Linda Ford (10 page)

After supper Sally Jane brought out a pair of scissors. “Come on, you two,” she nodded at the twins. “I want to get rid of some of that hair while there’s still light enough to see.” She wrapped a towel around one boy and set to work cutting his sandy locks. Then she did the same to the other. Finished, she held the scissors toward Maggie. “Maybe you’d be wanting to borrow these.”

Maggie’s head jerked up, then she grinned at Crane. “Sounds like a good idea.” She crooked her finger at him.

“Me?” He needed a haircut. Had for weeks. But it never crossed his mind he’d get it from Maggie. The idea of her hands in his hair made his mouth go dry.

“Why not? I used to cut Ted’s hair all the time.”

He purposely looked at Ted. The boy’s hair was only getting long enough to be sure it was light brown.

“You can’t blame me for that.” She waited, a towel in one hand, those wretched scissors in the other. “Not afraid, are you?” she jeered.

He narrowed his eyes. “Of you or those scissors you’re holding like a branding iron?” She shrugged as Wally chuckled.

Knowing he was beat, Crane pushed to his feet. He could use a good diversion right now. Say a stampede.

The fire crackled like an old woman laughing. The children squealed and laughed as they chased through the trees. But nothing came to his rescue.

Forcing his lungs to expand and his eyes to obey, he lifted his gaze upward. Fascinated, he watched a small pulse throbbing in Maggie’s throat.

He tried to quiet the pounding from a surging pulse deep in his chest. Despite his determination to breath normally, his throat tightened, and he could barely suck in a gasp. His ears pounded with a deafening roar. Was it desire he saw in her eyes? Or—he forced a shaft of air into his lungs—was it simply a challenge?

He felt Wally and Sally Jane watching him and forced himself to lumber to the stool. Stiffly he sat on the smooth wood, bracing the toes of his boots in the dirt. She wrapped the towel around his shoulders. He could feel her warmth as she stood behind him. Then she ran her fingers through his hair. Fire ignited his nerves.

“Been awhile?” Her low voice fueled the fire.

His thoughts choked.
Your hair, you idiot, she’s talking about your hair.
“Yup,” he croaked.

“How short you want it?”

“Short.”
Short enough so I never have to go through this delicious torture again.

“Short it is.”

Her hands lifted a strand of hair, and she snipped it. Other sounds faded. There was nothing but the
snip, snip, snip
of the scissors. And her nearness.

He was drowning in her nearness. Her arm brushed his shoulder. Her thigh glanced across his knee. She reached out and touched his chin with a fingertip.

“Let’s see how it looks.”

His lungs like steel bands, he raised his head. But he looked past her shoulder. If he met her eyes, he would lose all control.

“Not too bad so far,” she murmured, her breath grazing his face, sweet as honey, warm as the summer’s breeze.

Betsy skidded into the circle of light. “What’cha doing, Crane?” She leaned against his knee.

“You’re gonna get hair all over you.”

She grabbed a handful as she straightened, stroking it with her fingers before she pulled a lock of her own hair forward and lifted Crane’s to it to compare. “Same as mine.”

Betsy’s was much lighter and curly, but Crane agreed. “Just about.”

Satisfied, she scampered away.

Maggie stood in front of him now. “Just about done.” She leaned across his knees. He felt her muscles tense and shift as she lifted her arms and took a handful of hair. She was so close. She smelled of coffee and supper and the baby she’d held. He wanted to tell her to stop. To leave the rest uncut. He wanted to beg her never to stop. He closed his eyes, wishing his ordeal was over.

By the time she finished, his muscles ached. He jerked to his feet to brush the hair off, then grabbed a cup of coffee, desperate to relieve the parched feeling in the back of his throat.

Wally stood and stretched. “Just look at that sunset!”

Flames of pink and orange and red flared across the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” Sally Jane murmured, going to her husband’s side, leaning against him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“ ‘The sky is the daily bread of the eyes,’ ” Wally quoted. “You don’t see much more sky than you do out here on the prairies.”

