Authors: Joan Johnston
Creed’s arms encircled Cricket and he pulled her close for a fierce hug. He lifted his head and said to Tom, “You heard my wife. We accept your offer.”
Tom and Amy both rose and walked arm in arm the few steps necessary so Tom and Creed could shake hands. “This means a lot to us, Jarrett,” Tom said. “It’ll be a new beginning for us, as well.”
“I feel like we ought to celebrate,” Amy said.
“Sounds like a good idea to me, too,” Cricket said. “What did you have in mind?”
“How about a swim?”
“A swim?” three voices responded in chorus.
Amy hesitated at the astonished looks that surrounded her. “Well, it’s been very warm these past few days, and the river is so cool, I thought . . .”
“You’re right,” said Tom.
“A swim it is,” agreed Creed.
“Let’s go,” Cricket urged, prodding Amy from the porch.
“What’re you waiting for, an invitation?” Cricket grabbed Creed’s hand and the two of them raced for the river with Tom and Amy close behind.
They were all laughing, hot and breathy from the run, by the time they got there. Amy insisted that she and Cricket retreat behind the bushes to strip down.
Amy unbuttoned her dress and pulled it down off her shoulders, unmindful of the horrible scar left by the Comanche lance. Cricket gasped when she caught sight of it.
Amy’s head snapped up, and she caught Cricket’s horrified stare before Cricket had a chance to control her features. Amy’s fingertips came up to touch the awful, puckered skin around the wound, which had completely healed during the months that had passed since the Comanches’ attack on her.
“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” she said.
“Oh, Amy, I . . .”
“Please don’t pity me, Cricket. I couldn’t stand that from you, too.”
Amy reached for Cricket’s hand and brought it up to touch the scar. “It’s healed. I’m healed. I’m not saying I’ll ever be able to forget what happened. Or that Tom . . . Tom loves me, Cricket. You can’t imagine how gentle he’s been. It wasn’t easy the first time—”
“Amy, you don’t—”
“Let me say it, Cricket.”
Cricket bit her lip to hold in the rush of words that ached to come out.
“It hurt the first time. I was frightened. I thought I’d never be able to love Tom that way again. But I can, Cricket. I can. And it’s the most wonderful thing you can imagine to know there’s nothing . . .
nothing
. . . that could ever tear us away from each other again.”
“Hey, are you two women coming out here sometime today?” Tom shouted.
Amy smiled at Tom’s impatience, her eyes shining with love as she gazed out at him. “Come on, Cricket. Let’s go celebrate.”
Even though her throat ached with unshed tears, Cricket squeezed Amy’s hands and smiled back. “All right, Amy.”
Once Amy had stripped down to her chemise and pantalettes she raced past Tom and Jarrett into the river, yelling, “Last one in peels potatoes for dinner.”
Tom splashed in after her in just his trousers, with Cricket and Creed close behind, similarly clothed in what turned out to be, once they were all wet, completely immodest attire.
They played tag, they played blind man’s bluff, they splashed and shouted and swam like carefree children.
“This was a wonderful idea,” Creed murmured to Cricket.
Cricket gasped as his hidden hands skillfully caressed the juncture of her thighs through the thin covering of her pantalettes.
“You said it, Jarrett,” Tom added, his hands similarly occupied with his own wife. “Only I’m so worn out from this swim I think I’m going to need a quick nap before we eat.”
“I’m feeling a little poorly myself,” Creed agreed. “What do you say, ladies? Shall we give up this watery play-ground?”
Amy and Cricket exchanged lambent-eyed looks and burst out laughing.
“If you two don’t hurry up and get us out of this water, we’re going to resort to desperate measures. Right, Amy?” Cricket said.
“Desperate, desperate measures,” Amy agreed. Her hands slipped from Tom’s shoulders to his chest and disappeared under the surface of the river.
Tom gasped. “Swim,” he ordered his wife, his eyes hot with desire, “before we both end up drowning.” Amy basked in his sensuous gaze for another moment before she swam for the riverbank. Once up the muddy bank, Amy headed into the bushes to retrieve her clothes, followed closely by Tom.
When Cricket started to follow after them, Creed grabbed her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. “You may find yourself getting a different kind of education from Tom and Amy if you go in there. Come with me.”
Cricket followed Creed, knowing where he was leading her. “I thought we were going to come back here this evening after supper,” she said as they pushed their way through the undergrowth that led to their forest glade.
“I can’t wait,” Creed replied, not slowing his pace. “I’m hungry now.”
Creed’s words sent a shiver of anticipation down Cricket’s spine. The sun was high in the sky, yet the circle of leafy trees surrounding the glade kept it cool. Creed took Cricket’s hand and led her to a grassy spot in the shade of a pin oak. He stripped himself and then took his time removing Cricket’s sodden underclothes. By the time he was done, Cricket was trembling. He laid her down upon the cool grass and followed after her.
