White Wolf (16 page)

With Shilo in good hands, Jessie unhitched the oxen and washed their backs, checking for any sores caused by the wooden yokes. Then she gave their feet a once-over before watering them, then turning them out to graze. Frowning, she turned away. One of the oxen had loose shoes. She’d let Rook know so they could take the animal into Fort Kearny; it was difficult to
shoe an ox on the trail. Oxen weren’t able to stand on three legs, so a ditch had to be dug and a harness rigged to cradle the animal over the ditch to allow the men to work on their feet.

“Jessie, the grain is gone,” Kerstin announced, dragging an empty feed sack.

Jessie looked into the trough attached to one wagon. “They have plenty for tonight, plus there’s lots of grazing,” she reassured the young girl. “Why don’t you run out to Duarte and tell him we need more for tomorrow?”

“Can I ride Shilo?” The girl’s bright, lively blue eyes were wide as she silently pleaded for Jessie to say yes.

Hiding her smile, Jessie knew full well that she couldn’t deny the girl. “Yes, you may ride her.” With a whoop of happiness, Kerstin hopped onto Shilo’s bare back and rode away, her blond braids flying out behind her. Jessie watched until horse and rider reached the feed wagon, then allowed herself a few minutes to wander to the edge of the river, where the cry of birds hidden from view among tree branches and the chattering of brownish squirrels called out to her. She absorbed the beauty of life, one so different from the one she’d left behind.

She turned her head and stared down the river’s wagon-lined banks. The thought of crossing the fast-moving waters left her innards quivering. From her earlier reading, Jessie knew the Kansas River was six hundred feet wide and forty feet deep. Once again, her gaze roamed down the long string of wagons camped along the south side of the river. In the morning, each of those oxen- or mule-drawn wagons would line up and await its turn to be floated across by ferry. She drew comfort in looking at the wagons on the opposite banks. Some of her worry abated. If they had made it over safely, so would Wolf’s group.

Jordan cradled his wife close to his chest. When he came to a stand of trees past a twisting bend in the river, he stopped and glanced around. There was no one in sight. Clucking, he urged his horse deeper into the trees. Perfect, he thought, staring at a secluded place near the river. The trees and tall grass shielded them from view, providing them absolute privacy.

He glanced down at her. She looked so frail and vulnerable. His green eyes softened with love. “Cora? Sweetheart, wake up,” he murmured tenderly, careful not to startle her. Coralie stirred and mumbled something. With gentle fingers, he swept wispy strands of blond hair away from her face and leaned down to plant a light kiss on her warm, supple lips. This time she stretched, her lips parting. Jordan bent down for another sweet kiss, but Coralie was wide-awake and struggling to sit up.

“Jordan, what— Where am I?” she stammered in confusion, glancing around.

“I’ve found us the perfect place to make camp. Just think, Cora, just you and me, really alone for the first time since our wedding.” He nuzzled the creamy flesh below her ear.

“Don’t call me Cora, Jordan. You know I don’t like it.” She pouted. Suddenly she grew still as comprehension dawned. She pushed at him, trying to put distance between them, but she was wedged between him and the saddle horn. Glancing up at him, her baby blue eyes grew wide, first with dismay, and then the familiar look of fear marred her doll-like features.

Jordan cupped her lower jaw gently and lowered his lips to hers. Slowly and thoughtfully, he nibbled his way from corner to corner, teasing, nipping and tasting, while murmuring reassurances. How he longed to thrust his tongue inside and taste her honeyed moistness, but he forced himself to go slowly, contenting himself with drawing her lower lip into his mouth to suckle. To his infinite pleasure, she slumped in his arms, her hands clutching his shirt. He drew her tightly to him, his heart beating against hers. “Oh, God, Coralie, I’ve waited so long.” His tongue traced the soft fullness of her parted lips.

Coralie sucked in her breath when his tongue touched hers. She was paralyzed with fear and some other emotion she couldn’t identify as Jordan’s tongue touched and stroked the inside of her mouth. A strange, lethargic feeling washed over her. Her limbs felt heavy. She couldn’t have moved had her life depended on it. Her mind screamed that she should put an end to this shocking behavior, but her heart pounded with the pleasure of it. She slid her fingers up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing the two of them even closer, wanting this feeling to go on forever.