Crane met Maggie’s gaze and knew she was thinking the same as he: a bit too much sky, a bit too much nothing.

They called the children in.

“Can we sleep over there?” Matt, or was it Mark, pointed toward a clump of bushes.

“As long as you stay where we can see you.” Wally handed them each a bedroll.

Crane handed Betsy her roll, but she looked up at him. “Where you going to sleep, Crane?”

“Right here.” He grabbed his bundle and flipped it open a few feet from the fire.

She nodded and unrolled her bedding next to his, then stood over it, waiting for Ted to put his beside hers. “Now you, Maggie.” Maggie silently obeyed.

Crane saw the glance that passed between Wally and Sally Jane, and he knew they must be wondering about the sleeping arrangements, but he didn’t offer any explanation.

Maggie waited until the children were settled, then turned to the Strongs. “Crane brought his ma’s Bible with him. I’ve been reading aloud from it every night. Do you mind?”

Sally Jane swallowed hard. “My father always read aloud at suppertime. I miss it.”

Wally stared at his wife. “Why, Dear, you never told me that.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s leaving them all behind that makes me remember little things we used to do.” She patted his knee. “Don’t look so worried.”

Silently he squeezed her hand.

Maggie waited while Crane filled his cup and got comfortable on his bedroll before she began. He didn’t mean to be irreverent, but he found her voice settled through him, like sand filtering through water, until it reached its limit. A hundred things rose and flitted away before he could grab them and figure them out. Longings. Wishes. Waiting.

She closed the Bible. He hadn’t heard a word.

Sally Jane sighed. “That was nice.”

Ted sat up. “What does it mean?”

“It means God loves you so much He sent His only Son, whom He loved, so we—you—could live with Him forever. That’s what eternal life means.”

“Did He love me when I was at Dobbs’s place?”

Crane had never asked, and it was the first time Ted had referred to the man by name.

Maggie wrapped her arms around him. “Of course He did.” She brushed his hair back. “Did you think I had stopped loving you?”

He shook his head. “But you couldn’t find me.”

“That’s right. Sometimes things keep people apart, but it doesn’t stop their love. Same way with God. He doesn’t stop loving us because somebody does something bad to us.”

“You sleep now,” Maggie said. She walked to the fire. Crane joined her, filling her cup, then his own.

Sally Jane sat nearby, nursing the baby. Wally took her a cup of coffee, then sat beside her.

“I can’t tell you how good it’s been to find you people,” Sally Jane murmured.

“It’s been good for us all,” Maggie said. “I think Betsy and Ted have finally forgotten the Johnses.”

“The Johnses?”

Maggie and Crane filled them in on their experience.

“You surely must have God’s hand of protection on you,” Wally said, shaking his head. “Otherwise, I don’t know how you manage to get yourselves out of so many scrapes.”

Maggie agreed. “I’m beginning to see that God works in many ways—big and small—when we aren’t paying the least bit of attention.”

Wally stretched. “Well, my dear, I think we should go to bed.” He took the baby in one arm and pulled his wife to her feet, wrapping his other arm around her as he led her to the wagon.

Long after he settled down for the night, Crane heard the other couple murmuring together.
They have something special,
he thought. Something he wished he had with Maggie.
He tucked his arms under his head and reminded himself he
and Maggie were just beginning. They could afford to take their time. He could afford to wait for Maggie to show she was ready for more.

Ten

They rode with the Strongs the next day.

“Any objection to stopping?” Wally said when they saw a line of trees.

“Nope,” Crane conceded. They’d made good time all day. Besides, he wasn’t in a tearing hurry.

“It’s beautiful,” Sally Jane said as they pushed their way through to the clearing and saw a grassy slough. “Now I can wash a few things.”

The boys gathered wood, while Crane and Wally hauled water.

A little later Crane stretched out, enjoying his coffee.
Maggie sat on a stool, bent over the baby, crooning. Garments of all descriptions hung on the bushes and branches. Wally or Sally Jane had gone for a walk.

