Megan looked at his throbbing erection and smiled. “Is that for me?” she asked in a sleepy voice.
“You bet it is.” He got on the bed behind her and pulled her hips until her upper body rested on the bed, but her bottom waved like a red flag in the air. “Let’s try this. I’m afraid to lay your poor bottom on the bed.”
A giggle spoke of agreement.
He entered her again with two fingers and then pulled them out to massage that special spot, the one that drove her to her pleasure. He worked it in small circles, pressing, stroking. When she began to tremble, he positioned himself at her entrance and thrust, pulled back and thrust, over and over until he felt her internal muscles tighten and pulse. Then he thrust, thrust, thrust and filled her with his essence. He slid down and covered her body with his own, still joined to her damp heat.
He let himself fall to the side but pulled her close. “I don’t want to crush you,” he whispered. He lifted her hair and moved it off her face. “Sleep, little darlin’.” He kissed her freckled cheek. “Tomorrow will be here soon enough.”
He waited until her breathing was slow and steady before he let his own tears fall.
Tears of relief.
Tears of exhaustion.
Tears of rebirth and hope.
“In sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. Till death do us part,” he murmured into the tornado of her hair. “Anything less is for quitters.” Megan snuggled her bottom into the curve of his legs, and he pulled her close. “I’ll never quit loving you, Megan mine. Never.”
Epilogue
One year later: August 1897
Sheriff Ethan Ford looped the reins of his horse over the hitching post and climbed the stairs to the wooden walkway. He leaned against the building and peered down the road. As soon as the stage arrived, and he verified arrivals and departures to San Miguel, he was on his way.
Crunching wheels and pounding hooves brought him upright. He pulled to his full height, planted his booted feet, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, and watched the stage lumber to a stop.
“Hold the stage, sheriff.” A small man in a brown suit hurried to his side.
“Don’t worry, Harold. It just arrived.” His kept his eyes trained on the stage. “Where are you going?”
“Fremont. My mother’s ill.” The little man frowned.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she’s better soon.” Ethan gave a distracted answer. He was more interested in arrivals than departures. Generally, he knew anyone leaving town, but arrivals were a different story. If trouble arrived on a stage, he wanted to be the first to know.
The driver and his shotgun rider swung off their perch. The driver opened the coach door and reached a hand inside. “Let me help.” His offer intended for a person as yet unseen.
Ethan walked down the stairs. “Must be a woman in that coach,” he muttered. No need to help a man out.
A small hand settled in the driver’s calloused paw. Ethan moved closer, called by unknown, inexplicable reasons to the unfolding scene.
She emerged. Hair the color of mahogany shot through with red. A blue jacket fitted at the waist and flaring over womanly hips. A skirt of blue with tiny yellow and white flowers sprinkled like stars across a night sky was clutched in her hand to reveal a pair of brown boots.
Ethan caught his breath. A bolt of uncomfortable lightning shot through his chest and landed in his groin. His manhood answered the call. He shifted, but there was no disguising the hard ridge in his pants. Damn.
“I’m Sheriff Ethan Ford.” He moved toward the young women, hand extended. “I like to meet the stage. It’s my job to know who’s coming and going from the town.” He let his eyes travel down and up, up and down. She was on the tall side, and her figure was, well, it was generous. No starving, skinny little miss. This woman was plump and pleasing. His hands itched to grab her by the waist and press her into his body. He’d be a happy man if he could feel her breasts pressed into his chest just once. No, he knew that once wouldn’t be enough. He’d want more. With a woman like that, he’d always want more.
She placed her hand in his. “I’m Charlotte Weaver, a friend of Megan O’Shanahan. Well, I guess she is Megan Manning, now. Do you know her?”
“She’s the wife of my best friend,” Ethan declared. “Are they expecting you?”
“Yes and no. They invited me to visit, but I didn’t tell them when I would arrive.” She looked anxiously up and down the street. “Do you know how I might get to their ranch?”
“Mike and Megan are having a big good-bye party today and most everyone is already there. The foreman of his ranch and his wife are leaving, going back to Mexico.” He paused. “I planned to head out there myself as soon as I met the stage. I could take you with me.”
“Oh, Sheriff Ford, that would be wonderful. Thank you.” She speared him with a smile that nailed him, stunned, to the dirt.
“There is a little problem.”
“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed.
“The Livery is closed because Arnie is already at the party. I can’t rent a buggy. I’m riding my horse.” He motioned at the big palomino tied to the hitching post. “You’d have to ride double with me.”
“Oh!” Her eyes popped wide. She looked at the horse a second time. “I’m not a good rider. I’ve lived in Boston all my life.”
