CHAPTER 12

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M uch as it pained Louise to conduct herself as a real wife, she felt Max deserved to return home to a clean house. Therefore, she pinned up her hair, tied on an apron, and eventually, grudgingly, conceded some satisfaction in scrubbing floors and polishing surfaces until they gleamed. Next in her preparations, she put up a wash, laundering the items she'd borrowed from Max's side of the dressing room along with the rest. She suspected it would be a long time before she'd again enjoy the comfort and convenience of trousers.

Once the laundry was flapping on the line, she took a couple of pie apples down to the corral to give Rebecca and the black gelding. "It'll be good to have the boys back," she said, offering the apples. She couldn't quite bring herself to state aloud that she'd missed Max and would be glad to see him again.

Tugging her shawl close against a cold wind and leaning against the corral rails, she squinted up at the house. In her time she'd ridden past hundreds of houses with lines of wash waving in the yard. Sometimes laughing children ran in and out between freshly laundered sheets, and that was nice to see.

There was nothing that spoke so powerfully of family and home as a line of wash, that snowy proof of a woman's labor on behalf of those she loved. Home was where a person could hang out the wash without fear that someone would steal her shirts and long johns.

Home was also where the squeak of a windmill was a comfort and not a lonely sound. And home was where you planted flowers in the expectation that you would be there to see them bloom year after year.

Louise had never had that kind of home, and she doubted she'd be here in the spring to plant flowers around the front porch. But she'd already realized part of a dream she hadn't known she'd dreamed. She was looking at a house with wash on the line, and, miraculously, it was hers. That was her petticoat pinned next to Max's nightshirt, and her everyday stockings flapping against his heavy boot socks. If a solitary figure were to ride past and wonder what sort of woman lived in the house with the wash in the yard—this time the woman would be her.

A shine of moisture filmed her eyes. Oh Lord. How could she have wanted this so much and not have known it?

Almost running, she returned to the warmth of the kitchen where she focused on peeling the apples Livvy had sent over. And while her pies baked, she leaned in the mudroom doorway, drinking coffee and watching the wash flutter on the line even after it was dry and ready to come inside.

*

Louise awoke well before the rooster crowed. As she had done all week, she rolled to Max's pillow to inhale the scent of him, but the laundered case now smelled of soap and fresh air. Rising in the dark, she dressed quickly in old clothing, heavy boots, and a thick shawl to protect her from the frosty air as she went about her morning chores. When she returned with a basket of eggs and a bucket of milk, the water she'd left on top of the stove was hot enough to fill the wash tub and have a bath.

Once she was clean and glowing from a good scrub, she sat near the opened oven door, drying her hair and wondering if she should wear the black dress she'd worn to dinner in Denver . Or if it would be more appropriate to wear one of the too-short skirts, a shirtwaist, and a jacket.

When she realized what she was thinking, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and threw up her hands.

No one she had ever known—including herself—would believe that Louise Downe would waste two minutes trying to decide which lady ensemble might make her appear the most attractive.

But Max was coming home today.

And so was Philadelphia .

Before she dressed, in one of the too-short skirts and a somber dark shirtwaist, Louise hitched up the wagon and loaded her pies. The crusts on a few were brown around the edges, but all in all she wouldn't have to hide her face when the boys tucked into them.

Until she drove away from the house, she hadn't noticed that autumn was making inroads. Gumweed and rabbit brush continued to bloom, but drifts of red and rust climbed the foothills. Seemingly overnight the cottonwoods were turning to gold, and here and there a maple or an ash flamed orange like a column of fire. She also spotted wild turkey, pheasant, and a family of quail not far from the road. If she'd been wearing her pistol, she could have filled the larder for a week.

So far no one had suggested that putting meat on the table was a wife's chore, and that was good because a woman had to draw the line somewhere. Sure as hell if she brought home one pheasant, she'd be expected to provide all the small game. Thinking about it made her angry, and she held on to the feeling since anger was something she understood a lot better than the fluttery heat that erupted deep in her stomach when she thought about seeing Max again.

Pressing her lips together, she tightened her grip on the reins as she pulled up in front of the main house and set the brake. Gilly had already arrived and hurried outside to lend a hand. They carried the pies into Livvy's kitchen, which smelled of baking ham and yeasty bread and the beans and bacon bubbling in a large pot on top of the stove.

"What can I do?" Louise inquired, removing her hat and jacket.

