Page 12 of Westbound Awakening

"Of course, of course," Mr. Clearwater helped John with the bags while Mae made her way to the front door. A short woman greeted her at the front door. Her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun brought attention to her round face softened by a spray of freckles across her nose. "Well come on in. I know you must be exhausted."

"Dead on my feet," Mae admitted. "Although I could collapse easily, I desperately need a bath before I could lay in a clean bed."

The bed loomed larger than life, and the more time passed the more it took her attention. Mae sat in the steamy tub and stared at the sizeable four-poster bed. Earlier, she and John stood next to each other awkwardly while Mrs. Clearwater showed them the room. The woman did not seem to notice anything amiss and had briskly called for the bath water to be brought by a young man who looked to be their teenage son. After the lad finally left, John excused himself to give her privacy. So intent on getting into the warm water she didn't even consider the ramifications of their lie. Not until now.

Well there was nothing to be done about it now. Surely the man didn't mean to sleep in the bed with her. She'd offer him the bed, especially after noticing his limp after the brawl with Jefferson. He needed to rest, ensure his leg did not get infected or cause him to fall ill again. She'd sleep on the floor. A couple of blankets and one of the pillows on the rug would still be more comfortable than the back of the wagon. She rose from the bath to change and descend to join John for dinner. Before leaving the room, she pulled her hair down along the sides of her face before pulling it back. The style hid the bruising on her jawline. Not much could be done about the other wounds, although her lip was barely swollen now, and beneath her eye, the slash of purple had decreased.

When Mae descended the stairs, there were several other guests along with John already gathered around a square wooden table. Conversation stopped, and everyone turned to look at her. With a forced smile, she moved forward, keeping her eyes on John. With a grim expression in place, he stood and pulled a chair for her. Once she sat, he lowered into the chair next to hers and introduced her once again as his wife.

After dinner, John paced outside the house, ignoring the pulses of protest from his leg. Did the woman even understand what she did to him? To other men in any room she entered? Dinner had been the longest of his life, the unfortunate closeness of their bodies made it hard for their legs not to occasionally touch. And the way she looked. John almost grabbed her to drag her back upstairs. She was not dressed immodest, but even if clad in a flour sack, the woman commanded the attention of every male in a room.

The other four guests were men, and it became very hard to keep from demanding they stop staring at her. Mae, either used to it or oblivious, had been the picture of grace, taking time to speak to each of them until they were practically eating out of her hand. John clenched his jaw. Of course she did. It was what she did for a living.

Currently she was preparing for bed while he gave her a few minutes of solitude. Too tired to remain upright, she'd surprised him when her head leaned onto his shoulder. He hated to admit how good the closeness felt, how strong it made him feel. Without realizing it, he'd slowed the horses, stretching the time until they arrived. He had to get all the confusing emotions under control before they got on the road again and spending unending hours alone. One of the guests stepped outside and nodded at him before moving away to light a cigarette. John wasn't in the mood to start a conversation so he went back inside.

John made his way up the stairs, each step matching the deep breaths he took. What now? He was overthinking things as usual. Surely they could maintain their distance in the large bedroom. They were adults, and he was responsible for keeping her safe.

A charge.

No, it was his duty.

The intimacy of the interior did little to settle his mind. A lamp cast a soft light in the room. Mae was bent at the waist placing a blanket on the rug. Dressed in a floor length, long sleeved nightgown, she swung to face him, her eyes wide. "Oh goodness, you startled me John. I didn't hear footsteps."

He eyed the blankets she was arranging on the floor. "What are you doing? I will take care of it. Lie down and get some rest."

She straightened. "John, I think it's best if I sleep on the floor." He started to argue, but she moved closer and he could only swallow. The light from the lamp caused for her entire body to be silhouetted. Long legs and the soft curves of her outlined for him to see. "…you've been limping. It's more pronounced today, and after sleeping on the hard ground for days, it makes more sense." He finally listened to her words and realized Mae was unaware of how sheer her gown was. Or was she?

Forcing his eyes away from her, he grunted and went to pour a glass of water. "Damn woman do you have to make every thing so difficult?" Her irritated sniff brought his gaze back to her.

With her nose in the air, she threw the blanket at him and moved to the bed. "You know what John. Sleep in the barn for all I care. I'm trying to be nice, making sure you're leg…is…oh never mind." The last word came out more of a growl.

"Mae? I, er…you were...are nice."

"Forget it John. Do what you want, I'm going to sleep. I'm too tired to deal with you right now." When she noticed he'd neared, she dropped her arms to her sides and didn't move away. Her bright emerald eyes met his. "Let's just admit how bad of an idea this entire trip is. We can inquire at the next town about a stagecoach…I can…"

His mouth crushed hers, surprising him far more than her. She didn't move away when he placed his hands on both side of her face holding her in place, not wanting her to. She tasted like everything he ever imagined since meeting her, sweet and fiery. Her hands covered his, and Mae returned his kiss. It took all he had within him to keep from moaning.

Past the point of rational thought, he pressed his tongue to her lips and her mouth opened, inviting him in. Minutes passed, lacing one to another with only the sound of their breathing and suckling. The silken tresses fell down her back, and John smoothed them back from her face. When his hand slid to the small of her back, she pulled away and stepped back. Her wide eyes locked to his face, she moved further away and rounded the bed. Without a word, she pulled the remaining blanket away and lay down with her back to him and pulled the blankets up over her shoulders.

"I'm sorry Mae, I didn't mean to…"

"No explanation necessary. Of course you didn't John. Why in the world would you?"

Not sure what could be said to make things better, he began to arrange the blankets on the floor. He removed his clothes and lay down.

In the darkness, John listened to Mae's breathing until he was sure she slept, then got up and went to blow out the lamp. He glanced at her and couldn't help but wonder what would happen to her. In sleep, her beauty could only be described as pure. Innocent, the furthest word one would normally use when referring to Mae. Desirable, intriguing and ultimately dangerous, those were a much better fit.

He focused on her pursed lips and without thought touched his own. The light reflected a shiny tear sliding down from the corner of her eye. She cried in her sleep. Had he caused it?

Once again the heaviness fell upon him at wondering if he was indeed the cause of her sorrow. The first reaction was to reach out and wipe the errant tear. Instead John blew out the lamp instead. On the bedroll, he stared up at the ceiling. From now on, he'd make more of an effort to keep a distance from her. The kiss was a mistake. Now he'd gotten the curiosity out of his system, it would be easier to control any impulses in the future. Yet down deep he knew it was a lie; he'd never forget the taste of Mae's kiss.

The next morning, Mae ate breakfast downstairs while John bathed. Mrs. Clearwater poured coffee into a large sturdy mug for her. She'd lingered in bed as long as possible enjoying the comfort of the soft mattress. When she'd first awakened, the sight of a sleeping John kept her attention. On his back, he was sprawled on the blankets, his breathing even, on hand curled under his jaw. Thankfully, guilt didn't assail, as he seemed as comfortable as she on the downy bed coverings she'd shed from the bed.

Mrs. Clearwater placed a plate replete with eggs and potatoes before the woman smiled brightly at Mae's enthusiastic eating.

"Is there a stagecoach stop in the next town?" Mae blurted between bites, realizing her mistake when the woman's concerned gaze focused on her bruised lip.

"No dear there isn't, not a regular stop anyway. The route runs south of here, so you'd have to double back a ways." She looked over her shoulder toward the staircase. "Does he beat you often?"