“Let’s see,” Creed said. “Where were we when we left off this morning . . . ?”
Cricket came up on her elbow and leaned over to press her lips to Creed’s. “I love you, Creed.” Her tongue came out to trace his mouth from edge to edge. Creed opened his mouth and Cricket’s tongue slipped inside for a quick foray.
“Ummm,” Creed murmured. He sucked on her tongue, keeping it inside his mouth when she would have retreated, Then his velvet tongue sought out her mouth with a tenderness that belied his need to possess her. They were both breathing hard by the time Creed broke the kiss and fell back upon the grass, pulling Cricket into his arms. Her head lay on his shoulder, and her hand rested on his heaving chest. Their legs were entwined, Cricket’s foot casually caressing Creed’s calf.
“Will you be happy as the mistress of Lion’s Dare, Brava? Really happy?”
“So long as you’re with me I can be happy anywhere, Creed.” Cricket dipped her head and found one of Creed’s nipples with her lips.
Creed’s hand slipped down to cover Cricket’s breast and he rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “You won’t mind acting the hostess for our neighbors?”
Cricket brought her mouth up to Creed’s throat, seeking the pulse there. She nipped at his shoulder and was rewarded with a sensuous shudder. “Not at all, as long as I can do it in buckskins.”
Creed’s lips curved into a smile as they surveyed Cricket’s face, lingering on her temple, her high cheekbones, her nose, and finally her chin. “You promise not to blacken any eyes or flip anybody in the dirt?”
Cricket’s fingertips caressed the length of the scar that began at Creed’s left nipple and angled across his belly all the way to his hipbone, where she scraped his skin gently with her fingernail before starting back the other direction again. “Of course I won’t . . . unless I think it’s necessary.”
Creed’s eyes were hooded, heavy, his body hardened with his need. He turned so the two of them were aligned one to the other. “I knew I could count on you to be reasonable, Brava.”
They held each other without speaking for a moment, simply enjoying the marvelous fit of flesh to flesh. At last, Creed tilted his hips, and his shaft rubbed against Cricket where she could appreciate it most. He buried his nose in her fragrant hair, and his lips began a sojourn down her throat toward her breasts. His tongue circled the tips, then laved them as though he were licking up honey, before he took up his journey again. When his lips reached her belly Cricket asked breathlessly, “Are you done talking now?”
“Mmmmm.” Creed’s tongue dipped into Cricket’s navel.
“Does that mean yes?”
“Mmmmm.” He stroked her belly with his cat-rough tongue.
Cricket gasped and thrust her hands in his silky hair. “Because I have one last thing to say.”
“Mmmmm?” Creed’s hands grasped Cricket’s buttocks and he tilted her hips upward, angling her so his lips and tongue could reach that most feminine part of her.
Cricket groaned, a sound wrenched from deep inside her, and feverishly arched her body up to meet Creed’s mouth. “I wanted . . . to . . . say . . . ahhh . . .”
In all the times she and Creed had made love, Cricket had never felt such intense pleasure. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he loved her, perhaps it was the fact she’d fought against submitting to her body’s needs for so long. Whatever had caused it, Cricket found herself on a joyous plane of euphoria beyond anything she’d imagined possible . . . and Creed wasn’t letting her come down. He kept her there, on the brink of something . . . something incredible.
Her nails raked Creed’s shoulders, her hands grasped the muscles of his back and tugged at his hair. He had to
do
something. She was dying. She couldn’t stand the pleasure anymore.
“Creeeeed!”
Creed felt a surge of masculine satisfaction. “Soon, Brava, soon,” he promised. Cricket was almost there. He could help her find what she needed. He covered her body with his, mating his shaft with the sleek wetness of her. His lips found hers, and his tongue plundered her mouth, frenzied, voracious, as desperate for her as she for him. His hands captured her breasts, kneading them, pinching the tips, heightening sensations that were already aflame.
Cricket welcomed Creed’s manhood inside her. He filled her until she could take no more of him, and then he reached down and arched her hips in his hands so he could thrust even deeper. She couldn’t get enough of him. She grasped his buttocks and demanded, “More . . . more . . . don’t stop. . . .”
Cricket’s words incensed Creed, sending him beyond the last restraining bonds of rationality. And then they were both flying together as he released his seed and she arched up to accept it, both of them crying out with the joy and wonder of it.
It was a long time before either had recovered enough to be aware of the other. At last they turned, and surveyed what their love had wrought.
He looks so pleased.
She looks so happy.
Their hands reached out to touch one another, tentative, gentle, concerned at what they found.
I scratched him.
I bruised her.
