What the Heart Wants (15 page)

John set me down on my feet, but he kept one hand around my upper arm. Though he didn’t say anything, he was obviously afraid I’d crumple to the ground again.

“Thank you. I still feel a little weak. I wonder if you’d mind seeing me to the hotel down the street,” I said, lifting my chin in the direction of the Hampshire House, a small hotel on a quiet street. It had a tastefully decorated dining room where Clara and I had had tea on several occasions. “I think a cup of tea would make me feel better,” I told him as I gazed into his dark eyes. John simply nodded, and after brushing the dust off my hooded felt cloak as best I could and smoothing my plaited hair, which was wound about the top of my head like a crown, I put my hand on his arm and we began walking. Though I hadn’t worn my best dress for our shopping trip, at least the one I was wearing was fairly new and had one of the new fuller skirts and additional crinolines. I thought it looked quite good on me, even if the slightly dipped waist was a bit snug across my belly.

“I’ll go finish the shopping,” Clara said from behind us, and I turned to her, surprised to see her there. In the excitement of seeing John again, I had totally forgotten about her.

“Oh, yes, you should do that. I won’t be but an hour,” I assured her.

“Fine. I’ll finish and meet you at the hotel in one hour,” she said before walking back toward the shops.

John and I didn’t speak as we walked along the embarcadero to the hotel. He was the most reticent man I had ever known, and I was used to his silent ways by now and didn’t let it bother me. In the hotel dining room, we were shown to a small table by the front window by a heavyset woman in a black shirt and white blouse. She had a black bow on the back of her head, overtop of her brown hair, which was fastened in bun at the back of her neck. It was midmorning, and there were only two other couples in the dining room. I would have preferred something less conspicuous for our talk, but I didn’t complain. And once we had ordered—a pot of tea and a bowl of chicken soup for me and a steak and eggs for him—I began telling how things had been for me here in Sacramento. I left nothing out, and he didn’t interrupt me, listening intently as I told him how I had agreed to work in the Hudsons’ boarding house, how I enjoyed getting to know the boarders, and how I enjoyed living someplace other than a fort for a change. When I got to the part where I discovered that I was carrying his baby, he reached out and put his hand over mine where it rested on the table. Just then the woman brought my tea and John’s cup of coffee, and John pulled his hand away. After she went back to the kitchen, I reached out for the teapot, but John caught my hand in his and gave me a sorrowful look.

“I’m sorry I left the way I did…without saying good-bye,” he said quietly.

“You…you hurt me,” I said, a sob catching in my throat. I held it down. I didn’t want to cry in a public place, but lately my emotions seemed to be at the surface, and I wasn’t certain I could contain my tears now that I sat facing the man I loved.

“I know I did, but I figured you’d get over me. You’re young and beautiful and smart. You’d make a man a fine wife. I tried to stay away from you, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I was afraid you’d find someone else and make a life for yourself before I could get to you.”

“What?” What was he saying? I felt confused and wondered if I’d taken a bump on the head when I fainted.

“I was on my way back to Sacramento when I heard about the wagon train. People were in trouble. I had to help.”

“I know you would do anything to help others, regardless of the risk to yourself,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. I swiped at them with my handkerchief, but more came to take their place.

Our meal was served by another woman, this one tall and reed thin. She asked if we needed anything else, and I stared at my plate. I couldn’t answer. I was afraid if I did, I’d burst into tears.

“No, that’ll be fine,” John responded as he picked up his knife and fork. I watched as he cut into his steak, dividing it into large bites, which he shoveled into his mouth along with some of the fried eggs. He was obviously very hungry. The greasy smells coming from his plate made me want to puke, and I busied myself slurping small spoonsful of the chicken soup. It had dumplings in it, and the broth was salty but not greasy. It was the only thing I’d eaten since the evening before, and along with the tea, it helped settle my stomach some.

We finished at about the same time and pushed our dishes aside. The heavyset woman was back, and she took our dirty plates and brought John more coffee before leaving us alone.

