Matt tightened his arms around her. “Me neither.”
He wanted to cling to her every minute they had left. He wanted to store up the feel of her and the taste of her and her sweet scent so that when the end came he would have something to take with him. The injured pride that prodded at him to walk away couldn't hold a candle to his desperate need to take as much love as Sarah would give him.
He turned her in his arms and bent to kiss her. Sarah met him halfway, just as hungry to gather memories, to stockpile them for the long nights ahead when all they would have was longing for a touch, the memory of a kiss, the ache of a missing corner of a heart. Their mouths clashed and dueled greedily, insatiably. Each framed the other's face with trembling hands, trying to memorize the texture of skin, the angle of bones. They took deep, thirsty kisses, drinking in flavors and feelings and each other's tears, and heat flared through them in the flash fire of sudden and desperate passion.
Matt tore his mouth away and crushed her against him in an embrace that attempted to imprint his body with the outline of hers. His gaze settled on the bales of hay stacked in tiers beside the aisle and on the heavy woolen horse rug that lay folded over the door of a stall. Within minutes they had the rug spread on a wide flat section of bales and they knelt facing each other, snatching kisses and unfastening buttons.
Too eager to go through the process of undressing, they merely uncovered essential areas. Matt's shirt fell open so Sarah could stroke her hands over the hard panes of his chest and tease his flat nipples through the fine dusting of curling black hair. The bodice of her dress fell down around her hips, baring her breasts for his gaze and touch.
Carefully, he lay her down on their makeshift bed, his mouth trailing reverent kisses from her mouth to her throat to her collar bone, savoring every delectable inch of her When his lips, warm and wet, closed over her nipple, she let out a sound of desperation. Her fingers tangled in his short, thick hair, pressing him closer, urging him to nuzzle and nurse.
After a long moment he raised his head just enough to study the sweet bud of flesh, watching it pucker as the air cooled the heat his mouth had generated. He brushed a thumb across the distended peak, wringing a gasp from her and causing her to arch against the pressure of the hard thigh he had wedged between her legs. Then he bent to the task of giving her other breast equal treatment, sucking, nibbling, laving her nipple with his tongue, relishing the sweet taste of her and the way she offered herself to him with nothing held back. He took what she yielded, seeking to satisfy his own selfish needs and to give her all that was in his heart, as well
Settling his mouth on hers once again, he knelt between her legs and worked the fly of his pants with fingers that fumbled in their hurry. Breaking the kiss, Sarah reached between them and did the work herself, popping the button and easing the zipper down. She took him into her hand, her fingers tracing the hard length of him, testing the weight, closing around the heat. She stroked him and guided him toward her, lifting her hips and opening herself to him.
Matt slid into her on one slow stroke. A shuddering sigh slipped from his lips to hers as her tight, warm woman's pocket enveloped him, welcoming him into her body.
“I do love you, Sarah,” he said on the softest of whispers.
“I know,” she answered, though her heart throbbed with sadness at the knowledge that the love he was willing to give could never be enough, that their worlds would eventually pull them apart.
But for now, for this achingly tender moment, they were together. They were as close as two souls could be. If this was all they were to be allowed, then at least she had the knowledge that this was perfect. She had never felt more womanly, more cherished, more loved than she did in that moment, sharing herself with the man of her heart.
They moved together, the desire to prolong the moment overrun by the urgency to take everything they could while they had the chance. Matt clutched her to him, his arms around her shoulders as he thrust and withdrew. Sarah clung to him, wrapping herself around him, her hands pressed to he straining muscles of his back, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as if she intended to hold him within her forever.
The end came for Sarah first. It was an explosion of feeling that for a long moment blotted out all else. Matt felt her stiffen in his arms, then groaned as her inner contractions tugged him, luring his body toward the same sweet oblivion. He forced himself to hold back, ruthlessly checking his own desires as he moved into her again and again, prolonging Sarah's climax and building it into a second shattering burst. This time when she cried out, his voice joined hers as he let go of his control and surrendered himself to the bliss of completion.
As they walked back to the house the sun was just slipping past the horizon in a blaze of orange so intense, the countryside was drenched in color—the farm buildings, the cornstalks, the thin blond weeds that waved along the edge of the road. Silhouetted against the vibrant sky a V formation of Canada geese flew south, their mournful honking sounding the way. Daylight gave way to dusk. The sun snuck away, leaving the air crisp with the promise of a hard frost.
Matt took Sarahs hand as they walked. They moved slowly because neither wanted to leave their closeness behind and because Matt was suddenly feeling his injuries, both physical and emotional. He limped toward the back of the big farmhouse, feeling worn-out and bat tered, once again without hope. Neither of them voiced the question that was uppermost in their minds—how much time did they have left together?
As they approached the foot of the back porch steps the screen door swung open and the answer to their question stared them in the face. Their time was up. Isaac Maust had come to fetch his daughter home.
Sarah took one look at her fathers face and stopped in her tracks at the bottom of the steps. The fury and condemnation in his eyes stung like a slap across the face. She let go of Matt's hand, then had to endure his look of hurt as well as her own feelings of guilt.
“Pop,” she said quietly, not quite able to ask why he had come. She didn't want to know.
Isaac stared down at her with a thunderous scowl, drawing his beetle brows together and carving deep brackets beside his mouth. He spoke to her in harsh German. “Are you a daughter of mine, Sarah Troyer, that you would shame me so?”
Sarahs eyes flooded, but she refused to let a single tear fall. Old wounds cracked open inside her. He had never understood her, had never tried to. All her life he had disapproved of her spirit, her hunger for learning, the insatiable yearning for something she couldn't define. He had never taken the time to understand how hard she'd tried to be the kind of daughter he wanted.
“Do you ask or do you accuse?” she said, meeting his hard gaze head-on.
Isaac left the question unanswered, ignoring her as if he didn't understand the language she spoke. His gaze raked down over Matt with contempt. “Is this how the English have you care for their guests? This holding of the hands and walking with a man who is not your husband nor even of your faith?”
Sarah turned his own tactic around on him, refusing to answer. Beside her, Matt shuffled his feet restlessly, planting his hands on his lean hips.
“What's he saying?” he asked, his gaze shifting uneasily back and forth between the old man and Sarah. He could sense the tension and he didn't like it. He especially didn't like the tears welling in Sarahs eyes. That alone stirred dislike for her father inside him. “What does he want?”
“Why have you come here, Pop?” she asked in English. As much as she didn't want to hear this in any language, it wasn't right to force Matt to wonder what was going on.