Into the Woods (24 page)

"Neither do I."

She continued to smile, and then she kissed him, light and sweet, tasting slightly of her special oil. "Lucky for you, you have me now."

He lowered himself and closed his eyes. "Lucky for me."

Chapter 16

Matilda had all but chased Declan off, since Stella and Gretchen Hazelrig would be spending the day with her; learning to cook, she said. He hated to leave her, but at the same time he was glad she had found herself a friend in Stella.

As always, Tanglewood was a bustling place on Saturday. There was not the excitement of the Founders' Day Celebration today, but the normal Saturday flurry was lively. Shoppers from near and far visited the general store and the dressmakers and a multitude of other specialized shops. Children ran in the streets, shouting and playing as their parents did the weekend chores.

Declan glanced at the busy saloon, thinking of his earlier plans to buy the place. Restoring the plantation house, the labor and materials, was more expensive than he'd planned. He still had a healthy sum of cash, but much of his fortune was tied up in the house he hated, the land he was not yet working. Buying the saloon would have to wait. The delay did not distress him, as it would have a few weeks ago. He no longer had the urge to take over as much of Tanglewood as possible, to own its inhabitants. His need for revenge seemed less urgent, was no longer the center of his life. Matilda had changed everything, including his dream of making everyone in this small town pay. He could see, now, that there were good people here as well as bad. Yes, he looked at everything differently these days.

A crowd had gathered around the rainmaker. Cox had the men he'd assembled form a large circle around him. Farmers made up the circle, mostly, desperate men on the verge of losing everything. It was too late to make the season a good one, and a few more weeks of dry weather would mean ruination for many of the smaller farmers.

Henry Langford, Vanessa's rejected suitor, was one of the more vocal participants. His cronies, the freckled, red-haired Reggie Brewster, who worked a farm with his father, and potbellied Wendell Trent, who worked a small farm alone and looked as if he wanted to strangle the rainmaker, nodded and agreed loudly with everything Henry said.

When Cox called out in his booming voice and pointed to the heavens, the farmers looked up expectantly, even the angry Wendell. When he began to dance and chant in another language—some kind of Indian dialect, Declan suspected—a few of the farmers closed their eyes and prayed.

"Pathetic, isn't it?"

Declan turned to face a disapproving Warren Arrington. Even if he had given up on marrying Vanessa, he needed to remain cordial with his neighbor. He would never like the man; the past was too painful. But if he were to build anything here in Tanglewood—with Matilda—he needed to keep up appearances.

"They're scared," Declan said.

Arrington snorted. "Scared enough to hire a con man to take what little money they have left. Yesterday afternoon he made a bunch of those halfwits follow him to the edge of town and dance around an oak tree shouting some nonsense at the top of their lungs. You mark my words, one day that Cox fellow will disappear in the dead of night, taking his two hundred dollars and a belly full of Tanglewood food with him. And there will still be drought."

Surely Arrington's plantation was suffering as well. "What about your place, sir?"

"It won't be a good year, that's for sure, but I've saved all my life for the difficult times that come to us all. Next year will be better."

There wouldn't be a next year for a lot of the farmers who'd put their faith in Raleigh Cox.

Arrington turned his back on the spectacle. "Revolting display," he muttered. The farmers dismissed, he cocked his head and smiled at Declan with narrowed eyes. "I'm here to play poker with an old friend who has come to town. Linden Durant is his name, and he used to live hereabouts."

The name was not familiar, but even if it had been, Declan would not have worried. No one had yet made the connection between his past and the wealthy planter he'd become. "Sounds interesting."

"The mayor, the doctor, and the sheriff will be there," Arrington said with a tight smile. "Everyone in this town who's worth knowing. Care to join us?"

The idea of spending more time with this hard-hearted, crass gentleman was not exactly appealing. Declan still hated Warren Arrington and everything he stood for; he still dreamed of the day the old man would get his comeuppance. But the idea of playing cards with "everyone in this town worth knowing" was tempting, and since he was at loose ends and loved to play poker, and was quite good at it... "Why not?"

* * *

The session had gone fairly well, considering that neither Stella nor Gretchen would ever be great cooks. Gretchen had no patience for mundane matters, and Stella tried but simply did not have the gift. Matilda decided to stick to the simpler recipes. What choice did she have?

Declan came home in a terrible mood, scowling and muttering beneath his breath, tossing his hat onto the table with more force than was necessary. He jerked off his jacket and tossed it aside, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt as if he could barely breathe. Tonight he definitely looked more warrior than gentleman.

He sat in the wing chair in the main room and stretched out his long legs, eyes narrowed and body tense.

"My goodness." She sat in his lap and pushed a strand of stubborn dark hair off his forehead. "What's the matter?"

"I lost," he said softy. "I actually lost."

"You lost what?" She snuggled comfortably into his lap, sure that nothing was bad enough to make him stay in this dark mood.

"Money, that's what I lost. I lost at poker. A friend of Arrington's is in town for the week, and they were playing a friendly game with a few other men from town. They met this afternoon in the hotel, in Durant's room." His eyes narrowed. "I think he cheated."

"Did he win everything?"

"No. Actually, everyone won but me. Even when I had hands I knew couldn't be beaten..."

She kissed Declan to silence his complaints. "Everyone has an unlucky day now and then."

"Not me," he grumbled.

"Are you now destitute?"

He almost smiled. "No, of course not."

She flicked open one button and then another, then lowered her head to kiss his throat while her hand rested against the bare skin over his heart. "I'm so sorry you had a bad day," she whispered between kisses. "My goodness, you do taste good for an unlucky man."

