He awakened her in the still of the night and made love to her again, then once more at dawn before he left to see to chores. Gussie stretched lazily, wincing at the tenderness between her thighs, but loving it all the same.

She forced herself out of bed, only to stare for long minutes at the rumpled covers and the pillow that held the indention of his head. She knew a few moments of regret, realizing that she’d been hoping to awaken before him to gaze at his slumbering face and form. In the moonlight, she’d done just that, admiring the sweep of his dark lashes on his tanned cheeks and his slackened jawline and lips. To her eyes, he was male perfection and she could hardly believe that he was hers to touch and be touched by.

Memories of their unions flitted through her mind, reminding her of his feverish kisses and the possessive stroking of his hands everywhere on her body. Lifting her hand, she stared at her wedding ring, feeling that it finally belonged on her finger and wasn’t just for show.

“Quit being foolish now,” she chided as she slipped from the bed and smoothed out the sheets. She arranged the spread and quilt over them, smiling as she anticipated the coming evening’s explorations.

Through the next couple of hours of her stoking the stove fire that Lonestar always got going every morning for her, gathering eggs, milking, feeding the chickens, and heading back in to prepare breakfast, she couldn’t keep a smile from overtaking her. She caught Lonestar’s eye a couple of times and he grinned at her like a jack o’ lantern, making her giggle like a girl.

“What in tarnation is wrong with you, Gussie Hor—Lonestar?” she asked herself as she set the table for breakfast. But she knew. Gussie Horton had disappeared last night for good, replaced by a woman known as Augusta Lonestar. She felt it in her bones – the difference between who she had been – alone, weary, worried, jaded – and who she had become – accepted, appreciated, respected, even happy! She’d never been gloriously happy before. She hadn’t looked ahead with giddy anticipation. Not until Lonestar moved her onto this homestead and set down roots with her.

Even when she’d been on the train, bound for a marriage with Bob Babbitt, she hadn’t been overjoyed. She’d been glad to get away from her father and his wretched life, but she’d also been timid and lacking confidence that she could make Bob Babbitt a good wife.

The stomp of boots on the porch snatched her from her thoughts and she turned to smile at Lonestar as he entered the house. He perched his hat on the peg.

“Bit nippy this morning,” he said. “The ground had some patches of frost on it earlier. It’s melted off now, though.”

“Sit down. Breakfast is ready.” She slipped three fried eggs onto his plate and two onto hers. “I guess I should pile more straw around the vegetables that are coming in.”

“Good thinking. We’ve planted hardy varieties, but they’ll need some protection, nonetheless. Ought to try and protect what’s still out there from the spring planting, too. Every pod, pea, and tater we can harvest will be mighty welcome this winter.” He grabbed a couple of biscuits, split them, and spooned hot gravy over them. “I’ve almost finished plowing the back twenty.”

“Already?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “I reckon I averaged about four or more acres a day.”

She widened her eyes, impressed with his stamina. “Good thing we have more than one plow animal. You’d wear out just one mule.”

He scoffed at that, but grinned as if he were pleased. “That ground is nearly ready for cotton seeds come February. And I’ve tilled the soil for the grape vines, too. You should ride out and take a look.”

“Maybe I will if I get everything done here. When do you harvest grapes?”

“In the summer. But we won’t have a harvest for three or four years.”

“What?” She stared at him, thinking at first that he was joshing her. “Why so long?”

“That’s just the way vines are. You have to give them time to root themselves real deep in the earth before they’re ready to bud and flower.”

“Well, thank the Lord for cotton, then!” She sat down and poured herself some coffee. “You sure about these persnickety plants? They sound like a whole lot of trouble to me.”

“They are, but they’ll bring in more money than cotton. Some things are worth waiting for. Mark my words, Mrs. Lonestar.” He winked at her.

Mrs. Lonestar. She colored at that and couldn’t keep from grinning if her life had depended on it. She blinked at him, trying and failing to return his wink.

