Chasing the Sunset(8)

You are a beast, he thought disgustedly. What is wrong with you? She is in the grip of something horrifying and all you can think about is fornication. He smiled wryly. He was standing stark naked with an attractive, nearly naked female and he wondered why he was lusting after her. Maggie whimpered again, and all levity fled from his mind.

“Ssh,” he whispered. “Ssh, it is okay.”

“Papa?” she whispered. “Make him go away. Do not let him hurt me anymore.”

“I will not, sweeting,” he whispered back, and stroked her hair back from her sweaty forehead. "He will never hurt you again." Tenderness threatened to consume him as she turned her face blindly into his palm. Nick felt something twist in his gut as she pressed her lips against his fingers and then gripped his hand with her smaller one.

“Do not leave me,” she begged.

He sat on the edge of the bed. “I will not,” he said. “I will stay with you until you go to sleep.” He picked up the coverlet. “Let me tuck you in.”

Maggie curled up under the warm blanket and he watched her drift back into a peaceful sleep. He determinedly kept his eyes on the delicate lines of the features that were delineated by the soft moonlight seeping through the window in her room, and tried to ignore the desire raging through his body. He stroked her hair one more time, his fingers going unbidden to the slippery strands, and she murmured something as she cuddled her pillow. Nick had a sudden deep urge to be a pillow. He damped down his desires and watched her until he was sure she was deeply asleep, and then left the room, taking great care to be quiet.

In his own room, he lay on the bed with his hands behind his head and stared broodingly at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pulse that still thumped in his groin. This is going to be trouble, he thought grimly. Maybe a trip to see the widow Henderson was in order. He had just been too long without a woman, that was all. He would talk to Ned about moving into the house, too.

*********************************************************

“Good morning, Maggie,” he said quietly to her back. She shivered with a remembered terror, then made her hands stop shaking through sheer effort of will.

“Good morning, sir,” she replied calmly, turning from the oven to wipe her hands on the apron she wore. The garment dwarfed her slender figure and Maggie knew she must look ridiculous. She wrapped dignity around herself much as she had wrapped the apron strings around herself thrice.

“If you would seat yourself in the dining room, sir, I would serve you your breakfast,” she said smoothly, her eyes lowered. She was a perfect picture of servility, and she should be, she thought bitterly. She had had three years to practice that emotion. A quiet chuckle brought her head up sharply.

“No need for that.” A grin crinkled the skin at the corners of his brown eyes.

He had beautiful eyes, she thought detachedly. They were the rich deep brown of strong coffee and they were framed with long, curling lashes. The twinkle in them invited her to share in the joke. His smile was gorgeous, exposing his white teeth and one deep dimple. Do not waste your time trying to charm me, she thought silently, suddenly angry with him. It will not work.

“I do not stand on such ceremony. I will just take a plate here in the kitchen.”

She watched dumbfounded as he poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot she had brewed and left to stay warm on the back of the iron cookstove, then seated himself at the rough table, folding his long legs underneath with the effortlessness of long practice. Her mouth trembled as he brushed past her, his sleeve just catching hers. She felt seared at the contact and jerked her arm away, staring at him.

“Whatever you have cooked smells wonderful,” he told her cheerfully. “I am so glad you have come here. My breakfast for the last month has been strong coffee and hard biscuits.”

“I . . . I m..made porridge and, and . . . bacon.” His brown eyes regarded her over the rim of his coffee mug. She composed herself with an effort. “Eggs, if you want them. There are biscuits, too. Not hard ones,” she could not resist adding, and cringed at the tone of her voice. Had she not learned her place yet? Were not the lessons in humility she had received strong enough? No, she must always assuage her need for a tart answer and get herself in trouble.