Their eyes dropped, in awe of the fierceness of what had passed between them—a passion as rough and wild as the land they both loved.
Will it always be like this?
Will it always be like this?
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Brava.”
“You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t mean to scratch you.” Creed became aware for the first time of the scratches on his back. “I didn’t even notice.” He hadn’t, and realized she probably hadn’t noticed the bruises, either—although she would tomorrow.
“We’ll both have to be more careful,” Cricket said with a grin.
“Whatever you say, Brava.” Creed chuckled. “Now, what was it you had to say that couldn’t wait?”
“Oh, that.” Cricket chewed on her lower lip.
“Well?”
“I made a promise.”
Creed cocked his head. “To whom?”
“To Rip.”
Creed sat up, his body tensing. This was
not
going to be good news. “A promise to Rip,” he repeated, to be sure he’d heard her right.
Cricket sat up, too, her body tensing in response to Creed’s obvious anxiety. “Yes.”
“Come on, Brava. Spit it out. What did you promise Rip?”
“That I’d keep looking for Bay until I found her.”
Creed sighed. “You know that’s not possible, Brava.”
“I promised, Creed.”
Creed saw the determination in Cricket’s jutting jaw and knew he wasn’t going to change her mind by arguing. He reached out to pull her into his lap. “All right, Brava. We’ll wait to hear from Long Quiet. If he doesn’t find her, I promise you we’ll try again.”
Cricket sighed contentedly and relaxed in Creed’s arms. “Did I tell you that I love you?”
“No.”
Cricket grinned. “I did, too.”
“I never get tired of hearing it. Say it again.”
“I love you, Creed.”
Creed’s head bent down until his lips nearly touched Cricket’s. “I love you, Brava. I always will.” He kissed her gently and added, “You’re all the woman a man could ask for”—Creed grinned and gently cupped her full breasts in his palms— “and as much as I can handle.”
Cricket’s laughter was cut off when Creed’s lips came down to possess hers.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Retaliation by the Comanches for the Council House massacre finally came during the time of the Comanche Moon in August, 1840. A band of between 400 and 1,000 warriors, led by Buffalo Hump, raided the town of Victoria on August 6. They left driving nearly 2,000 horses ahead of them. The Texas militia followed, but was kept busy burying dead bodies. One corpse was found with the soles of his feet sliced off. He’d been forced to march for miles on the tender skin before the Indians scalped him. The Indians burned out homes and killed Texans with impunity all along their trail of revenge.
On August 8 the Comanches raided and destroyed the town of Linville on Lavaca Bay. Linville townsfolk escaped on boats into the bay. The triumphant Comanches headed home with mules loaded down with booty, many prisoners, and between 2,000 and 3,000 horses.
The Texans, naturally, now cried for Comanche blood. On August 11, Texans led by men experienced in Indian fighting attacked the Comanches at Plum Creek. Eighty Indians died, compared to only one Texan. Much booty was recovered and split among the victorious Texans. After the Battle of Plum Creek the Comanches never again attacked a town or raided along the coast. They contented themselves with the hit-and-run tactics that were to be so devastating to life and property in Texas for years to come.
As for the Texas Navy and Commodore Edwin Moore, both were destined for hard times. After Sam Houston was elected president of Texas in September, 1841, he sought peace and recognition of Texas as a sovereign nation with General Santa Anna at the same time as he sought annexation with the United States. Houston wanted the Texas Navy to leave Mexico alone. On January 16, 1843, in secret session, the Texas Congress voted to disband the Texas Navy and to sell all its ships, which at the time were in New Orleans.
When that plan failed, President Houston published a proclamation dated March 23, 1843, declaring Commodore Moore and his fleet pirates, and asking any friendly nation to intercept and hold them. On May 16 the
Austin
and the
Wharton
engaged Mexican ships off Yucatán and caused many Mexican casualties. This was the last operation of the Texas Navy.
On July 14 Commodore Moore returned to Galveston, having heard on June 1 of Houston’s piracy charge. He tried to surrender but received a hero’s welcome instead. Houston didn’t dare try him as a pirate, but dismissed Moore with a dishonorable discharge. Moore insisted on a trial and in August, 1844, was tried on twenty-two counts of neglect of duty, misapplication of funds, disobedience of orders, contempt and defiance of laws, treason, and murder. He was cleared of all but four charges pertaining to disobedience of orders. Houston was furious. The Texas Congress reinstated Moore by joint resolution, only to have Houston’s successor, Texas President Anson Moore, veto the resolution.
The Texas Navy ships were put in dry dock until they became part of the United States Navy when Texas became a state in February, 1846. Only the
Austin
, the
Wharton
, the
Archer
, and the
San Bernard
remained, and only the
Austin
was accepted for service by the United States. Within two years she was broken up as being unworthy of repairs.