James followed Eirica, saw that she made it safely to her tent, then returned to the bedroll beneath his wagon, his mind seeking the wisdom of his actions like a dog chasing its tail. Round and round he went. Had he moved too fast? Had he scared Eirica off for good now? Had he ruined his chance with her?
But he always came back to how right it’d felt. Earlier, he’d feared his timing was off, but not tonight. She’d come to him, willingly, and Lord almighty, she’d responded to his kisses and touch with a passion and need that pushed this own to the breaking point. It had taken everything he possessed not to do more than kiss her and touch her gently.
And it made it so hard to back off and let her return to her tent. They’d be so damn good together, but those same passions, feelings, frightened Eirica. Which began the round of endless worry anew. Was he back where he’d started? Would Eirica rebuild her barriers? Could he find a way to convince her that they were meant to be? He rubbed his face with both hands then combed his fingers through his hair, tired and disheartened at the thought.
Without undressing, he crawled between the worn quilts his mother had made before her untimely death and cradled his head in his hands. Though the quilts had seen better days, should be relegated to the scrap bin, he always felt comforted surrounded by her love. She’d have loved Eirica, he thought. She’d have approved of his choice for a wife.
Staring up at the bottom of the wagon, his gaze absently picked out the shadowy farming implements he’d loaded and tied there for a new start in Oregon, James tried to regain his focus. From his pocket, he pulled out a well-worn rock and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, drawing comfort from the soothing action and the stone’s polished surface between his fingers. His mind wandered.
He’d left behind all the material things he’d held dear: the farm, furniture crafted by his father, a house lovingly decorated by his mother, and memories. So many memories were scattered throughout that small house, so much love, joy and laughter.
The prospect of starting over, building his own home, creating new memories, scared him and took on new meaning now that he knew what his parents had felt when they’d come to Westport at a time when it was still considered the wilds of the west.
Like them, he was laying the foundation not only for himself and his family, but hopefully, generations of Joneses would draw their first breath in that new home, in a new land. He’d pulled up his roots, taken what he could of his parents’ belongings, hoarded his memories, and would soon start a new chapter to add to what his parents had written. New traditions, new joys and new struggles to overcome.
He thought of Eirica, his dream of standing on rich fertile soil, staking out their new home, deciding together where the kitchen would go, where they would sleep, where to put the children’s rooms. He wanted a big house, with lots of space. With Eirica at his side, he’d have a house full of little girls with red hair like their mother. They’d have sons, too, strong like his own brothers and just as adventurous and curious about life as little Ian.
Closing his eyes, he held the image to his heart. Someday, he comforted himself, refusing to believe otherwise. If Eirica couldn’t bring herself to love and trust him, his future stretched out bleak, empty and lonely. He rolled onto his side, clutching the warm stone in his palm. His thumb rubbed a worn groove down the center of one side.
While he understood Eirica’s need to be independent, her fear of men and of being controlled, he also knew just how tough life would be without a husband to take care of her and her children. She needed him, she just didn’t know how badly. Again, he damned Birk for treating her as he had. There wasn’t a person in this wagon party who hadn’t known what went on in that marriage. Hell, they’d all heard Birk forcing himself on her night after at night, staking his claim, proving she belonged to him.
James tensed, fighting the guilt and fury that came from knowing there hadn’t been a single damn thing he could do about it. He’d finally stopped coming into camp at night. But that hadn’t stopped him from laying awake, his imagination running wild. Nights had become his own personal hell, sleeping beneath the same stars at the same time that the woman he loved was being brutalized by her own husband. What Birk had done with Eirica wasn’t making love. Her bruises and the haunting shadows in her eyes had been proof of Birk’s violence and her own helplessness, which matched James’s own, ate at him.
It didn’t surprise James that Eirica vowed never to be involved with another man. But there had to be some way he could prove to her that he wasn’t like Birk. There had to be some way to win her trust. Restless, he flipped over onto his back again. He’d come close to gaining her trust tonight. There’d been longing in her eyes when he’d offered her a stroll in the starlight. She’d responded to his touch with shyness, but with a need that matched his.
He’d already decided to court her, woo her with gifts to prove his love was sincere and his intentions honorable, but he sensed those alone wouldn’t win her heart or her trust. Somehow, he had to show her what real love was like between a man and wife. Like kissing. It’d been obvious to him that kissing was something new to her. He’d sensed wonder and awe in her reaction, and he’d seen the stars in her eyes.
