"It doesn't?" she said with some relief.
The corners of his mouth quirked. "No. Why should it? Just trust me when I say you have nothing to dread."
"Thank you. I appreciate that."
"The question is, do you believe it?"
"I want to."
He caught her chin on the edge of his finger and lifted her face. "Sweetheart, if I could go back nine years and stomp the hell out the bastards who hurt you, I'd do it in a shot. But I can only go forward from here and try to make being with me as sweet for you as I can."
"Oh, Chase. I'm not comparing you to anyone. I haven't even thought—"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Lie. I've caught the looks you've given me," he said huskily. "And I've read what was in your eyes. You've measured my strength a dozen times—no, a hundred— and you've shivered at the thought that I might use it against you. Don't pretend you haven't. It's an insult to my intelligence."
Franny twisted away and grasped the rail again. "I've earned my living making my body available to men for nine years. It would be absurd to dread doing the same with you."
"So you're absurd?"
"No, I—" She broke off and swallowed. "All right, yes, I'm being absurd. It's just that—"
"Just that what."
"It isn't the same with you."
"Thank God."
"You want more from me than those men did. Far more."
"Yes."
"And I'm afraid that—" She glanced over her shoulder at him. "I've always slipped away. I know that sounds incredible, but—"
"At first, yes. I couldn't fathom how you did it. Or why you'd bother. Sex is supposed to be—" It was his turn to break off. He laughed softly under his breath. "Anyway, I doubted at first. But I don't now. Not after you told me about your first experience. It makes perfect sense to me that you blocked it all out. It's the way you've survived, and I understand that."
"It's what I've always done. I'm very good at it now—at slipping away. Only with you, that night when we argued?" She pressed her fingertips to her throat. "I tried to—to leave, and I couldn't. Instead I was horribly aware of everything, of every touch, every heartbeat." Her voice went shrill. "I know it sounds stupid, but I'm nervous about being with you because I'm afraid I'll have to st-stay in my body. It doesn't even make sense, does it?" She gave a high-pitched laugh. "People can't leave their bodies. But somehow I do, and I—"
"Franny . . ." He stepped up behind her and encircled her waist. Tensing, he turned his arm to bunched steel around her, splaying his hand over her midriff, his thumb and a fingertip grazing the underside of her breasts. "Feel that?"
Her heart thumped wildly against her ribs, so wildly she felt sure he must feel it.
"It's yours," he whispered. "My strong arm is yours." He bent his head to nuzzle her hair. "It's your shield against harm. When you need support, it will be there to hold you up. When you're cold, it'll draw you close to my heat. But never will I raise it against you. Never. Do you understand me?"
"Oh, Chase."
"As for being with me, there won't be a need to slip away, I promise you. If you feel horribly aware, or horribly anything else when my hands are touching you, then you just tell me."
"And?"
She felt his chest jerk on a smothered chuckle. "Weil dispense with the horribly, of course."
"It may not be that simple."
"Sure it will. I love you, Franny, and I believe you love me, whether you're ready to admit it yet or not.
When people who love each other touch, there's no room for horrible. Only indescribable sweetness. That's how it will be between us, indescribably sweet. If it's not that way for you, I'll relick my calf and start over."
"Pardon me for saying so, but if you relick your calf, it'll just make it last longer."
At that, his chest jerked again.
"You can laugh at me all you like."
"Honey, I'm not laughing at you but with you."
"I'm not laughing. I'd prefer quick and horrible to endless and horrible while you're trying to accomplish the impossible. I don't like it, Chase. None of it. It's revolting to me."
"We'll see how you feel once I'm finished with you," he said smugly.
That was exactly what Franny was afraid of. "If it's awful and disgusting, I'll slip away," she confessed. "I won't be able to stop myself. And I'm afraid I'll hurt your feelings if I do."
"You won't hurt my feelings," he assured her. "If you can slip away while I'm making love to you, I'll be the one at fault, not you. It's my job to see to it you don't want to slip away. If I can't handle that, my name isn't Chase Wolf."
