that, and the hard breath she drew before she asked softly, “Aidan, was it against your will?”
Miserably, she nodded, not daring to think Joss would believe her. “Oh, no—” Joss’s arms tightened around her. “How could they do this to you?”
She held Aidan hard against her, and the ache finally broke; she sobbed like a child in arms giving her the only sympathy she had known for the horror of that January afternoon.
Jared Hayward had invited her skating. She went without a chaperone because he was the banker’s son, because she had known him all her life, because she trusted him. He pinned her against a wall in the boathouse, forcing his kiss to her. He choked her when she tried to scream, and wrestled her to the floor. He tore open his buttons, laughing at her terror when she saw what he had, and what he intended. He took no pause with her virginity the first time, and no care with her pain the next.
Five weeks later, her bleeding hadn’t come and the morning sickness had. Only then did her father call young Mr. Hayward into his study and demand that he make an honest woman of her. Jared agreed readily; Aidan was a handsome woman, and Dr. Blackstone was a wealthy man.
Aidan refused. Her father bellowed and she refused; he beat her and she refused. More gently, her mother tried to talk sense into her. She put her hands over her ears and turned her back. And so she was sentenced to Kansas.
At least it had seemed a sentence then. Now, with her cousin holding her, rocking with her, whispering assurances into her hair and sketching consoling kisses against her face, it felt more like salvation.
CHAPTER FOUR
She stiffened awake in the gray before dawn, panicking in the alien warmth of arms around her, breath against her neck, legs entwined with her own, before she remembered: Don’t leave me, I’m so afraid of the dark, please stay with me— and then she was embarrassed, and confused by her near-nakedness in only a silk chemise. She struggled through hazy memory to recall the solicitude of hands that had undressed her in the wake of torrential tears, the quietness of Joss’s voice, the consoling length of her cousin’s body against her as Joss held her until, at last, the thick sleep of exhaustion took her.
Shakily, she sighed; she supposed she hadn’t expected Joss might stay through the night, but was glad she had. She drowsed back into her cousin’s warmth, soothed by the protective spread of Joss’s right hand against her belly.
And she blushed; gently, she moved Joss’s other hand, for it
had been cupping her breast in an unconscious embrace—and then wished she hadn’t when her nipple, missing that cradling palm, hardened painfully in the cool morning. Joss muttered a sleeping protest, her hand seeking that fullness again; finding it, she buried her face into the curve of Aidan’s shoulder, shivering a deep sigh before her breath went softly even again.
Aidan let her hand stay. Her breast appreciated the warmth, and she could imagine no sin in the touch of a sleeping woman. She listened to the rhythm of their breaths, and finally, the mourning doves cooed her back to sleep.
When next she awoke it was a glorious day, the sky a dazzling blue, sun blaring through the east window. Voices came from the kitchen: Joss’s, deeper than most women’s, and a sonorous, vaguely-familiar male voice. Sleepily, she imagined Doc’s drooping mustache and gentle eyes, and she dozed a little longer, smelling woodsmoke and coffee and finally the eye-opening scent of bacon, a smell she couldn’t doze through. She waited for her stomach to tell her if she would be able to eat. It obliged her with a hungry growl. She sat up, stretching hugely, and sank lazily back to the pillows; she hadn’t slept so well in weeks. “God love you, Joss Bodett,” she murmured. “If I could have a sister, I’d want her to be you.”
She got up, finally, to find her ewer filled with hot water, a washcloth and
Miserably, she nodded, not daring to think Joss would believe her. “Oh, no—” Joss’s arms tightened around her. “How could they do this to you?”
She held Aidan hard against her, and the ache finally broke; she sobbed like a child in arms giving her the only sympathy she had known for the horror of that January afternoon.
Jared Hayward had invited her skating. She went without a chaperone because he was the banker’s son, because she had known him all her life, because she trusted him. He pinned her against a wall in the boathouse, forcing his kiss to her. He choked her when she tried to scream, and wrestled her to the floor. He tore open his buttons, laughing at her terror when she saw what he had, and what he intended. He took no pause with her virginity the first time, and no care with her pain the next.
Five weeks later, her bleeding hadn’t come and the morning sickness had. Only then did her father call young Mr. Hayward into his study and demand that he make an honest woman of her. Jared agreed readily; Aidan was a handsome woman, and Dr. Blackstone was a wealthy man.
Aidan refused. Her father bellowed and she refused; he beat her and she refused. More gently, her mother tried to talk sense into her. She put her hands over her ears and turned her back. And so she was sentenced to Kansas.
At least it had seemed a sentence then. Now, with her cousin holding her, rocking with her, whispering assurances into her hair and sketching consoling kisses against her face, it felt more like salvation.
CHAPTER FOUR
She stiffened awake in the gray before dawn, panicking in the alien warmth of arms around her, breath against her neck, legs entwined with her own, before she remembered: Don’t leave me, I’m so afraid of the dark, please stay with me— and then she was embarrassed, and confused by her near-nakedness in only a silk chemise. She struggled through hazy memory to recall the solicitude of hands that had undressed her in the wake of torrential tears, the quietness of Joss’s voice, the consoling length of her cousin’s body against her as Joss held her until, at last, the thick sleep of exhaustion took her.
Shakily, she sighed; she supposed she hadn’t expected Joss might stay through the night, but was glad she had. She drowsed back into her cousin’s warmth, soothed by the protective spread of Joss’s right hand against her belly.
And she blushed; gently, she moved Joss’s other hand, for it
had been cupping her breast in an unconscious embrace—and then wished she hadn’t when her nipple, missing that cradling palm, hardened painfully in the cool morning. Joss muttered a sleeping protest, her hand seeking that fullness again; finding it, she buried her face into the curve of Aidan’s shoulder, shivering a deep sigh before her breath went softly even again.
Aidan let her hand stay. Her breast appreciated the warmth, and she could imagine no sin in the touch of a sleeping woman. She listened to the rhythm of their breaths, and finally, the mourning doves cooed her back to sleep.
When next she awoke it was a glorious day, the sky a dazzling blue, sun blaring through the east window. Voices came from the kitchen: Joss’s, deeper than most women’s, and a sonorous, vaguely-familiar male voice. Sleepily, she imagined Doc’s drooping mustache and gentle eyes, and she dozed a little longer, smelling woodsmoke and coffee and finally the eye-opening scent of bacon, a smell she couldn’t doze through. She waited for her stomach to tell her if she would be able to eat. It obliged her with a hungry growl. She sat up, stretching hugely, and sank lazily back to the pillows; she hadn’t slept so well in weeks. “God love you, Joss Bodett,” she murmured. “If I could have a sister, I’d want her to be you.”
She got up, finally, to find her ewer filled with hot water, a washcloth and
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