She’d enjoyed his kiss and his touch had filled her with a wonder she hadn’t been able to hide. It made sense. From what he knew of Birk, it was a good guess she’d never been shown the gentle, tender wonders of love and romance.
He snuggled down between his covers, holding close to his heart Eirica’s sugar-sweet response. She had no idea how it could be between them, didn’t understand that her body knew and yearned for what he could give her. But none of this dealt with her belief that she had to be independent, had to go it alone to maintain the control and security she sought.
Suddenly he realized that overcoming her fears of him, of his touch, wasn’t the problem. He had to prove that if she married him, she wasn’t giving up control or her independence. How could he convince her of that? She was right. The law would give him control, and right now, she didn’t trust him not to take advantage of it as Birk had done. He thought of her accusation—one she’d made twice today—of how he barged into her affairs. But what was he supposed to do: let her struggle, fail?
He thought of Jessie, how when she’d been younger, he’d had to force himself to allow her to learn on her own, to make mistakes and to deal with the consequences. But that was different. It was in a controlled environment. Out here, a mistake—like today’s—could cost lives. Asking him to let her put herself or her children at risk was out of the question, which brought him back at the beginning. What to do?
Faced with a bigger problem than he’d suspected, he scooted over to one of the wagon wheels and leaned against it, his body scrunched down so he wouldn’t hit his head on the wagon bottom. Pulling his knees up, his boots resting on the spokes of the wheel across from him, he slid the stone he’d been caressing back into the pocket of his denim pants.
“Trust yourself. Believe in yourself.”
The words came from nowhere, a voice from his distant past that gave him courage and hope. Unable to sleep, knowing it would be a while before he could hope to find slumber, he grabbed the guitar resting against the side of the wagon and cradled it across his lap. He strummed a chord, then another, and another, tuning as he went until a low soothing melody drifted from beneath his wagon.
Unknown to him, several yards away, Eirica lay in her tent, listening. By the time the last note faded, she’d fallen asleep with a smile on her face, her fingers touching her lips.
Burning embers from another fire several miles away sent long, grotesque shadows dancing into the night, across the earth and over a bulky shadow creeping stealthily across the dark land. At any sound—the cough of a man, the soft whisper of a woman soothing a child—the figure dropped to the ground, silent and still.
Only when total silence prevailed once again did he rise from his prone position. Each forward step was made cautiously, his movements slow as he passed one camp after another. Passing a large white tent, Birk Macauley froze at the sound of a childish giggle. His lips curled with hatred and he glared at the unseen family who inadvertently reminded him that he’d lost his. Thanks to that damn meddling White Wolf.
“God-damned nosy breed,” he muttered. “It’s none of his business how I deal with what belongs to me. Gave her airs, made her think she could leave me. Nobody takes what’s mine.” Birk stopped to control his breathing, knowing that to give in to the hatred raging through his body could be dangerous. His wandering alone in the dark of the night would rouse suspicion; questions would be asked.
But controlling his hatred of White Wolf wasn’t easy. The bastard had interfered one too many times in Birk’s affairs, starting with the day they’d left Westport. Eirica had allowed Wolf to nose around in their wagon, and the wagon master had discovered Birk’s stash of whiskey—more than the allotted amount. The bastard had ordered the excess taken back to town and traded for food. If that hadn’t been bad enough, Wolf had later had the nerve to order him to lay off hitting his woman and children.
Birk’s lips twisted with remembered fury and resentment. “A man has a right to treat his family as he sees fit.” His fists clenched and unclenched as he dealt with the fact that he no longer had his family. Just wait until he had the bitch back. She’d never leave him again. His loins tightened with need. Just imagining her fear, her submission to whatever punishment he decided to deal her, hardened him to the point of pain.
Sweat popped out on his face and his hand went to his groin as his vision glazed over. But instead of easing his erection, allowing his body to spill its seed, he fought the pulsing need. Later. When he was somewhere by himself where he could vent his rage without fear of being heard. Then he’d allow himself to enjoy the images filling his mind, luring his lust. Right now, he needed to concentrate on matters at hand: surviving, finding food and, if he were lucky, drink. What he wouldn’t give for a flask of whiskey. Hell, he’d even take snake-head whiskey. Cheap rotgut drink was better than none.
