Free Blood Ties by Judith E. French

company, but not the same as having his dear wife share his bed.
    Sometimes, Matthew got through the nights imagining Grace standing in the shower soaping her long white legs and standing wet and dripping on the bathroom rug, toweling herself off, and powdering her underarms, her breasts, and bare bottom. Sinful, he
supposed, thinking about his wife that way ... thinking about her dusting powder in the pink hollows between her toes.

    From the first night of their marriage, Matthew had
discovered what a modest woman Grace was. Naturally, he'd respected her wishes. Not once had they
shared marital privileges in the daylight or undressed
in front of each other. The night light was the only
daring deviation Grace permitted. She always came to
their bed decently covered in a long flannel night
gown, summer or winter. Her shyness, he supposed,
came of being raised so strictly.
    So, his imagining Grace naked in her bath, picturing in his mind's eye her tight little upright nipples
slippery with soap, her shell-like belly button, and her
long, creamy-white feet covered in silky baby powder
were naughty indulgences, but they helped, keeping
him from other sins. Abuse. Self-stimulation. Dirty
magazines. And other unclean practices best not mentioned aloud in a parsonage.
    Abbie and Buck had ridden on horseback to an isolated sand beach surrounded by old-growth woodland.
Now that the sun had gone down, the temperature
had dropped into the seventies-heavenly after the
heat of the dig site at the marsh.
    "I'm flying Mom to Philly early tomorrow," Abbie
said as she dismounted. Bailey Tawes had loaned her a
sweet gaited black horse to use as long as she remained on the island. "Anati has a friend at Penn
who's an expert on Irish Bronze Age. She's going to
examine Matthew's artifacts."
    Buck caught her around the waist before her feet touched the ground. His hands were strong, and the
feel of his fingers on her bare midriff made her breath
catch in her throat.

    He lowered her to the grass and turned her around
to face him. The black horse nosed against her back
and she glanced down, surprised to find the reins still
clutched in her hands. She felt her cheeks grow warm
as she gazed into Buck's amused eyes.
    Abbie had enjoyed a long shower and washed her
hair before Emma's evening meal, but the cool tingle
of her skin had been supplanted by a growing heat.
    It really had been too long since she'd made love to
a man.
    A slow grin creased his features. Damn, but he was
good at seducing a woman ... and he knew it. She
waited, expecting him to make the first move, but he
kept devouring her with those intense blue eyes ...
eyes that invited her to lose herself in them.
    "No great discoveries today?" He broke the spell
teasingly. They'd left Emma's sometime after eight
and ridden for at least three-quarters of an hour. She
supposed it must be close to nine, because deep shadows from the trees laid dark patterns over the mirrored surface of the water.
    Wild mint grew where the path left the woods and
entered the clearing. The horses' hooves had crushed
it, and the heady scent mingled with the smell of salt
and leather. She noticed a tiny nick on Buck's cheek
where he must have cut himself shaving. Just below it
on his rightjawline ran a thin white scar.
    "You're a beautiful woman, Abbie Night Horse." He
took the reins from her hand. "He'll stand. They both
will."
    Funny how Buck's deep voice struck a chord in the
pit of her stomach, making her feel as though she'd
been downing glasses of champagne instead of sweet tea over ice. "Mom started one pit, but the earth had
been disturbed well below the level of the plow line. I
staked out a second pit a few yards away." Her own
words sounded breathy, her speech stilted. "We're
hoping to find hearth material, pottery ... some indication that this was more than a hunting camp."

    He pulled his T-shirt off over his head. "Ready if you
are. There's a nice