh, I would have.” He held the dainty cup and saucer as though he used one every day.

The coffee smelled delicious, and Julia scooted to sit, positioning the pillows behind her before she took the coffee from him.

“But you took pity on me, insisting I share the bed.” He gave her a look of mock injury. “Now, don’t tell me you don’t remember?”

She didn’t answer him. Her look of fury was answer enough.

“Why, Miss Julia, I’m crushed. I certainly thought my prowess was memorable. That’s what I’ve been told,” he added with a wicked grin.

Julia mentally tested the area between her legs. She was smart enough to know she’d have felt different down there if they’d actually done something. He was purposely needling her, the wretch.

She donned a calm air and sipped her coffee. “Obviously your prowess is highly overrated,” she answered, giving him a dry smile.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound tunneling into her heart. “That’s what I like about you, Miss Julia. You’re never at a loss for words.”

She studied him, the straight white teeth, the laughing eyes, the complete and total male aura about him. Her insides quivered, signaling danger. “That was a dirty trick, McCloud.”

His smile faded and his eyes became warm. “Last night you called me Wolf.”

Something fluttered in her chest. “No,” she argued, “I probably called you
a
wolf.”

He laughed again, then offered her a buttered scone. She took it. Though their fingers barely touched, Julia felt a jolt all the way to her toes.

She wondered where he
had
slept, and felt a stab of remorse. Her guilt was assuaged when she realized that he’d slept in their barn for the nights previous to coming to Martinez. Surely one night on the floor, in a fine house was many steps up for this wild-hearted man.

“I don’t want to rush you,” he began, watching her eat, “but we should start back as soon as possible. I’d hate to run into another storm.”

An odd feeling spread through her. She’d left her home a single woman. She was returning as a wife.

The ride back to the ranch had been short, probably because both Julia and Marymae had slept most of the way. They had swaddled the baby in blankets and put her in a handmade basket on the floor of the buggy. Julia had every intention of staying awake, but her headache had persisted, and she, too, found relief in sleep. When she awoke, she felt McCloud’s forearm resting on her shoulder. She was curled up on the seat, her cheek on his hard thighs. She felt the bulge at his groin on the back of her head.

She sat up, cursing herself when her head throbbed anew. “You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep,” she scolded.

“I don’t think I could have prevented it. Did you know you snore?”

“Don’t try to rile me, McCloud, I’m not in the mood.” She massaged her throbbing temples, willing the day away, for she knew tomorrow she would feel like her old self again. She pressed her hands against the small of her back, hoping to ease the ache that had gathered there while she slept.

The ranch was in sight, and it sent a rush of anticipation through her. Nothing would be the same again. Ever. She couldn’t decide how she felt, for the nervous sensation in her stomach was, as always, either expectation or frustration.

As she scanned the property, she knew that something was different. Her pulse accelerated. “McCloud, someone’s there.”

McCloud shaded his eyes, squinting into the distance. “There are two horses tied up outside the corral.” He turned toward her. “Recognize them?”

She shook her head, her anticipation growing. “They’re Morgans, aren’t they? Besides Sally, there isn’t another Morgan in the valley.”

McCloud inched the rifle from beneath the seat and rested it across his knees. He must have felt her gaze, for he turned toward her again. “Insurance,” he murmured. “I’m going to stop behind the brush and sneak in. Here,” he added, handling her the reins.

She took them, drawing them in her fists, relieved when the geldings lowered their heads and grazed.

“Can you use this?”

She looked at the rifle and swallowed hard. “Of course I can. But … but what will you use?”

He pulled out a knife that could down a cougar. Giving her a lopsided grin, he said, “I’m more comfortable with this.”

Without a sound he moved toward the ranch. Julia felt oddly comforted until he was out of sight, then she gripped the rifle stock. A quick look at the buggy floor assured her that Marymae was still asleep.

A wet breeze kicked up, rustling the brush, causing her heart to lurch in her chest. She straightened, clutching the rifle when she heard voices beyond the bushes. Then there was laughter.

McCloud rounded the brush, smiling like a fool, accompanied by two others. One was a man, as tall as McCloud but broader and thicker through the chest and shoulders. Had he not been laughing, Julia would have shuddered, for his forehead was scarred and his face was forbidding.

The other was a boy on the brink of manhood, his tawny hair shining in the sun.

Julia watched McCloud approach, stunned at his genial expression. Clearly, these two were his friends.

“Miss Julia,” he announced, gripping both the boy and the man by the shoulders, “I want you to meet our culprits.”

The man came forward, drawing the boy with him. “Nathan Wolfe, ma’am. This is my son, Jackson. I’m sorry we alarmed you. We heard McCloud was here and thought we’d stop by on our way back from San Francisco.” He smiled, his eyes warm. “Had no idea we’d get to meet his new bride.”