He chuckled at her attempt. “You look awful pretty this morning, Augusta.”

She felt the grin expand across her face. “So do you.”

“Me? Pretty?” He made a face, crossing his eyes, and she laughed. “Looks like you’ve been loved, good and proper, by a man who knows how to please his woman.”

She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Shhh. Not at the breakfast table!”

He glanced around, clearly amused. “Someone here I don’t know about? It’s just you and me, sweetheart. We know what we did last night and this morning, so it’s okay to talk about it.”

She drew her brows together, wondering about that. Was it okay to speak aloud of such things? Did decent people discuss their nightly activities in the light of day?

“From your acceptance of my kisses last night, I take it that you’ve grown used to – and even enjoy – the way I kiss now.” He tipped his head to one side. “With my tongue. I do believe your tongue found its way into my mouth several times.”

Her face felt like a stove top and she couldn’t form even one word in retaliation.

Lonestar dabbed at his mouth with his kerchief and chuckled, the gold flecks in his eyes sparkling. “Tonight will be even better. You might be a wee bit sore, but it will pass quickly. You’ll see.”

“I . . . I can’t talk . . . about this.” She stuffed her mouth full of eggs and biscuit and glared at him across the table.

“Who would have guessed that you’re such a prude?”

“I am not!” Anger pulsed in her veins as she chewed her food to mush before swallowing it in a gulp. “I just know better than to talk like a trollop is all.” She frowned at him. “I thought you’d be sweet and kind this morning.”

He spread out his hands. “I think I am.”

“Not talking like that. About tongues and such.”

A grin hitched up one corner of his mouth. “You have the sweetest tongue, Mrs. Lonestar. And a talented one, as well. I would very much like to feel that tongue on my neck and chest . . . and other places.”

She rose up, indignation pumping through her and making her eyes feel as if they were bulging out of their sockets. Pushing back her chair, she pointed a warning finger at him. “Lonestar, you will respect me. Just because I’ve laid with you, doesn’t mean I’m not a lady.”

He stood quickly, rounded the table, and clasped her upper arms. His mouth swooped to hers and she squeaked out a protest that dipped into a whispery moan. When he lifted his lips from hers, peeling them away slowly, he waited for her to open her eyes before he spoke.

“You’re my lady, Augusta. Mine. And we can speak to each other of these things. Of how we feel. What we want. What we need. There’s nothing wrong or sinful about it.” He ran a hand over her hair, his gaze following its path. “I want you. Every way I can have you. And I want you to feel that my body is yours and your body is mine. If we can’t be honest, then how can we be trusting?”

She blinked at him, dumbstruck by his kiss and what he’d said. She was his lady? Was it natural to talk of such things? About bodies at the breakfast table? Shrugging out of his hold, she covered her hot cheeks with her palms and shook her head, trying to force some sense back into her brain. His chiding chuckle made her cheeks grow even hotter as her temper sparked.

“Don’t be laughing at me,” she grumbled, turning away from his dancing eyes and grinning mouth so that she could gain some equilibrium. “What we did . . . it was natural and all, but I don’t want to talk about it. I see no sense in it. None a’tall.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

The flat of his hand connected with her backside and she released a shriek as she whirled back to face his grinning visage. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing? I’m not some mule to be walloped!”

“Simmer down, Augusta. I swear, you are the prickliest woman I’ve ever brushed up against. That was a love pat.”

“It was n-not.” Her voice broke as the word love tapped against her heart. He winked at her and she found herself dumbstruck again.

“I have work to do, woman. I can’t be lollygagging with you all day, so don’t even ask me.” He wagged a finger at her. “And I’m not fooling. I know you’d rather I hang around here and pleasure you all day.”

“I most certainly don’t—”

“But I can’t neglect our farm, no matter how much you beg me and bat your pretty eyes.”

