Authors: Em Petrova
"Shame on you, Clay,” Annabelle admonished, jostling the baby against her chest.
Graham shot Annabelle a look of thanks before pushing past his brother. Inside the house, his mother met him. The slender woman wiped her hands on her apron as she hurried from the kitchen.
"Is that a wagon I hear? Oh, Graham! I'm surprised you decided to dress for the festivities."
"I didn't.” He ducked his head and practically fled to his room. Hiding Kathleen from his family was going to be harder than he thought. Of course, he wouldn't dress up every day, and doing so today gave away the secret that something was different, but the people who had loved him all his life would surely see a change in him. Hell, Annabelle had seen it. He could tell by the spark of interest in her eyes. She appeared to be happy for him.
Shutting himself inside his cool room, he started peeling off his clothes. The lavender scents of Kathleen clung to each fiber and every shaft of hair covering his body. He stared at the washbasin, loath to remove her smell from his skin. He wanted to carry her with him all day—keeping her with him during the celebration she should rightfully attend.
He grunted as need infused him. His cock lengthened against his will. Maybe he'd better wash to eliminate all traces of her. He didn't need to battle an erection all day. Fighting his brothers and cousins would be enough.
At hearing the scuffling step, Kathleen whirled to see her father leaning heavily on Jenkins. His head lolled, and his lips were slack.
"Oh, my Lord! What's happened to him?” She dusted her floury hands on her apron and rushed forward. Fear spread through her limbs. Had he had a spell of some kind? He didn't seem able to support his own weight or even focus on her.
"Pa! What's wrong?” She gripped his shoulders and stared into his face. His pallor was greenish-gray.
Then it hit her—the reek of spirits. The bitter stench made her nose wrinkle.
"It's my fault, miss. I brought some whiskey my family distilled, and we had a little nip."
"A little?” Her voice raised in pitch like a shrieking hen. She glared at Jenkins, hoping he saw how unhappy this made her. Stepping aside, she gestured toward the small bedroom her father occupied. “Please get him into bed."
Jenkins gave a curt nod and towed her pa across the common room. He didn't even seem to be able to lift his feet.
She followed them to the bedroom and watched as her father spilled face-first onto the mattress. The ropes supporting it squeaked in protest. A long, guttural moan rumbled from him, followed by a retch.
"No!” She snagged the chamber pot and lunged forward in time to catch the sickening mess that spewed from him.
Jenkins stood back and hitched his thumbs into his belt while her father emptied the contents of his stomach. She turned her face aside as another stream spattered the pot.
"Why would you believe it a good idea to get my father in his cups, Mr. Jenkins?” She hoped her voice held all the disdain she felt and more.
"I apologize, miss. We just had a nip, but that brew is potent. I didn't realize—"
"That he isn't a young man with a cast-iron belly?” She fixed Jenkins with her hard stare, wanting to bean the man with the pot and all its filthy slop. “You've done enough here, Mr. Jenkins. Please see to your duties outside the house."
Her father gave one last shudder, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Kathleen didn't wait to watch Jenkins leave but set aside the pot and bent over her pa. Pressing a hand to his forehead, she found him clammy but not fevered. However, she didn't like the color of his skin or the shallowness of his breathing.
If only her ma were here, she'd know what to do.
If Ma were here, he wouldn't have been fool enough to drink that rotgut.
Kathleen hurried across the room to the small wooden stand that held a pitcher of water and a basin. She poured the lukewarm water into the bowl and swirled a clean cloth in it.
For all of five minutes, she'd managed to bury thoughts of Graham. When she felt the twinge between her thighs now, they returned with a vengeance. It was impossible to forget how well he'd used her last night.
Another moan issued from her father, and she spun back to the bed. Folding the cloth, she placed it over his forehead. “Pa, is there anything I can do?"
She searched her mind for remedies for alcohol overconsumption. Surely her brother had been sotted before he went off to war, but she couldn't recall it. Perhaps she'd been too little—and busy sticking her nose against the window, watching the activities of the men outside.