"You could peel potatoes." Gilly tossed her an apron before she returned to shucking corn. "One of the boys rode in about thirty minutes ago and said the first herd will arrive before dinnertime. We should have plenty of food here for dinner and supper."

"Hello, Aunt Louise." Sunshine ran in the back door and smiled. "You're wearing lady clothes."

"I was hoping to see you. I brought you something."

"Is it candy?"

"Much better than candy. I brought you a rock."

"A rock? Oh." Sunshine tried not to show her disappointment, and Gilly hid a smile.

Louise reached in her pocket then bent over and placed an egg-sized rock in Sunshine's small hand.

"Look," she said, kneeling and tracing her fingernail along a streak the width of a thread. "That's gold."

"Real gold?" Sunshine whispered, her blue eyes widening. Now she inspected the rock with genuine fascination.

"Real gold. Just like your grandpa searched for way back when, and like your uncle Max was trying to find this summer."

"You panned for gold, too," Sunshine said, staring at the rock.

"Yes, and me, too."

"I never had gold before. Mama, can I take this down to the barn and show Mr. Deke?" When Gilly nodded, Sunshine threw her arms around Louise's neck and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Aunt Louise! This is the best gift I ever had. Real gold!"

Standing, Louise touched her fingertips to her cheek. Sunshine had kissed her. And had called her aunt.

"You have a way with children," Gilly observed. "Sunshine is very fond of you. She says you make her feel grown up."

The compliment made her face grow hot. "Where is Livvy?" she asked, changing the subject before she filled the lap of the apron with potatoes then sank to a low stool and pulled the slop bucket in front of her to catch peels.

"Ma's upstairs seeing to the room that will be Wally and Philadelphia 's."

"Oh." From now on, nothing would be the same. Philadelphia would live here, and she would bring a new element to the fragile relationships Louise had begun to form. Livvy and Gilly would be Philadelphia 's family as much as they were Louise's. And Philadelphia would be Sunshine's aunt, too.

Frowning, she scraped the blade of the paring knife across a potato and swore she would say nothing.

"What sort of person is Philadelphia ? What does she look like?" Well, damn it anyway. Her mouth wouldn't mind her brain.

"Her eyes are blue or green, depending on what she wears and the light," Gilly said after a pause. "She has blond hair. I guess Philadelphia 's about my height, maybe a bit shorter, but not by much."

Louise suppressed a sigh. In her heart she had already guessed that Philadelphia would be one of those little, dainty, ultrafeminine women who made women like Louise feel clumsily gigantic and about as womanly as a fence post. Initially Gilly had caused the same effect, and still did to some degree, but Gilly's kindness helped Louise ignore or forget their differences in size and grace.

" Philadelphia is quite stylish. Everyone in Fort Houser looks to her for the latest mode. She receives fashion news from Paris , France , and she buys all her hats and footwear in Denver ." Carefully Gilly stripped strands of corn silk from a pale white ear. "As for what she's like… her mother passed when Philadelphia was about twelve, I believe. Early on she stepped forward as her father's hostess, and she's quite accomplished in that area."

Louise told herself to stop here. Just keep her mouth closed. "What exactly does a hostess do?"

Gilly shrugged. "Mr. Houser entertains a lot of important guests in town and from out of town.

Financiers, other bankers and politicians, people he's met during his business travels. Philadelphia chooses the menu for dinner parties, decides the seating arrangements, directs conversation and keeps it flowing. After dinner a hostess might entertain her guests at the piano or with song. Perhaps she would invite musicians to perform. Philadelphia also hosts exquisite teas and luncheons for the clubs and societies she belongs to."

"Do tell," Louise murmured, mimicking a say-nothing phrase she'd heard Livvy employ when they were buying fabric at the Ladies' Emporium. One thing she'd learned from listening to Gilly's explanation: she hoped Max never asked her to do any hostess chores because she didn't have a single hostess skill.

"As Mr. Houser's official hostess, I believe Philadelphia also takes his associates sightseeing or shopping, and she entertains them if Mr. Houser is otherwise occupied. For instance, she brought one of Mr. Houser's guests to the Fourth of July picnic and celebration."

So Philadelphia was charming and gregarious. In addition to being tiny, a fashion plate, and an accomplished hostess. How nice for her, Louise thought sourly.

"Actually, I don't know Philadelphia all that well. I'm twenty-six and she's only twenty. We don't really have the same friends. And Philadelphia is very social whereas I'm not."

