His sex throbbed and oozed for a release. “Are you ready for me now, honey?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her breathing rapid.
He mounted her and entered her womanhood, pushing through the virgin barrier. For a moment her body jerked, and he halted.
“No, don’t stop.” She brought her hands to rest on his backside. Gently, she stroked his buttocks, her fingers making circles around his flesh.
He entered her fully now, the hot, tight canal enveloping him with unimaginable ecstasy. “Oh, God, Cassia,” he choked breathlessly as he drove himself in and out, bringing on his own eruption. And when he did, he filled her—his hot juices sprouting like a geyser. It flowed from him along with his energy. He fell beside her, exhausted. She moved to cocoon her body to his, one arm across his chest, a leg strewn over his hips.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “I love you, Mrs. O’Clarity,” he whispered.
“I love you more, Mr. O’Clarity,” he heard her say before he fell asleep with a smile.
****
Settling into married life was a joy for Cassia. She and Brodie had a routine during the week, working a few days side by side and then a few days apart. Unless a dire emergency took place, they generally made it home together at a decent hour to have dinner or sup at a family member’s home. She was grateful her mother taught her at a very early age how to cook. Nightly she’d make a good meal for them both, proud to be able to fill her hardworking husband’s belly after a long day.
Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Betsy not only gave birth to a girl, but twin girls. She named one after her mother, Sadie, and the other after her father by using the female version of Sean, which turned out to be Shauna. They were the second set of twin daughters born to an O’Clarity sibling with Shailyn’s girls, Megan and Marta being the first.
Holding the sweet little bundles of joy gave Cassia moments of wishing for a child of her own. Brodie too was totally enamored with the smallest members of the family. She knew, when the time came, he’d be an amazing father. So far, despite their nightly passions, nothing on such a spectrum had come to pass. So for now, the two of them enjoyed the twins.
Time passed quickly until it was only a week before Christmas. She had no calls that day, and Brodie was only scheduled to work until four p.m. His time to arrive home for dinner came and went. A phone had been installed for them in the apartment, so after waiting a proper span of time, she rang him at the office to see what delayed him. If he had some sort of emergency, he just might need her assistance.
But the operator couldn’t get through. “Sorry, ma’am, that line has been disconnected.”
Immediately an uneasy feeling swept through her. There was no reason the phone should be unusable, as there was no storm brewing outside. Truth be told, it was a calm, warm day for late December. And Brodie would never purposely disconnect the phone.
“Operator, could you place a call over to the police station?” Since the Attwater murders, a makeshift police station had been set up on the upper level of Mickey McCreas stables where Eli Granger lived before he married Maggie. “Please reach either, Patrick McCrea, John Tyler Boyd, or Ethan Eagle. Tell them to hurry to Eagle’s Landing Medical Office immediately.”
The medical office was a stone’s throw from the apartment, so she slipped on a jacket and headed for the door. As she came upon the side window of the office’s back room where Brodie did paperwork, she glimpsed him sitting at the desk. Something about the way he looked, tense and on edge, brought her concern to an even higher level. As she moved closer to the window, she gazed around the room to see if Brodie was alone. To her horror, Clayton Matthews stood about two feet away, aiming a gun at Brodie’s head.
She gasped and fell back from the window. Why would Mr. Matthews be in Eagle’s Landing, and why was he threatening Brodie?
Her mind whirled with what she should do. Waiting for Patrick, John Tyler, or Ethan could be a while, especially if they couldn’t be located right away. And Brodie was in danger now. Then her brother’s words of warning echoed in her head. Never leave the house without the gun, especially if you are alone. Well, she hadn’t. Slipping her hand into the right pocket of her jacket, she reached for the gun and quietly made her way to a side door.
Only she, Brodie, and Sean had a key for this entrance. In her left pocket, she kept all her keys. Reaching for the leather cord, she found the correct one, slowly unlocked the door, and dropped the keys back into her pocket. With great care she opened the door ajar, as when it was opened fully it tended to squeak. She was thin enough to slip through the small opening, not bothering to close it for fear of making too much noise.
