Page 18 of West Wind

Annabelle didn’t want to leave the creek. She trailed her hand through the waist-high water, then lowered herself so the water touched her chin. She splashed the water gently, turning in a circle and starting to sing in a low voice. A few months ago she might’ve chosen an aria she enjoyed, but the song that came to mind as she spun in the creek and lightly slapped the surface was ‘Buffalo Gals.’

She was certain Shelley couldn’t hear her, her voice was so soft. He was busy setting up camp, and when she’d last seen him he’d been in one of his surly moods. There was no telling what kind of mood she’d find him in when she finally emerged from the creek. When she came to the part of the song about dancing by the light of the moon, she remembered how she’d danced around the fire for Shelley that night she’d first tasted tequila. It was all she could do to keep from laughing. At least he didn’t remember. How mortifying that would be!

She continued to sing softly as she dried herself and dressed in her new clothes. The tan britches were a tad snug in the hips but otherwise fit well, and the cotton shirt was heavenly compared to the inappropriate black silk she was accustomed to. She finished off the odd ensemble with the red boots. They were the most outlandish footwear she’d ever owned.

When she stepped from behind the makeshift curtain Shelley was watching, as if he’d been waiting for her to emerge. She held her hands aloft and turned about slowly.

“What do you think?” She completed the circle and hung her wet dress over the rope, beside the blanket. When she finally turned to look at him, she was surprised to see an angry expression on his face.

“What’s the matter?” She looked down at her new outfit. Nothing seemed amiss. The blouse was buttoned as far as it would go, and though it left her throat exposed it was decent. It was true that the britches were decadent, but they’d been his idea, not hers.

“We don’t have all day,” he snapped. “You get your first riding lesson before dinner, while there’s still some light.” When she didn’t join him immediately, he growled at her. “If you don’t mind.”

She followed him to her new mare, an animal almost the color of her hair. Shelley showed her how to mount, standing behind her and eventually placing his hand on her derriere. Boosting her up he cursed, and although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was angry with her. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done.

He taught Annie as if she were a child, his words clipped, coarse, and simple. Before long she was riding around the campsite with relative ease. The burning rage inside him grew as he watched her atop the mare. She bit her lip and tossed her hair. Naturally she’d left it down to dry today, instead of gathering it at her nape.

He’d grown angrier and angrier as he’d waited on the other side of the blanket listening to her sing and splash in the water. Damn it to hell, his common sense told him she’d done nothing wrong, but when he’d rescued a terrified, plain mouse from under the staircase outside the Silver Palace, he hadn’t counted on being confronted with Annie as she was now. She should’ve warned him, he thought irrationally, that she would turn out to be so... so... so tempting.

He helped her dismount. She smiled at his scowling face as they returned to the campfire.

“That was fun,” she said cheerfully. “I think I’m going to like riding.”

“I’m happy for you,” he said sarcastically. “You can put your dress back on now. Save your riding clothes for tomorrow.”

“I can’t. I washed the dress, and the petticoat. They were filthy, and both are still wet. The petticoat should be fine, but I’m not sure about the dress. I hope I haven’t ruined it completely.” She plopped to the ground by the fire. “Besides, these clothes are much more comfortable. That black gown was like an oven.”

He groaned as he knelt by the fire. A small pot of beans was warming over the flame and he turned his attention to it, cursing under his breath.

“You were the one who insisted I buy these britches,” Annie said sweetly. “I know they’re not very stylish, but I wouldn’t expect that to bother you, of all people.”

His head snapped up. “You really don’t get it, do you?” He forgot about their supper and crossed the short distance that separated them. “Stand up,” he demanded. She did as he ordered without hesitation.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and ran his palms over her slender arms, the thin cotton barely separating his skin from hers. Then he settled his hands on her waist. She was so tiny his hands nearly spanned her midsection. When his hands began to glide slowly down her hips, she pushed them away.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered.

He looked up and their eyes locked. “Why did you hide this under that atrocious dress?”

“Hide what?”

He narrowed his eyes; his jaw clenched. She was teasing him, and he didn’t like it, not one bit. She wasn’t an innocent virgin. She was a woman, a widowed woman who knew exactly how to seduce him.

He pulled her to him roughly, ignoring the palms that pushed against his chest. He lowered his head and kissed her fiercely, dismissing her muffled protests. She pursed her lips, trying to keep them tightly closed, but he parted them with his tongue and clasped her to him.

Annabelle held her breath for a long moment. The change that came over her was slow and certain, like butter melting in the summer sun. She’d initially protested the kiss, but those protests soon stopped. Hands that had initially pushed Shelley away now grasped the front of his shirt, then traveled up and around to clasp behind his neck.

Her breathing slowed, her heart raced, as she pressed her chest to his. She parted her lips to accept the darting tongue that made her heart pound and caused a funny feeling in her chest, as if a hundred tiny feathers danced inside her.

When she flicked her tongue over his lower lip and grabbed a handful of hair at his nape, the embrace underwent a change. He was no longer trying to frighten her. His lips were firm and demanding, his hands gentle against her back. It felt as if his anger melted away as surely as her resistance had.

They went down to their knees, never loosening their firm embrace, their lips locked. The heat of the fire scorched her cheek as the warmth and the flickering light surrounded them. Shelley lowered her to the ground and rolled her away from the heat of the campfire, never releasing his hold on her. They lay in the grass, side by side.

She could kiss him forever. She’d rather kiss than sing. When he moved his hand to cup her breast, she shivered. She was a little afraid, but pushed the fear away. Shelley was going to make love to her. That was what she wanted, more than anything, but she didn’t know what to expect. Not really.

She’d heard whispered words about lovemaking, words that conflicted sometimes. Certainly no one had ever told her that kissing the right man could be so absolutely heavenly.

She pulled her lips away from his, ever so slightly, and whispered, her breath against his warm lips. “I love you, Shelley.”