He delved inside Tricia, wringing a shout of hoarse, welcoming joy from her. “Will—you—marry—me?” he gasped, punctuating the sentence with hard, deep strokes.
Tricia, already teetering on the verge, came then, laughing and sobbing and shouting, “Yes!” all at once.
After the lovemaking—long after the lovemaking— Tricia and Conner dined on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, partially dressed and sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, facing each other.
Valentino, hoping for a bite of one of their sandwiches at first, finally settled for a ration of kibble and went back to sleep.
“Some dinner date,” Conner said, his eyes twinkling.
Tricia smiled, raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. She was wearing Conner’s shirt, with only a few strategic buttons fastened. “I’m not complaining,” she said.
He laughed, raised his iced-tea tumbler, a third filled with wine he’d rummaged for upstairs, in the dark, and clinked it against Tricia’s jelly glass. “Me, either,” he replied.
Tricia took a sip of wine, set her glass aside, and gazed sidelong into the fire. “About that marriage proposal—”
Conner stilled. “Second thoughts?” he asked, and while his tone was light, she knew the answer mattered to him.
She met his eyes. “When I said yes, I meant yes,” she said.
He let out his breath. He looked like Example A of the perfect man, sitting there, clad only in his jeans, with the flickering fire giving him a light side and a dark side, like the moon. “Is this going somewhere?” he asked, with no sarcasm at all. He really wanted to know.
Tricia blushed, searching for words. They were about as easy to capture or even herd in one direction as a flock of frightened chickens.
“We were—making love at the time,” she began, feeling her way.
“Yeah,” Conner agreed. “I’d say that’s the understatement of the century, but, yes, we were making love when I asked you to marry me.”
She was too flustered to be diplomatic. “Did you mean it?” she blurted out. “Or was it just—?”
“I never say anything I don’t mean, Tricia,” Conner said, his expression tender and serious now. “I love you. I want to marry you and make babies together and all the rest of it.”
Her heart soared. “Really?”
His mouth crooked up at one corner. “Yeah, really.”
“When?”
Conner chuckled, reached over to give her braid a light tug and then slip it behind her shoulder. “When do we get married, or when do we start making babies?”
She blushed. “Take your pick,” she said, gasping a little when he slid his hand from her hair to the inside of the shirt, cupped it around her breast. The nipple pulsed against his palm.
He eased her down onto her back. “You’re the bride, so you can set the wedding date. Next week, next year—I don’t care, as long as I can do this whenever I want to—”
To demonstrate his point, he laid the shirt open, baring her to the firelight and his gaze and drawing on her with a combination of tenderness and lust that instantly awakened all the previously satisfied forces within her.
At his own leisurely pace, he attended to her other breast. “And this,” he said, kissing his way downward now. “And, of course, this—”
A soft, sweet climax seized Tricia instantly, made her body ripple like a ribbon trailing in the wind. Instead of crying out, she crooned, surrendering to the slow, luxurious pleasure.
She sighed, when it ended, trembled with contentment.
Conner kissed his way back up to her mouth. “Now, the babies,” he began, as if there had been no break in the conversation, no fiercely delicious orgasm to fuse together all the broken places inside Tricia, “might not be as easy to time.”
He was stretched out on top of her now, wanting her.
And she wanted him. Again. Already.
“Why’s that?” she murmured, her hips already beginning to rise and fall of their own accord, seeking him.
He chuckled, the sound a sexy rasp, low in his throat. “Because,” he said, “there was only one condom.”
“Uh-oh,” she purred.
“Yep,” he muttered, kissing the length of her neck.
“You’re sure you only had one?” The question came out on a series of ragged breaths.
“Positive,” he lamented, back at her breast.
She cried out and arched her back. Grasped his face in both her hands and demanded, “Did you mean it when you said you love me, Conner Creed? When you said you want us to have babies together?”
He nodded.
“Then have me,” she whispered.
And he did.
