Once in Every Life

  Jack held the squirming, frightened sheep in an iron grip. Stooping low over the animal, he ran the razor-sharp clippers along the belly. Fleecy yellowed wool fell away from the pink flesh in a thick trail and heaped on the straw-covered floor. Occasionally the sharp blades nicked the sheep's soft belly, sending tiny droplets of blood splattering upward onto Jack's face and neck.

  He sheared the sheep in a matter of moments, then jammed the clippers in his belt and let the sheep go. The

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  animal bleated loudly and ran on wobbly legs right into the wall.

  Tiredly Jack turned the sheep around, pointing him toward the pasture. Still bleating, the sheep barreled from the lean-to and joined the rest of the already-sheared sheep in the pasture.

  Jack straightened. Pushing a fist at the base of his aching back, he swiped the sweat from his brow and let out his breath in an exhausted sigh. Christ, he was tired. And sore. He couldn't remember when he'd been this sore. The constant squeeze-release action of the clippers caused an ache that started in his hand and drove deep into his shoulder, and his back was half-broken from stooping over sheep for twelve hours.

  He lifted his heavy head and looked around. Jim was at the front of the lean-to, bent over a squirming sheep. Sikes and the two Indians followed in a straight line. Jack brought up the rear. Beside them, out in the holding corral, there were a good hundred sheep left to be sheared. The last rays of the day's sun slid across the closely bunched animals, turning their fleecy backs into humps of pinkish gold.

  Jack shoved the hat off his damp brow. "Come on, boys, how 'bout we call it a night?"

  "Whew!" Jerry Sikes yelled back, letting his sheared sheep go. "I thought we'd never quit."

  The men finished up the sheep they were working on, then closed the pasture gate behind them. Jack pitchforked some hay to the corralled sheep, and the day's work was done.

  Too tired to say much, the men walked back to the barn, where their bedrolls were already laid out on layers of new straw.

  "Christ on a crutch, I'm tired," Jerry said, collapsing on

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  his bedroll. "Every year it seems I forget how damn hard this job is."

  Jim laughed. "Ain't that the truth. I shoulda taken the family to Texas and raised cattle."

  Jack went to the workbench and lit a lantern. Flames sputtered on the ragged wick, then took hold. Pale golden light seeped through the shadowy barn.

  "Holy shit!" Jerry yelled. "What the hell happened to your workbench?"

  Jack winced and cast an embarrassed glance at Lissa's handiwork. The huge yellow tulip seemed to dance and throb in the light. He tried not to smile but couldn't help himself. "My wife thought I took things a bit too seriously. Seems she took it in her mind to change that."

  The men laughed. All except Jim Hannah, who was strangely silent.

  "What you thinkin', Jim?" Jerry asked, stretching out on

  his bedroll.

  Jim eyed the workbench. Plucking up a piece of straw, he stuck it between his teeth. "I dunno. Guess I'm thinking maybe Mrs. Rafferty's right." He looked up at Jack. "A man's mighty lucky to have a woman who cares enough to change things."

  Jack caught Jim's knowing smile and thought suddenly: We could be friends. Not just neighbors who occasionally help each other, but honest-to-God friends.

  Friendship with another man was something Jack had given up on long ago; he knew that to make a friend, you had to be a friend, and that was a commitment he'd never been able to make before. But now, looking at Jim's smiling, uncondemning face, Jack thought maybe there was a chance.

  "You know, Jack," Jerry said casually, "you ain't so bad as everybody says. And you're a damn hard worker."

  Before Jack could respond, the barn door creaked open,

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  drawing every eye. Lissa stood in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. Her hair was drawn back in a lopsided knot that hung lamely over one ear. Flyaway strands stuck out in damp corkscrew curls all across her brow. She looked as if she'd been standing in front of a hot stove for hours.

  She smiled. "Y'all done for the night?" The men clambered to their feet and doffed their hats. "Evenin', Miz Rafferty," Jerry said. "That supper was mighty good tonight. Thank you kindly."

