by Carol Arens
This would be the best news she had ever passed on, but first there was something she wanted to say. Something that she had never said to a child. She bent close to Lucy’s cheek and kissed it.
“I love you, baby. I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
“I’ll be right back.” She tucked the blanket about Lucy and noticed with a swell of joy that the doctor had replaced the wet sheet with a nice dry one. “I’m going to go get Papa.”
Lucy’s chest rose and fell beneath her palm. Her gaze looked sleepy but not far away or unfocused, as it had been. She smiled, sighed, then fell promptly asleep.
Mercy, but should she be sleeping already?
“Lucy?” Emma cast a worried glance at Doc Brown, who had returned from the kitchen with the tea.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a good healthy sleep. She’ll be back to her old self sooner than you think.”
Emma stood up, but had to let her bones settle. Even though she hadn’t been beside the bed for that long the joints felt unnatural and the muscles stiff.
“I’ve got to tell Matt.” She stomped her feet on the floor. Normal feeling flooded back into her toes. The rest of her limbs would take care of themselves in time. She couldn’t wait for the tingling to subside. She had to give Matt the news before he broke with the worry.
“You go along. I’ll be right here in case she wakes up.” The doctor waved her toward the door. “Although I don’t expect it for some time.”
“Thank you.” She flung her arms about his neck. Some words just didn’t say enough.
Emma dashed through the parlor. At the front door she noticed the Sizeloffs, Jesse and Billy sitting on the couch, staring after her. She spun toward them but paused for only a heartbeat.
Down the front steps and across the yard, she ran as if her skirt had wings. Air, fresh with a snap of fall, whizzed past her cheeks. She barely felt the pebbles under her shoes.
She ran past the well, scattering squawking chickens.
She pushed open the barn door and leaned against it to catch her breath and give her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness inside.
Where was Matt? The barn, with its empty stalls, seemed to be holding its breath. Even the dust motes in a beam of sunlight appeared to stand still. A single dove cooed in the rafters, breaking the silence and softening the gloom.
On the far wall, beside Pearl’s stall door, a shadow shifted. Emma hurried forward.
Matt sagged against the gate with his arms resting on the top rail, his shoulders slumped and his head dipped low.
He must have heard her, but he didn’t look up. She touched the back of his vest and felt a shiver race beneath her fingertips.
“Matt,” she whispered.
He took a deep breath, straightened and turned to face her. Lord, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing such misery in a face. Deep lines cut the corners of his mouth and his skin looked pale. His hair dragged about his face as though he were hiding behind it.
But his eyes looked the worst, appearing to have traveled the road to hell and back, and back wasn’t any better than hell.
She reached up to brush away a strand of hair that had stuck to the corner of his mouth.
“You’re trembling all over, Emma.” His voice sounded so bleak that it must have passed beyond despair sometime back. He wiped one thumb across the moisture on her face. “Lucy’s gone? My baby, she’s—”
She shook her head. “Tears of joy. The doc says she’s going to recover!”
For the longest time he stared down at her, as if he was stunned or didn’t dare believe it.
“It’s true, Matt.”
All at once the moisture that had been lurking in his eyes for days let loose. It slipped down his cheeks, catching on the stubble of his beard and pooling at the corners of his lips.
His shoulders hitched inward. His arms, tight with tension, drew her close and pressed her tight to his chest. He bent his head to her shoulder and wept quietly against her neck.
After a moment, his chest stilled. He raised his head, tipped it back and his lungs expanded.
“Yee-ha-a-a!” His shout disturbed the dove in the rafters and set it flapping about the barn. It darted out through the window in the hayloft with a twitter of alarm.
All of a sudden Emma’s feet left the ground. Matt twirled her about, his arms braced about her back. Around and around he spun her, clearly as delirious with joy as she was.
She screeched, Matt whooped. When he stopped he didn’t put her down. Eye to eye, winded breath mingling with winded breath, he grinned at her. He kissed her. Jubilation joined them. Love bound them.
Life without Matt would be dreary, no matter if she lived in a palace. With him, she could live in a hovel and be happy.
So there it was. Once made, her decision hurt but choosing the other way would have left her dead inside.
“I’m coming with you to California.”
“Emma?” He set her down on the floor.
“Just as soon as Lucy is able to travel, we can go.”
“Darlin’, that’s a hard choice. You ought to give it some time.”
“Time won’t make a difference…and it could kill you.” She shook her head, more sure by the second that her decision was the only one she could make. “Everything has changed. I’ve made up my mind.”
She hadn’t expected him to frown. “Whatever happens, do you promise to stand by me, darlin’?”
“On the honor of our wedding vows.” And at the cost of her home, but she meant it. “Let’s get going—there’s a little girl who’s going to want to see her papa.”
His grin returned, wide and bright enough to light the barn. Once again he kissed her. This time she tasted forever.
“Yee-haa!” He caught her hand and they ran toward the house together.
* * *
The deep silence of midnight settled down about the house. Health and hope brought the promise of new life to every quiet corner.
Hawker still waited in town. That was a problem he would deal with, but somehow, given everything that had happened, it didn’t cast as large a shadow. Death had knocked on the homestead door and been sent packing. Would he be likely to show his wicked face again so soon?
