Jane Bonander (15 page)

Her nipples pebbled against her nightgown.

“Stable boy,” he murmured, slicing through the thick hunk of meat.

She felt the blush steal over her chest and into her neck. “Despicable Hun,” she responded in kind, heat climbing to her face.

His gaze told her he remembered well their exchange in Belle’s dressing room. “You won’t wear it today.”

She took another casual spoonful of cereal, swallowed, and daintily wiped her mouth. “Wear what?” She tried for innocence.

“You know damned well what.”

She continued her naiveté. “Is that an order, master?”

“It is,” he ruled.

She gave him an obsequious nod. “Then, by all means, I will honor it.”

He seemed surprised. No, she thought, he was shocked. She hid her smile.

“You won’t wear the damned thing?”

“No,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, “not today, anyway.” She wondered how long his request would last once she donned her new outfit.

She watched him eat, mesmerized by every move he made. To make certain he didn’t catch her staring at him, she gave him a quick grin each time he glanced at her.

“Do you mind if Emily and I watch you work with the children today?”

He raised a brow. “Might be tedious.”

She hid her smile. “Oh, I don’t think it will be tedious at all. Emily can sketch and I can…fetch.”

“Like a puppy?” His smile was indolent.

“No, like a well trained wife,” she assured him. She crossed her fingers beneath the table.

He laughed, the sound so genuine it sent Dinah’s heart into her throat again.

“That will be the day.” He shoved his chair from the table and stood. “That will indeed be the day,” he repeated as he strode toward the door.

“Oh, Tristan?” When he turned, she asked, “Would it be possible for you and Lucas and maybe a few of the boys to fix up the porch off the kitchen here as a room where Emily could paint? Would you have time?”

“What a good idea,” Alice acknowledged.

Tristan opened the door to the porch. “She can use it now.”

“Nothing has to be done to it?”

“Not until fall. Then we can insulate it, make it ready for winter. We’ll be starting the bedroom additions for the children very soon. We’ll finish off this room then, too.”

Dinah couldn’t hide her surprise. “You’re building bedrooms for the children?”

He scowled. “Of course. What did you think I’d do, keep my own children in a separate building, like orphans?”

“Your own children?”

“Yes,” he answered with a growl. “As long as no one else wants them, they’re mine.”

Ignoring his frown, she smiled, her heart expanding with this new feeling she had for him. “Of course.”

Obviously puzzled by her demeanor, he returned to the other door and left.

She went to the window and watched him take long, easy strides to his devil-black mount and ride toward the fields.

“Allowing Emily to have a studio of her own should have been done years ago.” Alice removed another batch of cookies, sliding them onto the counter.

“No one knew she was in such pain.”

“Interesting conversation, before you started talking about the porch and the new addition,” Alice observed.

“We rarely have any other kind.”

“So, if you’ve promised not to wear the cursed binder today, I imagine you have something else up your sleeve.”

Dinah felt a rush of surprise. “You know about the binder?”

“Dear girl, I’ve straightened that dressing room often enough. I’ve also been around for some time, and I know there aren’t too many uses for a lengthy strip of linen. Wore one myself when my Rory was born. I had so much milk I could have fed three infants. Unfortunately,” she said, her voice sad, “Rory didn’t live long enough to enjoy my bounty.”

Dinah felt a crushing ache in her chest. “He died?”

Alice nodded. “More’n twenty-five years ago.”

“Oh, Alice, I’m sorry.”

“It still hurts, sometimes.” Alice slanted Dinah a curious glance. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why you’d want to wear a breast binder.”

Dinah returned to the table and toyed with her cereal. “It’s a long story, and it doesn’t bear repeating. He doesn’t want me to wear it, but to be honest, I’ve worn it for so long, I feel lost without it.”

There was a knock on the door, and one of the girls, Dinah thought it was Sarafina, stepped into the kitchen. She gave Dinah a quick smile, then turned to Alice. “Miss Leeta says to tell you she’ll take care of lunch and dinner, Mrs. Linberg.”

“Well, young lady, you tell Miss Leeta that I have lunch cooking, but she can feed you tonight, with my blessings.”

