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Michelle stood in the cabin doorway and looked across the yard. Luther was splitting wood, naked from the waist up. She stood gaping at him and swallowed hard.
“Mornin’.”
She dared a peek in his direction. “Good morning.” She crossed the yard and sat on a half-uncut log a good distance from Luther. She didn’t want to get into an argument about his clothes, or lack of them, today.
Over the last two weeks, things had improved between them. Luther had showed her how to tend to the small garden where he grew corn, squash, and other vegetables. She did chores around the cabin and was responsible for taking care of Clara every day. They passed the time by going for walks in the woods and Luther taught her about the animals that lived nearby.
Luther wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” she lied. She vaguely recalled waking from a nightmare in the middle of the night. Sometimes she remembered the horrid dreams, but most times she didn’t.
She pushed the dark thoughts away and watched three chipmunks scamper in the grass. They chased each other over a stump and back behind the woodpile. She tossed them bits of bread even though Luther told her not to feed them. He said they were wild animals and could fend on their own.
“I should be done in about ten minutes, if you wanna wait,” he called out.
“All right.” Michelle peered at Luther out of the corner of her eye. She watched the muscles in his arms flex and saw his flat stomach ripple under his tawny skin. She had never really noticed how strong he was before. He was so much different than Roger.
Roger was weak, pale, and scrawny. Once, he had gotten into a fight at a party and someone’s sixteen-year-old brother had knocked him senseless with one punch. She had thought it was funny at the time, but on their way home Roger had slapped her for laughing about it.
She fiddled with her black skirt and watched as Luther grunted hard and swung the ax again. He had a small patch of dark hair near his navel. A sheen of perspiration glistened on his skin as the sun came out from behind a cloud. She looked away. After all, she’d been staring at his stomach, and that was near...
What was wrong with her this morning? She had no right to gawk at Luther. It wasn’t proper to study a man like that, to see the contours of his ribs and imagine what it would feel like to touch him. Thoughts like these were just plain wicked. But Luther had removed his shirt, so maybe it did entitle her to look.
“Whatcha thinkin’?”
She snapped from her thoughts. “Huh?”
“Looks like you were thinkin’ about something serious.” He grinned.
She bowed her head. Luther must have caught her staring. “Nothing.” Her pulse raced, and her breathing had become slow and deep. What was happening to her? She never had wanton thoughts about Roger, and she’d almost married him.
Luther turned his back to her and she noticed that his back was just as muscular as his front. There wasn’t a bit of fat on him.
She licked her lips. It was one thing to stay here with Luther until she could move on, but it was another thing to have lustful cravings about him. She pressed her hand to her forehead and tried to calm her thundering heart. Did Luther ever think about her like this?
Luther wiped his hands on his breeches and took a drink from a tin cup near the log.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she forced herself to look away and stare at the sky, the ground, the cabin, anywhere else. But her attention was pulled back to Luther.
Luther set the cup down and approached her. “You upset about something? You look funny.”
Her gaze traveled to Luther’s stomach, up his chest, and met his dazzling green eyes. He was half-naked and sweaty. Her throat seized. “I’m fine,” she croaked.
Luther knelt in front of her. His glistening, hot body was inches from hers. He smelled manly and musky. Her attention was riveted to a small bead of sweat dripping down his chest.
“Hey.” He lifted her chin with one finger and she quivered. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she whispered.
“You want some water?”
Michelle shook her head. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“It’s hot out here.” Luther wiped his brow with his forearm. “Usually ain’t this warm ’til July. Don’t expect it’ll last past today or tomorrow.” He cocked his head to one side. “You sure you ain’t too hot? You’re all flushed.”
She bowed her head after sneaking another glance at his stomach. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine to me. Is something bothering you?”
“No,” she answered too fast, then bit her bottom lip. Her chest heaved, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She did feel unnaturally hot, but then again, it was warm out.
“I don’t understand how you can wear all these clothes. You need short sleeves. Summer’s coming.”
“I don’t have anything—”
“I can cut the sleeves off your shirt later. For now though, I’d best cool you down and make you feel more comfortable.”
Luther’s thick fingers touched the high collar of her blouse and she trembled. What was he going to do?
