Twice Loved Page 20

  For a moment she didn’t answer, but finally replied, “Nothing. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  He studied the sky, where a single white cloud drifted. “Dan doesn’t take you all the way, does he?”

  Immediately, she rolled near and covered his lips with her fingertips. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  He braced his jaw on a palm and lay on his side facing her. “That’s what y’ meant, isn’t it?” He trailed the tip of a finger down between her breasts to her belly, and on to the nest of hair that held the warmth of the sun in its tangles, the warmth of him in its shelter. He watched goose pimples ride her skin, though her eyes were closed. He pressed the brown triangle. “This is mine. It’s always been mine, and the thought of him havin’ it has kept me miserable every night that I’ve slept alone since I’ve been home. At least he didn’t have it all.” He kissed her chin lightly. “I’m glad.”

  Her eyes opened to his. “Rye, I had no right to say it. I sh-”

  His lips cut off her words. Then he lifted his head and stroked her jaw with a knuckle. “Laura, I taught you, you taught me. Learnin’ together gave us rights.”

  But she didn’t want to mar the day with any talk that might rob them of the smallest slip of joy. Brightly, she smiled, then studied his face, from hairline to chin. “Do you know what I’ve been wanting to do ever since you’ve been back?”

  “I thought y’ just did it.” The dent appeared in his cheek. “No, not that.”

  “What, then?”

  “To explore each of these tiny pockmarks with the tip of my tongue, and to touch these—” she pressed both palms against his side-whiskers. “—like this.”

  With a smile, he fell onto his back, flipping her over on top of him. “Explore all y’ like.”

  She wet each tiny mark, ending with the seventh, on his upper lip. Raising her head, she smoothed her palms over the side-whiskers, studying him, delight in her face. “I like these, do you know that? They’re ... very masculine. When I first saw you, they made you seem ... well, almost like a stranger, somebody enticing but forbidden.”

  He lazily caressed her hipbones, then moved his hands down over her bare buttocks. “And do I still seem like a stranger?” he asked, grinning up at her.

  “You’re different in some ways.” She flipped his lower lip down with an index finger, and let it slip closed again.

  “How?”

  “The way you stand, like the ship is going to yaw at any minute. And the way you talk. You used to talk just like I do, but now you say aye and nay and cut off the ends of words.” She pouted and pondered. “Say, ‘Laura darling.’ ”

  “Laura darlin’,” he repeated obediently.

  “See? Laura, darlinnn ...” She giggled, and he, too, laughed.

  “Well, y’ are my Laura darlin’,” he said.

  But she laughed again. “I fear it’s there to stay, but it’s charming, so I don’t mind.”

  He gave her an affectionate slap on the rump. “Are y’ hungry?”

  “There y’ go again, m’ briny lad,” she answered in her best imitation of a New England tar. “Aye, I’m rav’nous!”

  He laughed, white teeth flashing in the sun, slapped her again, and demanded, “Then get up off me. I’ve brought food.”

  The next minute she was dumped away, and sat Indian-fashion while he strode off to where Ship lay guarding the drawstring bag. She watched the strong muscles of Rye’s buttocks and thighs flexing as he crossed the clearing to retrieve his cache. The dog immediately sat up, alert. Rye went down on one knee, giving Ship a scratch and a muffled assurance of her master’s affection. Then the two of them came back together with the bag of food.

  Laura watched them, and as they drew near, raised up on her knees to greet Rye as if he’d been gone a long time. “Come here.” She held her arms open and he walked flush against her. She pressed her face against his lower belly, then against his flaccid manhood before backing away and looking up at his face, which was bent to watch her smilingly. “You’re a beautiful man. I could watch you walk naked across the grass forever and never turn my eyes away.” He touched her face. “I love you, Rye Dalton.” Her arms tightened about his hips. His blue eyes smiled down at her with a fulfillment he hadn’t known since his return.

  “I love you, Laura Dalton.”

  Ship’s cold, wet nose divided them as she thrust it against Laura’s bare side. Laura jumped back, scolding and laughing.

  Rye laughed and dropped to the grass with a rough, affectionate graze of his palm on the dog’s head. “She’s jealous.”

