Chris Larabee had never seen a day so perfect. At least, he hadn't in a very long time. The sky was so blue his eyes ached when he looked upon it. The temperature of the air was warm and a light breeze cooled tired bodies with its soft breath.
He looked down at the small blond head bobbing in front of him in the saddle. Billy Travis' small hands clutched the saddle horn for balance. From this angle, Chris couldn't see the child's huge smile, but he knew it was there.
As if for confirmation, Billy looked up at Chris with a grin so wide, it rivaled Nathan Jackson's. The brilliance of it was so dazzling that Chris' face immediately softened at the sheer innocence nestled there. The only thing capable of matching it were the child's huge eyes, bright and clear blue like his mother's, orbs of crystal that sparkled in the sun's rays.
Yes, it was a good day, Chris decided. He felt relaxed and at peace. Lately it had become easier to reach such a state. It was one he never thought he would achieve again, so dark had his soul become. But now small shards of the wall he had constructed around him were continually breaking off. He could almost feel them at moments like these. Sometimes he was terrified at what they meant, and then, in the same instant, he was relieved.
Chris smiled back at the boy. Billy, seemingly satisfied that Chris was having as much fun as he, turned back to watch the road between the bouncing ears of Chris' black gelding.
Chris' smile came easily now, no pretense, no pain. The act of appreciating life had at first though, but with each excursion the two of them went on, it grew less and less wrenching. Soon it had become tolerable, and now it was just plain enjoyable.
There was something about seeing the world through a child's eyes. Their innocence; the absolute certainty of their affection--it made everything easier to bear. There was no room in their world for pain, and even though Billy Travis had seen his own fair share of it, he was willing to let it go and move on. Of course, Chris was bound and determined to wipe clean that particular slate of memory for the child. Billy was young enough to forget, now that the object of his fear was behind bars where he belonged. Billy was finally living again. Chris wished he could as well. The way he felt today gave him hope.
Billy turned to him once more. "Ma's gonna be surprised when she sees what we brought home."
Chris raised his eyebrows. "I think you're right." He glanced down to take in the creel full of fish that bounced beside his right leg. "Let's just hope she was serious about cooking what you caught today for dinner."
"Oh, she will!" Billy assured him. "Ma knows I'm a good fisherman."
"That you are." Chris turned his gelding gently onto Four Corners' main street and slowed to a walk. He handed the reins to Billy. "Take him in."
Bursting with pride and excitement, Billy immediately grasped the reins and held them carefully like Chris had shown him. He clucked to the horse, like he knew Chris did, and with slow, careful movements, he steered the gelding towards home. He pulled the reins to the left, and the horse obediently went down the side street. Soon, the livery came into view.
Mary Travis stepped out onto the boardwalk in front of the Clarion, as if she had been watching for them all day. She waved to Billy with the eager expression of a proud and attention-deprived mother. Billy, all serious and full of concentration, spared her only a quick grin as he guided Chris' horse to the hostler who was waiting patiently for them. He pulled back on the reins and with a stern voice told the horse to "whoa."
The gelding stopped and sighed. Billy quickly reached down and patted its neck. He would have hugged the animal, if he didn't think Chris would laugh at his display of affection. Mary stepped up beside them and lifted her arms up to help Billy from the saddle, but Billy looked at her with embarrassment. "I can get down by myself, Ma."
Mary masked her disappointment well enough for Billy, but Chris didn't miss the defeated slump of her shoulders as her arms dropped, slight as it was. Nor did he miss the sad shimmer in her eyes as she looked at him with the suffering patience of a mother scorned.
They exchanged understanding glances. Billy was fiercely independent, made so by fate and a generous helping of his mother's fighting spirit.
Billy reached up and grasped Chris' arm. Obediently, Chris lowered the boy down. He raised shuttered eyes at Mary, sheepishly smiling at her, hoping for her forgiveness in monopolizing her son's attention.
She shook her head but the sincere smile that enveloped her quickly eased Chris' mind. Mary knew she had been displaced as a role model for her son. But she didn't mind. How could she? Billy was a normal child again, full of life, curiosity and a bit of vinegar.
As Billy's feet touched the ground, he made up for his unconscious blunder by leaping into his mother's arms. Mary's heart swelled as she pressed the small boy to her chest. To see him so happy, so much like the little boy she remembered, made her eyes well every time. She lifted her head to regard Chris, the man who had made it all possible. The swell of emotion in her did not ease, instead it flared stronger than she ever imagined.
Chris dismounted, black duster fluttering gently in the light breeze. Lifting the fishing equipment and his saddlebags from the horse, he gestured to the creel with a bob of his chin, his hands full. "We had a good day." Behind him, the hostler led Chris' horse to the stable.
Mary laughed as the small group walked slowly back to the Clarion. "I guess you had." She leaned closer to look inside, amazed at the numerous fish in the creel.
Billy bounced excitedly beside her. "We caught lots!"
Mary's face twisted into a grimace. The thought of cleaning all those fish was not a task she relished.
Chris took in Mary's pained expression. "You don't like fish?"
Mary straightened, reaching for the creel dejectedly. "I don't like to clean fish," she clarified.
Chris held the creel just out of her reach and regarded her with sympathetic eyes. "I'll clean them."
Surprised, she shook her head. "No, that's alright. I'll be more than happy to clean them for my little fisherman." She tousled her son's hair proudly, then her head jerked up at her slip. "I mean fishermen." She grinned at Chris, her cheeks coloring slightly.
Chris stared at the blush on her face and it took a moment to swallow and find his voice. He looked quickly at Billy. "First rule of fishing, you clean what you catch."
Billy gulped, a bit daunted by the task before him. "You mean I have to clean them all?" After all, he had caught most of them.
Chris handed the creel to Billy. "I'll help you." Billy wrapped his arms around the semi-heavy creel, blue eyes looking up at Chris with joy despite the upcoming labor. Chris put a hand on the boy's shoulder, and with a knowing glance at Mary, steered him towards the rear of the building where they could work in private. "Let's go, Jonah."
"My name's Billy." The boy looked up at Chris in confusion.
Mary folded her arms and fought the laugh that gathered in her chest. She had never seen her son so happy as when he was with Chris Larabee. She couldn't help but watch as they headed off behind the Clarion, amazed at the easy way the man who struck fear in the hearts of most people in town, played so lovingly with her son. Mary had no such fear about Chris Larabee, not any more.
Chris and his friends had brought relative peace and joy to the community. She was grateful. And it had done as much for the gunfighter as it had for Billy and herself. She saw it in the small things, like the smile that occasionally now touched his face, the gradual change in wardrobe, and his ability to tolerate modest social functions. Yes, the change was obvious to those who were looking.
