The Green Lace Corset, стр. 78

53

Cliff touched her shoulder. “Morning, glory. Or should I say afternoon?” His voice teased her, as if he not only remembered the kiss, but knew about her dream as well.

Bright sunlight streamed into the cabin. Outside, a mourning dove cooed. Sally Sue rolled over and hid her blushing face. After tilling the soil, after the hoedown, after the kiss, after the dream, she wanted him. She wanted him more than anything she’d ever wanted in her life.

“I’m off to work the horses.” His boots clomped to the door.

Today, no matter what, she needed to find a way to hightail it away from here before he kissed her again. If not, she was afraid of what might happen.

At the window, she watched a buck wander toward the pond. Gray clouds swooned in across the turquoise sky. Oak trees formed black silhouettes below. Far off, thunder boomed.

Outside, she paused as a tom turkey swaggered down the meadow, warbling. His red waddle and snood shook. A hen hunkered in the grass, ignoring the tom’s wooing. Sally Sue hoped she’d reciprocate soon.

She climbed down to the ravine behind the cabin. She scooped fresh water into a bucket that flowed below the rocks under a willow tree. As she walked back to the cabin, she saw the tom’s feathers quivering with desire.

Cliff haltered Roan and led her to the round pen. He brushed her back, saddled her up, and got on, his tall, straight body erect. Sally Sue longed for him again as he rode up the path beside the meadow. Clouds rolled overhead and the sky darkened, foretelling rain. She’d better stay.

Heat penetrated the cabin. She opened the trunk and pulled out the green dress from the trunk, laid it on the bed, and fingered the black lace. She poured the cool water into the bowl and washed her hands and face with lavender soap. Using a rag, she scrubbed sticky perspiration from the rest of her body.

Just then, lightning lit the sky and thunder boomed. Rain began to batter the roof. She held the frock up to her in the looking glass and had no choice but to do what she had to do.

She slipped off her nightgown, pulled the frock’s straps over her arms, and tied the bows tight at her waist. The flimflam man’s black lace fanned across the top of the bodice, exposing the tops of her breasts. She’d repurposed her travel suit’s bustle, plumping it as much as possible to accentuate her derriere. She shook it like that tom. The bottom of the frock hit the tops of her knees.

The door opened. Cliff slipped inside with the rough earth smell of his body—horse, hay, loam—and she turned to him. His hair and clothes were wet with rain. Her heart raced as she moved toward him, the satin rustling between her legs.

She liked it when he put a hand on the back of her neck and traced his fingers between her breasts. She liked it when he gazed into her eyes, pulled her close, and kissed her. He tasted of honey and sage. She touched the cleft of his chin and couldn’t help but kiss him back, forgetting her upbringing, herself. This was the kind of kiss no one ever wanted to end—full of heart, heat, and desire.

She pushed him onto the bed, unbuttoned his shirt, slid it off. She untied her dress, let it fall to the ground. Rain continued to pound on the roof. He moved his hand onto her thighs. She moved on top of him and had no idea what to do next, but in the throes of their rocking, slow heat, she ached for him. The thing she’d been warned about most. The thing she wanted most.

Her instincts overpowered her. She lost sense of time and place, ran her fingers through the back of his damp hair, touched the small of his back. Those steel-blue eyes, now sky blue, gazed into hers until the very end, the connection divine.

Afterward, she wanted to stay that way forever, floating in his arms. She rolled beside him and watched him sleep, a slight smile on his face, his muscled chest moving up and down. She wanted to put her hand there gently to wake him for more.

Instead, she ran outside. The rain had ceased; the sun was warm on her bare skin.

“Hallelujah!” she yelled. She should have been saddened by her innocence lost; instead, she twirled around, the soil soft beneath her feet. The mystery now over, she just looked forward to doing it again.

Her mother had always told her, “Your womanhood is your main asset. Only bad women like sex.” Pastor Grimes spoke of the sins of the flesh. Instead of guilt, Sally Sue felt free. If it felt so good, why would God consider it a sin?

And what about love? She could hear Elvira say, “There’s honey in every pot.”

Yes, Cliff was filled with honey, but he could also be hot as those red peppers. Could you love and hate someone at the same time? Mama had told her a wife’s duty was to submit to her husband. If Sally Sue was married to Cliff, and even if she wasn’t, she would consider it not submittal but rapture. She thought about all the nice things Cliff had done for her: taught her to cook, shoot, ride.

She looked forward to seeing their garden grow, to picking the vegetables and eating them for supper. Long afternoons on the porch he planned to build, just talking. And—she smiled—more afternoon dalliances. Evenings with singing, dancing, and then more luscious lovemaking. Living here in all this beauty with him for the rest of her days would be miraculous.

Overhead, a hawk circled. Purple shadows shifted