baggage, while Mrs. Bickham wept into a much-mended handkerchief.
“I promise I’ll write every week,” Izannah said.
Emmeline kissed her cheek. “You’d better,” she answered with a mock scowl. There was a flurry of good-byes after that, along with a few tears, and then Emmeline stood with the Bickhams watching the stagecoach trundle off toward Missoula, where the girls would board a train that would take them all the way to New England.
When the dust settled, Emmeline and the Bickhams said farewells to one another—they would meet again on Sunday morning, of course—and then Emmeline climbed into her overloaded surrey. She took up the reins, released the brake, and turned the rig toward her future.
Gil was standing in the doorway of the barn when she arrived, his shoulder in a sling, leaning on a pitchfork. He watched, with a slight, crooked smile, as she drew the surrey to a stop beside the creek and climbed down. Lysandra lowered her ancient head to the clear waters and began to drink noisily, and on both sides of the stream, Gil’s cattle grazed in the rich grass.
“You are not supposed to be working,” she scolded as she drew near. Reverend Bickham had organized a crew to make repairs on the barn, and there was wood chopped and stacked for winter. With the cattle Gil had bought from otherranchers, they had the beginnings of the ranch they dreamed of building together.
“And you’re not supposed to be nagging,” Gil said when she reached him. He set the pitchfork aside and drew her against him in a one-armed embrace. Their kiss was gentle at first, even cautious, and Emmeline’s heart leaped, brimming with a new and ever-deeper love.
They were like newlyweds—although not in all ways, for they had agreed not to consummate their marriage until they could wake up together the morning after and go on with their lives.
Gil eased Emmeline into the barn, where the fresh hay was sweet-scented and prickly-soft, and kissed her again, this time with hunger. She responded by parting her lips to receive his tongue.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” she gasped, breathless, when he finally allowed her to take air.
Gil nuzzled her neck and stroked her breast. “You’ve forgotten what I said, Miss Emmeline,” he teased as she trembled under his touch, yearning to shed her dress and underthings and receive him completely. “I have no patience, this first time. I’ve waited too long to have you.”
Emmeline flushed, but with pleasure, not embarrassment. She stepped away from him, and he watched her breasts rise as she reached up to remove her sensible hat and toss it aside. After that, she unpinned her hair and shook her head, causing the auburn tresses to fall, bouncing, to her waist. Then, like a temptress, Emmeline began unfastening the small buttons at the front of her dress. Presently she stepped out of the garment and stood before Gil in her petticoats, drawers, and camisole.
He pulled her to him with a low, impatient cry and wrenched the eyelet-edged camisole down, freeing her full, sumptuous breasts. He admired them, fondled them gently inhis calloused hand, and then bent his head to take fierce suckle at a taut nipple.
Emmeline cried out in shameless pleasure when he pushed down her petticoats and literally tore away her drawers to cup her in a firm, possessive grip. The heel of his palm pressed against the nubbin of flesh he’d bared, and he made slow, tantalizing circles as he continued to feast on her breasts.
He kissed her again, and the two of them dropped to the hay and knelt facing each other. “Next time,” he said hoarsely, “I’ll take you like a lady. Right now, I want you in the swiftest and most primitive way I can have you.”
Emmeline had been transformed from woman to she-wolf, and she turned on her hands and knees, offering herself to her mate. Gil opened his trousers, found the passage that waited to receive him, and thrust himself inside her with a fierce, almost
“I promise I’ll write every week,” Izannah said.
Emmeline kissed her cheek. “You’d better,” she answered with a mock scowl. There was a flurry of good-byes after that, along with a few tears, and then Emmeline stood with the Bickhams watching the stagecoach trundle off toward Missoula, where the girls would board a train that would take them all the way to New England.
When the dust settled, Emmeline and the Bickhams said farewells to one another—they would meet again on Sunday morning, of course—and then Emmeline climbed into her overloaded surrey. She took up the reins, released the brake, and turned the rig toward her future.
Gil was standing in the doorway of the barn when she arrived, his shoulder in a sling, leaning on a pitchfork. He watched, with a slight, crooked smile, as she drew the surrey to a stop beside the creek and climbed down. Lysandra lowered her ancient head to the clear waters and began to drink noisily, and on both sides of the stream, Gil’s cattle grazed in the rich grass.
“You are not supposed to be working,” she scolded as she drew near. Reverend Bickham had organized a crew to make repairs on the barn, and there was wood chopped and stacked for winter. With the cattle Gil had bought from otherranchers, they had the beginnings of the ranch they dreamed of building together.
“And you’re not supposed to be nagging,” Gil said when she reached him. He set the pitchfork aside and drew her against him in a one-armed embrace. Their kiss was gentle at first, even cautious, and Emmeline’s heart leaped, brimming with a new and ever-deeper love.
They were like newlyweds—although not in all ways, for they had agreed not to consummate their marriage until they could wake up together the morning after and go on with their lives.
Gil eased Emmeline into the barn, where the fresh hay was sweet-scented and prickly-soft, and kissed her again, this time with hunger. She responded by parting her lips to receive his tongue.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” she gasped, breathless, when he finally allowed her to take air.
Gil nuzzled her neck and stroked her breast. “You’ve forgotten what I said, Miss Emmeline,” he teased as she trembled under his touch, yearning to shed her dress and underthings and receive him completely. “I have no patience, this first time. I’ve waited too long to have you.”
Emmeline flushed, but with pleasure, not embarrassment. She stepped away from him, and he watched her breasts rise as she reached up to remove her sensible hat and toss it aside. After that, she unpinned her hair and shook her head, causing the auburn tresses to fall, bouncing, to her waist. Then, like a temptress, Emmeline began unfastening the small buttons at the front of her dress. Presently she stepped out of the garment and stood before Gil in her petticoats, drawers, and camisole.
He pulled her to him with a low, impatient cry and wrenched the eyelet-edged camisole down, freeing her full, sumptuous breasts. He admired them, fondled them gently inhis calloused hand, and then bent his head to take fierce suckle at a taut nipple.
Emmeline cried out in shameless pleasure when he pushed down her petticoats and literally tore away her drawers to cup her in a firm, possessive grip. The heel of his palm pressed against the nubbin of flesh he’d bared, and he made slow, tantalizing circles as he continued to feast on her breasts.
He kissed her again, and the two of them dropped to the hay and knelt facing each other. “Next time,” he said hoarsely, “I’ll take you like a lady. Right now, I want you in the swiftest and most primitive way I can have you.”
Emmeline had been transformed from woman to she-wolf, and she turned on her hands and knees, offering herself to her mate. Gil opened his trousers, found the passage that waited to receive him, and thrust himself inside her with a fierce, almost
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