Texas Born (34 page)

A sudden knowledge glowed deep in her eyes,
and together they climbed the steps up to the porch and then
quietly tiptoed upstairs.

It was a night of revelations.

Once in his room, he took her wet gloved
hands in his, held them, and did not take his eyes off her. Then he
leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose.

She felt her shoulders tightening and a
prickling of chill fear, featherlike and ethereal, raced up and
down her spine. Time seemed to slow, then crawl, then come to a
stop altogether. It seemed to her that every tiny intake of breath,
even the slightest movement, was magnified in sound and sight and
meaning. Everything was at once dreamlike and yet heightened in
crystal-clear clarity. She knew instinctively that the mating dance
had begun, and she was both grateful and relieved that it was not a
frenzied, primitive celebration, but a slow and tender waltz, a
graceful, gentle pattern to which she did not know the steps, but
through which he was guiding her so carefully.

Their eyes were locked, two distinct shades
of blue, one bright and one aquamarine, communicating without
speaking. She stared at him, her irises flaring, her face taking on
an anxious expression.

'I love you,' he said so softly that for a
moment she did not realize he had spoken it aloud. She gazed back
at him, her lips trembling faintly. Then he let go of her left hand
and held her right in both of his.

She let out a sharp cry of dismay as he began
to peel off her glove. 'No!' she whispered in panic. 'Oh, please,
God,
no!
' She snatched her hand back, but he took it again,
even more gently, and raised the gloved hand to his lips. She
watched him warily as he kissed it. Her body trembled, and she was
filled with a mixture of pleasure from the touch of his lips and
agony of what would happen when he saw the mutilation the glove
sheathed.

He kept his hand on hers, head tilted
downward, and gazed solemnly at her.

'Don't be afraid,' he whispered. 'I love you.
I love every part of you.'

Her lips trembled as she tried to smile.

Slowly he peeled the glove off her hand, as
if doing it faster would have caused her severe pain. She jerked
her head sideways and shut her eyes to avoid looking at the ugly
sight.

He kissed each finger, one by one, then
touched his lips to her palm and, finally, the back of her hand.
Slowly she turned her head and opened her eyes. 'I want to be
perfect for you,' she said thickly, her voice choked with misery.
'But these . . . these hands . . .' She held them up.

'I love you the way you are, darling.' He
smiled, reached out, and touched her hair with his fingertips. 'I
love your hair.' He traced his index finger down her nose. 'I love
your nose.' He bent down over her hand again and kissed it once
more. 'I love your hands. These hands are your hands, therefore I
love them. Do you understand?'

She nodded hesitantly. 'But I can't. . . I
can't bear to show them to anyone,' she whispered thickly.

'But why?'

'Because . . . because they're so ugly!
They're so terribly disfigured!'

'What?' He stared at her. 'What in hell are
you talking about?'

She frowned, then forced herself to hold up
her ungloved hand in front of her eyes and study it closely. She
was astonished. 'Why, it's . . . it's
healed!
' she breathed
in amazement. 'Zaccheus! There's nothing wrong with this hand!'

'I should say not.'

'But . . . for how long . . . ?'

'When's the last time you looked at it?'

Tears suddenly rolled down her cheeks. 'Years
and years ago. Oh, God. If I'd only known . . .'

'But you know now, and that's all that
matters.'

'All those years, those painful years of
hiding my hands.' She shook her head in despair. 'If only I'd
known.' Suddenly she was racked with sobs.

'Hey,' he said gently. 'What's the matter?
Aren't you glad about your hands?'

She nodded and sniffed.

'Then why are you crying?'

'Because, darling, I love you so very, very
much! And for the first time in my life, I'm so terribly, terribly
happy!' And she thought:
I'll never wear gloves again, never
ever, no matter how cold it gets.

And that thought brought on new tears. They
overflowed from her eyes and spilled down her cheeks in moist
rivulets.

