wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she turned the kiss to liquid passion.
Hank fought to keep it light, but his hands slipped back over her bottom, tenderly gripping each hip and holding her close.
She broke the kiss and shoved away, and reason fought its way into his brain. He tried to find the words to say he was sorry for something he wasn’t, but before he could speak, she unbuttoned her shirt.
“Touch me again, dear.” She opened the flannel and in dawn’s first light he saw her beauty.
All reason vanished as he lowered his mouth to her breast.
She cried out in surprise, then arched her back and allowed him his fill of her flesh.
By the time sanity returned, the sun had cleared the horizon. He kissed her long and hard, letting his hands continue caressing her breasts, now moist and full from his careful inspection. She’d complained only when he pulled away.
In the lazy stillness while they each remembered to breathe, Hank spread his hand across her stomach and made lazy circles over her flesh. “There’s more,” he whispered, loving the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed.
“I figured there might be.” She moved her cheek against the side of his head.
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready.” He didn’t bother to say ‘if you’re ready.’ After the way she reacted to his second touch, there was no doubt where they were headed.
She sighed.
“It might mean children.” He’d heard of a few ways to prevent pregnancy, but doubted any one would work all the time. “You wouldn’t mind children?”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t mind your children. I think I’d love them dearly.”
He tried to keep the sadness from his voice. “That’s more than my mother did.”
“That’s not true.” She shoved away, unaware how the sudden sight of her beauty stopped his heart.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. My mother left me before I could talk and never looked back.”
“No,” Aggie shouted as she scrambled off the bed. “No!”
As she backed against the wall, he saw the quilt for the first time. “Where did that come from?” He knew nothing of crafts, but he could see that he must be looking at a work of art. No clumsy blocks, no crazy designs, but an intricate picture painted with tiny bits of fabric and fine stitching.
“Your mother. She loved you and must have spent years making these.”
“These?”
“Didn’t you know they were in the trunk? Beautiful masterpieces of the seasons. The finest work I’ve ever seen.”
Hank shook his head. “I never looked. I figured it would be her clothes and I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to be reminded of a mother who never touched me.” All his old feelings of being abandoned washed across his thoughts. “Besides, quilts in a trunk mean nothing.”
Aggie had reached the edge of the quilt. Without a word she turned the fabric over and he saw a small square in the corner. Even from five feet away he could see the stitching. Three words: “For my son.”
He sat staring at the quilt as Aggie buttoned her shirt and ran upstairs to get the others. When they were all spread out on the bed, Hank could no longer deny they were for him. Each one had the same three words carefully embroidered on the back. She might have left him, but she hadn’t forgotten him.
A knock sounded a moment before they heard the front door creak. Aggie jumped like a rabbit at the sound of gunfire, and in seconds she was dressed.
“Hank?” the sheriff’s voice boomed. He opened the bedroom door while Aggie stood behind it finishing buttoning her shirt. “Oh, there you are. I didn’t think you’d be in bed. You all right?”
Hank tried to think of some reason he’d still be in bed after sunrise. He knew a very good one, but he wasn’t about to tell the sheriff. “I was just getting dressed.”
Aggie slipped out behind the sheriff, then managed to act like she was just walking in. “Oh,” she said, “good morning, sheriff.”
“Morning, ma’am. I got some good news. They found that other fellow in Fort Worth who Stockton hired to bother you. He was still drunk in the same saloon, claiming he thought the offer was a joke. So you can stop worrying.”
“Good.” Hank drew a long breath. “How about some coffee?”
The sheriff nodded. “I wouldn’t mind if I do. I saw Blue in the barn. I’ll run over and tell him the news and be right back.”
He disappeared. Aggie ran to put coffee on and Hank dressed. When the sheriff returned they were both at the kitchen table.
After a cup of coffee and small talk, the sheriff stood. “I best be getting back.” He lifted his hat. You folks have a good day.” He took a step toward the door, then added, “That sure is a fine little rocking chair you’re building out there, Hank.”
Hank smiled, remembering how he’d worked all day on it and Aggie had been so busy she’d never asked what he was making. “It’s for my wife. The one on the porch is too big for her.”
The sheriff looked at Aggie. “You’ll like that, Mrs. Harris.”
“I’ll need it,” she said calmly. “I’m going to have a baby.”
For a moment Hank thought he’d be embarrassed, but suddenly he couldn’t stop smiling. He shook the sheriff’s hand and limped to the door to say good-bye.
Aggie moved beneath his arm to steady him while they waved the lawman away.
When they were alone once more, Hank whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with my partner.”
“I’m afraid I am too.” She smiled up at him.
“But, Aggie, you’re not pregnant.”
She frowned. “We’d better work on that, dear, before the sheriff finds out I lied.”
Hank looked up at the bright morning sun. “Lucky for us it’s almost sundown.”
They turned toward the house and stepped inside. For the first time since he’d built the place, Hank locked the door and they made love beneath each season of quilts.
A Shade of Sunrise by Dewanna Pace
Chapter 1
Wind rattled the pane, warning that winter might stage a final battle before giving in to spring. Briar Duncan stared out the window at the variety of humanity that had arrived in Amarillo daily since the new year. Strangers strode along the depot’s platform, tipping their straw boaters and Stetsons to the ladies disembarking. Lingering wisps of frontier gun-smoke made Amarillo a meeting place for past and present these days. The city sprawling golden across the Texas Panhandle had suddenly become host to an influx of men posed to fight-a back-porch base to El Paso where other fortune hunters, adventurers, and doughboys positioned themselves for Pancho Villa’s next move.