She walked into the Clarion in order to close up shop for the day. It didn't take long before the blinds were pulled down, the "closed" sign put up, the ink put away, and the typeset cleaned and organized for the next run. Moving through the door in the back of the office, Mary pulled the printer's apron up over her head. It was smudged haphazardly with black ink, mainly in places where her stained hands were wont to lay. She folded it carefully none-the-less as she walked.
Mary's home was attached to the Clarion. It was much easier this way. Stephen had known how to conserve their money. Mary smiled. Thinking of Stephen these days rarely made her heart ache anymore, not since Billy had returned to her a new child. She remembered more the good times that she and Stephen had shared. Everyday she saw Billy exhibit more and more habits which were so familiar. Billy's face held Stephen's memory. There were days she felt as if Stephen wasn't gone at all, so strong did Billy resemble his father at times. It made Stephen's passing easier to bear.
She heard laughter from the back of the house. There was always a lift to her spirits whenever she heard that true, unabashed laugh again. Billy was healing; he was what he should have always been, a small boy enjoying life.
She walked up to the window and peeked out at Billy and Chris Larabee. The gunfighter had removed his black duster. He wore a light gray shirt, tucked neatly into his usual black jeans and suspenders. She liked the gray shirt. She had been there when he had bought it and it had surprised her. The color was so unlike him, considering all he ever wore were dark clothes.
Billy was holding the next fish out for Chris to clean, gingerly pinching it by its tail. The boy's face was screwed up slightly as Chris flicked the fish guts on his knife to the side and took Billy's next offering.
Mary could see the mirth tinting the gunfighter's green eyes at her son's antics. What a change had been wrought in both of them. Her mind cast back to the time when a reserved and frightened Billy had first returned to Four Corners. She had noticed immediately how her son had related to Chris. It was obvious he had a way with the boy, drawing a smile--a simple smile--from Billy with the gift of a small wooden horse. She had approached Chris soon after in hopes of further enlisting his help with Billy. Chris had refused, much to Mary's regret, but she hadn't missed the pain and fear all too evident his face. Back then, he hadn't been ready.
Now look at him.
Look at both of them.
She felt a stab of jealously, not at the fact that Billy spent more time with Chris now than with her, but at the simple connection Billy had been able to draw from the normally detached man. Mary had labored long to try and reach some sort of relationship, purely business, of course, or at least some manner of congeniality with Chris. It had been a lengthy struggle and she felt the flush of embarrassment at some of her public failures. She had never been able to get Chris Larabee to open up to her, much less even talk to her sometimes, despite the fact that she thought they were kindred spirits. However, things had changed recently. He seemed more content lately, and it had offered up opportunity after opportunity to try again to make a stronger connection. Only now she was too scared to do anything, and he always seemed too unwilling.
Just yesterday for instance, she had been no more than three feet away from him in Mrs. Potter's store as he shopped for a new shirt. She had boldly recommended the grey one, handing it to him. He took it guardedly, careful not to touch her. Their fingers had been no more than an inch away and he had stood there staring at her. It had lasted only a few seconds but to Mary it had seemed like an eternity. Then with a curt nod in her direction, he had stomped out of the store, practically throwing the money for the shirt at Mrs. Potter.
She remembered it clearly--how he had just looked at her with those intense green eyes, the shine of his thumb nail as it rested just out of touch, his face locked in a grimace of pain.
He always looked like he was in pain.
She shook herself and closed the drape, walking quickly to the kitchen, wishing she could think of a way to get Chris to acknowledge her as a someone other than just Billy's mother. Of course, then again, maybe she shouldn't. What about the gossip that would flair? What about the man's reputation as a gunfighter? What about the fact that she had never felt this way towards anyone else before, not even Stephen? She pulled down pots and pans from the iron rack above her, and slowly, as if in a daze, went through the motions of preparing a meal.
There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't think about Chris Larabee. However, the uncertainty of their future, if they had one, never seemed to wane. She knew no one in town believed anything good could come of it. But a part of her did, only she was too unsure as to how to initiate it. But she was also not sure she should. He was a gunfighter, after all. Though he hadn't always been one.
She sighed. The only thing she did know was that loving him would change her life, for good and bad. Was she ready for such a thing?
A moment later Billy came rushing inside. "Chris is hurt!" He blew past her running upstairs.
Mary's chest seized and she dropped the bundle of potatoes she had in her arms onto the counter. Something inside her screamed with terror. Oh God, not again! Not more violence! Not Chris! She couldn't bear the thought of injury to that man. It happened all too often and it forever kept her in a perpetual state of panic.
Her mind flew as fast as her feet as she ran to the door. She hadn't heard any gunshots. Was the town under attack again? Was it some drifter looking to make a reputation against a fast gun? Chris would have been caught off guard...
Flinging open the door, heedless of the danger, she ran outside, chest heaving, eyes as wide open as the door.
He was just standing there at the table, looking at her curiously. "Mrs. Travis?"
She straightened, her eyes darting around for possible danger, but there wasn't any. She regarded him again and tried to quiet her rapid breathing. "Billy said you were hurt."
A glimmer of mirth flitted through his eyes and a slight tug raised the corner of his mouth. He held out a bloody finger. "I just cut myself with the knife."
A nervous, relieved gasp escaped her and she used her hand to cover any others. She exhaled shakily and walked slowly over toward him.
Chris looked at her oddly, surprised at her reaction. "I didn't mean to set everyone on edge, Mrs. Travis. I just figured I'd show Billy how to take care of wounds properly rather than being my usual stoic self."
Mary glanced sharply up at him. Did he just make a joke?
"Nathan would have my head if I started teaching Billy bad medical habits." Chris added.
Mary's lips curved into a smile. "I appreciate that." She reached for his hand. "Let me see it."
"It's nothing, Mary." His tone had lowered abruptly, his hand starting to move out of the way.
Mary was faster and grabbed his hand. After all, she had a precocious son who did the same thing. She was well practiced. "Don't start being manly now," she warned him, her eyes issuing a challenge. Raising a surprised eyebrow, Chris relented.
Her touch was light and steady despite the force she exerted to grab it. She turned his hand over carefully and examined the wound, using the edge of her cooking apron to clear away the blood. "It's not deep," she said. She raised her eyes to look at him, her fingers still running soothingly along his.
Chris' breath was strained. God, does she have to touch me? "It's just a scratch," he all but whispered, his voice unable to rise any louder, his throat abruptly seizing. He didn't care about the cut or the pain suddenly. The soft touch of her hand had fired the blood still inside him.
Then Billy burst through the door with an armload of bandages.
Chris jerked his hand out of Mary's. Her own arms dropped quickly to her sides as her son ran up. Both the adults' faces looked as if they had stayed out in the sun too long. Chris turned back to the table to hide more than just the color on his face.
"I've got everything Ma uses when I hurt myself," Billy announced.
Mary, recovering faster, grabbed the bottle of antiseptic before it toppled out of Billy's full arms. "Billy," she scolded though she had no idea what she was actually scolding him for. Every emotion seemed to be simmering just on the surface. She was hot and antsy suddenly. Billy looked up in confusion at her and she drew in a deep breath and then smiled. "Thank you, honey. It's a small cut. Chris will be just fine."