She felt him relax, his body seeming to unfold in her hands. He unbuttoned her blouse and did a little tasting of his own, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking deep. There was no urgency to their actions, just a warm, gentle boldness that did not need to be hurried.

There was something extraordinary about the feel of his skin against hers; she would never tire of it. When his shirt and her blouse had been unbuttoned as far as possible, she pressed her chest against his and kissed him, deep and slow.

"I remember," she whispered, "sitting across the room and watching you sit in this chair. The more I looked, the more tempted I was to cross the room and sit right here in your lap." She ran her fingers through his hair and trailed them down his neck. "But I didn't dare move. I just sat there and wondered what your neck would taste like, and you asked me to take down my hair."

"I remember that night, myself," he breathed, lifting a hand to run it through her loosened hair.

"I thought it was a potion that made me want you, but it was just you. You and me, Declan. Nothing false, nothing concocted."

"I know."

He slipped his hand beneath her skirt, the move familiar. His hand on her thigh felt so perfect, so right. He spread her thighs and touched her intimately; a jolt of pleasure rippled through her body.

"No drawers?"

"I planned to seduce you when you got home."

He grinned, and every hint of unhappiness left his handsome face. "Did you, now?"

"I did." She reached between their bodies to unfasten his trousers. She no longer had to keep her eyes on the buttons; she could feel her way around the task quite effectively. He touched and teased her with his fingers while she opened his trousers and freed his erection, stroking slowly and firmly. "How am I doing?"

His answer was a moan she caught in her mouth, through parted lips.

As they kissed, she shifted until she was straddling him, a knee on either side, one arm around his neck. She lifted her hips and guided him to her, then into her, sinking down to take him inside her.

She took her mouth from his to watch his face as she rose and fell slowly, lifting her hips and then lowering herself gradually until he was deeper inside her than he'd ever been before. She held his gaze as she lifted up until he almost left her, then floated down to join them completely again.

He held her tight, moved his mouth to her breast, and suckled her while she swayed gently against and away from him. She closed her eyes as the sensations grew almost too strong for her to bear. She moved faster, harder, and Declan moved with her, taking her hips in his hands as she dropped down and he pushed up.

Completion crackled though her, shattered her body into a million pieces and forcing her to cry out. She felt Declan's release, the stiffening of his body, the eruption inside her, the low cry of his own. She moved once more, a slow, ending motion before she melted against him and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I love you so much," she whispered. For a long moment they remained there, unmoving, joined, entangled.

His hand tangled in her hair. "I love you, too."

They didn't move, but remained entwined and satisfied, caught in a long, peaceful silence. Rays of the afternoon sun drifted through the window and warmed them.

She had never known complete peace, until meeting Declan. She had never even imagined she could feel this way. He did love her; she could hear the truth in his voice when he told her. He told her every day.

"So," she finally whispered, moving slightly against him. "How do you feel now?"

Declan didn't hesitate. "Like the luckiest man alive."

* * *

Vanessa was impatient. She did not like the fidgety unpleasantness that came with impatience. Usually when she wanted something, she got it immediately.

She had plans to meet Johnny in the guest house after supper, but until she was married she couldn't do everything she wanted; she couldn't know what it was like to have him inside her. Oh, the very thought made her quake, right here at the supper table.

"Daddy," she said, glancing at him over a bowl of stew. "You haven't invited Declan Harper to dinner in a while. Don't you think we should ask him to Sunday dinner tomorrow?"

Her father gave her a sharp glare. "No, I do not. Mr. Harper will likely be a guest here next week, for a meeting of gentlemen, and while he is in the house I do not want to see you in attendance. Make yourself scarce, you hear me?"

But Daddy liked Declan. Didn't he? "I don't understand."

Her father gave her one of his loving, patronizing smiles. He did adore her, she knew that, and he thought he knew her. But in his eyes, she would forever be his little girl, a child who needed to be coddled and protected. "Declan Harper is not for you, young lady. He is not who he appears to be."

This sounded like a complication she did not need! "What do you mean by that, Daddy? Who is he?"

Her father shook his head. His white face hardened. Oh, she knew that look. It was rare and ruthless and nothing good ever came of it.

"Years ago there was a family living on the outskirts of town, on the farm Seth Hazelrig works now," he snapped. "The woman was Irish, never did learn to speak proper American English. She spit out a baby every year or so, like the brood mare she was. The man was a miserable drunk who didn't mind making babies but couldn't see to keeping them properly fed and clothed." He screwed up his face in distaste. "Damn white trash."

"What does that have to do with Declan?"

Her father set his eyes on her, hard and unflinching. "Declan Harper was one of the brats that Irish whore spat out."

Vanessa's eyes widened in real surprise. "And you knew this all along?"

Her father shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "No, not at first. Good heavens, for a while I even thought he might make you a suitable husband." He shook his head in horror. "I kept thinking that he looked familiar, though, and with good reason. Damn trash looks just like his no-good daddy. I got curious and asked around and finally made the connection." He snorted and reached for his whiskey. "No matter how much money he makes, beneath it all he's still common trash."

Vanessa experienced a moment of real, true disappointment. Well, so much for her scheme to wed Declan and take Johnny as her lover. She certainly could not marry white trash! What would her children be like? She shuddered. How close she'd come to making a horrid mistake!

"How unfortunate," she said calmly. "But if that's the case, why are you inviting Mr. Harper to the house next week? Are you going to confront him?"