Sullivan's Ridge: A Christmas Tale Read online

  Oh dear God in Heaven! It was everything Maggie’d said it would be! Connie lifted her face to his, hoping to match his intensity. She opened her mouth at his urging, and he stole her breath away. His tongue continued its erotic play across her lips, and she just about swooned when he found her own tongue and began to suckle. She suddenly felt every single pore of her nipples, as they rubbed against his chest, separated only by their suddenly-too-thick clothing. And lower than that, a heat pooled between her legs, and her stomach fluttered.

  His fingers wove through her curls, alternately pulling and caressing, and she heard three hairpins ping when they fell to the floor. His other fingers splayed across her back, pulling her closer, immobilizing her against his chest. She couldn’t move, but as her palms found his hard upper arms and she held on for dear life, she realized she had no desire whatsoever to pull away.

  The kiss seemed to go on for eternity. But it was all too short a time when his mouth released hers, and they stood panting, holding one another. He untangled his hand from her hair, and gently stroked one finger down her cheek. She saw banked passion in his eyes, and sadness as well.

  “That’s why I’m leaving, Connie. I can’t be around you without wanting to do that all the time.”

  She knew he was expecting her to pull away, to slap him. Something a married woman would do. But all she wanted to do was fall back into his arms. He wanted her! He desired her! Just as much as she desired him! She couldn’t help the pleased smile that pulled her bruised lips up slightly.

  She merely said, “I hope you’ll wait a few more days, Nick.” For me to convince you to stay. For her to figure out how to get herself out of this lie. And for him to realize that they were meant to be together. Her Papa’d seen it, and Nick needed to see it too.

  She slipped out of his now-unresisting arms, and turned once at the door. “That was my first kiss. It was everything I’d hoped it would be. Thank you.” It seemed a trite way to comment on the magic of what they’d just shared, but she’d wanted him to know that. And to know how much she’d enjoyed it.

  As she crossed back to the house, she had a thought that lit up her face.

  That had been quite the Christmas miracle.

  ****

  Nick managed to avoid her—avoid everyone—for a day and a half. Early on the morning after Christmas, he’d saddled up his horse, grabbed some gear, and headed east to check on a group of cattle that still hadn’t made it back to the rest of the herd. They were mostly two-year-olds with youngsters, so it made sense that they didn’t quite know how to handle the snow. He found them late in the day, and started driving them back; not too hard with such a small group. He made it as far as a lean-to Billy’d thrown up years ago for shelter, scraped snow away for the animals to reach the frozen grass, and they all bedded down for the night.

  He made it back early in the afternoon of the 27th, and after seeing to his horse and his own comfort, he decided he’s avoided her long enough.

  He’d had plenty of time to think about that kiss. To think about how she’d responded in his arms. To think about how she came alive, and kissed him back with a passion he hadn’t allowed himself to dream. About how she hadn’t asked him to stay, only to postpone his departure. About her confession, just as she was leaving.

  What the hell did she mean, her first kiss?

  If he were married to such a…succulent women, you can bet he would’ve kissed her about a million times before they’d even gotten to the alter! But there was something about her response to him—a hesitation, an innocence—that lent truth to her claim. She’d reacted like a young miss who’d never been kissed before. And he’d loved it.

  So her husband’d never kissed her before? What kind of fool would pass her up? And what kind of name was Darren Daniel David? The man’s names were getting ridiculous. It was almost as if…

  Almost as if she didn’t know her own husband’s name.

  These thoughts were whizzing through his head while he made simple omelets for dinner. He’d come face-to-face with her at the back door, after he stabled his horse. Just the sight of those lips caused his passion to flare again, but she seemed wary of him. Did she now regret the way she’d come alive in his arms? Or was she finally thinking about coming clean on whatever secret she’d been keeping?