Chris coughed loudly and Mary tried to ignore him. She placed the bandages and the other medicinal things on a clean part of the table. Then she soaked a cloth in the antiseptic and reached for Chris' hand again. "Here, let me..."
"No, it's fine..."
Mary pinned him with a glare. "I thought you were going to show Billy how important it was to take care of cuts?"
Chris glared right back at her, but resignedly held out his hand, preparing himself for the electricity of her touch and his body's automatic reaction. Instead he got a handful of burning antiseptic. He gritted his teeth as the pain flared high. To a small extent he was grateful. The pain took his mind off of other things.
Billy stared at him wide-eyed. "Sheesh, Chris, doesn't that hurt?" He had all too often been on the receiving end of that bottle himself. "I usually cry. It stings like the devil."
"Billy!" Mary scolded again. This time she was sure he deserved it. Where did he learn to talk like that? From Buck Wilmington most likely, she decided.
The boy regarded her. "Well, it does."
"Mr. Larabee can take a little pain. He's a big boy."
Chris couldn't resist the temptation. "Ow," he said monotonously.
Both Mary and Billy turned to him. Billy's jaw opened practically down to his chest.
"See, I told you it hurts!" he told his mother, secretly pleased that Chris felt the same way about antiseptic as he did.
Mary tried vainly to control the smile that was threatening to engulf her face. She failed miserably. Cocking her head to the side, she quickly wrapped a bandage around Chris' finger and tied it off tightly.
This time he did flinch. "Ow!"
Mary gathered the medical supplies and retreated swiftly back into the house before she burst out into genuine laughter. She just made it.
Ten minutes later, Chris and Billy brought in the cleaned fish. Billy's chest swelled with pride as he handed them to his mother. Surprisingly the two men were scrubbed clean as well. They must have washed up outside. Droplets of water clung to both of their faces. One particular one was running down Chris' jaw and Mary found herself mesmerized by it.
Billy interrupted by thrusting the plate of fish into her stomach. "We're done, Ma."
Mary dragged her attention back to her son. "Um, yes. I see that you are." She glanced down and her eyes widened immediately at the large amount of fish on the plate. "Oh my." It was more than she had anticipated. There was no way she and Billy could use all of them and she didn't want them to go to waste. Suddenly inspiration struck her. She regarded Chris again, carefully keeping her eyes on his and away from other things. "Billy and I can't possibly eat this much. I hope you'll stay to give us a hand, Chris. It's only fair."
Chris balked. Spending time with Billy was one thing, spending it with Mary Travis was another thing completely. It had become increasingly more difficult to avoid her recently. They were constantly coming into contact with each other, and there was only so much control Chris could wield whenever the pretty widow was only a scant distance from him. He had heard of women who were completely oblivious to their sexuality but he had never believed it. Yet here she was.
Or maybe she was aware of it.
The color drained from Chris' face.
"Chris?" Mary's urgent voice dragged him from his random musing.
"What?" His voice thankfully contained none of the turmoil currently going on in his mind and body.
"I asked you to stay for dinner."
She placed a dainty, concerned hand on his arm and Chris could feel her heat even through the heavy cotton of the shirt. Or maybe that was his heat?
"Will you?" she asked.
Billy bounced excitedly up and down. "Please, Chris!"
Chris hedged, physically having to stop himself from backing out the door. "I don't--."
But Billy wasn't about to allow Chris a chance to escape. "You said a fisherman always eats what he catches. You caught some, too," he pointed out.
Chris scowled slightly at the boy. That was a low blow. Chris had only caught two of the fish. Billy had caught the rest.
Mary regarded him coolly, that determined point of her chin blaring an alarm at Chris. "Is that true?"
Chris took a deep breath and sighed. He cocked an eyebrow at Mary. "Slightly," he informed her.
She laughed at him and then turned away triumphantly, as if that admission settled the matter. "Dinner will be ready in an hour," she said over her shoulder, returning to the kitchen with the fish.
Chris glanced down at Billy. "That wasn't fair," he told the boy.
Billy bit his lip impishly and shrugged in a manner suspiciously like Buck. "How about a game of checkers?" Billy deflected, grabbing Chris' hand and leading him to a table in the living room.
They were fifteen minutes into the game but Chris was doing all he could to try and keep his mind on it. Sounds of a normal life assaulted him, things he hadn't heard in over three years. They were at once fascinating and disturbing--the clatter of cookware from the next room, the soft humming coming from Mary's lips, Billy's excited laughter. It was everything he had blocked out of his life on purpose, and now suddenly, he was immersed in it again.
He wanted to run, his every instinct screamed for him to do so, but there was something stopping him. There was something different about him lately. Each day he stayed in this town, life became easier to bear. Parts of him, which were no longer deadened by the numbing alcohol, the deep depressions, or the helpless rages, were now suddenly responding in ways that surprised him. Simple things set him off and he could never predict what they would be.
The major catalyst lately had been Mary Travis herself. She was something so perfect that she seemed always out of his reach. Chris' head knew that but apparently his body didn't. Without all his normal means of suppressing the primal urges, his body had sprung to life with all the edginess of a teenage Buck. God, how frightening was that!
Chris kept catching glimpses of Mary moving about the kitchen. Her slender form darted in and out of his peripheral vision, but every time he looked in her direction, she had disappeared.
"King me!" Billy cried.
Chris forced his attention to return to the board and huffed slightly. Billy had done it again. Now the kid had three kings and Chris had none. In fact, his remaining pieces where all but surrounded. "You been taking lessons from Ezra?" he groused.
Billy shook his head, still smiling.
Chris placed another checker onto Billy's. It wasn't long before the game was over and Billy sat grinning over his huge pile of checkers. "Want to play again?"
"Only if I've gone loco," Chris mumbled. He leaned closer over the empty board. "Billy, there's a parcel in my saddlebags over there. Bring it here." Billy leapt to obey and was soon back with a bundle wrapped in brown paper. He handed it to Chris but the man shook his head. "Go on. Open it. It's for you."
"For me?" The boy was stunned but it didn't take long for the excitement to rush into him. His small hands flew about the parcel, ripping the paper. It fell away and revealed a piece of wood shaped painstakingly and meticulously into the form of an ark. It rested perfectly in Billy's arms. "Gosh Chris, it's great!"
Chris reached a hand to the ark's main deck and lifted it gently. Inside its sleek hull were tiny carved animals, two of everything, some so small that they were no larger than a thumbnail, but all still easily recognizable as raccoons, lambs, zebras, lions, buffaloes and elephants.
Billy's small hands pulled them out and set them on the board, calling each one by name as they emerged. Chris reveled in the child's joy. He had had the set for weeks now. Originally, he had planned on giving it to Billy for Christmas, and then he decided on the boy's birthday since it was closer.
