by Jo Goodman
Maggie knelt beside the cradle as she closed the last button on her cotton nightshift. She touched the cap of Meredith's downy head. Her daughter's hair was even darker than Connor's. She stroked it lovingly, curling the ends between two fingers. "In a way I'm glad Dancer wasn't here," she said. "I think it would have been hard for him to see Ben's burns." She stood slowly, stretching as she yawned. The front of her nightshift was pulled tautly across her breasts. "But I missed him, too. I was afraid I wasn't doing it right."
Connor found himself staring at Maggie's chest.
The full shape of her breasts was perfectly revealed through the thin cotton. The lamp at her back made a silhouette of her narrow waist and hips. Ben's injuries had put a damper on more than just getting the crib completed. Maggie had only just healed from childbirth when the accident happened. In the weeks since then it seemed either she was too tired or he was.
Connor Holiday hadn't made love to his wife since before their baby was born. His body was reminding him of that in a most natural and elemental way.
He rolled on his stomach as Maggie climbed into bed. The pressure on his groin kept him from seizing her on the spot. "I think you do most everything right," he said huskily.
She smiled. "Do you? I like it that you told me." She reached for the oil lamp but Connor's hand on her wrist stopped her.
"Not tonight," he said.
Maggie turned to look at him. His eyes simply burned into her.
"I've never made love to you in the light," he said. "This time I want to see."
It occurred to Maggie to tell him it wasn't decent, but in fact, she thought it was a very decent thing to do. She leaned toward him. "What if you don't like what you see?" she whispered.
"Not possible," he whispered back.
Maggie sat up and picked up the hem of her night shift. In one sweeping motion she pulled it off and let it flutter to the floor behind her.
He liked what he saw very, very much. She was giving him a bold, almost defiant look that he suspected was more bravado than brave. He smiled, reached for her hand, and held it. His thumb passed lightly back and forth over the soft underside of her wrist. He felt her pulse race.
The tilt of her chin drew his eye to the length of her throat, the hollow, then the defining line of her collarbones. Her shoulders were drawn back, emphasizing the shape of her breasts. Under his gaze, a rosy flush spread across her skin. Her nipples seemed to become a darker shade of coral.
His eyes drifted lower, along the inward curve of her waist, the flatness of her abdomen, then the flair of her hips. He released her wrist and let his hand drift along her naked thigh from hip to knee. His palm curved to her contours. She didn't move, yet he could feel her trembling.
"Shouldn't you..." she whispered.
His voice was even huskier than hers. "Shouldn't I what?"
"Shouldn't you take off your..."
Since she didn't seem capable of completing a sentence, Connor helped her. He lifted the sheet covering him to the waist.
Maggie's eyes widened slightly. He was already naked. He was also aroused. "You were pretty sure of me," she said.
"Let's just say I was hopeful."
Laughing, Maggie yanked back the covers and subjected him to the same scrutiny that had just fired her senses. She took in the breadth of his shoulders, the smooth expanse of his chest, the flat plane of his belly. And then she studied his erection. "Oh my," she said softly.
He pulled her toward him then rolled so that Maggie was trapped beneath his body. He rested his weight on his forearms. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should."
Then his mouth was closing over hers. He kissed her deeply, hungrily. She accepted the sweep of his tongue and pushed against him with her own. His knee parted her thighs. She lifted her hips.
"Help me," he said.
She did. Her hand closed over him intimately. He eased into her. She was already wet for him. Their eyes locked, held. Joined, they didn't move.
The centers of her green eyes widened, darkened. His were like liquid onyx. Their breath mingled, hot and sweet.
They kissed again, slowly. Mouths fused. Tongues worked the same rhythm their bodies would. Her thighs cradled him. She pressed against his hips, wrapped her legs around him, securing his body. Then the kiss broke. His lips grazed her chin. She arched her neck. His mouth touched her throat, sipped her skin. She caught her breath and trapped a sound of pleasure.