“Beg? Have you lost your cotton pickin’—” She shut her mouth when the door shut behind him.

She realized that she was standing with her feet planted apart, her fists planted at her waist, and her bosom heaving from her rapid breathing. Oooh, that man! She stamped one foot and then took in a deep breath, telling herself to calm down. He’d riled her and he’d done it on purpose! Like he enjoyed seeing her boil over! She gathered up the dishes and slid them into the wash pan that was full of soapy water. As she cleaned them, she reined in her aggravation. By the time she’d put away the dishes and wiped off the table, a smile poked at the corners of her mouth.

He was a devil, she thought as a bubble of pleasure grew in her chest. A handsome, rascally, teasing devil. Her devil.

On Sunday Erik arrived right after church to get to work on the barn. Gussie hummed a tune as she poured fresh milk into a large, glass pitcher. She’d churn some later, she decided, then wondered what to prepare for dinner. The front door creaked opened and she turned, grinning when Susan poked her head in.

“Hey, there! I didn’t know you’d come with Erik.”

“We all came. The children are out in the barn. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’m always pleased to see you.” She motioned for Susan to come inside. “I have some fresh coffee on the stove. Want a cup?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit.” Susan glanced around the room. “You’ve made this place cheerful and homey, Gussie.”

“It’s my first real home, you know.” She poured the coffee into two cups and motioned for Susan to sit with her at the table.

“Say, I have to go into town tomorrow to pick up some staples. Why don’t you ride in with me?”

“I have work to do here.”

“It’ll still be here to do when you get back from town.” Susan smiled at her as she sipped the strong, hot coffee. “I bet you could use a few things, too.”

Gussie bobbed one shoulder. “I reckon. I was wishing for another jar of sorghum molasses and we’re almost out of cornmeal.”

Susan slapped a hand on the table in a decisive gesture. “There you have it, then! I’ll come by right after breakfast. We’ll be back by mid-afternoon. Erik says he’ll watch the children, so it’ll just be us.”

“It’s good of Erik to come by like this to help with the barn.”

“I do believe he enjoys it.” Susan ran her teeth over her lower lip. “He won’t be able to come by next Sunday, though. In church this morning the reverend asked for folks to attend a barn raising at the Anderson place. They live down by Four Oaks Road.” She glanced at Gussie “Their barn was as old as the hills and falling into itself. They finally just knocked it all the way down and decided to build a new one.”

“So, everyone’s going there next Sunday to help them with it?” She wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Not a soul had offered them as much as a nail since their barn had caught fire – save for Erik, of course.

“That’s right.” Susan took a sip of the coffee. “I volunteered Erik and . . . well, I probably shouldn’t have, but out of habit, I said that Max would show up next Sunday, too.” She reached across the table and laid a hand on Gussie’s arm. “If you think he should stay here and work on your barn, I’ll explain that to everyone next Sunday.”

“That’s up to him if he wants to help those folks.” Wincing a little inside, she realized that if it were up to her, she’d tell Lonestar to stay home and work on their barn. She tried to recall if she’d met the Andersons. “Is Lonestar friendly with them? The Anderson family?”

“Friendly, well, yes.” Susan chewed on her lower lip again. “Our parents knew them quite well and we all go to church together.”

“The church I was married in?”

“That’s right.”

Gussie sipped the strong coffee and measured out what had been said and what hadn’t. She and Lonestar hadn’t been in that church again since their wedding day. He’d never mentioned going and she’d never pressed him about it since she’d never belonged to any one church, except back when she and her pa had known Miss Irene in Joplin.

“Did Lonestar go to church every Sunday before he married me?”

Susan’s eyes widened. “Not every Sunday, no. He used to go when Mama was with us.” She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s up to him. How’s your garden?” Susan asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“Doing pretty well. We’re getting late vegetables and we still have a lot of potatoes and carrots in the ground. I reckon I’ll harvest everything in a week or so and can them up.”

