by Anthology
“I never knew...” She shook her head. “I never felt...”
He leaned down, kissed her lips gently. “Me, neither,” he admitted.
“You, either?” A frown formed. “But you didn’t—”
He winked. “Not yet. This is our wedding night, and that, my dear, was just the beginning.” He cupped one breast, teasing the nipple with his thumb.
Cora gasped. It was unbelievable that her body could leap into such a feverish want again after what it had just been through, but as Morgan fondled her breasts the lightning storm that had just played out took hold all over again. She rolled onto her side and pushed him onto his back.
Before he had a chance to move, she flipped on top of him, rubbing her breasts over the top of his chest and her hips against his. “Just the beginning?” she asked while kissing his jawline from ear to ear.
He clasped her hips, held her against him. “Yes.”
She pulled her knees so they rested near his hips and rose, sitting on him. Pressing her center against him, she ran her fingernails down his chest. “That was quite a beginning,” she said, tracing the ripples of his rib cage.
“Yes, it was,” he agreed, as his stomach tightened while he sucked in air.
She smiled, excited her touch did that to him. Scooting until she sat on his thighs, a moment of shyness and insecurity clutched her mind. “Morgan?” she asked.
“Yes?” His eyes held hers, shimmering with a loving gaze.
She bit her bottom lip, hoping he would consent. “Can I touch you?”
His member jolted. “If you want.” Then he quickly added, “You don’t have to.”
She folded her fingers around him. “I want to. I really want to.” It was amazing, how his skin was velvet soft, yet the center rock hard. Touching him, stroking him, sent a river of pleasure rushing through her veins. She closed her eyes, relishing the moment, the connection.
Every movement, every touch, made her want more and she grew bolder. Her hold intensified, her strokes became more feverish and intense. A fire blazed in her, building and building. Morgan’s body reared off the mattress, joining her in the race to the ultimate ending that was somewhere ahead of them.
“Cora.” Morgan clasped her arms with both hands. “Come here, sweetheart.”
A second later, she was flat on her back, the mattress soft beneath her, and he was hovering above her. Head swirling, she gasped for air. “I wasn’t done.”
“Yes, you were,” he said, spreading her legs with one knee.
“But I wanted to kiss you, like you did me, until you couldn’t be kissed anymore.”
“You did, sweetheart,” he said.
“No, I—”
With one easy, yet powerful thrust, he entered her. It was like an awakening, a new beginning as her body welcomed him fully and deeply.
“Another time, Cora,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer. Trust me.”
Sighing with extreme pleasure, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I do trust you, Morgan. With everything I am, everything I’ll ever be, I trust you.”
His mouth met hers in a merger so perfect she wanted to cry out with joy. Their bodies, joined as one, absorbing and withdrawing with unionized blessings, freed Cora of any inhibitions that might keep her from fully experiencing the ultimate, sacred ritual of loving Morgan.
Energy surged her forward, pitching her into glorious, extreme perfection. It took her breath away and then intensified to a point where she wondered if she’d met her earthly limits. If she had, Morgan was with her, soaring skyward and elevated beyond reality in a timeless realm as they journeyed as one.
His body tensed, as did hers, with a thunderous, amazing climax that couldn’t be of this world, and a shattering release that left Cora incapable of doing anything except clinging
to Morgan as a harmony of aftershocks spread through her system.
Slowly, effortlessly, she floated back to earth, landing on the bed as gently as spring blossoms fall from an apple tree. Morgan was still with her, his arms, full of strength, surrounding her and his wonderful weight, featherlight, protecting her.
He eased off her, rolling onto his side. His arms tucked her into a warm, loving embrace. She snuggled in, kissing his chest. They stayed there, not moving or talking, just existing in the world they’d created.
Sometime later, he kissed the top of her hair. “Cora,” he whispered.
“Hmm?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
Curious, she wiggled a bit so she could look upon his face. The loving, intense gaze in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. “Of course you can ask me a question.”
He swallowed, acting a bit unsure of himself.
“What is it, Morgan?” Growing a touch anxious, she insisted, “Ask me.”
“This morning, at the table—” He shook his head and kissed the tip of her nose. “Never mind.”
She stiffened. “Oh, no, you don’t. You can’t ask to ask a question and then not ask it.”
“It was nothing.”
She gave him a make-believe angry glare. “Morgan.”
He sighed and rolled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he softly said, “I was just curious what you wished for today.”
She bit her lips, but the smile couldn’t be contained. It landed on her face with as much ferocity as she landed on Morgan’s chest. Flattening her body atop his, she squirmed about until the length of her fit perfectly into his hills and valleys. “I wished,” she stated with intent, “for you to love me as much as I love you.”
The look in his eyes was a bit skeptical.
“All right,” she admitted, “I wished for you to love me just a fraction of the amount I love you.”
His hands roamed up and down her back. “Really?”
“Yes, really. That was my one wish. My only wish.”
“I do love you,” he said.
He’d already said as much, and showed her, but she still liked the sound of it. “I know.” She kissed his chin. “But you can say it as often as you want.”
