Part 8 (1/2)
He smiled at the picture in his mind of her in his clothes. ”Nothing that'll fit.”
”I know, but I don't plan to parade through the streets of Albuquerque.”
He thought of offering her some of Zac's clothes, but they wouldn't fit much better. Besides, if she had to wear anybody's clothes, he wanted them to be his.
He didn't understand that. He didn't even want to try.
He found a s.h.i.+rt and an old pair of pants that were too small for him. ”You'll need something to keep them up,” he said.
Daisy held the s.h.i.+rt up in front of her. It fell to her knees. ”I could use it for a nightgown.”
He hadn't thought about that. She shouldn't sleep in her clothes. He'd offer her one of the white linen s.h.i.+rts he wore when he went to town.
He could hear her as she moved about behind the curtain. The sun was still out. He could see her outline. She would be changing her clothes any minute now. He glanced over at Zac, but the boy was asleep with his face to the wall. But Tyler wasn't certain he could make himself turn away.
Glancing over the shelves, his gaze fell on two thin blankets he used in the warmer months. He took them down.
”I've been thinking you need something heavier than sheets,” he said to Daisy.
She stuck her head out. ”Why?”
”It'll help block out some of the noise of us moving about.”
”You don't keep me awake.”
”Just in case,” Tyler said as he hung the first blanket.
”Won't you need them?”
”No.” He hung the second and stepped back. Perfect. Daisy came to stand next to him. She looked first at the curtain then at him. It was obvious she didn't believe his explanation. When she pulled the curtain back, her gaze was immediately drawn to the sunlight streaming in the window. She blushed crimson. She knew.
”Thank you.”
”You'd better get started on your clothes if they're going to be dry by dinner,” Tyler said. ”I've never sat down to the table with a lady in pants.” He turned back to the stove, but he couldn't keep his mind on his work. He kept thinking about Daisy -- nude, wearing his clothes.
The thought sent chills of excitement racing through his body. They were his clothes. Her body would be brus.h.i.+ng up against material that had brushed against his body. Her legs would be in trousers that had encased his legs. He thought of the rough material about to be pressed against the triangle between her legs, and his body exploded with l.u.s.t.
He could almost feel the silky smoothness of her body as she removed her own clothes. They were soft, supple, clinging, worn thin with use. For the second time in the same day, he imagined the dress slipping from her body to fall into a pool at her feet.
Now she was unb.u.t.toning the chemise. The material was so thin it was almost transparent. Her fingers traveled slowly down the middle of her body, across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, down her stomach to her abdomen. One side of the chemise would fall open exposing a small, round, perfect breast. It stood out from her body, young and firm, the nipple in a circle of rosy flesh, soft and pliant to the touch.
Warm to the touch.
Sweet to the taste.
She would slip the chemise off her shoulders, one at a time. Ivory colored, silky smooth shoulders. He could imagine how it would feel to run his fingers over the gentle curve, to rest his head in the hollow. He could hear her soft breathing, feel the slight rise and fall of her chest.
Of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
She had slipped the chemise over her second shoulder, down to her waist, fully revealing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The silhouette of hours before was clear in his mind, only now it was drawn in vibrant color. He imagined Daisy's flawless female form, her perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s lifted and separated in their youthful perfection, their roundness accentuated by the circle of her nipples. He could almost reach out and touch her slim body as it tapered at her waist, then flared in rounded hips.
s.h.i.+vers caused his entire body to tremble. He tried to refocus his thoughts on the meal he was preparing, but it was useless. He may have imagined the almost inaudible whisper of her chemise as it glided over her skin or the soft plop as it fell to the floor, but he knew she was naked. His entire body trembled with a hunger that shook him like an aspen in the wind.
Gripping the spoon, Tyler stirred vigorously. He refused to think of her naked beauty. He refused to think of the white softness of her thighs, of the seductive depression of her navel. He refused to let himself think of losing himself in her softness or of the ecstasy to be found in her arms.
He beat the thick chocolate mixture until his arm ached.
But his need was more powerful than his good intentions. As the speed of his beating slowed, the power and vividness of his imagination increased.
He imagined Daisy lying next to him, her body receptive. Lovingly he explored every inch of her. From head to toe, he tasted, touched, and smelled until his vision became misty with pa.s.sion. Yielding to the desire that had built from a tiny kernel of want to a thundering crescendo of need, he sank into her, releasing the pent-up desire that had turned his body into an inferno.
Suddenly Tyler felt his groin contract, his body heave in a fruitless spasm. He stood helpless as his body released the tension that had built up within him. It had been a dry run, but it was a close call. Good G.o.d! He hadn't had a wet dream since his teens.
He took a deep, slow breath to calm himself. He poured the batter into pans, put them into the oven. Satisfied the heat would hold for the next thirty minutes, Tyler grabbed his coat and headed outside. It didn't matter that he had nothing to do. Just standing around watching the snow melt was safer than remaining inside the cabin. Maybe the frigid air would cool him off.
He laughed to himself, a humorless chuckle. He could take Daisy home right now. All he had to do was lie down and roll He was hot enough to melt every flake of snow between here and Albuquerque.
Tyler couldn't sleep, and it had nothing to do with the bare boards that were his bed. The blankets m.u.f.fled the sound, but he was positive he heard Daisy crying. He heard it again. A tiny sob choked off before it could grow to its natural fullness. He got out of bed and padded across the floor on silent feet. He slept in all his clothes except for his shoes. ”Are you all right?” he whispered, hoping not to wake Zac.
She didn't answer.
”I know you're awake. Is there anything I can do?”
”No.”
The word seemed choked, like it was all she could do to get out the single syllable. He waited. The corner was her refuge. She probably wouldn't want him invading it, but he couldn't ignore her. He hesitated on the verge of pulling back the curtain. What could he do? He felt her sadness, her sense of isolation. That he did understand. He had felt alone all his life.
Then he heard it again, only there was no mistake this time. She was crying in earnest.
”I'm coming in,” he said, then paused to give her a minute to cover herself if necessary. But he heard no rustling of covers, no scrambling about in the bed, just the steady sound of brokenhearted sobbing. He couldn't wait any longer. He pulled back the curtain.
Bright moonlight entering the cabin from the unshuttered window illuminated the bare cabin floor. Daisy sat in the center of her bed, just out of the aura of moonlight, her pale face streaked with tears. She wore the s.h.i.+rt he had given her. Somehow it made her look even younger and more vulnerable, like a child playing dress up. Only she had to grow up now because she had no one but herself.
”Is it your father?” Tyler asked.
She nodded.
What could he do? He couldn't bring the man back. He couldn't make her miss him less. He couldn't even tell her she wasn't alone in the world. He knelt down in front of her. He was intruding. She must want him to leave. He would feel uncomfortable if anyone were to see him crying.
Yet she didn't draw away. She twisted her hands in her lap then put them to her mouth as though to stop the sound of her sobs. To no avail. She brushed away some tears. Not knowing what else to do, Tyler sat down on the mattress next to her and put his arm around her.
Daisy sat rigid in the curve of his arms. He half expected her to pull away at any moment. He remembered George used to hold Rose when she was upset. After she lost the baby, he sometimes held her for hours, not talking, not doing anything but holding her.
So he put his other arm around Daisy and sat still, just holding her. He felt her muscles quiver. Then the rigidity collapsed, and she leaned against him. Her sobs had become less noisy. She seemed to be more calm. She put her arms around him and rested all of her weight against him.