Tennessee Waltz Page 18

  "Maybe you could tell me just enough to make my head wobble the tiniest little bit," she said, venturing to trail a finger down his cheek.

  "Well."

  He quickly turned his head and caught her fingertip in his mouth when it got close to his lips. She gasped in surprise, but could no more muster the energy to free herself than she could have flown to the moon right then. He closed his teeth firmly but gently, then laved her finger with his tongue. Round and round and round.

  "Ohhhhh," she whispered.

  He pulled way from her finger, but only far enough to run his tongue across her palm, then swipe it back and forth on her wrist. She held her hand in the exact position he needed to continue his ministrations, not even moving when he shifted his weight and unbuttoned her dress cuff. Rolling the sleeve back, he followed with his tongue, sliding it all the way to the tender skin inside the bend of her elbow.

  When she turned her head, her cheek landed on his hair. She closed her eyes and snuggled closer, pressing her cheek into the silkiness and gently moving it back and forth.

  "W . . . Wyn," she said. "I think you better get back to talking about my eyes. I think I'm going to start writhing, if you don't."

  He gave her skin a gentle nip, then lifted his head. "Your eyes have the same gold in them that your hair does," he murmured. "Only this time it's scattered across a deep brown velvet that a man could imagine surrounding him like your soft body does."

  "Ohhhh." She thought that about the most inane comment she'd ever made in her entire twenty-five years, but she couldn't think of anything better to say. She did concentrate on trying to think of something better; it was either that or start writhing just from his words.

  Thought became impossible, though, as he kissed her once more, gently, longingly, before drawing away with a deep sigh and standing. Grabbing her hands, he pulled her up to sit on the edge of the bed in front of him, then cupped her chin in his palm to keep her eyes on him while he spoke.

  "And if I was the man who had the right to do it, I wouldn't be stopping now. I would show you exactly what writhing means."

  He dropped her chin, and started to turn away. Without even taking one step, he turned back. Bending down, he kissed her lightly once more. "Good night, Sarah," he said as he straightened. "I've had one of the best days of my life today. I've got a lot of thinking to do now."

  He blew out a breath, jamming his hands into his rear pockets, as though to keep from touching her again. "I haven't forgotten that you told me you were betrothed. I haven't even forgotten his name — Stephen. But you can't love him. You can't, and still act like this with me. There's something between us that's so damned good it's scary. I've never, ever sensed such a powerful ecstasy waiting for me when I've held any other woman before. I want you so bad it's tearing me apart. But I want a chance to see if this can be forever between us, not just for one time."

  He walked over to the door, opened it and spoke one last time. "I think it's the same for you. To be this good, the feelings have to be on both sides. But there are an awful lot of other things that are against us. Your betrothal is the least of it, far as I'm concerned. If I was sure we could make it together — sure you at least wanted to explore this thing between us as badly as me — I wouldn't stop until I'd given us at least a chance to see what can happen."

  As though he knew she couldn't think of a word to say, he continued, "Someone may have already told you that I was keeping company with a debutante once. I'd even considered asking for her hand. But that was nothing at all compared to what I'm feeling now. Not even close. Good night, Sarah."

  He slipped through the door and closed it softly behind him.

  Chapter 14

  Stephen. I'm promised to Stephen.

  Sarah laid back on the bed, feeling the emptiness beside her as she'd never done before in her life. But overriding the emptiness came the guilt, breaking free of her attempts to hold it at bay at last.

  She'd spent a lot of time thinking about what it would be like to have Stephen in her bed — what woman who was a virgin wouldn't wonder for hours on end what that part of her coming marriage would be like? She'd already begun redecorating her father's quarters for Stephen, and since her own bedroom was at the other end of the hall from the side-by-side master and mistress suites, she'd reluctantly began eyeing the room her mother had used. Hardly any of her friends shared a bedroom with their husbands, although she'd heard whispers that Camellia and Jake Anderson spent their nights in the same bed.