  He was understandably reserved during the meal, despite Red’s best attempts to bring him into the conversation with funny stories about Billy. Connie was also quiet, barely touching her food. Nick tried not to stare at her, but it seemed to him that she was nervous about something. A few times he glanced up to find her staring at him, but she quickly—guiltily?—looked away.

  Or maybe he was just imagining the whole thing.

  No one lingered over the meal, with two of the diners in such dour moods. Red quickly offered to finish teaching Joshua the game of Jackstraws, and Maggie, beside herself with happiness, of course went along. Red had again proposed marriage Christmas morning, and she’d accepted. He’d told Nick the day before that they were planning a simple ceremony in town after the Epiphany, and that Reverend Trapper had already told him the church would be beautifully decorated. Nick couldn’t quite bring himself to be happy for his friend, when he himself was so miserable.

  Connie quickly excused herself back to her study, and Old Abe moseyed back to the bunkhouse to—no one was surprised—sleep. Nick cleared the dishes and piled them into the wash basin. He’d been heating water during the meal, so it was a simple job to soap up the plates and the pots and then rinse them. He was just drying his hands and rolling down his sleeves, when he saw the ring.

  It was sitting in a simple saucer on the windowsill, placed where she’d known he’d see it. It looked so small and innocent, not like something that could cause him so much pain and grief. He finished buttoning his cuffs, and then slowly, deliberately, picked up the ring and held it in the light.

  It was beautiful and simple, and looked somehow diminished for not being on her finger. What he hadn’t been able to see up until this point, however, was the engraving on the inside. It was quite intricate, considering the simplicity of the outer band.

  WAS+PEL 10/2/1859

  The date was all wrong to be Connie’s ring, but there was no mistaking it. He read the initials again. He knew Billy’s middle name was Alexander, so William Alexander Sullivan made sense for the first set. And Connie’s mother had been Patricia; at Billy’s funeral, Reverend Trapper had mentioned how Billy often spoke of joining his beloved Pattie in Heaven.

  So this wasn’t her ring, it was her parents’? Why would she wear it, then? He supposed it was possible that she had wanted to use the sentimental piece of jewelry when she married, but he was suspicious. Of course, he’d been suspicious since she told him she’d never been kissed.

  Never been kissed?

  Can’t remember her husband’s name?

  Wears her mother’s wedding band?

  He carefully placed the ring back in the saucer, his eyes unconsciously narrowing. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was faking it.

  Faking being married. That was the secret she’d been keeping?

  Later that evening, he again lay in his bed, hands stacked behind his head, staring at the joists above his head. He was thinking about kissing Connie, but he’d been thinking about that pretty much non-stop since it’d happened. Thinking about that kiss had been just about the only thing that’d kept him warm last night out on the range.

  He had never—not once in his entire life—experienced a kiss like that. Never once had he been so consumed, so enflamed by a mere embrace, a single kiss. It had been incredible… and then, when he felt her moving against him, felt her tongue caressing his own, and realized that she was enjoying it just as much as he was, he almost lost control. It had taken a supreme effort of will to pull away from her, to not lift her in his arms and gently place her on his bed, and remove her clothing with his teeth. It was a damn good thing she’d escaped when she did.

  After
that kiss, he’d had to dunk his head in the cold water of the trough to cool down.

  Yeah, maybe it was because of the days of anticipation, of wanting her. But it was more than that. He’d known—from the moment he’d laid eyes on her—that she was special. That she would be pure Heaven. There was something between the two of them, and he’d known it from the beginning.

  He was beginning to wonder, now, about Billy’s motives. He remembered the way the older man had made a point of updating Nick on everything his daughter was doing. Of telling stories about her experiences, and highlighting her accomplishments and virtues. At the time, he’d just assumed Billy was bragging about his only kid…. But now he was wondering if maybe the crafty old man’d had something in mind. He was fond of saying that Nick was the best man for Sullivan’s Ridge, but he’d never once imagined Billy wanted him to seduce his daughter.

