The Alpha's Mate (7 page)

“This is wrong.” The words caught in her
throat.

His lips sought hers. “It’s feeling mighty
right to me.”

In one smooth movement, he dropped her legs
and swung her around so they were chest to chest. She felt the heat
of his hands through the seat of her jeans as he hoisted her to his
waist. Her legs wrapped around him, straddling his hips and she
felt his bulging center settle between her legs. She moaned and
arched her back to increase the pressure. She had to stop this. It
wasn’t right.

“What about Henry?” she pleaded when Marshall
mounted the stairs.

“Henry’s not here. Won’t be until
tomorrow.”

Halfway up he set her on the stair and pushed
her back. Raining kisses on her hair and face and neck, his hand
slid beneath her shirt and sought her breast, thumb lazily circling
the nipple through the fabric of her bra. She heard his soft grunt
of satisfaction when it pebbled and hardened beneath his touch and
then the fabric of her bra was gone and they were flesh to flesh.
This was what those romance novelists wrote about so elegantly.

Elizabeth moaned with need and regret. It was
so tempting to ignore what she knew was right. Marshall smelled so
good, tasted so good, felt so good. Better than good. Wonderful.
But a few hours of pleasure wasn’t worth the cost of Henry’s pain
and part of her was disappointed in Marshall for so easily
betraying his lover for a moment’s physical relief.

His mouth covered hers and his tongue sought
entrance. He tasted salty and sweet, her favorite combination.
Maybe they could talk this over later…

“Stop!” she cried and pushed against his
shoulders.

To his credit, Marshall immediately released
her. He raised his body up several inches and braced his hands on
the stair to either side of her head.

“What is it?”

What could she say? I can’t do a guy who does
guys? Not very PC, she supposed, but there it was. Now, was she
brave enough to admit it aloud?

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, “We hardly
know each other.” It was the truth if not the whole of it.

He put his forehead to hers and looked into
her eyes. She dug her nails into the carpeting to keep from running
her fingers over his temples and into his hair. His eyes were soft
and warm and the way they looked at her made her heart ache with
longing.

“We’ll get to know each other. That will
come,” he said.

He hovered over her, his large body confining
hers. With her head laid awkwardly back on the step and the edges
of several treads digging into her back and hips, she should have
felt trapped, vulnerable. She didn’t. Marshall’s warm body
enveloping hers made her felt safe.

She had an overwhelming urge to say, “Silly
me. You’re right, of course. Could you show me that nipple thing
again?” But her damned conscience wouldn’t let her.

“There’s still the matter of Henry,” she said
instead and gently pushed Marshall back.

He reared back and looked at her strangely,
as if he didn’t understand. “Henry has nothing to do with
this.”

Elizabeth pushed herself up until she was
sitting several steps above him. “Henry has everything to do with
this. His heart is at stake, too,” she said, deciding to take the
PC track after all.

“Henry?” he said sounding shocked. “Henry? I
didn’t realize, I didn’t think…”

“Neither of us was thinking very clearly.”
She pulled her clothing back into place and straightened her hair.
Marshall was still staring at her.

“How much do you know about all this?”

“Everything.”

She wished she didn’t. She wished she could
be more open minded about it particularly after the last few
minutes. She wished she could pursue these sensations she’d waited
so long to feel.

“Who told you?”

“No one.” She blushed. “No one had to. It’s
pretty obvious.” She scooted her butt up a few more steps and
stood. “Look, you’ve been very hospitable taking me in and all, but
under the circumstances, I really need to move to my own place.
I’ll make do until I can make arrangements to get my things.”

“Sure. I understand.” Marshall wiped his
hands on his jeans and smiled awkwardly. “Before we got, ah,
sidetracked, I was going to tell you. George loaded your things on
his truck. He’ll deliver them tomorrow.”

Chapter 7

Elizabeth was up at five and ready at
five-fifteen. Marshall’s door was closed, but when she went into
the kitchen, she saw the police SUV through the window and knew he
was still home. She started coffee, fried up some bacon and used
some of the rendering to fry some potatoes. It was only right to do
something to say thank you and there would be fewer opportunities
to speak if their mouths were full.