He leaned his face close into hers, and with
slow flicks of his tongue he licked her tears away, one by one.
Then his lips barely brushed the soft downy hairs of her neck and
she took deep startled breaths as the tingle of his lips roused the
fragile nerve endings to excruciating tremors which rippled in
musical waves up and down her spine like nimble angel fingers
across a harp. She parted her lips and moaned softly, whispering
ecstasy in the night.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, leaned
into her neck, and inhaled the fragrant sweetness of her body. She
shut her eyes and clutched him fiercely. She felt his hands roaming
over her shoulders, down her arms, a rhythm of nimble fingers, and
she felt the humming vibration flowing through her. These were
deep, vibrant chords, more like the rippling chords of a piano than
the light fairy tingles of the harp.

He's playing me
, she thought
incredulously.
He's playing me as if I were an exquisitely rare
musical instrument, coaxing a melody out of me
.

His fingers flicked at the buttons at the
back of her dress, but his lips remained at her neck. She continued
standing, arching her back at the thrill of his touch. He
genuflected on one knee, pressing his face sideways into her
clothed groin until the dress hung loose. Then he raised the hem of
the dress as he slowly rose to his feet and lifted it carefully
over her head.

He helped her out of her underclothes, and
then she shook her hair loose. Now she stood naked. He stepped back
to look at her. He felt the breath catch in his throat. She was
standing awkwardly, her hands at her sides, at once proud and yet
at the same time unsure of her nudity. Her eyes sparkled like the
jewels that they were. He thought her the most desirable woman in
the world. With the pins out of her hair, it fell loosely to her
shoulders, thick and golden and lustrous. Her skin was pale,
radiant, and porcelainlike in the dim glow of the single candle
flickering on the table. Hers was soft skin, incredibly smooth and
flawless, yet pulled tautly over a firm flat belly, rounded hips,
and perfectly formed breasts which rode high and proud above the
curving tautness of her rib cage. Her nipples were erect, a dark,
wine-colored red, and her pubis was golden and soft, a glowing,
downy thatch of wheat.

He tore his eyes away from her and slowly
stepped out of his clothes. She watched him without speaking. When
he was naked, he went over to the nightstand and opened a drawer.
She watched him curiously, strangely disappointed that he did not
immediately slide his own muscular, satiny skin against the
porcelain smoothness of hers. But then he turned around; a thin
thread of silver was pulled taut between his hands, and dangling
from the center of it was a pansy encased in crystal, surrounded by
silver filigree.

She stepped toward him, and without being
told, turned around, her back to him. She raised her chin and felt
the soft touch of his fingers around her neck. The chain and charm
were cool against her collarbone. Then she turned to him.

He smiled at her, watching her with an
intense, transfixed expression. For the first time, the pansy
charm, the symbol of his love, graced the neck it deserved. It had
never looked more beautiful. He nodded happily as she raised one
hand to the charm and felt it with her fingertips. It was a curious
sensation, she thought, actually feeling something with her fingers
instead of her gloves. 'Thank you,' she whispered huskily.

'It is I who must thank you,' he replied, and
then his strong arms encircled her while his lips pressed against
hers with a demanding urgency. She felt herself drowning in his
little nibbles, the flicks of his tongue, and she responded in
kind, groping him with equal urgency until her legs moistened with
a peculiar wetness she had never experienced before.

He knew at once that she was ready. He took
her by the hand and led her to the bed.

'Don't . . . hurt me?' she asked in a tiny,
quivering voice. 'I've never before . . .'

'I'll be gentle,' he promised. He kissed
first one porcelain shoulder, then the other. 'The first time, it
nearly always hurts,' he explained softly, 'but after that, there's
no more pain. Only the most beautiful, most driving sensation in
the entire world.' He paused and smiled. 'You don't have to worry.
I'll go slow and easy. I don't want to hurt you. Never, for as long
as we live.'

She reached up and stroked his cheek with her
fingers. 'If there has to be any pain at all,' she said solemnly,
'then do it quickly. Because . . . because I want to be able to
enjoy you, my love. I want to give everything a woman can possibly
give, and more.'

The night became alive with the moist,
sweetly succulent sounds of love. It was a splendid night, a night
filled with passion and urgency, purposeful moans and sighs,
nibbles and sweet little sucking sounds and tender words of
love.

