Wishmakers Page 15

  “You have all sorts of hidden talents,” she said, hoping he wouldn't notice that her heart was about to jump out of her breast.

  “Surprised?” His hand came out from under the blanket and lifted her glasses off her nose. “You don't need these now. I'll lay them here by the tree so we can find them later. Okay?” He wrapped his arms tighter about her and rested his cheek against hers. “That's better,” he sighed. “The night is young. What are you going to do to entertain me? Talk or sing?”

  “Don't laugh. I sing quite well.”

  He did laugh. She could feel the movement of his chest against her back. His hand spread across her rib cage, his thumbs between her breasts.

  “I talk much better than I sing,” he admitted.

  “It's a relief to know you're not perfect at everything.”

  His fingers tightened and raked her ribs. She wriggled, the movement bringing her against the pressure of his hard thighs. He lifted one hand to brush her hair from his face and to tuck a strand behind her right ear. His fingers stroked downward and wrapped about her neck while he rubbed his thumb along her jaw. She could feel his warmth and his strength engulfing her, and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to his.

  “I thought you were going to sing. Instead you're going to sleep.” His mustache tickled her ear.

  “I was thinking of what I was going to sing.”

  “Liar. You were trying to get out of it.”

  “I was not! Just hush up and listen, Chip Thorn.”

  She began to sing, softly at first, then with gathering confidence. “Country roads, take me home…to the place I belong, West Virginia…” She finished the song without a trace of embarrassment.

  “That was super. You can sing!” The low voice in her ear was obviously sincere. “How about an encore?”

  “No, it's your turn.”

  “You won't like it,” he warned.

  “You're a coward!” she accused.

  “Them's fighting words!” He nipped her ear. “On top of old Smokey, all covered with snow, I lost my true lover…for courting too slow. For courting…”

  “You have a good voice,” she cheered. “Let's sing one together. Anything. You start and I'll join in.”

  He began to sing an old ballad, and when she recognized it she joined in. “When I grow too old to dream, I'll have you to remember…” Happiness sang like a bird in her heart as their voices blended. She wasn't aware when the I's turned to we's. “And when we grow too old to dream, our love will live in our hearts…”

  Margaret took a shuddering breath when they finished the song. Her hand had moved to cover his where it gripped her rib cage. She was conscious of his arms tightening. Her heart was pounding with the urge to turn and press her lips hotly to his. All her senses were filled with his overwhelming male presence. She could feel his lips and his mustache at the side of her neck and smell the wood smoke in his hair.

  “Maggie, Maggie!” The words seemed torn out of him. “What am I going to do about you?” He placed small quick kisses along her jaw. “In one short week you've woven a beautiful silver web around me, drawing me to you as easily as if I had a ring in my nose!” He took a deep quivering breath. “I should have turned you over to Tom or Bill Wassal and gotten the hell up to the camps until you were gone. I knew it that first night. You've aroused something in me that makes my insides melt like honey when I look at you.” Margaret heard a tinge of resentment in his last words.

  He turned her sideways so that her cheek lay against his shoulder. One hand curved about her neck, tilting her face up to his; the other spread across her back, pressing her to him. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she knew they were looking into hers. Her hand reached up to his face. It was all there in her touch—the love, the warmth, the yearning.

  “I love you. I feel I must tell you that.” The words tumbled out of her parted lips even as the tears rolled out of her eyes.

  He was as still as if he had turned to stone. A low moaning sound came from his throat, and he slowly lowered his lips to sip at her tears. “Oh, Maggie,” he crooned, rocking her in his arms. “We're as different as daylight and dark. I'm a rough, coarse man who doesn't need or want a lot of physical comforts. I love my life here, my people, my work. I need a woman who loves this country as much as I do, one who wouldn't mind the isolation in the winter. I want a large family, sons to raise who will grow up to love this forest and these trees the way I do.” His voice was a husky whisper against her face. “That's what I need, sweetheart.” He kissed her eyes, her mouth, her cheeks. “But what I want…is you! My little princess, so utterly feminine that I want to put you in my pocket and keep you safe always.”