After what she’d witnessed at the impromptu
breakfast the other day, these mountain people had little concern
for fat or cholesterol. Meat, meat, and more meat with eggs on the
side and everything fried. There were fried potatoes and fried
biscuits as well, but every man’s plate was half covered with meat.
She found a plate of four pork chops in the refrigerator and fried
those, too. She hoped Henry wasn’t planning to use them for
supper.

When everything was ready but the eggs, she
took her coffee out to the porch to enjoy the pre-dawn quiet. The
sun rose late in the mountains and set early. It was chilly enough
that she appreciated the warmth of the mug between her hands. She
sipped and closed her eyes.

“Mornin’.” Max strode up the driveway as if
it was perfectly natural to come visiting at six in the morning.
“Didn’t think you’d be up yet.” She gave Elizabeth a wink. “I
figured I’d get breakfast started for you so we could get a jump on
the day.”

“Breakfast is ready. I was waiting for
Marshall to get up. Come on in. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

“Poor man’s wore out, huh?” Max grinned and
raised her brows.

“Not as wore out as you’re going to be if you
don’t mind your own business.” Marshall didn’t look pleased. “What
are you doing here, Max?”

“Uh, moving day, unless the plans have
changed,” she said sounding hopeful. When neither Marshall nor
Elizabeth responded, she went on. “GW dropped me off on the way to
the mill. I figured I’d show Elizabeth the way through the woods.
We can get a head start on the Home Place.”

“The Home Place?” Elizabeth asked curiously.
“I think there must be some mistake. I’ve rented the Connor
Place.”

“Old man Connor lived there, but the place
wasn’t his. It’s Marshall’s.”

“The Home Place,” Elizabeth repeated. She
looked at Marshall. “The place your Great Grandmother refused to
live in.”

“Raise a family in. There’s a difference.”
Marshall shrugged. “It’s changed a bit since then.”

“Not by much,” Max snorted. She checked
beneath the lids and in the oven, pulled a fry pan onto the burner
and turned up the flame. “I had my breakfast with GW, but I could
stand with a bit more. How do you take your eggs?”

Max’s presence made breakfast easier. She
chatted easily with Marshall about people in the community and
about happenings at the mill while Marshall polished off three pork
chops and a half pound of bacon along with four eggs, potatoes and
biscuits. As he swallowed a last mouthful of coffee, he pointed to
Elizabeth’s plate with the remnants of its one egg, one biscuit and
one strip of bacon.

“If that’s all you’re going to eat, you’re
going to fade away before lunch.”

“I don’t know where you put it all,” she
laughed, “But I know where I’d put it. I’m round enough as it
is.”

“Nothing wrong with a little meat on a
woman.”

“Thanks a lot.” Max rolled her eyes and
looked down at her slender form.

Marshall grinned. “GW has his tastes and I
have mine.”

Elizabeth blushed at the compliment and then
remembered Henry’s barrel shaped body. She quickly started clearing
the table.

“So, what do you think?” Max asked as soon as
they’d started along the path.

“Think about what?”

“About Marshall. About the pa-people. About
Rabbit Creek. There’s a root around here somewhere,” she said as
Elizabeth caught her toe. “Yep, that’s the one. I broke my wrist
falling over that thing. Cried like a baby. Marshall was out
running and found me. He’s a good guy, you know. Takes good care of
his people.”

“His people?” Elizabeth was having a hard
time keeping up with Max as she strode along the path.

“Yeah. Like Goodman’s Mill. Marshall’s daddy
closed it down. Nobody complained, mind. They couldn’t, could they?
It was his decision to make and he did what he thought best. But
there’s not much work in these parts so when Marshall took over, he
opened it back up as a specialty mill. There’s some good old wood
on this mountain and instead of driving a dozer through to get to
it, Marshall uses horses.”

“Those monsters in the barn,” Elizabeth
mumbled. No wonder these people ate so much. They walked a hundred
miles a day.

“Those monsters are gentle as lambs. They’re
called Percherons and they’re bloodlines come all the way from
France. The poor babies were scared shitless by that fire, so don’t
you go holding that against them.” Max sounded so fierce that
Elizabeth had to laugh, but the growing stitch in her side made it
sound like a groan.