It was a night to remember. Slowly, inch by
inch, they began to learn each other's physical geography by heart,
he discovering a hidden freckle on her thigh, she a peculiar downy
spot in the small of his back and the peculiarly sensuous way his
sinewy muscles moved when he lifted his arm in a certain way. Every
minute, it seemed, they discovered something new about each other.
And then he filled her being entirely, driving her to passionate
heights, easing off to restful valleys, and then pushing her to
ever higher plateaus.

Finally his thrusts became powerful and
demanding as he filled her entirely with himself. She cried out as
she felt herself heating up ever more, and her body responded by
clasping him tightly, urgently, and she felt the most exquisite,
tingling passion welling up inside her.

The world became a whirling dervish. She
closed her eyes and saw a rose blooming and then bursting, and it
threw its shattered petals to the wind.

'My love, my love!' Her voice floated about
the room, up the walls, swirled around the ceiling.

His voice strained with urgency and melded
into hers as he felt the world around him contract and expand, and
he plunged into her as deeply as he could, until the most exquisite
pain rushed over him and his seed burst forth.

Unknown to them, their first child was
conceived during that magical first night.

Since he had only begun his job at the Sexton
ranch, and had no money saved, Elizabeth-Anne knew that Zaccheus
could ill afford to buy both an engagement ring and two wedding
bands. When he eagerly presented her with the pretty quarter-carat
diamond engagement ring he had arranged to buy on credit, she shook
her head sensibly and closed the box. 'I like it,' she said. 'In
fact, I love it. But we can't afford it.'

'But I bought it on credit!' he protested.
'I've spread the payments out over the next twenty-four months!
We'll never even miss the money.'

'Credit is fine,' Elizabeth-Anne said with
what would become her trademark practicality. 'I'm not against it.
But let's save it for something really important. We'll need to get
plenty of things as time goes on.

He looked patently disappointed.

'Why do I need an engagement ring, anyway? I
have the pansy charm.' She smiled as she reached up to her neck to
touch it. 'This means more to me than an engagement ring ever
could.'

'But a bride is supposed to have one.'

'This bride doesn't need it,' Elizabeth-Anne
said with finality. She smiled gently, kissed him, and handed him
the tiny box.

The engagement ring went back to the shop,
and they settled for the two gold wedding bands, his thick and
plain, hers narrow and decorated with a delicate border. She was
delighted with it; it was a very pretty ring and she couldn't wait
for the moment it would adorn her finger forever.

Elender was happily making elaborate plans
for the wedding. Following the ceremony at the Quebeck church, she
wanted the reception to be held at the Good Eats Café. 'The parlor
is much too small for all the guests,' she explained. For years she
had been secretly planning huge wedding ceremonies for both Jenny
and Elizabeth-Anne; since she had never been married herself, she
wanted both young ladies to experience the lavish send-off into
married life she herself had never had.

'But, Auntie!' Elizabeth-Anne wailed in
distress. 'I don't
want
a big wedding, and neither does
Zaccheus.' She paced the parlor nervously, fidgeting with her
fingers. 'We want it nice and small and intimate. Besides, neither
of us has any really close friends we want to invite.'

Elender looked hurt. 'But there are neighbors
and acquaintances. A woman gets married only once in her life-'

'I know that. But
please
, Auntie,
respect our wishes?' Elizabeth-Anne sat down next to her. 'Let's
keep it as small and intimate as possible. And we'd really prefer a
tiny reception held here in the parlor to a big one downstairs. I
talked it over with Zaccheus, and he's of the same opinion.'

Elender looked slightly miffed. 'You seem to
lack,' she said, 'any romantic notions. However, if that's what you
want, how can I refuse you?' She sighed heavily. 'Now, off we go to
buy some fabric at the Byrd sisters. Then we're going to see Mrs.
Velasquez in Mexican Town. They say she makes the finest wedding
gowns in town.'

'Oh, Auntie! I don't
want
a wedding
gown!'