“Like I said, I was on my way back here when I heard about those folks’ troubles. I had seen this ranch in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada range a couple of days’ ride from here. There was a ‘for sale’ sign on the gate. I bought the place. It’s not much, just a small house and a couple hundred acres, but I think it would be a good place for us to live.”

“What?” I asked again. I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded like John was asking me to live with him…or maybe marry him. My head spun with the possibilities, and I gripped the edge of the table with both hands.

“I’m not very good with words, Samantha. In fact, I’m awful quiet most of the time. But I guess you already know that about me,” he said, and I nodded. “I can’t promise I won’t go off by myself sometimes…maybe for weeks at a time. But I’ll always come back to you. You can count on it. And I’ll be a good father to the little one and good to you too. What I’m trying to say is I want you to be my wife. I’ve thought about nothing else for the past month. So, if you think you could tolerate being married to a half-tamed half-breed like me, please say yes and put me out of my misery,” he finished, and then he took a deep breath.

It was the most he’d ever said about his feelings for me, and his words were like sunshine on a cold winter day. And, though he hadn’t said he loved me, I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his words and the hopeful sound of his voice.

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you. I love you,” I said, and the tears started all over again. I dabbed at my eyes and cheeks while he sat there looking as though he wanted to crawl under the table. As soon as I was recovered enough to speak, I suggested we go to the boarding house and tell the Hudsons our plans.

The colonel and Mrs. Hudson were obviously happy for me. At their insistence John joined us for dinner, and everyone was friendly toward him, although Rodney was more quiet than usual. When I introduced him to Rodney, I saw the look in that man’s eyes. He knew without me saying that John was the father of my baby and that I loved him. And, though I felt bad for any disappointment Rodney might feel, I knew my decision to marry John was the right one for everyone concerned.

The room on the upper floor of the boarding house was still vacant, and Mrs. Hudson suggested that John stay there until we were wed. He gratefully accepted. We planned to marry at the courthouse as soon as we could get a license, which would probably be in just a few days. It wouldn’t be a fancy wedding by any means, but thanks to the colonel and Mrs. Hudson, we planned to have a nice reception at the boarding house. A fire had destroyed the original courthouse in early November of 1852, and now the government was being run out of a much smaller, plain building across the street from the embarcadero with its many piers and warehouses while a new state capitol building and courthouse were being built on the hill overlooking the river. They were being built out of quarried stone and nothing like them had ever been seen in these parts. The gold rush had put money into the entire economy, not just in the pockets of few, and now all the businesses were thriving. Sacramento had been chosen as the new state’s capital, which meant good things for all living here. This was the dawn of a new day for many, including me.

I went to bed that night too excited to sleep. For once John wasn’t off God-knows-where or sleeping on the ground out under the stars. He was right across the hall in a real bed, and I wanted nothing more than to join him there. As I lay there thinking about John and all the wonderful things we would do together once we were married, I could hear Clara moaning in her sleep. I figured she was dreaming about Silas, but I knew she couldn’t be imagining what I was imagining. She was an innocent while I had experienced lovemaking between a man and a woman firsthand. I could no longer be satisfied with dreams and imaginings. I needed the real thing. As quietly as I could. I got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. It made a tiny squeak as I opened it. I held my breath. Clara didn’t move, and I stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind me. The wood floor felt cold beneath my feet as I walked to the door of John’s room. And, after placing my ear to the door and hearing nothing but my own nervous breathing, I entered the room.

Moonlight streaming in through the window lighted my way to his bed, which was far larger than my own little single bed. I stood at the footboard and watched him sleep for a minute. He was naked from the waist up, and I wondered what he was wearing beneath the blanket. I could stand it no longer. I climbed in and scooted over behind him. I wanted to share his warmth, but first, I had to answer one question. My hands swept down his body, coming to rest on his buttocks…his
bare
buttocks. I smiled and hugged his waist.

“Your feet are cold,” he grumbled in that deep, gravelly voice. My feet
were
cold, and I couldn’t help but shove them in between his legs to try and warm them.