“This is too tight. No wonder you’re hot. Your collar’s holding all your heat in,” he said as he unfastened the top button. “One or two should do it. It ain’t good to get so hot. You might faint.” Luther undid two more buttons, then ran a finger along her collar and loosened it.
A moan escaped her throat as Luther touched the delicate skin on her neck.
“And this belongs under your clothes. Wear it next to your skin.” He opened her blouse an inch and tucked her necklace inside. “Feel better?”
No, she didn’t feel better. His touch had inflamed her already delicate condition. Her lower body pulsed with a newfound desire. Why hadn’t she protested or tried to stop him from touching her?
“Yes,” she lied, her voice sounding husky.
“Good. Now I’ll do these. No sense leaving ’em buttoned up.” Luther unbuttoned her left sleeve. His warm palms caressed her forearm as he pushed the material up.
Her skin prickled as Luther undid the other sleeve and fondled her arm. She sat immobile, letting him do whatever he wanted. A rush of heat flooded her privates, and parts of her ached in a way she had never known before.
Was she supposed to feel like this? Whenever Roger touched her, she had flinched and tried to get away. But now, she wanted to fall off the log so she would have an excuse to press against Luther. He would catch her, crush her to his chest, and...
“We should cut them off.”
“What?”
“Your sleeves. You sure you feel fine?” He pressed the back of his hand to her brow. “I don’t think you’re sick, but you sure are breathing hard.”
Michelle tucked a lock of loose hair behind her ear. What would Luther do if she reached out and touched his chest?
“That’s another problem.”
“What?”
“Your hair. You ought to put it up, get it off your neck. It’ll keep you cooler.”
“I’ve got pins—”
“They’re no good. I’ll braid it. I’ll be right back.” Luther stood over her. His waist was inches from her face. “Don’t you run off anywhere.” He winked.
Michelle watched Luther enter the cabin. If she trusted her knees to hold her, she’d run after him and... And what? She didn’t know the first thing about men. “I’ve got to stop thinking like this,” she whispered.
Before she had a chance to calm herself, Luther was back, carrying her hairbrush and a few leather thongs.
Luther straddled the log and patted the space between his open legs. “I need you to sit here while I fix your hair.”
He wanted her to sit there? Oh, she would, she’d go to the moon if he told her to. She nestled close to Luther and he gathered her hair in his hands. His fingertips skimmed her neck and she shivered.
“Easy now.” He leaned her back and brushed her hair. “You sit still.”
Michelle closed her eyes as Luther’s chest pressed against her back. Her skin blazed from his touch. Did he know what he was doing to her?
“You don’t have anything else to wear, do you?” Luther stroked her neck as he worked with her hair, and her nipples hardened in a flash.
“Like what?”
“Well...” He fingered her skirt near her thigh and she stifled a low moan. “I noticed you wear wool skirts. They won’t do in the summer. You’ll pass out.” His voice came out low and rumbling. “How many you got on, anyway?”
“Two.”
“You should take one off. You’ll be cooler.”
She reached behind her and started fumbling with the buttons.
Luther chuckled. “I don’t mean right now.” His lips grazed the side of her neck. “Unless that’s what you want.”
Michelle froze. Had she actually started to undress in front of him? What was wrong with her?
“Have you given any more thought to breeches?”
Only yours, she wanted to answer. “I might try them, I suppose, if you want me to.” She felt herself melting backward and reclining against Luther’s strong chest.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” She held her breath, anticipating the question.
“Does my being shirtless bother you?”
“Uh, no, not really.”
“Something’s got you riled up. I can tell,” he whispered in her ear.
With a start, she realized Luther had finished with her hair minutes ago and was cradling her in his arms. It was a pleasant feeling, and she was in no hurry to leave his embrace. “I’m fine.”
“So, what would you like to do today? Any thoughts?”
“I don’t know. What would you like to do?”
“Kiss you, if you’d let me.”
Her heart raced faster. Was he serious? “I... Um... I...”
Luther turned her toward him. “Just one, to try it out. Please?”
“All right.”
Michelle held her breath, eagerly waiting for the kiss. A second later, Luther’s lips pressed against hers. Her body tingled as she returned the kiss, then draped her arms around Luther’s neck. He kissed her again, slow and tender.
This was heaven. The few times Roger had kissed her, he had grabbed her and smashed their mouths together. This was different. This was romantic and made her feel tingly and... she wanted more.
