It was a pleasant spot, the hollow. Two days it had taken them to lower all the twenty plus wagons over the hill and into this place. Days of hard work with the only reward at the end of it a day of rest.
Not exactly rest, but it was as close to it as Marie was going to get on the trail. Fresh water, a luxury after the silty, stagnant water of the Platte, and newly laundered clothes were worth it. Then there were the trees; big, tall trees that they hadn’t seen away from the river. She didn’t know she would miss trees so much.
Here she could be free of her mother’s disapproval and lay back in the grass and stare at the evening sky. She’d picked out the perfect place, the clump of trees and the tall grass would hide her from the casual observer. The temptation to sleep out here, away from the wagons and the complaints of her mother, was great but she knew for her own safety she couldn’t.
Tomorrow they were leaving and it would be sometime before they reached South Pass and headed on to Oregon. The West was supposed to be the family’s chance to escape the growing politics of the States. Uncle Thomas and her father had planned this out. Wagons with goods would head West to set up a new business in hopes the rest of the family would be able to join them in a couple of years.
Actually, Marie was glad to be away from the South. When she was younger she could ignore grown-up talk, but at seventeen with several men interested in courting, she’d had to turn her mind to adult pursuits full time. While the younger men were still about fancy parties and chivalry, the men her father’s and grandfather’s age talked about politics and business. Those discussion interested her more than the young men or her mother’s constant gossip circle.
Back East their life had been comfortable with the family’s prosperous import business and storefront. However, politics had invaded even their lives and her father was wary of the changes coming. Cousin Nathaniel had been dispatched to the West to return with a favorable report.
In the end, almost a dozen family-owned wagons set out from Independence in April. The loads had been carefully balanced with trade goods and what little personal belongings they could take. Marie’s mother had been depressed at the lack of clothing allowed and the pure simpleness of the outfits for the trail. Cousin Nathaniel’s wife Rebecca was eager for the adventure once he convinced her that no one would care who her parents were or where she was from.
At first, Marie had been caught up in the excitement of all the activity. As they settled into the routine of the wagons headed West, she’d lost some of the exuberance, especially with her cooking skills. Her grandmother had made sure she knew how to cook early on but she’d never cooked over a campfire and it was proving to be a challenge. Gramps gave her a few pointers and she’d asked some of the other women as they walked beside the trail during the day. It was simple fare, but a decent meal at the end of a long day was important.
The light breeze picked up as the sun set. It rustled the leaves in the trees and made a lovely accompaniment to the crickets that had begun chirping. The sounds of the night added distance to the noise of the camp activities. Marie found the quiet blissful.
Before long, she realized she wasn’t alone. Carefully she looked around, unable to spot the intruder. That in and of itself made her heart soar. There was only one person that could be close by and remain unseen or heard. Logan.
She sensed the movement before she saw it, as he hid in plain sight. Obviously, he’d wanted his presence made known to her. He had a way of being completely silent and overly hard to detect, more so than even the older mountain man in the company.
“Ma’am,” he greeted her with that deep voice of his. She half expected him to tip his hat as he usually did around camp, but he wore none this evening.
Logan was one of the scouts that had joined them after they’d crossed the Missouri. A tall man with broad shoulders and wild hair, the youngest of the scouts. The others were what one would expect of mountain men with their long beards, but Logan didn’t wear a beard, only sideburns, and that set him apart.
Marie’s mother couldn’t see past his seasoned buckskins and would find herself well enough to walk about and gossip after a day's rest in the wagon to be away from him. (How she could stay in the wagon was beyond Marie, as the wagons tended to jolt and jar every bone in the body.) Her father, on the other hand, surmised that Logan was of gentry and possibly well educated. He was able to talk ancient history with her grandfather and certain books with the rest of the men. His manners were excellent around the women, better than she’d seen since leaving the Southern social structure behind.
A stray thought crossed her mind; she should be embarrassed, not only for the impropriety of being out alone with a man in her general vicinity but also she wasn’t dressed properly. Every last stitch of clothing had been set out to dry including her undergarments. All she had on was an old petticoat and corset cover that was worn threadbare. (Marie had quit wearing her corset more and more, much to her mother’s dismay.)
It looked as though Logan had taken the time to wash also. His normal buckskin pants were replaced by a lighter pair with no fringe, it took her a moment to realize that he was shirtless, as if she might have interrupted his quiet evening.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to…” her voice trailed off as her eyes caught sight of his straight razor. He watched with amusement as they darted to his bag hanging from a branch then his horse further away, staked out for the night.
“No, it’s fine.” He spent his time alone in the wilderness, and it tended to make a man wild, uncivilized. That was something he didn’t need help with. Even her with the people of the wagon train he remembered there was a different way. Not that he wanted to go back to high society, even at a young age it had been nothing but trouble. But being around people was good for a man once in a while.
It reminded him of the books he’d read and his father’s evening discussions with others. A world lost to him one fateful night. He didn’t regret leaving it behind, the wilderness was a better fit for him anyway. Yet being around Marie set off a yearning deep inside himself he hadn’t felt before. Maybe not a grand house like he was raised in, but a small, cozy cabin in the mountains where they could set up a home.
Glancing at her again, as tempting as she was, he best leave her be. Marie had many qualities that would bring her an advantageous marriage. One that would set her up as she deserved. She didn’t need to be tied to a man that was still deciphering what he was and how he fit into the world.
“Night Miss,” he said putting his razor in the bag.