This made Louise seven years older than Miss Wonderful. She was old, plain, tall and big, clumsy and graceless, without an accomplishment to her worthless name. When she looked down, she discovered she had whittled a potato into a sliver.

Livvy bustled into the room bringing the scent of lemon polish and lamp oil, a dust rag over her shoulder.

"Did Deke ride back to the herd, or is he still about? I want him to set up the long table outside. Far enough from the corrals to escape the dust and stink of cattle, and close enough to the kitchen that we can get the food on the table while it's still hot." She pressed Louise's shoulder on the way to the table to inspect the pies. "You're learning," she said with a smile. "Sprinkle enough sugar on top and no one will notice if the outer crust is a bit brown."

"I doubt I'll ever be much of a cook."

"Nonsense. You'll get the way of it. All women can cook. It comes natural, like getting up in the morning, like having babies, like living a life."

This life was so different from any Louise had lived that nothing about it felt natural. And deep down she didn't want it to. The day this life became second nature was the day she couldn't go back to what she had been. She didn't dare let herself change that much. If she did, she was just begging for heartbreak.

By the time Livvy returned from searching out Deke and getting the table set up, Louise and Gilly had the potatoes and corn almost cooked and ready.

"We'll keep the potatoes hot until it's time to mash them," Gilly said as Livvy popped her head in the kitchen door.

"Better get started. The herd is behind the barn now, and Max and the boys are cutting out the calves and beeves that need branding. Once they're in the pens, the men will come up to the house for dinner."

Max was here. Instantly Louise's face felt feverish and fluttery heat exploded in her stomach. She tucked her hands in the folds of her apron so Gilly wouldn't notice a sudden tremble. But that didn't help her. As she needed to keep busy, she volunteered to mash the potatoes and pounded them with the masher until her whole arm began to ache, going after the lumps like she was killing snakes.

"I'll slice up the bread, if you'll take the butter dishes out to the table," Gilly said twenty minutes later. "I think Sunshine set out the salt and pepper, but it wouldn't hurt to check. I don't know where she's got to."

Swirls of dust hung over the pens when Louise stepped outside and peered toward the barn. By the time she reached the table and looked up again, the men had emerged from the dust and were walking toward the house.

Her gaze flew straight to Max. Tanned face, blue eyes, dark curly hair. Broad shoulders and narrow hips. A man handsome enough to set a woman on fire. Hastily, she pushed at the wisps of hair floating around her flushed face, and swore softly when she noticed a greasy stain on her dark shirtwaist, probably butter. Damn. Well maybe he wouldn't notice.

Max lifted his head toward the house, and she caught a quick breath and held it as his gaze touched her.

But it was only a touch that continued past her. His step faltered. For a moment Louise believed he had tripped over something, then she saw his expression go slack and his chest hitch.

Feeling her throat close, knowing what she would see, she followed his stare and watched Wally and a woman who could only be Philadelphia come around the side of the house and into view. Philadelphia was as Gilly had described her. Small, perfectly groomed, and exquisitely dressed in a forest green traveling suit with matching hat and cape. She was beautiful.

Against her will, Louise's heart sank into a swamp of jealousy. Philadelphia was everything any woman would want to be, everything Louise could never be. Max's family accepted her. Max loved her. And she was carrying his baby.

Philadelphia 's step also faltered, and she halted abruptly as if the sight of Max had thrown up a wall of shock and pain. Her face paled, and her eyebrows slanted in a helpless expression of deep sorrow and longing that swiftly altered to anguish. Blindly, she reached for Wally, curling toward his body where she pressed her forehead against his shoulder and raised her gloves up beside her cheeks. Wally's arm came around her in a protective gesture.

Then Livvy appeared as if by magic, all bustle and good cheer, welcoming home the newlyweds while everyone took a deep breath and struggled to compose themselves.

Louise stood beside the table, watching the drama unfold as Max and Wally stared hard at each other before Max thrust out his hand and Wally gripped it. Philadelphia stepped back, visibly collected herself, then turned to clasp Livvy's hand. She didn't look at Max nor did he look at her, but the sadness had returned to her gaze.

When Gilly and Sunshine joined the group at the side of the house, Louise picked up a butter dish because she needed something to do with her hands, needed to pretend that she was doing something useful.