  Of course, Billy apparently hadn’t counted on Connie already being married to some sissified gent from the city. But was she?

  She said that kiss had been her first… and when she’d gone all stiff in his arms, before she melted, he’d have believed it.

  It came down to this: She was lying about something. Either she wasn’t married, or that hadn’t been her first kiss.

  Something had been nagging at him for the last few hours. Something he’d been thinking when he found that ring. But he couldn’t recall what it was.

  It was hours later, and he was just finally drifting off to sleep, when he realized what had been bothering him. He actually sat up in bed, knocking the blanket off his bare chest. What had Patricia’s full name been? Reverend Trapper had used it at the funeral, and there was something important about it…He couldn’t remember it, but he knew he’d find an answer in Billy’s study.

  He pulled on pants, boots, and a coat, and hurried across to the house. He entered through the back, and knowing his way around even in the pitch dark, unerringly made his way to the windowsill with the saucer. He carefully felt around, and—success!—the ring was still there. He gripped it tightly in one fist, and proceeded through the dining room and parlor into the study.

  He lit a lamp, mostly by feel, and then stepped back to contemplate the shelves in front of him. They were now filled with books, almost all of them transported from St. Louis with Connie’s luggage. The woman liked to read, that was obvious. One whole shelf was filled with matching black books, all filled with Billy’s records and notations on running the ranch. Nick himself had added to them over the years, and he’d seen Connie poring over them intently over the last two weeks.

  On the shelf below the ledgers he found what he was looking for. Billy had an old family Bible that he’d brought out to Montana. He’d once told Nick that his was the third generation of Sullivans to record important dates in it, and that he used to read to Connie from it.

  Nick pulled it down, set it carefully on the desk, and brought the lamp closer. Sure enough, starting on the first page were notations of important life events in the Sullivan family. There, on the back of the second page, was the birthdate of William Andrew Sullivan. Nick pulled out the ring again to check the date. October of 1859. His finger slowly traced through the different scripts, looking for a clue.

  On the top of the third page, he found what he was looking for. In Billy’s familiar handwriting was proudly scrawled “October Second, Eighteen Hundred and Fifty-Nine: William Andrew Sullivan married Patricia Elizabeth Lane, St. Louis Missouri.”

  Patricia Elizabeth Lane.

  Nick slowly straightened. Lane? Why would Connie marry her own cousin? Or was she married at all?

  He unconsciously flipped the page, and let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. There was the final piece to the puzzle.

  A baptism certificate for William and Patricia’s daughter: Constance Lane Sullivan. They’d named her after her mother’s family.

  So when Connie had told him her name was “Constance Lane”, she’d been telling the truth. That must have been the last thing she’d told the truth about, though. Wearing a ring, going by ‘missus’, even making up a name—if she could ever keep it straight—for her fictional husband.

  He tightened his fist around the ring, welcoming the pain as it dug into his fingers. He’d suspected her of being up to something for a while now, but being confronted with the evidence of her duplicity angered him more than he’d realized.

  The woman had been lying to him from the beginning, and he was going to find out why.

  It was almost midnight, but Connie was still awake. She’d gotten ready for bed hours ago, while Maggie chatted happily about her wedding. Her friend’s happiness had been grating on her frayed nerves, and she’d looked forward to some quiet. But once she was alone with her concerns, she couldn’t make herself calm down enough to sleep.

  So now she was dressed in her robe over her nightgown, her hair loose down her back, pacing in front of her bed. She’d tried reading, but found she didn’t care about the plots. She’d tried doing calculations in some of the ledgers downstairs, but couldn’t concentrate on the numbers. She was too anxious, and her thoughts kept creeping back towards Nick.

  Had he found the ring? Had he read the inscription? Did he know?