Marie frantically searched for a reason to keep him from leaving. During the previous two months, the highlight of her days had become the evening meal when Logan came to their campfire to eat. They had only a handful of conversations but his presence never failed to bring a longing to her bones. A craving for the country as wild as him.
“Tell me about the Western mountains,” she finally said as he pulled his bag from the branch.
The muscles across his back rippled with tension as he hesitated a moment. Maybe she’d misread the looks he’d sent her way, they’d made her flush just thinking about what thoughts might be behind such a look. Despite her apprehension, a heat pooled between her thighs, a reaction completely new to her.
Inhaling deeply, he tamped down the feral instincts that surfaced with the thickening of her scent. What he was about to do was inappropriate and against all the rules of the society she was a part of.
“They're not like the rolling mountains back East,” he said taking a step toward her. At some point, as he told her about the trail ahead and the wilderness they would encounter on the way to Oregon, he’d forgotten his bag. Worse still, he’d forgotten his manners and crouched down beside her using a low voice as to not attract the attention of the few individuals that had wandered out from camp.
She was half reclined, listening intently to his every word. This was the first time he could remember his feral side being content. Oh, it poked at him for more, but there was no fierce roaring in him. The feral part of him wanted this woman as much as he did and was willing to stalk this prey. If he needed to be patient to claim this one as his mate then he would have an overabundance of patience.
He was doing well as long as he kept his eyes focused on the piece of grass in his hands. Otherwise, he would see her nipples, hard from the cool breeze, pressed against the fabric of her top, or the way the thin cotton material of her petticoat clung to her lush curves. God help him, he wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her smooth skin underneath his fingertips.
The camp was turning in for the night and Logan was about to pull away so she could return, it wouldn’t be good for her to stay out any longer. She must have sensed what he was going to do as she was suddenly on her knees beside him, her hand on his bare arm. They were both showing too much skin for who she was.
This was the wrong place and time, even his feral side was completely quiet. Marie wasn’t one of the women in the gold camps or one found in the red light districts. She was a lady with a reputation to be safeguarded.
Again she was afraid he was going to leave and moved to stop him. The hand on his arm was improper yet he made her feel more alive than any of those dandies that had come calling back home. Logan’s presence put a fire into her that kept her warm even after the coolness of the night had set in. She knew she could never tame the wildness in him, but she sought to hold it close to her, to have just a taste of it while she could.
His skin was hot to the touch, the heat radiating from him, helping to warm her. She was fascinated at the goosebumps that rose up on his arm as she moved her hand further up to his shoulder. In the darkness she noticed that there was no tan line, meaning he often went without his shirt. What would it be like to watch him work around a cabin half-dressed? A place to themselves where propriety could be forgotten and they could be like this whenever they wished.
“Marie, we…” He should tell her that they shouldn’t, but her scent was enticing, luring him in, making him hard with need. She nodded in understanding, though she didn’t seem to care as her hand traveled to his neck pulling him in for a kiss.
Kissing had never been high on his list of priorities when it came to sex. He was beginning to wonder why when he became lost in the softness of her mouth, the slide of his tongue against hers. Thinking was becoming hard with the blood pounding in his ears.
Marie continued to pull until she was caged in by his muscular arms as he kneeled over her. Laying back for a breath, she ran her fingers through his chest hair. There was a fear in her that they might be discovered and though she’d heard gossip about sex, she didn’t think there was time for some of the touching women talked of, not if she wanted them to go unnoticed.
Drawing him in for another kiss, she pushed his pants down his hips far enough to free him. His member was hot and hard in her hand. There was only the slightest bit of resistance from him when she hiked her petticoat and guided him to her entrance. She clenched her teeth, more out of the expectation of pain rather than any real pain itself.
Logan admonished himself for not resisting this temptation. She was his now and he had to fight the compulsion to thrust into her, to mark her so all men would know she was his and his alone. Instead, he proceeded with as much care as he could, trying to win her over so that she’d want to remain his.
The tension in her body subsided and he lowered himself to rest just above her. When she relaxed her legs fell further apart, allowing him to slide into the hilt. He was surprised by how wet and hot she was from so little touching. A tendril of feral pride sprang up at how her body reacted to him.
He slowly withdrew before entering her again, setting a leisurely rhythm. Her eyes remained wide, lips trembling, though he sensed no pain from her. Grinding into her, she gave a small gasp of pleasure, igniting the need to fill her.
Unsure of what to do as her body was overwhelmed with a yearning she couldn’t grasp hold of, she pulled him in for a kiss. Her hands found a resting place along his lower back and she arched away from him, breaking the kiss as his pace increased. He trailed his mouth down her jaw and throat causing her to press her breasts into his chest.
Her top had ridden up and the feel of his chest hair, rough on her nipples, and the friction he was creating even lower proved to be too much. He captured her lips in time to swallow her moan as she convulsed around him. Moments later she realized he was shaking as he lost his rhythm, spilling his seed deep inside her.
They lay there, after straightening their clothes, letting the breeze cool their bodies as it stirred the tall grass around them. She was curled into his side and he thought again how this could be fatal to her reputation, to her prospects of a better life. Though he didn’t regret this, he couldn’t find it in himself to care what others might think of him. But what they might think of Marie did bother him, more than he wanted to admit.
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Story Notes:
Big thank yous to Nebelwerfer42 and RogueLotus for indulging me on this one. Maybe someday I will get to that third part, for now we get the smut and happy ending. Title is borrowed from a Louis L'Amour book.