On tiptoe she crept down the long back hall and noticed the phone had been ripped from the wall. She raised the gun and held it between both her hands. Ethan had given her lessons all last summer, and although she wasn’t a “crackerjack” shot, she could manage to hit a target. Her heart raced, and her hands trembled. Hitting targets and shooting people—if need be—are two very different things altogether. Could she make such a decision if she had to?
Brodie made the decision for me. He killed a man to save my life. Now, I must be there for him.
As she neared the door she could hear Mr. Matthews’ voice. “I will only ask you once more for the whereabouts of your brother.”
Brodie’s voice shook, yet he answered calmly. “And I will tell you again, as I told you several times before, I don’t know where he is. Last I knew he was headed to San Antonio, Texas.”
“I’ve been there, combed the city, and even hired a private detective,” Matthews spat. “The bastard’s nowhere to be found.”
Brodie tried being diplomatic. “Mr. Matthews, I understand how upset you are over your daughter and grandson’s death. When we received the news, we were all very grieved as well. We even held a service for them both in church.” He sighed. “But what you’re doing now, trying to find Tucker—get revenge—isn’t going to bring them back.”
“Maybe not,” Matthews argued. “But it will even the score, avenge their death. And since I can’t find Tucker, I will do the same to him as he’s done to me, take away his family. After I blow your head off, I’m going to do the same to that pretty little wife of yours.”
That’s when Brodie’s face reddened. “You leave my wife out of this.”
“She’s the reason Tucker treated my daughter so shabbily…always throwing to her face how she came between them…how much Cassia meant to him. He made my Jessica cry herself sick. I reckon that’s the reason she lost the baby, hemorrhaged, and died. Then that poor little boy—my little, Daniel, died too.” Matthews raised his gun and cocked the trigger. “Now, you’re both going to pay.”
That’s when she pulled the trigger of the pistol she was holding. The shot rang out in the room, and the bullet hit Matthews in the left buttock.
He dropped his gun, let out a yelp of pain, and fell to the floor. Blood soaked the man’s trousers as he writhed in agony.
Brodie reached for a pair of scissors on the desk and went to the injured man, cutting away his trousers to expose the wound.
“The bullet just grazed him,” he explained as he examined Matthew’s bared bottom. He looked up at Cassia who stood in a state of shock. “All will be fine, honey,” he reassured her, taking a moment to stand and pry her hands from the gun. “He’s only got a flesh wound.” Then he smiled, planting a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Good shot.”
“Not really.” She wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I was aiming for his knee.”
Chapter Forty
June 1920
Brodie hated leaving Cassia alone at night, now that she was six months along with child. As a doctor he knew anything could happen at this point in a woman’s pregnancy, and being far from her unnerved him to no end. How she put up with his constant coddling was a wonder, though she did protest when he adamantly advised her last month to stop working. He examined h
er often for signs of bleeding, took her temperature, listened to her heart, and watched what she ate, drank, and if she got enough rest. He made a point of having her tell him the color of her urine and the consistency of her bowels…as well as when she did and didn’t have a movement. At this point he knew his wife’s body better than his own.
“I’m knowledgeable in the medical field as well, Brodie,” she’d say exasperated. “Don’t you think I’d know if something was wrong?”
“Second opinions are always wise.”
Their calculations estimated the time of conception to be the night she shot Clayton Matthews. So upset was she, and traumatized over shooting a man, that calming her brought an entire night of physical closeness. Thus, she conceived—a happy result to what could have been a disastrous outcome. Clayton Matthews was sent to jail for his attempt on Brodie’s life and died four months later from complications due to diabetes. And Tucker sent a Christmas card that didn’t arrive until February with the postmark of Melbourne, Australia.