Livvy must have seen her bend over the table and remembered her, because Livvy leaned close to Philadelphia and gestured over her shoulder. Philadelphia shuddered and raised her gloves as if warding off a blow and she shook her head no. Now Louise understood and she shuddered, too. Oh God. Livvy was going to insist on an introduction.

Despite the uncharacteristic pangs of jealousy, Louise truly regretted hurting Philadelphia . Philadelphia was least deserving of the disasters that had befallen her, and she had and would suffer the most.

Philadelphia had lost the man she loved, and she had lost him when she needed him most, while carrying his baby. She'd been forced to marry a man not of her choosing, and the wrong man would raise her child. For the rest of her life, she would be the target of gossip and whispers. And all of this had happened because a woman she didn't know and had never met wanted a child of her own.

Since Philadelphia refused to go to Louise, Livvy scowled and urgently beckoned Louise forward.

Louise would rather have stepped off a cliff.

But the moment had to come, she knew that. Inevitably she and Philadelphia had to meet. They were both part of the McCord family. It would be impossible to avoid each other.

Reluctantly and filled with dread, she pushed dragging feet toward the group at the side of the house.

She had almost reached Livvy and Philadelphia when she realized she was still clenching one of the butter dishes and her thumb was firmly imbedded in the butter. She threw Max a despairing glance over the top of Philadelphia 's hat, but he was no help. He and Wally were both staring blankly at Sunshine and the rock she showed them. Both held their faces carefully expressionless.

Livvy introduced Louise and Philadelphia and prattled on to say that three Mrs. McCords were too confusing, therefore they would immediately jump to the intimacy of using first names. Then Livvy took Gilly's arm and moved toward her sons, leaving Louise and Philadelphia alone together.

Louise spun out a string of silent cuss words and wished she were anywhere but here, wished there was some place to put down the damned butter dish. She drew a breath and released it slowly, then she did the right thing. All her life she'd tried to do the right thing, which usually meant doing the hard thing.

"I know it doesn't help, and it doesn't change anything, but I'm truly sorry that I set in motion all the bad things that have happened to you. I never meant to hurt you or anyone."

Philadelphia 's eyes glittered like shards of glass. "I know all about you,Low Down." She spat Louise's name and made it sound like an insult. "You immoral piece of garbage! You didn't care which man drew the marble; you would have slept with any of them! You're an affront to decent women. You're not fit for respectable company!"

All right, she'd known this meeting would not be congenial. Philadelphia had every reason to despise her, and no reason at all to be cordial or forgiving. But Louise had always assumed that genuine ladies conducted themselves as Mrs. Halston had. Cold and distant with no flash of emotion, as if true ladies floated above the crass passions of inferior persons. In the true-lady world, an icy invisible barrier kept the riff raff at bay. Thus shielded, a true lady conducted herself with scathing politeness no matter the circumstances. This was Louise's uninformed opinion, and Livvy McCord's conduct had seemed to bear it out.

Louise didn't think grand ladies spoke as Philadelphia just had. And she didn't think grand ladies got themselves pregnant before marriage, no matter how sick in love they were. People with backgrounds like Louise's thumbed their noses at convention, but ladies and gents were the ones who set the conventions and followed them to the letter. Or maybe she just wanted to find something about Philadelphia to criticize.

She moved her thumb in the butter. "I don't know what to say."

"Say nothing! Don't speak to me. Stay out of my sight!" Spinning from Louise, she called to Livvy.

"Mother McCord, might I be shown to my room? Our journey was tiring and," she spread her hands and darted a quick glance at Max, "and our homecoming upsetting. I'd like to lie down if I may."

"Of course. Your room is ready." Linking arms with Wally and Philadelphia , Livvy walked them toward the front porch with Sunshine right behind. Gilly looked back and forth from Max to Louise, then excused herself and hurried back to the kitchen.

Max watched Philadelphia walk away. Maybe he studied the single brave feather quivering on her hat, or maybe he watched the sway of her stylishly draped bustle. All Louise knew for certain was that he seemed unaware of his own wife who stood in front of him with her hair a mess, a stain on her shirtwaist, and her thumb in the butter.

"Are you all right?" Louise asked in a low voice. It had to hurt to see the woman he wanted walking off to inspect a room she would share with another man.

Max looked at her without a flicker of recognition. When his vision cleared and his gaze sharpened, he swore, then pulled off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. "How's everything out at the place?

Did you have any problems?"

"Of course not. Everything is right as rain."