The girl smiled and turned to go.

“Sarafina?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“This is your house as well as mine. You don’t have to knock to come inside.”

The child’s smile widened, and she ran out the door.

“She has such a pretty name,” Dinah observed.

Alice nodded. “Ya sure, it’s nice she has something pretty. She’s twelve, and has already lived a hard life.”

“Are her parents dead, too?”

“Poor little thing,” Alice murmured, “I’m not sure she ever knew who they were.”

“How can that happen?”

“Oh, Indians get killed all the time. Don’t seem to be a reason for it. But as for Sarafina, as best as I can recall, she’s one who lived with a small tribe further up into the mountains. Renegades came through and killed everyone. Least, they probably thought they had. Sarafina and her older brother, Henry, were off picking berries or something, and when they returned, everyone was dead.” She clucked. “Terrible thing for children to see. Terrible.
Uff dah.”

Dinah couldn’t imagine such a thing. Her own horrors had been hard enough to deal with. She couldn’t imagine what those children had gone through. “How did Tristan find them?”

“He and Lucas were returning from Nevada and found them asleep by the side of the road. They brought them here.
Uff dah,
they were dirty little stragglers. They was surprisingly well mannered, though.”

Suddenly, Dinah was more than eager to get to know them better. “I’m anxious to watch Tristan with the children.”

“He’s very gentle with them, but stern when they need it. He’ll make a good father.”

An image of Tristan cradling a child of their own sent longing through Dinah. The feeling surprised her. And frightened her.

“Thank the Lord Tristan’s papa didn’t pass on any sooner,” Alice was saying. “Without his influence on Tristan’s life, the boy might have turned out to be a real scoundrel.”

“Leeta has told me the children are orphans. How did Tristan find the others?”

“Oh, they’re not hard to find, dear. There are too many of them out there, unwanted and unloved, making nuisances of themselves.”

“They have no families?”

“Most of them are breeds. Some are children whose parents have been killed. Maybe the whole tribe is dead, like Sarafina’s and Henry’s, and they have no place to go.”

“I listened to Tristan tell them a story the other day. They seem bright.”

Alice mixed up a batch of cornbread. “Some are too bright for their britches. Like that rapscallion, Little Hawk.”

Dinah remembered. “The boy with the deformed foot. I felt sorry for him.”

“Don’t pity him, dear. He’s the brightest of the lot. Limp or no, he’ll be a handful. He’ll either become the biggest scoundrel of the bunch or the most successful.” She snorted a laugh. “Maybe both.”

“Then, Tristan will keep the children until they’re grown?”

“Oh, of course. He’s already seen a lawyer in San Francisco about adopting them.”

Dinah almost groaned. So that’s what he meant. Slowly she was learning that Tristan Fletcher was a warm, generous, kind human being. If she learned he had any more good qualities, she’d have to nominate him for sainthood. She forced herself to finish her porridge, then stood.

“When Emily comes down, tell her we’re going to watch Tristan work with the children today and I think she should bring her sketch pad.”

“Are you going to wear one of your new outfits?” Alice tossed the question over her shoulder.

“Oh, by all means. I can’t wait.” Dinah skipped toward the door.

“I’m glad. Tristan will be pleased.”

Dinah scurried up the stairs and into her room. Pleased? She went to her wardrobe and pulled out the two pieces. No, she thought with a tiny bite of apprehension, she didn’t think pleased was the word.

Miguel stopped the buggy on the edge of the field. The children were working, some sowing seeds by hand, others using the horse-drawn plows. Dinah noticed as they rode up that the children changed chores so they all could get a chance to work with the horses.

With Miguel’s assistance, Emily stepped from the buggy. He offered to help Dinah, but she waved him off. Shouting a greeting, he raced toward the others.

Dinah lifted the blanket from the buggy and spread it under a fruit tree. Emily sat immediately and opened her pad.

A light breeze ruffled the leaves. Dinah smelled grass and the tang of horse flesh. Shading her eyes, she watched a hawk glide overhead. He emitted a high pitched
kee-argh.
She touched Emily’s arm. “Look at him. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Emily lifted her gaze. “It’s a redtail.”

