McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [80]
“It was like acting in a play,” she reflected. “Living in my father’s house, I mean.”
Melina frowned, looking puzzled, and reached out absently to pat the sleeping baby when he stirred against Tillie’s chest. “I don’t reckon I understand what you mean,” she said.
“My dresses were really costumes,” Lorelei went on.
“I played the judge’s spinster daughter. He wrote the lines, and I said them right on cue—most of the time anyway. But none of it was real.”
“A play,” Melina muttered thoughtfully, working her way through the metaphor. She was bright and found her way quickly. “I’m not so sure I’d choose Indian raids and dusty trails and leeches over a nice clean life like that, though.”
Lorelei sighed. “It was easy enough, I guess. There was a bathtub, and plenty of hot water. We never ate beans, or slept on the ground or had to worry about leeches. But I never really felt anything. It was as though I was walking in my sleep.”
Melina shook her head, smiling a little in the diffused moonlight, which fell through the floorboards of the wagon bed in silvery streaks. “You are an odd woman, Lorelei Fellows,” she said. “I never knew anybody who took to hardship the way you do. It’s as if you like trouble.”
“I don’t,” Lorelei said quietly. “But I do like feeling alive.”
“You must like fighting with Holt, too, because you sure do a lot of it.”
Lorelei considered that. Creighton had largely ignored her, underscoring the sense of invisibility that had plagued her from childhood. Michael, sweet, affable Michael, had always agreed with her, as though he thought she’d shatter if he didn’t. Holt, on the other hand, seemed to relish a challenge as much as she did. And every time he pushed her, she grew a little, just by taking her own part.
“He is the most obnoxious man I have ever met,” she said.
“Then how come you’re smiling?”
“Hush up, Melina, and go to sleep.”
Melina giggled.
Lorelei stifled a giggle of her own. “Go to sleep,” she repeated.
“One of these days, Lorelei, Holt’s going to want to make love to you. And I bet you’ll let him.”
The idea caused an expansive, melting sensation in the most private part of Lorelei’s body. “Melina!”
Melina yawned and lay down again. “Good night, Lorelei,” she said, with laughter in her voice. “Sweet dreams.”
Lorelei’s dreams that night were anything but sweet. They were urgent. They were fiery. She was naked again, and lying in the grass with Holt, not just letting him touch her, but thrilling to every pass of his hands, every brush of his lips. Crying out in hoarse welcome when he thrust himself inside her.
She awakened in a fever of delicious heat, almost expecting to find him lying on top of her, joined with her.
It was both a relief and a disappointment to realize she was alone, tangled in her bedroll and the hem of her nightgown.
Tillie sat up, blinking. “Are you taking sick, Lorelei?”
The baby stirred, whimpering, but didn’t awaken.
“I’m fine,” Lorelei said, but it wasn’t true.
She wasn’t fine.
She wanted the wrong man.
After that, there was no going back to sleep.
When the first birds began to sing just before dawn, she gave up the effort, crawled out from beneath the wagon, gathered up her clothes and found a place to dress in private. Wearing the second of the two pairs of trousers she’d borrowed from Tillie, along with a clean shirt, she brushed the wild tangles out of her hair, braided it into a heavy plait and left it to fall down her back.
She already had the fire going and the coffee started when Mr. Cavanagh joined her, yawning and stretching his arms. His smile was pleasant, but there was nothing knowing about it. Apparently, neither Rafe nor Holt had told him the story of last night, but of course that didn’t mean they wouldn’t, despite Holt’s promise to the contrary. Rafe could probably be trusted to be discreet—he was a gentleman, if a rustic one—but Holt was another matter. He would do whatever served his purposes, and make no apologies for it.
Lorelei flushed, remembering her dreams the