Marvelous. Now she'd become a challenge. Franny closed her eyes in dread. She immediately opened them again as Chase moved his hand up from her midriff to her breast. Through the cloth of her dress, his fingertips glided over her as softly as a whisper, searching for her crest, then tantalizing its peak with light strokes. Her breath caught behind her larynx. She felt her flesh begin to swell. The tip of her nipple hardened and became elongated to accommodate him. Lowering his head, he caught her earlobe between his teeth as he lightly pinched the flesh he had teased into throbbing erectness. His hot, moist breath rasped in her ear, tickling, sensitizing the skin along her neck into tingling awareness.
Franny's belly writhed and knotted as a thrill of sensation shot deep into her. Suddenly her legs felt weak, and she leaned more heavily against him, afraid she might fall. Angling his other arm across her hips, he held her fast against his chest, his hand still at play on her breast, his mouth waging a separate assault on the sensitive place just below her ear.
"Oh, God," she whispered.
"Mmm."
"Chase, I—"
He grasped the throbbing peak of her nipple and gave it a sharp roll that made her forget what she meant to say. Made her forget everything. A tremor ran the length of her body, and she moaned low in her chest, letting her head drop back against his shoulder so his wonderful mouth could make tantalizing forays lower along her throat.
"Sweet Jesus," he said in a raspy whisper.
Abandoning her breast, he clamped his large hand back over her ribs. His hand was shaking, and by the placement of his fingertips, she knew he was taking measure of her frantic heartbeat. Moving his lips in a whisper of kisses up to her temple, he took a deep breath, held it for endless seconds, and then exhaled with a shudder.
Franny came back to earth with a jolt. Still leaning against him, tension reentered her body, and she fixed her gaze on the treetops. She could scarcely believe how she had responded to him and doubted that any lady would have done the same. Right now, he was probably thinking she had surrendered too quickly, that she was a tart. It occurred to her that she was damned if she did, damned if she didn't. She felt him lift his head. She was too humiliated to meet his gaze and was afraid of what she might see there.
Taking her by the shoulders, he slowly turned her to face him. She stared resolutely at his throat. With a bent knuckle, he caught her by the chin and leaned her head back. His dark eyes, aglitter with moonlight, delved deeply into hers and he smiled. "Ah, Franny, you are so precious." Chuckling, he dipped his head and playfully bit her lip. "Now you're embarrassed. I can't believe you sometimes."
Her lip tingled where he'd nipped it, and she ran her tongue over the spot, not realizing until it was too late that he was watching. A lambent gleam came into his eyes.
"Shit," he said raggedly.
Before she could ask him what was wrong, his mouth settled over hers. Startled, Franny planted her hands on his chest, intending to shove him away, but within a heartbeat, she was clinging to his shirt to hold herself up. His mouth. She'd never felt anything so hot and slick and soft. His tongue against hers made her think of the sweet, ripe center of a plum. It twined around hers, then slipped away to explore the roof of her mouth, tickling, soothing, tantalizing.
He broke away from her with a suddenness that left her re
eling. Vaguely she realized that he was breathing as heavily as though he'd been running, and beneath the heels of her hands, she could feel his heart slugging against the wall of his chest.
"Son of a bitch," he said softly.
Stepping back, he swiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist, freezing mid-motion, his dark eyes fixed on her lips. After a long moment, he spewed a breath and bent his head to scuff the heel of his boot against the porch. Legs trembling, she hugged her waist, afraid he was angry. When he finally looked up, he put his hands on his hips and gazed at the beams of the overhang above him, laughing derisively.
Dragging in another shaky breath, he looked back down at her. "Franny, I apologize. I . . . um . . ." He ran his fingers through his hair, clearly agitated. "I swore to myself I wouldn't do this. It's just—" He shook his head and said, "Whew. That came over me like a house afire. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," she assured him in a small voice.
He regarded her for a long moment, then slowly smiled. Crooking a finger at her, he said, "Come here, sweetheart. Let me see if I can't do it right this time."