“Sorry.” I pressed my cheek to his warm, solid back. I was prepared to go to sleep if that’s what he wanted, as long as I could be with him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as he turned onto his back.

Before I could answer, he pulled me on top of him, my long gown becoming rucked up around my thighs. I left it there as I suppressed a giggle. I didn’t want to wake the others; I had a feeling they wouldn’t approve of my nighttime exploits, even if John and I were engaged to be married. I placed both hands on his chest and lifted up to look at him. His dark eyes shone like black marbles in the dimly lit room, and I shivered with lust just as I had the first time I saw him, though back then I hadn’t recognized lust from fear.

“I’ve missed you,” I said pitifully. “I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.”

“You could sleep with the horses,” he suggested with a straight face.

“That’s not funny,” I said, slapping his chest with one hand. My other hand was too busy enjoying the feel of his firm, smooth chest. I swirled my finger around his flat, silky nipple and felt his body stirring under me. He was getting aroused, and the thought that I had this effect on him made me even bolder. I climbed up his body until my hips were directly over his and my legs straddled him. Then I pulled my nightgown up and over my head and tossed it to the floor. All the while he stared at me, the fire in his eyes growing brighter.

I reached up and released my hair, which I had braided loosely before going to bed. I shook it out, and it fell down over my breasts in a golden mass of waves. John reached out and ran his fingers through it before wrapping the ends around his hands, using my hair to pull me down for a long kiss. I went willingly, eager to feel his lips on mine once again. If my mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied, I would have cried out joyously. I had dreamed of this moment for months, and now here it was. Eagerly I opened my mouth and let his tongue inside, where it smoothed over my teeth and palate and dueled with my tongue as I rolled my hips forward and back over his burgeoning erection. When his strong hands gripped my hips and lifted, positioning me above the smooth tip of his manhood, I was ready for him. He nudged my center, and I opened my legs wider and lowered myself onto him, the wetness between my thighs allowing his long, thick shaft easy entry into my body. As my inner muscles quivered with expectant tension, I accepted his rock-hard member all the way down to his ballocks. And then he began to lift and lower his hips, driving himself into me, while I lowered and raised my hips to meet him, responding instinctively to his movements. His head hanging down, he kissed me, and when he wasn’t kissing me, he was sucking my nipples, which I noted were more sore than usual. But I didn’t complain, and soon the tension inside me was so tight that I was unable to think of anything else. I felt like I was about to explode, and when John reached down between us to press on my swollen bud, I did, coming apart in his arms as his mouth swallowed my cries of passion.

Then suddenly I was underneath him, and he was rocking into me, his big body sheltering mine from the cold, his warm breaths making sharp, rasping sounds as he plowed my passage like a determined farmer with an iron plow. A minute later he pulled me down, chest to chest, and buried his face in my shoulder. When his cry of completion came, it was muffled against my neck. I breathed a sigh of relief and said a prayer of thanksgiving. Even if John never lost his love of the wilderness, he would be mine forever more, and he would always find his way back to me.

The children were tucked safely in their warm beds now, and I knew I’d be able to sleep even though my John was away. This time he was traveling with our son, John Junior, and they wouldn’t be home for another week. They liked to go trapping and fishing, and this time, they had gone north along the Sacramento River. John Junior was a lot like his father, a big man and a solid, dependable man, one who loved being out in the wilderness more than anywhere else. He was a carpenter, a builder of houses all around northern California. But, when he wasn’t working, he was out in the mountains. He hadn’t married yet, and his younger brother Matthew often teased him, saying it was no wonder. No woman in her right mind would want a man who preferred to sleep on a bed of pine needles with nothing but the moon for a lantern.

Matt was just the opposite; he loved life in the city. He was a doctor of medicine, and he had a fine house and a fine wife too. His three precious children, my only grandchildren, were currently asleep in the guest room at the back of the little ranch house John had bought for us back in 1855. Not much had changed on our ranch since then. Except for the herd of cattle grazing in the pasture, the place was pretty much the same as it had been the first time I saw it as a new bride with a baby on the way.