He moved. Hips rising and falling, pressing deeply into her. Her arms were raised. Hands alighted on his shoulders. Fingertips moved across his skin like a whisper. She rubbed against him, her breasts flush to his chest, nipples abraded pleasurably by the heat and hardness of flesh. Her thumbnail traced the length of his spine. He shuddered, groaned, buried his face in the curve of her neck. She smiled.
He bit her skin lightly. Her smile vanished. She touched the dimples at the base of his spine. He moved against her, hard this time. Her hand swept across his back. Her fingers twisted in the hair at his nape. His face lifted. He nudged her nose with his. He kissed her cheek, kissed the spot just below her ear, kissed her feathered brows.
She arched, pressing into him. Tension held her still for a moment. Pleasure was a drawn-out sensation, pulling her tautly, lifting her.
They moved together, slowly at first, catching a rhythm that satisfied and prolonged their mutual pleasure. There was a tightness in his chest as excitement rose with such intensity that it threatened to take the breath from his body. He held her closely, surrounding her, protecting her. She cried out, saying his name as she shuddered against him. His body seemed to absorb her pleasure until it was his own. He groaned softly, whispered her name against her skin.
Their bodies were flushed and warm. Neither of them wanted to move so they didn't.
"We started this way," she said, her voice husky, amused.
"So we did."
His weight was comfortable on her for a moment. She closed her eyes and simply felt him all around her. "I like this."
He kissed the corner of her mouth then moved off her, sliding onto his side beside her. He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her. Her eyes were still closed, a faint smile on her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth slightly swollen from the pressure of his kisses. Her skin was smooth—the crease that was sometimes between her brows had vanished. The shadows beneath her eyes were caused by the fan of her dark lashes.
The tightness in his chest was back again; this time it was the sense of loving her that overwhelmed him. Tears touched his eyes. He blinked them back.
She seemed to know. She opened her eyes and asked, "What is it?"
"Nothing."
She was quiet, watching him, searching his face. She reached for him, cupping the side of his face with her palm. His dark eyes were neither remote nor cold. She felt drawn into them. They seared her and sheltered her, and it did not seem strange to Maggie that they could do both. For an instant she was touched by his soul.
"I love you," she whispered. Her hand dropped away, drifted across his chest, fell back to the mattress between them.
His throat closed on him. He touched her hand, drew her fingers between his. He said nothing; she didn't seem to expect that he would. They shared the silence.
Maggie snuggled closer. Connor drew up the sheet and comforter. The baby stirred for a moment, mewling softly, then sighed and slept. Connor reached for the lamp and blew out the flame. Maggie rested her head in the crook of his shoulder.
As they slept, snow started to fall.
* * *
The passes were blocked again by morning. Maggie served pancakes at breakfast. Patrick had stumbled through drifts up to his hips to get eggs from the hen house. Batter bubbled on a greased iron skillet as she laid the first stack of flapjacks on the table. Connor speared three with his fork before passing the plate to Patrick.
"Save some for Ben," Connor cautioned as Patrick began to sweep most of the cakes onto his plate.
"I've already served Ben," Maggie said. She turned back to the griddle and flipped two more pancakes. She glanced toward the window. The ice flowers on the panes were slowly melting. "Buck and Luke aren't going to make it back, are they?"
"Not today," Patrick said. "Probably not this week."
"Dancer?"
Connor shook his head. "He'll be fine at his cabin until the weather breaks." He was cradling Meredith in the crook of his arm. He gave her a little bounce and she made a happy sound, not quite a laugh, but something that made every adult in the room smile.
"Don't you dare feed her a pancake," Maggie warned as Connor teased their daughter with a forkful of food.
"I wouldn't." Instead he put down his fork and stuck his forefinger in the honey jar. He let Meredith suck on the tip, which she did greedily. Connor looked at Maggie as if to say, Is this what it feels like? She merely blushed. Connor laughed.
Meredith and Patrick, each interested in their breakfast, were oblivious.