He sat down beside Maggie. The baby looked at him and gurgled. When he held his hand toward her, she grabbed his index finger and pulled, chuckling.

“She likes you,” Maggie said.

“She likes everybody.” But he grinned, pleased at the baby’s friendliness and Maggie’s assessment.

“We’re back,” Wally called, stepping from the trees.

“How’s my sweetie?” Sally Jane asked, her attention on the baby.

“Happy as a lark.” Maggie reluctantly handed the infant to her mother. “She’s a real sweetheart.”

“I know.” Sally Jane buried her nose against the baby’s neck, and Wally stroked the tiny head.

“The children will be clamoring for something to eat soon,” Wally said, and he and Sally Jane began preparing supper.

After the meal the children did not disappear into the trees. Crane decided they must be tired after a long afternoon of play. Several times he thought a look passed between one of the children and Sally Jane. He couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that something was up. Something he should probably know about.

He was reaching for another cup of coffee when Ted sidled up to him. “Crane,” he began, “Betsy and me, we’d like to sleep with Matt and Mark tonight. Can we, please?”

Crane looked at Betsy.

“Please, Crane?” she begged.

“It’s fine with me,” Sally Jane said.

He studied Betsy and Ted. “You sure?”

They both nodded.

He turned to Maggie. “What do you think?”

“We’ll be right here if they need us.”

Crane nodded, and the children sprang to get their bedding. He turned to Maggie, muttering, “I’m betting they don’t get much sleep.”

She nodded.

Their beds ready, the children came back to the fire.

Wally cleared his throat. “You folks can enjoy an evening to yourselves.” At the twinkle in Wally’s eyes and his kindly smile, Crane’s cheeks grew hot.

He heard Maggie’s sharp gasp, but he dared not look at her.

“It’s a surprise,” Betsy said, her voice high with excitement.

Ted pulled at Crane’s hands. “Come and see.”

Sally Jane smiled widely. “We all worked on it.”

Crane’s insides felt brittle as he rose and let them lead him away from the fire.

Maggie followed, as mute as he.

They circled the slough water and turned around a large clump of bushes.

“There it is!” they called. “Just for you.”

Crane stared. A pile of wood lay ready to light. A coffeepot sat on a rock. A small lean-to of willow branches squatted within comfortable distance of the fire. He narrowed his eyes. Someone had placed their bedrolls in the tiny enclosure.
His mouth turned as dry as sand as he understood their intent. He wouldn’t deny he’d been longing for this day, but to be railroaded into it made him feel as awkward as a gangly newborn colt.

“Come on, children. Let’s go back to our fire.” Wally shepherded the children away.

Crane couldn’t bring himself to look at Maggie. She cleared her throat, a grating sound screeching through his mind. “Might as well start the fire.”

The fire caught and flared upward, and he stared at the flames. Ignoring the steel bands that had once been his ribs, he stepped closer. A pair of logs had been placed to sit on. He thought of sitting but couldn’t seem to get the message to his legs.

The fire crackled, and a log snapped, the sound thundering along his nerves. The sharp smell of wood smoke filled his nostrils. It was all as familiar as his own name; yet tonight the scents and sounds tugged at his senses, stirring reactions totally unfamiliar. The coffee bubbled, and the smell flooded his brain.

“Coffee smells good.” Was that croaking sound his voice?

She reached for the cups, and the movement drew his gaze to her. Her hair hung over her shoulders like a shiny curtain; the fire flared, sending shafts of light through the dark strands. He closed his eyes. His heart beat a tattoo inside his head.

“Coffee?”

Her voice started a riot along his nerves. He blinked and managed to take the cup she offered. Their glances touched, then danced away.

She sat on one of the logs. Coffee sloshed over the edge of his cup and stung his hand. He sucked in his breath, welcoming the pain that forced him to breathe again.