“How can you tell?”

“By the color,” she responded, making a quick sketch on the pad. “See?”

Dinah moved closer and studied the drawing. It depicted the brown hawk in mid flight, wings wide, nose down as if hunting for prey. “You did that just now?”

Emily shrugged, as if it were nothing unusual.

A thought began to form in Dinah’s brain. They could do something for Emily and her art if Tristan would agree. She would have to ask him when he was taking another trip to San Francisco.

She leaned toward Emily again. “What else are you going to draw today?”

From beneath her big straw hat, Emily squinted at the working children. “Them,” she answered simply.

Dinah felt, rather than heard, Tristan stomping up behind her. The earth shook.

“What in the bloody hell are you wearing?!”

Pasting on a pleasant expression, she turned. “Don’t use that kind of language in front of the children.”

He had the appearance of a volcano ready to blow. His eyes were dark, threatening; the veins in his neck bulged, reminding her of plump earthworms.

“Where did you get those…those trousers and that…” He sputtered. “Shirt?”

She’d never seen him speechless before. “Belle made them for me.” Though her heart slammed against her ribcage, she tried not to be affected by his anger.

His Adam’s apple worked frantically. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Prove? Why, nothing.” She began to wish she hadn’t worn them. She tried to brush some lint from her shirt front but stopped when her breasts shook beneath the clingy fabric.

“Stop that.” The request was barely audible, but it was filled with fury.

She felt herself flush. “You ordered me not to wear the binder, and I’m not wearing it. How much more can I do for you?”

He grabbed her arm, his thumb moving over her palm as he dragged her from Emily. The mere touch of him sent shivers over her skin, and from the thunderous expression on his face, she knew she was flirting with danger.

He yanked her to him. “Have you any idea what that outfit will do to those adolescent boys?”

Both boys and girls had watched her and Emily arrive, but they had since ignored them. Dinah tried to stifle a laugh, but it snorted through her nose. “Tristan, they aren’t even paying attention. If they do, it will be because of the scene you’re making.”

The telltale knot developed in his jaw. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because all of my life I’ve wanted a pair of trousers.” She smoothed her palms over her hips.

“For the love of God, why did you wait until now to try them?”

His gaze was focused on her chest, and her nipples tightened. She was beginning to wonder about that herself. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” she lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. There she was, fibbing again. Perhaps one day her nose really would grow.

He swung away, his hands balled into fists.

“Teddy?” Emily’s voice was filled with concern.

“What is it, Emmy?”

“Are you angry?”

“Not with you, pretty one.”

At the endearment, Emily smiled and went back to her sketch pad.

Once Tristan had returned to the field, Dinah collapsed on the blanket. Strangely, his reaction didn’t make her feel as good as she had thought it would.

Red spots of fury wriggled before Tristan’s vision. The sneak deserved a spanking, that’s what she deserved. Maybe she’d even get it. He couldn’t understand why she’d be so blatantly outrageous. She knew how she affected him. She knew, yet she brazenly wore pants that suggestively cupped her butt and hips and a shirt that hid none of her charms.

He closed his eyes, hoping to eradicate the memory of fabric clinging to firm, round breasts and pert nipples thrusting toward him, but it was burned inside his eyelids.

Boyish pants and a loose, full-cut shirt. How any woman born could be seductive in that outfit was beyond his reasoning. Yet she was. Damned seductive. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t think about how it would feel to dip his fingers beneath her waistband and touch her soft, pliant flesh. There hadn’t been room for drawers, he was certain of that.

So what was she wearing under them? Nothing at all? He cursed. Think of it. Behind the buttons of that mannish fly were rusty red curls. Soft, wet lips that would swell at his touch. He groaned a curse.

He couldn’t go on like this. If he wasn’t careful, he’d take her. He would ruin her, simply because he wanted her. It wasn’t fair. But try as he might to remember the stuffed bear and the thoughts it dredged up, he was aroused, and nothing short of a cold swim in the river would help him. Even that wouldn’t drench the fire.

