Twice Loved (copy2) (52 page)
Read Twice Loved (copy2) Online
Authors: LaVyrle Spencer
Rye’s teeth gleamed startlingly white behind his wide smile as he chuckled appreciatively. “Nevertheless, hang on, and we’ll move t’ more comfortable quarters.” He locked his wrists beneath her buttocks and she her ankles behind his hips, and he struggled to his feet, then crossed to the bunks.
“Pull the blanket down,” he murmured, kissing her jaw, and she leaned sideways in an effort to follow orders, but suddenly her eyes widened and she squirmed against him.
“Rye! You’re slipping!”
“Aye, that’s the general idea.”
“Rye!”
But she squirmed again and they managed to stay together while he backed onto the lower bunk and fell, taking her with him. Unfortunately, when he stretched out, the space fell just short of accommodating his feet. He rolled them onto their sides and made himself as comfortable as possible.
“When we get t’ Michigan, I’m goin’t’ make us the biggest bed y’ve ever seen.”
She snuggled against him, burying her nose in the thatch of gold hair on his chest. “This one’s big enough to suit me.”
“Ah no, we’ll need an enormous bed for the lazy mornin’s when all those young ones come pilin’ in with us.”
She reared back and stared. “All
what
young ones?”
“Why, all the young ones we’re goin’t’ have.” He caressed her satin hip and buttock. “As often as I intend t’ do this with y’, I expect there’ll be a pack of ’em in no time.”
“And what do I have to say about that, Rye Dalton?”
He placed a lingering kiss on the end of her nose, another on the space between it and her upper lip, then on the lip itself. “If y’ can say no, feel free to, m’ love. But from the demonstration y’ just put on on the floor down there, I’d say y’ better get used t’ knittin’ booties.”
“Demonstration!” She socked him one on the shoulder. “I did not put—”
His mouth cut off her words. He was smiling, nuzzling, spreading breathy warmth across her chin and lips. “Mmm ... you were buckin’ like an unbroke horse, now admit it, and I thought f’r a minute I’d have t’ gag y’t’ keep my father and Josh from hearin’.”
“
I was
... well, what about you?”
“I was feelin’ a little like a stallion m’self.”
He hugged her close, she squeezed her legs tightly around his middle, and they laughed together. Once again silent, they lay entwined, listening to the beat of the engine, their breathing, an occasional creak of timbers. The lantern light fell across Laura’s shoulder, gilding the bone structure of Rye’s face, the tumbled hair across his forehead, the swooping whiskers on his cheek, his earlobe, his lips. Studying him, her heart swelled anew with love. She ran her fingertips along the outline of his upper lip, the expression in her eyes softening to reflect a profound depth of feeling.
“Rye, do you really want a lot of children?”
He didn’t reply immediately, but looked into her brown eyes and into the past. His reply came softly. “I wouldn’t mind. I’ve never seen y’ carryin’ my babe.” He ran his hard palm across her stomach. “I’ve thought about it so many times, of how beautiful y’d be that way.”
“Oh, Rye,” she said almost shyly. “Women aren’t beautiful when they’re carrying babies.”
“You’d be. I know you’d be.”
Without warning her eyes stung. “Oh, Rye, I love you so much, and yes, I want lots of your babies.”
He saw the tear, touched it with a fingertip, then placed the wet saltiness on his own lips. He drew a deep, uneven breath, spanned her cheek, ear, and jaw with one hand while his thumb stroked her chin. “Lau—” But his voice cracked, and the remainder of her name went unspoken. His strong arms pulled her once more against the hair of his chest, and beneath her ear she heard the racing beat of his heart. “I love y’, Laura Dalton, but sometimes it seems like just those words don’t say it all. I can’t ... I want ...But Rye found himself speechless in the face of an enormous tide of emotions. So he closed his eyes against her hair, his arms around her shoulders, and rocked her wordlessly.
She swallowed the thick knot of love that pushed high in her throat, understanding what he felt, overcome that for Rye it should be as magnificent as it was for her.
“I know, Rye, I know,” Laura murmured. “Even now I can’t quite believe you’re here, you’re mine, and we don’t ever have to be apart again. I want to hurry, make up for lost time, crowd a thousand emotions into each minute I’m with you ... and ... and ...” But neither could she adequately express this multitude of feelings.
His hand was heavy as it stroked her head. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t know what t’ do with it all. Like ... like I’m a glass o’ rich wine that’s filled right up t’ the top, and one more drop and I’m goin’t’ spill over.”
Words seemed suddenly pale and inadequate, none eloquent enough to relate the splendor they shared at that moment.
But Rye and Laura Dalton were mortal, and thus they held within their bodies the ideal manifestation of the emotion whose description eluded them. It needed no words. It required no verification. It simply happened, in all its wonder, in all its glory.
His body hardened, still within hers. And hers became liquid as it sheathed him. Their eyes, those windows of the soul, met and clung as she rose to meet him. She was lithe and passionate, and he, tensile and deep, while they moved harmoniously in the expression of love that supersedes all others. The act—this wondrous gift bestowed by nature—said all their hearts were feeling.
Rising and falling, like the engine that drove them through the Atlantic toward a new home, Laura understood fully what Rye had meant the day he’d asked her to go to the Michigan Territory. Home was not Nantucket, not Michigan. Home was the essence of love, one heart residing within another.
She felt the pulsations begin deep in her body and the last and longest possible reach of his body within her own, and beneath her palms his skin grew damp.
They shuddered.
They dissolved.
They were home
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