"Isn't it about time for her to eat again?"

"Soon. But with any luck she'll sleep until we're there." Her feet hurt and her back ached, and all Hattie wanted was to sit down and never walk anywhere again.

"And maybe there will be a creek for me to soak my feet in while I feed her."

"You missin' the bathtub?"

"I am indeed." Oh, yes. If she were at the cabin, she would take all of her clothes off and lower her aching body into the hot water until she was as warm and limp as a piece of cornbread soaked in milk. She had never known such luxury as Buffalo's bathtub--probably never would again, either.

The new basin seemed less wide as the one they'd left, and there were fewer openings in the forest cover. As they descended, Hattie caught the glint of water among the trees, but she never did get a good view of the creek until they broke out of the woods at its very edge.

Ellen woke almost as soon as they arrived, so Hattie fed her while Emmet found firewood and got it burning. He'd chosen a secluded campsite, shielded from view on all but one side by the huge root mass of a fallen pine and a tangle of leathery-leaved shrubs.

They ate cold biscuits and venison, left from last night's supper, not bothering with plates, washing it down with sweet, cold water from the creek. Ellen kicked and squirmed on the bearskin, gurgling happily to herself. She was adapting to days of confinement and no longer fussed, as long as Hattie released her as soon as they stopped traveling for the day.

"Do you want me to milk?" Emmet said when they were done with supper.

"No, I'll take care of it. You go ahead and unpack." He'd slid the saddlebags off his horse as soon as they'd arrived and now they lay against a sapling.

If it weren't that she was afraid to risk doing without milk as long as Ellen was too little to eat solid food, she'd let Bessie dry up, Hattie thought as she was milking. They didn't need the milk now--she'd made enough butter and cheese to last them a couple of weeks before they left the cabin. She didn't like milk for drinking and so she was pouring most of it out.

She fell into the familiar rhythm, leaning her head against Bessie's warm flank.

Would she have the courage to do what she decided she must do before Emmet left her behind? She just didn't know.

At first, when the thought had occurred to her, she had doubted her ability to carry it out. Then she'd realized that even if she were brave enough, she might not have the opportunity. Once Flower had moved into the cabin and Emmet into the leanto with Silas, there had been no more opportunity. And too she had not been sure how long after Ellen's birth she had to wait before... well, just before.

Finally everything was done. The spring evening lingered, the light pale and shadowy, long after the last rays of the sun dissipated as it sank behind the western hills. Hattie sank gratefully onto the bear robe beside Ellen who now slept, her tummy full. She really should go and help Emmet make up their beds, she thought. And she would, in just a few minutes.

A touch on her face roused her. When she opened her eyes, it was into night.

Emmet's face was a pale shape just before her.

"You gonna sleep here all night?" he said, amusement obvious in his tone.

"No, I...." She yawned, a great, jaw-cracking yawn that took her completely by surprise. "I didn't mean to sleep," she said, embarrassed. "I really meant to help you finish setting up camp."

"You don't have to," he said gruffly, moving away until he was a shadow in the dark, more sensed than seen. "You do your share."

Once more she wondered at her good fortune. Karl had been kind, but he'd also held strict ideas of man's work and woman's duties. And anything that smote of housekeeping had been, in his mind, a woman's responsibility. Emmet didn't seem to have such rigid ideas, just one more reason why she couldn't resist her growing love for him.

"I made your bed," he told her, "over there."

She barely saw the direction of his pointing arm, for the gibbous moon was still low in the sky. "But it's so nice right here," she said, sitting up and stretching. "The fire's still warm, and I'd have to move Ellen. Likely she'd wake up, and...." She smiled. If only he would come to her, here on the robe.

There was room for the both of them and Ellen too.

He hesitated. "Don't see any reason why not," he said, his voice, if possible, even gruffer. "I'll fetch your bed."

"Emmet," she said, hearing how the word trembled on her lips. "Emmet, come here." She was going to do it. Right now. While she still had the gumption to.

She had wanted him for so long. So very long.

"I'll fetch your bed," he repeated.

She heard him move off in the direction he'd indicated. In a moment he was back, his arms full. He dumped her bedding on the buffalo robe and went back. She heard him muttering but couldn't tell what he was saying.

"I don't need the branches," she said. "The robe's really soft."

But he was back again, his arms full of freshly cut fir branches. He arranged them a few feet back from the glowing embers that were all that was left of their fire. Then he went back for another load. Shortly he had a springy mattress prepared for her. He flipped the canvas ground sheet he usually used across the branches.