  Lissa beamed. "Thanks, Mr. Sikes. I appreciate that. Here's a little snack to keep y'all till breakfast." She walked into the barn, placing a full-to-the-brim basket down between Jerry and Jim. "There's some cider and bread and leftover chicken. I hope you like it." She shot a quick smile at Jack. "Don't worry. Savannah cooked it." "Thanks, Mrs. Rafferty," Jim said.

  She nodded and turned to Jack. "Are you coming in tonight?"

  The men whooped and chuckled.

  Jack gave her a slow smile. "I sure am."

  "Good." Lissa looped an arm through his and guided him toward the barn door. The men were still laughing when the door closed behind them.

  Outside, the falling night was beautiful, full of spangling stars and gentle breezes, and anticipation. Tantalizing anticipation.

  Arm in arm they walked down the dirt road toward the house. There was a spring in their step that had been missing for a long, long time. As if they were both thinking? dreaming?of the kisses to come.

  They didn't talk; they didn't need to. But the silence between them was different tonight. Instead of the sharp-edged anger that had marked their union for years, it was a blurry, companionable quiet that settled comfortably be-

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  tween them. They didn't speak because it wasn't necessary. Touching, walking, being together, were enough.

  They climbed the porch steps, and Jack held the back door open for Tess. She smiled and swept through.

  The kitchen was warm and cozy, scented by the humid, salty leftovers of boiling water and the cinnamon-sweet memory of baked apple pie. In the center was the large copper bathing tin, filled halfway with water. She hurried to the stove and eased a heavy pot of water from the back burner.

  Jack surged toward her. "I'll get that."

  She laughed. "Jack, I've been filling this tub for a half an hour."

  He reached out. His fingers curled around hers. The feel of his flesh against hers sent a bolt of desire shooting through her body. They stood side by side, their fingers interlaced over the pot of boiling water. Steam puffed up, pelted their faces.

  "I'll do it," he said quietly.

  Tess gazed into his eyes. She saw him swallow convulsively, and knew he'd felt the same burst of desire she had.

  She didn't look away. Neither did he. Steam continued to spiral upward, curling in hot strands along their joined hands. Slowly Jack's tongue slid along his lower lip, leaving in its wake a sparkling trail of wetness.

  Tess's stomach clenched. She let out a shaky breath. Suddenly she realized what was happening here, what was going to happen. And though she'd looked forward to it all day, waited and ached and longed for it, now that it was here, she felt afraid.

  She'd had sex before, but only a few times, and those were mostly awkward, silent fumblings in the night that left her feeling more alone than ever. It had never been like this, never with a man who held her heart in the palm

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  of his hand. With Jack she felt completely vulnerable, and so very innocent. "Lissa?"

  She jumped at the unexpected sound and stared steadfastly at his throat. He touched her chin, tilted her face up. She hesitated, then looked up. "Lissa, what is it?"

  She tried to laugh, but it was a watery failure. "I'm ... afraid."

  "Don't be." Taking her face in his hands, he whispered her name, and kissed her.

  At first the kiss was so soft, it felt like the stirring of his breath against her lips. Tess closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She let go of the kettle and brought her hands to his chest, reveling in the strong, hard feel of him, and in her right to touch him.

  As the kiss deepened and their tongues twined, Tess felt something inside her
break free and float away. The heartache and pain of being unwanted and lonely took on the consistency of smoke and vanished.

  Chapter Twenty

  Tess pulled slowly back. Smiling up at him, she whispered, "That bath won't be hot much longer."

  A slow, lazy grin spread across his face. "Then you'd better undress me." He held up two scraped, bloodied hands. "My hands are too sore to work the buttons."

  Tess swallowed thickly. Self-consciousness washed through her in a trembling wave. She'd never done anything like this in her life. It was so ... intimate.

  Tess looked up and met his gaze. The love in his eyes drenched her, swept her hesitation away like dust in the wind. He made her feel beautiful and sexy and wanted.

  For the first time in her life, she saw sex as something different, something more. Making love. Suddenly she understood the phrase in all its splendor, all its promise and passion.

