by Linda Jones
"Roxanne!"
Her musings faded at the sound of that familiar voice bellowing her name. Dropping the handful of weeds and tugging off her gloves, she stepped quickly around the back of the house. He called her name again, louder this time, and she dropped the gloves as she ran.
Cyrus stood beneath her balcony, his face lifted, a stark white bandage wrapped around his dark head.
"What's wrong?” Her heart clinched as his head snapped around and he saw her standing there. “You should be in bed. Did the doctor say it was safe for you to just get up and walk around as if nothing happened?” Her worries melted away as he smiled at her and fastened clear, bright eyes on her face.
"I thought maybe you'd still be in your room this time of morning,” he said softly. “Maybe I hoped you would be, so I could say this from a safe distance."
Her heart clenched in her chest. He'd come to say goodbye.
"I called softly, the first few times,” he said. “When you didn't come to the window I thought.... I thought maybe—"
"I've been pulling weeds in Ada's garden,” she explained. “I didn't hear you."
He nodded his head, and if she wasn't mistaken he looked a little relieved. Did he really think that after all that had happened she would sit in her room and ignore him? That she was still capable of hiding?
"I said a lot of things to you,” he said softly. “From this very spot. I concealed my face, disguised my voice so you would believe the words came from someone else."
She took a single step forward. Oh, this didn't sound like goodbye, not at all.
"What on earth is going on out here?"
Frustrated, Roxanne closed her eyes at the sound of Ada's harsh voice.
"Sheriff!” Ada said as she rounded the corner, holding her shawl tight against the morning chill. “My goodness, what on earth are you doing shouting like a band of wild Indians? Is something wrong?"
Cyrus turned his head to look at Ada, and smiled. “No. Nothing's wrong. I just need to talk to Roxanne."
Ada flashed a smile of her own. “Well, it's much too chilly to carry on a conversation out here. You two come on inside and I'll make a fresh pot of coffee. Josiah is getting dressed but he'll be down shortly. You two can discuss—"
"No,” Cyrus said softly and firmly. “I need to talk to Roxanne right here.” He pointed to the ground at his feet, and then glanced up at the deserted balcony above his head. “Yes, right here."
"Well, I.... “Ada said as she backed away. “I suppose I should get back inside and make Josiah's breakfast. If you want that coffee...."
Roxanne hurried her aunt along with a loving smile and a soft shooing motion of her hand. Ada uttered a low “Oh, my,” and disappeared around the corner of the house.
Cyrus returned his attention to her, staring so hard she could feel it. “I wrote letters. I stood here, on this very spot, and opened my heart.” He lowered his voice. “I even touched you. Loved you. And all the time I pretended to be the man I thought you wanted. I accused you of wanting to hide from the world, and all this time I was hiding myself behind another man's pretty face."
The morning sun illuminated his face, a face she had learned to love so well. Maybe they'd both been hiding, each in their own way, but there was no disguising anything by the light of day. She saw the truth in his eyes, the uncertainty that flickered there still, and love. Yes, she saw love.
"Even though I allowed you to believe that it was another man who courted you, everything I said, every word I wrote, was true."
"Every word?"
He actually gave her a very small smile. “Every word. Remember the night I told you what I think and feel and want?"
"Yes.” She whispered, taking another step toward him. She remembered very well.
"I still think you're an extraordinary woman,” he said. “I feel alone and empty when you're not with me, blessed when you're at my side. And I want.... “He took a deep breath and fastened his eyes to hers. Even from this distance she could feel the heat and intensity of his stare. “I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life to see your face. I want a house full of babies, fat and sassy and loud kids who'll chew on me and pull my hair, and disobey me and make me worry.” He smiled. “That all sounds pretty good to me right now, because I know what comes with it. I love you, Roxanne. Marry me."
She ran, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat and throwing her arms around his neck.
"Tell me this isn't your head wound talking,” she whispered. “Swear that you won't come to me in a day or two and tell me your brain was addled by the tree limb landing on it and you're only talking nonsense."