"Wait. What will you use?" His bed--that's what he called it--was a single blanket over the canvas. She'd often wondered how he kept from freezing. And now he was giving her his ground sheet.

"I'll be fine," he said. "If you'll take the babe, I'll be spreading the robe over this." Tucking the canvas along one side of the mound of branches, he sat back on his heels. "It's not cold."

"There will be frost on the ground, come morning."

"Don't matter," he said, not turning to look at her. "Now, are you gonna give me that robe?"

She picked Ellen up and moved off the robe. In seconds he had it draped across the canvas-covered mound. Then he spread her comfort over that. "There. You got yourself a bed." He stood and stepped back. In seconds she had lost sight of him as his dark figure blended with the shadows under the trees.

Hattie was suddenly seized with unreasoning fear. "Emmet? Emmet, come back!"

"Hush! I'm right here." His voice came from behind her. "I'm takin' a look around. I won't go far."

She did her best to keep track of where he was, but he slipped through the woods as silently as the other shadows. It was all she could do to force herself to tuck Ellen into the small nest Emmet had created for her, to one side of Hattie's bed. She could not convince herself to join her daughter. Not until he returned.

Emmet circled their camp, not because he believed there was a need to but because it delayed the moment when he would have to return to Hattie.

He'd made a bad mistake, bringing her out here like this. As long as they were with the others, he'd had no trouble keeping his hands off her. Now it was like asking a bear to stay out of a honey tree.

She was his, in the eyes of God and man. He had the lines to prove it. Now that she no longer carried another man's child, there was no reason he should not take her to his bed.

Great God, how he wanted to!

He wanted to feel the velvet of her skin under his hands, to smell the faint lilac scent that clung to her no matter what. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her mouth, to swallow her moans as he lifted her to unexplored heights of passion.

He wanted to bury himself in her, lose himself in her.

The cattle were quiet and his horse slept, hipshot, under a giant pine. Night sounds surrounded him, but they were familiar, not to be concerned about.

The only thing he needed to worry about was the woman waiting for him in a bed too big for her.

He slipped though the night until he was at the edge of their camp, unseen and unheard.

A faint splash alerted him. It came not from the creek but from the camp. He leaned closer to the root mass, inched around until he could see into the dark hollow the tree had made when it fell.

She was standing beside the barely flickering the fire. The milk bucket was at her feet and she dipped a cloth into it even as he watched. Her skin, bare as the day she was born, was gilded by firelight.

Her slim arms lifted a dark cloud of hair, piling it atop her head. She secured it with a quick twist. Kneeling, she scooped water up and let it fall across her breasts. Then she dipped again and again, until her firelit body glistened with shimmering, silver droplets.

The soft splashes she made came to his ears like an invitation to paradise.

Gritting his teeth, Emmet stood where he was, but he could not bring himself to close his eyes.

At last she stood, her body tempting and perfect in the flickering light. When she bent to pick up her towel, her full, rose-tipped breasts swayed invitingly.

She dried herself with a ragged length of fabric, and his hands twitched with wanting to touch where the soft linen did.

As she bent and turned, he almost wept at the beauty of her. His sex strained at buckskin, demanding, hungry. His body all but trembled at the force of his sudden desire.

Once before he had stood in the dark and watched her bathe.

That time he had stood aside and let her walk away.

This time he would not.

Chapter Thirteen.

Hattie knew he was there. She sensed his presence as she felt the soft nighttime breeze, as she smelled the faint tang of the pines and firs. She turned as he stepped into the hollow.

Clothed only in night, she had no sense of shame. She dropped the wet cloth onto the ground and stood, eyes downcast, waiting for him.

He approached, but stopped a scarce foot from her. The heat of him warmed her, as if she were standing close to a fire.

"Look at me," he said.

She looked. Even in the pale moonlight, she saw the desire in his face.

"You're my wife."

"Yes." The word caught on a tongue grown dry.

"I'm tired of sleepin' alone."

Hattie felt herself sway towards him. "So am I," she whispered. "Oh, Emmet, so am I." She took one fateful step, knowing as she did that it could be the worse mistake she ever made. And the best.

His arms received her, pulled her close to his body. For a moment they stood quietly, but for hearts that pounded as if to escape their bony cages.

"I'll be leavin', no matter what," he said, finally, his voice husky, heavy with hunger. "I don't want you to be hopin' for anything else."