Of its own accord, her tongue responded to Jordan’s demands. Tasting him, she discovered she liked the feel of him in her mouth. When the backs of his fingers caressed her cheek and trailed across her jaw, then down her throat, shivers of delight followed. He continued to murmur soft, loving words as his lips pulled away from hers to trail along the soft curve of her jaw. Then his tongue darted out to lave the inside of one small, perfectly shaped ear. She jerked with surprised pleasure.

Then his lips were everywhere. Across each eyelid, as fleeting as a butterfly searching out the sweetest nectar, they landed briefly, then were gone, only to touch the tip of her turned-up nose before flitting off to tease the corner of her parted lips. Each breath became a gasp of air, a shallow pant. And when his lips kissed the pulsing hollow of her throat, her head fell back as she gave herself up to his wonderful kisses. Just when she thought she’d go mad with his teasing, he lifted his head. Coralie clutched her husband. “Jordan,” she cried out, afraid of the pulsing need building deep within her.

“It’s okay, love,” he murmured. “Open your mouth, Corie, kiss me back.” She did, her first attempts clumsy and tentative, but with each passing second she grew bolder, tracing his full, moist lips with the tip of her tongue.

While she explored and learned the taste and feel of him, Jordan’s other hand ran up her thigh, over the valley of her waist and moved upward, past her ribs. But when he cupped one full breast with his large hand and kneaded the throbbing flesh, reality returned, and with it a rush of old fears. She panicked. “No, Jordan.” She pushed at him in earnest.

Jordan lifted his head, his eyes glazed with love and passion. He stared into her eyes. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers traced her brows.

Coralie’s cheeks burned with shame and humiliation. “It’s…daylight. We can’t do this. Someone might see us,” she whispered, desire and fear warring within her.

Jordan took several deep breaths and glanced away from her. He finally dismounted. Reaching up, he lifted her down, holding her against the length of him, pressing that part of him she feared to her belly. “I want you, Coralie; feel how much I need you. Look around you,” he urged, his voice gentle. “We’re alone.”

Coralie stepped out of his arms, away from his hard heat, shaking her head. “We can’t. Someone might come.” Coralie’s wary gaze roamed over the isolation of the scene. Panic set in. They were alone, just as he said. She gnawed at her lower lip and looked out toward the river, then up and down the banks, searching for the familiar wagons of their party, but only trees, bushes and water met her seeking gaze. “Where is everyone?” Her voice rose with alarm.

Jordan gripped her shoulders gently as he turned her to face him. “The others are camped down thataway.” He indicated the direction. “But tonight it’s just you and me, Coralie. No more tears, no more games, no more excuses. Tonight we celebrate our wedding and become man and wife in all ways.”

Coralie turned her back on her husband, feeling the heat radiating from him. She resisted the urge to lean against his strong, warm chest, resisted the urge to turn and beg him to kiss her
again. She enjoyed the kissing, but feared the rest of the marriage act. Her fingers plucked nervously at her skirts. “Please, Jordan, I need more time.”

Jordan turned away to unload the horse with a harsh curse. A sliver of pain ran through her when she realized she’d hurt him—again. She bit her lip. She didn’t mean to—she liked his kisses—but she didn’t want him to hurt her, and she knew from her friends that the act of consummation hurt. Listening to Eirica each night had proved to Coralie that they were right.

Coralie set up their tent, then turned to see Jordan sitting on the hard, cold ground, pulling off his boots. She gulped. Her time had run out. There were no more excuses to be given or accepted. She backed away from the tent.

“What are you doing, Jordan?” she said in a squeak, her eyes wide and wary when he stood, shrugging out of his shirt. But when he unfastened his jeans and looked at her, she held her hands out in front of her, warding him off. “Uh, Jordan? Can’t we at least wait until dark? What if someone comes?” she stammered.

“No one will come. There weren’t any other wagons behind us all day, and those who got here ahead of us are camped closer to the ferry crossing so they can be among the first to cross tomorrow. I made sure we’re well away from everyone else.” Then he began to shed the new blue jeans her father had given him.

Coralie turned abruptly and stared out over the river, noticing for the first time the small, secluded cove they were in. She was trapped with nowhere to flee. Begging hadn’t done any good, so she drew upon anger. “If you think for one moment I’ll allow you to do this to me, you’ve got another think coming, Jordan. I won’t allow you to do this. Take me back to my brother,” she ordered.

