Surrendered on the Frontier (6 page)

I wanted to put my arms around her and draw her to me, hold her tight, and not let anyone or anything ever hurt her again. I looked over at the nest still on the little table by her window, and the softly sleeping forms of the tiny little birds. I knew that one day, the day when those little birds would grow old enough to fly on their own, they would have to be set free. I looked at my little Hannah. Letting her fly alone meant she risked being hurt. I couldn’t bear to think about it. I needed her by my side, where I could watch and protect her.

After smoothing the blanket over her one last time, I went back to Samuel. He was still sitting in front of his untouched food.

“Land’s sake, Samuel, what are you waiting for? Tuck in,” I said.

He lifted his brows to me. “Bossin’ me around, woman?” he said with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“That I am. Now are you going to do as you’re told, or do I need to tell your ma on you?”

He stood then, and I felt a tiny prickle of apprehension. But he merely pulled my chair out and gestured for me to sit. I sat.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, waitin’ on you,” he said. “Now button up your lip and tuck in yourself.”

I obeyed, happily this time.

He nodded, and we ate in comfortable silence. When he was done eating, he pushed himself away from the table. “Hannah okay?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s fine, just dozing off,” I replied.

Crossing his arms, he gave me a sober look. “And how’s little Ruth?”

I sighed and smiled sadly. Hearing him call me little Ruth, I felt I wanted to cry, or climb into bed and not get up again for a good long while. I remembered his hands on me earlier that day, and how he’d brought me to ecstasy in this very cabin. I remembered his stern look in the barn and how he’d waited for me until I woke up. I wanted more of him.

Ever so slowly, he unfolded his arms and opened them up to me.

“Come here, honey.”

I felt the comfort in his voice, as warm and sweet as the name he called me, and I trembled as I crossed over to him. When I stood in front of him, he tugged me onto his lap.

I’d never sat on a man’s lap before. The only men I’d ever known well were my pa and my husband, and neither had ever cared for me. I feared I would feel like a child sitting upon Samuel’s knee. But I was wrong. It felt quite nice, and for once I was grateful for my diminutive stature. I liked being held in his strong arms, or sitting upon his lap. His arms encircled me, and my head fell to his chest.

“You need to get home,” I murmured, not that I had any desire to let him go, but because it felt the right thing to do.

“You let me worry about that,” he said. His voice was thick and husky, and it was then I noted his arousal. I could feel him harden beneath me. I closed my eyes. It pleased me, knowing I could do that to him, to be wanted and not simply taken.

He stood, carrying me into my bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. His mouth came to mine and he kissed me, hard and with purpose. As his lips met mine, I felt my body yearning for his. I wanted him to possess me, own every inch of my skin. I wanted to be closer to him, in every possible way. I needed him. But he pulled away from me, leaning up on one elbow.

“I do need to get going home now, honey,” he said softly.

I sighed. I knew he did. Night was falling, and he had chores to do at his own place, too. “Will you come back to me?” I whispered.

“I’ll be here first thing in the mornin’,” he promised. He stood, giving my fingers one final goodnight kiss.

I knew then that I wanted the day to come that he did not have to go home.

* * *

I woke up the next day as ornery as a hungry she-bear. I’d had bad dreams, plagued with Hannah’s screams, her falling, and my inability to help her. Not being able to protect her fully had been a reality for a good long while.

When I sat up in bed, I had to remind myself that this wasn’t what it once was. Yesterday was only a minor setback. Things were different now. Now, I didn’t have an abusive husband who would barge into the room in the middle of the night and foist himself upon me. I didn’t have to worry about him attacking us when he’d return home from his days of drinking. Now, it was just the two of us.

It was a bit cool outside, so I took my shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders, heading out for a brisk walk. I wanted to pull up weeds by their roots and tear them with my bare hands, or take the axe and swing it hard, splintering the wood in our yard into tiny pieces. I wanted to pound my fists on bread dough, or churn butter until perspiration dripped down my face. The anger inside me needed release.