Dust had collected in the creases on his forehead and fanning from his eyes. Louise experienced an absurd urge to stand close to him and wipe the dust away with her fingers. She wanted to press her nose against his throat and inhale the scents of horseflesh and cattle and man sweat. Wanted to touch him and shake him and say, Look at me. Please look at me.

"You have your thumb in the butter," he said suddenly.

"I know. Will you be home tonight? Or will you stay here with the boys?"

If he hesitated, she didn't notice. "I'll be home after supper," he answered, looking at the butter dish and her buried thumb. Then he muttered something about washing up and walked away from her. She watched him go as he had watched Philadelphia , with loss and longing in her eyes.

*

The dark, sweet scent of whiskey reeled through her senses even before she entered the shadowy kitchen. Seeing Max's deeper shadow at the table, she walked past him to fetch her shawl from the mudroom, then went to the shelves near the sink. Enough moonlight filtered through the frost on the window glass that she had no difficulty finding a glass to take to the table.

"There's no reason for you to be up," he said when she reached for the bottle and poured herself a drink.

"I know." The whiskey scalded the back of her tongue, flowed toward her stomach like liquid fire.

Raising her knees, she propped her bare feet on the edge of the chair and tucked her nightgown in around them. "I hope it doesn't snow before the rest of the herd comes in and the branding is finished.

Feels like it could, though."

The bottle clinked against the lip of his glass, then silence. She didn't mind. It was nice to sip good whiskey and quietly share the darkness. Good companions didn't need words.

"There's a mystery down at the corral," he said eventually.

"Do tell." On the other hand, words were fine, too.

"Eight beeves wandered into the corral and closed the gate behind themselves."

She swallowed another fiery sip of whiskey. "Is that so."

"And there must have been a hell of a windstorm while I was gone, strong enough to blow hay in the corral to feed those beeves."

"Well, that is a mystery, now ain't it."

"So which horse did you use?" he asked after another silence.

"The black gelding."

"That's Hoss. A good choice if you can stay on top of him."

"I spent some time picking myself out of the dirt." With the comfort of the dark and the whiskey and the faint glow of embers in the firebox, she knew he wouldn't chastise her for rounding up a few cattle on her own. It wasn't that kind of moment. Plus, he could see that she hadn't broken any bones. And all's well that ends well.

"I imagine the only reason you didn't brand the two calves is because we have all the irons up at the main ranch." A hint of amusement softened the sharpness of his words.

"Max? Is this here going to be a habit? Sitting up in the middle of the night drinking?"

This time the silence stretched so long that she decided he was through talking.

"I thought I was doing what I needed to do," he said defensively. "I thought I had to spend the summer at Piney Creek to understand. I think Pa dreamed of succeeding big at something he loved to do, and he didn't want to leave the mountains until he did. I think it broke something inside when Ma succeeded but he didn't. And every time someone praised him about the ranch, whatever was broke cracked a little more."

So that's what had occupied his thoughts during the roundup. Going over and over his summer in Piney Creek, seeking to justify the decision that had ended by changing lives. She poured another splash into her glass and leaned back in her chair.

"The thing is, I could have figured that out without ever leaving Fort Houser ." Disgust roughened his voice.

"Max? You've got a long day tomorrow. You need some sleep."

"I was dead set on going. It meant there wouldn't be any engagement parties, no prenuptial celebrations, none of the bridal fuss that women like. It meant leaving Shorty to build the house and ranch. How did walking away from my responsibilities ever seem reasonable?"

"If you'd known Philadelphia was pregnant, you would have left the mountains like a shot."

"I don't know why she didn't tell me. I had her letters in a packet inside my vest when I took sick. They were burned with my clothing. But I go over and over them in my memory, wondering if I missed a hint I was intended to see. But I don't recall anything like that. She wanted me to come home, but hell, she didn't want me to go in the first place. She never wrote there was a special reason why I should come back."

"You're beating a dead horse, Max. It's done and over." The words were harsh, but she spoke them softly.

"Damn it, I'm so black-bile-up-to-here fricking angry." Sitting forward, he propped his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head in his hands.

"I know."

She understood feeling angry and being helpless to do anything about it. She'd felt that way today after Philadelphia spoke to her. She'd felt that way so many, many times in her life. There wasn't anything that would fix Max's anger or alter the injustice of everything that had happened. But it wasn't in Louise's nature to sit idly by and do nothing in the presence of pain and need.