Luther moaned and kissed her again, then pulled away.
She opened her eyes as he released her. “That was nice,” she whispered.
“I’m glad you liked it. Anytime you feel the urge to kiss me, just ask.” He cleared his throat. “Now that we have our kissing done, why don’t we go for a walk on the ridge?”
“All right.” She didn’t really want to go for a walk. She wanted to stay and kiss Luther more. Every inch of her yearned for his touch. How could she admit what she wanted? It wasn’t proper. As much as she longed to see what would happen if they stayed on the log, her common sense prevailed. Kissing might lead to other things, and she wasn’t ready for that. Not today.
“I think a walk would be a good idea.”
Luther clasped her hand as they headed to the ridge. She focused on the path and not on Luther’s hand holding hers. Her mad rush of desire was fading, but what about later? What would happen when they were in bed tonight? Would Luther try to touch her? If he did, would she let him?
* * *
LUTHER LAY IN BED STARING at the ceiling. Michelle was asleep on her side next to him. He relaxed and thought about the day. They had kissed and Michelle liked it. He hadn’t planned on kissing her, but after the way she kept eyeing him, he knew she wanted him to. Her feeble attempts to cover up her cravings only added to her charm
He enjoyed kissing her, but he had to be careful. Near the end, he’d been all-too aware of the way his cock throbbed and pulsed in his breeches. It had taken all of his self-control to stop after a few kisses. He had longed to sweep Michelle into his arms and carry her into the cabin to consummate their marriage. He broke from his fantasy and sighed. He had definitely gone too long without a woman.
The moonlight shone in the window over the bed, bathing the cabin in a pale white light. He knew he wouldn’t sleep much tonight, wild fantasies about making love to Michelle would keep him awake and distracted. Next time, would Michelle let him touch her or—
“Get away from me.” The bed bucked as Michelle lashed out and smacked him in the head.
“Hey!” He sat up, his fantasy shattered.
“Let me go, Roger.”
Luther pulled Michelle to his chest. She was having another nightmare. This was the fourth one she’d had since she came here. The first time she had started screaming, he had almost jumped out of his skin.
“Wake up, Michelle. It’s only a dream.”
She sobbed, and her hot tears dripped onto his bare chest.
“You awake?” Last time, she had fallen back asleep like nothing had happened.
“You’re hurting me,” she cried out as she tried to pull away.
“Stay here, calm yourself.” He hugged her trembling shoulders. “Tell me about the dream, Michelle.”
“No, stop!”
He soothed her as best he could and rocked her back and forth until she stopped crying. After several minutes, Michelle’s breathing became calm and shallow. She was asleep again. He kissed her forehead and tucked her in bed, helpless to take away her pain.
* * *
“I LET YOU SLEEP LATE on account of last night,” Luther said, biting into a maple-flavored biscuit.
Michelle sat across from him and poured herself a cup of coffee. “What do you mean, last night?”
“The nightmare. You hit me in the head this time.” He searched her face for a reaction. “Don’t you remember?”
“Nightmare? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered and spooned sugar into her coffee.
He set the biscuit on his plate. Did Michelle remember, but was pretending she didn’t? “Do you know what you were dreaming about?”
“No.”
“You remember what happened?”
Her eyes widened. “Happened? No. What happened?”
“You woke up screaming. I held you for a while. I thought you were awake. You sure seemed it. Can I ask you a question?”
“What?” Her voice sounded guarded and cautious.
He glanced into her brown eyes. This wouldn’t be an easy subject to discuss, and he didn’t want to make her angry. “You can tell me the truth and I won’t think any less of you, Michelle. I want to know what happened. If someone hurt you, tell me. I won’t—”
“Hurt me? What are you talking about?”
“Did someone force himself on you?”
“What?” She turned her head quickly, but not before he saw the look of fear on her face. “No, nothing like that happened. Why would you think that?”
He reached for her hand and she pulled away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“See? You’re upset.” So unlike that passionately aroused woman from yesterday, he wanted to add. It was obvious Michelle had been hurt in the past. The nightmares proved something bad had happened to her. He hated to think things like this, but it was a harsh reality that women got assaulted.
Maybe that was the reason Michelle had left home to become a mail-order bride. What else would bring such a beautiful, intelligent woman here? Maybe there was a scandal and her family put her out.