He smiled at her. “I mean every word."
She rested her body against his, felt as much at home in his arms as she'd ever felt anywhere.
"You know,” she confessed softly, “when I decided that I was tired of living alone, that I wanted a husband and children and a new life, I started searching all around me for the perfect man. And all the time here you were, right under my nose."
"I'm not perfect,” he whispered.
"You are to me,” she breathed against his lips. “Say it again,” she ordered with a smile.
"The whole thing?"
"Just that last part.” Her lips hovered close to his.
"Hmmm.” His arms tightened. “You mean the part about fat, sassy babies who'll chew on me?"
She raked her mouth across his. “No, but I did enjoy that part."
"I love you, Roxanne,” he said without hesitation. “Marry me."
"I thought you'd never ask,” she said with a sigh, and then she settled her mouth over his.
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Epilogue
September
He refused to tell Roxanne where they were going, no matter how many times, how sweetly, how insistently, she asked. She'd seen past the “picnic” ruse as soon as the wagon had passed the city limits, just a couple of miles back.
"But Cyrus,” she said, trying the demure approach again. “Can't you at least tell me where we're going?"
"We're here,” he said, pulling the wagon to the side of the road.
While she studied the vast and beautiful nothingness that surrounded them, he set the brake on the wagon and collected the picnic basket and blanket from the back. He assisted Roxanne from her seat, holding on to her just a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary. Grasping the basket and quilt together, he took her hand and led her away from the road.
They passed a thick copse of trees, hardwoods and pines, and walked down a small hill and into a clearing. Cyrus studied the area for a moment, then dropped Roxanne's hand and spread the blanket in the middle of the grassy field. “Here, I think."
"Here what?” she asked, exasperated again.
He smiled at his wife. “Have a seat. You really shouldn't allow yourself to get all excited, not in your condition."
She rolled her eyes, but she did sit down on the blanket. Not even far enough along to show yet, she didn't always appreciate his deference to her “condition.” She told him, again and again, that carrying a baby was not a disease.
"I can't believe you're so secretive. And speaking of secrets,” she said as she settled herself comfortably on the blanket. “You never did tell me who you were dancing with at Merilee's party. Behind the tree?” she said to remind him.
"I told you the last time you asked,” he said as he sat down beside her. “I wouldn't want to get my dance partner in any trouble."
"I promise not to tell,” she said, as she always did when she asked.
"You wouldn't approve,” he said with a smile. “You'd say she's too young for me."
She grinned. “So it was Jane Rice. I knew it. Really, Cyrus...."
He shook his head. Maybe one day he'd tell her it was Mary Alice who'd danced with him in the dark ... but not today. It had become a game, where Roxanne got jealous and then tried to kiss the truth out of him. One thing led to another, and ... no way was he giving this
game up any sooner than he had to.
"Don't you want to know why we're here?” he asked.
"Of course,” she sighed.
"I'm thinking two stories,” he turned from her and gestured to the trees. “Downstairs a parlor, and a big kitchen, and a study so I can work at home on occasion, and maybe a nice big dining room for all the family dinners we'll have. Four bedrooms upstairs,” he said, lifting his hand further as if the house already stood before them. “Maybe a balcony or two."
"The house we have now is plenty big enough for the two of us and a baby,” she said softly. “I don't need—"
He silenced her protest with a kiss. “Good, because it'll probably be a year before I actually get this house built. After that—” He pressed her down to the blanket and kissed her again—"I imagine we'll outgrow that little brick house pretty fast."
She smiled. “A balcony, you say."
"Or two. I have a few fond memories of balconies."
"Oh you do?” she purred.
He touched his mouth to hers again, tasted her sweet lips and her tongue. As they kissed their bodies realigned, inch by inch, until he towered above her. Her arms encircled his neck, one leg wrapped familiarly around his thigh. He lay with her just this way every night, only now a thickness of annoying clothes kept his flesh from hers.
Everything he wanted was right here; the woman he loved and desired and needed, the child they'd made. This was his family, his home, his sanity. Nothing else mattered. Nothing.