“GOD BLESS THE POWER COMPANY,” Tricia said, hours later, when the electricity set things to clunking and then whirring all around her and Conner. The lights came on in her kitchen, and the furnace roared to life two floors below, in the basement. Exquisite curlicues frosted the glass in her bedroom window.
Warmed by each other, four quilts, two blankets and one dog, Tricia and Conner slowly began to untangle their limbs.
“I think we ought to stay here until the house warms up a little,” Tricia said.
Valentino, curled up at their feet, gave a doggish sigh.
“Or a lot,” Conner agreed. “Is that my leg, or yours?”
Tricia laughed. “If it’s hairy, it’s yours,” she teased.
He put his arms around her, held her close against his chest.
“Now, I know that isn’t my hand,” he said, with a grin in his voice. And the slightest groan of renewed lust.
Valentino yawned broadly, jumped down off the bed, and padded out into the kitchen. Moments later, he was lapping up water from his bowl. Next, he crunched away on his kibbles.
Conner gave a strangled chuckle and groaned again.
“I’ve decided on a wedding date,” Tricia told him.
“I—can’t wait—to hear about it—” Conner choked out, rolling onto his side and then poising himself above her.
“I think we should get married right away,” Tricia said, getting a little breathless now herself, as Conner began to caress her with slow promise. “As soon as we can round up Natty and your family.”
“Umm,” Conner muttered. “You don’t want a regular wedding?”
“Weddings—take too long to—oooooh, Conner—plan. There’s the dress—the cake—the invitations—the—oh, God, do that again—”
He grinned. And did it again.
Valentino came back into the bedroom, collar tags jingling, and made a low, whining sound, almost apologetic.
“He needs to go out,” Conner rasped. “Now. Of all times.” He groaned loudly.
Tricia sighed, resigned to the inconveniences of pet ownership. “Yes,” she said. “Now, of all times.”
Conner rose, grumbling, and scrambled into his jeans. Reclaimed his shirt from the floor, where it had fallen the night before, soon after they came upstairs, and put it on. Looked around for his boots, which were still downstairs.
Tricia started to get up.
“Stay there,” Conner told her. “The dog and I will head downstairs and try to tunnel our way out the back door.”
The room was brutally cold, without Conner to keep her warm. It would be a while for the furnace to overtake the chill. So Tricia huddled inside the bedcovers, with only her head sticking out. Before she could protest that Valentino was her dog and therefore her responsibility, both of them were gone.
Tricia spent a couple of minutes trying to work up her courage to climb out of bed; the least she could do was woman-up and get out there in the kitchen to put the coffee on. Conner, after all, was braving postblizzard conditions; he’d need the hot brew when he came back inside.
The soles of her bare feet nearly stuck to the floor, and goose bumps leaped out on every square inch of her skin.
Teeth clattering together, hugging herself, Tricia hip-hopped to her dresser, snatched a pair of black sweatpants and a bl
ue woolen hoodie from a drawer, and plunged back into bed. She hid there, waiting for the chills to subside, and began squirming into the clothes, still under the covers, when she heard Valentino coming up the inside stairs, with Conner.
She got tangled in the sweatpants and then the sheets, and as she struggled on, she heard a familiar masculine laugh from the doorway.
“No fair starting without me,” Conner said.
Tricia fought her way into her clothes. Her voice muffled by layers of covers, she replied, “This is not funny.”
Again, he laughed. “Of course it is,” he said. “It’s a hoot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a wrestling match going on under those quilts.”
“Just for that,” Tricia said, dressed at last, “you can make your own coffee.”
“Is this what it’s going to be like when we’re married?” Conner teased.
By the time she tossed the blankets back, she was smiling. “Probably,” she said, glancing at the window, which was still opaque with frost. “What’s going on outside? Is it still snowing?”
Valentino squeezed past Conner in the bedroom doorway and shook himself, hard, sending icy moisture flying in every direction.
“No,” Conner said, after a pause to enjoy Tricia’s consternation over the impromptu christening, “but there must be two feet of the stuff on the ground. The sun’s out and the sky is clear and blue enough to break your heart.”
