Lorraine Heath (26 page)

He’d miss so many things. The way she burrowed her nose into his shoulder. The way she rubbed the sole of her foot over the top of his. The way she smelled before he made love to her, the way she smelled afterward.

He groaned deep within his throat.

At one time, he’d thought he had only one dream left: to have a son. A sad thing indeed when a man his age realized he’d settled for a small dream when he might have possessed a larger dream: to have a woman who loved him give him a son.

He pounded his fist against the corral railing. He didn’t need love, but damn, he suddenly wanted it desperately. How in the hell could he make her love him, a man who knew nothing of tenderness or soft words or any of the gentle things women needed?

He didn’t know how to ask. He only knew how to command. His father had taught him that.

He turned from the corral and walked slowly back to the house. He had no desire to sleep in his cold bed alone. He’d work on his books for a while. Then he’d ride out to look at his herd, to check his windmills, to search for something he might never find.

He opened the door that led into the kitchen and stumbled to a stop. Dee was holding a log in one arm, bending over to retrieve another one.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared.

“The fire in my room is almost gone, and I could hear the wind. I thought it would be colder in the morning.”

“Give me that,” he said, taking the log from her arm. He crouched and stacked more logs into the crook of his arm. “You don’t need to be hauling stuff.”

“I’m not helpless,” she said, hands on her narrow hips.

He wondered if he’d ever noticed how slim she was. He knew he had, he just hadn’t considered how that might affect her when it came time to deliver his son.

“I didn’t say you were,” he said gruffly as he stood. “But I don’t want you carting wood or anything else that’s heavy. If you need something, you let me know.”

“You weren’t here.”

“Then get Austin.”

She looked like she wanted to argue more, but she simply stalked past him. When did she get so darn ornery? He’d have to go see Houston tomorrow and find out what other little surprises were waiting for him in the next few months.

He followed her to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed while he rekindled the fire in her hearth. He stood and brushed his hands over his trousers. “There. I’ll come in every couple of hours or so and check on the fire. No need for you to get out of bed.”

“Fine.”

He glanced at her. Her hands were balled in her lap, her bare feet crossed one on top of the other.

“You didn’t even have sense enough to wear shoes while walking over these cold stone floors?” he asked as he knelt before her and planted her heels on his thighs. “Your feet are like ice.”

She shoved the balls of her feet against his chest and sent him sprawling over the floor.

“They’re fine,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes and slowly, deliberately came to his full height. “Get under those blankets and get under them now,” he said in a low even voice.

She opened her mouth as though to protest. When he took a menacing step toward the bed, she snapped her mouth closed and scrambled under the blankets. He jerked his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He dropped to the edge of the bed and yanked off his boots. “I’m gonna warm your feet.”

Standing, he pulled off his trousers before slipping into her bed with one quick fluid movement. “Put your feet between my thighs.”

Her eyes widened. “But they’re freezing.”

“I know that. Now, do it, dammit!” She pressed her lips together and shoved her feet between his bare thighs. He sucked in a deep breath between his teeth.

“Is that what you wanted?” she asked, glaring at him.

“No, but I want you warm,” he answered, glaring back.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she averted her gaze. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this when I told you. We were supposed to be happy.”

Cradling her cheek, he gently guided her gaze back to his. “I am happy, Dee. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

She placed her hand on his chest and he jumped.

“Sweet Lord! Even your hand is cold.” He took her other hand and pressed her palms against his chest, laying his hands over hers. “How can you be so cold?”

“You were outside. How can you be so warm?” she asked.

“I’ve got more meat on my bones.”

She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “I’m sorry that I shoved you before—in your office and in here. I don’t know what came over me—”

“It doesn’t matter. I want a son, Dee, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“I know. I want to give you this child. I hope he’ll look like you.”

He touched her cheek. “I never gave any thought to what he might look like. I reckon he’ll have no choice but to have black hair and brown eyes.”

“He’ll be tall,” she said.