“I want you to know you’re safe here. Nobody is gonna hurt you, darling.”
“Nobody did anything to me,” she said, her voice quivering. “Why don’t you believe that?”
“If you saw yourself having that nightmare you’d think the same thing. And you won’t talk about your past, so what do you expect me to believe?”
“My past is none of your concern. Leave me alone.” Michelle bolted from the chair and threw herself on the bed, sobbing.
Luther’s stomach dropped as he watched her cry. He longed to take away her pain, but he didn’t know how. His beloved wife was wounded, and there wasn’t anything he could do for her.
* * *
MICHELLE SAT ON THE bed and opened her gray trunk. She was alone in the cabin and finally had time to herself. Luther had gone hunting, and that was fine with her. She didn’t want to see him right now. He asked too many questions for her liking.
She unpacked her clothes as she mulled over her situation. Her past had resurfaced to haunt her again. She couldn’t let herself relax for a minute around Luther. If she got comfortable, then she might have to explain, tell more lies, or run away. When would she be able to live a normal life and not worry about the past?
Life with Luther was becoming complicated. How many nights had she woke him up with her nightmares? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember anything about last night.
A pair of white lace gloves and two velvet hats lay crumpled at the bottom of the trunk. Such “fineries” were useless to her out here. In a way, she found it liberating. How many times had she longed to leave the house without fussing over a hat? Mother had always chastised her and warned that she would disgrace the family.
She threw the hats and gloves next to the fireplace. She’d burn them sooner than wear them again. What were her parents doing about the sacred family reputation now? Running away two days before her wedding must have caused a scandal. A week after her engagement had been announced, she told her father she wouldn’t marry Roger. Her father had slapped her and threatened to have her committed if she didn’t obey.
Michelle closed the trunk, but didn’t lock it. Why bother? This one held no secrets. She dragged the other trunk closer to the bed. This one would be difficult. She had only opened this trunk once since leaving New Orleans.
She lifted the lid and removed the yellow satin dress with white lace trim. It used to be her favorite dress for dinner parties and plays. It came with a matching hat, parasol, and handkerchief. What was she going to do with all that here?
A red and black checked dress was buried deep at the bottom of the case. Her stomach lurched as she pulled it to the surface. Why had she kept this? It was the dress she had worn the night she left home. She crumpled it up and tossed it on the floor. Maybe she’d burn it. It was another reminder of her horrible past.
She gathered her books from the bottom of the trunk. Hardbound copies of Macbeth, Hamlet, and Oedipus Rex had been gifts from her parents. Her books and clothes were all she took the night she fled New Orleans.
One rainy evening, a girl at the boarding house told her a man named Roger was there looking for his sister. He claimed the girl had lost her mind and run away before she could be taken to an asylum. He was offering a reward to anyone who could help him find her.
Roger had invented the story to ensure that everyone would think she was mad and turn her over to him. If she went to the authorities with what she knew, nobody would believe her, and Roger would have her committed or killed. That night, she had packed her trunks and taken the first coach out of New Orleans.
Michelle scanned the penny paperbacks she held in her hands. Pioneer Jim Battles the Mohawks, Restless Affair, Attack on Fort Henry. Maybe Luther would want to read them. Did he know how to read and write? She had never asked. But he must know how, she reasoned. After all, he’d sent away for her.
No, she corrected herself. Luther hadn’t sent away for her. He had sent away for a wife. She had almost believed her own lie, one of the thousands she had told since she fled Kingston. What would become of her? Of Luther? He thought she had been attacked. How could she prove she hadn’t been?
Just then, the door opened and Luther entered the cabin. He was carrying a burlap sack. “Looks like you been busy,” he said as he tossed the bag on the floor.
“You’re back early.”
“It’s starting to rain.” Luther ran his hand along the dresses. “Wow! Is that what they wear back east? Sure look nice.” He picked up the copy of Oedipus and flipped it open. “Your folks must have a lot of money to afford these fancy books.”
“They were Christmas presents.” She got up and poured herself a cup of coffee.
“Really? That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“Because the name written in them ain’t yours.” Luther cocked his head to one side. “Did you steal ’em?”
“No, I didn’t steal them. Why would I? They’re mine.”
“Then who’s Kathleen?”