“I’ll come by and help, if you want.” Susan sent her a warm smile. “That’s what family does for each other and I’m so glad we’re family, Gussie.”

The sentiment hugged Gussie’s heart. “Me, too,” she whispered.

 

The part of the farm where Max had decided he’d plant the grape vines had a gentle roll to it as it spread out toward an outcropping of hillocks. Standing beside Majesty, Augusta lifted one hand to shade her eyes against the setting sun. A mockingbird sang nearby, running through its recitation of a meadowlark, cardinal, blue jay, and whippoorwill.

It had been a long day, but he and Erik had made progress on rebuilding the barn. Half the wall was finished and they’d repaired some of the burned-out part of the loft, too. The work was slow going with just the two of them, but Max reckoned it would be completed in another week or two.

After a quick dinner, he’d cajoled Augusta into riding out with him to see the vineyard land. They’d ridden together on Majesty and Max had enjoyed the rub of her body against his and the silky caress of her hair blowing back across his face as they’d ridden across the flat land to the outcropping of foothills.

Max took a few more moments to admire Augusta’s profile before he surveyed the land again. Every time he stopped to look at it, any part of it, his chest swelled with pride. And every time he stopped to look at Augusta, desire swelled inside him. Especially now that he’d claimed her tender, soft, curvy body.

“We own this, Augusta,” he said, catching her quizzical glance from the corner of his eye. He nodded ahead of him, indicating the land. “Sometimes, I can scarcely believe it.”

“You afraid you’re going to wake up and it would all have been a dream?”

He chuckled. “Sometimes, I am. Are you?”

“Nope. I work too hard every day to think it’s a dream.” She held up her hands, palms facing him. “See those calluses and that blister? I didn’t get them dreaming.”

He grasped her by the wrists and bent swiftly to place a kiss on the small blister on the heel of her right hand. “You work as hard as any man,” he told her, then tugged her closer, fitting her arms around his middle. “And you’re a hell of a lot prettier.”

She let out a scoffing laugh. “I should hope so!” Her blue eyes twinkled with sun spots, making him think of a fast-moving creek at high noon. Gently, hesitatingly, her fingers pressed against his shirt.

When he kissed her again she went stiff, but gradually gave in, her lips warming against his and then going lax. He painted her lips with the tip of his tongue before stroking inside. She let out a little moan that made his blood rush to his groin.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he ran his hands over her hair and waited for her light brown lashes to lift before he spoke. “You’re lovely, Augusta.”

Her cheeks pinked up and she averted her gaze from his, going all shy on him. “Don’t talk foolish,” she chided.

“How is that foolish? I’m stating the unvarnished truth.” He tapped a knuckle under her chin, making her gaze find his again. “Didn’t your pa ever tell you that you’re pretty?”

Her frown nearly doused the sparkles in her eyes, “No. He treated me like a trained mule, instead of like kinfolk.”

That made him wince inside. She’d been brought up all wrong. She should have been made to feel her worth instead of feeling like a burden or a servant. He placed his hands on her shoulders, urging her gaze to his again. “Well, I’m here to tell you that with the sunlight streaming over your hair and filling your eyes with diamonds, the sight of you takes my breath away.”

She blinked at him, her lips parted, her expression one of wonder, tinged with the ever-present doubt that always seemed to linger deep in her eyes. He wanted to dash that doubt – rid her of it forever, so he smoothed his palms down the gentle curve of her back and the sweet swell of her hips and pulled her closer against him. He ran his lips and nose along her jawline, the side of her neck, and around to the dip at the base of her throat. She smelled of fresh-baked bread and sunshine. He licked lightly up over her chin and across her trembling lips. She tasted as good as she looked. He didn’t think she was breathing. If she was, they were shallow breaths.

“I want you,” he murmured. “My whole body craves you.”

A tremor shimmered through her and she emitted a sound that was pure yearning. Need for her knifed through him. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him as he stalked toward a stand of firs and scrub oaks.