Again, the warm blossom of passion spread through her belly as she relived her night in Graham's bed. Strong shoulders pressing her down, the velvet of his tongue against hers as he moved within her.
Her father made no reply, only gave a stuttering snore. Kathleen folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head. She watched him for a minute more and then took the pot out to dump.
When she opened the front door, Jenkins was there. She gasped and jerked, nearly sloshing the sick mess out of the pot.
Her ire flowed into her veins, replacing the tingly sensations the memories of Graham brought about. She set her jaw and stared down the hired man. “I thought I told you to see to your duties."
He didn't move but continued to gaze at her with narrowed eyes. Warning bells sounded in her head, and her nerve endings fired with awareness. If he took one step in her direction, she'd hurl the pot of puke at him and run for the shotgun hanging above the fireplace. She eased one bare foot back and prepared to turn.
"Here, the least I can do is get rid of this for you.” Jenkins strode forward and plucked the pot from her hands, deliberately brushing her fingers as he did.
A shudder racked her, and bile bulged at the back of her throat. She had to get him to move on. But how? Asking her father to turn him out was a better idea than letting her unease slip to Graham. Her new husband was worried enough about harm coming to her without her adding to it. Besides, Jenkins wasn't really a threat, just a nuisance. Wasn't he?
She didn't like the way he held her gaze as he dumped the pot into the bushes. “Wash it out in the spring and put it outside the door. Thank you.” She twisted on her heel and hurried into the house again. This time, she shot the bolt on the door.
A few seconds later, she saw his form pass by the window on the way to the spring. A hard knot took up residence in her belly. She was locked inside with a sick father, and outside was a man who made her skin crawl.
She heaved a sigh and longed for Graham.
"What did you get for the horses, son?"
Graham jerked his head up at his father's question. His pa lounged in a rocker with his ankle crossed over his knee, cleaning his fingernails with the point of his pocketknife.
The wind kicked up, and the windmill's hectic squeaking resonated in the distance. All the males scattered across the wide veranda perked up to hear Graham's answer.
He shook his head. “I haven't made any deals yet. Why?"
His father stared at him hard—too hard. It was that “what trouble have you gotten into” stare Graham had seen so often as a kid. Even as an adult, that look made him want to squirm.
The chatter on the veranda had quieted. Inside the house, the womenfolk were putting the finishing touches on the feast. While Graham's stomach rumbled, he'd rather go hungry than be the target of the rapid-fire questioning session his cousins, uncles, brothers, and father could aim at him.
"Well, you have a satisfied look about you, son. I figured you'd struck a good bargain for those twelve horses."
Graham turned his gaze to the sole of his boot, but not before he caught several of his cousins’ smirks. Why couldn't anyone mind their own damn business in this family? This was precisely the reason he'd refused to return at once after the war. He hadn't been willing to talk about the sins he'd committed or the things he'd lost—things like his soft heart and his woman.
He sure as hell wasn't willing now, either.
"I think Graham's been courtin'."
Without looking up, he sent mental bullets at Clay. What was it with that kid? Graham hadn't kicked his ass in a good long while, but the idea was looking more and more enticing.
"Now that we have a proper town, there are a few women to be had,” his cousin piped up.
"You sure you want those ladies in town, Drew?” Graham's father said, and several laughs followed.
"If they're warm and have a pair of lips, that's all a man needs. Isn't that right, Graham?” Clay asked.
Graham pierced his little brother with his gaze. Clay was no boy. He knew his way around a woman, from what Graham had heard. In these parts, if a man took his leisure with a female, everyone knew it. But no Hollis would dare marry one of those “ladies,” and if they wanted to keep their teeth, they wouldn't soil a reputable lady.
Graham hadn't. He'd married her.
He stood up quickly and shoved his hat low over his eyes. “I'll make the horse deal soon, Pa."
"And the deal with the woman?” Clay countered.
Graham caught Annabelle standing in the doorway of the house, attuned to the conversation. As one of the only women he'd ever confided in, she knew enough about Graham. She obviously knew something was up.
