Not a single part of her protested. The opposite happened. She wound her arms around his waist and participated in the kiss she’d been dreaming of all day.
Stafford was the one to draw back, all too soon to her way of thinking, but his hug was as wonderful as his kiss had been. Nothing had ever felt so right. So real.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he whispered.
She couldn’t very well admit she’d wanted the same thing. Not aloud, anyway. Inside was a different story. There she let bliss completely fill her heart.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the kids in their beds.”
He kept one arm around her while the other carried the lamp. They climbed the steps all the way to the window room, where the children were busy making cards stand on top of one another.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked, entering the room and already missing Stafford’s arm.
Terrance, whose structure resembled a castle, glanced toward Stafford.
“Guilty,” Stafford said. “I taught them.”
“While you were leaning to cook,” Samuel said. “It’s fun. You should try it.”
“Cooking or stacking cards?” she asked, pretending to be serious. It had been a long time since she’d been able to partake in a bout of teasing with the children. The seriousness of their situation hadn’t allowed time for that. Actually, it hadn’t been in her heart, not the way it was now.
“Stacking cards,” Terrance said. “You’ve turned into a right fine cook.”
“Oh, I have, have I?” The ability not to smile evaded her. “Should I make you scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow?”
“Uh, no,” Terrance answered.
The sparkle had returned to his eyes, the one he used to have back in Chicago. She took a moment to examine each child, see the healthy glow they now had. While her gaze was on Charlie, it fell to his shirt collar. Usually twisted and wet from him sucking on it throughout the day, it was lying as flat as it had that morning. A moment before happiness totally overtook her, Marie asked, “None of you want scrambled eggs for breakfast?”
One by one, doing their best to hide grins, each of the children shook their heads. It was nothing really, yet the moment was so poignant Marie’s eyes smarted. Then, as if they all comprehended what was happening at the same time, the air filled with laughter. There were hugs, too, disguised as tickling sessions, before they all set to straightening up the room.
When Stafford finally held a wiggling twin under each arm as if they were bags of flour, Marie told Charlotte to retrieve the lamp from the table while Terrance picked up the one Stafford had carried up the stairs.
“Follow me, Terrance my boy,” Stafford said teasingly. “You and Sam can help me get these two scalawags into bed while Marie helps the girls.”
Still caught up in the silliness of it all, Marie mockingly whispered to Charlotte and Beatrice, “He doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
Both girls giggled and nodded in agreement.
“I think I can handle it,” Stafford replied.
“Yeah, we can handle it,” Terrance piped in as conceited as Stafford had sounded.
“They’re going to be shouting for help in no time,” Charlotte said, with a smug expression.
“Let’s hurry,” Marie whispered, “so we’re ready when they call for help.”
“We won’t be calling for help,” Samuel insisted.
“Yeah,” Terrance said. “I bet us boys are in bed while you girls are still brushing your hair.”
Marie caught Stafford’s gaze.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
She laughed, realizing she’d just read his mind.
He lifted a brow. “So the race is on?”
She bit her lip, tried hard not to answer.
Beatrice, on the other hand, was up for the challenge. “Yes,” the girl said. “The race is on.”
What a race it was. Marie could barely keep up with the clothes flying around. She ran from room to room, seeing to one of Charlotte’s tasks, only to sprint out the door at Beatrice’s yell for assistance.
Stafford was doing the same, and they sidestepped each other in the hallway, laughing as loudly as the children. She was too slow one time, darted left instead of right, and they collided. Stafford took her by the shoulders and held her until she had her feet beneath her again.
“It’s a good thing the marshal and Gertrude are outside,” he said. “Otherwise they’d be wondering if the roof was going to cave in.”
“Not in this house,” she answered. “It’s too well built.”
Time froze for a moment as they stood gazing into each other’s eyes, but the trance was soon broken by the shouts echoing out of the bedrooms.
Laughing, Stafford let her go, and this time her feet were rather wobbly as she hurried into Beatrice’s room. Or was it Charlotte’s? Either way, she buttoned up the back of the nightgown, before saying, “Say your prayers then jump into to bed,” and rushing down the hall to repeat the process.
Two trips later, she blew out the light beside Beatrice’s bed. “I know we won,” the girl said.
“I’ll go see,” Marie whispered. “It’s awfully quiet out there.”
“Yeah, it is,” Beatrice whispered in return. “I still hope we won.”
“I’ll tell you in the morning,” Marie answered as she pulled the door shut.
Stafford was directly across the hall, closing Samuel’s door. She glanced left and right, noting all the doors were closed.
“A tie?” The lamp in his hand was shining up into his face, making his grin more charming than ever.
Still lost in the game, Marie tilted her head. “I don’t know? What do the rooms look like? Are there clothes strewn about?”
Tiny flashes of light, like miniature stars, danced in his eyes as he took a step forward. “The condition of their rooms wasn’t part of the race.”