* * *
As the winter weeks passed it was the small moments that she held close to her heart: the laughter they exchanged, the smiles that were intimate and the ones that were open. She saw Connor with Meredith on his knee, watching her intently as she made tiny bubbles between her dewy lips. His hand engulfed their daughter's head when he cradled her. Sometimes he buried his face against her little belly, blowing gently or making smacking noises, and Meredith would smile and giggle.
Maggie remembered when she and Connor went sledding, and he bundled her up in layers of blankets until she was just a shapeless mound. Tempest pulled them on the long sled into the trees and they made a splendid run down the hillside until they tumbled into a snow bank. Sun glinted sharply off the snow—and off Maggie's hair, as threads of copper captured the light. Connor stole a kiss as she made an angel in the snow. "Your hair's like a flame," he said and pulled her to her feet.
In the evenings they sat in front of the fire, sharing a blanket with Meredith. They talked to her as if she could understand. Maggie consulted her about the garden she was planning. Connor spoke of her first horse. There was a moment as they were discussing her future that she wrinkled her nose and grimaced, and they both laughed until they cried. "She suspects we're like Jay Mac," Maggie said, wiping her eyes. But Maggie admitted in her heart that John MacKenzie Worth had done all right by her.
She remembered other things: Connor's and Patrick's presentation of Meredith's crib; Ben's move back to the bunk house; the snowball battle that left Connor defending his fort alone when Maggie surrendered to a fit of laughter that left her quite useless as a helpmate.
Maggie remembered the nights when she lay beside him, comforted by his closeness, by the shelter of his arms, and he talked to her in that low, whiskey-soft voice.
Living in the moment, she wove a tapestry of memories that winter.
* * *
Denver
Mary Michael Stone and Mary Renee Sullivan sat on either end of the sofa like a matched pair of bookends. Beryl Holiday was seated across from them. When Beryl's eyes lowered to lift her teacup the twin sisters exchanged identical, frustrated glances. When Beryl looked up again they were flashing perfectly beautiful smiles.
"It was kind of you and Rushton to make a point to visit us during your stay," Michael said. Michael, like her twin, wished she were still in the dining room with her husband. Conversation there was not likely to be so tedious or difficult. Several times she had heard laughter coming from that room as Ethan, Jarret, and Rushton traded stories.
"Rushton thought we should," Beryl said.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Rennie tried to help her twin. "I was happy to learn I was going to meet you," she said. "Jarret and I are only in Denver for the week, then we're heading for New York. We've been working on a project for Northeast Rail all autumn and most of the winter."
Beryl's pale blue eyes flickered. "I didn't realize you had been out here so long. I suppose I thought when you didn't get the Double H land, you would have gone home."
"We were in California," Rennie said. "But I'm still interested in the Double H tract, not that I think for a moment that Connor would sell it."
"Certainly not now," Beryl said. Her light laughter was brittle. "Not when he paid for it so dearly himself."
"You mean the wedding?" Rennie said, her hackles rising. "Connor Holiday should count himself fortunate that my sister was agreeable."
Michael's humor was not any better than Rennie's but seeing her sister's temper flare helped her keep her own in check. "Connor and Maggie were here soon after their marriage. They were quite happy." She didn't dare look at Rennie, who had already heard a different version of the visit. "It's hard to say who got the best of the bargain. More tea?"
Beryl held out her cup as Michael poured. "You'll understand if I think it was Maggie."
Rennie smiled sweetly. "I'm certain it's your position as his stepmother that prompts such allegiance." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Michael nearly choke on her tea. "After all, you chose his father over him." Rennie stood, put her cup down on the end table, and excused herself.
Michael could have cheerfully throttled her sister but she wouldn't apologize for her. She picked up the threads of conversation as if nothing untoward had happened. "I heard Rushton mention that you'll be going to Queen's Point in two more days."
The mottled color in Beryl's cheeks faded as she recovered her composure. "That's right." Now that Rennie was out of the room she found it easier to speak. All through dinner she couldn't forget that Rennie Sullivan was responsible for bringing Connor and Maggie together. It was Rennie's interest in the Double H, her offhand comments to Jay Mac about Connor, that had ultimately shaped events. "The passes should all be cleared by now. I swear I saw a daffodil yesterday."