“You don’t have to know how to ride. You just have to know how to sit in my lap.” He gulped. He might have phrased that a bit better, he guessed. “We’ll leave your bag in my office. Mike can send a hand to pick it up tomorrow.”
She looked up and down the street a second time before turning a pair of deep brown eyes his way. “All right, sheriff. Thank you.”
Well, that settled it. There was a God, and he was smiling today. A big, toothy grin aimed right at Ethan Ford.
“Wait here,” he commanded. “I’ll lock your bag up.”
When he returned, he led Charlotte to the stairs. “The easiest way, I believe, is if you climb up to the walkway. I’ll mount. King will stand next to the walkway, and I’ll scoop you up.”
“I’m a little big for scooping, I’m afraid.” Her face blushed a faint pink.
“You look just right to me.” His choked reply brought those big eyes to his face. They were pools of melted chocolate, and he longed to go for a swim. If he drowned, he’d die happy.
He swung in one easy motion to his saddle and brought King to stand in front of the luscious woman. “Just move to the edge.” He waited. “That’s it.” One long arm snaked out and circled her waist. He lifted her onto his legs. With a little bouncing and lifting, he had her securely settled. He placed one arm on either side of her body. “Ready?”
“Ready.” Her voice was shaky and small.
“Just lean back and rest against my chest.”
The feel of her in his arms, the smell of her hair, her bonny bottom nestled between his thighs sent the flames of hell-fire leaping and laughing up and down his body. He shifted in the saddle hoping she wouldn’t feel his hardness.
She was unmarried, an innocent most likely.
She’d be that way still when they reached the Manning ranch. He swore she would. He groaned. Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy. He repeated the prayer twice for good measure.
He kicked his horse into an easy walk. This would not be the easiest, in fact it would be the hardest, hour of his life.
Charlotte’s head fell back and rested in the hollow of his neck. She dozed, but came back to wakefulness with a jerk. “I’m sorry, Sheriff Ford. I’m so tired. It was a long trip from Boston.”
“Call me Ethan.” He snorted. “You’re were asleep and in my lap. I’d say we’re past formalities.”
“Thank you, sher… Ethan. Please call me Charlotte.” She lifted her head from his shoulder.
Charlotte. Now, why did that name sound familiar. He replayed conversations he’d had with Megan. A memory kindled and turned into a little flame. The night at the dance. Those two men, the uncle and the
would-be rapist. They had learned of Megan’s location through Charlotte. Her father had laid her over a table and paddled her in front of those awful men until she had given him the information he wanted. He folded his arms protectively around her.
They navigated a big bend in the road, and Ethan motioned toward a white house with a big porch. “That’s Mike and Megan’s house.”
She sprang upright and tried to tidy her hair.
“You look fine, sweetheart.” Sweetheart? What the hell? They both chose to ignore the endearment.
Riding around the corner of the barn and into the yard, they entered a whirling hub of activity. Tables set on sawhorses groaned with food. A little stage occupied the far corner and abandoned instruments whispered of music and dancing later. Behind the barn a ball game was in full swing. The outfield was littered with children of all sizes.
Mike strode across the yard calling out as he walked. “Thank God you’re here, Ethan. Tom and John are both on the other team, and they’re killing us.” Ethan moved the horse from the shadow of the barn and his friend’s mouth flew open. Mike snapped it shut with an audible click, pulled his hat from his head, and peered up at the lady in his Ethan’s lap. “Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see you at first.” He speared the sheriff with a questioning look. “Well, who might this lovely lady be?”
“This is Charlotte Weaver. She arrived on today’s stage.”
A shriek split the afternoon air. “Charlotte. Charlotte.” Megan pushed herself to the edge of her seat and with a mighty heave managed to become upright. Holding onto the stair railing, she put one foot down and set the other beside it. Once she navigated the stairs, she put one hand on her back, rested the other hand on her swollen belly, and hurried toward the little group.
Mike frowned a thunderstorm. “Megan, you just stop right there.” His voice a lightning strike. He sped to her side and threw a supportive arm around his very pregnant wife. “Marcie told you to sit and stay quiet. If you can’t do that, I’m putting you to bed.”
“Oh, Michael. Please don’t scold. It’s Charlotte.” Tears trailed down her freckled cheeks.
Ethan dismounted and helped Charlotte to the ground. She rushed to Megan’s side. “Look at you. I didn’t know you were anticipating a blessed event.”