Franny couldn't see how he could possibly improve his technique, but his gaze compelled her, and she stepped close, her pulse skittering at the tender look in his eyes. In the moonlight, or otherwise, he was the handsomest man she'd ever clapped eyes on, but in that moment, he was absolutely devastating to her female sensibilities, his dark hair catching silver light, his burnished face bathed in glow and shadow, his teeth iridescent.
Framing her face between his hands, he ran his gaze slowly over her face as though he were trying to memorize each line. "Have I told you how beautiful you are?"
Because he held her fast, Franny couldn't shake her head, and for the life of her, she couldn't speak.
"You're beautiful and so incredibly, unbelievably sweet. I think I'm the luckiest man alive."
With that soft avowal ringing in her ears, he moved his thumbs over her cheeks and bent his head to reverently touch his mouth to hers. It was a shy kiss. A hello kiss. The kind Franny had once dreamed of receiving when she was a flibbertigibbet twelve-year-old who still dreamed of romantic assignations with handsome young men who worshipped at her feet. It was sweet, so wonderfully sweet, to finally experience the feeling. He moved his mouth to her eyelids, pressing them closed. Then he kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose.
"I love you," he murmured. "God, how I love you. I'm sorry for going after you like a thirsting man for drink."
Franny slowly opened her eyes.
"It's just that I've waited for this, anticipated." He pressed his forehead against hers. "You have no idea how much I've ached to touch you, to kiss you. Now, knowing you're mine, in the eyes of God and the law, it's a little hard to mind my manners. You know?"
His manners. That brought tears to Franny's eyes.
"I'll try to go more slowly, I swear it," he assured her.
After feeling the way he had trembled, Franny doubted his success. She only wished it could all be as nice as what had already passed between them.
"I'll bet your tea is done," he said suddenly. "What do you say we go inside before I make a bigger ass of myself than I already have?"
She nodded.
"So you agree, I've made an ass of myself."
She gave a startled laugh. His rumbled low in his chest. Slipping an arm around her, he hauled her close for a quick hug, then released her.
"Let's go get that tea down you before you start feeling queasy again."
16
When they reentered the house, Franny was surprised to find Loretta had returned from Indigo's, evidently through the back entrance. The presence of another woman might have helped Franny to relax had she been anyone other than her new mother-in-law. As it was, Franny couldn't feel at ease. She was afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and retreated into silence, which in itself worried her, for she feared they might think her rude.
Ginger tea and its amazing properties in the treatment of morning sickness was the initial topic of conversation among the other three adults. As Franny sipped the brew in question, they sat around her at the table, watching her expectantly and relating to her their knowledge of the plant: how quickly they had seen it settle an expectant mother's stomach, the flavorings that could be added to make the taste more palatable. What Franny couldn't forget was that her pregnancy was on all their minds. Self-conscious and dreading the moment when they might begin to speculate on dates, she could scarcely swallow the sips of tea she took and wasn't at all surprised when Loretta paused in the conversation to ask her how far along she was.
His dark features beaming with pride, Chase replied, "Over two months, according to Dr. Yost, and I doubt he's wrong very often."
Franny threw him a horrified look. Though he sat right beside her, he pretended not to have noticed, which made her want to grind her teeth. How could he just blurt out the truth? Did he think his parents were imbeciles? He'd only been in Wolf's Landing a month and a half. Anyone with ten fingers and an ability to count could easily figure out that he hadn't been around when her child had been conceived.
To Franny's dismay, Loretta Wolf didn't even try to conceal her finger counting. "Let's see. We're well into July." On the tips of her slender fingers, she counted off the months, and her blue eyes widened. Franny fully expected her to say, "Wait a minute. How can that be?" Instead, her cheeks flushed with obvious delight, and she cried, "Oh, how lovely. It may be a February baby! What an ideal time, Franny. Right before spring. Warm-weather babies don't soil nearly as much laundry."