  She wanted to make love with this man, to this man. She wanted to show him, in every way, that she loved him.

  With shaking fingers she undid his dungarees. The stiff fabric slid down his body and puddled on the floor at his feet. He stepped out of the overalls and kicked them away.

  Tess's gaze fell, moved slowly down his muslin-clad legs. The evidence of his desire sent a tiny, flamelike thrill shooting through her. She felt his breathing as a patter of heat against her forehead.

  Swallowing thickly, she undid the top button of his 262

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  work shirt, then the next, and the next. The tired fabric fell away from his body, exposing the curly black hair that lightly covered his chest. His breathing sped up. Her fingers moved down.

  One by one the buttons gave way, the material gaped. She looked up at him, stared at him through eyes filled with a promise. Gently she pushed the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall down his arms. He shrugged slightly, and the shirt fell to the floor.

  Her fingertips grazed his flesh. He shivered in response. So did Tess. At the sight of his bare chest, something deep inside her quivered, sent a flurry of sensation to the pit of her stomach. Her throat went dry.

  She pressed her open hands to his chest, marveling in the feel of his skin. Her fingers splayed out, moved slowly upward, memorizing every detail of him. The crispness of his hair, the satin-soft hardness of his muscles, the tiny scar that crossed his collarbone.

  "Jesus, Lissa," he growled as her fingers breezed gently across his hardened nipples.

  Startled by the throaty sound of his voice, Tess looked up. "Did ... did I do something wrong?"

  He smiled. It was a hot, slow smile that made Tess's pulse quicken. "No," he whispered. His eyes held her captive, promised things she'd never even dreamed of.

  Without thinking, just feeling, needing, she pressed up onto her toes for a kiss.

  He bent toward her, meeting her more than halfway. His mouth formed to hers in a hot, possessive kiss that left her reeling and dizzy. His hands settled in the small of her back, drawing her flush against his half-naked body. "God, you taste good," he whispered, letting his tongue brush lovingly along her full bottom lip.

  Tess shivered at the moist warmth of his breath on her parted lips.

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  A small moan slipped from her mouth as the kiss deepened, became harder and more demanding. His tongue pushed past her lips, exploring, tasting, probing. She curled her arms around his back and clung to him. Desire burned inside her, became a painful ache between her legs.

  Tess felt control begin to spiral out of her grasp. She began to tremble. She needed time, just a little time. It was happening too fast....

  "Th-The bath ..." she said lamely.

  Pulling backward just a step, he dropped to his knees beside the tub and washed the blood from his hands and face. Then he got to his feet and grinned at her, hair dripping. "Forget the bath," he said, sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bedroom. He shoved the door open with his elbow and kicked it shut behind him.

  He laid her out on the bed and kneeled beside her. The bed planks creaked beneath their weight. His gaze lingered on her face for a long, breathless moment, then moved slowly to the muslin-clad mound of her breasts.

  Anticipation shuddered through Tess's body and left her breathless. Everywhere his gaze landed, she felt singed. Inside her, deep, a fire started, coiled through her vitals. She wanted so desperately to be everything he wanted, but she didn't know how to be good in bed. Confusion chilled the mounting heat of desire, left her once again feeling shy and afraid.

  "Jack ..." She tried to reach for him, but he gently pushed her back into the pile of pillows.

  "Not yet." He smiled. "Turnabout is fair play."

  "But?"

  "Relax, Lissa."

  Tess swallowed hard. He didn't want her to touch him .. . not yet. He wanted her to relax. Relax, Tess. Relax. She drew a deep breath and tried to do as he'd asked.

  It was impossible. Stretched out on the bed, she lay like

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  zo:>

  a butterfly pinned to a bed of soft velvet. She lay perfectly still, waiting. Waiting ...

  He leaned down and pressed a hot, moist kiss on the curve of her throat. Tess shuddered at the contact. Her eyes fluttered shut. He moved with tantalizing slowness, planting a trail of openmouthed kisses down her throat.

