The Four Winds

“Call me Rafe. My mom says it sounds more American, but if they cared so much about being American, they should have named me George. Or Lincoln.” He sighed. “It sure is nice to say these things out loud, for once. You’re a good listener, Els.”

“Thank you … Rafe.”

He rolled onto his side. She felt his gaze on her face and tried to keep breathing evenly.

“Can I kiss you, Elsa?”

She could barely nod.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. His lips softened against her skin; at the touch, she felt herself come alive.

He trailed kisses along her throat, and it made her want to touch him, but she didn’t dare. Good women almost certainly didn’t do such things.

“Can I … do more, Elsa?”

“You mean…”

“Love you?”

Elsa had dreamed of a moment like this, prayed for it, sculpted it out of scraps from the books she’d read, but now it was here. Real. A man was asking to love her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

He drew back, fumbled with his belt, undid it, pulled it free, and threw it. The buckle clacked against the side of the truck as he pulled off his pants.

He pushed up her red silk dress; it slid up her body, tickling, arousing her. She saw her bare legs in the moonlight as he pulled down her bloomers. Warm night air touched her, made her shiver. She held her legs together until he eased them apart and climbed on top of her.

Sweet God.

She closed her eyes and he thrust himself inside of her. It hurt so badly she cried out.

Elsa clamped her mouth shut to stay silent.

He groaned and shuddered and went limp on top of her. She felt his heavy breath in the crook of her neck.

He rolled off her but remained close. “Wowza,” he said.

It sounded as if there were a smile in his voice, but how could that be? She must have done something wrong. That couldn’t be … it.

“You’re something special, Elsa,” he said.

“It was … good?” she dared to ask.

“It was great,” he said.

She wanted to roll onto her side and study his face. Kiss him. These stars she’d seen a million times. He was something new, and he’d wanted her. The effect of that was a staggering upheaval to her world. An opportunity she’d never really imagined. Can I love you? he’d asked. Maybe they would fall asleep together and—

“Well, I reckon I’d best get you home, Els. My dad will tan my hide if I’m not on the tractor at dawn. We’re plowing up another hundred and twenty acres tomorrow to plant more wheat.”

“Oh,” she said. “Right. Of course.”

* * *

ELSA CLOSED THE TRUCK door and stared through the open window at Rafe, who smiled, slowly raised his hand, and then drove away.