A click sounded down the hall. Then another, and another, followed by two more, one behind him and one behind her. Marie didn’t look in any direction. Neither did Stafford. However, he said rather loud, “It’s been declared a tie.”
Groans sounded and Marie bit her lip.
“Hop into bed,” he continued. “The first ones asleep win. I’ll be checking in five minutes.”
Giggles faded as the doors snapped shut, and Marie covered her mouth, muffling her own.
“You do this every night?” Stafford said incredulously.
“Yes,” she answered. “Although it’s usually at a slower pace and takes much longer.”
He took her elbow and turned her to walk beside him down the hall. “One of Charlie’s socks flew out the window.”
She let out a chuckle.
“I’m glad it wasn’t him.”
Even while laughing, she said, “You wouldn’t have let that happen.”
“No,” he said. “I wouldn’t have. And I’m glad you know it.”
The bedtime commotion was over, but her insides were still aflutter. “Of course I know that,” she said. He turned, and in order to stay beside him, she did, too, following him up the staircase to the top floor. “Why are we going up here?”
“To return the lamp you’re carrying.”
“Oh.” Her grip was so tight—just to make sure she didn’t drop it—it would seem impossible she’d forgotten about the lamp, but she had. Stafford made it hard to remember anything. Even how to breathe. Each breath she took snagged in the back of her throat before tumbling its way into her lungs.
Once in the window room she walked to the far side, to set the lamp on the table beside the chair she sat in to read to the children each day. Stafford had given permission to furnish the room with whatever was needed. Gertrude had helped her carry the chair up the s
tairs—it had been in the back parlor, as had the table. The only other thing they’d carried up was a large rug, giving the children something to sit on while playing with the toys they’d stacked in the room.
Stafford had paused by the door and she turned around. “The children love playing up here.”
He shut the door, set down the lamp and slowly walked toward her, which caused her heart to skip several needed beats. Every movement he made was full of determination, and his stroll across the room was no different. His legs, long and lean, carried him smoothly, and his shoulders, broad and square, moved in time with each foot. He’d left his hat on the table near the front door before supper, and though he was handsome while wearing it, she liked how his hair fell across his forehead.
“I’m glad they like it.”
“What child wouldn’t?” she asked, waving a hand as she took a step forward.
“Don’t move,” he said, still approaching.
“Why?” There was nothing in her way, no chance she might trip, or— The lamp. She hadn’t blown it out.
He arrived as she started to turn and grasped both of her shoulders. “Don’t move,” he repeated.
“Why?” she asked again, though no longer caring what his reason might be.
“Because, earlier, when we were up here, you were standing right here, with the windows behind you and I wondered if I’d ever seen anything like it.”
“Like what?”
“The stars reflecting against the glass, and you, standing among them, took my breath away.”
His whisper, let alone the words, took her breath away. She didn’t need air anyway. Did she? No. Not with the way his breath entered her mouth as his lips settled on hers. Her hands found his hard, powerful upper arms, and she held on, knowing this kiss would once again take her to that place where promises and wishes came true.
* * *
Stafford wasn’t exactly sure when he’d made up his mind. It could have been at several points during the evening. He was going to marry her. Make her his wife for all time.
“You have no idea how badly I want you,” he announced, somewhat surprised he’d allowed the words to escape and that he’d stopped kissing her long enough to say them.
The next time he pulled his lips from hers, he admitted, “I’ve got this fire in my belly that doesn’t go away unless I’m kissing you.”
“Me, too,” she gasped with such tender sentiment his thoughts spun.
They kissed again, longer this time, more feverishly, and Stafford couldn’t deny the need to feel her. As relentless as his lips and tongue, his hands moved up and down her back, and lower, to caress the firm behind he dreamed about seeing again. He explored her waist too, before shifting slightly so one hand could cup her breast. The perfect weight filling his hand aroused him in ways he’d have never imagined possible. He’d kissed those breasts last night, through the material of her dress, and wanted to do so again, but without any barriers.
Chapter Fifteen
Moments before he lowered her to the rug, Stafford regained a fleeting ounce of common sense. He couldn’t take her here, not the way he wanted to. When they came together in the ultimate act of love, it would be in a soft bed, where they both could rest afterward, and repeat their actions over and over again until they were too exhausted to keep their eyes open. Then they’d sleep, and when a new day dawned, they’d start the loving process all over again.
He wasn’t exactly sure where he found the ability to stop, but did, and he wrapped both arms around Marie to hold her against his chest. The fires of passion burned so hotly in his loins the room was probably as smoke filled as Mick’s cabin had been right before bursting into flames.
The decision he’d made didn’t come with all the answers he needed, but the way he loved Marie, with an intensity that couldn’t exist otherwise, he believed those answers would appear.
Stafford had set the lamp he’d carried up the stairs near the door, and once his and Marie’s breathing returned to normal, somewhat, he took her hand. After blowing out the lamp on the table, he led her to the door and picked up the other lamp.
