Crossings Read online

  “I left it down there.” Water dripped off Carrigan’s hair. He shoved the raven locks from his forehead with one hand, the other holding the gap in the makeshift towel together.

  Helena nodded and walked to the lake. She didn’t want to think about what was going to come later, because there would be no going back now. Only forward.

  After picking up the soap, she chose a secluded area that was hidden from Carrigan’s view. Here she undid her braid and disrobed. Her soiled dress pooled around her bare ankles, and she was left in just her shimmy, drawers, and petticoat. Since she only had these three pieces available, and since she would never commit to going into the lake naked, she held her breath and quickly ran into the icy water with her underclothing on. She made fast work of lathering her body and hair, vigorously scrubbing the curls until her scalp tingled. Her underclothes got a laundering while she was wearing them. Gooseflesh broke out on her skin, and her teeth chattered. With a final dunk, she rinsed herself and was back on dry land just as the sun settled over the mountain peaks for the night.

  Huddling into the warmth of her blanket, Helena gathered her clothes and walked back to camp feeling better and cleaner, but more nervous than ever. Before she could re-dress, the chemise, petticoat, and drawers would have to dry. That meant sitting by the fire for a length and allowing its dry heat to evaporate the moisture from her lawn garments. But she’d known this before getting into the water. The internal battle was hard-fought, but she’d closed off the argumentative side of her mind. With her decision came an impulsive nature she’d thought was all but gone from within her.

  Carrigan looked up, but said nothing when she deposited her clothes in a heap next to her saddlebags. He’d put on trousers and boots, but nothing else except for a black neckerchief wound and tied around his left hand.

  “Does your hand hurt?” she asked with genuine concern, though there was a forced nonchalance to her tone so he wouldn’t comment on her state of dress—or rather, undress. She kept the blanket securely around her chemise-strapped shoulders and gripped in front with her shivering fist.

  “As a matter of fact, it hurts like hell.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Cold water ran down her neck and tickled her between her breasts. Her nipples were tense, and not just from the icy lake.

  “No.”

  “Maybe the whiskey would help.”

  “This being our last night out, I’d be tempted to get dead drunk.” His lean fingers felt his chin and made her notice he’d shaved in her absence. “And you don’t prefer me drunk.”

  A faint dizziness claimed her. Since when did he care how she preferred him? Before her legs buckled, she sat down. She felt her heart hammering beneath her breasts while a host of thoughts tumbled through her brain. Had he guessed she’d changed her mind? Was he waiting for her to tell him outright that it would be all right if he made love to her?

  After brushing off the sand that clung to her feet, she tucked herself neatly inside the blanket and used the excess corner to rub her hair. Trying to keep a note of calm in her voice, she asked, “What are we having for supper?”

  “Whatever you want,” he drawled in the darkness.

  His response undid her. There were only several food items on their list of a possible menu. But there were many others to choose from off a different kind of plate. And none were edible. Unless she counted nibbling on Carrigan’s mouth or the flesh curving his sinewy shoulder.

  “Leftover biscuits would be fine,” she replied, unable to meet his gaze.

  “That’s all?” His breathing was slow and heavy.

  The blanket in her hand felt like lead. “That’s all I want.”

  “Is it?”

  Helena lifted her chin, her hair falling next to her cheek. She couldn’t find the voice to speak her feelings aloud. Her stomach pounded with tension.

  “Is it?” he repeated, his persuasive lips beckoning her.

  Her heart lurched. Carrigan was going to make her say it, and she hated that he was trying to coerce it out of her. The chords of her voice were rough and scratchy in her answer. “No.”

  “What else?”

  Raising her eyes to his, she wouldn’t allow his strong and potent presence to disarm her. “You. I want you.”