“Slender.”

She nodded slightly and gave him a soft smile. “It’ll be a while before he has a mustache.”

“I reckon it will be at that.” His thumb drifted back and forth over her cheek. “I know you don’t want my gratitude, and I know you’re not helpless, but I want to take care of you while you’re carrying my son.”

She didn’t protest when he reached down, fisted his hand around the hem of her gown, and slowly lifted it over her head. She didn’t move when he pressed his mouth against her stomach.

“Our son is growing here,” he said in awe, wondering why he had ever thought he would be content to let just any woman bring his son into the world, why he hadn’t realized that he needed a woman he could respect and cherish, a woman like Dee.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. He swallowed the lump in his throat and peered up at her. “I’m glad you’ll be his mother.”

Fresh tears shimmered within her eyes. Easing up, he kissed her as gently as he knew how. Then he drew back and smiled at her. “Your nose is cold. I might have to sleep in here just to keep you warm.”

“I wish you would.”

“If you want me to, I will. I’ll give you anything you want, Dee.”

Because she was carrying his son. Cordelia’s heart ached with longing as much as with joy. The bond that joined them would forever be a wall that separated them.

But walls could be breached, and tonight, she wanted—she needed—him to scale the wall for her.

“Make love to me. I know there’s no reason to now that I’m carrying your—”

He stroked his thumb over her lips as a wealth of tenderness filled his eyes. “I’m thinking there might be more of a reason to now.”

He lowered his lips to hers, and with a whispered sigh, she welcomed him, his warmth, his flavor, his gentleness as his tongue slowly swept through her mouth.

The urgency that had seemed to accompany all their lovemaking before melted away like frost upon the windowpane as the sun reached out to touch it.

The goal that had once brought him to her bed was now a spark of life growing inside her. Her breasts had already begun to grow tender, and soon her belly would swell.

With their purpose achieved, she had expected a chasm to widen between them as they waited for the birth. She hadn’t expected to bask in the glory of his appreciation.

With infinite tenderness, he touched her as though she were a rare gift, his fingers trailing over her flesh, taunting, teasing until his mouth moved in to satisfy.

She felt as though her body had turned to warm liquid, the sensations a swirling mist as they traveled from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. No matter where his mouth lighted, it felt as though he touched all of her.

She glided her palms over his shoulders, pressed her hands along his back, threaded her fingers through his hair, relishing the different textures of his body: the light sprinkling of hair that covered his chest, the hard muscles that rippled each time he moved, the warm breath that left a trail of dew over her flesh as his mouth continued its sojourn over her body.

Nothing they had shared before had prepared her for this: the ultimate joy of being wanted, of feeling cherished.

When he lifted himself above her and captured her gaze, her breath caught. When he entered her with one long, slow stroke, her body curled tightly around him.

She moved in rhythm to his sure, swift thrusts: giving, taking, sharing. His power. His strength. Her determination. Her courage. The life they had created.

Where once she had feared him, now she understood that she loved him.

Her body arched against his, and in his eyes, she saw reflected the glory and the triumph, and welcomed it as her own when he shuddered and buried his face within the abundance of her hair, his breath skimming along her neck and shoulder.

Lethargically, she lay and listened to his deep breathing.

Had he loved her in return, she didn’t think he could have given her more.

With his child growing within her, hope spiraled anew within her heart that one day he would come to love her.

The cold winds whipped down Main Street as Cordelia hurried along the boardwalk, drawing Dallas’s sheepskin jacket more closely around her. He had given it to her when he’d noticed her two middle buttons were undone on her coat to accommodate her swelling stomach. He had pulled an older jacket out of a trunk for himself.

Lifting the collar, she inhaled Dallas’s bay rum scent. A definite advantage to borrowing his coat was that she always felt as though he were near.

She went into the general store, removed her gloves, and rushed to the potbellied stove to warm her hands.

“Thought you had one of them in your hotel,” Mr. Oliver said.