“All right.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I will say I love you so often you’ll get sick of hearing it.”
“No, I won’t,” she admitted. And then because the thought had entered her mind, she asked, “What about you? If you had one wish, what would it be?”
“I’m holding it in my arms.”
She smiled. “That was a very good answer, but try again.”
“Honestly, there is nothing. I have you. We have Nathan. We have the ranch...” His voice trailed off then.
There was something more, she felt it. “Come on, tell me your wish. I know there’s something.”
His gaze locked on hers. “A daughter,” he said, “who looks just like her mother, Mrs. Cora Palmer.”
Her heart leaped to her throat, thudding erratically. She leaned down, kissing the hollow of his neck. “Can I share that wish?”
“Of course, I’ll share everything I have with you. Forever,” he whispered.
They did share the wish.
Emily Rebecca Palmer was born a year later, on December 23.
Christmas came early that year, too.
* * * * *
Once Upon a Frontier Christmas
Debra Cowan
Dear Reader,
Christmas inspires a mix of emotions for me. While it’s a time of celebration and excitement, it’s also a time for remembering the past and those who are no longer with us.
Caroline Curtis doesn’t want to remember—a choice that’s taken out of her hands when her presumed-dead fiancé returns two Christmases after he disappeared. Smith Jennings wants to reclaim his life, and the woman whose memory got him through the past two years, but things are different now. She’s different.
Doesn’t matter. Smith came back for Caroline and he means to have her. Still, it will take a motherless boy and the spirit of Christmas for this couple to finally claim the future they thought was lost. I hope you enjoy their story.
May you all have a wonderful holiday season.
Debra
DEDICATION
To those who have given second chances.
And those who have taken them.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Excerpt
Chapter One
Indian Territory, 1872
Caroline Curtis hadn’t always hated Christmas. Only for the last two years, since Smith Jennings had died during a frigid December on his way home to Mimosa Springs from a cattle sale. The holiday had lost its appeal even though Caroline had put the past behind her.
Knowing she and her first love couldn’t be together even if he were alive sparked a melancholy that sometimes settled over her this time of year.
In another week, school would be dismissed for the holiday. She stacked up the last of her students’ slates, refusing to let her thoughts go to that awful Christmas.
Pushing away thoughts of Smith and the last time she’d seen him, she focused on the bare corner at the back of the schoolroom. So far she’d held off on the tree the children wanted, but it wasn’t fair to deny them based on her antipathy. Come Monday, she would probably have to relent.
Her gaze shifted to the small window on the wall adjacent to her desk. Though it didn’t snow every winter in this very southeastern part of Indian Territory, it was snowing now. Just as her friend Della had predicted.
It wasn’t heavy, but certainly enough to haze the day’s remaining light. While Caroline had finished grading essays, dusk had settled and the stove fire had died out. She should get home before daylight was completely gone.
After draping a thick wool shawl over her head, she shrugged into her heavy wool cape and buttoned it to the throat. She stuffed the essays into a battered leather valise she’d inherited from her mother, doused the lanterns then tugged on her suede gloves. Bracing herself, she opened the door and her breath cut when a powerful gust of frigid air stung her face, nearly ripping the door from her hand.
Holding on for all she was worth, Caroline stepped out and managed to wrestle the door shut. She snuggled her face into her cape, carefully making her way down the schoolhouse’s three wooden steps. Blasted by another surge of freezing air, she bowed her head against the sleet now mixing with fat snowflakes and angled down the side of the building.
The weather had been like this two years ago when Smith had sworn to return by Christmas Eve, but he hadn’t. And he never would.
Sad and a little vexed that she couldn’t get him out of her thoughts, she squinted through the swirling silver shadows, halting when she thought she saw someone.
A big man moved slowly out of the brittle twilight, making his way toward her, leading a horse.
He was bundled against the weather almost as heavily as she was and walked with a limp. Though Caroline didn’t know anyone with a bad leg, something about him seemed familiar. Still, she didn’t think it wise to be alone with him.
She stepped backward, intending to go through town so she wouldn’t be on her own.
“No, stop.” Though muffled, the deep, masculine voice was familiar and had her heart stuttering in a painful rhythm.
Beneath the rush of the wind, the man sounded like... No. That was impossible.
“Caroline?”
Her pulse jumped. Sleet pelting her cheeks, she peered into the winter haze, unable to get a clear picture through the frosty light. The man was very tall and big-framed, wearing a deerhide coat with a low-crowned black hat pulled low over his eyes and a bandana protecting the lower half of his face from the elements. It wasn’t her fiancé, Ethan Galloway. Ethan was nowhere near that tall. How did this stranger know her name?
“I can’t see you.” Her voice was muffled through the shawl around her head. “Who is it?”
The man reached her, his eyes slitted against the weather. Even with them narrowed, she felt the intensity of his regard. The heat. His dark gaze moved hungrily over her face as he tugged down the bandana to reveal a whiskered jaw, chiseled cheekbones and a mouth she knew all too well. “It’s me.”