Finally, Birk reached his objective for the night—a lone wagon and single tent set apart from the others, far enough from the trail that it was no longer crowded with tents pitched practically on top of one another. He had no idea who these people were and didn’t care. They were alone, not traveling with a larger group and therefore, an easy mark. He glanced around cautiously. Their fire had burned down, and from the tent came the reassuring sound of soft snores.
Hungry as he hadn’t eaten all day, Birk approached the back of the wagon and pulled from his waistband a small empty canvas sack he’d lifted from another unsuspecting traveler. Luck ran with him. Remnants of the evening meal lay where any beast, two-footed or four, could help themselves. He slid slabs of cold bacon and bannocks into his sack. His gaze shifted side to side as he added the knife that had been used to slice the soft chewy bread, even though he had two other knives hidden in his boots. One more wouldn’t hurt.
Moving silently, he reached into the shadowy interior of the wagon and grabbed another sack sitting within arm’s reach. Inside, he found pilot bread and added the hard tack to his cache of stolen food. That was all he could find without the aid of a light to see better. Scowling, he turned, ready to move on. What he had now would see him through for a few days. The sudden loud cocking of a gun turned his blood cold.
“Stop, ya damn thief. I’ll teach ya to steal from me.”
Birk turned cautiously and faced an elderly man wearing a white nightshirt that fell to just below his knees. In his hands, he held a shotgun leveled at Birk’s chest.
“Drop the sack,” the man ordered, moving closer.
Birk licked his lips, his gaze shifting, searching for escape. He bent down slowly and set the sack in front of him.
“Back away, you thieving scum.”
Birk took a step back, his foot scraping against a cast-iron frying pan. When the old man bent down to pick up the sack, Birk snatched up the pan and jumped forward, swinging his weapon hard. He knocked the rifle from the man’s hands then backhanded the pan across the side of the man’s head.
The emigrant toppled to the ground. A shrill scream rent the air as the man’s wife emerged from the tent. Her cries slashed the quiet of the night. Birk grabbed his sack of pilfered food and the man’s shotgun, then ran away from the trail toward a gully he’d found earlier. If he could just make it, he’d be safe.
Over the next nine days, Eirica and the other emigrants traveled steadily, their wagons creaking over nearly ninety miles of sagebrush-covered plains. They passed Devil’s Gate, and Split Rock. The second resembled Devil’s Gate, except its split was at the top of a ridge. With those wondrous sights behind them, another treat awaited: Ice Slough, a boggy marsh where ice abounded. All the emigrants had to do was reach into the muck to pull out a chunk of ice—in July!
Hot and tired, the travelers enjoyed cold drinks for as long as they could make the ice last. Finally, the Sweetwater River brought them to their objective, the most important landmark of their trip: South Pass. Not only did it bring them to the frontier of Oregon country, the pass was the key to the success of the westward journey.
Most emigrants had imagined a high ridge of mountain with some narrow defile and dramatic crest as they’d experienced with other passes. Few had expected the nearly imperceptible climb through a broad, grassy valley astride the continental divide. Most might not have even known they’d reached the summit but for the noticeable cooling of the atmosphere and the myriad white-capped lofty peaks of the Wind River Range, looming large some twenty miles away.
Eirica, along with Jessie, Coralie and Anne, stopped to survey the nondescript pass. “Never thought it would look like this,” Eirica said, staring around her where the earth seemed to meet a sky gone dark and menacing. She ran her hands over the swell of her child then massaged her lower back. Though eager to rest and look around, the last place she wanted to be was standing on top of the pass if a storm broke. The last couple of days had been hot and muggy with torrents of rain and thundershowers in the afternoons and early evenings.
Jessie stood with hands on hips, her green eyes alight with excitement as she eyed the darkening sky. “There is going to be a spectacular show up here when that storm breaks. Too bad we won’t be here to see it.”
Eirica, Coralie and Anne all rolled their eyes. “Thank the good Lord for that,” Anne breathed.
Coralie smacked Jessie on the shoulder. “It figures you’d think putting yourself in mortal danger is exciting, Jess. You are truly sick in the head.”
