A Place Called Harmony, page 20
Matheson and McAllen were poring over what they called a city map as if the town were already built. The captain wanted to go out as soon as the rain stopped and measure the streams. The last thing they needed to worry about was flooding across the place they’d sectioned off as the town square.
For a while Clint stood around watching the women quilt as the Matheson boys played under the frame. Jessie and Momma Roma’s youngest son were playing checkers on the floor of the store. By early afternoon Harmon Ely had taken up drinking with Harry Woolsey. Neither was a very enthusiastic drinker, but it passed the afternoon.
About the time Clint thought he might go up and take a nap, his wife asked him to try on the shirt she’d made for him.
They left Danny sleeping in his basket beside the women and went up to their room. The rainy day made the small room almost dark enough to need a light, but Clint doubted they’d be there long enough to bother.
He pulled off his worn shirt. When he slipped on the new one, he felt the difference in the fine cut of the shoulders and the sleeves. The material was probably the best she could find at the trading post, but she’d finished it like one of the fine custom-made shirts he’d seen in a Houston tailor’s window. The shoulders had plenty of give and the sleeves were long enough not to pull when he moved. He was a man bigger than most and never could remember a shirt fit so right.
“I added a double row of stitches where the sleeves join the yoke so you wouldn’t pull them out so easily,” Karrisa said as she brushed her fingers along her work.
“This is nice, dear. Really nice. But you didn’t have to go to so much trouble. I’m not a man used to being pampered. Maybe make something for yourself.”
She stood in front of him and smoothed the material out as she buttoned each button. “I liked making it for you. I thought of you while I worked. The width of your shoulders that I slept on during the train ride. The way you move, always aware, always ready for trouble. I thought this color might warm the cold blue of your eyes.”
Clint didn’t move. She’d never said so much to him at one time. It was like she’d saved up all she had to say and said it at once.
On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. When she didn’t move, he tilted her head up with one finger and gently kissed her lips. The kiss he’d waited so long for didn’t disappoint. Her lips were every bit as soft and full as he remembered.
“Come closer,” he whispered against her wet lips just before he pulled an inch away. He wanted her coming to him. He needed to know there was no doubt that she wanted this between them.
Her hands moved up to his shoulders as she closed the distance between them.
“Are you sure you want to be so close to me?” Clint gave her one more chance to back away. He’d made up his mind he wouldn’t push this shy creature. If she came to him, she came of her own free will.
“Yes,” she answered. “I want this between us.”
That was all he needed to hear. His hands slid around her waist as he pressed her to him. His mouth tugged at her bottom lip and she opened to a deep kiss. The memory of their first kiss that he’d carried with him for two weeks blended with another memory he knew he’d keep until the day he died.
He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Lifting her off the ground, he straightened as her body rested on his. The feel of her pressed against him was quickly moving from being a longing to a need. When her fingers dug into his hair, he opened her mouth wide and explored.
There was so much he didn’t know about her. But right now, with her in his arms, he knew that he wanted her. This shy, fragile woman with her secret past and fears deeper than he’d ever seen was the one person who made him feel alive.
This silent broken woman who didn’t even look at him most of the time was willingly giving him exactly what he needed. Contact. He’d been so alone for so long that her body resting on his was almost too much for his senses to bear.
He felt her shiver in his arms and he lowered her back to the floor. Out of breath, he forced himself to pull away from her lips but not from the nearness of her.
“Too much?” he whispered against her ear, knowing that the kiss had been far deeper than he’d planned. “Am I demanding more than you’re ready to give, dear?” He could have asked himself the same question. He’d allowed no comfort from a woman since his wife died. “You taste so good. You feel so good. I may drown in this pleasure you allow me.”
She buried her face against his throat, her breath coming fast. “No,” she whispered. “It wasn’t too much. I just—I just never thought it would be like this. You make me feel warm all over. I’m not afraid of you. I don’t want to stop. Please hold me.”
Dear God, she was begging him. For two weeks he’d wondered if she’d allow him one more kiss and here she was asking for more.
He laughed and kissed her hair. “We need to ration kisses or I fear we may become addicted.”
“Of course.” She backed away. “If that’s what you wish.”
He tugged her into the circle of his arms. “But not yet, dear. Don’t move away so fast. Right now all I wish is to have you against me, so close I can feel your heart beat.”
This time she came to him quickly, surprising him. She wanted more and he was perfectly willing to accommodate her wish. If his brain exploded with the overdose, he’d risk it. The thought crossed his mind that he would risk anything to know he mattered to someone again.
He cupped the back of her head and turned her just right so that his mouth fit over hers fully. His hands moved from her waist up, stroking the sides of her body as he took her breath away with his passion. Her mouth was soft, timidly waiting for his kiss. He found her shy hesitance blended with her willingness to try intoxicating. She made him want to be tender.
When he finally ended the kiss, he’d become addicted to the smell of her, the feel of her, the taste of her. He moved to her throat, enjoying the rapid pulse as his mouth nibbled along her soft skin. He couldn’t let her go. It wasn’t time to end this with a kiss. He wanted more of her. “Lean your head back for me, dear,” he whispered as he gently tasted her neck.