“No, we are husband and wife. You’ve nothing to fear. I’ll be gentle,” he reassured her, coming up behind her.

Suddenly she found herself swept off her feet and cradled against her husband’s broad, hard chest. Fear of the unknown brought the roar of blood pulsing in her ears.

When Jordan spoke, his voice seemed to come from far away. “How about a bath first?”

Startled, she stared up into his twinkling gaze and realized he was carrying her into the water. “Jordan, I don’t want to bathe in the river,” she said. “It’s too cold.”

Jordan chuckled. “I’ll warm you up,” he promised, pushing his way through the fast-moving current until he was waist-deep in the water. Coralie tightened her hold around his neck. She struggled to remain above the gently swirling river tugging at her skirts.

“Let me heat some water and bathe in the tent. You can bathe in the river.”

“Uh-uh, I’ve waited too long for this. We’ll bathe together.”

Jordan lowered them both, keeping his arms tight around her. Coralie barely had time to grab a breath before he dunked them both under. As they surfaced, the scream died in her throat, and she sucked in her breath against the cold water swirling around her. Jordan shook his head, sending droplets of water flying.

Coralie held up her hands to block the droplets of water. Stepping back, she slipped under. Jordan grabbed her and pulled her to him. “Now, doesn’t that feel better?” He grinned.

Sputtering and choking, Coralie didn’t know whether to scream or cry. The current tugged at her ruined skirts, trying to pull her back down. She was forced to grab hold of her husband for balance. Jordan held up a small sliver of soap and began to work up a lather.

In spite of her anger, she was mesmerized by her husband’s loving gaze. She stood still when his fingers moved over her face, gently washing away the dirt and grime. Next he lathered her hair and neck, turning her so he could reach each strand of her hair and massage her whole
head. Coralie closed her eyes to avoid the stinging soap and found herself awed by the gentleness of her husband’s touch.

“There, now rinse yourself, Corie. I’ve got you. I won’t let you drown.”

Coralie sank into the swirling water and rinsed the soap from her hair and face. When she surfaced, she wiped the water out of her eyes and glared at her husband, unwilling to admit that she did in fact feel much better.

She tried to return to the bank, but Jordan refused to budge. “I’m cold, Jordan, let me…” Her voice faded when he rubbed the cake of soap across his hair-covered chest, his bulging arms and the two-week-old growth of stubble on his jaw. Coralie sighed with pleasure when he ran his slick hands over hers, soaping her hands.

She buried her fingers amid the lather-covered dark hairs covering his chest. Then he dropped the bar of soap into the water. She turned her head to watch the soap sail away on the current like some small boat caught in the rapids. Her resistance fled, floating downstream with it. Giving in to the desire to touch her husband, she moved her fingers in small, ever-widening circles, smoothing the soap across the wide expanse of his sun-darkened skin.

Jordan sucked in his breath, and she pulled her hands away, afraid that she’d done something wrong. He looked as if he were in pain, but he guided her hands back over the erect nubs of his nipples. “See what you do to me with just your sweet touch.” He groaned.

Coralie licked her lips and eyed her handsome husband. “Jordan, do you think you could kiss me again—like you did before? I did like it.”

Jordan pulled her close, his hands threading themselves through her tangled mass of wet blond hair. She moaned and fell against him, giving herself over to his knee-weakening kiss and heated caresses, and didn’t even protest when he yanked her skirts over her head and dropped the ruined material into the river to be claimed by the greedy current swirling around them. She didn’t care. An aching need filled her, overriding all her fear of becoming a woman.

And this time, when he reached down to take her full, creamy breasts in his hands, she leaned into him. Then he claimed her lips once more, his hands moving around to grip her buttocks as he pulled her into the cradle of his hips. Hot waves of longing washed over her when she felt his hard, pulsing heat.

Jordan scooped her up into his arms and waded out of the river. His eyes, hot with love and desire, promised greater pleasures, but when he reached the entrance to the tent, he stopped and stared down at her, as if afraid she’d changed her mind. Coralie lifted one hand to his cheek. “I love you, Jordan. I’m ready to become your wife,” she whispered, sealing her fate.