I tried to focus on the twitter of the sparrows and the sound of little rabbit feet in the woods, to listen to the distant murmur of the creek, and to allow the quiet of the morning soothe me. When I finally reached the water’s edge, I plunged my hands into the cool depths. I felt the chill straight through to my bones, and it was welcome. Cupping water into my hands, I lifted it to my mouth, drinking deeply, and when I was done, I ran my cooled hands along my face and neck. I closed my eyes and sighed. It felt nice, being alone here, the brisk water soothing my troubled mind and heart.

I heard the snapping of twigs before I saw him, his tall profile beneath the shadows of the birches overhead causing my heart to flutter. He was so handsome. And I loved him.

The sudden realization terrified me. My fear made me even angrier.

“Little Ruth, I thought you agreed not to come here alone?” he chided.

“I did,” I said, getting to my feet. “
Yesterday
. Today is a new day.”

He stood still and blinked, his arms slowly crossing over his chest. He leaned his form against a tall oak, and placed one foot up against the bark. He frowned. I could barely see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat, but I could see his mouth. His lips thinned as he frowned.

“I’ve not managed to convince you to stay safe then, have I?”

Ignoring the question, feeling the implied threat go straight between my legs, I dipped my bucket, filling it with the cool, fresh water. I rose to my feet and turned my back to him, walking home, as I muttered loud enough for him to hear, “And I’ve not yet convinced you that I like to be left alone.”

I could hear him behind me, his footsteps gaining on me with every crack and snap of the twigs beneath his heavy boots. He was coming at a rapid pace, and I wondered if that meant he was angry. My heartbeat accelerated. I quickened my pace, but I was carrying a heavy bucket of water, and his legs were far longer than mine.

“Give me that bucket,” he ordered.

“I can hold it myself,” I said from behind clenched teeth, and before I knew what was happening, his hands were on mine, and the bucket was taken from me. He placed it on the ground. He snatched my wrist in his own, spun me around, and landed one hard, solid swat to my skirt-clad bottom.

“Young lady, I’ve had quite enough.”

I gasped, my hands flying to my backside. I was too shocked to be angry, finally lifting my eyes to his. His unapologetic act of dominance awakened in me something elusive but undeniable. I liked him being in charge. I could see his shadowed eyes now that he was standing in front of me. He merely grabbed the bucket in one hand and my hand in the other. I tried to pull my hand away but he held tight.

“How dare you—”

He looked down on me, interrupting me. His eyes flashed, and I couldn’t remember seeing him so angry. “No, Ruth. How dare
you
? I’ve done everything I could to keep you safe, watchin’ over you when Leroy was on the loose and we feared for your safety. Buildin’ you that solid house sturdy enough to keep out predators. And now I come to check in on you, and I’m met with outright defiance?”

We were walking quickly back to the barn, and I couldn’t see his eyes. I merely continued to glare ahead of me as he tugged me along by the hand.

“I can take care of
myself
,” I said. “I don’t need your help!”

We’d reached the barn. He placed the bucket of water down, and now that he had two free hands, he pulled me into him. One hand went to my jaw, gently but firmly holding my face and staring me in the eyes.

“Woman, you’d try the patience of a saint,” he said.

“You’re not a saint,” I spat out, and I was about to reply with another scathing retort, when he leaned in and his lips met mine. His hand still on my jaw, the other went to the small of my back, drawing me closer to him. I was awash with the scent of coffee and hay and tobacco. I could feel not only his hand on my jaw and back, but with his flank pulled up against me, his hardness right against my stomach. His mouth tasted like mint, and as his tongue flicked into my mouth, another lick of arousal heated my core. He was backing me up, back against the wall, and I couldn’t stop him if I wanted to. But I did not want to.

A need rose in me, the need to feel him, stronger and harder than he was now, not just his lips but all of him. I needed him to take me as I was, to help me forget my anger and my hurt, and to drive my frustrations out of me.

He released my jaw, steered me away from the wall and lowered me to the ground, the soft hay prickling my back, his arms still cradling me as he continued to kiss me. His hand smoothed over my skirts. My hips rose at his touch. I kissed him fiercely, almost angrily, wanting him not to just kiss me but to
take
me. I wanted to be claimed, owned, possessed, every bit of me his.