  Her hand tried to guide his lips to hers, but he resisted. She could feel his body tremble as his mind grappled with logic.

  “You'd hate it here after a while. It's a pattern. I've seen it happen many times, and it leaves nothing but bitterness. My own mother thought it was the end of the earth. For her it was hell, but it was the only place my Dad and I wanted to be. Sweetheart, it would never work out for us. You have everything in the world back in Chicago.”

  “Oh, Chip! Darling…” It seemed that everything she had ever dreamed of having was almost in reach, and yet it was slipping away from her. “Okay! I'll give it away! I'd give up every cent to live in that company house with you, ride in the Jeep, go shopping at Lemon's.” She was almost sobbing.

  “Sweetheart, don't cry. You're Ed Anthony's daughter, and you wouldn't be happy here for long.” His cheeks were wet with tears.

  “I would. I've never been so happy in my life. I could learn how to do things. Dolly would teach me. I love you,” she said with quiet desperation, discarding all pride. “I love you.”

  “Stop it!” he said harshly against her mouth. His arms had tightened to the point that she could scarcely breathe. “You don't know what you're saying. One winter out here and you'd be screaming for the city lights.”

  “How do you know until you let me try?”

  “I've seen it happen before. Most women feel as you do at first, but they don't care deeply enough—”

  “I care, and I'm not most women! Don't you dare lump me into a group. I'm me, Margaret Anthony, and I know what I want. It's taken a long time for me to get to the time in my life when I can make a choice, and whether you want me or not, I'm staying!” She tried to push herself away from him, but he held her tightly.

  “Oh, for heaven's sake! Be still!” He looked down into her flushed face. “Maggie, you've just begun to live. You've known no other man—”

  “Don't talk to me as if I were Beth! I'm twenty-five years old, damn it! Maybe a naïve twenty-five, but a grown woman nevertheless!” She abruptly sat up, and the blanket and his arms fell away. “Don't cast me aside because of something your mother did. Perhaps your parents' feelings didn't go deep enough to surmount their problems. The trouble could have been with them and not with where they were living. If they had loved each other enough, they could have found a compromise.” Her eyes were intent on his face, willing the hardness to relax. When it did, she snuggled back into his arms and pressed her face to his neck. “Hold me, darling. I love you. I know I can make you love me back if you let me stay.”

  He embraced her roughly, but there was nothing rough about the way he kissed her. There was a wild sweet singing in her heart, but tears of joy and hope would not stay back. He kissed her tenderly, holding her like some newfound treasure that he didn't want to break, and she held him as though he were a dream that would fade away if she let go. He kissed her throat, her cheeks wet with tears, her mouth, and when she laid her hand against his face he turned his lips to her palm.

  “Chip…”

  “Shhhh. Don't think about it anymore. I just want to love you, hold you, kiss you…” His exploring hands gripped her buttocks.

  “Is that all?” she whispered, pulling her lips away. Her own wandering fingers brushed over tightly stretched denim, paused hesitantly, then slid do
wn over hard, pulsing maleness. She felt his body jolt with the contact, and his breath came hot and uneven in her ear.

  “No, you beautiful little wench, that's not all!” he gasped.

  Margaret laughed joyously, lightly bit his neck, and held on for several seconds. When she let go she kissed the spot repeatedly and rubbed her tongue against it in a licking, healing movement.

  “I'll ask you to get into the sleeping bag with me if I have to,” she murmured giddily. “I lost my pride where you're concerned hours ago.”

  “Shameless little hussy!” She half lay at an angle across his lap. His free hand burrowed into the top of her jeans and caressed the indentation at the base of her spine. He nipped at her earlobe and growled, “Soft, beautiful little kitten. I may not let you out of that sleeping bag for days.”