He heard her sigh softly. It was all he needed—that little sound of distress. He dropped to the other upturned log and immediately wondered if it had been wise. They were so close he could feel the warmth from her body, smell her sweetness. As he lifted his cup to drink, his elbow brushed hers. He gulped the scalding coffee.

“I had nothing to do with this,” Maggie murmured, her words so low Crane could barely hear them. Or was it the pounding of his thoughts that almost drowned out her words?

“Me either.”

“I suppose you can’t blame them for thinking we’d be pleased.”

“Yup.” Was she pleased?

“After all,” she hurried on, “they don’t know that we’ve never. . .” She shrugged. “That with the children and all. . .” She trailed to a halt.

A smile tugged at the corners of Crane’s mouth. Maggie, his sweet, innocent bride, always ready to state the facts boldly, was suddenly unable to speak her mind. The tension in him eased, and he leaned back. He was not one to bulldoze his way through life. The strain fled from across his shoulders. He was more than willing to let Maggie set the pace tonight. Whatever she wanted was fine with him. They had a lifetime to learn about each other and to find what pleased the other. He had no need or desire to break down gates.

“I hope the children will be all right,” she said.

“They’ll miss you reading to them, I expect.”

“I expect.” Silence settled around them, easy and comfortable.

“They sure are enjoying having some playmates,” she said after a spell.

“They’re a good bunch.”

It had grown quite dark. To the east Crane saw a fork of lightning. “Looks like a storm building.”

Maggie’s head jerked up. “Where?”

Another jab of lightning was followed by distant rumbling. “It’s a ways off,” he said.

Flash followed flash. The thunder rolled and echoed across the plain, and the storm drew closer. Leaves rustled, and the trees bent low, creaking under the force of the wind. Off to his right, Crane heard a branch crack.

The lightning was spectacular, forking across the sky in vivid paths. As the storm approached them, the thunder increased in volume. Maggie clamped her hands to her ears.

“Does it scare you?” he asked after the noise had rumbled away.

“I hate thunder.” She shivered.

He reached for her, then pulled back, afraid she would find his touch as frightening as she found the thunder. Then it boomed again. She turned into his arms, her face against his chest. His nerves echoed the flash and roar of the storm. It was only that she was afraid of the thunder, he warned himself. Her quivering body in his arms had nothing to do with him.

The wind carried a sprinkle of cold raindrops.

“We better get out of this.” He eased her toward the tiny shelter. She followed without protest. Each roar of thunder sent a shudder through her, and she clung to him. His heart thundered its own response.

He pulled her inside and eased her to the ground, lowering himself beside her. The willow branches gave off a fresh smell. The enclosure was very small. He closed his eyes. A chill wind tore across the clearing and into the shelter.

“It must have hailed somewhere,” he said.

Maggie shivered in his arms. Her teeth rattled. “I’m so cold,” she said, chattering.

He threw more wood on the fire. For a moment the logs lay dark and dead, then flared into flames that threw a blanket of warmth toward them. Crane studied the sky. “I believe the storm is moving away.”

But despite the passing storm and the increased warmth of the fire, Maggie continued to shiver. “I can’t seem to get warm,” she said.

“Crawl between the blankets.” He pulled her boots off and helped her slide down into the bedroll. “Is that better?”

Her teeth rattling, she said, “I’ll get warm in a bit.”

He threw more wood on the fire, poured himself another cup of coffee, then huddled back in the shelter, his knees brushing her shivering form. “You still not warm?”

“No.”

He squeezed the cup until his knuckles cracked. The storm had passed, circling to the south of them, so the thunder he heard had to be inside his head. He filled his lungs, then held his breath for a heartbeat. And another. Slowly he let the hot air escape through his open mouth. He eased down beside Maggie, his body matching hers, legs to legs, hips to hips, shoulders to shoulders, separated by the layer of blankets. His hand shaking like leaves in the wind, he lifted the covers.

“Come here—I’ll warm you up.” He pulled her into his arms.

She came willingly.