He cleared his throat, wishing he could just speak out and tell the whole family that he'd married a sweet and caring woman last night.
Without meaning to, he found himself staring at the rolling fields that separated their ranches. Soon he'd claim her properly. But he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that Wabash would try to tear her from him. Ripping out part of his soul too.
"Pa!” Kathleen shook her father, but he was limp, icy cold. Terror seized her. She stared at his chest for a long minute, trying to detect the rise and fall that indicated he was breathing.
When she saw the faintest movement, a surge of relief struck her. Still, this wasn't right. No ordinary drunken stupor lasted this long or was this intense. Her father had been poleaxed for an entire day.
The late afternoon sun was beginning its rapid descent. In a few hours, darkness would fall, leaving her alone with him. Truly isolated from help. But if Graham came...
The pulse in her father's neck fluttered erratically. She couldn't wait that long. She needed help now.
Striding out of the bedroom, she threw the front door open and hollered. “Jenkins!"
He came at once, skulking around the house as if he'd been doing nothing but sitting there, waiting for her to need him.
She winced at the mere thought. What she needed was Graham. Could she trust this man to ride for Graham? Or should she take matters into her own hands and ask him to go for a doctor?
From the bedroom, her father's faint voice reached her. “Kathleen."
Rushing back to his side, she was more than a little put out to hear Jenkins following. Ignoring him, she dropped to her knees beside her father and took his slack hand between hers.
"What can I do for you, Pa? What ails you?"
"My stomach. I believe I'm going to be sick again.” He rolled onto his side, his eyes pinched shut in pain as his stomach obviously cramped.
Kathleen got the basin beneath him just in time. The foul smell made her hold her breath even as her heart went out to him. Maybe this was a simple case of alcohol overuse, but she felt there had to be some remedy for him.
An hour later, with Jenkins firmly told off and kicked out of the house, she left her father sleeping more peacefully, his color slowly returning. She went about cleaning up and told Jenkins to saddle their horses because she wanted to go to town. There had to be a tonic that would purge the bad substance from her father's body and help him recover more quickly. She wanted to hurry, though. Darkness would fall soon, and that meant Graham would come.
Slowly, Graham made his way around the Allen house, creeping silently through the grasses. Just stealing through the night with the vision of Kathleen fixed firmly in his mind made his cock throb.
He adjusted the length and continued on, slipping around the barn to the back of the house. He was coming in a different way this time. He didn't want to tramp down the grasses too much in that section of the field. Silas was sure to notice.
The moon was a ripe orb in the sky, lingering halfway down the velvety backdrop while the stars seemed to dance around it. As much as Graham longed to stretch Kathleen out beneath this vast universe and watch her eyes as he made love to her, he yearned for a bed more.
Their bed.
Not for the first time, he wondered if he was being unreasonable about his plan to keep their marriage secret. He was home, after all, not at war. The people in these parts knew not to fuck with a Hollis boy, and the word would spread to any newcomers to the town.
The passions surrounding the war were long dead, at least among those he knew. But that still left Wabash. Nolan had cornered Graham in the barn earlier and told him the rumor was that Wabash had been spotted on Heller's Ridge with a band of men. Graham had questioned how they knew it was Wabash, and while no one could provide a solid answer, Graham was on edge. He simply couldn't take any chances with Kathleen.
Like his first wife, Kathleen was tender-eyed and feminine. She'd attract attention with her beauty, that was certain. Also, women like her were preyed upon if they weren't protected by a strong man.
He reached her window and peered at the square of glass divided into nine smaller panes. Inside, not a flicker of a candle lived. The moon and his face were reflected back at him.
Reaching up, he tapped the glass once with a forefinger.
Instantly, she was at the window, the oval of her face thrust close, beaming more joy than he had a right to view. God, had he put that look on her face?
His heart took off like a herd of wild horses, galloping wildly. He strode around the house, coming to the door at the same moment she slipped through the opening. A pang of want claimed all his sense, and he drew her close, reaching past her and pulling the door closed quietly as he did.