“Lord, Charlotte, no one talks like that out here. We’re more likely to call a spade a spade.” She glanced at her husband. “I’m eight months pregnant. I’m small. The baby’s big. Marcie, that’s my midwife, said I need to be in bed until the birth. The longer I stay pregnant the better it will be for both of us. But today is the party for Manuel and Lupe. I couldn’t stay in bed today.” She cast apologetic eyes at Mike. “But, I am supposed to stay on the porch.”
“Well, that’s where you will be.” Charlotte took one side and Mike the other as they escorted her back to the safety of the swing.
Megan collapsed in a pool of calico. Her stomach rose before her in a giant mound, a ship in full sail. She leaned back, let out a great groan followed by a sigh, and laid her hand on the swell beneath her shirt.
“When did you get here, Charlotte? Can you stay? Are you hungry?” She seized her friend’s hand and squeezed.
Charlotte laughed. “I arrived on today’s stage from Abilene. The sheriff was kind enough to escort me here. I can stay for little while. I am hungry, and thirsty, and dusty from the travel.” Her eyes traveled to Megan’s belly. “But, how are you?”
“Big as a house.” She looked up at her husband. “Excited. A little scared.”
Mike shifted his feet and put his hands on his slim hips. “Marcie said you would be fine.” He said but flights of fear moved over his handsome features.
“Lupe.” A dark-haired woman in a swirl of brilliant color turned from the food and walked toward them. Her smile turned to concern. “Are you all right, mi amiga? Do you want to go lie down?”
“No, I don’t want to lie down. Goodness. All I do is lie down. I wouldn’t miss your party for anything.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Lupe, this is my friend, Charlotte. I’ve told you about her.”
Charlotte held out her hand. “I feel like I know you already. Megan writes of you often.”
Lupe pulled the larger woman into a hug. “I’m so glad you are here. Manuel and I have to go to Mexico. My mother is very ill. I wouldn’t leave Megan now, so close to birth, if I had a choice.” She lifted her hands in supplication. “Can you stay and help when the time comes? Ay, Dios mio. It would be a blessing. It is selfish of me to ask, but I am afraid to leave and afraid to stay.”
Three pair of eyes watched and waited. Lupe, pleading. Mike, hopeful. Megan, beseeching.
She wasn’t sure she could stay. They would search for her, and this was the first place they’d come. She only planned to stay a day or two. She loved Megan like a sister, and she owed her. The money Megan sent had made her escape possible. But, her journey was not at an end. A long, lonely, and possibly dangerous trail, loomed ahead.
But she couldn’t, wouldn’t leave her friend in her time of travail. “Of course, I can stay. A baby, how wonderful.” She lowered herself to the seat next to Megan and put an arm around her shoulder. Megan leaned into her warmth and closed her eyes.
Mike bent down and placed a gentle kiss on his wife’s pale cheek. “Thank you, Charlotte.” He blinked his bright eyes. “I’ve hired a new housekeeper. I don’t mean to put you to work. If you could keep Megan company, I would be grateful. She hates staying in bed.”
“That I do, for certain sure. It’s only a little while longer and the bairn will be joining us.” She heaved a sigh. “Your company will be such a help.” A tear ran in a single trail down her cheek.
“None of that.” Charlotte scolded, but her voice lilted with laughter. She wiped the tear from her friend’s face. “I’m here now.”
Megan looked into the field and then at her husband. “Don’t you have a ball game to win?”
He laughed. “Ethan, take your horse to the barn and come help me whup the other team. They’re getting mighty big for their britches.” He leaned over for one last kiss before jumping from the porch to the ground.
Charlotte watched as he strode away, tall, confident, proud. Megan deserved this happiness. Her life in Boston had been an unhappy one. As had hers. As had hers. She sighed.
She would stay for the birth, but then she must move on. They would come looking for her. As sure as the sun rose in the morning. As sure as the sky was blue. As sure as not one of those children could catch the ball that sailed in a long arc over their heads.
They would come.
Victoria Phelps
Victoria Phelps lives in northern California with her two best friends: her handsome husband and her Goldendoodle, Max. She has two daughters, two sons-in-law, four granddogs and one grandcat. That’s a lot of fur!
Victoria, who has always loved the written word, taught literature and writing. Now that she has the opportunity to write full time, she is in wordsmith heaven. She enjoys playing tennis, quilting, and reading, reading, reading.
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Victoria Phelps and Blushing Books!
Texas Time Travel Series
Home on the Range - Book One
Meeting John Wayne - Book Two
Wyld Woman - Book Three
Lone star Love Series
Troubled Water - Book One
Connect with Victoria Phelps:
www.victoriaphelpsromance.com
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