“C’mere,” he groaned, taking me beneath him with one fluid motion. His desire was so very magnificent – intense, almost predatory, wide shoulders gleaming with sweat, hair hanging down his neck – I moaned, biting his chin, urging with my hips. Resting his forehead to mine, pulse visibly pounding at his throat, he whispered, “Before I lose…all control.”
I murmured, with a gasp of fulfillment, “I like when you come in my mouth.”
Marshall uttered a low laugh, his engorged length buried deep, shuddering at the pleasure of our joined bodies. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “But nothing beats this spot, angel.”
Chapter Two
Dakota Territory - June, 1882
DAWN FOUND US CURLED TOGETHER ON THE ROPE BED; we’d missed last night’s dinner and were well on the way to missing this morning’s breakfast, but I didn’t care. Marshall was snoring, one arm tucked under his head, the other slung over my waist, just like it had always been back in our cozy apartment in Jalesville. I lay still, reveling in the moment, the gift of waking up beside him; if I squinted, hazing my vision, I could almost believe we were home. I could picture the little town in the Montana foothills with vivid clarity – I knew Jalesville still existed, just as Marshall and I remembered it – and that the Rawleys, Tish and Case, and my family in Landon were all there in the future, awaiting our return.
I found Marshall. I sent this thought to my sisters and Aunt Jilly, for at least the hundredth time; if anyone was capable of hearing me through the long, echoing corridors of time it was them. We found each other and even if we never make it back to you, I am so happy. Please know this. I miss you all so much, but I have Marshall. I have him and I could not ask for more.
I turned, with care, to watch him as he slept, rising to an elbow, tenderness and passion beating at my heart. I studied the face that meant more to me than any other, through all of time; I understood this fully now. Dark shadows of strain remained beneath his eyes but I would do everything in my power to erase those. His sensual mouth was relaxed with sleep, charcoal-black lashes fanned upon his angular cheekbones and the crease of worry at the bridge of his nose now invisible; his breathing was deep and even. I saw the pulse at the base of his throat where I’d first tasted his skin; the long nose that dominated his handsome face. His dark hair was spread over the pillow, streaked with silver. I couldn’t have imagined being more attracted to him, and yet here I found myself.
I trailed my fingertips along the skin between my legs, dewy from last night’s wealth of lovemaking. And then, as suddenly as an unexpected gunshot, Marshall awoke with a muffled cry, jerking to one elbow, eyes wild and frightened.
“I’m here,” I said at once, wrapping him in my arms and burrowing close; this was not the first time he’d woken in a panic and I knew what was wrong. He pressed his face to my hair, breathing raggedly, fingers spread wide on my back, as if attempting to contain gushing blood. I latched a leg over his hips and tightened my hold. “I’m here, sweetheart, right here.”
“I dreamed I woke up and you were gone.” His voice was hoarse. His heart would not slow its pace and concern scalded me.
“Honey,” I murmured, and did not release him until his heartbeat had steadied and sunlight stretched across the floor of the little cabin, warming the space with the first light of day. Our naked bodies meshed as seamlessly as rain-soaked leaves; there was no way to tell where I ended and he began.
“I will never let you go again, angel, not ever. I swear this to you.”
“I know,” I whispered, shifting position so I could see his eyes; they remained tortured and I longed to banish that expression, forever. Though nearly two weeks had passed since we’d found each other here in 1882, I still battled the aching memories our time apart. We’d talked without end since the evening when Cole and Patricia’s son was born on the prairie following our escape from the Immaculate Heart of Mary, the convent where we’d been stashed by Dredd Yancy – and though I’d told Marshall in no uncertain terms I forgave him for the fight we’d had that winter night in February of 2014, and that none of this was his fault, he still blamed himself, unequivocally.
“I thought you’d been in a car accident,” he had told me on the second night of our journey west, as we lay tangled together in our blankets near the fire. “I was sick with fear, Ruthie. I can only speak about it because I have my arms around you. I stayed at Dad’s house after you left, tossing and turning in my old bed, picturing you driving to Minnesota. I tried calling you just before dawn. I was already in misery but it wasn’t until midday that I started getting sick with fear. At first I thought you weren’t answering because you were so angry. I went back to our apartment and realized you hadn’t packed anything, and I felt like such shit. I figured you were in Landon telling them what an asshole I was…” His throat closed off; he cleared it before continuing. “By then I felt like such a fucking jerk I avoided calling you for about an hour, because I was terrified. I was so sure you’d tell me that was