“Yes ma’am. I promise I’ll be kind to the
horses, if you’ll be kind to me and SLOW DOWN!” She bent over,
resting her hands on her knees.

“Oh, jeez, sorry. I keep forgetting you’re
from down below. Everyone around here uses this trail. All those
little side paths we’ve been passing lead to homes. It’s faster
sometimes to use the paths than drive. The one coming up on the
right will take you right into town.”

“And how far is that?” She would need
supplies and her car was in the shop.

“It’s a fur piece, maybe three miles, though
it’s a bit longer coming back.” She waited a beat and then laughed
when she saw Elizabeth eyes widen.

“Uphill always seems farther, don’t it? Come
on now. Your place is at the end of the trail, just around the
bend.”

“I’m at the end?”

“It’s the Home Place,” Max said as if that
explained everything. “Originally all paths led there. Now they
lead to Marshall’s.”

“So why isn’t there another path on the other
side of the Home Place? Doesn’t anyone live beyond?” They’d rounded
the bend and she still couldn’t see anything.

“Sure. There’s folks living everywhere in
these hills, but that’s the end of our territory and ah, there’s a
really deep gorge running along the boundary.” Max stepped between
two wild roses that fell to either side of the trail and spread her
arms. “Okay, we’re here.”

About all you could say about the Home Place
was the roof and walls were intact; what you could see of them
anyway. The vines climbing over them were so thick Elizabeth had to
look closely to find the windows and the opening cut through the
greenery that led to the porch.

The woods had taken their first steps in
reclaiming what had once been a cleared yard. Tall grass, weeds and
two foot high trees dotted the landscape. The remnants of a
vegetable garden stood off to one side, its rows marked by crooked
stakes, frayed string and a few brown stalks of last year’s corn. A
headless scarecrow stood guard at the center.

This was a picture of backwoods poverty and
not the cheerful little bungalow Mr. Begley had described. From the
scene he’d painted, she’d pictured herself on a wide and welcoming
front porch comfortably ensconced at a small rustic table, typing
her manuscript in fresh air and sunlight. Baskets of brightly
colored flowers hung over the porch rails while butterflies flitted
in and out sipping sweet nectar from the blossoms.

Inside would be snug and cozy with just
enough room for a single woman to be comfortable without spending
half her day on housework. She’d seen herself curled up in an
over-stuffed chair in front of a glowing hearth, the light
shimmering off sparkling windows.

“So, what do you think?” Max asked
expectantly.

Whatever Elizabeth had thought or pictured in
her mind, this wasn’t it. It was a good thing her legs ached and
she was out of breath. They were the only things that kept her from
screaming and running back to find that three mile path that led to
town and civilization.

“With a little work, I’m sure it will be very
nice,” she lied.

“Once we get those vines cut back, you’ll see
a big difference,” Max assured her, “Damn stuff grows overnight.
Let’s go inside and see what’s what.”

Elizabeth followed Max into the gloom.
Something scurried across her foot as she ducked under the vines.
She screeched and jumped, knocked into the vines and released a
horde of gnats and mosquitoes along with two irate birds. Swatting
away the swarm, she practically pushed Max off her feet getting
through the door and breathed a sigh of relief when she noted the
screen was mercifully whole.

Her relief was short lived, however. The
inside proved little better than the out. In the dim light, she
could see the main room, maybe fifteen by twenty feet with a stone
fireplace at one end. ‘Fully furnished’ included an assortment of
rickety furniture, most with only three legs, and an array of empty
bottles and cans. Off to the right was a wide door leading to a
kitchen that came right off the pages of Good Housekeeping. Circa
1933. A once white enamel gas stove stood on high legs, its small
oven doors accessed by handles that looked like coiled springs. It
shared the end wall with an ancient refrigerator with the motor and
cooling system encased in a grey metal, vented canister at the top.
The window between them looked out into the woods. Light green
cabinets with red laminate countertop lined the adjacent wall. A
tentative swipe of her finger showed the glass fronts of the upper
cabinets were grimy, not frosted. The chipped enamel sink was set
underneath the room’s other window, its plumbing concealed by a
soiled curtain of faded pink daisies.