Not put off, Jessie laughed. “Hey, I didn’t say I wanted to be up here when it breaks. I’m not stupid. I just said it’d be spectacular.”
“Well, I for one am thankful that this is all there is to South Pass.” Coralie surveyed the area, speculatively. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It sure doesn’t look all that important to me.”
Eirica and Anne hid their smiles and waited. The byplay between the two young women never failed to amuse Eirica, and with Coralie feeling the exhaustion that came with the early stages of pregnancy, she provided lots of ammunition for her sister-in-law. Jessie had no tolerance for complainers.
Sure enough, Jessie responded to Coralie’s negative comments. “Corie, are you blind? Open your eyes. Look beyond the spot of earth we’re standing on. There, down there, lies Oregon. We’ve made it to the Oregon Territory. From here on, water flows toward the Pacific. It’s a grand adventure.” To emphasize her feelings on the matter, Jessie spun around, arms out. Her hat, old, dusty and full of teeth marks, flew off. She grabbed for it but the wind swept it away.
Sadie, her very pregnant dog, barked sharply and waddled after it. Jessie laughed softly when the dog couldn’t move fast enough to snatch it from the fingers of the playful breeze. Wahoska chased it down and brought it to Sadie who took it from her mate and carried it back to her mistress, albeit with a few more teeth marks than had been there before. Jessie took it and jammed it down on her head, then she gave both animals an affectionate hug. Though the wolf tended to be standoffish with most of the emigrants, he’d accepted both Jessie as his master’s mate and Rook who snuck him prime bits of meat and thick bones.
Coralie shied away from both animals as they left Jessie’s side to chase the wind. “Jessica Jones, you’re disgusting. Everything’s an adventure to you!”
“White, dear sister. Jessie White, now,” she reminded, pride ringing in her voice.
Anne smiled and retied her bonnet ribbons. “I have to admit this has been an adventure, one I shall never forget, though I’m eager to find myself with a roof over my head once again. But now, I actually believe we’ll make it.” Her smile faded. “If we don’t lose all our oxen. We’ve lost two already and the rest are looking beyond weary.”
Silence fell between the women as they resumed walking across the wide summit, each contemplating the hardship of the trail. Heat, lack of good grass and exhaustion were taking their toll on the livestock. Eirica glanced behind her. Alison and Ian were in the wagon under James’s watchful eye while Lara rode with Rook. From the looks of it, her three-year-old was fast asleep.
Eirica smiled. Today was the first since that kiss beneath the stars that James had arrived to take charge of her wagon. Bad weather had kept him tied to the herd. Glancing at the sky, she was surprised to find him here today. Once more, she peered over her shoulder at him. This time he spotted her and lightly tipped his hat in acknowledgment.
Her cheeks burned and she turned away. He might not have been around much during the last week, but one night he’d ridden in to give her a fistful of wildflowers with a couple of long feathers added to it and tied together with a strip of leather to form a posy. She still had it, tucked safely in the wagon where it wouldn’t be crushed. He’d been so endearing when he’d presented it to her, all flushed and awkward and very appealing to her susceptible heart.
The wind gusted, reminding her of the impeding storm. Loose dirt swirled at their feet. Eirica coughed, then covered her mouth with her handkerchief. The other three women did the same, except Jessie, who wore her handkerchief tied around her neck like the men did. Jessie pulled her red triangle of calico up and over her mouth.
Coralie sniggered. “I swear, you look like a bandit, Jessie.” The three women laughed in agreement, each looking at the bullwhip coiled at her waist and the long wicked knife hanging from its leather sheath. Jessie shrugged off her sister-in-law’s good-natured teasing and suggestions that now that she was a married woman, she should dress accordingly.
Eirica for one disagreed. She envied her young friend. Here was a woman who knew how to take care of herself. Twice she’d witnessed Jessie’s skill with that whip. Just thinking about the first time Jessie had come to her rescue made gooseflesh rise on her arms.
Nights with Birk on the trail had been far worse than those in Illinois. In such close quarters with other people, Birk had grown even more jealous, sure that every man who came near them was looking at her. He’d accuse her of encouraging their attention, punish her for sins she hadn’t committed, then prove his dominance over her by claiming her body with his.