"Trust a woman," Chase said with a snort. "Worrying about laundry. This is my son we're discussing. He can soil all the laundry he wants." Curling a muscular arm around Franny's shoulders, he gave her a quick hug. "I'm handy with a scrubboard. I'll help with the wash."
"This baby could be a girl, and I don't expect you to do my chores," Franny inserted thinly. She was so humiliated, she wanted to die. What must his parents be thinking? If she were in their shoes, she'd be appalled. And angry. They couldn't help but feel she was using their son, and in the worst conceivable way.
"Your chores?" Loretta set down her coffee mug with a decisive click. "My dear girl, get that thought right out of your head. In this family, the men do their fair part. It takes two to make a baby, and two should share the burden of rearing it." She smiled fondly at her handsome husband. "Hunter washed nearly as many diapers as I did when the kids were small, and when he was at home, he practically took over the care of them. I was the envy of every woman in town. Too many men abhor any form of household chore. They think it makes them less masculine. Hunter never worried about such silliness, and neither does Jake. Of a Saturday morning, you'll see him out in the backyard, helping Indigo wash the laundry. I'm sure Chase will be as helpful."
"Is there a doubt?" Chase asked. "Franny isn't interested in mining like Indigo, but she does have plans to sew and do crafts, I think." He flashed her an admiring look. "Just wait until you see her handiwork, Ma. She makes beautiful things. Clothing, dried flower designs under glass, children's toys. She could earn really good money if she put some of the stuff on consignment."
"Really?" Loretta's eyes reflected genuine interest.
Franny shot Chase another questioning look. As much as she loved creating things with her hands, it had never occurred to her that she might expect cooperation from her husband so she might have time for such pursuits. "Just small projects," she said hesitantly to her mother-in-law. "Nothing quite so grand as Chase makes them sound."
He grimaced in exasperation. "They are so grand. I'd buy our baby a clown-face pillow like the one you're making for Jason, and I'd be willing to part with good money for it."
Our baby? Hearing him say that—offhandedly, as if it were so—filled Franny with an intense yearning. If only. Oh, she wanted so badly to believe that her life could so easily be set aright, that Chase could just step in and wave a magic wand, transforming all that
had been so tawdry into something beautiful.
"Have you a sewing machine, Franny?"
With a guilty start, Franny jerked herself back to the conversation. "Yes. A Wheeler-Wilson."
"Brand spanking new," Chase elaborated. Grinning at his father, he said, "Watch out. Ma'll turn green when she sees it. First thing you know, she'll be wanting to order herself one."
"A Wheeler-Wilson!" Loretta dimpled a cheek. "Ah, well, as old as mine is, it still does the job. I can't wait to see yours, Franny. Where is it?"
"I haven't brought it over from the saloon yet," Chase replied.
Franny cringed. She waited for one of his parents to make a disparaging remark, but neither did. The fact that they refrained amazed her. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together and come up with four. The remainder of her belongings were over at the saloon. She was pregnant with a child that couldn't possibly be their son's. These were either the stupidest people who had ever walked, or they were the kindest. Franny was afraid to let herself believe they were the latter.
"With two sewing machines, we can have your wedding gown whipped up in no time," Loretta commented cheerfully. Leaning forward over her coffee mug, she fixed twinkling eyes on Franny. "I can't wait to go shopping for the yardage. Hunter says he'll hitch up the buckboard and take us to Jacksonville. We'll make a day of it."
"Ma," Chase tried to cut in.
Loretta kept jabbering. "The selection there is so much nicer. Are you fond of seed pearls?"
"Ma?"
"Ever since Chase told me that you two are planning to have a formal wedding, I've been envisioning a gown literally dripping with seed pearls."
Franny choked on a sip of ginger tea. She could only stare at her mother-in-law in speechless amazement. A formal wedding? This was the first Franny had heard of it. And the idea was sheer nonsense. A white wedding gown? For her?
"You deserve to have a beautiful wedding," Chase inserted quickly. "While you were asleep, we were all visiting, and I happened to mention that we might—" He broke off and directed a searing look at his mother. "We just discussed it in passing, that's all."