“Hello, Valentine,” he said softly.
Cain and Kit spent the rest of the afternoon playing with their daughter. Kit undressed her so her father could count her fingers and her toes. Beth performed all her tricks like a champion: smiling at the funny noises that were directed toward her, grabbing at the large fingers put within her reach, and making happy baby sounds when her father blew on her tummy.
Miss Dolly looked in on them, and when she saw that all was well, she disappeared into the other room and lay down to take her own nap. Life was peculiar she thought as she drifted toward the edge of sleep, but it was interesting, too. Now she had sweet little Elizabeth to think about. It was certainly a responsibility. After all, she could hardly count on Katharine Louise to make certain the child learned everything she needed to know to be a great lady. So much to do. It made her head spin like a top. It was a tragedy, of course, what was happening at Appomattox Court House, but it was probably all for the best. She would be far too busy now to devote herself to the war effort. . . .
In the other room, Beth finally began to fret. When she puckered her mouth and directed a determined yowl of protest toward her mother, Cain looked alarmed. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s hungry. I forgot to feed her.”
She picked Beth up from the bed, where they’d been playing, and carried her over to a chair near the window. As she sat down, Beth turned her head and began to root at the dove-gray fabric that covered her mother’s breast. When nothing happened right away, she grew more frantic.
Kit gazed down at her, understanding her need, but suddenly feeling shy about performing this most intimate of acts in front of her husband.
Cain lay sprawled across the bed, watching them both. He saw his daughter’s distress and sensed Kit’s shyness. Slowly he rose and walked over to them. He reached down and touched Kit’s cheek. Then he lowered his hand to the cascade of gray lace at her throat. Gently he loosened it with his fingers to expose a row of rose-pearl buttons beneath. He unfastened them and pushed apart the gown.
The blue ribbon on her chemise surrendered with a single tug. He saw the trickles of sentimental tears on Kit’s cheek and leaned down to kiss them away. Then he opened the chemise so his daughter could be nourished.
Beth made a ferocious grab with her tiny mouth. Cain laughed and kissed the chubby folds of her neck. Then he turned his head and touched his lips to the sweet, full breast that fed her. As Kit’s fingers coiled in his hair, he knew he finally had a home and nothing on earth would ever make him give it away.
There were still promises that had to be sealed between them in private. That evening, with Beth safely tucked in bed where Miss Dolly could watch over her, they rode out to a canyon north of town.
As they rode, they talked about the lost months between them, at first only the events, and then their feelings. They spoke quietly, sometimes in half sentences, frequently finishing each other’s thoughts. Cain spoke of his guilt at deserting her, overwhelming now that he knew she’d been pregnant at the time. Kit spoke of the way she’d used Risen Glory as a wedge to drive them apart. Sharing their guilt should have been hard, but it wasn’t. Neither was the forgiveness each of them offered the other.
Tentatively at first, and then with more enthusiasm, Cain told her about a piece of land he’d seen to the east, near Dallas. “How would you feel about building another cotton mill? Cotton’s going to be a big crop in Texas, bigger than any state in the South. And Dallas seems like a good place to raise a family.” He gazed over at her. “Or maybe you want to go back to South Carolina and build another mill there. That’ll be all right with me, too.”
Kit smiled. “I like Texas. It feels like the right place for us. A new land and a new life.”
For a while they rode in silent contentment. Finally Cain spoke. “You didn’t tell me about the man who bought Risen Glory. Ten dollars an acre. I still can’t believe you let it go for that.”
“He was a special man.” She regarded him mischieviously. “You might remember him. Magnus Owen.”
Cain threw back his head and laughed. “Magnus owns Risen Glory and Sophronia has your trust fund.”
“It only seemed right.”
“Very right.”
The deep, cool shadows of evening fell over them as they entered the small, deserted canyon. Cain tied their horses to a black willow, drew a bedroll from behind his saddle, and took Kit’s hand. He led her to the edge of a lazy creek that meandered through the floor of the canyon. The moon was already out, a full, shining globe that would soon bathe them in silver light.
He looked down at her. She wore a flat-brimmed hat and one of his flannel shirts over a pair of fawn britches. “You don’t look much different than you did when I pulled you down off my wall. Except now, nobody could mistake you for a boy.”