  Laura watched as he worked the bag open. “What do you have?” she asked.

  His hand plunged inside. “Oranges!” Up flew an orange, high above her head. She caught it with a lilt of laughter. “For the lady who likes to share oranges with gentlemen in a most enticing way.” His teasing grin brought a smirk to her lips.

  “Oh, oranges. Perhaps you should have invited DeLaine Hussey today. I have the feeling Miss Hussey has wanted to get her hands on your oranges for years. ”

  “I only share my oranges with you.” The dimple in his cheek was thoroughly engaging as he raised his eyes. Then it grew even deeper when he looked up to find her sitting back on her heels, breasts thrust forward and hidden impudently behind a pair of concealing oranges.

  “And I only share my oranges with you,” she returned innocently.

  His wide brown hands came up to squeeze the fruit. “Mmm ... you have nice, ripe, firm oranges. I’d love sharing them.” He dipped his head as if to sample with his teeth, but with one orange she rapped his cheek aside.

  “Where are your manners, Rye Dalton! You have to ask politely first.”

  He lunged at her then, knocking her backward in the grass, their laughter carrying over the meadow while Ship watched their antics with a lazy eye.

  “I’ll show y’ the proper way t’ share an orange, y’ little minx!”

  In their tussle one of the oranges went rolling, but he captured the other, subduing Laura finally until she ended up on her back, and he knelt over her with one powerful and well-placed knee pressing hard against her ribcage.

  She pushed at it, laughing with utmost difficulty. “Rye, I can’t breathe.”

  “Good.” He ripped off a piece of orange peel. It landed on her cheek, and she twisted her head aside, laughing harder. “First y’ have t’ peel the orange just so.” Another piece of peel fell to her closed eye.

  “Rye Dalton, you overgrown bully!”

  “But only halfway, so y’ have somethin’ t’ hang on to.”

  Plop! This piece hit her on the nose, which she wrinkled as she pushed at his knee. “Get off ...”

  He ignored her plea, letting her squirm away while calmly completing his chore. “And when y’ have the juiciest part exposed ...” The conquerer let another chunk of peel hit the vanquished on her upper lip. “.... you’re ready t’ share y’r orange.”

  She was still pushing at his knee with her hands, but she bit her lip to keep from smiling. Lordly and lean, he held her down and kept his blue eyes on her mouth as he lifted the orange and sank his teeth into it. While he chewed, his lips all wet and sweet, she grew increasingly aware of his bold pose that left bare essentials hovering just above her. He tore into a second bite and lazily savored it, then swallowed.

  “Y’ want some?” he asked, arching a brow at her.

  “Yes.”

  “Some what?”

  “Some of your orange.”

  “Where’re y’r manners, Laura Dalton? Y’ have t’ ask politely first.”

  “May I please have some of your orange?”

  His eyes raked her body, from one breast, half-flattened by his knee, to the white flesh of her stomach, the triangle of hair, the flare of hips, then slowly back up to her face again. “I guess so.”

  The orange came slowly toward Laura’s mouth, and she opened her lips slowly until at last the succulent flesh was pressed against her teeth, and she tore off
a chunk with a twist of her head, all the while keeping her burning gaze on his deceptively fierce blue eyes. The pressure from his knee relaxed, and he began brushing it against her breast until the nipple rose up to meet the rough texture of the hair on his leg.

  She swallowed, licked her lips, but left them parted and glistening. “Mmm ... sweet,” she murmured.

  “Aye, sweet,” came his throaty reply, while his eyes did queer things to her stomach.

  “It’s your turn,” she said softly.

  “Aye, so it is.” His knee was gone from her breast. His dark hand moved above her, holding the orange. Its power was evident in the wide wrist, the blue veins on its back, the muscles corded from coopering these many years. Her eyes were polarized by the sight of his fingers slowly clenching about the orange. She started only slightly as the first cold droplet landed on her breast. She watched in soaring anticipation as his lean fingers squeezed, squeezed, sending the juice in a cool line down the valley between her breasts, to her navel, along her stomach, and down one thigh.