  The gourd-seed buttons on her half gown seemed to magically dissolve beneath his fingers. She felt the thin fabric pull away from her body and fall to the floor. Tess tensed. A small, mouselike sound squeaked past her trembling lips. She felt achingly vulnerable. It was all she could do not to cover herself. "Lissa?"

  She opened her eyes and looked up at him. His gaze locked with hers, and in his eyes was a restless longing, a need, that mirrored her own. Then slowly?so slowly? he unlaced her corset and pushed the utilitarian contraption away from her skin. Cool air breezed across her flesh, hardened her nipples.

  Candlelight bathed the creamy softness of her breasts, undulated across her stomach in golden waves. Her hair, spread out across the grayed pillows, glittered like gold dust.

  He traced the pale outline of her breasts with his hands and leaned down to kiss the full swell above her nipple. "Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispered. With those simple words, Jack freed her. His hot breath wafted across her nipples and set off another flurry of goose bumps. Need coursed through her body, melted her insides, and suddenly she had to be closer, had to feel the heat of his skin against hers.

  She pressed up on her elbows; he bent down. Their mouths came together in a hungry kiss. Tess wound her arms around his neck and clung to him. His chest was hot

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  and damp against her nipples. The tingle between her legs deepened into an almost painful throbbing.

  As they kissed, his hand roamed down her quivering stomach and slid across the throbbing center of her desire. She shuddered and strained up for his touch. But the brief caress was a tease and nothing more. His hand moved downward, along her thigh to her ankle. With strong, sure hands, he shoved her skirt up to her waist. Once again she felt the coolness of the night air against

  her hot flesh.

  The skirt and drawers seemed to melt off her body. His gaze turned to liquid fire and slid down her naked body. She lay still and trembling beneath his perusal, her hair fanned out in a tangle around her face, her breasts shuddering in shallow, expectant breaths.

  His hand curled around her throat, moving slowly downward, as if he were savoring the velvet-soft feel of her flesh. Her pulse thrummed and beat beneath his fingertips.

  She swallowed thickly, nervously, trying not to be frightened by the intensity of her need. She'd never wanted anything, anyone, as much as she wanted him right

  now.

  "Jack." His name slipped past her lips in a whisper of

  longing.

  "Touch me," he said in a harsh, ragged voice that matched her own. She knew then that it wasn't just her. He was also out of control.
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  The realization gave her confidence. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let go of her fear.

  The moment she made the decision, her inhibitions melted away. Without them, she was left ragged and aching for his touch, desperate for the feel of his flesh against

  hers. With trembling fingers, she grabbed the waistband of

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  his drawers and dragged the fabric down the length of his body.

  Naked, breathless, they came together. Their bodies fused into a hot, throbbing whole. The drawers slipped through Tess's shaking fingers and fell to the floor.

  He kissed her again, and this one seemed to go on forever. She clung to him, feeling the shifting of his muscles beneath her fingertips. The masculine scent of him filled her nostrils. Sweat sheened his back, turned it slick. Her hands clutched at him, nails raking his back. "Oh, God," she whispered throatily. She'd never known she could feel this way, never even imagined it.

  He rolled her on top of him. Tess pressed her fists into the pillow and looked down at him. Her hair cascaded around them, creating a shimmering curtain of golden silk.

  He gazed up at her through eyes that looked like burning emeralds in the half-light. His lips parted slowly; his tongue slid out to wet them. Tess stared at the moist pink tip and felt something deep inside her clench. His breath caressed her nipples in hot, ragged spurts.

  His hands curled around her body and clutched her buttocks, dragging her against him. His hardness slid against the curly thatch of her hair and touched the core of her desire.

  Tess shuddered at the contact. Longing pulsated through her body in fire-hot waves. Need made her bold and wanton. She straddled him. The feel of him against her, hot and ready, made her whole body shake.

  His name slipped past her lips in a breath of wonder. His hands slid up her back and anchored behind her neck, pulling her down for a dark, desperate kiss. As they kissed, she ground her hips against his in a slow, tantalizing circle.

  He groaned and pushed her away gently. Quivering,

  T

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  breathing hard, she stared down at him in confusion. "Did I do something wrong?"