His hand hiked up my skirt and roved over my undergarments, pushing past the layers until he found my sensitive parts. He groped as my hips jerked upward. He’d brought me to ecstasy once, and now here, in this heated moment with his lips plundering my mouth, I felt my need building again. When he pulled his hand away, I whimpered into his mouth.

He lifted his mouth to my ear. “Am I too rough with you?”

“No,” I moaned. “
No.
I need you rougher and stronger. I need to feel you,” I said.

One hand went to my hair that had fallen loose from the knot I typically wore, and his fingers glided through the mass of it. I felt his grip tighten as he pulled my head back, lifting my mouth to his. He moved his torso against mine, grinding into me, as I felt the tug in my scalp tingle with his lips locked on mine. I moaned. My need for him was rising, the need to be possessed by him nearly painful.

“Please, Samuel,” I whispered. “Take me.”

“No, not here, Ruth,” he whispered back. “Not like this.” And I knew then that he didn’t want to take me on the floor of the barn, in the heat of the moment, but rather when we had privacy, and could ease our way into things.

I moaned when he said no. I didn’t want him to say no. How could I convince him otherwise?

He pulled up from me then and looked in my eyes. “Best be gettin’ back in that house, now, woman,” he said. He was trying to do the right thing, but I could tell that it was killing him to pull himself away. The knowledge pleased me.

“Stay with me, Samuel,” I whispered. He looked at me curiously for a moment.

“Stay with you?” he whispered back, brow furrowed.

“At the cabin,” I explained, my chest heaving with want and unfulfilled need. “Come in with me and let’s have breakfast. Hannah will be glad to see you.”

He pushed himself to his feet and took my hand. “All right, then. I ain’t goin’ to town for a bit longer yet. I can breakfast with you, if you have enough.”

My pride felt the stabbing accusation. I lifted my chin. “Of course we have enough,” I said. “Won’t you come?” The unasked questions in my mind plagued me.

Do you want me? Do you feel as I do? If this is wrong, must we stop?

His voice was firm, yet gentle. “Now, Ruth, I’m not implyin’ you can’t provide for Hannah or any other such thing,” he asked. “You Watson girls are hard workers. It’s just that sometimes we have only enough cooked for one meal. I’m just checkin’ to see if my eatin’ with you will take away from what you or Hannah needs.”

My heart fluttered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from his firm tone, or his gentle concern for our well-being. I nodded. “We have plenty, Samuel,” I whispered, chastened. When would I learn to curb my temper?

He tugged me by the hand toward the house, snatching up the water bucket on the way. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, so many uncertainties I wanted laid to rest, and my frustration with everything—him, my flaming arousal, and my situation—was making me angrier than ever.

When we arrived at the house, Hannah was awake and had gotten herself ready. I was impressed she’d taken care of herself so well even injured, but that was my girl.

“Mornin’, Mr. Stanley,” she said politely, and he nodded to her.

“How’re those little birds of yours farin’?” Samuel asked. She smiled, chattering away about how she’d already gotten them grubs and water, and they were making a veritable ruckus in her room.

I watched the two of them wistfully. I hated that my daughter never had the love and attention of a father. Now, seeing Samuel with Hannah made my heart yearn to have my daughter cared for in ways I couldn’t provide.

Samuel had removed his hat and hung it on a peg by the door, his longish, sandy-brown hair rugged and handsome. He sat up straight in the chair, and I watched his strong hands bringing the steaming mug of coffee to his lips. I remembered what it felt like to have those lips on me, and I shifted uncomfortably in front of the stove. I wanted to be alone with him, to pick up where we’d left off. I started when a knock came on the door.

“Who is it?” I said as Hannah rose.

“It’s Pearl!” came the familiar voice. I nodded to Hannah, who opened the door quickly. Pearl had a basket on her arm, and her pretty eyes were shining.

“Morning! Ruth, look,” she said excitedly, stepping into the cabin while Hannah shut the door behind her. She lifted the small towel that covered her basket. Inside was a pile of squeaky little chicks, fluffy balls of buttery feathers. Hannah squealed.

“We have too many,” Pearl said, “and Aaron says I need to give you some because I’ll have my own little chickie to tend to before long.”