But Jericho had changed all that.
He hadn't expected to live through that experience and one of the regrets that had haunted him in the long desperate nights in the prison had been the fact that he had not given the gift to Billy. There were other regrets too, but this was one he could remedy now, easily. His life was too dangerous to expect to see a holiday or a child's birthday. It was best not to rely on the future just in case something happened.
"Ma!" Billy got up and ran into the kitchen, his arms clutching the ark. He returned with Mary in tow. "Look what Chris gave me!"
"Oh my," she said as she stared at the magnificently carved set. "It's beautiful."
Billy held up the joined figures of a mare and stallion, their necks arched, their tails high. "Look Ma. Look at this one. It's my favorite!"
"You have a favorite already?" she wondered incredulously, but then she understood why. Her fingers rubbed the polished wood. There were no splinters, only an incredible smoothness, almost like glass. She regarded Chris with amazement. "You made this, didn't you?" she all but whispered.
Chris shrugged. "I had some time on my hands." That was an understatement really. He hardly ever slept anymore and so on long sleepless nights, he had to find something to occupy him. Carving was the simplest thing to do. It occupied his hands, his mind. It was better than the bottle, and in the end, it was more satisfying. Especially now, watching Billy, he knew it had all been worth it.
Billy collected the ark and its animals and collapsed on the floor to play. Chris and Mary observed him in silence for a moment.
"He loves it. Thank you."
Chris turned to find Mary watching him. There was something sad about her expression, and it struck Chris with such force that he had to lock his mouth into a tight grimace, suppressing the stab of pain that went with it.
Mary retreated to the kitchen and Chris followed her. He had never been in her kitchen before, he realized abruptly. He stopped in the doorway.
Mary's kitchen was small, but every nook and cranny of space was utilized. Pots and pans were arranged neatly on racks; the wash basin and pump stood off to the left near the cast iron stove; The main table, set in the center, was covered with vegetables. Mary brought the plate of fish to the table and began preparing it with fresh herbs.
"Do you need some help?" he asked instinctively. He regretted his words the minute he uttered them. Not because his offer wasn't genuine, but because it would put him in direct proximity to Mary Travis. In such a confined space as this, the two of them were bound to have to talk.
But wasn't that why he had come in?
Mary's stunned expression made Chris realize that her own husband most likely hadn't been the type to do such a thing. Mary shook herself out of her stupor and then gestured to the pile of potatoes on the table. "If you wouldn't mind peeling some potatoes..."
Chris nodded, picked up the knife and deftly began the chore. It was one he had done often in his life with Sarah. He felt the ache hit as it always did, but this time he steeled himself against it. After all, it wasn't the only time he had ever peeled potatoes. His own mother had been a stickler for help in the kitchen. Whenever there wasn't any other work to do, Chris helped his mother prepare a meal. That eased the ache somewhat.
Mary watched Chris make short work of the chore. He was almost through his fourth potato before she realized that she was still staring at him. She turned quickly back to her own duties. She rubbed some salt on the outside of the fish. "You know most men wouldn't be caught dead in a kitchen unless they were eating," she commented, trying to fill the silence with conversation.
Chris regarded her, all the while the knife moved magically beneath his fingers. He never missed a beat. "I'm not like most men," he said in that quiet tone of his.
Mary smiled nervously. "No. No, you're not." She took a deep breath and tried to switch topics. "Billy helps out a great deal in the kitchen with me. He likes to peel the corn and shell peas. Of course, he eats his share long before supper."
Chris tried to smile amiably as his thoughts turned to his own son who had hated vegetables. He mentally shook himself. No! Not now. He nodded to Mary, just listening, attempting to keep his thoughts in the present.
"--not so bad since there's just the two of us, but Billy's appetite is growing by leaps and bounds. Soon, I'll be having to close the Clarion just so I can cook twenty-four hours a day for him." She laughed a little at her own jest and snuck a quick glance at Chris. He wasn't smiling. Instead he was watching her with a deep intensity and it shook her to the core.
She looked down at her chore, turning it into a safe haven for her attention. More words tumbled from her lips nervously. "I've always heard that boys' appetites were phenomenal. I guess I'm about to find out. It's good to see him eating again though. He had such a small appetite while he was with Orrin and Evie."
Another small glance and Mary breathed a sigh of relief as Chris' attention once more fell to his own work. He was now cutting the peeled potatoes into a pot of water as he prepared to boil them. She was amazed. He certainly knew his way around a kitchen. Stephen had always been completely inept. She used to laugh at how clueless he was, though a part of her suspected that Stephen acted so on purpose just so that she would not ask for his assistance.
But Chris on the other hand was a marvel to behold. Even in a stranger's kitchen, he automatically knew what needed to be done.
"There's some salt here on the table," she pointed out to him. He nodded, immediately knowing what she wanted. Taking the bag of salt and opening it, he dipped his hand into the burlap and emerged with a good amount of the stuff pinched between his fingers. He dropped it into the potato pot and shook the leftover crystals from his hands with two quick brushes.
"I have to say, I've never seen a man so at home in the kitchen before."
Chris shrugged as he closed the bag of salt. "My mother was a stickler for making sure her men folk could feed themselves." He looked up at her with a small grin. "You might want to make sure Billy can do the same. It would save wear and tear on you."
"I see what you mean." She chuckled as she transferred some of the fish to the pan sitting beside her. "Well, you certainly retained the knowledge."
"I've done my time," he mentioned, remembering how often he had helped Sarah out in the kitchen. She too had been amazed at his skills. "Lord knows, Sarah pitched in her time with the horses. Seemed only right to repay the favor on occasion," he commented unconsciously, picking up the heavy pot. "Usually, it was more my job to keep Billy busy."
His heart stopped. The pot fell back to the table with a resounding crash as it slipped from nerveless fingers, water and potatoes sloshing onto the table and floor, seeping over the table, engulfing everything in its path.
Chris gasped at what he had just said. His couldn't breathe for a second, even though he struggled to get out the next bit as quickly as possible. "I meant Adam." It was a harsh broken whisper. His limbs shook so bad that he grabbed the table for support. It just slipped out! I let my guard down and it slipped out! Oh god...
Mary stood there frozen for a moment. She knew what that had cost Chris. Such an unconscious blunder. She had made a hundred of them herself, but she knew it was different for Chris. He so rarely spoke of such things. If there were lapses, they were done only in his own head, not in public and definitely not in front of her.
She was going to lose him. He was going to shut down now and all her hard work would be for nothing. He would flee from the pain as quickly as possible. He was pale and trembling before her, his eyes locked on the mess in front of him, though she knew for a fact he wasn't seeing it.
Her heart wanted to reach out and comfort him, to tell him it was alright and natural for these things to happen, but logic dictated that was exactly the wrong thing to do with this man. He'd pull away, ashamed and angry at himself for desecrating a memory as treasured as his family. She made her decision quickly before anything else could go wrong.