Mouthing another curse, he knew what he had to do. He had to undo the mistake he’d made by marrying her, yet somehow keep her safe from Martin Odell.

Dinah stood before the painting in progress of Tristan. Emily had painted him as an adult, with a smaller image of him as a child sketched into the background.

“It’s wonderful, Emily. You’ve captured him perfectly,” she complimented. The hard, square line of his jaw. The mysterious depth of his expressive eyes. His high, sharp cheekbones. How often had she wanted to touch his face? Run her fingers over the skin, feel the swells and hollows? More times than she could count.

“He’s very handsome,” she mused, admiring the work.

“He’s a half-breed, you know.”

Dinah wasn’t entirely surprised. “But you’re not.”

Emily’s smile was warm. “No. Mama and Papa brought him home one day after they’d been visiting near Sacramento.”

She picked up her needlepoint and began working on the outline of a flower. “Mama never liked him much. She wasn’t happy that I did. He was like a doll to me at first. And having him around, even when he was cross, always made me feel better.”

She shook her head. “Mama didn’t understand that. I don’t think she wanted to, because”—She stopped working, her hands resting in her lap—“because Mama never wanted Tristan in the first place, and she didn’t care who knew it. Including poor Tristan.”

Dinah was beginning to understand the fierce bond between brother and sister. She could only imagine how Tristan must have felt when he learned Emily had been institutionalized.

“I think it’s wonderful that you two care so much for each other.”

Emily looked up, surprised. “Do you really?”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shook her head. “Before Mama died, she warned me that if Tristan ever became interested in another woman, he’d stop caring for me.”

Dinah disliked Zelda Fletcher more with each passing day. “That’s a terrible seed to plant in a young girl’s mind, Emily.” To say nothing of the fact that Tristan wasn’t interested in her. No matter how one looked at it, Dinah was no threat to Emily.

Emily’s fingers flew over her needlepoint, yet each stitch was impeccably clean. “Tristan almost got married once before.”

“Yes, I heard that.”

“I didn’t want her to come. I would have been mean to her if she had.” Emily paused. “Like I was when you first came.”

“You might have liked her,” Dinah answered generously.

Emily shook her head but didn’t look up from her needlework. “I would have hated her.”

Each time Dinah thought about the tantrums Emily had shown since she’d arrived, she remembered her hospitalization and subsequent surgery. Probably no one would ever know what horrible memories she had locked away in her mind. Dinah could guess, and she would probably be right.

There were a few women like Emily at Trenway, whose minds were not fully developed and who didn’t understand why they were there or what was being done to them. Dinah remembered the puzzled expressions on those women’s faces when they were treated badly, for they didn’t know why. Chances were that there was no reason. They were easy targets for overzealous matrons and licentious guards.

She bent and kissed Emily’s smooth cheek. “I love the picture of Tristan, Emily. You’re very talented. Other people should be able to enjoy your art. Would you like that?”

Emily’s shrug was noncommittal. “How would they do that?”

“Oh,” Dinah answered, her plan forming in her head, “we’ll find a way. Is there anything I can get for you before bed?”

Emily kept her gaze down and shook her head. “Alice will be here soon with some warm milk.”

Dinah offered a smile. “Good night, then.”

“Night.”

Dinah strutted to her room, still wearing her trousers and shirt. She could get used to dressing like this. The clothes allowed so much more freedom than skirts and petticoats, which she often tripped over.

Of course, over dinner, Tristan had refused to acknowledge her. That wasn’t a good thing. With a half- troubled sigh, she flopped onto the edge of the bed, raised her ankle over her knee and removed one of her new boots.

She wasn’t sure what she’d thought to prove by wearing the outfit. She’d gotten his attention, but it wasn’t the kind of attention she’d expected. Or wanted. Oh, hell’s bells, she didn’t know what she wanted. She hadn’t supposed that he would ignore her.

She rolled her eyes and frowned, tossing her boot across the room. It hit the wall, falling to the floor with a thud, and she followed it quickly with the other.

She stood and studied herself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t feminine. Maybe that was it. He probably liked his women dressed in fussy, ladylike gowns. That was why he was so adamant about being at Belle’s, so he could monitor her choices.