Cordelia smiled. “I do. I was warm when I left the hotel, but I got cold so I thought I’d drop in here. Besides, I need to see if my order arrived.”

“Sure did. Set of Shakespeare. Twelve dollars.”

Her Christmas gift for Austin, not only the books, but the reading of them to him through the next year. “I’ll pick it up when we’re ready to leave town.”

She began to slip her hands back into her gloves. Mr. Oliver motioned her over.

“This has been my best year yet, what with them women waiters you got working in the restaurant. You better plan on putting a Christmas tree up in that hotel so them cowboys have a place to put all the presents they’ve purchased for them gals.”

The first group of women had arrived in October. When they had completed their training, Cordelia had opened the restaurant and the first and second floor of the hotel. She was still furnishing the third floor, but business was good. Leighton was expanding. She squeezed Mr. Oliver’s hand. “Wait until next year. I’ll have another group of women arriving in the spring.”

“Lordy, we’re gonna be a real town. I had some doubts in the beginning—”

“Faith, Mr. Oliver. You had faith in Dallas’s judgment or you wouldn’t be here.”

She swept out of the general store. The wind buffeted her as she walked across the street to the clothing store. Bells tinkled over her head when she opened the door and stepped into the shop.

A robust woman with flaming red hair, Mimi St. Claire thrust aside the curtains that led to her sewing room, making a grand entrance into her own establishment.

“You are here for zee beautiful red dress with zee big belly. Yes?”

Cordelia laughed at the description of the dress. She was rapidly losing her waistline and cared not one whit. “Yes. Is it ready?”

“Of course, madam. Your husband pays me too well to make certain your clothes are ready on time.”

“He wasn’t supposed to know about this.”

“He does not know.” She lifted a shoulder. “Still, he would expect me to add a little extra to his bill.”

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint him, would we?” Cordelia teased.

“Of course not. I finished zee coat for Rawley, too. I gave it to him yesterday when zee winds began to blow. It is too cold for a little boy who has no meat on his bones.”

Reaching out, Cordelia squeezed her arm. “Thank you. Double the extra that you add to our bill.”

Mimi waved her hand in the air. “Zat I do for nothing except zee cost of zee materials which you can afford and I cannot.”

“Fair enough. Wrap up the dress. We’ll be taking it with us when we leave.”

Mimi wagged her finger at Cordelia. “But you cannot wear it until Christmas, no matter how tempting it becomes to please your husband before zen—because zis will please him.”

“I know it will. Thank you for having it ready.”

Bracing herself for the onslaught of cold, she opened the door, rushed outside, and scurried along the boardwalk until she reached the tanner’s. She slipped inside. Dallas turned away from the counter.

Smiling, he opened his coat. She burrowed against him as closely as she could, hampered by the child growing within her.

“Glad you dropped by,” he said. “I need to know what we’re going to name our son.”

“You need to know right this minute?”

“Yep. I’m gonna have his initials put right here on this saddle.”

In disbelief she stared at his blunt-tipped finger pressing into the corner of a small saddle resting on the counter. “Tell me you did not purchase that saddle.”

“My son’s gonna need it.”

“Not for years.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, a habit he’d acquired when he wanted to distract her from pointing out the purchases he was making too soon. Pint-size boots with intricate stitching and a tiny black Stetson hat were already waiting in the nursery.

“Your nose is cold. There’s a hotel up the street.

We could get ourselves a room. I could warm you—” “Dallas, we’re not visitors here. We live—” “An hour away in the cold. It would only take us a minute to get to the hotel. Come on, Dee. Let me warm you.”

She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head slightly. A heavyset man leaned against the door frame that led into his work area. “Hello, Mr. Mason.”

“Mrs. Leigh.”

“We’re gonna go discuss names, Mason. I’ll come back and tell you what initials to put on that saddle.”

The man’s face broke into a hearty grin as he shook his head in obvious amusement. “You do that, Dallas.”