He unbuttoned Roxanne's blouse and laid his mouth on her throat, her chest, her breasts. She closed her eyes and sighed, a deep sigh of contentment that he felt himself, as if her breath touched his very soul.
Unhurried, he savored the taste of her flesh and the way her entire body quivered beneath his hands. A soft breeze wafted over their bodies, pushing strands of dark hair across Roxanne's face.
He opened her blouse all the way down to the waistband of her skirt, and pressed his nose against her belly. “You'd better not bite,” he whispered.
"Are you talking to me?” Roxanne asked, unbridled joy in her voice.
"No.” He laid his hand on her flat stomach. “I'm talking to her. The other night, when we had dinner with Merilee and Hank, Chloe damn near took a chunk out of my shoulder. A little nibble now and again is one thing, but that bite was downright vicious. I decided right then and there that our little girl is not going to bite."
She laughed at him. “And what if it's a little boy?"
"If it is, then he won't bite, either.” He kissed her stomach, pressing his lips against her warmth and softness. “But I think this one is a girl. I just ... feel it."
Roxanne's hands settled in his hair, and for a long, precious moment they lay in perfect silence.
He'd only had one nightmare in the two months and twelve days since the wedding. One and it hadn't been that old familiar horror where Louis died in his arms. It had just been a dream. He'd come awake in the night with the sounds of some long-ago battle ringing in his ears, looked at Roxanne sleeping beside him, and the nightmare had faded to nothing. Minutes later he'd fallen asleep once again.
Maybe he'd never be completely rid of the nightmares, but by God he could live with anything as long as he had Roxanne to wake up to.
He kissed her stomach again, lazily raised his head to kiss her breasts and then her neck. His lips grazed over her flesh, and in a heartbeat the precious moment changed. He wanted her, needed her.
When he pushed her skirt high her thighs drifted open. When he touched her intimately, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply, searchingly, with all the passion and love and soul she possessed.
Raindrops began to fall, soft rain that whispered in the trees and pelted the ground and the blanket around them, landing on his back and his head.
Roxanne opened her eyes. “It's raining,” she said, disappointment in her voice.
"Yes, it is,” he whispered, moving forward so that he sheltered her face from the drops, kissing her again as he freed his aching flesh and surged forward to fill her, to envelop himself in her heat and her love.
He loved her slow and easy, while rain fell over and around them. Warm rain soaked his body as he rocked into her welcoming heat again and again, while he whispered, “I love you,” against her mouth.
She shattered beneath him, her warm body clenching around him, releasing, squeezing again as she whispered his name. The rain came down harder as he plunged deep one last time and allowed himself release, pumping his seed and his heart and his soul into her waiting, welcoming body. In that instant he felt Roxanne inside him, as surely as he was inside her. She was forever in his blood. In his heart.
He protected her body from the rain with his, not minding so much that he was drenched to the skin, that his hair dripped rainwater onto his neck and his face, and his shirt and pants were soaked through. A little rain never hurt anybody.
The rain eased to a drizzle, and he rolled away from Roxanne to lie on his back. He closed his eyes and allowed the soft drops to pelt his face. Roxanne laid her head on his chest and cocked a leg and her full skirt over his thighs, and he placed a hand on her wet hair.
"So, what do you think?” he asked.
She laughed and kissed his chest, soaked shirt and all. “I think I love you."
"About the house,” he clarified.
She lifted her head, propping her chin on his chest and looking him in the eye. “There really is going to be a house? I thought maybe you just brought me out here to seduce me."
"That, too,” he admitted. “But yeah. There's going to be a house."
Roxanne rolled onto her back and rested her head on his shoulder. The rain stopped, but for a few errant drops that fell softly on them now and again, as they lay together on the wet blanket surveying the sky and the trees and the grassy land around them.
"So,” she finally whispered. “This is home."
Cyrus smiled at a clearing sky and gathered Roxanne close. “Yes. Yes it is."
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