Now he was on his way home from a late, emergency call for Mr. Sweeny, who broke his leg in two places and dislocated a shoulder while trying to cut down a tree. He was tired and gassy, as the hurried pastrami sandwich he downed earlier bloated his insides. He should know better by now. Eating pastrami in a rush never did work out well for his intestines.
As he navigated the horse in the pouring rain, the cold, nighttime drops pelted his face, dripped down his collar, and drenched him thoroughly. “Soon, we’ll have that automobile,” he muttered to himself. “And I won’t have to get soaking wet like this anymore.” His in-laws had offered them the money, as Cassia had a bit of an inheritance coming, but he wanted to purchase his first automobile on his own merit, or was it simply a case of pride. “Saints preserve us,” he muttered again. “Cassia’s right. I’m becoming like Ned Beachum.”
By the time he settled the horse in his parents’ barn next door, he was so wet, his boots squeaked when he walked. When he came into the house, all was silent. He quietly, not to wake his sleeping wife, stripped off his wet clothes and boots at the front door. Making a mess of the parlor rug wasn’t a way to keep a pregnant wife from getting upset. Naked, he tiptoed to the kitchen and pulled a towel from the laundry basket of clean clothes. After drying his hair and shoulders, he bent to wipe his feet. That’s when he heard her soft voice behind him.
“You’ve gotten me all hot and moist down here, watching you do that,” she said.
He turned to find her standing in the kitchen doorway, naked, and touching herself between the thighs. Her seductively just-awakened expression matched the sleep-tossed blonde curls, now long enough to fall to her shoulders, framing her face. Her breasts, even fuller and heavier with her pregnancy complemented her body, as did the perfectly rounded belly growing his seed. It was a beautiful and sensual scene that sent waves of excitement pulsating to his loins. Instantly he became engorged.
Her gaze went to his erect phallus and she smiled. “Come to bed.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I won’t make it that far, as I’m ready to spill myself right here and now.” He reached her in one fluid motion, picking her up and setting her on the kitchen table. She lay back on her elbows and opened to him like a rose to the sun. He stepped between her thighs, which spread wide to accommodate him, her heels braced on the table’s edge. With his hands on her raised bottom, he leaned forward to suck her nipples. She lay back fully on the table now, surrendering to his tongue, as it played with her erect peaks, moved to fondle her navel, and rested at the opening of her womanhood. Spreading her with his fingers, he exposed the pearl of ecstasy between her vaginal lips. With the tip of his tongue he flicked smooth, small strokes over the slippery nub.
“Oh, please, Brodie, go faster.” She reached down to press his head against her. “Make my toes curl.”
The musky, sweet scent of her flesh, and her explosion as he complied, brought him close to his peak. As soon as she was fulfilled, he entered her hot, wet sheath. The table shook with his thrusts but held strong, allowing him to erupt like a volcano. Spent, he dropped his head upon her rounded belly.
“I was going to put a flowered centerpiece on the table today,” she began. “Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
He raised his gaze to find her again up on her elbows and looking at the vase of flowers resting on a counter across the room. He arched a brow. “I will never, as I sit here for my meals, look at this table the same way again.”
She giggled. “We could have held off, made it to the bedroom.”
He arched a brow. “Hell no, honey. That wasn’t happening. But I think I can get you there now, before my legs totally collapse.”
****
Gently he placed her on the bed. “Did I make your toes curl?’
“Not just curl, but tremble too,” she admitted with a smile, rolling onto her side. He climbed in bed beside her. Cassia felt the warmth of him at her back. Just as he laid a hand over her belly, the baby kicked. She smiled and pushed her bottom against him.
Instantly he hardened. “I’d say no one is ready to sleep just yet.”
“It appears so.” She got up on her knees and jutted out her bottom for more of his sensual touch. He mounted her from behind, fondling her breasts with one hand and the area between her legs with the other as he entered her. She tightened around his thick, hot member. As his finger motion increased, his thrusts quickened. Everything inside of her heightened to such arousal, her body freely reacting to the sensual stimulation she’d grown to crave. She arched her back, pushing her raised derrière up against his genitals, feeling his manly sacs, now almost a part of her.