  Then his head was slowly bending to her, his tongue tracing the sweet path of the juice, licking it from her while her eyelids slid shut and her heart went on a Nantucket sleighride.

  He’d been five years at sea with a whaleship full of lusty men who’d had nothing more than talk and memory to buoy them over the course of the voyage. Rye Dalton had learned from listening.

  And as he’d done in a loft above a boathouse and in a cooperage before a warming fire, he taught Laura new things about her own body. As he dipped his head to taste of her orange sweetness, he brought her a splendor of which she’d never dreamed. And later, he peeled a second orange and handed it to her while her eyes grew wide and she stared at his offering, then slowly, slowly reached to take it while he lay back on the grass and took his turn at splendor.

  Chapter 12

  THE AFTERNOON WANED, and they were forced to regard the bell from the church tower as it chimed out each quarter hour. They lay on their backs, each with an ankle crossing an up-drawn knee, their bare soles touching. Rye held Laura’s hand, rubbing his thumb absently in her palm.

  “Do you know what I did the night before you sailed?” she asked, smiling at the memory.

  “What did y’do?”

  “I put a black cat under a tub.”

  He laughed and pillowed his head on his free wrist. “Don’t tell me y’ believe that old wive’s tale!”

  “Not anymore, I don’t. But I was so desperate, I’d try anything to keep you from sailing. But even the cat under the tub didn’t bring anything resembling a strong enough headwind to keep your ship from leaving the harbor the next day, like it was supposed to.”

  He turned to study her. “Did y’ miss me like I missed you?”

  “It was ... awesome. Terrible.” A solemn moment of memory passed.

  He shifted his weight and rolled onto his side, laying a hand on her stomach. “Y’r stomach is rounder ... and y’r hips’re wider.”

  “I’ve had your baby since you’ve been away.”

  “Why didn’t y’ have one of Dan’s?”

  The magic spell was broken. She sat up, curling her back and hugging her knees. “I said I don’t want to talk about him.”

  Rye braced up on an elbow, studying her back. “Y’ didn’t tell him last night, did y’?”

  She dropped her forehead onto her knees. “I ... I couldn’t. I tried, but I just couldn’t.”

  “Do y’ love him more than me, then?”

  “No ... no!” She turned with a quick flash of fire in her eyes, then once more presented her back. “Next to you he’s ... oh, Rye, don’t make me say things that will only cause us both to feel guiltier than we already are.”

  “I don’t like playin’ him false any more than you do. But I won’t have y’ sleepin’ with him nights and me days and not tellin’ him it’s over between y’.”

  “Rye, I know I promised, but ... but there’re Josh’s feelings to consider, too.”

  He sat up and jerked distractedly at a tuft of grass. “And what about y’r feelin’s for me? Do they count for nothin’? Do y’ want me—us—t’ settle for this, sneakin’ up into the hills to make love once every month or so while Dan keeps remindin’ you y’ have an obligation t’ him and the boy?” Rye flung the grass away angrily.

  “No,” she answered in a tiny voice.

  “What, then?”

  Miserable, she had no answer. Rye stared at the ground, realizing he had the power to tell Dan the truth and be done with it, angry with himself for even having the thought because Laura trusted him not to do such a thing. His eyes moved down her bare spine, then to her arm as she reached for her clothing.

  “Laura, if we keep on this way, it’ll only get worse. I send y’ home t’ him, y’ send me back t’ my father, and everybody’s miserable.”

  “I know.”

  As she slipped on the first article of clothing, the chimes rang again below. Rye, too, reached for his breeches. While donning them, he watched her reach for her chemise, pull it on, and begin lacing its ribbons. Standing behind her, he could not resist asking, “Laura, does he make love to y’ often?”

  She would not turn and face him. “No.”

  “Since I’ve been back?”

  “Only a few times.”

  Rye drew a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.

  Her voice trembled, but her back remained turned upon him. “Rye, with him it’s never been like it is with you ... She spun now to face him. “Never!” Her throat worked. “I guess it’s because I ... I love him out of gratitude, not passion, and there’s a world of difference between the two.”

