Her mother had prepared a picnic wedding supper for them, but neither did more than pick at the food. Cait finally wrapped it up, saying: “Maybe we’ll both have more of an appetite in the morning” and then blushed when Gabe winked at her.
“You go on upstairs, Cait. I’ll be right in after I take care of the horses.”
* * * *
She was sitting on the edge of their bed when he came up, dressed in a delicately embroidered nightrail. Her hair was down, framing her face with its dark cloud of curls. She gave him a shy smile and said: “I feel very silly, Gabe, considering how close we’ve come to making love, but I am nervous.”
“Don’t worry, Caitlin, we will go slow and easy,” he reassured her as he started to undress. She sat back against the bedstead and watched. She thought he might be about the most beautiful thing she had ever seen as he stood there, tall and long and lean.
He sat next to her and began to untie the ribbon of her nightrail and without even willing it, her arms were up around his neck. He slipped his own hands down and under the gown to lift it over her head. Then he pulled her down next to him so that they lay there, bodies barely touching and drew his finger down her cheek to her lips.
“This is the way it should be for the first time, Cait,” he whispered, and she nibbled at his finger, drawing it into her mouth as she placed her hand on his hips and pulled him closer. He was hard and soft at the same time and she loved the sensation of him pressing against her belly.
Gabe gave her fingers a last kiss and then linking his fingers with hers, pressed her arm down on the bed and took possession of her mouth with his as he rubbed against her. “I’ll make sure you are ready,” he whispered as he stroked her gently. And by the time he entered her, Caitlin was near death or ecstasy, she wasn’t sure which, the pleasure was so intense.
It did hurt, the first time, but afterward, as Cait lost her shyness, she felt a hunger for more. The second time, which went on a gloriously long time, left both of them limp with spent passion.
After lying there, her head on his chest, listening to his heart resume its normal rhythm, Cait heard a strange gurgling sound. “My stomach’s telling me I missed dinner,” said Gabe with a laugh.
“You know, I am starving, too,” she admitted.
They unwrapped the chicken and bread and cheese that her mother had packed, and ate right from the butcher’s paper, licking each other’s fingers clean at the end.
Gabe pushed his chair back and took Cait’s hand. “It is a lovely night, Cait, come and sit with me for a while.” He sat down on their top step and Cait cuddled next to him.
“Look at the sky, Gabe,” she whispered. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
It was a deep black, so deep that you could get lost in it, thought Gabe. The stars shone cold and clear and as they watched, one streaked across the western horizon.
“A shooting star, Gabe,” said Cait, wonder in her voice.
“You should be wishing on it, darlin’.”
“I have nothing to wish for, Gabe, for all I could ever want is right here,” she said and he tightened his arms around her and held her close as they watched the night sky fill with stars.
Acknowledgments
For the purposes of my story, I simplified a very complex historical situation, the Lincoln County war. For those who are interested in further background, I recommend Joel Jacobsen’s book, Such Men as Billy the Kid.
For help with my rusty Spanish, I thank Miguel Martinez and Luisandra Reynoso. All mistakes are mine.
For being my “first readers” and for always giving me encouraging and best of all, honest feedback, thanks, Barbara and Joan.
For “Calico Cait.”
And for the rest of the Farrell family: Jack, Dee, and John. Without the “White Rabbit,” I never would have gotten to New Mexico for the first time those many years ago.
Copyright © 1997 by Marjorie Farrell
Originally published by Topaz (ISBN 0451407768)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more
information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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