After the Storm (28 page)

Samuel smiled. Who would have guessed this proper woman had learned to dance from a gypsy? Cailin had some mischief in mind. Her chemise was lathered to her by the heat. He let his gaze slip along the curves that boosted his own temperature. He swallowed roughly, trying to withstand the demands of the mischief on
his
mind when he looked at her.

The low-cut ruffle across her bodice tempted him to touch her, and he wanted to dispense with anything but laying her back on the bed as he tasted her luscious skin. When his gaze returned to her face, he saw the easy provocativeness of her challenging pose. He doubted if he could resist her beguiling beauty for long.

“Show me,
a stór
,” he replied as softly.

Cailin clapped her hands. Slow at first, the rhythm increased in tempo with the flare of her chemise as it belled around her. In the close confines of the bedroom, she could not leap with the wild turns she had learned. As she watched Samuel's face, she knew it mattered little that she could not execute the most intricate moves.

Discovering that, she abandoned herself to the erotic cadence flowing from her heart to her hands. When she had been a young girl and had learned the steps, she had not realized how they imitated the motions of a woman teasing a man. Her hands grazed his face, his shoulders, the curve of his ear as she whirled close, then away. As if they had become winged, her bare feet flowed across the carpet. All the while, her fingers kept up the mesmerizing beat that took control of her body. She and the rhythm and the need to be loved had become one.

Her eyes closed as she slowed to sway to the throbbing within her. Slowly they opened when she sensed Samuel approaching her. Her gaze took in the loosened collar of his shirt, his firm, stubborn chin, the luscious shape of his lips and his eyes' jade flame. She lifted his glasses off his nose and put them on the bureau. He smiled, and she doubted she had ever been happier than she was at this moment. When he ran a fingertip along her face, the answering tingle exploded in her most secret depths.

He drew her toward him, letting her swaying stroke him as eagerly as her fingers had. Taking her hands, he kissed one, then the other. His arms enfolded her, and she could only think of his muscular body against her. His insatiable mouth refused to taste only her lips.

He raised them away from hers far enough to ask, “Does this mean you are giving me one more night?”

“This night and any others you want,” she whispered before his mouth reclaimed hers. As he leaned her back on the bed in the faint moonlight, she wondered if he had heard her offer to be his … for the rest of their lives. Then, as his kisses deepened and as he taught her a very special dance only they could share, she forgot everything but their euphoria.

Cailin called for Brendan to carry an armful of supplies to the wagon outside the store. As he bounced in, with Sean on his heels, gathered up the supplies, and ran out, she laughed.

“It looks as if they've forgotten their differences,” she said to Emma, who was shaking her head and smiling.

“Whatever upset them is obviously no longer important.”

“Do you know what caused the fight?”

Emma put aside the paper where she had calculated Cailin's order. “Sean was very closemouthed about it. He said it wasn't his business to talk about whatever set them off. Has Brendan said anything?”

“No, although I've been waiting for him to. Maybe I should ask him directly.”

“Good luck in getting more from him than I got from Sean.” She wiped her hands on her apron.

“I'll let you know when I see you next week.”

“Aren't you coming to Alice's wedding? I thought you and the children would.”

“Samuel hasn't said anything about—”

“He won't come to the wedding. And don't try to change his mind about this, because you won't.”

Cailin frowned. “But he admires Alice very much, and he has spoken well of her future husband.”

“True, but he won't come.” She rested her hands on the counter. “I consider him a good friend. He shares many of my hopes for Haven's future. Yet, when I was married, he didn't attend either the ceremony or the reception afterward at the Grange Hall.”

“If he was busy, or one of the children was sick—”

“It's not that, Cailin. He never comes to town for weddings. He attends events at the Grange Hall or the church, but he's always somewhere else when there's a wedding.” She sighed and came around the counter. Sitting in the rocking chair by the stove, she put her hands over her rounded belly. “I tried talking to him once about it, but he just changed the subject.”

