“You feel so good…stay still for just a second…”
He obeyed at once, holding himself deep, as I shuddered and came in a rush, overwhelmed by the solid length, hard as a fence post, filling my body. He grinned in satisfaction, licking my chin, biting my neck as he murmured, “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
I writhed beneath him, begging with inarticulate sounds as he took up a steady rhythm, his lips brushing mine. “That’s it, angel, come again. Come all over me, sweetheart, I love it.”
“Yes,” I moaned, reveling in the beauty, the strength, of the connection we shared. I had never known myself capable of such feelings, those Marshall inspired within me; not just the intensity of the physical, but beyond. No one had ever truly seen me the way Marshall did, and in seeing, understood me. There was nothing to hide, no secrets between us, nothing held back.
I was open to him, in every sense of the word – he was the love of my lifetimes and the thought of being severed from him was one of primal despair. And so I refused to think of it, instead exulting in the here and now where we were alive together, and in the singular intimacy of the knowledge of him that I alone owned – the salty taste of his sweating skin, the sleek interior of his mouth; the way his tongue circled mine with each new kiss. The way he buried his nose in my curls and sometimes quietly sang lines of our favorite songs; the sound of his release, a low, shuddering groan which inspired hot, jetting aftershocks in my body. The scent of him that lingered on my skin long after we’d made love.
Later, sweating, our bodies interwoven, he muttered, “Damnation, woman.”
I giggled, despite my increasing guilt; I knew we needed to get our asses moving and make an appearance at the main house by lunchtime. The concept of sleeping in was a foreign one to most people in the nineteenth century; their days followed the sun’s path in a wholly different way. The ‘night shift’ in this century was reserved for the women I’d known at Rilla Jaymes’s saloon in Howardsville, prostitutes who serviced the railroad workers and miners, or any paying customer who came a-calling; most everyone else, even those who spent the night enjoying whiskey and women in the saloons, were required to rise with the dawn to accomplish a full day’s work. The idea of dozing until the noon hour or spending the morning in bed – let alone in blissful lovemaking – spoke of unimaginable indulgence here.
“I’m surprised Ax hasn’t come to roust us,” I murmured, rolling to sit up, scraping snarled hair from my face, wishing we could spend the entire day right here.
“He’s too polite,” Marshall countered, heaving to a sitting position with a muted growl, cupping my breasts and lightly jiggling them, making me giggle. I swiped at his teasing hands, ready to emerge from bed when I was caught by surprise at the sudden and marked change of expression on his face. He fell still, spreading his long fingers and slowly lifting my breasts as if determining which might weigh more, the way you would in a grocery store with two melons. His gaze became fixed and intent, mouth somber and brows knitted.
I cried, “What is it?”
“Oh, Ruthie,” he murmured, in a much-subdued tone. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“What?” I yelped, truly terrified now.
His serious eyes flashed to mine, and yet – I was not mistaking it – there was within them a growing hint of exhilaration. He rested his touch on my knees, thumbs making slow circles. “When was your last period?”
If he’d produced a ten-pound hammer and clocked my temple, I could not have been more stunned. My thoughts scattered like thrown sand, streaking through the thousand things I’d been too distracted to realize, even the glaringly obvious – like the fact that my period was overdue.
I started trembling and clutched his shoulders, my nose at his collarbones. I gathered my wits and whispered, “Well over a month ago.”
“Oh my God, angel, oh holy shit.” But his voice was distinctly excited and gaining steam. “I thought I was imagining that your breasts seemed fuller than normal and then it struck me. I can’t believe I didn’t realize sooner. What did we expect? We never miss a night!” He paused for breath before whispering, with pure reverence, “A baby. You’re carrying our baby.”
“Our baby,” I repeated, sudden fear clogging my throat – the nineteenth century had never before seemed as dangerous, dirty, or full of hazard. How could I bring a baby into this place?
“A boy.” Marshall’s voice rang with certainty and tears streaked sideways over my face, wetting his chest. “Rawleys make boys.”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I managed to whisper.
“I miss Dad and my brothers more right now than I’ve missed them since I’ve been here, and that’s saying a lot.” Marshall was all choked up. “I want to tell them so bad. I want them to know.”
I rose to my knees and cupped his jaws, almost tumbling from the sagging bed. Marshall gripped my waist. We were each tearful, sweaty from the exertion of the previous hour; and then, despite everything, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“They would be so happy,” I agreed, as he kissed away my tears. “I’m not sad, honey, I’m just in stun…”
“We should have known, we haven’t been using a bit of protection. Talk about irresponsible.” He bent down to stomach level and kissed my navel. “I know it’s not an excuse to say we’ve been distracted, but still. I can’t think fast enough, sweetheart. What about prenatal vitamins? Oh God, you better not ride Blade anymore. Can we keep traveling? What about the bumps on the trail? And calcium, are you getting enough calcium? Oh, Jesus…”
He was on the verge of panicking and there was a knock on the door;