The worst times had been when Birk had had too much to drink and couldn’t perform. He’d blame her and make his punishment far worse than if he’d been able to expend his sexual energy on her. At home, she would have gotten up and gone outside her cabin to walk or light a lantern and sit on the porch with her sewing or mending—anything to keep her hands busy. Out here on the trail, there were too many people around to witness her despair. She’d waited until Birk fell asleep, then left the camp to walk off her demons and release her tears of hopelessness where no one could hear.
What Birk did to her with his hands or objects left her feeling dirty, ashamed and oftentimes, in incredible pain. She’d despaired of even surviving her marriage. Only the knowledge that she stood between him and her children had kept her tied to him. She’d been tempted, oh so tempted to run away, to leave him and hide where he could never find her.
On those long solitary walks she’d dreamt of freedom—just her and the quiet of the night—until the one night she’d come across an unsavory drunk who’d decided she was fair game since she was alone. That was the first time Jessie had saved her. With her whip alone, she’d sent the horrible man running.
The second time Jessie had used her whip to help Eirica had been that last night, when Birk had gone into an uncontrollable rage and refused to leave her and Ian alone. Eirica remembered how helpless she’d felt, lying on the ground, covering Ian’s small body with her own to shield him from Birk’s boots and fists. As before, Jessie had fearlessly stepped in to stop Birk—with the full support of the rest of their wagon party. Birk had finally overstepped what the others could tolerate. And when he turned the whip on Jessie, Wolf had furiously stepped in. After a fight with the wagon master, Birk had been banished.
An arm around her shoulders brought her head up. She met Jessie’s worried, dark green gaze. No words were needed between them. Eirica smiled reassuringly to let Jessie know she was all right. Though Jessie didn’t know it, Eirica suspected her young friend of playing the role of her protector on more than just those two occasions.
There had been that hornet attack that had left Birk bedridden for a couple of weeks. And, of course, she now knew that both Jessie and James had slipped sleeping potions in her husband’s drink at Fort Kearny.
Knowing others cared about her eased past pain. An impish grin curved her lips. “I’ve never thanked you for all you’ve done for me and my children, Jessie.”
Jessie lifted a brow. “I didn’t do that much.”
“Keeping my children out of Birk’s way during the days, watching over me night after night, saving me from that drunk, drugging Birk, that’s not much? And if I’m right in my suspicions now that I know you better, I’m willing to bet you were behind the hornet attack.” At Jessie’s start of surprise, Eirica nodded. “You didn’t have to do any of that.”
For a long moment Jessie remained silent, her gaze focused on the sky above.
She kicked a rock, wincing when it nearly hit the person in front of her. Then she sighed and glanced at Eirica. “Yeah, I did. It wasn’t my place, I didn’t even think my actions through, or the possible consequences, but I couldn’t sit and do nothing. Wolf got real angry when he found out. How’d you know I was behind the hornet attack or that I’d drugged his drink?”
Eirica smiled. “I guessed about the hornets—it seemed too coincidental. And James confessed he drugged Birk and said you’d done the same.” She still marveled over the discovery that James had cared enough to try and prevent Birk’s nightly terrorizing of her and the children.
Jessie stopped dead in her tracks. “Are we talking about James, as in my brother, my do-no-wrong brother?”
Threading her arm through Jessie’s, Eirica pulled her forward. “Yep. The very same. Surprised me as well.” Thank goodness she no longer had to worry about Birk or fear what he’d do if he’d ever learned to what extent her young friend—or James—had gone to in order to protect her from his abuse. The last thing she’d wanted was to have someone put themselves at risk for her. She didn’t think she could live with the guilt.
“Well, maybe there’s hope for my big brother yet,” Jessie responded.
Coralie asked something of Jessie but Eirica let their conversation pass over her. She rubbed her arms against the bite of cold in the air. She shifted her gaze to the north, to the high, rugged, snowcapped blue mountain peaks towering in the distance, a dramatic change in terrain. Did they have to go over those? She didn’t even want to know. Ignorance, in this case, seemed bliss. One day at a time, she reminded herself.
“Look, Eirica, there’s Pacific Springs.” They’d left the pass behind them, were easing down the western slope. Jessie pointed toward a green oasis a couple of miles ahead of them.
