Surrendered on the Frontier by Jane Henry Page A

rougher and stronger. I need to feel you,” I said.
    One hand went to my hair that had fallen loose from the knot I typically wore, and his fingers glided through the mass of it. I felt his grip tighten as he pulled my head back, lifting my mouth to his. He moved his torso against mine, grinding into me, as I felt the tug in my scalp tingle with his lips locked on mine. I moaned. My need for him was rising, the need to be possessed by him nearly painful.
    “Please, Samuel,” I whispered. “Take me.”
    “No, not here, Ruth,” he whispered back. “Not like this.” And I knew then that he didn’t want to take me on the floor of the barn, in the heat of the moment, but rather when we had privacy, and could ease our way into things.
    I moaned when he said no. I didn’t want him to say no. How could I convince him otherwise?
    He pulled up from me then and looked in my eyes. “Best be gettin’ back in that house, now, woman,” he said. He was trying to do the right thing, but I could tell that it was killing him to pull himself away. The knowledge pleased me.
    “Stay with me, Samuel,” I whispered. He looked at me curiously for a moment.
    “Stay with you?” he whispered back, brow furrowed.
    “At the cabin,” I explained, my chest heaving with want and unfulfilled need. “Come in with me and let’s have breakfast. Hannah will be glad to see you.”
    He pushed himself to his feet and took my hand. “All right, then. I ain’t goin’ to town for a bit longer yet. I can breakfast with you, if you have enough.”
    My pride felt the stabbing accusation. I lifted my chin. “Of course we have enough,” I said. “Won’t you come?” The unasked questions in my mind plagued me.
    Do you want me? Do you feel as I do? If this is wrong, must we stop?
    His voice was firm, yet gentle. “Now, Ruth, I’m not implyin’ you can’t provide for Hannah or any other such thing,” he asked. “You Watson girls are hard workers. It’s just that sometimes we have only enough cooked for one meal. I’m just checkin’ to see if my eatin’ with you will take away from what you or Hannah needs.”
    My heart fluttered, and I wasn’t sure if it was from his firm tone, or his gentle concern for our well-being. I nodded. “We have plenty, Samuel,” I whispered, chastened. When would I learn to curb my temper?
    He tugged me by the hand toward the house, snatching up the water bucket on the way. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, so many uncertainties I wanted laid to rest, and my frustration with everything—him, my flaming arousal, and my situation—was making me angrier than ever.
    When we arrived at the house, Hannah was awake and had gotten herself ready. I was impressed she’d taken care of herself so well even injured, but that was my girl.
    “Mornin’, Mr. Stanley,” she said politely, and he nodded to her.
    “How’re those little birds of yours farin’?” Samuel asked. She smiled, chattering away about how she’d already gotten them grubs and water, and they were making a veritable ruckus in her room.
    I watched the two of them wistfully. I hated that my daughter never had the love and attention of a father. Now, seeing Samuel with Hannah made my heart yearn to have my daughter cared for in ways I couldn’t provide.
    Samuel had removed his hat and hung it on a peg by the door, his longish, sandy-brown hair rugged and handsome. He sat up straight in the chair, and I watched his strong hands bringing the steaming mug of coffee to his lips. I remembered what it felt like to have those lips on me, and I shifted uncomfortably in front of the stove. I wanted to be alone with him, to pick up where we’d left off. I started when a knock came on the door.
    “Who is it?” I said as Hannah rose.
    “It’s Pearl!” came the familiar voice. I nodded to Hannah, who opened the door quickly. Pearl had a basket on her arm, and her pretty eyes were shining.
    “Morning! Ruth, look,” she said excitedly,