Rose(101)

Her tiny gasps goaded him on.

Taking her nipple into his mouth, he suckled it, gently at first, harder as his own desire grew more engulfing. His hand cupped her other breast, drawing it toward him, burying his face between them.

Rose put her hands behind his head and drew him closer to her. George went over the edge.

Deserting her breast, he took her mouth in a searing kiss, a kiss fueled by a week of longing, a week of thinking of her at least once every five minutes, a week of nights tortured by the thought of her body, a week of winding his nerves so tight he was about to explode.

It was a long kiss, a harsh kiss, a desperate kiss. His need so inflamed his senses he was barely conscious that she kissed him back with equal desperation.

Even as he covered her neck and shoulders and breasts with torrid kisses, his hand moved down her side until it caressed her thigh. He didn’t know if the moan came from him or Rose. It hardly mattered. They were both under the sway of their overwhelming need for each other. Neither one wanted to halt the forces that were driving them to a union   which had been the focal point of their thoughts for more than a week.

George’s hand slipped under the hem of her gown, past her knee, and arrived at the middle of her inner thigh. With a barely perceptible sigh, Rose relaxed her body, waiting for his entry.

But even as his own body throbbed painfully from nights of restraint, George felt himself hesitate, felt the heat cooled by a wave of ice-cold fear.

He saw a seven-year-old boy cowering before his father, a hand raised in rage descending again and again until the child couldn’t stand up. He heard his own screams of pain and fear, saw the horror in his father’s eyes as he realized what he had done to his own child. He saw his mother, a weak woman lacking the courage or strength to defend her children, gather him into her arms, her tears of grief dropping on his face. He saw his father drunk and dangerous for days afterward. He saw the whole household moving about in fear.

And desire lay dead in his breast.

“I’m sorry,” George rasped as he erupted from the bed. He drew on his pants and shirt, snatched up his socks and boots, and was gone as quickly as a cool breeze on a hot summer’s day.

Once away from the house, George stopped to allow his pounding heart to slow to a reasonable speed. Gradually he felt some of the tautness leave his body, gradually he was able to take a deep breath. Finally, heaving a great sigh, he sat down to put on his boots.

He couldn’t go back. Not tonight or any other night until her fertile time was over. He had come to terms with his need for her, but there could be no compromise on anything else. There must be no children. Not ever.

Maybe he ought to send her back to Austin. He could visit her regularly. It wasn’t a long trip on horseback. Especially if he rode a fast horse. It might be better for her. It would certainly be easier for him.

But every time he thought he had decided to talk to Rose, he came up with another reason why he couldn’t do without her. Before long he gave up.

Even if the womenfolk of Austin had been willing to welcome Rose with open arms, George knew he couldn’t tell her to go. It would have hurt her deeply. Besides, he had gotten used to her being around. He liked it. He needed it. She had a hold on him he couldn’t shake. As for the danger that he would give in and sleep with her before it was safe, well, he would just have to sleep at the camp. It was worth a few nights on the ground to avoid a lifetime of regret.

But as he walked the hours of the night away, as he mulled over thoughts he had never had time to contemplate in the busy hours of daylight, he realized that not having children would be as much of a loss to him as it would be to Rose.

Something else he owed to the legacy of his father.





For several minutes Rose had lain without moving, her body rigid with desire. And pain.

Then as her muscles started to let go of the tension, the tears started. There were no heartrending sobs, there was no convulsive heaving of the chest, just a silent flow of salty tears down her cheeks, across her lips, onto her pillow.

Once again life had held out something to her, allowed her to see, to touch, to hold, to cherish, then had snatched it away just as she thought it had become her own.

She didn’t know how much more she could endure before she broke down altogether. She now understood that just as love can create, it can also destroy.





“Could you take Zac with you today?” Rose asked when George entered the kitchen. The rest of the boys were still washing up.

“He’d only be in the way.”

“I’ve got a surprise for him,” Rose explained. “Tomorrow is his birthday.”

George felt terrible. He’d gotten so caught up with the roundup and sorting out his feelings for Rose that he’d forgotten Zac’s birthday. He remembered how important birthdays had been to him as a child. It must be even more important to Zac. Just more proof he’d make a lousy father.