"I should have told you that pot's handle was broken," she said as nonchalantly as she could muster She picked up a nearby towel and began wiping up the excess water on the table. She went on as if she heard nothing, as if it hadn't happened at all. Her hands picked up the escaping potatoes and put them back in the pot. With a heave, she brought the pot closer to her and lifted it to the stove. "It's better to pick it up from the bottom, not carrying the weight on the handle. Sorry, I just so rarely have guests over, I didn't even think about it." She didn't look at him. She just concentrated on acting naturally.
She tried to hide the fact that her own limbs were shaking terribly. She didn't want him to go, not like this. They had been doing so well, the connection was so close she could almost touch it--touch him. This wasn't fair! She rubbed her hands down the length of her apron, desperately trying to ease the dread that was invading her. Please don't let him leave!
Chris just stood there, his mind whirling with emotions that cascaded down one after the other, fear, anger, embarrassment, betrayal.... I'm so sorry! His hands clenched the edge of the table so hard that his fingers had turned bone white. He sucked in deep breaths. He wanted to run but his limbs had forsaken him. He couldn't move. Hadn't Mary noticed? He stole a glance at her, expecting aversion, reproachment, but instead he saw nothing but a woman relaxed. She went about the duties of making a meal. She wasn't watching him with horrified eyes. She was acting as if nothing had happened at all out of the norm.
Mary's hands were cutting twine from a ball, concentrating on her actions. She could feel his eyes upon her, studying her for a reaction, expecting one of aversion. Instead, she merely glanced up, keeping her tone light and her expression oblivious. "Hand me some of that sage."
He stared at her, his mind still not cohesive, but instinctively he reacted to her polite command. He looked to where she was pointing. "What?" he murmured.
"The sage. It's hanging right there on the rack."
He found a rack full of drying herbs, similar to what Nathan did with his own medicinal herbs. Whereas he used his for healing, Mary used hers for cooking. Unfortunately, Chris had no idea what sage looked like. The dried plants all looked the same to him. "Which one--?" He looked at her again, still confused but distracted now from his previous thoughts.
Mary smiled and pointed out the one on the far left. "That one. With the small blue flowers on it."
Chris numbly obeyed her, lifting the bundle of dry leaves from its hook and then handing it to Mary. She took it gratefully and, keeping up a steady stream of conversation, proceeded to stuff the sage into the fish and tie them expertly with some twine.
She talked of nothing and of everything. She poured her heart and soul out to him and didn't bat an eye at what she said. She spoke of the simplest of things in her day, sometimes the most foolish, or the most happy. It didn't matter really. She had his attention and she could see him steadily returning to her. She pushed the ears of corn toward him, and he unconsciously began the process of shucking them.
She knew what that lapse had cost him. Secretly, Mary was proud of Chris. He hadn't run. He had stayed. She wasn't sure why but she didn't care. The smile on her face came naturally now. She relaxed, continuing her preparations. He was here with her and they had weathered the tempest. It may have seemed like only a mild storm to most, but she knew better. Chris had just made it over a monumental hurdle. He faced his past and his trauma publicly, and to his credit, he had held his ground. Sometimes in the face of a horrific war, it was victory over the smaller skirmishes that meant the most.
She had seen this man face overwhelming odds, dangerous cruel men and impossible victories, yet never once did he back down. Yet, he still had fears only he kept them hidden well. He had an outer shell that was so hard sometimes she swore she could see the sun shine off it like a suit of armor. But inside was where he was most fragile. The slightest wound there sent him into a downward spiral of misery and self-destruction. No one could help him. He wouldn't let anyone. Heaven help Chris if anyone else figured out his only true weakness.
Chris was grateful for the work that kept him occupied. He listened to Mary, hanging on her every word, his hands shredding the skin from the corn with an aggression he usually kept under strict control. His mind cried out how stupid he was. Billy was not Adam. But inside he also knew it had just been a mistake. It didn't mean anything. It had just been a stupid, stupid mistake. Billy was not a replacement for Adam. He wasn't! Billy was Billy. Chris was just helping the child regain his life again. Chris wasn't trying to substitute Billy for his dead son. Rationally, he knew that could never happen. It didn't stop his shame, but at least he knew his love for his son would always remain the same.
Billy had just been on his mind a lot lately. They had been spending a great deal of time together. It was hard not to in such a small town as Four Corners. At first, Chris had been uncomfortable around Billy, almost to the point where he had alienated the kid. But thankfully, he had come to his senses on the matter. Billy was a child and didn't understand everything that went on in the mind of a surly gunslinger. Nor should he.
Chris had weeks ago realized that the time spent with Billy Travis was not an attempt to displace Adam from his heart. Billy needed his help and Chris would be damned if he didn't take the time to help the child. Sarah would be mad as hell at him if he didn't try, and the one thing Chris Larabee never wanted to be was on the receiving end of Sarah Larabee's temper. It could make a grown man run for cover.
A small smile played about his lips as he recalled his wife standing angry and righteous on the front porch one summer night, glaring at Chris and Buck, both of whom were woostered beyond reasoning. The two men had wound up sleeping in the barn for two days straight following that escapade. Afterwards, Chris had given up hard liquor--at least for a time.
Sarah had rules and her voice had weight. Lately, Chris had been hearing her more and more often in his head. He found he could listen to her now. Before, he hadn't been able to. It was too painful to hear her soft voice, whispering to him like a second conscience. But ever since Jericho and the hellhole, weak and wounded, he hadn't had the strength to hold off the sound of her voice. It was now months later and he still found himself listening to her reasoning, catching snatches of her words in the back of his mind.
"Don't be drinkin' yerself into a stupor, Christopher."
"You're stronger than you think."
"Don't rebuke those who care about ya."
"Take care of that child. He needs ya."
She was right of course. She was always right. He let loose a small sigh and came back to the present. Mary was still talking. She was saying something about the printing press missing the letter "P" from its last run. He almost smiled. She was really reaching for conversation now. He decided to rescue her.
"Why don't I clean up the table," he offered. He was grateful for her efforts. Her steady voice had held him like an anchor, giving him the time he needed to work through the situation.
Mary abruptly stopped what she was doing and regarded Chris in surprise. "What?"
Chris' expression softened. "I've finished with the corn. I was gonna clean up the table so we can set it for supper."
Mary's eyes burned as the first rush of adrenaline waned, and then tears welled to take its place. She fought them down. It was just that her relief was so great. He had won his battle against his dark past and he was still here with her. They were together.
At least as together as they would ever be. She wanted more, or at least her body did. Logically, she realized that such a relationship wouldn't last between them. He was much too guarded against letting someone like her inside, and she was bound by society's demands, and possibly her own, to marry someone more stable and dependable.