“Live and learn,” she muttered with a dejected sigh. She began unbuttoning her shirt, and suddenly felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle. She turned, her fingers poised on the buttons. Tristan leaned against the dressing room door.

“Don’t worry, master,” she said with mock servility, “I’m taking them off.”

“Don’t touch those buttons.”

She raised her eyes heavenward. “If you don’t want to watch, then leave the room.”

“Have you any idea what I’ve gone through today because of you?”

She gaped at him. “What you’ve gone through?”

He ignored her pique. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to try to concentrate on a menial task like planting corn, when all I can think of is planting a damned seed in you?”

Her jaw worked frantically. “Don’t be crude.”

She retreated as he strode toward her. He stopped an arm’s length from her when the curved surface behind her knees hit the bed. She could smell the brandy on his breath.

“I want to scold you, damn it. I even thought about taking you over my knee and spanking you, but knowing you,” he added, his eyes dark and hot and his voice slurring slightly, “you’d probably enjoy it.”

She gave her head a violent shake. “No, I—”

“And if you enjoyed it, you can be damned sure I would.” His heated gaze moved over her, stopping at the buttoned fly of her trousers. “What are you wearing under those things?”

“N-n-nothing. I—” His sharp intake of breath stopped her from continuing.

“It’s as I suspected.”

“I…I meant to, but they were snug and there wasn’t room.” The words dwindled to a whisper when she noticed his expression.

He pulled her shirt from her trousers, tucked his hand inside the waistband and tugged her close. She had no choice but to follow. His fingers on the flesh of her lower belly made her knees weak. He dipped lower, one finger nudging her. The overwhelming sensation stunned her, and she grabbed his arms as her knees buckled.

He followed her onto the bed, kissing her hard. His tongue was in her mouth, moving in and out, just as his fingers stroked between her legs. His strength frightened her, as did her own desire.

He stopped kissing her and growled into her neck. “I want to touch you. I only want to touch you.”

She was no longer afraid. Innocent and naive perhaps, but not afraid. She rubbed her cheek over his hair, threading her fingers through the inky mass as hunger heated her flesh.

He kissed her again, slowly this time, his mouth opening over hers. He drew away, his breath warm on her lips as he nudged them with his tongue. She met his tongue with her own, finding herself breathless with a yearning that went beyond desire. He seduced her, taught her how to arouse him with the merest touch of tongue tip to tongue tip.

As he unbuttoned her shirt, he bent to kiss her skin. With slow deliberation, he spread her shirt wide and gazed at her breasts, a palm cupping each, a thumb moving across each nipple.

Through her hazy hunger, she saw the pain in his eyes and she reached for him, tugging him down beside her. But he stilled her hands, pulling her to a sitting position and coaxing her to remove her shirt.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he bent and took first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, rolling over them with his tongue. She gripped his hair, pressing him closer as a hot, vital yearning tracked a path to her pelvis and lower.

He turned her around, drawing her to him while he continued caressing her. He kissed her neck, her ear, her bare shoulder. His hand moved over her ribcage to her abdomen, circling her navel beneath the waistband of her trousers.

She automatically inhaled when his fingers moved lower, innocently allowing him access. He stroked her again, and through her arousal she felt his behind her, thick and hard.

He slowly unbuttoned her fly. Her heart pounded, roaring in her ears as she waited. When he’d finished, he moved his hand inside, caressing her hip, moving to her buttocks where he dipped his fingers around to her front, titillating her.

She heard the sounds she made in her throat, although she’d never made them before. And, oh, sweet Mary, what his touch did to her! There was an ache of pleasure, an instinct that if she surrendered, she would know more satisfaction than she could ever have imagined.

“I want to see you there,” he whispered, close to her ear. He tugged her trousers down over her knees. In her desire and her haste to please him, she kicked at them, sending them sprawling onto the floor.

She lay on her back, her heart pounding wildly as he gazed at her.

“So red.” His fingers barely touched her, yet her breath quickened at the contact. “I knew it would be this color.”

His words made her brave, and she moved one leg to the side, bending her knee.

