Chapter 10
Several times during the service, Jane caught her thoughts drifting away in a direction that hardly seemed appropriate in a house of worship.
She tried to stay grounded by sitting with her spine pressed rigidly against the pew, but sometimes she could still feel Morgan’s fingers walking up her back and her best efforts at attention came to nothing.
Last night, he had loved her. She had no other word for it, but the thought that it was her vocabulary that was impoverished worried her. Perhaps he would have described it differently, but then what word would he have used?
Jane spared a glance up and down the pew where she had been invited to sit.
No one else seemed to be having difficulty attending to the sermon, but she could not recall any of the last three points Pastor Robbins had made.
She could, however, distinctly recall every word Morgan had whispered to her in the dark, in the quiet.
“Tell me what you want, Jane.” Even now she could feel his warm breath at her ear and hear the nuanced tone in his husky voice that made what he said as much a plea as a command. He made her think she could tell him anything, so she had. You, she had said. I want you.
Her confession emboldened him. His mouth dipped to the curve of her neck then. The touch of him against her skin was hot and humid. She had turned her head as he swept away her hair and surrendered herself to the maddeningly slow exploration of his lips and tongue.
He suckled at her breast and made her breath come lightly.
And when his lips returned to hers, there was nothing quick about his kisses.
No teasing. No nibbling. His mouth mattered.
The response he drew out of her was a revelation to Jane.
He taught her the fine distinction between pleasure and passion.
“Tell me what you want, Jane.” And this time she answered differently. I want to be bold, she had said.
He had let her. She did not have his patience, but he did not seem to mind. She wanted to know all of him at once, and so her hands were as busy as her mouth, learning the planes and angles of his body with her fingers and lips, seeking those places that made his breath hitch and his heart stutter.
She hesitated only once. It happened when her palm rested against the curve of his inner thigh and for several moments neither of them moved.
She waited, but then so did he. It was the low, rumbling, and vaguely challenging chuckle at the back of Morgan’s throat that ended her indecision.
She took his cock in her hand and knew a certain satisfaction that she had also ended his laughter.
He was hot and heavy in her hand, and she could feel the pulsing of his blood against her palm.
She held him too gently until he showed her how it could be different.
He guided her to stroke him more deliberately, to hold him in her fist with pressure in her fingertips.
He swelled, grew harder, and she wanted nothing so much as to take him inside her.
“Tell me what you want, Jane.” She did. She laid her mouth against his ear and told him in words so plain and simple she could not be misunderstood.
He rolled her onto her back and followed her with his body.
He drugged her with a kiss that made her senseless to everything but his mouth on hers and the weight of him between her thighs.
She knew what to do now, and it was her hand that guided him.
She knew what to expect, and still she marveled in their joining.
She knew how it would end, and she savored the journey.
Jane stood with the rest of the congregation for the final hymn, although she did not join the singing until halfway through the second verse.
The bent of her thoughts had made her mouth curiously dry, and she had moments of apprehension that her knees might not adequately support her.
Afraid that some trace of her wandering thoughts might be stamped on her face, she did not dare look around.
Cobb Bridger was on her immediate left, sharing a hymnal with his wife.
On her right was Mrs. Burnside, the druggist’s wife, and between her and her husband were their children, all of them singing so enthusiastically that Jane was certain that her voice was not missed.
The congregation began to file out after the benediction.
Jane stayed where she was. The Burnsides sidled out to the right of the long pew, but Cobb and Tru Bridger did not move.
Neither did Jim and Jenny Phillips on the other side of them.
Jane sensed that she was about to be engaged in conversation.
She had left it to too late to follow the Burnsides.
Jane decided to take the initiative and make the first overture her own. Smiling, she addressed Marshal Bridger. “Thank you for the pie and cookies.”
“Then you did get the cookies. With Rabbit and Finn, one never knows.”
“Yes. And your message also.” For a moment Jane wondered if she had it all wrong, but then, because she was looking for it, she glimpsed the surprise that came and went so quickly in the marshal’s eyes.
Encouraged, she said, “My husband was appreciative, even grateful, but I imagine the boys told you that.”
“Not in those words.”
