by Diana Palmer
He indulged her for a time, but then his lean hand caught her hip and stilled her. “No more,” he whispered. “You’re very new to this. It will be uncomfortable if we don’t stop.”
“Oh,” she protested.
He kissed her tenderly. “Besides,” he whispered, “we’re tempting fate. These things are only good for one use. They can break.”
Her eyes opened and looked up into his. They widened. “They can?”
She’d sounded almost hopeful. He chuckled. “It’s rare, when that happens. We don’t need a baby right now, at the beginning of our marriage.”
“Are you sure we don’t?” she asked.
He kissed her again. “I’m sure. And it isn’t because I don’t want one,” he clarified. “I want time for us to travel and learn about each other.”
“Travel.”
He chuckled. “Anywhere you want to go.”
“You mean, we could go to Wyoming and see Old Faithful?” she asked excitedly.
He propped up on one elbow. “I was thinking of someplace more exotic.”
“Oh. Like Florida,” she nodded.
He scowled. “The pyramids. Chichén Itzá. Sacsayhuamán. Zimbabwe. Those sorts of places.”
“You mean, go overseas?” she exclaimed. “We could do that?”
He studied her rapt, pretty little face, and he smiled again. “Yes. We could do that.”
“Wow.”
He kissed her once more and withdrew, wincing when she winced. “I told you,” he mused. “It takes time and practice to avoid these little pitfalls.”
“I suppose so.” She looked at his broad chest, where deep scars cut across it. There were more on his belly, and one, much worse, on his broad thigh. She reached out and touched them, testing the hard ridges with her fingertips, exploring. “Badges of honor,” she murmured aloud.
He was watching her watching him, his dark eyes keen and alert. He smiled. “I’ve been self-conscious about these for years.”
“They aren’t that bad,” she replied.
His own eyes were on her shoulder, her scars equally as deep as his and less cared for. “If you want to have plastic surgery, you can,” he told her. “But I’d love you if you were missing an arm or a leg. Nothing will ever change the way I feel. And I don’t mind your scars.”
“I don’t mind yours.” She reached over and kissed his chest, where the thickest, hardest ridge ran right across it, diagonally. “I’m so glad that stupid woman ran from you,” she murmured.
He laughed. “So am I, now.”
She cuddled close to him, more secure and less embarrassed. It seemed to be a natural thing, this combining of bodies. It was certainly fulfilling.
He wrapped her up in his arms, careful not to jar the sore one any more than he already had. He closed his eyes. He’d never been so happy in all his life.
He’d planned to have a big wedding, but his conscience got the better of him, so the next day he drove Keely over to the probate judge’s office in Jacobsville and married her.
“You really are a prude, you know,” Keely teased him when they were back on the street wearing wedding bands, with the license in Keely’s handbag.
He shrugged. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he replied, smiling tenderly.
She pressed close against him, still a little weak and shaky from the snakebite, but so happy that she felt like bursting. “There’s one thing left that we have to do,” she said reluctantly.
“Yes. Do you want to call Carly, or shall I?”
She linked her fingers into his. “I’ll call her.”
They had the funeral a week later, a small memorial service at the cemetery, where Ella Welsh was buried next to her parents. It was a sad interlude in a happy whirl, because Winnie had insisted on a society wedding. Boone and Keely reluctantly gave in. Winnie’s enthusiasm was contagious.
So they were married in the autumn, with the maples wearing glorious red and gold coats, and chrysanthemums for Keely’s bouquet. She tossed it outside the church and watched with amusement as her bridesmaids scrambled for it. But it was the best man, Hayes Carson, who caught the bouquet. He grinned widely and gave a courtly bow when everyone stared at him. A glowering Dr. Bentley Rydel had also attended the wedding, along with Keely’s coworkers, and Carly, who cried buckets and said that Keely was the most beautiful bride she’d ever seen.
Boone and Keely went away for a month, touring Spain and Africa and much of Europe. They came home weary of travel, but with beautiful memories.
“You’re not going to be happy giving morning teas for brides and hostessing dinner parties, are you?” Boone asked when they’d finished supper and were sitting in front of the fireplace in the living room.
“I’m not cut out for it,” she replied worriedly.
He grinned and pulled her close. “Then do what you please.”
“I’d like to go back to work for Dr. Rydel,” she said slowly. “I guess you wouldn’t like that?”
He looked down into her wide, soft green eyes. “We’ve already agreed that you have skills, and they apply to animals. I think it would be a good idea. I’ll have days when I have to be out of town on business, and I’ll have workshops and conferences to go to. You can come to some of them, but you won’t like being on the road so much. Work for Rydel.” He kissed her. “Just don’t forget where you live and who loves you.”
She grinned and kissed him back. “I could never forget that.”
He stretched and yawned. “Clark’s got a new girl, Winnie says,” he murmured after a peaceful silence. “A nice one, this time. She works in a library.”
Keely smiled. “Good for Clark. How about Winnie?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. She’s changed. She’s gone all silent lately. Probably mooning over Kilraven.” He shook his head. “That bird isn’t going to settle down in some small town. He’s got big city written all over him.”
Keely promised herself that she’d make time to talk to her best friend and let her cry it all out.
“Sleepy?” he asked.
She nuzzled against his shoulder. “Not really. Why? Did you have something in mind?” she teased.
“In fact, I did.” He leaned closer, brushed his mouth over hers in a whisper of contact. “Yeast rolls.”
Unprepared, she burst out laughing. “Yeast rolls?”
“I haven’t had a decent roll since before we married,” he pointed out, “and you’re all healed now. Besides, nobody makes bread like you do.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel, I’d love to bake you some yeast rolls!” she replied. Her eyes shimmered with amusement. “But I’d need a little encouragement, first.”
He pursed his lips. “What sort of encouragement?”
“Be inventive,” she coaxed.
He got to his feet, swung her up into his arms, and started for the staircase. “Inventive,” he assured her with a chuckle, “is my middle name.”
She tucked her face under his chin and listened to the heavy, hard beat of his heart and smiled with anticipation. She felt as if she were being reimbursed for all the long years of loneliness and sorrow that she’d endured. Her scars, she decided, didn’t matter so much after all. And the happiness she’d found with Boone was worth every one.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2174-5
HEART OF STONE
Copyright © 2008 by Diana Palmer
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