He gently rested his head on her stomach. She felt the heat of his breath close to her private place and she experienced a sudden burst of emotion-laced desire. She emitted a shuddery moan before she bit her lip to stop herself.

He kissed her low on the stomach, and her yearning was so intense she couldn’t protest, nor did she want to. His mouth rested on her mound, and she gripped the bedding in her fists and pressed her lips together, fearing if she uttered even the smallest of sounds he would stop.

He kissed her there, and she felt pleasure and pain as her arousal built. He moved between her thighs, kissing her flesh on either side, returning to the place that surged with hunger for him. His tongue moved over her, parting her, lunging inside, then flattening against the nub, and finally searching the length of her.

“Oh, oh, sweet heaven.” The words were almost lost as she felt it coming, that exquisite, splintering burst of pleasure that brought her pelvis off the bed as her knees imprisoned him between her thighs.

He kissed her as he slowly moved up her body. He reached her mouth, his eyelids heavy, his eyes dark.

“I’m going to kiss you. I want you to taste how delicious you are.”

His lips came down on hers, and she sampled the musky flavor. She was not aroused by her own scent, but she felt stimulated that he was.

She clung to him, hooking her bare legs over his and feeling him against her, hard and strong behind the fly of his trousers. The roughness of his clothing on her flesh excited her, and she ran her hands along his shoulders and moved with him, sensing the rekindling of desire.

A tortured sound tore from his throat and he flung himself off the bed. “No!”

Her emotions were tangled inside her. She wanted to make love with him, not have him make love to her.

His head bowed, he stood at the dressing room door, his fist on the doorjamb.

She left the bed and tentatively touched his shoulder. He flinched.

“Tristan, it’s all right.”

He spun around and grabbed her arms. “It’s
not
all right. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” He cursed and crossed to the window. “What an ass I was. I thought I could live a celibate life with a woman. I thought if I offered her enough money, she would stay in the background, care for Emily, and keep out of my way. Maybe I could have done it. Maybe. Then
you
showed up.”

She didn’t know what to say. “I don’t care about the money, Tristan.”

He shuddered a sigh. “I know you don’t.” He stared into the night. “Why couldn’t you have been the woman I’d imagined, Dinah? Why couldn’t you have been merely pleasant looking? Quiet and prim and obedient?”

He’d described Daisy. He’d have been happy with her. Dinah knew that as certainly as she felt the sinking in her stomach. Daisy was everything she was not.

“You weren’t exactly what I’d expected, either,” she countered.

He uttered a humorless laugh. “I don’t suppose I’m much of a prize, with a sister who needs constant attention, not to mention eight half bloods who will soon bear my name.”

There was silence in the room. Dinah didn’t know how to answer him. Those things he thought were offensive about himself were the very things that had made her fall in love with him. She shivered, hugging herself.

“I can’t go through with this, Dinah. I can’t do this to you.”

“But, I’m—”

“I know what you’re going to say. That you’re my wife.” He cursed again. “You shouldn’t be. With anyone else, maybe I could have gone through with it. It wasn’t a bad offer. Hell, it was a damned good one, as stupid, arrogant, asinine offers go,” he added, trying to smile.

“But you don’t deserve this. You’re so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You shouldn’t have to waste five years of it in a loveless marriage.”

She swallowed, then pressed her hand to her mouth, forcing anger through her pain. “Then why did you make me? I wanted to leave, Tristan, remember? All you had to do was pay me the wages I’d earned, and I would have been gone. Now, just—” She took a deep breath, annoyed that she’d begun to cry. Just as she was beginning to fall in love with him, he wanted to call the whole thing off.

But she wouldn’t beg, not for him, not for anyone. “What are you going to do, then? Divorce me? You’ll have to, Tristan, because I won’t do it. I won’t.”

“Divorce won’t be necessary. I haven’t touched you. Not that way. We can have the marriage annulled.”

Annulment? Making their marriage invalid? It shouldn’t be allowed, because he had touched her. In so many ways. Again she recounted all of the things that had made her fall in love with him. The things that had touched her heart. But apparently those touches didn’t count.