There was a part of her that didn't care about that though. There was something about Chris Larabee that consumed her rational thoughts, like a darkness that seeped into her frail light. He was everything she shouldn't be attracted to. He was arrogant, dangerous, hard, and tortured by things she couldn't possibly control.
He was a force to be reckoned with and that part of him frightened her. She'd be the first to admit that. The entire town was scared of this man, but she had, on occasion, seen another side of him. Just glimpses really, but it had shown her that there was more behind his angry bluster, behind the mask of vengeance he wore. She was determined to see that other part of him; she wanted to know about the man he was before, and the man he could be again if only he would let go of his revenge.
She nodded distractedly at him and was grateful that he turned away from her and went about clearing the mess. She brought down a tablecloth from inside a hutch drawer and then brought out the good china. It had been part of her dowry from her mother. Mary hardly ever had a chance to use it.
As soon as Chris had the table cleaned, she flung out the tablecloth and let it float gently down toward the table's surface. Chris caught it in mid-air and helped direct it. As she brushed her hands across the cloth to smooth down the folds, she gazed at Chris across the yellow flowered cloth. The small flowers embroidered there brought out the highlights embedded in his hazel eyes. Small streaks of yellow erupted from his pupils to streak across his iris like the sun's rays escaping behind an eclipsing moon.
Though she had had opportunity to be close to him before this, she had rarely had the time to study him. There was always some crisis or they were immersed in an argument that distracted her. Now in the peace of the house, she had the opportunity. His eyes reminded her of the high meadow where she grew up. In the heat of the summer, the buttercups blossomed on a carpet of green, and she used to lay amongst them as a child staring up into the brilliant blue sky, wondering what her life would be like, who she would someday marry. In all her fantasies, she had never imagined a man such as Chris Larabee. She had always been distrustful of men like him. She had thought that a man like that would be too controlling, making her conform to the image of a dutiful wife.
But surprisingly, Chris had never done that. He seemed to respect her forthrightness. He may not agree with her methods, but he certainly didn't fault the reasons behind them. For that she was grateful.
Chris picked up the dishes while she gathered the silverware, and, working in tandem, one following the other, they had the table set in record time. As a final touch, Mary moved a large vase of flowers into the center. She stood back, arms folded, eyeing the table critically.
Chris was directly across from her. He nodded his approval. "It looks nice, Mary."
That elicited a smile of gratitude from her. "Yes, it does. Thank you." She moved to the stove to check on dinner. It was ready. She tossed her head over her shoulder to call to Chris and was startled to see him standing behind her. She gave a small start at his nearness, so close she could reach out to touch him. God, how she wanted to! But instead she gestured to the living room. "Would you collect Billy? Dinner's ready."
It took a few seconds before either of them moved but finally Chris brushed past her. Mary's flesh tingled as the cramped space created a small vacuum, and the air's slight movement felt good upon her heated skin. Her eyes slipped closed. How am I ever going to make it through dinner? Whatever made me think I was strong enough to do this? Chris Larabee would have to be blind not to notice what a fool I'm making of myself.
Every part of her was so in tune with his. It had never been that way with Stephen. These past few months had been filled with sinful thoughts, rampaging desires that flared hotter than any sun-baked desert. With Stephen there had been love and affection, but not passion, not like what she was experiencing now. Her attraction to Chris at once felt so wrong and also so right. And heaven help her, she didn't care!
She transferred the fish to the serving plate with shaky hands. She placed it on the table just as Chris returned with Billy in tow. While he settled her son, she finished bringing the rest of the feast to the table, grateful to have something to occupy her mind. "I hope you men are hungry."
Billy let loose with an enthusiastic yell in the affirmative.
Chris' voice, however, was low, his eyes riveted to hers. "Yes." His one word, just that single word, elicited a rush of shivers along the length of Mary's body. Her eyes widened and she tried to swallow through her parched throat. She sat abruptly in her chair and took a long draught of her lemonade, her eyes never leaving his.
Doesn't the man ever blink?!
+ + + + + + +
Chris hadn't realized how hungry he was. Mary Travis was a good cook. Hotel food just didn't compare to home cooking. Of course, maybe he just didn't want to see the food go to waste either. He pushed his third plate away and leaned back in the chair. He felt he was near to bursting, and if he wasn't in such company, he would have undone the top button of his pants. He hadn't eaten like that in a long, long time. He glanced over at Billy who was downing his fourth helping of fish. Mary was right. The kid could eat.
He observed Mary from the edge of his vision, noticing how delicately she ate, almost like a bird. She was a slow eater, savoring each sensation of taste as it saturated her. Every so often she'd give a small, hardly audible, sigh, relishing the tang of a particular spice on her tongue. Each movement at dinner was a display of patience in a prolonged dance. She was a woman who enjoyed the moment and never rushed to experience the next, knowing it would be as wonderful as the first.
Chris licked his lips and turned his head slightly to look at her more completely, but then was forced to quickly look away as Mary's head was about to rise.
Mary glanced up from her finished meal, dabbing her lips with the cotton napkin. Setting it meticulously on the table, she collected her silverware. She saw Chris' plate pushed aside and a part of her was content. He had eaten well and that made Mary feel good. He was far too thin. She had never seen him eat before. She wondered at times if he ate at all. Apparently his appetite had returned tonight and with a vengeance. He had attacked her meal with zeal, yet never once did he forget his manners.
He was delicate with his hands, wielding his fork and knife properly, not like a ranch hand on the trail, but as a man who had been trained well to please a woman at the dinner table. Though that didn't halt his hunger, and with each bite, he exerted every muscle and thought into ravaging the food. He consumed his meal with all the passion of a man who was starved, barely allowing time to swallow before shoveling in the next morsel. She would never forget the way he had attacked the corn, biting his way down the cob with quick, darting snaps, and then immediately sucking the juices therein, his lips wrapped about the corn's curved body, as he slid it back again, the glisten of butter caressing his chin.
Mary dropped her fork, and it fell to the table with a clatter, making her jump. She stood quickly and declared that she was going to clean the table. Chris looked like he was about to offer his help, but Mary quickly averted that motion. The last thing she needed right now was to have Chris Larabee underfoot again.
At Mary's insistence, Chris took Billy into the other room while she organized her kitchen once again. The house settled into its natural rhythm; Chris could feel the quiet, peaceful sounds permeating the home. He didn't have time to contemplate them all since Billy kept up a running dialogue on every subject from birds to buffaloes. It was probably for the best, Chris thought. He certainly didn't want his mind wandering again to places it shouldn't be thinking about.
Billy had brought down some of his favorite books that the Judge had given him. Billy knew of Chris' love of reading and he hoped he could impress the man with his collection. He got a book a year from Grandpa Travis and he knew Chris would feel the same way about the pretty books as he did.