Tricia stroked Valentino’s damp head, looking around for her slippers. Then she remembered—she’d donated them to the rummage sale.
She got out a pair of socks and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull them on.
“I suppose you have to go and feed cattle or something,” she said, because this intimacy—taking the dog out, making coffee—was in some ways more profound than making love. It was a reflex, that attempt to establish a distance between them, however slight.
Conner nodded. “Yep,” he said. “I’m a rancher, Tricia. That’s what we do.”
“What if the roads haven’t been plowed?” she asked reasonably, slipping past him to enter the kitchen.
“That truck will go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll put chains on the back tires and then roll.”
She reached for the coffee carafe, filled it with water at the sink. Through the kitchen window, which hadn’t frosted over, she could see the pristine shimmer of a snow-whitened world. It looked almost magical, but Tricia’s feelings were bittersweet. On the one hand, she was glad the storm was over, at least for now, so people could start digging themselves out and get on with their daily life. But on the other, she didn’t want Conner to leave.
“You could ride along, as far as the ranch house, anyway,” Conner ventured, his voice quiet and a little gruff. “Keep Kim and those little dogs of hers company while Davis and Brody and I go out and check the herd.”
Tricia hesitated long enough to push the button on the coffeemaker. Sighed. “I’d better not,” she said. “Winston— Natty’s cat—is supposed to arrive any day now. I have to be here to take delivery if, by some miracle, the truck gets through.”
Conner approached her, pinned her gently against the counter in front of the coffee machine. “You could call the delivery company to make sure,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re set on putting some space between us.”
Tricia blinked up at him. She was getting aroused again, starting to ache in needy places. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’ve seen my soul and I’ve seen yours,” Conner replied, kissing her forehead. “If you’re like me, you’re happy, but you’re scared, too.” He drew back just far enough to hook a finger under her chin and lift, so that she had to look at him. “We love each other, Tricia,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to find our way forward from there, like everybody else, but we’ll make it. One step at a time, we’ll make it.”
Tricia relaxed, with a soft sigh, and put her arms around Conner, let herself lean into him. Her cheek rested against his heart; she could feel the strong, steady beat of it. “You’re right,” she said, thinking of her parents, and their ill-fated union. “Nobody gets a guarantee, do they?”
He stroked her hair, coming loose from its usually tidy braid. “Nobody gets a guarantee,” he agreed. “But we can stack the odds in our favor, Tricia.”
“How?” she asked, thinking that if she loved this man any more than she already did, she’d burst from it.
“Davis told me one time that he and Kim have stayed married all these years mainly because neither of them was willing to give up on the other. They scrap once in a while—they’re both strong-minded people—and they’ve had their share of disappointments and setbacks, too, but they don’t quit.”
Tricia nodded, loving the feel of Conner Creed, the scent of him, the warm strength of his arms around her, the pressure of his chest and hips. “Natty adored my great-grandfather, Henry, but according to her, the secret of a good marriage is not expecting to be happy all the time, because no one is. Whenever she and Henry went through tough times, Natty said, they made sure they were on the same side, stood shoulder to shoulder and took on whatever came their way.”
“Natty’s a pioneer,” Conner said, with amused admiration.
Out on the street, a mighty roar sounded, and Valentino tilted his head back and howled once, like his distant ancestor, the gray wolf.
“Snowplow,” Conner told him. “Take a breath.”
Valentino went over to his bed, sighed, and lay down on top of his blue chicken, resigned.
After coffee and a couple of slices of toast, Conner took a quick—and lukewarm—shower, got dressed again and, after giving her a kiss and a promise that he’d be back no matter what, headed for the ranch.
Tricia waited until the water was hot before taking her own shower.
She dressed warmly, in jeans and a bulky blue sweater, found Doris’s Denver number in her address book and dialed. Tricia figured the great-aunt-and-grandmother combo might already have left for New York, where they would board the cruise ship, but it was worth a try.