Smith! Disbelief and grief exploded in her chest, making her knees weak. She hadn’t had this dream in ages. Her entire body went numb.
“This can’t be,” she whispered. “You’re dead.”
“I’m not. See?” He reached out and folded her gloved hand in his.
Through the suede, she could feel the leather of his gloves, the hard strength of his hand. His touch felt so real.
Tears blurred her vision. She could barely speak around the lump in her throat. “Smith?”
“It’s me, sweetheart,” he said thickly.
Black spots danced in front of her eyes. She felt herself falling. Then...nothing.
* * *
Warm lips brushed hers. “C’mon, honey, wake up.”
Caroline opened her eyes slowly, becoming aware of where she was.
Her house. The front room was warm, cozy with the scent of woodsmoke. Her gloves, shawl and cape had been removed. She was on the sofa and a big man—Smith—knelt on the floor next to her, stroking her hair. She began to shake.
He stayed very still, black eyes steady on hers.
“This isn’t real,” she whispered. “You aren’t real.”
“I know it’s a shock, but I am,” he said quietly, his concerned gaze locked on her face.
He no longer wore his coat, hat and gloves. The fire burning in the fireplace lit him from behind, outlining shoulders broad enough to block her view of the opposite wall. One large hand rested heavily, possessively on her hip. He was whipcord lean, his blue shirt hanging loosely on a pair of shoulders that used to fill out the garment.
“You caught me,” she said faintly.
He nodded.
His thick black hair was cut short, much shorter than the ragged length it had been when he had left. Shadowed with beard stubble, his jaw was still strong, but his face was thin and haggard.
Joy so sharp it pierced her chest spread through her. “Smith?”
He smiled, the smile that always traveled straight through her and pooled hotly in her belly.
Teeth chattering, she reached out and laid a trembling hand against his chest. Warmth seeped through his shirt to her cold palm. Beneath her touch she felt the hard, deep thump of his heart. Tears stung her eyes.
His hand covered hers as he bent toward her. “I missed you.”
He kissed her, softly at first then harder. Desperately.
Her arms automatically went around him and she kissed him back. Afraid he might vanish like smoke, she tightened her hold on him. Elation then confusion tumbled through her. Her mind could hardly accept that he was here.
He lifted her against him, emotion tightening his chest. He drew in her soft vanilla scent. The feel of her against him, the slender warmth of her body in his arms blasted every thought out of his mind.
He angled her head, went deeper and slower. She tasted like heaven, honey-sweet and hot. During his time away, he’d held on to this memory, but his mind hadn’t done it justice. Hadn’t done her justice. She was here, really here and kissing him back just as feverishly as he was her.
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to touch her skin on skin. Run his mouth over every inch of her. But there would be time later. They needed to talk.
He drew away, his breathing rough. Hers was, too. Her ivory cheeks were flushed, her eyes a deep dreamy green. He helped her sit up, staring at her mouth.
She kept a hand on his chest, as if trying to catch her breath. Determine if this was really happening.
He’d gone too far, too fast. Smith hadn’t been able to help himself. It took considerable effort to loosen his hold and he did, but he wasn’t letting go. Never again.
“You’re even more beautiful than when I left.” His gaze traced her fine-boned
features, her pert nose, pink kissable lips. Her silvery-blond hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, emphasizing her elegant neck, her high cheekbones.
“I don’t understand.” She stared hard at him. “Am I really seeing you? Your parents looked for you. So did your sister’s husband. They all saw your name on a list of dead prisoners.”
“Dead?” Why would they think that? Was that why no one had ever come for him? What had happened to the letters he’d sent to his folks and Caroline?
She still looked dazed. “They were led to a mass grave where you had supposedly been buried.”
“I don’t know why I was on that list, but I aim to find out. What were my parents told?”
“That you had died in the Fort Smith jail.”
He cursed. “I was there, then transported to a Kansas prison.”
She wiped at the damp tear tracks on her face and Smith wanted to hold her even tighter, but he didn’t.
She shook her head, clearly bewildered. “Everyone thought you were dead.”
That certainly explained why he had never been found. He rubbed her back. “On my way home from the sale in Kansas City, there was a train robbery. A gang of Indians and half-breeds robbed a train in Indian Territory. Cherokee country. Several U.S. Marshals were already patrolling the area for them.
“Because of the cattle sale, I was carrying a lot of money. Even though I had the bills of sale, the marshals didn’t believe the cash was mine, but they couldn’t prove it. They were ready to let me go until a train passenger identified me as one of the gang.”
Caroline gasped. “What? Why?”
“I think because they thought I was an Indian.”
“Your coloring and your hair,” she said grimly.
Unable to keep from touching her, he ran a finger down her velvety cheek. That wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for an Indian. “One of the marshals let me talk to the passenger who accused me, but she stuck to her story that I had robbed the train with the others. They wanted to turn me over to a tribal government, but I told them I didn’t belong to any tribe. I gave them my name, told them to contact my folks at the Diamond J, but they didn’t check into anything. They hauled me to Fort Smith with ten other men.”