His senses flooded with her scent and the feel of her small, lean body. Her hair whispered against his cheek. He closed his eyes. She would never guess how much he ached for them to be truly man and wife. It would take every ounce of his self-control, but he clamped down on his back teeth, promising himself he would not allow his needs and wants to rule his actions.

Slowly her shivering subsided, and she lay soft and relaxed in his arms.

“I’ve wondered—” She broke off quickly.

“Wondered what?”

She swallowed loudly, then rushed on. “How it would feel to be in your arms like this.”

Blood surged through his veins. “I’ve wondered—” Dare he say anything more? Would she jerk away and retreat to the far corner of the lean-to? He smiled. Not that such a move would put much distance between them. He began again. “I’ve wondered what your lips would taste like.”

She slowly lifted her face. In the golden glow of the fire, he could see her faint smile. His heart threatened to explode, then, accepting her unspoken invitation, he found her lips. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, but he discovered her lips were cool and yielding.

“Soft and sweet,” he said. And driving him to want more.

She gave a short laugh. “Warm and cozy.”

He knew she was referring to his arms, and he laughed deep in his chest. He felt her straining toward him and took her lips again, this time his kiss deeper, firmer. Her arms stole upward to encircle his neck. He buried his hands in her thick, silky hair.

❧

Crane woke the next morning as pink light gently colored the sky. Maggie lay curled beside him, her hands bunched together under her chin. He filled his senses with her, taking in every detail—the dark fringe of eyelashes across her cheek, her complexion as pretty as the morning sky with the first rays of sunshine.

He’d never seen a sight that gave him more pleasure. He’d never been happier than he was right now, and he breathed deeply, filling each pore with joy.

He took his fill of watching her, then eased himself from under the covers, humming softly as he rekindled the fire and put on a fresh pot of coffee.

“Crane.” A little whisper came from some nearby bushes.

“You can come out now, Betsy.” He’d known she was there for several minutes.

She hurried to his side, leaning against his shoulder.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He hugged her.

“Was it a good surprise?”

“A very good surprise.”

“Then I don’t mind missing you for one night.”

He smiled. “Do Mr. and Mrs. Strong know you’re here?”

She nodded. “Mrs. Strong was feeding the baby. She saw me go.”

The coffee boiled, and Crane reached around the child to get a cupful.

“When’s Maggie going to wake up?”

Crane shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you suppose we should help her?” He had to hold the child back. “Maybe we should do it together.” Not for anything would he miss the chance to see Maggie’s expression when she first opened her eyes.

He hunkered down at her side, releasing Betsy, who threw herself across Maggie’s chest.

“Maggie, wake up.” She patted Maggie’s cheeks.

Maggie’s eyes opened slowly. Crane couldn’t breathe as he waited for that moment when she’d see him. She saw Betsy first and groaned. “Who let you in?”

The child leaned back. “Crane did. He said I could wake you up.”

“He did, did he?” And her gaze found him.

His heart slammed into his ribs. Half awake, her eyes dark as deep water, she looked so kissable he could hardly stand it. He smiled, not caring that he probably looked like a love-struck fool.

Her cheeks darkened, and her gaze danced away.

“Come on, Maggie—get up.” Betsy shook her.

Maggie tried to pull the covers to her chin. Crane caught a glimpse of her bare shoulder, and his mouth dried. Perceiving her difficulty, he caught Betsy in his arms. “Come on, little Miss Betsy. Let’s go see how Mrs. Strong is doing.”

As they ducked into the open, he whispered over his shoulder, “We’ll give you a few minutes.”

He and Betsy returned to the main camp. Sally Jane was leaning over the fire, frying bacon. “There you are. Join us for breakfast.”

Crane waited for Betsy to settle beside Sally Jane, then he headed back.

“Good morning, Maggie.” She sat next to the fire, nursing a cup of coffee. She lifted her gaze. Dark, questioning, and—dare he hope—warm with a just-kissed, just-loved, and mighty-happy-about-it expression.