  The Anderson marriage was a love match, though, as anyone who spent more than five minutes in their presence knew. For the most part in other marriages, she supposed, the husband only spent a few minutes now and then in the wife's bed — or perhaps vice versa. She'd never had the courage to ask any of her married friends how that worked — or how long the husbands stayed or how often.

  She'd be willing to bet her bloomers that Wyn MacIntyre would sleep all night long with his wife, if the length of time he'd spent just kissing and fondling her this evening were any indication. And she could probably safely add her chemise to the bet that his wife wouldn't mind sharing his bed a bit.

  Another flush crawled over her cheeks — she'd lost count of how many times that had happened this evening. Land sakes, she had never had such indecent thoughts back in New York! Bet her bloomers and chemise, indeed!

  She sat up so quickly her head spun, and she had to wait a few seconds before she got to her feet and went over to the stove. In the oven she found a plate Mandy had left, still a tad warm. Placing it on her tiny table, she unwrapped the towel from around it and sat in one of the two chairs.

  A good fifteen minutes later, she came to herself and looked at her plate. The food was completely cold and unappetizing now, and her stomach gave a complaining growl.

  Shoving the plate aside, she pulled the butter dish to her. On a corner of the table, Mandy had also left some fresh-baked bread to go along with her meal. She unwrapped that and buttered a slice. Her stomach subsided as she bit off a large chunk and chewed.

  Wyn MacIntyre had absolutely no idea how much different their backgrounds were, she contemplated. She knew exactly what size fortune Rose Collingsworth came from and the probable amount of the dowry she had brought to the Hardesty son. Though not considered completely proper drawing room conversation, dollar amounts of fortunes served as prevalent gossip in her society.

  The Collingsworths, Rose's parents, were what was considered comfortably rich, if they didn't overspend. But as Petula Hardesty had correctly stated at the opera the night Sarah found Mairi, the Channing fortune could be dawdled with quite a long time without making a dent in it. Even her attorney had told her not to worry one whit about the size of any bills she ran up with the various vendors — that the fortune was secure in investments and would fund lives for as many as a dozen of her great-great-grandchildren with no problem.

  So much good could be done with that money, Sarah thought. Today she had found a situation even worse than the orphanage Mairi had been sent to. But she couldn't imagine the money not causing problems between her and Wyn, given the man's over-abundance of masculinity and his probable lavish share of pride.

  She'd had an inkling of the MacIntyre pride as soon as she arrived, when Dan informed her that he would repay her for the grave marker for his brother and sister-in-law. And he'd handed over the exact amount of bills to her right before supper that first night.

  Not that there was really any reason for her to even be considering these matters, she half-heartedly assured herself. She was betrothed to Stephen. And until this evening, she had thought her attraction to Wyn MacIntyre was just an interlude — part of this time she'd decided to take for herself before she donned the shackles of marriage.

  Of course, the thoughts about how much she was enjoying her freedom since her father's death had grown from tiny niggles to full-blown yearning to hold onto that feeling for a while yet. Not that she was truly contemplating such an idea, but she supposed
Wyn would be just as domineering as her friends' husbands, should he be someone's husband. He had all the other male attributes, including a self-confident demeanor that had people showing him a high level of respect.

  The children didn't let that respect include fear, she thought with a smile as she recalled Jute telling her about Wyn's own run-in with a skunk. She couldn't seem to keep from thinking what would have happened had Stephen overheard even a young child cast aspersions on his pride. She could imagine that sneer on Stephen's lips and probably a snarl of outrage at the offender.

  Wyn had no small amount of pride himself, but he handled it differently. Today, he had bristled when she dropped her guard and allowed her aversion to the lifestyle of Patty and Pete's parents to show. She had no doubt he felt these were his people and no outsider had a right to judge them. In fact, he'd indicated emphatically she had no right to do that. But he'd handled his disagreement with her without the simpering pouting she would have expected from Stephen.

  Stephen could very well change once they were wed, however. And she could only assume at this point how much worse the differences of opinions with Wyn might get the longer they were around each other.