They descended the steps in silence, nothing more than the faint clip of her heels and the louder clop of his boots stepping on and off each stair. The idea of repeating tonight appealed to him profoundly, and he’d admit to anyone who questioned him that he’d changed. The things he now wanted couldn’t be bought by striking it rich or even by working from sunup to sundown. Perhaps he’d simply come full circle, as his father had once told him he would, right before he left home, when he’d hated the world and all that lived in it.
It was hard to believe he’d held such wrath, and someday soon he’d tell Sterling he did understand. That some things, especially love, did just happen.
As they stepped onto the landing of the second floor, he let go of Marie’s hand to press a finger against his lips and nod toward the closed doors lining the hall. Her smile was so precious, like a sunrise, full of promise and enchantment.
They peeked into the rooms, one by one, taking quiet moments to check on each sleeping child. In the room the twins shared she shook her head at him with a teasing grin and picked two pairs of britches, two shirts and three socks off the floor and laid them on a chair near the wardrobe as they exited.
Down the hall, Terrance was the only one awake. “Are the girls sleeping?” he asked.
“Yes,” Stafford answered.
“Aw, shucks,” he grumbled, while grinning from ear to ear. “That sure was fun.”
“Yes, it was,” Marie agreed, tucking the covers beneath his chin. “And if you go to sleep right now, we’ll still declare it a tie in the morning.”
“All right.” He closed his eyes. “Good night.”
Marie kissed his forehead while wishing him sweet dreams, and Stafford ruffled the boy’s hair when she stepped aside. He would never claim a favorite, for each of the children were special in their own way, but Terrance was the first one he’d formed a bond with, and because of that, Stafford felt a strong kinship with the boy.
“Night, Stafford,” Terrance said.
“Night,” he replied as he pulled the door closed. Once in the hallway, the desire to kiss Marie flared inside him. Stopping once was something he’d been able to manage. Twice might not happen. He led her to her door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“But Marshal Crane and—”
He put a finger against her moving lips, absorbing the warmth of her mouth. “If Gertrude hasn’t shown him to the guest room downstairs, I will.” He held up the lamp. “I’ll put this back and make sure the rest are extinguished.”
She nodded, and he couldn’t help but read the want in her eyes. He compromised by kissing her forehead.
“Good night.”
“Good night,” she said. “Thank you for—”
Pressing a finger to her lips again, he shook his head. He wasn’t made of stone, and standing here, whispering with her, was wearing down his defenses. “Go to bed.”
Marie opened her door and he thought about following her in, just to provide light for her, strike a match to the lamp beside her bed. It wouldn’t be smart. Leaving would be hard.
She giggled then, and whispered, “Good night, Stafford,” before closing the door.
He took a deep breath and thought about banging his head against the door just to jostle his mind, but instead he grinned and let the joy inside him break free. It had been a good night, and tomorrow would be a good day.
The day started out that way. Good. Everyone, including Marshal Crane, ate a hearty breakfast before leaving for church. Stafford hadn’t gone to church in years. Not because he didn’t believe, but because he hadn’t made the time to do so. Today, though, as Marie sat next to him in a dress made out of the fabric he’d purchased in town—he truly had ne
ver seen a more beautiful woman—he was looking forward to the event. Thanking the Lord for all the blessings bestowed upon him lately was more than fitting.
Marshal Crane rode alongside the wagon on the right, where he and Gertrude talked nonstop. The children were as full of spice and vinegar as ever, but there was no arguing or whining, and no one complained of their small bladders. The remembrance made him grin, and when he glanced toward Marie, she was smiling, too, and blushing, which was very becoming.
The service was likely thought provoking. Stafford sat through it, but didn’t hear much of what the preacher said. He was too busy intercepting stares, mainly from men—married and not. Marie seemed to have captured everyone’s attention. Thanks to Mrs. Smith, no doubt, who, with nose in the air, marched out of the building as soon as services ended.
Most folks were pleasant, including a tall young woman who introduced herself as the schoolmarm—she had a name, he just couldn’t recall it—and asked if the children would be attending school when classes resumed in September.
Marie said she hoped it would be possible, but would need to discuss alternative options for the children with their guardian since the distance was too far to walk.
Stafford saw no problem. By then, the older ones would know how to ride well enough, and the twins were too young for school, yet he held his silence. That was one of the answers that hadn’t come to him yet. Unlike Marie, the kids were legally Mick’s.
Marshal Crane bid his farewells in the churchyard, promising—mainly Gertrude—that he’d be in these parts again soon. The Peterson family also said their goodbyes, with Becca insisting that next Sunday everyone was invited to their home for dinner after church.
The ride home was just as pleasurable as the one to town had been, and as Stafford put away the wagon, with help from Terrance and Samuel, he wondered exactly how he should go about asking Marie to marry him. It had to be soon. He’d never been a patient man.
The Wrong Cowboy Page 21