Possibly life and death had no rules, but he wouldn’t think about that just yet. For now, he was content to stand in the doorway of Lucy’s bedroom and watch her gain strength in a healthy, deep sleep. Fluffy and Princess, flanking her on left and right, watched the easy rise and fall of her breathing.
An hour ago Emma had declared that she would spend the whole night in her big brass tub. She had begun to heat the water, but Matt had shooed her out of the kitchen and insisted on doing that chore himself. He owed her far more than a hot bath, but it would do for now.
Emma had worn herself through with nursing Lucy. It was a wonder that someone living in such a petite frame would have the energy to go on and on.
Of course, he’d known all along that Emma was a wonder. Even though she might deserve to spend the whole night long in the tub, the water would soon grow cold.
He hadn’t heard a splash or a sigh in over half an hour. It wouldn’t do for her to fall asleep and catch a chill. She might not like to have him peeking into her private bath, but who better than a husband to see to it?
Especially now that she had spoken her heart and he had spoken his. She was right about everything changing. He expected that he would hear an earful when she found out what those changes were going to be. He could only hope that she would keep her promise to stand beside him.
His Emma was not the type to go back on a vow, although she might consider it once she discovered that he had also made a decision.
Matt walked through the kitchen toward the door leading to the bathroom. Emma’s blue-checkered apron hung on a peg beside the stove. A vase of late-blooming flowers sat square on the table.
He paused in the middle of the room and glanced about, noting the care with which she had
placed all her treasured things. The scent of peppermint tea lingered in the lace curtains at the window.
He couldn’t leave this place. The moon would fall smack out of the sky before he’d expect Emma to do it.
Matt opened the bathroom door and stepped inside. Just as he’d expected, Emma had fallen dead asleep in the water.
Her hair hung over the back of the tub, shimmering in the soft glow of the turned-down lamp. One arm was draped over the copper edge with a wet cloth mounded on the ground beneath her fingertips.
He felt a song rising in his throat. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had felt like singing, but the seduction of her body, reclining so bare and pink in the cool water, purely inspired him. He kept quiet, though, reluctant to wake her.
Lamplight flickered over her moist limbs, glinting where her flesh pebbled with a chill.
He knelt beside the tub.
“Emma,” he whispered. She sighed. Her breasts seemed to swell and shimmer in the dim, lustrous light. “Darlin’, wake up. The water’s grown cold.”
Words didn’t seem to rouse her, so he touched her face where a loop of hair twisted over her cheek.
“Darlin’?”
He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, lingering longer at it than would be required to wake a sleeping beauty. Once more, her sigh lifted her bosom. Her cool, firm nipple grazed his arm where he had rolled his shirtsleeve up.
For all that she looked like a simmering feast, a treat he was willing to risk his life to get a taste of, she was beginning to shiver, even in the depths of an exhausted sleep.
“Come on, then, darlin’.”
He plunged his arms into the water without remembering to shove both sleeves up past his elbows. He lifted his wife and gathered her close, then walked through the kitchen. At the hall, he turned toward Emma’s bedroom.
Bathwater trickled from her flesh and dampened his pants and shirt.
Missing all the fussy clothing that women stuffed themselves into, she felt as light as a bag of dreams. It took no effort to peel back the flowery quilt and hold her snug to his chest at the same time.
He didn’t want to put her down. Her thighs felt smooth under his coarse fingertips, like rose petals. She smelled like a rose, too, with nothing between her flesh and his nose but a little bit of air.
Laying a wet woman between the covers of her bed didn’t seem wise, so he went to the bathroom and brought back two towels. He put one on the bed, then laid Emma gently down.
He dried her hands and rubbed the water off her arms. He wrapped her feet in the towel, first one then the other. He stroked the moisture from each pretty calf. Just north of her knee on her left leg he paused. Her sturdy, shapely limbs made him feel weak all over.
Or was it strong? It was hard to tell with his insides crashing around.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Emma Suede.” He pressed the towel to her neck, then stroked downward over her breasts. The fabric was thick and scratchy, but the shape and the heat of her came up through it. “And I don’t just mean on the outside.”
He whisked the towel down her ribs and across her hips. It’d be best to get the quilt between her skin and his hands before he did something reproachable, like wake her up with his need to make her his, body as well as soul.
Emma was exhausted with all she had done to save his baby girl. She needed the healing sleep as much as Lucy did.
He’d have his wife, and soon, but it wouldn’t be right unless she was awake.
He lifted the quilt from the foot of the bed. It settled about her with a whisper. It hugged her form with a caress.
“I love you, Emma. You can’t imagine how much.”
He stroked her cheek, then traced the curve of her head with his palm before he turned toward the door.
He hadn’t taken a step from the bed when her cool fingers grabbed his hand.
“I love you, too,” she whispered. “Don’t go.”
“You look like a woman in need of seducing, Mrs. Suede.”
She grinned at him and tugged him down onto the bed. She flipped back the quilt and patted the mattress.
“Better get out of those damp clothes.”