“Wh-where are we . . ?” she asked, panting.

“Someplace more private,” he said, then took a calming breath when he realized he was almost growling. That’s what she did to him. A look, a kiss, a touch, and he was aching so badly for her that he couldn’t think straight.

“Why don’t we just go home?”

“Too far away.”

When they were swallowed by the branches’ shadows, he stopped, took her in his arms again, and kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheeks, and her chin until he saw her sweet mouth curve into a smile.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She sounded amused and a mite perplexed.

With a gentle tug and insistent pull, he brought her with him down onto the bed of soft grass and fallen leaves. “Kiss me, Augusta,” he demanded. She stared up at him for a few moments before her fingers tangled in his hair and she brought his mouth down to hers. Her tongue parried with his and he thought he might die of pent-up desire.

He rolled until she was lying on top of him. Sunlight slanted over her face, her shoulders, and her breasts. The dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose were more pronounced in the daylight, tempting him to kiss them, so he did. She squirmed against him, driving him crazy.

Grasping the folds of her skirts, he used his fingers to walk the material up her ankles, calves, and thighs. He directed her knees to either side of his hips, making her straddle him, all the while accepting her fevered kisses and the restless combing of her fingers through his hair. He shrugged out of his suspenders and unbuttoned his pants. Suddenly, she gripped his hands, stopping him. Her eyes widened with alarm.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? We’re not . . . we can’t . . . not out here!”

“We can and we are,” he assured her, kissing the “o” of her mouth. To prove it, he released himself into his hand. Augusta gave a little gasp when she saw what he’d done.

“Put that away,” she whispered, glancing around as if she expected to see a group of nosy neighbors.

“Hush up and kiss me again, Augusta.” He cupped the back of her head and brought her lips to his. She made a half-hearted mewl of discontent before it became a moan of surrender. “Here, help me take this off you.” He plucked at her undergarments. After a few tries, he managed to scoot them down her shapely legs while distracting her with biting, plucking kisses. He palmed her breasts, feeling the turgid centers through the layers of her clothing. Pinching them between his thumbs and forefingers, he made her moan and writhe atop him.

That’s when she felt skin against skin and her eyes grew large again. She glanced from tree to tree as if she were sure they were being watched. Max ran his fingertips down her blushing cheek, drawing her gaze back to his.

“It’s just us, sweetheart,” he told her, nodding at her, beguiling her. “Let me love you, Augusta.”

Her eyes went soft along with her body. Max guided himself inside her, carefully, slowly, helping her to balance, showing her how to move. Gripping his forearms, she flung back her head and her tawny gold hair poured over her shoulders as she stared at the sky. Breathy moans escaped her as she found a rhythm and took all of him in, rocking and grinding against him. Staring at her upturned face, Max was struck by her wild, unabashed beauty. This woman. This spirited, feisty woman was his. She was like the land – a dream he’d nurtured for so long that he couldn’t believe the dream was now his real life.

Had he somehow known that she was his destiny that first moment he’d seen her, standing in the middle of the street, wearing a bedraggled straw hat, dusty clothes, and a furious frown? Had he sensed that she was the talisman he needed to obtain the land and life he’d coveted for years and years?

She trembled atop him, her legs clutching hard against his hips, and he felt her tightening in waves inside where he drove deep into her. A soft cry broke past her lips as she shuddered, then her body went limp and she melted against him, her breasts flattening against his heaving chest. His own release thundered through him and he barely had time to dislodge from her and roll her onto her side as passion blurred his mind and emptied him.

His throat felt raw and he realized that he’d been chanting her name amid passion-filled groans. “Augusta,” he whispered it now and her lashes lifted to reveal clear, blue pools. “Augusta.”

“Lonestar,” she whispered back to him, giving him a small smile. “I liked that.”

Delight shimmered through him. “You did?”