“What a paradise,” Eirica whispered, comparing all that greenery to the sage and scrub terrain they’d traversed for hundreds of miles. “It reminds me of Ash Hollow.” She glanced at the marsh. “I wonder if we’ll be stopping for a day of rest. The washing needs to be done and there’s so much mending piling up.”
Just that afternoon, Alison had torn her dress. Of course, with the dress being so old, it was literally falling apart. She needed to make her children new clothes but had no material to do so. She’d have to sell her mother’s china when she reached Oregon—if there were buyers. She just needed one bolt of cloth, but with very little money, it seemed out of reach.
Coralie fell back and sniffed. “Washing and mending is not what I’d call rest, Eirica. That’s a full day’s work. I think I’d rather walk all day.” She glanced at her hands, grimacing, but didn’t say anything.
Jessie put her arms around her. “Don’t fret, Corie. Your hands are fine.”
The other girl sighed. “No, they aren’t. They look like a farmer’s wife’s hands.”
Eirica, Anna and Jessie exchanged amused glances once again, then looked down at their own rough and reddened hands. None took offense but Jessie laughingly reminded, “You are a farmer’s wife, dear sister.”
Jessie and Coralie continued to banter and bicker good-naturedly. Eirica ignored them, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Just a bit farther, then we can stop, she reminded herself.
A single wagon passed them. An elderly woman sat on the bench seat, holding the reins with both hands, bracing her feet against the front for balance. In the back, leaning against a thick pile of quilts, blankets and pillows, her husband rode, a white bandage wrapped around his head.
Eirica eyed them, worried. Word had flown from one camp to another, warning of a desperate thief, but up until nearly killing this old man, no one had gotten hurt. The thief had been reported to just take small items: clothing, shoes, food and knives. But now he had a gun. With so many strangers moving among them, it was impossible to know who the culprit was. “I still can’t believe someone attacked them,” Eirica said, looking at the others. “It’s just horrid. What if the thief tries to get into one of our wagons?” She couldn’t help but worry over the brutal attack.
Jessie frowned, her hand going to the whip at her side. “We’re pretty safe, Eirica. That couple is traveling alone, which makes them an easy mark. Besides, we have Sadie and Wahoska to warn us of intruders.”
Once again, a companionable silence fell. Just being together lent silent support and now that the end of the day was at hand, energy flowed as they each contemplated their evening. The faster they reached the spot Wolf had chosen, the sooner they could steal a few moments to rest before starting the night’s meal.
By the time they reached a small creek a short distance away from the main springs, Eirica was too exhausted to protest when James unyoked the oxen and saw to her family’s needs. It almost made her smile when Dante, spotting James, ran over to grab her tent and pitch it. The young man had made it clear to James that this was his duty.
James walked past her, his lips twitching with amusement. “Damn puppy,” he whispered for her ears only.
Eirica rolled her eyes. James obviously didn’t perceive Dante as a threat. He rejoined her, unloading a box of supplies from the wagon. She avoided his gaze, afraid she’d burst out laughing.
To make cooking and cleaning easier, she’d put together several days’ worth of flour, bacon and other foodstuffs so she wouldn’t have to unpack her wagon to get into the various sacks and barrels each day.
“I’ve got to go.” He glanced at the sky. “The cattle are going to be edgy tonight. We’re taking them as far from the wagons and people as we can in case they stampede again. Wolf thinks we’ll be in for lightning storms tonight. Will you be all right?”
Eirica couldn’t help the glow of warmth that came from his concern or the flutter in her chest when his gaze dropped to her mouth. Nor could she stop her tongue from wetting her lips, or halt the yearning that rushed through her. Instead, she put her hands behind her and stepped back. “I’ll be fine, James. Go. You have your duties to see to.”
He smiled, his eyes darkening with desire. “You know I want to kiss you again.”
At the low, seductive hum of his voice, Eirica’s pulse jumped. She swayed toward him. God forbid, but she wanted to kiss him as well, wanted him to stay. She liked his company. But she also knew she couldn’t have it both ways, not and be fair to him. Yet, that hint of promise in his eyes, her own body’s anticipation of another kiss, made her want to take what he offered. She stepped toward him. “James—”
James reached out and stroked the side of her face with the back of one hand. “Yes. But not now, not here. Just know that I will kiss you, and soon.” He fingered her braid. “You’re the fire my soul needs to survive.”