She closed her eyes and smiled her little smile as if waiting for a gift. He knew she’d run if he stepped too far, but he wanted to please her and, if she wanted a little more, he’d do just that.
He tilted her over one arm as his free hand tugged at the buttons of her dress. Kissing each one as it gave, he worked his way down to the V between her breasts.
She stiffened at his boldness.
“Easy now, dear, I’m not going to hurt you. Just relax and I promise you’ll enjoy it as much as I do. If you want to stop at any time, just say so. I’ll go no further.”
She nodded once, silently telling him to continue.
Her trust of him made him want to go slow, make it perfect for her. He moved his hand along the open collar. When her dress opened, revealing her undergarment, he lowered and kissed the rise of her breasts over her cotton camisole.
“I’ve always wanted to tell you how beautiful you are right here.” He kissed her as his finger trailed along the top of her breasts. “So beautiful,” he repeated.
She cried out softly with pleasure.
He straightened her and once more captured her mouth, wanting another kiss more than he wanted to breathe. She was liquid in his arms, moving with him as if they were slowly dancing, letting him hold her any way he wanted. As he journeyed to the valley between her breasts once more, he realized he’d never kissed a woman with such hunger. He was starving and she was his only way to survive.
She smelled so good. Like a warm summer day, fresh and newborn. He opened his mouth, needing to taste her throat. As he moved down, pressing his face against her throat, he heard her make a little sound.
Glancing up, he watched her rock her head back and forth as if she were drifting with a tide. Moving his fingers across her camisole and along the exposed flesh of her throat, he finally reached her now slightly swollen lips. When he pressed his thumb against her mouth, she didn’t open her eyes but opened her mouth, letting him brush along her wet lips. Velvet, he thought.
He drew her to him then. Holding her against him as he took in the nearness of her. She let him take his time, never pushing away, never holding back. Finally when she moaned, he knew he’d found exactly how she liked to be kissed and several places she liked to be touched.
The realization that if he didn’t stop soon he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sobered him, and he broke the kiss. Lifting her up, he walked to the one chair and sat down, pulling her atop him.
For a while he just held her, thinking of how this shy woman had affected him more than anyone or anything had in years. He moved his hands over her dress, feeling a body that, though still slim, was nicely rounded in places.
“Karrisa.” He whispered her name as if the one word were an answer to a prayer. “Karrisa, I can’t get enough of you.” He held her close.
She cried softly against his shoulder. He didn’t turn loose and she made no move to slip away.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Yes.”
“Then button your dress.” He wasn’t sure he could touch her so intimately and then walk away. “We should probably go back downstairs.”
She straightened and fastened the buttons he’d kissed. When she slipped off his lap he didn’t try to stop her, but his hand lingered at her waist.
“There is no need to cry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Her hair was in her face again and he couldn’t see her eyes. She was still so frail he feared he might have held her too tightly.
“No.” Her slender hands moved over the wrinkles in her dress. “You can stop asking me that, Truman. I don’t think you’d ever hurt me.”
He waited, wishing she’d give him some reason why she’d cried, but he’d promised not to ask. If she’d never been kissed like a man kisses a woman or if she’d been abused in the past, he’d probably moved way too fast. Yet she believed that he wouldn’t hurt her, even now when what they’d done made her cry. She’d trusted him and he swore he’d never hurt her.
He stood. Suddenly their little room seemed even smaller. “Are you ready to go down?” He needed time to think.
“Yes, Truman.” Pushing her hair back, she looked at him. “I’m ready.”
The woman who’d been in his arms moments ago now looked very proper. A lady, he thought. A proper lady with her dress buttoned up to the throat, showing none of the satin flesh he’d touched, and kissed, and tasted.
Karrisa turned toward the door, but his hand on her arm stopped her. “Tell me. How do you feel about what we just did?” He couldn’t ask about her past, but he could ask this. If she hated what they’d done or was just kissing him because she thought it was her wifely duty, he swore he’d never touch her again.
She stared at her arm resting in his light grip, then raised her head and shook her straight midnight hair away from her face. “It frightens me a little, the way you make me feel all warm inside. The hunger you have for me. Only when you hold me I feel wanted, cared about. Cherished.” His shy wife straightened as if trying to be brave. “I liked what we just did, Truman. If you have no objections, I’d like it if we do it again?”
Clint froze, trying not to show how deeply her words set his mind to rest. “I think we might, dear. Maybe tonight if you’re not too tired.” He let his hand move up her arm and slide along her back. “And you’re right, Karrisa, I do find I have a hunger for you.”
She smiled and whispered, “And I you, it seems. Will you unbutton my dress again tonight? I liked watching you do that very much. Clint.”
“I will.” He fought the urge to do it right now. The sound of his first name on her lips somehow spoke more than any words of passion. In his mind he was already kissing his way back down to the top of her camisole.
“That would be acceptable.” She turned the handle, opening their door slightly. “And I’m glad I married you. You’re an honorable man. You’ve been good to me and to Danny, but that is not the reason I let you kiss me.”