“He does that every time someone probes too close to whatever he's trying to hide.”

“He's hiding something?” Emma stared at the wall and mused, “I didn't know he had come to Haven with something to hide, too.”

“Too?”

Emma waved aside her question. “Just mumbling to myself. Maybe your arrival has changed his mind and he'll come to the wedding, but don't count on it.”

Cailin nodded and bid Emma a good afternoon. In truth, it was closer to evening, because chores had delayed both her and Brendan from finishing their errands.

Her smile returned. Brendan was spending every free moment he had with his cow. He brushed its black and white coat until she feared he was going to wear it right off. With care, he selected everything the cow ate. He was obsessed with every detail, and she knew Samuel had been right to insist on her son being on his best behavior if he wanted to take the cow to the fair.

Sweat bubbled up on her forehead and slipped down her back as she stepped off the store's porch and into the sunshine. Even at this hour, the heat was hardly bearable, and dust rose with every step. She glanced toward the western sky, but no clouds were thickening there. How much longer could this heat and drought last? She hoped Samuel was wrong when he said it could be for several more weeks.

Brendan climbed up onto the wagon's seat at the same moment she did. When she motioned for him to take the reins, he grinned. He loved every opportunity to drive.

She waved aside more dust as he turned the wagon back in the direction of Nanny Goat Hill Road. Slapping her skirt, she watched a brown cloud surround it. Everything was infested with dust.

“Mama?”

Cailin looked up at Brendan. “Yes?”

“I heard you and Samuel talking before we left and …” Color splashed up his face, although it could not hide the dark bruise around his eye and down his cheek … as Abban had worn more often than she had admitted to Samuel.

She did not want to see anything of his father in Brendan, but he had the same cleft in his chin and the same square hands. Putting her fingers over one of them, she said, “I assume you saw Samuel kiss me before we left.”

“I've seen him kiss you lots of times before.” He gave her a wry grin. “After all, Papa's dead, so it's all right for you to kiss another man.”

“It sounds as if you've got it all figured out.”

“I talked it over with Megan and Lottie. Then I talked to Sean this afternoon. We agree it's all right.”

“Thank you. I'm glad you don't mind my kissing Samuel.”

“Not kissing him, Mama. I mean it's all right for you to marry him.”

“Marry him?” she gasped.

“Sean says that's what grown-ups do who live in the same house.” He lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder, as if he expected someone to be following to eavesdrop. “He says it's not right for you to be at the farm with Samuel for this long if you aren't married, but I told him you wouldn't do anything wrong.”

“Is that why you punched him?”

He nodded, hanging his head.

She put her finger beneath his chin and raised it. Seeing tears in his eyes, she said, “Brendan, Sean is the very best friend you have ever had. I know it hurt your feelings when he said something you disagreed with.”

“I didn't disagree with him, Mama. You and Samuel should get married.” His smile returned, tremulous at first, then brightening as he said, “It'd be perfect. We could stay in Haven, and you and Samuel could have some more babies if you want.”

“You seem to have it all planned out.”

“I do!” He chuckled. “All you have to do is tell Samuel you want to marry him, and everything will be perfect.”

“I know it sounds that way to you.” She sighed. “But it isn't quite that easy.”

“Why not? Don't you love him? You wouldn't kiss him if you didn't love him, would you?”

“It isn't quite that simple.”

“I don't know why not.” His brows lowered in an expression he must have borrowed from Samuel. “You like kissing him and he likes kissing you. Shouldn't you do what's right, even if it's difficult?”

She almost laughed at her son's innocent assumptions. “Is that what Samuel told you about avoiding another fight with Sean?”

“Yes, and isn't it the same?”

“I wish it was.” She hugged him and repeated, “I wish it was.”

“Will you think about it?”

She was tempted to tell him that the idea of marrying Samuel had not been far from the front of her mind since the night she first shared his bed. “Yes, Brendan, I'll think about it.”