"I don't," she told him, the words like acid in her heart, "hope for anything but right now." She slipped her arms up from where they were captured between their bodies, linked her hands behind his head. "Kiss me," she demanded. "Kiss me and don't think about anything else."

Hattie had already made her decision. She would take whatever of Emmet he was willing to give and not ask for more. Better that than never know what it was to belong to him. So when his mouth joined with hers, she gave herself up to pure sensation, with no thought to regret.

He was gentle, not fierce as he had been before. She sensed a resignation, an acceptance, in his kisses. They spoke of a battle fought and gladly lost. But he left her little time for thought as he explored her face with his lips, leaving a trail of tingling skin behind. He kissed her eyelids, her brows. His tongue laved her temples, explored the whorls and hollows of her ear. His teeth nibbled at her lobe and along her jaw.

Her knees became soft and weak, until she sagged in his arms. At some point he must have lifted her, for the next thing she was aware of was being lowered to the springy, fur-covered bed he'd made for her at the edge of the hollow. A glow was born deep in her belly, as if a spark had been struck to waiting tinder.

He fell onto the bearskin at her side, his lean length pressed against her from shoulder to feet. While one arm enclosed her and held her to him, the other hand touched her. His fingers encircled her throat, caressing as they moved and stroked. He felt of the shape of her shoulder, his fingers traced along her collarbones and rested in the hollow at the base of her throat. "Hattie, girl, you're not lookin' at me," he whispered.

Again she opened her eyes, opened them to look into his. It was too dark to see more than a gleam, so she imagined, just for this moment, that he looked at her with a promise of love, now and forever.

Surely it would harm no one if she clung to her dream for this one night.

She had never been a partner in the act of love, although she had always wondered what it would be like to take as well as give. Hesitantly she touched his face, outlining his well-defined lips, discovering with a fingertip the cleft in his chin. She grew more bold and inserted her finger between his slightly parted lips, seeking the hot wetness of his mouth. His teeth caught and held, his tongue teased.

Immediately she jerked her finger back, afraid she'd made him angry. "I'm sorry."

He caught her hand and brought it back to his mouth. Kissing the errant fingertip, he then gave the others equal attention. "Don't be sorry," he said, nipping the pad at the base of her thumb. "Don't ever be sorry for anything you do to me like this." He laved her palm, then tickled it with the tip of his tongue.

The seething heat in her belly grew, tiny flames bursting from smoldering tinder.

Still more emboldened, she touched the neck of his shirt. "Once I woke up and you had this off. I'd never seen a man like that before."

He raised up on an elbow, staring down at her. "You've never seen a man without a shirt?" Disbelieving.

"Well, of course I have," she said, miffed, knowing she had never seen one who looked like him. "But you didn't have your pants on, either." Stroking her fingertips down his strong neck, she touched the laced opening of his shirt. "I wish...." No, she couldn't say it.

His laughter was rich and understanding. "You want me to take my pants off?"

Feeling the blush all the way from her feet, she nodded against his chest. Was it so very wrong to want to feel his naked body against hers?

Karl had said nakedness was a sin, when he'd forbidden her to bathe in the pond.

"Hattie?" His breath was hot on her ear. "Take 'em off." He lifted himself away from her.

She forgot her embarrassment in amazement. "What?"

"You want my pants off," Emmet said, wondering if he was going too far, "you take 'em off." He lay back, careful to avoid disturbing Ellen, and locked his hands behind his head.

If he'd kept his hands on her, it would have been all over in seconds. Her shy admission that she'd seen him naked--and the unspoken admission that she'd liked what she'd seen--had pushed him dangerously close to the edge. He remembered that morning, but he'd thought she'd forgotten.

A tentative finger touched the laces at his throat. He didn't move, concentrating on holding his desire in check.

But she didn't loosen the laces. Instead she traced that single finger down across his chest, across his belly, pausing at the buckle of his wide belt.Open it! his mind screamed. Emmet forced himself to remember being hip deep in an icy stream, his hands nigh to frozen from setting beaver traps.

"So big!" she breathed as her finger hesitated again, this time a scant hair's breadth above his throbbing, aching manhood. Even through layers of buckskin he could feel her not-quite touch.

"Take 'em off," he gasped, the sound grating against the tight-held lining of his throat. One more touch and he'd forget his intention of taking her slowly and gently. Again he brought a memory of cold, this time freezing saltwater against his bare face, until his skin was flayed and bloodless.

The claws of his desire retracted, and he was once more in control.