in?”
“I ... I don’t know. I was nervous, naturally—who wouldn’t be when a ... a dead man has just walked in your door?”
“Quit hedging, Laura. You know what I’m asking.”
“Well, don’t, because it doesn’t matter.”
“Meaning he kissed you, right?” When she made no reply, he went on. “It was written all over your faces when I interrupted.”
“Oh, Dan, I’m sorry, I really am. But he took me completely by surprise, and it didn’t mean anything except hello.” But she knew in her heart it did.
“And what about when you walked down the path with him—did he kiss you then, too?”
“Dan, please tr—”
“Twice! He kissed you twice!” He gave her hand a hurtful yank. “And what was the second time, another hello?”
She had never known jealousy from Dan before, for there’d never been cause. The vehemence of it quite frightened her as she frantically searched for a reply.
“Dan, for heaven’s sake, you’re hurting my hand.” Though he eased his grip, he didn’t release it. “Rye had no idea, when he walked in here, that we were married.”
“Does he mean to take up his old place as your ... husband?”
“You’re my husband now,” she said softly, hoping to placate him.
“One of them,” he said bitterly. “The one you haven’t kissed yet today.”
“Because you haven’t asked,” she said even more softly.
He came up on one elbow, leaning over her. “Well, I’m not asking,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m taking what’s mine by rights.”
His lips came down violently, moving over hers as if to punish her for circumstances that were not of her doing. He kissed her with a fierce determination to force Rye Dalton from her thoughts, from her life, from her past, knowing all the while that it was impossible to do.
His tongue plundered deep, wounding her with a lack of sensitivity she’d never before known from him. Hurt, she pulled sharply aside, making him suddenly realize how rough he’d been.
At once penitent, he scooped her tightly into his arms and crushed her beneath him, speaking raggedly into her ear. “Oh, Laura, Laura, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’m so afraid of losing you after all the years it took to finally have you. When I walked in here and saw him, I felt like I was back ten years ago, watching you trail after him like a love-sick puppy. Tell me you didn’t kiss him back ... tell me you won’t let him touch you again.”
He had never before admitted that he’d been jealous of Rye all those years ago. Pity moved her hands to the back of his neck to smooth his hair. She cradled him, closing her eyes, kissing his temple, suddenly understanding how tenuous his security was, now that Rye was back. Yet she was afraid to make promises she wasn’t at all sure she could keep.
But this much she could say, and say with all truthfulness: “I love you, Dan. You never have to doubt that.”
She felt a shudder run through him, then his hands started moving over her body. But at his touch came the wish that he would not make love to her tonight. Immediately, she was deluged with guilt for the thought. Never before had she even considered denying him. Dutifully, she caressed his neck, his back, telling herself this was the same Dan she’d made love with for three years and more; that Rye Dalton could not come walking up the lane and give her the right to turn this man away.
Yet she wanted to—God help her, she wanted to.
He ran his hand down her hip, pulled her nightgown up, and she understood his need to reestablish himself. She opened her body to him and moved when she knew it was expected, and held him fast when he groaned and climaxed, and hid the fact that she felt faithless to another for what last night would have been the most natural and welcome act in the world.
***
In the loft above the cooperage, Rye Dalton lay on his back, disquieted by the emptiness of the womanless house. At each familiar
“I ... I don’t know. I was nervous, naturally—who wouldn’t be when a ... a dead man has just walked in your door?”
“Quit hedging, Laura. You know what I’m asking.”
“Well, don’t, because it doesn’t matter.”
“Meaning he kissed you, right?” When she made no reply, he went on. “It was written all over your faces when I interrupted.”
“Oh, Dan, I’m sorry, I really am. But he took me completely by surprise, and it didn’t mean anything except hello.” But she knew in her heart it did.
“And what about when you walked down the path with him—did he kiss you then, too?”
“Dan, please tr—”
“Twice! He kissed you twice!” He gave her hand a hurtful yank. “And what was the second time, another hello?”
She had never known jealousy from Dan before, for there’d never been cause. The vehemence of it quite frightened her as she frantically searched for a reply.
“Dan, for heaven’s sake, you’re hurting my hand.” Though he eased his grip, he didn’t release it. “Rye had no idea, when he walked in here, that we were married.”
“Does he mean to take up his old place as your ... husband?”
“You’re my husband now,” she said softly, hoping to placate him.
“One of them,” he said bitterly. “The one you haven’t kissed yet today.”
“Because you haven’t asked,” she said even more softly.
He came up on one elbow, leaning over her. “Well, I’m not asking,” he whispered fiercely. “I’m taking what’s mine by rights.”
His lips came down violently, moving over hers as if to punish her for circumstances that were not of her doing. He kissed her with a fierce determination to force Rye Dalton from her thoughts, from her life, from her past, knowing all the while that it was impossible to do.
His tongue plundered deep, wounding her with a lack of sensitivity she’d never before known from him. Hurt, she pulled sharply aside, making him suddenly realize how rough he’d been.
At once penitent, he scooped her tightly into his arms and crushed her beneath him, speaking raggedly into her ear. “Oh, Laura, Laura, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I’m so afraid of losing you after all the years it took to finally have you. When I walked in here and saw him, I felt like I was back ten years ago, watching you trail after him like a love-sick puppy. Tell me you didn’t kiss him back ... tell me you won’t let him touch you again.”
He had never before admitted that he’d been jealous of Rye all those years ago. Pity moved her hands to the back of his neck to smooth his hair. She cradled him, closing her eyes, kissing his temple, suddenly understanding how tenuous his security was, now that Rye was back. Yet she was afraid to make promises she wasn’t at all sure she could keep.
But this much she could say, and say with all truthfulness: “I love you, Dan. You never have to doubt that.”
She felt a shudder run through him, then his hands started moving over her body. But at his touch came the wish that he would not make love to her tonight. Immediately, she was deluged with guilt for the thought. Never before had she even considered denying him. Dutifully, she caressed his neck, his back, telling herself this was the same Dan she’d made love with for three years and more; that Rye Dalton could not come walking up the lane and give her the right to turn this man away.
Yet she wanted to—God help her, she wanted to.
He ran his hand down her hip, pulled her nightgown up, and she understood his need to reestablish himself. She opened her body to him and moved when she knew it was expected, and held him fast when he groaned and climaxed, and hid the fact that she felt faithless to another for what last night would have been the most natural and welcome act in the world.
***
In the loft above the cooperage, Rye Dalton lay on his back, disquieted by the emptiness of the womanless house. At each familiar
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