  What if she did fall in love with Wyn MacIntyre, and he fell in love with her in return? She had to be realistic, because Wyn had made it clear what he was beginning to feel was a possible forever-type feeling. Could she be happy married to Wyn?

  She had no doubt she could be — at first. But what about later? What about the "forever" part?

  For one thing, how could she raise her children here, where there was so much poverty? They'd have so much better lives back in New York, wouldn't they? She sure as heck hadn't had that good of a life back there, though. The twins had more fun in one day than she'd ever had — except for today, with her teasing, fighting and . . . kissing with Wyn.

  Could she give up the chance to have that be a part of the rest of her life? Give up the chance to get to know Wyn better? He was the first man who'd ever made her feel feminine — even a little bit pretty. The first man who had ever teased her and made her feel like teasing him in return. The first man who had ever kissed her and curled her toes in her shoes — made her long to learn exactly what he meant when he assured her that he could make her writhe in ecstasy.

  Like Wyn, she had some very heavy thinking to do. Breaking her betrothal to Stephen would be a major step, and not something to be taken lightly. In fact, she supposed it would cause quite a scandal. She'd spent months on end considering how to go about finding a husband. Once the initial decision had been made, more months passed before selecting Stephen. Did her choice between which way to go now deserve any less consideration?

  Besides, she couldn't forget the fact Wyn was probably much too young for her! Why, when she was fifty and over the hill, he'd still be in his forties, barely past prime for a man.

  You're going to be fifty some day anyway, her mind insisted. Whoever you spend the intervening years with.