That was advice he didn’t need. He tossed his vest and shirt onto the floor. The rest of what he had on went somewhere, but damned if he knew where.
In less time than it took to catch his breath, he slid in under the quilt. The corkscrew hair on his legs skimmed Emma’s thighs. Satin sheets on a fancy bed wouldn’t have felt as smooth as her skin.
He nuzzled her neck, nipping like the love-starved cowboy that he was. He gathered her backside in his hands and pulled her belly against his hips. She ground herself against him. The soft hair of her mound tickled his skin. He stroked upward, over the round of her hip, up the tender skin of her ribs to her breasts, soft heaven in his hands.
Low down, his pulse swelled against her. Just below her jaw, he pressed his mouth to her pulse, licked it with his tongue. The pressure under his mouth drummed with the same beat as the one throbbing against Emma’s belly.
The vows he had taken on his wedding day had all come to mean what they should. This woman was his, and no vengeance-seeking gunfighter would keep her from him.
Till death do us part they had each vowed. He prayed that it wouldn’t happen tomorrow.
* * *
She should have known that the squeeze of Matt’s work-worn fingers fondling her breasts would be a forever touch. For good or ill, he was making an eternal vow, pressing his mouth just over her heart. What a ninny she had been to believe she could sample this then go about her merry life without him.
She sighed his name—she thought so, anyway. Half dizzy and fully out of breath, she wasn’t sure. All perception of life beyond this bed began to blur.
One thing was clear as spring water, though. Her decision to go to California had been right. Hadn’t her life taken every turn just to end up at this moment?
She must have made a noise of some kind, for he answered with a moan caught somewhere between pain and pleasure. He slid his hands to her derriere in a caress that rippled up her spine.
Rugged hands circled her bottom. Eight fingers and two devastatingly possessive thumbs stroked her skin. With each flick of his thumb and squeeze of his fingers he bound her to him.
His weight shifted. Crisp thigh hair over hot lean muscle scraped her flesh. A prairie-scented lock of hair slipped from behind his ear and slid over her throat in a brown-sugar hug. He smelled like the land. A breath of turned earth and storm clouds tickled her nose.
Even though he had shaved only hours ago, the prickle of his beard tingled her chest when he kneaded his chin against it.
Matt lifted his head. He looked into her eyes with a gaze that shot clear to her heart. He had told her he loved her. The golden-amber glow in his eyes declared it once more.
“I wish we’d gotten around to this a bit sooner,” he whispered. She couldn’t find the voice to remind him that she had wanted to.
He must have seen the thought in her face. “I couldn’t have you once or twice. What we’re doing now, darlin’, this binds us.”
She touched his lips, halting his words. That sensual mouth that laughed more than it grimaced came down full on her nipple and he spoke his feelings again with the language of tongue and mouth.
If it had been possible for a woman’s soul to flow out of her body and into a man, that’s the way it would happen. If not for the constraints of the flesh, she would be right there, inside Matt’s heart.
Truly, though, she didn’t want to flee the confines of her flesh. She had never been touched like this, inside or out. Every kiss, every scrape and curl of his long, bold fingers made her want to open to him.
When his hand crept low on her belly, seeking her most intimate spot, she did. Cool air licked her private spot an instant before Matt’s finger stroked it.
When she felt she might come apart with the pleasure, her man, her true husband, eased himse
lf up on his elbow. He crawled over her and knelt between her thighs. He spread them wider. He glanced down, looking at her there, then into her eyes.
“You are my heart, Emma. Every blessed beat of it.”
Had she ever seen a sight like her husband? It was a wonder that her heart didn’t fly right out of her bosom.
What a vision he was, naked muscle gleaming in the golden glow of the lamp. From his lean hard thighs, spread slightly, to the flat plane of his belly, glistening in a fine sheen of sweat, he made her want to reach for him.
She lifted her arms. His hair sifted across his shoulders when he leaned toward her. He braced his arms, rippling with tension, one on either side of her. Lamplight turned the coarse hair on his forearms to russet flames.
He slipped inside her as though that’s where he should have been all along. There was a pinch, not even worthy of being called pain, and then an overwhelming need to draw him farther inside herself.
He thrust deep, she arched her hips. Breathless, she gasped his name, smelled his flesh. She lifted her head to nip his shoulder, tasted salt on his skin. Hard and slick, he rocked against her womb. A wave crashed inside her. It washed pleasure from the point of their joining to her clenching fingers, then tumbled to the tips of her toes.
Maybe flesh was no barrier to souls after all.
Hadn’t her wedding vows declared that the two shall become one flesh?
She had been a fool to believe that she and Matt could share the pleasure of their bodies for a short time and then skip through life as though not a blessed thing had changed.
What a relief to know that the vow “Until death do us part,” would not happen by Hawker’s hand.
Praise be that she had found the courage to leave everything behind and begin new with her husband.
Chapter Fifteen
A slow, naked stretch between the sheets made Emma feel purely decadent. Sunlight streamed through the window.
It was well past time to get up. Hours ago, the rooster had given the wake-up call, and for the first time ever she had ignored it. She had snuggled deeper into Matt’s embrace and listened to the even draw of his breathing.