  Carrigan leaned forward. His unruly hair fell over his forehead, the top of his dark brows set in a questioning furrow. The lines bracketing his mouth were no longer so cutting, making his lips appear firm and tantalizing. Extending his brawny arms to either side of her bent knees, he brought his face within a whispered breath of her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  He was breathing more rapidly, his lips hovering next to her earlobe while awaiting her reply. She drew in a shallow breath of her own when saying, “I want you.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  His lips touched her, moving upon her flushed cheek and downward over the arched column of her neck. He kissed her, his nose against her skin as if he were consuming her very scent.

  The blanket fell as Helena’s arms stole around his neck, keeping him close. She had never touched him with a lover’s hand before. His body was familiar from her doctoring, yet unfamiliar to her exploring caress. Cool and warm at the same time, his skin was smooth as fine marble. The stirring kisses he gave molded her lips to fit his as his practiced mouth roused the passions she’d suppressed for so many years. His tongue swept rhythmically into her pliant mouth in a hot, erotic way that made each pleasure point in her come alive. She became lost in the heated kiss, in the way his mouth ravenously took hers. Nothing would be slow and savored tonight. Things had gone beyond that. An urgency for a long-sought gratification was what drove Helena.

  With his mouth burning an imprint on hers, he laid her down atop the bedroll as his seeking hands slid down her shoulders. The blanket fell open in the front, and the air against her wet clothing caused her to shiver. Carrigan brought his weight on top of her, searing his body heat into her breasts and pelvis. His fingers explored her well-defined curves with featherlight strokes that caused a cascade of tingles to radiate from her every nerve ending. Of their own accord, her legs parted when his wide hands splayed over her rib cage and scooted her upward a notch.

  His mouth separated from hers, and he caught her nipple in a light grate of his teeth. The combination of clingy, damp cotton over her breast mixed with Carrigan’s tongue as he drew the bead into the heat of his moist mouth brought Helena to a full-fledged arousal she fervently wanted to complete. Her breasts grew tender with slight prickles where Carrigan continued his assault through her chemise. She would have unfastened the buttons herself if he hadn’t done so. His tongue gently flicked over her swollen nipples in turn, laving her until she squirmed beneath him. Her fingers kneaded his flexing back muscles, the nails lightly digging into his flesh. All sounds ceased in her ears except for the choppy sighs coming from her throat. She could no longer hear the fire popping softly or the horses whickering, or the water beating against the shore.

  Opening her eyes, she stared at the brilliance of stars in heaven’s throne. They were on safe ground here . . . where no one could judge either of them for giving in to their bodies’ needs. It was the only way Helena could rationalize her behavior. The sensuality of nature in Carrigan’s world on this mountain had called her . . . and she let herself be taken in by it.

  His hand swept over her slim waist, bunching the sodden gathers of her petticoat into his strong fist. When he found the cord on her drawers, he pulled the end and undid the bow. She helped him rid her of the cleaving garment, kicking her feet out of the legs until she was free of it. Rather than bring her petticoat down, Carrigan left the wad of cotton resting on her pelvis, the most intimate part of her exposed for his perusal. She felt accessible and unsure. Carrigan had undoubtedly had sex with countless women, while she had only experienced one man. Would he find her too eager . . . or too lacking in knowledge?

  She had no time to ponder her uncertainties as Carrigan dexter
ously stripped his trousers and kneeled over her. His erection was thick and firm . . . flawless. Sex had never been anything she’d been afraid of before, and she told herself there was nothing to fear. She knew Carrigan. He was her husband. But the other time she’d fallen into passion’s arms, she’d been in love. And love’s emotions had orchestrated what she would do. Now she had to act on brazen desires, putting all thoughts aside other than this man’s body inside hers. With Carrigan, sex would be for the passion of it and nothing more.

  Her arms stretched out for him, and he fit into her embrace. She held him tightly, burning her face in the arc of his neck and pressing kisses along his skin. She could taste the cleanliness of soap, and a salty trace of perspiration teased the tip of her tongue. Willing and eager, she forgot about everything in her life but this one moment. She clung to him as he dove into her. Her responding gasp was soft and lost in the hoarseness of his groan. His next thrust was deep and earth-shattering. She felt herself tightly closing around him as if she’d never known a man before. He moved with strong, smooth strokes that had her lifting to meet each one. She began to throb where he joined her. She looked up at him and saw his forehead bathed in a sweat of forced control. He continued the rocking movements, each lunge of sexual pleasure driving her to the brink of climax.