  “Will you put that in writing?” She threw her arms about his neck and scattered kisses over his grinning face. “Just think of all you can teach me. Think of all the fantastic things I can do to keep you with me. I'm a fast learner, darling. I'll be your lover, your friend, your mistress—”

  He abruptly lifted her off his lap and got to his feet, pulling her up and into his arms. He shook his head sadly, but he had a triumphant grin on his face. “Well, what do you know?” he mused aloud. “I've got a horny little sexpot on my hands.”

  “Complaining?” she challenged, gazing at him with a happy smile.

  “Do you think I've got holes in my head? C'mon.”

  Chip quickly rearranged the bed of the truck so he could throw in several armloads of pine needles. He spread out the canvas and one of the opened sleeping bags while Margaret shoveled dirt onto the campfire. She was shaking with cold and anticipation when Chip lifted her into the truck.

  “Oh, darling, I'm so cold.” She had left on her shirt, bra, and panties, and she quickly snuggled down under the blankets.

  Chip crawled in beside her, pulled the covers over them, and wrapped his arms and legs around her. He had taken off everything except his undershorts, and she burrowed against the warm, hard length of his body.

  “I thought we'd be sleeping on the ground,” she said through chattering teeth. He began to rub her back and limbs with his hands.

  “We could have if we'd left the fire going. Without it some nocturnal animal might wander too close, and I wouldn't care to wake up and startle a skunk.” He nuzzled his lips against her face. “Not that I plan on doing much sleeping with you in my arms. Take this off, honey. You'll be warm soon.” He helped her slide out of her shirt, then unhooked her bra. “Why do you wear this thing? You don't need it.”

  “I'm afraid I'll…sag,” she stammered.

  “Not for years. Maybe not even then…with proper handling.” He fit his fingers about her soft flesh and squeezed gently.

  “I like the feel of you.” She raked her fingers over the soft fur on his chest.

  “And I like the feel of you. I want to lose myself inside you,” he whispered urgently, sliding out of his shorts while she removed the last thin barrier between them. His body tensed, and the hard muscles of his belly rippled under her exploring fingers. “Sweetheart, are you warm enough?…Are you ready?”

  A powerful, sweeping tide of love flowed over her, making her feel stronger than the hard-muscled body entwined with hers. Her fingers touched him lightly and pulled him into her moist warmness. With a small throaty cry he cupped his hands over her hips and pushed himself more deeply into her. His mouth closed hungrily over hers in a moist, deep, endless kiss. It seemed to Margaret that they were no longer two separate people, but one blended together by magic.

  “We're going to name our baby Duncan,” she gasped, tearing her mouth free of his, “and we're going to make him tonight.”

  For a second he hesitated. “Oh, God! What a time to spring something like that on me!”

  She laughed joyously, and her hand slapped at his taut hips. “Get on with what you're doing. We've got the rest of the night to talk.”

  “I can't believe you,” he said hoarsely after he had shuddered with release and they lay so close together they could feel each other's heartbeats. “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  Her hand tickled down over his heart to the bottom of his rib cage. “They say I came from right here, close to your heart.”

  “Sweetheart, I believe you did!” Their noses were side by side and their mouths so close they touched when they spoke. “I never knew a woman like you existed, so small, so sweet…”

  “If you'd wanted me bigger, you should have grown a bigger rib,” she teased, nibbling playfully on his chin.

  “I don't want you one bit different from what you are.” He kissed her softly and held still as she ran her tongue over his lips. “Maybe a little different,” he said hesitantly. “I'd rather you were as poor as a church-mouse.”

  A small spurt of fear knifed through her. “You said we wouldn't talk about it. Just love me, Chip. Pull the stars down from the heavens. Make me part of you again.”

  He kissed her deeply. She trembled with her need to have him fill the emptiness within her. His mouth stayed locked to hers as he pulled her over on top of him and molded her soft body to his. She stretched out atop him, feeling him throb against her belly once again.

  His hands grasped her hips and settled her into position. “Oh, you feel so good,” he groaned with fresh desperation. She buried her face in the hollow of his throat, whimpering at the glorious agony of sensation he was creating in her. Slowly he guided her to fulfillment. His hands on her hips pressed her downward, and she was consumed by rippling waves of exquisite convulsions that left her shaken and exhausted.