  “And y’ll stay with him out o’ gratitude, is that what y’re sayin’?”

  There were tears on her lashes now. “I ... I ...”

  Rye Dalton then spoke the hardest words he’d ever said. “I won’t string this out forever. Y’ll have t’ choose. And y’ll have t’ do it soon, else I’ll be leavin’ the island for good.”

  She’d guessed something like this would happen. Yet how could she tell Josh? How could she tell Dan?

  “Promise!” Rye ordered, standing firmly before her, intensity in every rigid muscle of his body. “Promise y’ll tell him tonight. Then we’ll go t’ the mainland and begin divorce proceeding immediately.” At her hesitation, his words grew harsh. “Woman, you tempt me in my dreams at night, when I walk the beaches with miles between us, and every wakin’ hour of the day. T’ me you’re still my wife, and I’ve done what y’ asked—I’ve given y’ time t’ break away from him. How much longer do y’ think I can stand your livin’ with him?”

  Laura threw herself against Rye and their arms clung. “I will tell him. Tonight. I promise on my love for you. It’s always been you, always, since we were old enough to know the difference between boys and girls. In my heart the vow between you and me has never been broken, Rye. I love you.” She backed away, took his cheeks in her palms, and said into his sea-blue eyes, “I promise I will tell him tonight, and I’ll meet you at the ferry tomorrow and we’ll do as you said. We’ll go to the mainland and begin divorce proceedings.”

  He grasped the back of her hand and his eyes closed as he fiercely kissed her palm. “I love y’, Laura. God, how I love y’.”

  “And I love you, Rye.”

  “I’ll meet y’ at the ferry.”

  She kissed his lips lightly. “At the ferry.”

  ***

  The promise was still fresh on Laura’s lips as she walked up the scallop-shell path with Josh an hour later. As the house came into view, she immediately sensed something was amiss, for sitting on her doorstep was Josh’s best friend, Jimmy Ryerson. But instead of leaping to his feet at the sight of Laura and Josh, Jimmy hunkered quietly, watching them approach.

  “Hi, Jimmy!” Josh broke into an excited gallop.

  “Hi.” But Jimmy was all six-year-old business as he reported, “We ca
n’t play. I gotta tell your ma something and then you’re supposed to come home with me.”

  “What is it, Jimmy?” Laura questioned, alarmed now, clasping his shoulder.

  “They couldn’t find you, and they said I was s’posed to sit here and wait till you come home and tell you to go down to Straight Wharf right away.”

  Laura’s eyes flew toward the bay. “Who?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Everybody. They’re all down there— your pa, too, Josh. They said your grampa’s boat, it tipped over comin’ across the bar, and they can’t find him.”

  Laura’s heart did somersaults. “C ... can’t find him?” Jimmy shook his head.

  “Oh no.” The words were a whispered lament, and Laura’s fingers covered her lips as she again looked down over the bay. Reactions tumbled through her in a swift succession: there’s got to be some mistake ... Zachary Morgan couldn’t possibly have capsized, he knows these waters too well ... they’ve all been looking for me ... they’ll know Rye was gone, too ... where is Dan?

  “How long have they been out looking?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Jimmy shrugged again. “I been waitin’ here a long time. They says I wasn’t s’posed to—”

  But Laura cut him off with a firmer grasp on his shoulder. She turned both him and Josh toward the path, ordering, “You go down to Jimmy’s house and stay, like they said. And, Josh, you wait until Papa or I come for you. I’ve got to hurry down to the wharf and find him.”

  Josh’s eyes widened. “Wh ... what’s the matter, Mama? Is Grampa all right?”

  “I don’t know, darling. I hope so.”

  Sensing tragedy, Josh suddenly balked. “I don’t wanna go to Jimmy’s house. I wanna come with you to find Grampa and Papa.”

  Though each passing second felt like an hour, Laura went down on one knee and brushed her son’s hair back in a gesture of comfort. “I know you do, darling, but ... it’s best if you go with Jimmy. I’ll try to come for you soon.” She gave him a reassuring hug, forcing herself to appear calm for his sake while every muscle in her body was tensed to run.