She nodded. “You’re right. It gets better every time.”

He chuckled, reaching down and brushing bits of grass off her knees before settling a tender kiss on her lips. She flipped her skirts down in a burst of modesty and lolled on her back to stare up at the branches and ribbons of sunlight. “Don’t you go thinking that you can grab me like this any old time and any old place you want.”

He tucked himself back into his trousers and buttoned up. “Believe me, Augusta Lonestar, I don’t want anyone to see you – like I’ve just seen you – but me. Ever.” He laid his palm against the side of her face and enjoyed looking at her.

They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to bird songs and the chomping sounds Majesty made as she snapped up tufts of green grass.

“Your mother raised you right,” Augusta said with a sigh. “You’re a good, kind man.”

“Why, thank you.” He smiled, watching the tree branches sway in the breeze as his mother’s sweet face wafted through his mind. “She was a queen with a heart of gold.”

“People thought highly of her and her husband in these parts?”

“Yes. Very highly. My step-father was a war hero with the Union army.”

“A Yankee, was he?”

“Yes. His folks were from Illinois. He came here when he heard that the land was cheap and the soil was rich.”

“Where did he meet your mother?”

“In Kansas. He lived there for a couple of years before he decided to buy land in Arkansas. My mother was staying with her parents again and did some seamstress work for a milliner.”

“Her parents weren’t upset about her marrying an Indian?”

He grinned up at the clouds, recalling his mother’s stories about her romance with an Osage suitor. “Well, no. They couldn’t be and not look two-faced. They were missionaries and taught school and religion to the Osage. When their daughter fell in love with the uncle of one of their students . . .” He shrugged. “Being good Christians, they had to bestow their blessing.”

“Ah.” She nodded and shared a grin with him. “So, where did your mother meet your step-father?”

“In church. He said he was smitten the moment he laid eyes on her. I never doubted it. Mother was beautiful, inside and out.” He saw her smile and poked her in the ribs, making her giggle. “What are you smiling about?”

“I like the way you talk about her.” She stacked her hands under her cheek and gazed at him. “I never heard a man speak so about women. You’re like a poet. Like that Shakespeare fella who wrote so many plays!”

He linked his fingers against his chest and laughed up at the sky. “Shakespeare is rolling in his grave about now.”

“Your mother loved you, Lonestar. She never stopped. You know that, don’t you?”

The mirth went out of him. “Yes. Even when I broke her heart, she loved me.”

“You didn’t break her heart. She was sad, no doubt, but she never lost faith in you. Susan said as much. She told me that she and your mother knew what happened was an accident and that you never meant to kill that fella. They thought you should have never gone to prison.”

“I know.” He huffed out a sigh of exasperation. Going over the whys and why nots was fruitless. What was done was done and he was still paying for it. Pushing up to his feet, he reached down, grabbed her hands, and helped her to stand. “Let’s head back home.”

She made a show of jerking her underwear back into place, fussing under her breath and glancing around again as if anyone would be watching other than a few birds and Majesty. Shaking his head, he pulled his suspenders onto his shoulders and then hopped onto Majesty’s back. He tugged Augusta up to sit in front of him. She sat astride the horse like a man. She’d told him before that she’d never learned to ride sidesaddle and didn’t want to be taught now, and he couldn’t blame her.

Her skirts billowed, lifting every so often to give him a glimpse of her legs. The sun was dipping lower and long shadows spread across the land. Max nuzzled behind Augusta’s ear, making her laugh a little and draw her shoulder up against his face.

“It’ll be good to get home. It’s been a long day,” he told her as the house came into view.

She turned her head to glance at him. “Did I tire you out?”

“Darlin’, I’m just getting started,” he whispered hotly into her ear. She pushed her hips against him and he hardened like steel. This woman! Instead of slaking his thirst, coupling with her had only doubled it – tripled it! He wondered if he’d ever get his fill of her.