  Her palms limply held on to his shoulders, then lowered to her sides as tingles swirled in her fingers. Carrigan caught her hands in his, entwining them, squeezing them . . . bringing them over her head where he held her still. All the while he kept on in a pace that soon grew frantic and rushed, his breath a broken moan. Helena couldn’t hold back any longer. She surrendered to the raw power of his body, focusing on the pounding length of him as his tempo culminated into pulsing release. He’d pushed her over the edge, and she fell right alongside of him, reaching out to take all she could, knowing this may be the last time she’d ever know him in this way.

  Carrigan’s chest crushed her as he pressed himself over her breasts, spent and damp with satisfaction. She felt his heart beating against her own as they caught their breath. Sliding her legs over the backs of his knees, she kept him inside her. Savoring and reveling in the vibrating release that still had a hold on her. She’d missed being in the arms of a lover . . . missed the amorous nights and the soft laughter afterward.

  “Who was he?” Carrigan’s sudden husky voice came to her ears.

  * * *

  She’d known he’d ask. The time had come when she could no longer avoid the truth. “Kurt,” she said quietly. “His name was Kurt von Shiller.”

  Carrigan rolled onto his side, taking Helena with him so that her face was even with his. His arm reached over the dip of her waist, the tickle of his hair caressing her bare shoulder. He grabbed the blanket and draped it fully over her, making sure she was snug. Giving her a brief but tender kiss, he waited for her to elaborate. A tale she would have to expound on now.

  “I met him when I was fifteen. My mother said it was time for me to stop playing like a child and going to school with Emilie. I had to wear my hair in pins instead of braids. Mother made me new skirts and dresses that reached the floor and would accommodate my hoops and a corset. That was the year Emilie and I began to drift apart. I didn’t want it to happen that way, but I was five years older than her and was expected to find a husband, marry, and set up my own house. I wasn’t allowed to run wild through the fields anymore or make daisy chains for my hair with Emilie.”

  Carrigan’s fingers worked over her shoulder, then downward until he touched the chain around her neck. The gold cross hugged the curve of her right breast where her chemise was still parted and left her naked. She made an attempt to at least button the top button, but Carrigan touched her wrist.

  “Don’t hide yourself from me,” he said slowly. “I’ve waited too long to look at you.”

  Helena let her hand fall to Carrigan’s and their fingers meshed. “One evening I was invited for supper and to spend the night at Preacher von Shiller’s house for spiritual affirmation. There were several von Shiller brothers in the home, and a half dozen other students from the Bible class besides myself had been invited. After a pleasant supper, the oldest von Shiller boy excused himself from the parlor and went to smoke a cigar on the porch. In a minute he was back. There was an excited animation on his face when he announced Kurt was home.” Helena recalled the moment with crystal clarity. Nearly every face in the room had blanched. Not at all the kind of reception she could have imagined for a returning brother. But she instantly found out the reason for their reservations. “Kurt, I learned, was the black-sheep brother who had run away to California when he was twelve years old. The family hadn’t seen him for nine years.”

  Obsi came over to them, his chin dripping water from a recent drink. He walked a tight circle at Carrigan’s feet, then curled into a ball and put his muzzle on his outstretched paws.

  Helena continued with her story while the hoots of an owl interloped on her words. “Preacher von Shiller made him come into the house, where we were able to get a good look at him. He wore a sombrero and chaps. We girls were not impressed. We thought his appearance was outlandish. But his face was beautiful, and he was big and blond with fair skin.” A contrast to the coloring of the man she lay next to now. She didn’t want to compare them, because there was no comparison. The two were miles different in character and mannerisms, but each was a fixed part of her life. “I remember he was rather silent and ill at ease with all of us staring at him, talking politely around him . . . waiting for him to explain his sudden presence at his family’s home. But he didn’t, and no one asked. He soon excused himself and said he was going to bed. In the morning we found out Kurt left the house very early before any of us were up, and I didn’t see him again for a year.”