When Cailin had finished the dishes and tucked the children in after Brendan had read to them, she came back down the stairs. She knew she had to tell Samuel what Brendan had said, but she was not sure exactly how. If Samuel was as skittish about weddings as Emma claimed, the very topic might be ticklish. She recalled how he had reacted when he spoke of Rhea not working here any longer because she was getting married. He had looked as if someone dear had died.

Cailin paused in the parlor doorway. On this long, hot day, the breezes drifting through the open windows were a balm. A parade of insects danced about the lamp in front of one window, but she ignored them.

She was not surprised to see Samuel reading his newspaper. When he looked up, he smiled. He stood and tossed the newspaper onto a crate in his office. He picked up a sweating pitcher from the table beside his chair and asked, “How about some tea?”

“Iced, I hope.”

“It's far too hot for anything else.”

“A good thunderstorm would sweep the air clean.” She took a glass and sat on the sofa.

“Cailin, we can talk about the weather all evening, but I'm more interested in what kept you mute through supper. Are you going to keep on avoiding whatever is bothering you?”

“No, I want to talk about it.” Her knuckles bleached on the glass. “Samuel, we need to talk.”

He sat beside her and murmured against her ear, “Do you want me to tell you about how my fingers could glide down your back like this?” He ran his hands lightly along her back.

“Don't,” she whispered.

“Don't?” He regarded her with astonishment. “Don't what? Talk about touching you or touch you?”

“We need to talk about us.”

“What about us?” He twirled a strand of her hair around his finger.

She reached up and unwound the strand. Standing, because she had to put some distance between them, she said, “Brendan told me why he fought with Sean.” She put down the glass and clasped her hands, so she could not touch him. “Sean repeated the rumor that there's something wrong about you and me living here as we are.”

Samuel shrugged. “Kids like to repeat what they hear, even when they don't completely understand it.”

“But they do completely understand it.” She blinked back the tears she had been determined not to let fill her eyes. “If I was still just your housekeeper, I could have consoled Brendan and told him not to worry.”

“You were
never just
my housekeeper.”

“True, but …” She had to say it. Holding it back would only make the strain worse. “The children want us to get married, so their friends and their friends' parents will stop gossiping about us.”

“Married?” Samuel stood, wanting to believe he had misheard Cailin. When she did not withdraw her words, he snapped, “If this is your way of coercing me to—”

“I never would force you to marry me. How could you even suggest that?”

“Cailin—”

“No, you'll listen to me for once!” Her eyes were brilliant with fury and unshed tears. “How could you think I would use my children to make you marry me? What gives you the idea that I even want to marry you?”

“The way you kiss me.”

“It's the same as the way you kiss me, and you don't want to marry me, although you've been quite happy to bed me. Now my children are the laughingstocks of Haven.” She put her hands up to her face. “Why did I listen to my heart again?”

“Your heart?” He grasped her shoulders. “Cailin, how could you be so foolish? You know this was meant to be just until you left.”

“No,” she whispered. “I didn't know that.” Her face hardened. “Or was making love to me your way of persuading me to stay so you didn't lose the children?”

“Is that what you think? What you really think? I don't want to hurt either you or the children.”

“Then you failed.” She drew back. “Good night, Samuel.” She walked out of the parlor.

He heard her bedroom door close with a click. Not a slam as he had thought. Or as he deserved.

Sixteen

Samuel looked over the newspaper he had started to read last night before Cailin left him to deal with his thoughts. He did not want to believe he had been using her, but he had been delighted that she was not looking for any permanent ties. They could be happy with each other and not involve their hearts again. When the time came for her to go, as she seemed determined to do, she could do so without leaving him with nothing but humiliation.

He had thought it was the perfect solution to his unquenchable desire for her and his determination not to get mixed up with wedding plans again. As each minute passed during the eternally long night, he had been reminded how imperfect his plan had been. He had avoided the embarrassment but not the pain. And, worst of all, he had hurt her.