Julia stiffened. He’d told them about the marriage? But why? He hadn’t wanted it any more than she had, and they’d agreed to go their separate ways, do their separate things. She forced herself to stay calm. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Just long enough for Jackson, here, to work up a powerful hunger,” he said, cuffing the boy’s ear.

The boy blushed. “Aw, Pa. Ma says you say it’s me who’s starvin’ when it’s you. She says you’ve got two hollow legs and a bottomless pit for a stomach.”

The gentle repartee worked its magic on Julia just as Marymae let out a squeal. “Well, then, what are we doing here?” She lifted Marymae up off the floor. “Seems there’s more than one mouth to feed.”

Leaping onto the seat beside her, McCloud took the reins and let the team pick its way through the brush to the ranch. McCloud’s friends took the shortcut to the house.

Julia turned on McCloud when they were out of sight. “You told them we were married?”

He had a startled expression on his face. “We are, aren’t we?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Of course. But I thought we were going to … to …”

“Pretend otherwise?”

She didn’t know how to feel. “Yes.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound the least bit so. “It sort of slipped out before I had a chance to think about it.”

The nervous agitation in her stomach boiled like lye water on wash day. “I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it. At least they won’t be staying long.” When he didn’t agree, she glanced at him. “They won’t, will they?”

“Nate’s horse threw a shoe. I…” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I told them that as long as it was already late, they could stay the night.”

Julia’s hand flew to her throat. “The
night?
” She thought of the room that she’d so generously told McCloud he could occupy. “And where do you propose they sleep?”

The buggy had stopped in front of the barn. While she waited for him to give her some reasonable answer, she glanced at the corral. The question faded from her mind when she saw both Baptiste and Sally there. Her gaze found McCloud’s.

“What happened? Why are they in there, together?” Her voice came out little more than a whisper.

“When Nate and Jackson rode up, they noticed the half-door kicked in.”

“Kicked in? How?” Her heart was thrumming.

“Baptiste,” he answered.

Clarification wasn’t necessary. They both knew what this might mean. “Do you think …” She took a shaky breath. “Do you think it happened?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead he unhitched the team and led the geldings into the barn.

Clutching Marymae to her, she scrambled out of the buggy, not even waiting for him to help her down. She hurried after him. “Well? Do you?”

“Whether I think it happened or not isn’t important, Miss Julia. We’ll know in six months or so.”

Julia didn’t know where to vent her anger. She went to the corral and studied her mare, then glared at Baptiste. It would be just like McCloud’s lusty stallion to get her sweet Sally pregnant.

The mere idea sent gooseflesh over her skin, and an odd heaviness gathered between her legs. Shaking her head, she walked to the house, knowing that she had to prepare herself to face strangers who presumed her own life was far, far different than it was.

Julia cleared the table, intensely aware of Nathan Wolfe’s gaze on her. She would never have believed she’d welcome McCloud’s presence, but when he left
to check the stock, taking the young boy, Jackson, with him, she wished he’d stayed.

She poured hot water over the dishes in the dishpan, then added cold water and shaved soap. She was surprised when Mr. Wolfe appeared at her side with the dish towel.

He caught her look. “It’s a tradition at our house. Sometimes it’s the only time Susannah—that’s my wife—and I get to talk.”

Giving him a weak smile, she dug into the dishpan and scrubbed the dishes.

“Have you known McCloud long?” She wondered if he found it odd that she didn’t use her husband’s first name.

“Long enough. I owe him a life.”

A
life. Not
my
life. She had to smile. “That’s an odd way of putting it, Mr. Wolfe.”

He took the platter she offered, wiped it and placed it on the table. “Not so odd. I thought Jackson was dead. He brought him back to me.”

A strange feeling rippled through Julia’s body. “He did?”

“My first wife—Jackson’s mother—was killed by an explosion near a mine. It was assumed that Jackson was dead as well, but we never found his body.”

Julia digested this news, sensing the man’s emotions. “And McCloud found him?”

Nathan Wolfe nodded. “He’d been with the Army when they’d set the explosives.”

Another bit of news about her husband she hadn’t known. “He was in the Army?”

“You didn’t know that?”

She attacked the dishes with vigor. “No. He didn’t mention it to me.”

“Well,” Nathan added, “he did scouting for them. The commanding officer told him that the official report would read that they’d been killed by Indians. The man was covering his carelessness at not canvassing the area better before he set off the explosion. As you can imagine,” he continued, “that didn’t sit well with McCloud.”

No, she couldn’t imagine. He made it sound as though McCloud was a man of scruples. Nathan Wolfe obviously knew something about her new husband that she did not. On the other hand, she thought with a twist of her mouth, perhaps
she
knew the real Wolf McCloud.