Insatiable
by Sable Grey
Breathless Press
Calgary, Alberta
www.breathlesspress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Insatiable
Copyright© 2012 Sable Grey
Published by Breathless Press at Smashwords
ISBN: 978-1-77101-050-4
Cover Artist: Mina Carter
Editor: Mason Lavin
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced
electronically or in print without written permission, except in the
case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.
Breathless Press
www.breathlesspress.com
Insatiable
by Sable Grey
Sarah stood in the doorway as Ben snapped his whip in the distance. She watched the stagecoach rumble toward them as Ben veered the horses from the road and reined them to rest just in front of the Hertford Rooster. Those horses, six great beasts, foamed at the mouth and panted as they stomped at the ground, kicking up angry clouds of dust. Her brother, Clyde, rushed forward to tend to the animals as the driver climbed down from his perch, opened the stage door, and extended the steps. When he turned, Sarah gulped.
Ben Guthrie was an imposing figure, standing well over six feet beneath his bell-crowned beaver hat. His great coat stretched wide across his broad shoulders and, as he strode forward, he jerked his thick gloves from his large hands to tuck them in the waistband of his trousers where Sarah’s attention lingered for only a moment. Since she could remember, Sarah had watched the man come and go, carrying travelers and mail from Boston to New York and back again.
As he neared, he barely glanced at the blackboard where she’d carefully printed their dinner menu. Instead his dark, penetrating gaze met hers, and for a second, her world stood still. Then she stepped from the doorway to the side. When she was younger, her father had teased her about how she waited for Guthrie’s stage. As she grew older, she was allowed to tend to their patron visitor herself. The years passed and Sarah, now a woman grown and running the Hertford Rooster herself, didn’t allow another to prepare anything for him.
“Four passengers,” he said, and his deep voice sent waves of warmth through Sarah. “A couple and two separate.” The Hertford Rooster was larger than most of the stops on the post road. Over the years, her father built on to it, and they’d earned a reputation for the food and clean sheets.
She turned to the young woman hovering just inside the doorway. “Three rooms, Beth.”
The young housekeeper hurried to ready the rooms, and Sarah stepped forward, smiling when Ben stamped the dust from his calfskin boots before entering. She led him into the small dining area and to the table in the far corner where he always sat. A wave of her hand and those from the kitchen brought plates full of all they had to offer: chicken, fish, mutton, steak, corn, and biscuits. She took the pitcher of water from one of the staff and filled his cup herself while he cut into the steak and popped a large piece into his mouth.
Behind her, the passengers filed into the dining area. They all glanced at Ben in the corner, at the array of food before him, and at the staff that stood ready to do his bidding. Her father had told her when she was very young that the stage drivers were to be treated well. While she didn’t salute Ben as her father always had, Sarah had always made certain he was well taken care of.
When Ben appeared to be satisfied with his meal, she left him to dine alone and made her way to the back room, waving for one of the young men of her staff to follow. “Set up his bath here. Hot water and nearly full,” she instructed before heading to the taproom. Sometimes he would take drink as he bathed. Sometimes not. But she always kept Medford Rum available just for him.
He would eat, bathe, and then retire to his room. The next morning, he would set out again before dawn. He would return the following evening before pushing on back to Boston. She wouldn’t expect him again for another month, and she would count the days.
“He’s asking for you.” He brother poked his head through the doorway of the taproom, bringing her from her thoughts. She took the pitcher of rum to the washroom, smiling when she found several of the maids emptying the steaming water into the large wooden tub. She returned to the dining room and bustled through the tables to the back corner.
He nodded to the chair across from him and she quickly sat. “I’m supposed to pick up some kind of politician and his wife tomorrow to take with me to Boston.” He spoke as he chewed his food, and Sarah found herself smiling at how ravenous he seemed. He always ate as if it were the only meal on his route even though she knew there were several inns that offered shelter and food.
“I’ll make certain a room is prepared special for them,” she assured him.
“Not my room, I hope.” His gaze lifted and met hers. Warmth surged through her as those brown eyes looked deep into hers.
“Of course not.”
He nodded and looked back down at his plate, stabbing a fork into the steak and lifting the entire thing to take a large bite. Heat tingled through her as she watched his teeth tear away at the beef. It is ridiculous for me to feel such stirring just watching a man eat.
“Is there anything special you’d like me to prepare for you tomorrow evening?” she asked. Her heart skipped a beat when his gaze lifted again. For a moment he stopped chewing and the corners of his lips barely lifted. Then he took another bite, shaking his head.
“I like my routine.” He nodded at his plate. “The steak’s good. I like those potatoes you have boiled up sometimes.”
“They’ll be on the menu,” she assured him. “Anything else?” Me, perhaps?
And as if he could read her mind, he lifted his gaze to the collar of her dress momentarily, then shook his head. “Is that a new outfit?”
She smiled, thrilled that he noticed. “I made it myself. It’s silk.”
“The color matches your eyes.” He took another large bite of the steak. She’d purposely chosen the same light blue material because it did almost match her eyes, seemed to make them stand out more from her other features.
She sat there with him, watching as he devoured his food. He used the biscuit to clean the leftover juices from the plate, and it disappeared as well. He washed it all down by draining the water, then leaned back and patted his stomach. “Good eating.”
“I have your bath ready,” she told him, rising to her feet.
“Lord knows I need it.” He pushed his chair back and stood, then followed her, his boots echoing heavily across the floor when she wove a path through the tables. She saw the others looking their way. Ben Guthrie was the kind of man that demanded attention. He carried himself in a manner that made people respect him before they even got to know him.
He halted by the table with the couple, and Sarah looked back as he laid a heavy hand on the woman’s shoulder. “The fish is the best on the route and not too heavy on your stomach.” He offered her a smile, and she nodded. Sarah watched his fingers drag away from the woman’s shoulder fighting the sudden urge to yank the shoulder entirely from the woman’s body. She knew the lightning-quick jealousy was insane and tried to hide any emotion when Ben’s gaze returned to her.
They continued through a door, and she led him down the corridor, glancing back once to find his gaze lowered to her backside. It darted up instantly, but she faced forward, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. He’d been looking at her. A shiver of heat raced down her spine. Once they reached the washroom, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. He followed and swept off his hat then tossed it to the floor in the corner. He faced her as she closed the door behind them and reached out, snaking an arm around her waist, bringing her flush against him.