The Surrogate Wife. Barbara Leigh

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      Josh helped the woman into her wagon and held the reins as she arranged her ample posterior across the seat. “I want you to know that should there be any question of Abbie’s safety I will expect you to bring her to me right away. And see that you remember,” she admonished as she wagged her finger at him, clucked to the horses and was on her way.

      Josh started back toward the house where Meagan stood framed in the doorway.

      “Now what do you suppose that was all about?” they said in unison. And, realizing what they had done, their laughter, also in unison, echoed over the little valley.

      A short distance down the road Ruth Somers caught the sound and pulled her horse to a halt to listen. Of course, she couldn’t be sure it was laughter she heard, but Meagan was attractive and Josh was still young. She would have to keep an eye on them. After all, Judge Osborne had said that should Meagan Reilly seduce Josh or, most likely any other man, it would mean the hangman’s tree for her.

      Yes, Ruth would have to keep her eyes open, but more than that, she would have to make sure she kept her own husband far away from the Daniels household. For the girl was young and pretty, and Rafe Somers was only a man.

      

      Life in the Daniels house had fallen quite easily into place. Josh was not a vindictive man, and while he resented the girl’s presence to a certain degree, he could not deny that her willingness to work and make the best of a bad situation had made life a great deal easier for him. He often wondered what she was thinking as her great dark eyes followed him. She could be spunky, as he had discovered on their trip home from Banebridge. Josh saw no reason to make the situation any more difficult for either of them, so he did not question her any further about her part in Lily’s death. Instead, he went about his own business and made sure she tended to hers.

      It had not taken Meagan long to discover that the cozy little room at the back of the house was the hub of the home. The front room had apparently been used only on special occasions. She dreaded going into the musty shadows to sleep even though it had the best feather bed in the house.

      She lay stiffly on the bed, jumping at every creak and snap of the night-filled house. She dared not say a word about her nervousness, for Josh would surely believe her fears were caused by a guilty conscience rather than her inherent fear of being alone in the dark. A fear she had not been able to outgrow since childhood.

      The only thing she feared worse was a storm. The apex of her fears struck before the week was out.

      The wind was already moaning through the trees when she hurried across the little dogtrot and closed the door. The room was tight and sound. She would close her ears to the storm and pull the blankets up over her head and go to sleep, she promised herself.

      Meagan pulled the blankets up, but the wind whined and sobbed, and then began lashing the house when it failed to disturb the human creatures who dared build a house in its domain.

      For all Meagan’s promises she found her eyes wide open and her hands clenched against the feather bed. The wind and rain continued to strike the house. Tree branches bent and cracked as they whipped the house in fury. The wind seemed to come from all sides as it fought to find a chink in the walls. At the height of the storm Meagan heard the sound.

      It groaned through the room. First one note, then two, and finally a full chord resounding in ghostly pleasure above the storm.

      Meagan leaped from the bed. She stood in the middle of the floor as the lightning lit the night in unearthly splendor. The sound faded as Meagan backed toward the door, her eyes locked on the area where she knew the organ to be.

      Once again the notes began, increasing in intensity until they drowned out even the wind. As they reached their highest intensity Meagan gave a yelp and dashed into the night.

      Many times she had heard the Indians speak of the souls of the dead who found no peace and walked the earth during the storms. And though she knew no guilt in Lily’s death, she had been forced by the living to assume the blame, and she wasn’t about to see what punishment the dead might conceive.

      The rain blew against her with full fury as she threw herself against the door to the room in which Josh slept. Her fingers slipped from the wet latch. She beat against the wood.

      “Josh! Josh! Let me in!” she screamed. She rattled the useless latch as she hollered and banged, aware that the organ continued to sound out its ghastly melody.

      “What in the hell is going on here?”

      The door burst open against her pounding hands, and Meagan fell into Josh Daniels’s arms. She could feel the smooth warmth of his skin against her hands and buried her face against his chest to try to escape the sound that seemed to follow her. She felt his hand press ever so gently against her head, stroking her hair as though she were a frightened child. His other hand rested on her back, firmly, holding her against him as she relished the warmth and safety she knew when he enfolded her. The hair on his chest brushed her cheek and tickled her nose but she only burrowed closer, desperately trying to shut out the terror of the night. Her sobs quieted and she fought to gain control of herself, to curb her childish fears. She longed to stay with him as she had the night they had spent under the wagon, but she would be happy to sleep next to the fireplace in the kitchen if he was nearby to fend off the fearsome sounds of the night. But it was not to be, for although Meagan found safety in the arms of Josh Daniels’s, his reaction to Meagan was the exact opposite.

      

      The lightning brightened the night and he could see the tears of terror on her face. “What is it?” he asked more gently.

      “The organ…someone’s playing the organ. I heard them.”

      “Nobody ever played that thing except Lily,” Josh said in exasperation. “What you heard was the wind.”

      He wanted to push her away from him. He wanted to separate himself from the vibrant body that molded its lush, young curves against him. He wanted the cool softness as far away as possible before the spark dared to ignite and destroy them both. He could feel her face against his chest. Her hand brushed his taut nipple before her face burrowed into his chest.

      He stroked her hair hoping to comfort her and restore her self-confidence so that he could put her from him and send her back to her room.

      She trembled and he felt her legs wobble. He pressed her more closely against him, taking deep breaths, willing his body not to notice that her breasts had warmed and were burning orbs of fire against his naked chest. His hand slipped down her back, following the curves of her body, tracing them ever so gently but in a way he knew he would never be able to forget.

      How could a man forget the resiliency of her skin, which was even more exciting through the thin, wet material of her cotton nightdress? How could a man forget the touch of her breath against his skin, heated with promise forever unfulfilled?

      She sagged in his arms as her fear began to leave her. He moved to hold her weight and his leg was suddenly encased between the heat of her thighs. His head swam with desire. His blood pounded above the sound of the storm as it raced through his body, erasing the threat of punishment, any hope of reason or memory of decency in the headlong sweep of passion.

      Oh, God, it had been so long since he had burned for a woman, and never, never as he did in this moment, with this woman whose body was like a torch that ignited his whole being. Blood surged through him, blocking out the ability to think. He didn’t СКАЧАТЬ