  Carrigan tucked a curl behind her ear and stroked the side of her neck with a soft, complacent touch. That he said nothing while she spoke made her wonder what he was thinking. He didn’t interject his opinion or ask any questions. Rather, he allowed her to control the one-sided conversation in whichever manner she chose. She appreciated his leniency and decided to take things slow.

  “After he was gone, I did find out the reason he’d left in the first place. His parents were high-minded people who thought their first duty was to the Lord and church, not their children. I learned that when Kurt was younger, his mother was too busy with the parish to give him much attention. And so, much of the time he’d been left in the charge of his older brothers, who were allowed to punish him. He resented their abusive ways, and that was what had made him run away.” Helena paused to search Carrigan’s eyes. They were devoid of emotion, the fire’s light mirrored in his pupils. She had to ask, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not thinking anything.” His head was supported by the hand of his bent arm. “I’m listening.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have seen Kurt again if his father hadn’t taken ill. Since there was no doctor, the neighbors took turns tending Preacher von Shiller. I was sitting up with him one night when Kurt returned home. He was taller than I remembered, his eyes bluer than cornflowers. For many nights after his arrival, we sat up together by his father’s bedside or talked quietly in the next room. In those talks, he told me much about his early life, and one thing he said that I will always—” She was on the verge of saying “cherish” when she stopped herself cold. She didn’t want to intentionally wound Carrigan. “Always remember. He said that he had never known any pleasure in his home until I was in it. He told me that he’d made up his mind never to marry, but that I’d changed it. He was planning to start a cattle ranch in the Kansas Territory, and asked me if I would be afraid to share that kind of life with him. I told him I wasn’t, and we became engaged soon after his father died.”

  Helena grew extremely aware that she was revealing a part of herself that she’d tucked away. With the wedding gown of corded silk and tulle-ruche trim wrapped in paper on the bottom of the trunk in her bedroom. She felt open to attack. Though
she didn’t think he would, Carrigan could pass a harsh judgment on her when he heard the rest.

  “I don’t think I should go on. . . .” she whispered. “There’s nothing really left to tell.”

  “There’s everything left. Continue.”

  Helena swallowed, biting her lower lip. After she composed herself with a deep breath, she went on. “My family didn’t approve of the match. Not because Kurt wanted to take me out west—my father was encouraged by this news, as he’d been wanting to leave New Providence and seek his fortune where the sun sets for quite some time—but because of Kurt’s wild reputation. Kurt left for the Kansas Territory to view prospective sites for our ranch. Six months before my seventeenth birthday, he sent for me to show me where I would be living to make sure I could be the wife of a rancher. Traveling alone was out of the question, so an aunt of the von Shillers accompanied me as a chaperon.

  “When I met Kurt, I was amazed by the vastness of the land and embraced the wide-open space. My chaperon didn’t fair well on the journey. She took ill in Topeka and died three days later of pneumonia.” Prickles coursed through Helena’s hand, and she brought her arm down and rested her head on her inner arm. “Until other arrangements could be made, I was on my own and alone with my fiancé.”

  This admission garnered an expression out of Carrigan. His face was as dark as pitch, and fraught with a distinct hardening of his eyes.

  “Shall I stop?”

  “No.”

  Licking her lips, she pledged to be careful how she worded what happened next. “We left Topeka after sending word to my family that I was in need of a traveling companion home. When I had my first view of the ranch, I knew I’d made the right decision. I could easily feel at home in such a place. There were several hands on the property, and an Indian girl cook—the first Cheyenne woman I’d ever met—who didn’t live in the house. They were quartered in bunkhouses. Even though Kurt and I shared the same roof, he and I lived respectfully. But . . . it became increasingly difficult for us to refrain from acting on our feelings.”