Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 16

Rain started its familiar patter then, yanking Emmaline back into the here and now, and Emmie frowned as she watched it begin to drip from the cabin’s low eaves, snuggling deeper into one of Noah’s flannel shirts she now favored as a jacket while she contemplated their relationship. They’d kissed since that earth-moving day; every day, actually. “Good bye,” “I’m back,” and “Good night” kisses that tickled Emmie’s lips and curled her toes, fleeting kisses that only made her lean into him and wish for more of what she knew her husband was capable. And yet Noah held back, only brushing that warm, commanding mouth across hers in the briefest of embraces, and then retreating to his side of the bed, or to his chair, or to the table where he answered letters, seemingly unaffected by their contact.

Yet Emmie was. She couldn’t remember much about her trysts with Lancelot anymore, except of their many physical joinings. But when her eyes closed, when she tried to conjure forth the memory of her one-and-only-lover and the sensations he’d summoned from her body, the image of the man currently sleeping beside her at night would superimpose itself over Lancelot Fairchild in her mind more and more, edging the sea captain out of her subconscious by just one kiss. One kiss and the quiet masculinity she’d stupidly mistaken for shyness. With that one kiss, as well as with the way he’d defended her against Coffee Boiler, Noah Lawson showed his wife a self-confidence he’d never felt the need to display to others; a deep-seated surety of his own abilities and self-worth of which only now she’d just become aware. Instinctively Emmie knew Lancelot’s embraces wouldn’t measure up. And she wanted more of her husband’s; needed more.

Perhaps this needy desire simply stemmed from the fact she’d entered what Muriel called the blissful stage of pregnancy, that time where a woman no longer suffered from morning sickness, yet still hadn’t grown too large or cumbersome to create aches and pains. Or maybe it was because that once she’d had a taste for lovemaking, her body craved it. Emmie didn’t know; all she realized was that more and more she found herself fantasizing about her husband in that way, until her pulse quickened, and her body throbbed in places she hadn’t thought about in months. And she’d just lie there, night after night, imagining Noah rolling on top of her, taking her mouth forcefully,  large hands skimming over her body, learning her curves as Lancelot formerly had, eradicating that man’s memory from her mind once and for all. Yet every night it remained a fantasy.

Blinking out of her sensual reverie, Emmaline shook her head to clear away the provocative imaginings her thoughts had evoked, took calming breaths to ease her suddenly labored breathing. Cupping a hand over her rounded belly, Emmie heaved a deep breath and stood. Taunting herself with thoughts of lovemaking, even if it more and more often involved her husband and less with the man who’d put her in this position, had no business in the mind of a pregnant woman, and it was best she thrust such thoughts from her and get started on the day’s laundry.

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“Hey, Ed! What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

Noah Lawson, finished with the morning rush of readying animals and sleds, as well as fending off good-natured ribbing over the fancy “love gloves” he now wore, took a moment for some of Cookie’s strong coffee before heading up after the steam donkey on the mountain. Upon entering the cookhouse and shrugging out of his dripping coat and hat, Noah found Emmaline’s brother already ensconced before the roaring, morning fire, a near-empty plate of eggs and bacon before him. Swinging first one leg, then the other over the opposing bench, the wrangler upturned one of the many waiting coffee cups in the center of the table, a signal to Muriel that he wanted a cup. The heat from the fire at his back warmed Noah, and he rolled his shoulders in appreciation of the temperature.