“Saints preserve us,” he breathlessly managed. “You get me so hot.”
Yes—hot…they were both hot. And when her body could hold out no longer, she released the most satisfying and intense spasm she could muster. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, she burst, shattering a thousand different pieces of desire throughout her being. He erupted along with her, his body trembling with his release. Then they both collapsed; her on her side and him on his back. Their rapid breathing was the only sound in the room until Brodie let go of gas. The sound, rumbling for a span, then fizzling out to a long whistle, made her giggle.
He reached over and playfully pinched her bare bottom. “What’s so funny, Mrs. O’Clarity?”
She squealed at his unexpected action. “You could power a steamboat with that force of gas, Mr. O’Clarity.”
He chuckled lightly. “As a doctor, my rule of thumb is to release what ails you, for the sake of a healthier body, especially if you’ve eaten a pastrami sandwich on the run.”
“You know what my Aunt Marrietta’s rule of thumb is on this matter,” she baited.
“I can only imagine,” he countered.
“A chap who breaks wind in the presence of a lady, is no English gent,” she said, mimicking her aunt’s British accent.
He chuckled again and pulled her close. “Well, you see, that can hardly be a rule pertaining to me.”
She snuggled as close to him as her belly would allow. “And why not?”
“Because I am an Irish doctor who happens to be your husband,” he said proudly.
“And I wouldn’t change that for anything in this world,” she vowed, raising her lips to his, whereby he captured them with a kiss.
Epilogue
Eagle’s Landing, Arizona, January 1996
As the limo pulled up to the arena, Cassia Rose O’Clarity and her great granddaughter unbuckled their seatbelts. Amanda ran around to open the door. “Are you nervous, Granny?”
Cassia made a little shrug. “Yes, a bit. I never spoke to a large crowd before.”
“Well, this is your special day, so enjoy it,” her great granddaughter advised.
As she walked into the arena, she recognized so many faces, memories flooding her thoughts. In the front row sat her three sons, and three daughters, now all in their seventies. Brodie Junior, or B.J., as he was called, was her old
est. He was a doctor, like his father and grandfather. Then twin boys, Joshua and Sean, named for the other two men in her life she loved and respected, were born two years later. Twins were something far from unusual in the O’Clarity family. Cassia’s father, Reverend Joshua Holmes, lived to see her sons born. After his passing Cassia’s nephew Ethan and his wife, Raina, one of Rising Sun’s granddaughters, moved in with Amanda. She left the house to them after she died. Cassia’s father-in-law, Doctor Sean O’Clarity, succumbed to a second heart attack just after Mandy…her name a derivative of Amanda…the first of her three daughters was born. Sadie O’Clarity then moved to Willow Creek to live with Betsy and gave the O’Clarity home to Cassia and Brodie. Shortly after, Joslyn…called so in honor of Sadie’s middle name…and Marrietta, named for her aunt, was added to the family. And once again the O’Clarity home was bustling with children. It was convenient having a doctor for a husband, as Brodie delivered all their babies. With her throughout all things, good and bad, he loved her passionately until his own passing ten years ago. She missed him more and more each day, as he was her rock, her best friend, her lover, and her heart for sixty-seven years. They supported and completed each other, always doing their very best. In the end that’s all you can do, as the next breath is never promised. After Brodie’s death Cassia had a new-found empathy for her mother. Losing one man you loved was tragedy enough, but Amanda lost two. Her courage to carry on in both instances fueled Cassia’s determination to do the same when rendered with the same circumstance. Though her mother had been long gone from this world, she still guided Cassia through the grief.
As she took her seat and waited for the program to begin, she reached for the chain she wore around her neck, once her mother’s, and fingered her husband’s wedding band hanging there. Both pieces of jewelry were treasures of time, as was the engagement ring and wedding band she still wore. One day she would leave these heirlooms to one of her great grandchildren, so the beautiful memories they held would never die.
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