  After that incredible kiss they’d shared, she knew that she had to confess her lie to him. But she was too cowardly; she couldn’t make herself admit to his face that she’d deceived him. It could completely change his opinion of her, but she was hoping that his attraction to her would out-weigh his disgust at her lie. Because if it didn’t—if he ended up leaving Sullivan’s Ridge after all—she would be devastated.

  But it would be her own fault, for lying from the beginning, despite her best intentions.

  It was no wonder that she was unable to sleep.

  The door slammed open. She spun around from where she’d been staring out the window, one hand clutching her robe closed at the neck, but she let out a breath when she saw it was him.

  He hadn’t bothered to knock, and as he kicked the door closed and stalked across the room towards her, she saw that he was too angry. She also noticed that he wasn’t wearing a shirt under that sheepskin coat, and she was distracted by the patches of tanned skin she could glimpse. But that seemed minor compared to the frown on his face.

  She hurried to put the bed between them, and he stopped, breathing heavily. She’d never seen him this angry. She hadn’t even known that he could get this angry. It was… thrilling.

  Very slowly, deliberately, he held out one fist, and opened it.

  In his palm sat her mother’s golden ring. The simple wedding band that Patricia had cherished, and that Connie had used to lie to the man she now realized that she loved. The ring that had kept them apart.

  Hesitantly, she looked into Nick’s eyes, and saw pain, and confusion, and yes, arousal.

  Neither spoke for a long time, until he shoved the ring into his pocket. “This was your mothers’.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Are you married?” His voice was a rasp, as if he was holding in some strong emotion.

  “No.”

  His eyes closed, but she’d seen the relief in them.

  “So it was all a lie?”

  Here it was. Her one chance to get him to understand. “I thought it would be easier to earn respect from the men here in Montana if they thought I was married. I knew that I was going to have trouble running the ranch if I was seen as a silly young miss. But I thought that as a capable married woman, the men might have an easier time following my leadership and orders.” There was still no response from him, and she moved around the bed.

  “All I knew was that I was coming out here to step into my father’s shoes, and I was going to have to command the same respect he did. I thought pretending to be married would help. There’s no David or Daniel or Darren. My middle name is Lane, after my mother.”

  Still nothing. Her heart was sinking, afraid she’d lost her chance for happiness with her lies. “I’m sorry, Ni
ck.” His gazed snapped back to her face. “I really am. I didn’t know that you…” She trailed off.

  “I what?”

  “I didn’t know how…dear… you would become.”

  His penetrating gaze was making her uncomfortable, as if he could see all the way through her soul. “Dear to who?”

  “To my father. To Sullivan’s Ridge. …To me.” She whispered the last part, and then took a deep breath and finished her confession. “Somewhere along the way, I think… I might have accidentally fallen in love with you.”

  He groaned in submission, and moved faster than she thought possible. One minute he was standing statue-still on the opposite side of the bed, and the next he’d crushed her to his hard chest, one hand behind her head, one on her bottom, and they were kissing.

  It was just as good as the first one. Better, even. This time, she didn’t have to stop herself from rubbing against him, like she’d wanted to for weeks. This time her hands were caught between them, and she was able to stroke the warm, sun-bronzed skin of his chest. This time she pressed her pelvis against the bulge in his pants, and was rewarded with a moan and a flicker of pleasure in her loins that hinted at greater things to come. If possible, he deepened the kiss.

  When they eventually broke apart, more for a need for air than a desire to end the embrace, she breathed again, “I’m sorry.”

  Panting, he dropped his forehead to hers. “I don’t care what your reasons were, Connie. I love you.” Her breath caught. “I’ve loved you since before I met you, probably. Since your father would go on about you. It was driving me nuts not being allowed to love you.”

  His hand started to caress her rear end comfortingly. “You lied, and it’s caused me no end of grief. But I get why you did it.”

  He loved her? Her smile was brilliant. “Do you forgive me, then?”

  He kissed her browline, and then nibbled his way down her jaw. She turned her head slightly to allow him better access, and began to scheme a way to get him over to the bed after all.