In fact, Chris already held a bound book carefully in his hands, thumbing through the thin pages with a gentle touch. It was a novel his own father had given him long ago, something he had not read in many years. His father had nurtured Chris' fondness of reading as a small boy. Now, Chris mainly read poetry. It was less distracting than a novel. The thought of becoming so involved, and therefore vulnerable, was disturbing to Chris now. Gunfighting was a part of his life that wore on him. He hated it. Even if he wanted to escape from it, he couldn't. People wouldn't let him. There would always be another fast gun looking to further his reputation at Chris' expense.
Billy climbed up next to Chris and pointed to the book in the man's hands. "Do you like that story?"
Chris fingered the worn binding and the soft leather cover. He nodded.
Billy squirmed to sit more comfortably beside the gunfighter, relishing the warmth that radiated from him now that they were in the cooler part of the house. He looked up at Chris with those wide eyes. "Would you read me some of it? Some of the words are kinda hard."
Chris hesitated but then obliged the boy. He couldn't say no to Billy. He opened the book, enjoying the feel of the thin pages between his long fingers. He began to read.
"When Jason, the son of the dethroned King of Iolchos, was a little boy, he was sent away from his parents, and placed under the queerest schoolmaster that ever you heard of. This learned person was one of the people, or quadrupeds, called Centaurs. He lived in a cavern, and had the body and legs of a white horse, with the head and shoulders of a man. His name was Chiron; and, in spite of his odd appearance, he was a very excellent teacher, and had several scholars, who afterwards did him credit by making a great figure in the world...."
Mary could hear Chris' soft voice from the kitchen as she finished putting up the last of the dry dishes. She quietly closed the cupboard, listening to the tale of Jason and the Argonauts. She had always liked that particular story by Hawthorne. Chris was at the part where Jason was collecting his crew for the quest for the Golden Fleece.
"Many of these brave fellows had been educated by Chiron, the four-footed pedagogue, and were theremore old schoolmates of Jason, and knew him to be a lad of spirit. The mighty Hercules, whose shoulders afterwards upheld the sky, was one of them. And there were Castor and Pollux, the twin brothers, who were never accused of being chicken-hearted, although they had been hatched out of an egg; and Theseus, who was so renowned for killing the Minotaur, and Lynceus, with his wonderfully sharp eyes, which could see through a millstone, or look right down into the depths of the earth, and discover the treasures that were there; and Orpheus, the very best of the harpers, who sang and played upon his lyre so sweetly, that the brute beasts stood upon their hind legs, and capered merrily to the music."
Entering quietly, so as not to disturb the tale, Mary sat down in the chair opposite the settee where her son sat with Chris. She smiled at them. Her son was enraptured by their guest, reveling in the story of adventure and daring deeds of brave men. It struck her suddenly how much like the Seven was the story of the "The Golden Fleece:" men banding together to embark on a quest while fighting injustice.
Chris made a fine Jason, tall and stalwart, his shield and armor embracing him tightly, an obvious leader. Vin was, of course, Lynceus, "whose eyes were as far-sighted as a telescope." JD and Buck were Castor and Pollux, the twin brothers, brave to a fault. Orpheus reminded Mary of Ezra, the gentle harper, who had power over beasts if he so wished, so sweet was his voice. Josiah was naturally Hercules, whose shoulders were wide enough to uphold the sky and more. And then there was Nathan. Mary smiled at the thought of the man she had once risked her life to save. He was the Greek hero, Theseus, the man who would kill the Minotaur, a man courageous enough to face the insurmountable odds against him and win.
Billy got up off the couch and crawled onto Mary's lap, nestling himself against her. He stifled a yawn. She brushed a hand across his blond hair, drawing his head into her shoulder. He had had a big day. It was no wonder he was so tired. She was fighting the pull of exhaustion herself. She struggled to fight a yawn of her own.
Chris' voice was so soothing, low and with a touch of melody as he read. It was so unlike the voice he used for speaking. She realized dimly that this was probably the most he had ever said in one sitting. The man was not known for his long-windedness.
Even though he had said little about himself over the past months, Mary felt she understood him better now. Slowly, she had discovered what drove him, what made him laugh and what made him sad. In Mary's mind that was enough to build something on, if only he would allow it. What did the past or the future matter?
Mary felt Billy's breathing slowly become deeper and more rhythmic. He had fallen asleep. She couldn't blame him really. Between the busy day, the hearty meal, and now Chris' story telling, the child hadn't stood a chance. She stifled another yawn. And neither did she.
Chris looked up while he was reading and noticed that both Mary and Billy were asleep in the chair. He read a bit further just to make sure and then he stopped, gently closing the book and setting it down beside him. It was growing late and he should be on his way. The guys would be in the saloon by now.
He rose quietly, like a shadow moving across the floor. Without his spurs he could move with the fluidity and grace of a cat. He paused beside the pair and watched Mary sleeping, her face fair and sweet in repose. All traces of tension were gone from her features, highlighting her smooth porcelain skin. Perhaps her dreams were peaceful and beautiful. Chris had never seen her face so relaxed before. He had seen it angry; he had seen it frightened; and he had once or twice seen it laugh, but not often enough. If he had the power, he would make Mary smile all the time. She deserved it. It was a shame that Four Corners had not been overly obliging in that manner. But if it was possible, Chris and his men would make it so, for Mary alone if necessary.
He bent down, and with a hand as gentle as one he would use to soothe a nervous colt, he laid it upon Billy's fair head and softly kissed the boy. He leaned back slightly and paused only scant inches away from Mary's rose lips. Chris stared at them and then licked his own. What it must feel like to touch them. He imagined them silky and soft, just like he imagined the rest of her.
Her long lashes flickered slightly, her lips parting in a slow tranquil expression. Chris played over in his mind the thought of tasting those lips. Then it happened before Chris even realized it. He bent down and met them. It was a soft caress of a kiss, his breath blowing into her open mouth.
Chris expected to feel the ache he normally felt but instead the kiss brought only peace and serenity to his heart, a sense of belonging and deep rooted love. He pulled back gradually, their lips separating by mere degrees.
Her eyes were still closed and Chris let out a trembling breath, relieved. God, what am I doing? Ths was Mary Travis. He shouldn't have kissed her, but it was almost as if he wasn't himself tonight. He felt strange in his own skin suddenly. He wasn't Chris Larabee and he wasn't trying to be Stephen Travis. He was someone completely different and he didn't know who and it frightened him.
He wanted to stay, but he felt he could no longer trust himself. He drew in a deep breath, trying hard to keep it slow and even, grateful that her eyes were not watching him. Her eyes could see into his very soul at times. He left the living room and moved to the rear door. With his hand resting just above the handle, he could feel the emptiness once again inside him, and he knew he would be lost the second he walked out the door.
He had found in Four Corners what he thought he would never find again in his lifetime, and he was going to walk away from it. For her sake and for his. He was tarnished by blood and by violence, and even if Mary thought she could wipe clean his soul, it wasn't fair to her. She deserved better. He opened the door a crack, intent on walking out of Mary's life, but then hesitated again. Something made him turn around.