Sliding her bare feet to the cold floor, she stood, thought a minute, then fetched Max's winter duster from the mudroom and spread it on the kitchen floor. She folded her shawl for a pillow.

Then she moved to stand in front of him, and tapped him on the head to get his attention. "I ain't got much to give to take your mind off hurting, but I'm offering you what I got."

Reaching down, she lifted the bottom of her nightgown with the intention of pulling it over her head. The wretched thing swallowed her up, and she thought she never would get it off. Swearing and slapping at volumes of material, she shoved it down and tried opening the drawstring at her neck. Better. She got one arm and shoulder through the opening, then the other, and she pushed the gown to her waist.

Max drew a sharp breath, and she realized she stood silhouetted by the moonlight falling through the frosted window. Now was not the moment to go timid, she reminded herself. This was her idea—in for a penny, in for a pound.

A push and a wiggle eased the nightgown over her hips and she let it drop around her ankles. "Last time anyone saw me buck naked I was a baby," she said uncomfortably, resisting an urge to clap an arm over her breasts and a hand over her private parts.

Nobody thought she had any standards, but she did and modesty was one of them. Standing in front of a man while naked as a jaybird, even if the man was her husband, meant standing on a mound of anguish.

But this wasn't the night to expect Max to battle the nightgown; she had to undress herself. The point here was to ease his anger, not add to it.

He didn't say anything, didn't do anything. And she suddenly wondered if offering herself had been a terrible mistake. Worse, there was naught to do but go forward. Tentatively, she reached a hand to his hair, paused, then drew him toward her.

A sound erupted from deep in his throat, and his arms came around her waist so tight she thought he'd crush her, and he pressed his face hard against her bare stomach. "Damn."

"It's all right," she whispered, stroking his head, holding him against her.

She had a sense that he resisted but lost the battle. Releasing her, he bent to yank off his boots, then he stood and ripped open his shirt, sending buttons flying every which way before he jerked open his belt and shoved down his denims.

His skin was pale in the frosty moonlight, and she supposed hers was, too. But his eyes burned at her through the darkness, and she gasped and didn't feel the chill.

When they were both naked, they stood looking at each other, peering through shadow and dim glow.

Not touching. Just looking, seeing with incomplete memory and imagination.

When Louise thought her racing heart would pound through her chest, Max finally reached a hand to her throat and drew his fingertips down between her breasts, down to her waist. Swaying on her feet, she followed his lead and stretched a trembling hand to his bare chest, stroking her palm down washboard muscles that tightened at her touch.

The strangeness of being naked in front of someone and of touching the firm warmth of a man's skin imparted a dreamlike quality. Whatever they did tonight would not seem real tomorrow. Thus she could kneel on the duster she had spread across the chilly planks and reach a hand to pull him down beside her. She ran her hands from his jaw to his shoulders and felt the tension and anger bunched beneath her palms. And when she gazed at his face, into his eyes, she understood that she had to lead and offer permission each step of the way because he feared the anger that had led them here.

Gently, she caught his hands and curved them around her breasts, heard the hissing noise he made at the back of his throat. "You won't hurt me," she whispered, knowing it was true. He would use her tonight and use her roughly and selfishly; she understood that, and it was what she offered. But he would never hurt her. He was not that kind of man.

Eyes locked to his, she shook the pins from her hair and felt the coils tumble down her back, instinctively sensing this was something he wanted. Then she lay back on the duster and cushioned her head on her folded shawl. Even though it felt as if they moved in a dream, she still burned hot with embarrassment and had to close her eyes when he rocked back on his heels to stare at her nakedness.

A low groan rumbled up from his chest, a growl of pain and fury and desire and hunger. The sound shot lightning through her body, flashing fire that lit her from within and tingled and burned and made her whimper and writhe beneath his stare.

When she could stand it no longer, she opened her arms and he came to her with the same primitive sound, covering her with the hard heat of male muscle and sinew. His mouth ravaged her breasts, his hands plundered at will. And he took her as she had known he would, thrusting hard and deep and furiously, spending his anger as he spent himself.

Afterward, when they had returned to the bedroom and Max slept beside her, Louise touched her stomach through the folds of her nightgown. She hoped they had made a baby tonight on the kitchen floor.

It seemed that a woman should remember the night a new life began inside her. Such a miracle should not be the result of routine or an ordinary coming together. Life should begin in a cataclysm of heat and fury bathed in the sweat of passion and urgency.

Tonight had been all of that, and she would never forget it.