  She waved a hand as though chasing away a buzzing fly, but her mind refused to be intimidated by the threatening gesture.

  ~~~~

  Wyn rode up to Leery's cabin the next day around noon. He halted his horse at the edge of her neat, flower-strewn yard, leaning on the saddle horn and wondering if he looked as tenth as foolish as he felt. All morning, he'd been like one of the barn cats prowling around just before it goes into labor, until his pa had told him to get out for a while. As soon as he'd hit the saddle, he'd known where he had to go.

  "Go on in," a voice said from behind him.

  Somehow he kept himself from jerking the reins and startling the horse into rearing. He heaved a sigh, then stared down at the gnarled mountain healer.

  "Dang it, Leery. You could have warned me you were around."

  "You'd a heered me if you'd a been payin' attention. But you got that there schoolteacher on your mind, and ain't nothin' else managin' to get through."

  He didn't really believe she could read his mind, but Wyn let his chin fall to his chest and shook his head. "I . . ."

  "I said, go on in," Leery interrupted him.

  She walked by him and headed to her little cabin, passing on through the open door and leaving him to follow. Wyn urged his horse forward and dismounted at the front steps. Tying the horse to a hitching post, he studied the cabin for a minute.

  Even this early in the growing season, Leery already had dozens of plants blooming and hanging around her porch eaves. If he hadn't known better, he'd have thought her supposed mystical powers allowed her to have flowers when the rest of the mountain people were still planting seedlings. But he knew about the small glass hut behind her cabin, where she nurtured her plants and grew various herbs. In the winter she moved everything onto her enclosed back porch, but usually by early February, she began receiving packages of seeds when Jeeter brought the mail.

  He clearly recalled the time several years ago that Jeeter had begun bringing panes of glass up the mountain two at a time for her building. They were a birthday present for his mother, Jeeter had informed anyone who would listen. He'd read about something called a greenhouse in a book, and he was determined to build one for Leery. That way she wouldn't run out of the herbs she needed for her medicines over the winter.

  And Jeeter hadn't had to build it all by himself. Wyn had heard that until the greenhouse was complete, the services of the mountain healer could be had for the price of a couple hours work on her birthday present. He'd even gone up there and done his own stint when his ma had that upset stomach once and been out of both chamomile and peppermint.

  Leery came back out onto the porch holding two glasses. She set one on her porch railing, then sat in a white cane rocking chair, taking a sip of whatever was in the glass and pointedly waiting for Wyn to say something. He walked up the porch steps and picked up his glass. It looked like some sort of tea, and he took a hesitant sip, then sat down on top step and leaned against the post.

  "Good," he said, holding the glass out in a gesture to Leery. "Tastes like it has some sassafras in it."

  "Little of that, little of some other things," Leery said. "But ain't none of the love potion ingredients in that. That's what you came to talk 'bout, ain't it? I knowed you was back behind that there barn door when little Mairi and me was a'talkin' the other night."

  The side of Wyn's mouth twitched wryly, and he took a larger swallow from his glass. "I always thought one of the actual people wanting to pair up had to ask for that potion." He fixed Leery with a stern look. "That's what Ma always said, anyway, when she talked about that part of your ways. She said that the feelings between two people had as much to do with a potion like that working as any of the stuff you mixed in it did. That if one of the two didn't have some love to build on, the potion was worthless."

  "Your Ma was right," Leery said with a huge smile. "One of the two people involved does have to ask for the potion for it to work."

  "So you mean . . ."

  "Yep. Every one of them there feelin's you been havin' for Sarah is all your own. Ain't no help comin' from anywhere 'cept in your own heart. Scares you, huh?"

  Wyn ignored that comment. "Then why did you allow Mairi to think she was using the potion to get us together?"

  Leery grinned crookedly at him. "Little Mairi was real worried 'bout Miss Sarah leavin' at first, 'cause she was a'lovin' on Miss Sarah so much. What with her ma and pa only bein' dead sich a short while, little Mairi wasn't up to facin' another loss right then. All I did with that potion was give Mairi some comfort and ease her mind."

  "But what happens when Sarah does leave?"

  "If that happens, little Mairi will be able to handle it better. Be some more time between her losses, so they don't hit her so hard."

  "If?"

  Leery laughed and wagged a finger at Wyn. "No you don't, my boy! I ain't seen what the future's gonna bring for you and Sarah. You're gonna have to live out them days yourself and see what happens. But I will tell you this much."

&n
bsp; "What?"

  "I saw two white doves fly over your house the last time I was there. You know that's a surefire omen two people in your family will be married within a year's time. And I don't feel one of them is Carrie just yet."

  That only left him and his pa, Wyn realized, but he listened closely as Leery went on.

  "I'll even tell you this much. Love that's built slowly lasts forever." Then she gave him a wink. "But then, I've also seen love at first sight last forever, too."

  She rose and reached for his glass. As soon as he handed it to her, Leery went into her cabin. Knowing her habits from the past, Wyn got up and went to his horse. Leery had other things to do now, and he had been dismissed. Mounting, he turned his horse toward home.

  He had felt a bit of relief when Leery first agreed with him about the love potions — that the spell didn't work unless one of the actual participants in the potential match asked for the potion. But his stomach began tightening ever so gradually the farther he rode. If it wasn't the potion working, that meant Leery was right. That everything he'd said to Sarah Channing last night had come straight and true from his own deep, growing feelings for her.

  And Leery was right about another thing. That scared the hell out of him lots more than it did when he thought he had the excuse of some supernatural help on which to blame those feelings.

  ~~~~

  Sarah remembered to bring her cloak when Wyn called for her after school. Land sakes, she remembered every word he'd spoken the previous night, so it wasn't any surprise that she recalled his directive about the cloak. She should recall every word, since she'd played each one of them over and over in her mind until well after midnight.

  She also recalled that Wyn had said he had a lot of thinking to do, and he evidently did some of it while they rode in silence. The cabin they visited today was, as he had warned her, deeper in the mountains than Patty and Pete's home. Lonnie Fraiser rode with them, but he was as quiet as Wyn, the same as he was in school. She wondered how Carrie could even get enough words out of Lonnie to know he returned her feelings, but she had seen the two of them talking together. Well, mostly Carrie chatted away while Lonnie blushed and listened.