Mary stood there beneath the kitchen's arch, her arms holding a sleeping Billy, watching him. She hadn't been sleeping, her wide, soft eyes told him so. His muscles were tense, expecting reproach and resentment, but there was none. She was quiet and there were still no lines upon her face. She was calm, as if she were still walking in her dream world, where her life was sweet and pleasant.
They stared at each other, neither making a move, each maybe praying for the same thing, but neither realizing it.
Billy shifted in Mary's arms and she glanced down for a moment, ready to settle her son if he awoke. When he didn't, she glanced up again. To her amazement, Chris was still standing there as if frozen. His face was desperately searching hers for something. Instinctively, she knew what, and to her surprise, it didn't frighten her.
Chris' body was riveted to the floor, his eyes never wavering from Mary's. Her blue eyes were warm and inviting. Chris closed the half opened door quietly behind him, his body still facing her, still expecting her to say no, yes, anything.
But Mary said nothing.
She stood there a moment more, her breathing even despite what she was contemplating. Something was happening. Not wanting Billy to wake, she turned and took him upstairs. A part of her was terrified that such a move would shatter the moment, but she also knew that what would transpire here tonight would not be something of her making. It was up to Chris. He had to be ready for this. It had to be his time not hers. No life can escape being blown about by the winds of change, and he had to realize that on his own.
Chris waited by the door, still confused by what was occurring. With Mary's absence, the house was plunged into silence. The only thing he could hear was the ragged sound of his own strained inhale and exhale of air.
What was he doing? He shouldn't be here. He didn't deserve Mary or Billy. He had tried once to make a family and had failed miserably. What right did he have to involve two more innocents in his chaotic existence? There were never guarantees. Mary Travis had no idea what loving him entailed. He had been used and broken by tragedy and all the love in the world couldn't fix him, not even Mary's.
Could it?
Like a moth to a flame, he crept forward slowly toward the last place he had seen Mary. He paused at the doorway's arch, looking immediately at the stairs leading to the bedrooms. He could now hear Mary's soft footfalls moving above him. His ravenous eyes tracked her movements through the ceiling. A few steps more and he was at the base of the stairs. It was then that his rational mind began to batter him again.
This was all wrong. She didn't want him. What was he thinking? He was misreading this entire situation. She was merely being polite, ignoring the fact that he had kissed her in a moment of weakness. Why would she want him, a man who had only brought more violence into her life? She stood against everything Chris Larabee embraced. She stood in the light while he hid in the shadows. She was an angel of mercy and he was a demon of revenge. In self defense, he had numbed his soul against her warm, healing touch.
Or so he had thought.
God, how he wanted to see her just one more time. Then he could leave. He'd give up these foolish thoughts, accept the fact they were from different worlds, different religions, different everything. Matters of the heart meant little in the face of them.
Didn't they? That included matters of the flesh too, right?
He shook his head, trying to dislodge these consuming thoughts that led nowhere. It was time to leave this family in peace. He should go now before he made a grave mistake and let his desires consume both Mary and himself.
He was in the process of turning around when he heard a noise on the landing behind him. He looked back and his body flooded with a fire hotter than his own personal hell.
Mary stood above him, draped in a light night shift. The white cotton cloth fell off her thin shoulders and over the swollen mounds of her breasts, past her rounded hips to swirl gently around her ankles. She held a candle in her hand and it illuminated the soft curves of her body through the delicate material. Chris' mouth went dry as his entire body clenched. He could feel a cold sweat run down his back.
She walked softly down the stairs, holding the candle in front of her, her small feet padding quietly down the wooden staircase. The wood was cool against the soles of her feet as she approached him. She was grateful in a way because her entire body was aflame with the sheer desire of wanting the man waiting for her.
Then she was standing before him on the bottom step.
Neither of them made a move. Chris licked his lips and finally reached for the candle, taking it from her. He placed it on the stand beside them and then returned his attention to her. He brushed her lower lip with a calloused thumb, barely touching the edge.
It was like being scalded with a flame one second and then soothed with ice in the next. Mary closed her eyes and felt his kindling fingers move to her cheek and temple, ear and neck, and then she shuddered as his hands dropped to her waist.
He pulled her closer to him so that their bodies crushed together. The heat that poured off Chris was like a man consumed with a raging fever. Mary relished it since her shift was little protection against the cool air. It was like basking in the warm rays of the sun.
His eyes still studied her, searching for any sign of uncertainty, but Mary knew he would find none. She had made her decision. She felt his hand leave her waist to cup the nape of her neck. He placed upon her lips a soft caress of a kiss, scarcely there. She heard his barely constrained breathing as it drew in and out in a poor imitation of a normal function. His lips skimmed over hers, gentle as the very air itself. Where his fingers had been course, his lips were soft and firm. It was such a contrast of sensations. She swayed in his arms.
He bit back a moan and pulled away from her again. She ran a tongue lightly over his own lips, as if searching out one last taste of him. Then, in one swift movement, he scooped her up into his arms. She gasped as his strong arms encircled her. The shift was so thin it was almost as if she were wearing nothing.
He carried her into the living room where they had been reading only moments before. He laid her ever so carefully on the braided rug, pausing to stare at her, his desire for her all consuming. But he held it at bay, offering her one last escape. "I can't promise anything."
She smiled slightly, gazing up at him, into eyes as fathomless as the ocean depths or the midnight sky. She nodded, her throat tight. "I know. I don't care. I want you." She could feel Chris' breath on her face, alternately warm and cool on her skin.
His eyes closed and he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. "I want you too. I've always wanted you," he whispered hoarsely, encircling her with one arm to cushion her head.
"Then that's all that matters," she answered decisively.
Raised up on his other elbow, he reached with trembling fingers to untie the petite ribbons holding the front of the shift closed. Soon her skin was bare to his touch. In short order, his own clothing followed suit. He laid down beside her and she immediately rose to rest on his lean body, wrapping her arms around him. She watched his chest rise and fall like the tides of her new life. His bones were her bedframe, his flesh became her pillow. Her fingers trailed over his muscled stomach and he sucked in air with a sharp hiss.
His control fled. He rolled over and laid atop her, melting his mouth to hers once more, and where the first kisses had been tender and hesitant, now they were was voracious and consuming. Her consciousness fragmented into a dozen small separate sensations; the rough rolls of the braided rug beneath her back; the waxy scent of the burning candle; the cool timber of the settee against her left foot; the firm hands upon her ribs.
Sensations swirled and coalesced behind her eyelids, fading and then surging again.
They couldn't stop now even if they wanted to. The dam was broken and they were washed away by their desires. Tears filled Mary's eyes and she blinked them away. She knew what this moment meant: nothing and yet everything. For the first time, Chris Larabee had laid down his armor, even if it was just for one single night, just for her.
It was enough.
The End
