Page 67 of Silver Lining
"My Lord," she whispered, staring in wonder. "If I'd had any idea that dawdling could be likethat, I never would have objected!"
Laughing, he kissed the sweet valley between her breasts. She was so responsive and uninhibited, so wonderfully willing and giving.
"Max?" she said after she'd caught her breath.
"Hmm?" He was almost asleep, enjoying her silky hair pressed to his cheek and the warm fullness of her body curved into him.
"Tonight was… it was just… well, I never imagined …"Her voice trailed, and he smiled against the top of her head. "What I'm trying to say is… I think I'd like to kiss you all over, too."
Instantly all thoughts of sleep vanished from his mind, and his body rose to full, rampant attention. Her fingers explored beneath the blankets and found him, and he heard her soft laugh.
"Seems like you wouldn't say no to a little dawdling yourself," she said, curving her fingers around him.
"You feel like velvet, did you know that?"
He made a strangled sound of pleasure. "You are amazing."
Later, before they fell asleep tangled in each other's arms, he chanced to glance at the window and noticed snow melting against the panes.
The smile vanished from his lips.
CHAPTER 15
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Since Max had offered to milk Missy while he was in the barn feeding the horses, Louise returned directly to the house after gathering eggs. In the mudroom she removed Max's old winter duster, knocked the snow off, and hung it on a peg. After shaking snow off the shawl she'd tied over her hair, she blew on her cold fingers and hurried into the kitchen to fry up breakfast.
The kitchen was warm and rich with the fragrance of boiling coffee. Louise turned off the lamps, then stood before the window watching the sky brighten above whirling snowflakes tumbling lazily toward earth. Most of the flakes were enormous and reminded her of the lacy center of the doilies that Livvy and Gilly crocheted for tabletops and furniture arms.
Yesterday the thick, wet fall of snow had seemed beautiful as the first snow always was. But today she frowned as she noticed her tracks from the henhouse were rapidly filling and Max's trail to the barn had vanished. Yesterday the cattle could still find grass; today six inches of snow concealed the forage.
Today she and Max would have to feed the beeves.
She'd seen it coming and had prepared by cooking all day yesterday. Extra loaves of bread filled the bread-box. She had plenty of butter; there were boiled eggs and pickles for something quick. They might get weary of ham, but she'd baked enough to see them though several days if need be. And finally she had crowded the icebox with raisin pies and vanilla pudding.
Thick slices of ham sizzled in the skillet, the gravy was bubbling, and the biscuits ready to come out of the oven when she heard Max enter the mudroom and stamp the snow off his boots.
"Something smells good."
Snowflakes still clung to his eyelashes when he entered the kitchen, carrying the bucket of milk. Louise watched as he spooned cream out of the bucket and into his coffee cup. "Do I have time to shave before breakfast?"
"The biscuits are ready now." She didn't like beards because they hid too much of a man's face. And a mustache caught food and concealed the shape of the upper lip. She preferred a man to be clean-shaven so she could see who she was talking to and dealing with. But there was something ruggedly appealing about Max before he stropped up his razor and shaved. She wouldn't have believed that a time would come when she found herself mooning over a man's morning whiskers. She didn't like to admit it, even to herself.
"Damn."
"What's wrong?" Max asked, wiping snow off his face with her dish towel. "Do you regret volunteering to hay the cattle? I wouldn't blame you if you did."
She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud. "I was just thinking what a foolish woman I am. But not because I volunteered to be a ranch hand. Sit down so I can dish this up."
"You're a lot of things, darlin', but not foolish. Aside from Ma, you're the least foolish woman I've ever met."
The bones melted in her hand, the pan tipped, and biscuits rolled across the plank floor.
Son of a bitch. He'd called her darlin'. The word just rolled off his tongue as easy as pie, like it had been waiting there for just this moment.
"Did you burn yourself?" He jumped up from the table and took the pan out of her hand, dropping it into the sink.
"The biscuits are ruined." It had to be a mistake. He hadn't meant to call her darlin'. Or he didn't mean it as an endearment, it was only an expression. Very likely he addressed a lot of folks as darlin' and wasn't aware that he did. And she hadn't noticed until now.