“Want to tell me what is?” He liked the way she talked, when she talked. A soft voice, gentle words like an educated lady.
“No.”
“Then how about telling me why you cried?” he whispered from just behind her. He found himself drawn to her, but more than that, he wanted to understand her.
“No,” she answered, and slipped into the hallway.
The door closed a moment before he leaned his forehead against it. He now had no doubt that she liked him touching her because the lady had no problem telling him no to any other form of communication.
Hell, he was no good at conversation either. Maybe they should just stick to kissing. They had no trouble there.
He grinned. His silent wife had a hunger for him. He felt half drunk and he hadn’t opened a bottle. Karrisa, his Karrisa, was no longer a stranger he could ever think of leaving.
Chapter 27
Maybe it was old Granny Gigi’s funeral or maybe Patrick had just stayed up too late the night before building the coffin, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that death was stalking him. At twenty his life was about to end.
The cloudy day did nothing to cheer him as he stepped out on the trading post porch. He tried working for a while, then visiting with the captain about street plans in a town everyone was now calling Harmony, but his mind kept going back to the discussion just before he and Shelly had heard the bell ringing. The fact that he now knew that Shelly was worried about their father coming was no comfort to Patrick.
The fear of death became lead in the pit of his stomach. He could almost feel the life being suffocated out of him or his blood dripping out slowly.
He could think of only one person who probably wanted him dead right now, but surely his father wouldn’t really come. His old man hated traveling, camping out, having to cook his own food. He wouldn’t come. Not after a month. Not now when all was good in Patrick’s life. Only he knew Solomon. Once he got a mission in his mind, there was no turning back.
Patrick heard the door open and footsteps on the porch, but he didn’t turn around.
“You all right?” Annie asked him as she handed him a cup of coffee.
“I’m fine. I thought I’d go out and check on our prisoner.” Patrick didn’t want to talk to his Annie. He was afraid if he did, she’d guess how worried he was. Lifting the cup, he added, “This will help warm me up for the run.”
She smiled. “I’ll have a blanket for you to wrap up in when you get back. Don’t be gone too long, supper will be ready soon.”
Patrick didn’t want to leave her, but he felt like he was moving into a dark place in his mind and he needed to be alone and think. He needed to walk, and if he waited much longer it would be dark. Rain or not, he’d go to the woods and think.
When he passed the barn, he heard Shelly working on a door that would eventually go on Truman’s home. Everyone else seemed to think that because there had been a funeral, no one should work today, but Shelly worked. He always did. Maybe he figured he’d have no family to raise, so he’d leave his mark on the wood.
Jessie was helping him. Maybe the girl would have more talent for working with wood than she did yarn. It was downright hard to compliment her on her knitting when no one had any idea what she’d made.
Patrick walked past the barn and turned off toward the trees when he thought he was out of sight of Shelly and the trading post. The rain was warmer than it had been. Spring was on its way.
He crossed over to where the streams met. The captain kept talking about this place as the heart of the town, and maybe it would be. The water from two streams mixed together for a hundred yards in a raging fight, then broke peacefully in two once again. Ancient rocks held the banks so they couldn’t expand at the middle. Hundreds of years of water had worn the banks smooth as glass, only they still held their post.
This place was starting to grow on him. This town that the old woman had called Harmony. Sitting on the damp grass at high ground, Patrick could see where the streams united. In nature’s dripping watercolors of the rain he saw the reflection of a future town. He wanted to be a part of it. He wanted his children and grandchildren to be the teachers, and bankers, and farmers around this place.
He’d build each building carefully, using all the skill he had. There would be no shacks with painted storefronts like he’d seen in other towns. He’d make sure there was a harmony in the buildings.
Only all he planned might not come true if his father rode in with his disciples ready to strike down the son who’d gone to the devil. There would be no reasoning with the man. Patrick knew what he had to do. The one thing he could do to protect Annie and Shelly.
He had to face his father alone. Even if Solomon killed him, Annie and Shelly would be safe. They would want to be at his side when he stood before his father, but Patrick couldn’t, wouldn’t let them.
To carry out his plan, he’d have to lie to Annie. The one thing he’d sworn he’d never do. The one thing she said she’d never forgive. But even if it cost him her love, he had to face his father alone.
Slowly a plan took shape. His father wouldn’t show up by himself. He’d always been able to draw followers to help him do what he called “the Lord’s work.” Solomon would want to confront Patrick without anyone around who might be on Patrick’s side. After years of lectures, he knew how his father would rage. Solomon might never listen to reason, but he wasn’t a fool. He’d wait and watch until he could catch Patrick by himself, and then he’d bring his wrath down on his youngest son with no mercy. Patrick would pay for the abandonment of the other sons. In Solomon’s mind they’d betrayed him and there would be only one punishment. Death.
All Patrick had to do was make sure that he was alone at different times of the day or night. Which wouldn’t be easy. Either Shelly or Annie always accompanied him along with Truman and Matheson on work days.