Jane realized she had spoken for Morgan in a manner he would not have spoken for himself, and Rabbit and Finn would surely have complicated anything Morgan might have said.
Cobb Bridger was suspicious. She said, “No, probably not, but the fault would lie with Mr. Longstreet. He expects people to do what they’re supposed to do, doesn’t he? ”
“Maybe,” said Cobb.
His cryptic reply left Jane without a response. That was when he took over the reins of the conversation that she had been trying to hold onto. Jane felt her polite smile waver.
“Where is he?”
“At the Pennyroyal.” She thought Cobb looked relieved, but she couldn’t be certain or understand why he would be. She added, “He’s visiting Mrs. Sterling.”
Tru Bridger leaned around her husband so she could address Jane. “That means he’s sampling one of everything she’s preparing for Sunday dinner. He will not be hungry for your cooking.”
“I hope not. It is my intention to dine at the Pennyroyal also.”
“Very wise.” Tru tucked a tendril of spun gold hair behind an ear and indicated the couple beside her. “You remember Jim and Jenny Phillips, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. From the reception.” She held Jenny’s frankly inquisitive gaze. “I understand it was your pie and cookies that I had the pleasure of receiving yesterday.”
“It sounds as if you did.” She had a disapproving look for Cobb. “You might have told me you intended to send them out to Morning Star, especially that you were sending them out with those rascals. I would have tied them up real pretty.”
“The baked goods?” Cobb asked dryly. “Or the boys?”
Jenny snorted while her husband and Tru laughed. Even Jane found herself smiling right up until the moment she looked around and saw that the church had all but emptied.
“Excuse me,” she said. It was difficult to keep the sense of urgency she felt out of her voice, but she believed she was successful. “Was Dr. Kent here this morning? I wanted most particularly to meet him.”
“Not this morning,” said Jenny. “He was at the Johnsons’ house until the wee hours.
I saw him walking home as I was getting up.
” She launched into an explanation of how Buster Johnson had a congestion in his lungs that was worrying his mother something terrible.
Believing in the miracle of Dr. Wanamaker’s liniment and rub, Abigail used two bottles of it on Buster’s chest before she sent for Dr. Kent.
Jenny shook her head in the sorrowful manner of one who is contemplating the foolishness of another.
Jane was grateful for Jenny’s diversion. “I’d like to speak to Dr. Kent about Jem Davis’s injuries before I meet Morgan. Would someone point out his home to me?” They did better than that, of course. They escorted her to the doctor’s door and made certain he received her before they left.
* * *
Morgan stood as soon as Jane entered the dining room.
He waited while Walt helped her with her coat, scarf, and gloves, and held out a chair for her when she approached.
She returned his welcoming smile, but he could tell it was forced.
He remembered what she’d said last night and tried not to be overtaken by anxiety.
“I didn’t eat,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”
Jane nodded. “Mrs. Bridger said you would sample one of everything in Mrs. Sterling’s kitchen.”
“Not quite.”
“How is she?”
“Feisty.” He showed her the knuckles of his right hand. “Quick as ever with a spoon.” When Jane’s smile was a mere shadow of the one he expected, Morgan abandoned any hope of gently drawing her out. “What’s wrong?”
“Not now,” she said quietly. “It can wait until we’re home. It should wait.”
Morgan thought he should be grateful that she had not lied to him, but her answer was not enough. “People began arriving here from church a while ago. Ted Rush said he saw you talking to the marshal after services were over.”
“Yes. I was also speaking to his wife and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips. I took the opportunity to thank Marshal Bridger for his gift and compliment Mrs. Phillips’s baking.”
“All this time?”
“No. Afterward, I went to visit Dr. Kent. I am surprised no one told you that.” Her tone sharpened infinitesimally. “Now, can you let it rest?”
Morgan thought it was just as well that Renee Harrison came rushing out of the kitchen then.
She made straight for their table, thanked him for getting Jem out of jail after he was set upon by the no-account strangers, and poured coffee for him and tea for Jane.
She did not linger but returned to the kitchen to get their food.
“She did not ask how he was doing,” Jane said when Renee was gone.
“I suspect she already knows. I told Mrs. Sterling. Word like that gets around.”