“I am glad to hear it,” Nick said gently. “I would like two eggs, please, with my breakfast.” He studied the rigidity of her figure as she turned away from him and busied herself placing items on the table. He noted with displeasure that she still kept a respectable distance between them and seemed to stop breathing when she came in close. When she was forced to move in closer to put his plate in front of him, he surreptitiously closed his eyes and breathed in her warm scent. He could smell the soap she had used that morning, and bread dough, and an underlying, spicier scent that enticed him to lean closer, close enough to feel the warmth rising off her body. He wanted to lay his head on the pillow of her breast, he wanted to . . . He snapped his eyes open and shifted uncomfortably on the wooden chair. She would not welcome anything he wanted to do, he reminded himself harshly. He looked at the lovely curve of her back as she leaned over the stove, thumped his cup down hard and was instantly sorry as she jumped. He cleared his throat.

“May I have some more coffee, please?” I would get it myself if I did not have the biggest erection of my life, he thought sardonically. At least she has to get close to me now, he thought, then hated himself when she filled his cup and moved quickly away, still watching him warily from the corners of those remarkably beautiful eyes. He ate his breakfast without words, without tasting anything, mumbled something he hoped was appropriate, and left in a daze.

What is wrong with me? he asked himself as he went through his morning schedule on automatic. I have seen women’s breasts before. I have had unrequited lusts, and even some who haunt my dreams still. None had the power to disrupt quite the way that this one had. None had made him act in quite this manner. He had spent the rest of last night lying awake, frustrated. Even satisfying himself had not cured the ache he felt. He had imagined her when she had wakened and tormented himself with visions of her washing herself before she dressed, had imagined the droplets of water beading on those perfect breasts, the cloth rubbing lovingly, sensually, along the sinuous curve of her body. He wanted to press his face into her stomach and warm her cool skin, lick the water from the silken hair between her thighs.

He had lain in bed, trying to get himself under control, now here he was, only to find his blood quickening and his body hardening at the slightest glance from her. Fearful of him or not, she had him down on his proverbial knees and she did not even know it. Nick pressed his lips together firmly and made a sudden vow to himself. Maggie would never know how vulnerable he was to her. That kind of information in the hands of a woman was dangerous; his marriage had hammered that point home time and again. He had to find out what she wanted. She could grow to trust him, and he could help her to heal whatever wounds she carried. And she could do it without ever understanding the power of his lust for her. He would gain her trust and her bed and put out this fire that raged in him. Once he had her in his bed, his lust would eventually go away, just like it had every other time. Or so he told himself, ignoring the voice inside his head that told him this time was different.





TWO

Clucking and pecking, the chickens moved around Maggie’s feet as she threw the feed out in a wide swath around her. She laughed when one stalwart hen pecked at the leather of her shoe.

"There is no more, you greedy thing," she said, holding the empty basket upside down and shaking out the last bit of feed. "You are fat enough as it is."

She enjoyed taking care of the chickens here at the farm; the chicken coop held more than twenty laying hens, along with a few young roosters destined for the chopping block. There were more than enough eggs for the household, and half of the week’s take went to the general store in Geddes every week. At first, Maggie had been afraid of the chickens. She had been pecked nearly to death when she had tried to gather the eggs every morning, but she had got the knack of it soon enough. Now the hens were used to her, and she rarely got pecked at all anymore.

Maggie put her hands in the small of her back and stretched luxuriously as she went in the back door to the kitchen. She was tired, but it was a good tired. She had been scrubbing the filth of months out of the kitchen and pantry for the last two weeks, and she finally felt as if she had finished. Now all she had to do was maintain. She looked around at the gleaming floors and shiny pots and pans hanging on the clean walls and felt an immense pride in her accomplishment. These rooms had been a mess when she started. Now they were clean and neat, the pantry was organized, as was the smokehouse. Only the garden was left to clean up, and it was not bad because Kathleen had been doing as much as she could to keep it up. This house was big, and Kathleen had been working her fingers to the bone trying to keep up, or so she had informed Maggie bluntly the first day that they had met. Kathleen had studied her coolly, her sky blue eyes enigmatic, then nodded briskly.