Michael forced a smile. "I shouldn't wonder that Maggie's feeling in need of some company by now. Ethan and I have talked about going out. We'd love to see the ranch. And frankly, now that Maggie's this close, I miss her more than ever."
"The Double H is beautiful," Beryl said. "But I'm certain Rennie's told you that."
Michael could hear it in Beryl's voice again, the certain dislike of her sister. She kept her own tone carefully level. "Since Ethan and I can't leave anytime soon, I wonder if you and Rushton might do me a favor?"
Beryl set her cup in its saucer. She fingered the amethyst earring on her right ear, tilting her head to one side. "I'd be happy to, if I can."
"Maggie had to leave some of her belongings here. We have a few trunks, some valises, and—" she laughed, "—a package from my mother that's been gathering dust in the upstairs hallway all winter. Ethan's promised to take it to the attic once or twice a week since it arrived but it never happens. Now he's going to feel vindicated for his laziness." She smiled. "That's if you and Rushton are willing to take some of the things with you."
Beryl couldn't think of a good reason to object but she was working on it when Michael continued.
"I'll sort through everything, of course. I don't want to burden you unnecessarily. The physician's bag will have to go. Mama wouldn't have sent it if she didn't think Maggie would want it."
"Physician's bag?" asked Beryl. "Your sister isn't a doctor."
"No, she isn't." Michael shrugged. She didn't want to share Maggie's dream with this woman. "Actually I'm not certain that's what the satchel is at all. I never opened it."
"Black leather?" Beryl asked. She indicated a twenty-inch span with her hands. "About this big?"
"That's right. Just like a doctor would carry."
"I owned a bag like that once," Beryl said slowly, thoughtfully. She remembered lending it to Connor and never seeing it again. She was careful to keep excitement out of her voice. "I kept odds and ends in it, for traveling purposes. Combs, brushes, perfumes. The sort of thing you don't want to be without."
"Maybe that's all it has in it," Michael said, although she was doubtful. Maggie would consider it frivolous to ca
rry those things close by. "More likely it has books in it. Maggie's always reading. I know there are books in some of the trunks. I plan to make certain she gets those."
Beryl didn't care about the books. "Of course we'll take whatever you like," she said. "Rushton won't object, I'm sure."
* * *
Maggie rushed to the front door and flung it open. She raised Meredith from her hip to the crook of her arm. "Look there!" she said excitedly, pointing to the southern end of the valley. "It's Dancer!" Maggie called to Connor at the corral. She saw him look off in the direction she was pointing, then take off his hat and wave it, hailing the prospector as he approached.
Maggie jogged down the steps and across the yard. Patches of snow dotted her path like white lily pads and she skirted them. Connor came outside the corral to meet her, scooping Meredith out of Maggie's arms and holding her up even higher.
Dancer brought his horse right up to the welcoming trio as Patrick and Ben ran from the stable to greet him. "You all sure are a sight," he said, grinning widely. He leaned over in his saddle and tickled Meredith under the chin. "Ain't afraid of your old Uncle Dancer, are you? Look at her!" His laughter cackled. "She ain't afraid of this ugly face. Not a lick afraid."
"Of course she's not afraid," Maggie said. "Why would she be? She knows you love her."
Dancer dismounted. "Didn't say nothin' about lovin' her," he said gruffly. "Damn fool notion." He jumped around a little, shaking the dust off his clothes and the stiffness out of his bones. He tipped back his hat and gave Maggie a thorough looking over. "I can see you ain't come to any harm."
She supposed it was as affectionate a greeting as she was likely to get. On impulse she put her arms around Dancer and gave him a hug. "I've missed you," she whispered against his twisted and scarred ear. "We all have." Maggie stepped back quickly before he became too uncomfortable. "I see your leg's not giving you a moment's worry."