  “Darling,” she whispered when she returned to earth and found herself sprawled on top of him. “Now teach me how to please you.”

  He laughed into her ear and squeezed her languid frame tightly to his. “You're doing just fine.” He rolled so that they lay side by side and tucked the covers more securely around them. They lay quietly contented for a long while.

  “Don't go to sleep. Talk to me.” Margaret's bare foot stroked his calves, and her hands explored his back.

  “Talk? Why waste time talking?” His hand cradled her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple.

  “They're not very big,” she whispered apologetically against his shoulder. She instantly felt his silent laughter. She moved her face so she could look at him, although his features were a blur in the darkness. “Well? Don't men like big breasts? They're always making jokes about them, and that country singer who—”

  The laughter broke free. “Maggie, sweetheart! Big isn't always best. Yours are just right. They fit into my hand as if made to order.” He squeezed gently to emphasize his point.

  “That's a relief,” she sighed. “Chip, will you still want to do this when I'm pregnant?”

  “You crazy girl! Talk, talk, talk! Keep talking and I'll keep you awake all night long,” he threatened. His hand roamed over her hip and thigh, his mouth journeyed across her face.

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  “Oh, for Pete's sake!” He rolled onto his back and spoke to the top of the truck. “I've got an armful of warm, naked woman, and she wants to talk about my mother?”

  “Please, Chip.” Margaret pressed close to his side, hugging him with her arms and legs.

  He talked hurriedly in tense, short sentences. His father had met his mother in Seattle during the war, married her, and brought her to Montana. She'd hated it from the very first day. When Chip was ten years old she took him back to Seattle, and he didn't spend much time with his father until he turned fourteen. After that as long as he was in school, he spent summer vacations in Montana. He loved the country, and his father taught him the lumber business. August Thorn lived to see his son take over the management of the company he had sacrificed his marriage to build.

  “He was lonely,” Chip said quietly. “He should have found another woman, but I guess he loved my mother too much.”

  “
Did she remarry?”

  “Oh, yes. She married a rich doctor, and they spend part of every year in Hawaii. I see her about once a year because it's the thing to do. She doesn't approve of me any more than she did of my dad.”

  “Why not?” Margaret was indignant. She flopped over so she could peer down into his face. “You're wonderful! Everyone loves you—the men who work for you, Dolly, Penny, me. I don't like your mother,” she concluded with a tremor in her voice.

  “She'll like you,” he said drily. “When she finds out about you, she'll think she's died and gone to heaven.”

  “Don't tell her!” She sprawled on top of him and hid her face in his neck. “Dolly and Penny liked me without knowing, and you like me in spite of who I am. Oh, why do things have to be so complicated?”

  “C'mon, princess. It isn't that bad.” He chuckled softly. “I'd rather play than talk anyway. How about you? Hmmmm?” His experienced hands moved over her, stroking, fondling, arousing.

  She lay quietly against him. Her arms around his waist were firm in their possession, still trying to protect him from the hurt of a disapproving mother. His touch became more intimate, and she felt movement against her thigh as his passion mounted.

  “Darling, I read somewhere it wasn't good for a man to do it so many times.” Her hand wandered down across his flat belly.

  He laughed and hugged her hard. “Oh, princess! You're priceless! If you weren't so damn sweet, I'd think you were dangerous!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE MOTOR STRAINED, and the back tires skidded on the wet grass as Chip brought the Jeep up out of the woods and onto the road at the top of the ridge. It was almost noon.

  Margaret had opened her eyes to see him leaning on one elbow looking down at her, his other hand playing with her, touching, stroking, caressing. His eyes were clear. He had been awake for some time. She closed her eyes and then opened them again, floating, drifting, lost in feeling. She lifted her arms and encircled his neck. She saw love and passion in his eyes, and infinite tenderness.