His eyes traveled to her breasts, visible even under his oversized shirt, and she delighted him by blushing. He smoothed out the bedroll and took off first her hat, then his own. He tossed them both onto the mossy creek bank.
He touched the small silver studs in her earlobes and then her hair, coiled in a thick knot at the nape of her neck. “I want to take your hair down.”
Her lips curved in gentle permission.
He took the pins out, one at a time, and set them carefully inside his own hat. When the shining cloud of her hair finally fell free, he caught it in his hands and brought it gently to his lips. “Dear God, how I’ve missed you.”
She put her arms around him and gazed up. “It’s not going to be a fairy-tale marriage, is it, my darling?”
He smiled softly. “I don’t see how. We’re both hot-tempered and stubborn. We’re going to argue.”
“Do you mind very much?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She pressed her cheek to his chest. “Fairy-tale princes always seemed dull to me.”
“My wild rose of the deep wood. Things between us will never be dull.”
“What did you call me?”
“Nothing.” He stilled her question with his lips. “Nothing at all.”
The kiss that began gently grew until it set them both on fire. Cain plowed his fingers through her hair and cupped her head between his hands. “Undress for me, will you, sweet?” he groaned softly. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”
She knew at once how she would do it, in the way that would give him the most pleasure. Tossing him a teasing grin, she rid herself of her boots and stockings, then peeled off her britches. He groaned as the long flannel shirttail fell modestly below her hips. She reached beneath it, pulled off her white pantalets, and dropped them next to her.
“I don’t have anything on under this shirt. I seemed to have forgotten my chemise. On purpose.”
He could barely keep himself from leaping up and taking her. “You’re a wicked woman, Mrs. Cain.”
Her hand traveled to the top button of her shirt. “You’re about to find out just how wicked I am, Mr. Cain.”
Never had buttons been opened so slowly. It was as if each unfastening could be accomplished with only the most leisurely of movements. Even when the shirt was finally unbuttoned, the heavy material kept it together in the front.
“I’m going to count to ten,” he said huskily.
“Count all you want, Yankee. It won’t do you a bit of good.” With a devil’s smile, she peeled away the shirt, slow inch by inch, until she finally stood naked before him.
“I didn’t remember it right,” he muttered thickly. “How beautiful you are. Come to me, love.”
She sped across the chilled ground toward him. Only when she reached him did she wonder if she could still please him. What if having a baby had changed her in some way?
He caught her hand and pulled her beside him. Gently he cupped her fuller breasts. “Your body is different.”
She nodded. “I’m a little scared.”
“Are you, love?” He tilted up her chin and grazed her mouth with his own. “I’
d die before I’d hurt you.”
His lips were soft. “Not that. I’m afraid . . . I won’t please you anymore.”
“Maybe I won’t be able to please you,” he breathed softly.
“Silly,” she murmured.
“Silly,” he whispered back.
They smiled and kissed until the barrier of his clothing became too much for them. They worked at it together so that nothing was left between them, and as their kisses deepened, they fell back onto the bedroll.
A wisp of cloud skidded over the moon, casting moving shadows on the ancient walls of the canyon, but the lovers didn’t notice. Clouds and moons and canyons, a baby with a valentine face, an old lady who smelled of peppermint—all of it ceased to exist. For now, their world was small, made up of only a man and a woman, joined together at last.
About the Author
Susan Elizabeth Phillips is one of our biggest women’s fiction stars soaring onto the New York Times bestseller list with Dream a Little Dream. She's the only four-time recipient of Romance Writer’s of America’s prestigious Favorite Book of the Year Award. Susan delights fans by touching hearts as well as funny bones with her wonderfully whimsical and modern fairy tales. A resident of the Chicago suburbs, she is also a wife and mother of two grown sons.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Just Imagine was previously published in an altered form entitled Risen Glory by Dell Publishers in 1984.
JUST IMAGINE. Copyright © 1984, 2001 by Susan Elizabeth Phillips. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub Edition © APRIL 2002 ISBN: 9780061796005
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Susan Elizabeth Phillips, Just Imagine
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