Doris answered on the other end, greeted Tricia in her fond but businesslike way, and called out, “Natty Jean! It’s for you.”
Tricia smiled to herself as she waited
“Did Winston get there yet?” Doris asked, while both of them waited for Natty to made her way to the phone. “Buddy stopped by and picked him up this morning. He said the highways were clear all the way to Lonesome Bend, thanks to a whole night of plowing.”
“No sign of Winston yet,” Tricia answered, smiling, “but I’ll be sure to call and let you know when he arrives.”
“That’s good,” Doris said. “Natty Jean frets about him, you know.”
“I know,” Tricia said gently. “But Winston will be fine here, with Valentino and Carolyn and me.”
Doris didn’t get a chance to respond; Natty must have wrested the handset from her, because the next voice Tricia heard was her great-grandmother’s.
“Is Winston there, dear?”
The smile was back. “No,” Tricia said, “but I’m expecting him anytime now. Shall I tell him you called?”
Natty laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Right after you call me to say he’s safe and sound.”
Tricia repeated her promise.
“So the old house is still standing, then?” Natty inquired. “Phew! I haven’t seen that much snow fall in one night since the blizzard of 1968. You wouldn’t remember that, of course.”
“The house is as sturdy as ever,” Tricia said. “Will the weather be a problem for you and Doris, cruise-wise, I mean?”
“Heavens, no,” Natty informed her, and her tone made Tricia think of Conner’s words, earlier that morning. Natty’s a pioneer. “The airport is already open again and, anyway, we don’t leave until day after tomorrow.”
“Send me a postcard?”
“Of course, dear,” Natty said. “At least one from every port.”
Tricia’s heart warmed. “There’
s something I need to tell you, before you go jetting off to board the QE2, or whatever your ship is called.”
An indrawn breath. “I presume it’s something good?” Natty murmured.
“Very good,” Tricia said, feeling so happy in that moment that her throat thickened and her eyes burned. “You were right, Natty. About Conner being the right man for me, I mean.”
Natty’s voice was fluttery—and loud. “Doris!” she called, making Tricia wince and hold the handset away from her ear for a moment. “Doris! It’s happening—just like I told you it would—” A pause, with Doris muttering unintelligibly in the background. “Well, of course I mean that Conner and Tricia have fallen in love! What else would it be?”
Tricia chuckled. “We’re getting married,” she said.
More delight on Natty’s end, followed by, “Oh, dear, that’s wonderful. When, though? Not before Doris and I get back from our trip, I hope.”
“Not before then,” Tricia promised. “I couldn’t get married without you there, Natty.”
“I should hope not,” Natty said stoutly. Then, brightening, she went on to ask, “Are you planning on living in sin in the meantime, dear?”
“Maybe not living in sin, but it’s safe to say there might be some dabbling.”
This time, it was Natty who laughed. “Henry and I lived in sin for a whole week,” she confided. “Hush, Doris, it’s true and you know it. Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”
“You and great-grandpa lived in sin?” Tricia couldn’t help being intrigued, though a part of her pleaded silently, Don’t tell me!
“Well,” Natty said, after clearing her throat and lowering her voice to a confidential tone, even though Doris had obviously gotten the gist of the conversation and, thus, the proverbial horse was out of the barn, “we didn’t move in together, like young people do today, but we did run off to get married. We were so busy honeymooning that we forgot all about the wedding, though, and Papa showed up and made a terrible scene before he dragged me back home. Mama was furious, and when Henry came looking for me—he was very brave, my Henry—she met him at the front gate and told him she’d shoot him with an elephant gun if he didn’t make an honest woman out of me. I’ll never forget what he said to her. ‘Eleanor,’ he told Mama, just as bold as you please, ‘I can’t make Natty an honest woman, because she already is one. But I’d be proud to make her my wife.’ Isn’t that what he said, Doris? Don’t deny it, you were hiding behind the lilac bush the whole time, and you heard everything.”
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