There was no doubting the sincerity in his voice. It touched a chord deep within her that left her feeling more confused than ever. Oh Lord, she wanted the comfort and security of his arms around her, more than she wanted security and independence. She craved the taste of his lips on hers and wanted badly to know what it felt like to be loved and cherished. Staring into his smoky green eyes, she longed to throw aside all her fears of the future and beg James to kiss her, right here, right now. She wanted the heaven his eyes promised.
James cupped one of her hands in both of his. He pressed an object, something small, hard and warm into her palm, then folded her fingers over it and kissed the curl of her hand.
“I’ve carried this stone in my pocket since the day I buried my parents. The man who gave it to me knew the enormous responsibility I was taking on by keeping my family together. He said I’d have many days of worrying ahead of me, but if I carried this stone and remembered that day, my determination, the vow I made to my parents as I buried them, I’d get through it. Trust yourself, he told me, and when you don’t know what to do, or where to turn, focus your problems on this rock. Let your instincts guide you.”
James paused, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, his smile wry, his eyes filled with sadness. Eirica held her breath, spellbound, waiting for him to continue. She had no trouble envisioning James at sixteen, standing proud, daring anyone to stop him from raising his siblings. Jessie had told her some of the problems he’d encountered when folks in the town thought him too young to take on that responsibility.
“Well, he was right. I had many doubt-filled days and long, lonely nights when I fretted myself sick till dawn because there wasn’t anyone to ask if I was doing right by Jordan, Jeremy and Jess. And when the worry and doubt got too much, I’d remember this friend of my father’s and his simple gift and even wiser words.
“I want you to have it, use it. Trust yourself, listen to your heart. I got through some difficult times, Eirica, and so will you. But unlike me, you don’t have to go it alone. I want you to know that.” He brought her closed hand back to his mouth to brush his lips softly over her inner wrist.
“Think of me tonight.” He released her hand, tipped his hat and mounted his horse. With one last look, he rode off.
Eirica watched until he faded from sight, her heart going out to that scared boy of sixteen who’d taken on so much and had so much yet to give. And the fact that he wanted to give that love to her both confused and frightened her. Eirica desperately wanted to be that woman.
An overwhelming need arose. It shoved aside all her other needs and vows. She was fighting a losing battle, had known it since the night they’d shared that incredibly tender kiss. She’d faced the inevitable in the following days when all she’d been able to do was think about his declaration to court her, and her dreams of their next kiss.
How could she resist this man? James wasn’t anything like Birk. Not even when Birk courted her had she felt this way. Over the last week, she’d had plenty of time to examine and ponder her growing feelings and her past. Honesty forced her to admit that she’d been eager to leave home, get out from under her father’s domineering rule. She’d have fallen for anyone who’d courted her with flowers, gifts and declarations of love.
But she was older now, wiser, right? Two needs raged inside her, fighting for supremacy—but only one could rule. If she gave in to James, she’d be loved and cared for, that she no longer doubted. But would it be enough? Would he, with his good intentions of taking care of her, taking charge, smother that part of her trying to emerge after years of suppression?
She didn’t know. She only knew what James made her feel inside was too special to ignore or deny herself. In fact, she hungered for more of those throbbing urges that had settled low in her abdomen when he’d kissed her. For the first time in her life, she knew what desire felt like.
But could she go further, past the kissing stage? She didn’t know. She didn’t fear James but she didn’t want him to see her body, to be touched by the ugliness that was part of her. Another reason for her to not marry James was her worry that James would find her lacking, inadequate if he made love to her. But at least he’d be gentle, wouldn’t he? Or were all men rough and mindless when it came to bedding their mates?
Realizing where her thoughts were leading, she reined herself in. Things were moving too fast, including her own desires. Somehow, someway, there had to be a middle ground, a way to have James beside her without sacrificing the woman finally free to emerge and spread her wings.
Remembering his gift, she opened her palm and stared at the polished, brownish-red rock. Both sides bore a worn groove in the center, testimony to the hours of worry James had gone through. Fisting her hand to keep the warmth—James’s warmth—in, she pressed it to her heart. And as she turned to go check on her children and start supper, she couldn’t help but think about his promise, that he would kiss her again soon.
Her stomach fluttered and she hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he kept that vow.