Although he’d complained to Helen about having to hunt game, there was a satisfaction in having accomplished a goal and seeing the product of his efforts. It was probably a male pride kind of thing — man providing for his woman, putting food on the table, that sort of nonsense. Lawyers dealt with paperwork most times. Sure, it was a good feeling to win a case, and he prided himself on his record, but this was a totally different kind of rush.
He liked it.
Helen came out of the cabin, and he watched as she picked up a hoe and began to work Effie’s old garden plot with a determined zest. Helen did everything with zest, even making love. No, no, no, I’m not going to think about that now. She began working the still-wet ground, and every time she stretched and chopped at the ground, he got a real good look at her backside.
And the beast inside him reared its head — again.
Helen bent over from the waist and picked up some… Oh, Lord, more carrots! Great! Rudolph and carrots. A regular feast.
And he imagined how it would be to make love with Helen from behind. Maybe even outdoors. Yep, he could stomp over there and say, “I am the man, you are my woman. I am the hunter, you are my prey. Get naked so I can boink you in a garden of mud.”
He laughed aloud, but his mind was on a fast track. He had a clear vision of a bright sunny field and Helen on her hands and knees in front of him. Naked, of course. He would push her shoulders gently down to the crushed, fragrant flowers, and when he entered her, she would scream out his name…
“Rafe!”
He blinked.
Helen was walking toward him with a basket, yelling, “Rafe! Rafe! Guess what I found?”
His spirits lifted. “Gold?”
“Don’t be silly. No, I found some turnips.”
His spirits dropped.
“I’m going into the woods to see if I can find some more herbs and edible plants to add to our diet.”
Well, next to making love to you on all fours in a field of flowers, edible weeds are right up there on my top ten. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Helen, especially with the bears nearby.”
“I won’t go far, and I’ll take a gun with me. Don’t worry. I’ll be just beyond the lagoon if you want me.”
Oh, I want you all right.
“And if I can find some wild onions,” Helen was continuing to babble on from across the stream, “we can have liver and onions for supper tonight.”
He narrowed his eyes. She couldn’t possibly have guessed what he’d been fantasizing about. Could she?
For four days, Rafe managed to resist Helen’s allure. She didn’t overtly try to tempt him, but he was a screaming mass of unfulfilled testosterone. Helen standing in a loose flannel shirt and baggy pants, asking him what he wanted for breakfast, “Venison or venison?” was enough to set him off.
Well, Zeb and Hector should be back in two or three more days. Surely he could hold out that long.
“So, are you going to help me get the honey?” Helen asked as he finished up his breakfast of bread and — what else? — venison. Helen had told him the day before about a beehive in a nearby tree. She had a plan — Helen always had a plan — for him smoking the bees out of the tree and her climbing the tree to get the honeycomb.
“It would taste really good on fresh-baked bread,” she coaxed. “I have a little sourdough left.”
Had he ever eaten fresh honey? He liked honey. Yep, he could taste it now. Drizzling on a piece of bread. Drizzling on… Oh, no, here I go again… on Helen’s breasts. She’s naked, of course. Maybe up in that tree getting the honeycomb. Yep, she climbed the tree, naked. And when she comes down with the waxy thing in her hands, there’s honey drizzling down her chest, over her breasts, those luscious champagne breasts with their raspberry tips. And she says, “Rafe, darling, my hands are full. Could you lick off this sticky stuff?” And he, being naked, too, of course, and a real helpful gentleman, hoists her up against the tree trunk and uses his tongue to lap the delicious peaks. Some honey even drizzles down on his…