McKettrick: An Outlaw's Christmas Part 15

"How could it-take-days?" she asked, a little out of step with the flow of conversation.

"I like to take my time," Sawyer replied, measuring out the words slowly, so slowly, like a man muttering in his sleep. "Especially when I'm doing this." And then his mouth closed, warm and wet and pulling ever so gently, around her already distended nipple.

She cried out with pleasure, instinctively arched her back in a plea for more and then still more.

"Days," Sawyer said idly, moving to her other breast.

The pleasure-yes, it was pleasure, and it was glorious, and it was hers-unleashed something inside Piper, some vast, elemental state of derring-do she hadn't known existed.

Over the next few minutes-or was it hours?-Sawyer raised Piper to a fever pitch with his fingers, his lips, his words. She wriggled out of her bloomers with a shameful lack of encouragement, making him laugh.

When he slid his hand between her legs and began to work her with a light, circular motion of the heel of his palm, she was lost. And then he took her nipple into his mouth again, and she was electrified, more completely and powerfully alive than ever before.

"Oh-Sawyer-" she sobbed out.

He lifted his head from her breast, where he'd been feasting, and said quietly, "Any time you want me to stop, Piper, all you have to do is say the word and I will."

"Ooooooh," she moaned, raising her hips high off the mattress to maintain contact with his hand. Stop? Not if she had anything to say about it.

He quickened the pace of his hand, and she went wild with desire, with a need that would not be refused. "There's more," he told her softly, gruffly, tracing the length of her neck with his lips. "There's a lot more. But before any of that happens, I want you to know how it's supposed to feel when I make love to you."

She cried out again, frenzied, flying. Wanting. She was wanton, wide open to him, and she felt no shame, only freedom and ferocious instincts.

"Sawyer!" she pleaded raggedly.

"Let go," he murmured. "Just let go."

There was a fierce seizing sensation then, deep inside her, a thing of the spirit as well as the body, followed by a release so keen that it seemed to consume all of Piper in sweet blazes of satisfaction. Her body flexed and flexed again, speaking its own language of joy.

Finally, she shattered completely and, after what seemed like a very long time, fell back into herself, in a slow but still dizzying drop, dazed, crooning and purring with every small aftershock.

"That's how it's supposed to feel," Sawyer told her, with a grin, much later, when her breathing had returned to something approaching normality and her heart had ceased struggling to flail its way out of her chest and fly heavenward like a bird.

She snuggled against Sawyer. "But there's more," she repeated sleepily.

"Yes," Sawyer said, with a smile in his voice. His chin was propped on the top of her head. "We'll have time for that later."

"Mmmmm," she said, and moved closer still.

Then she felt the hard length of him against her thigh, and she was instantly wide awake.

"I did say there was more," Sawyer reminded her, his eyes alight with mischief and-just possibly, no it couldn't be, not so soon-love.

"Now I know why everyone says it hurts," Piper announced, feeling her eyes go wide.

"Everyone?" Sawyer asked, teasing. "Is this something you talk about a lot?"

She shook her head, nervous and, at the same time, wanting him. All of him. "Of course not," she whispered, as though imparting a secret in the midst of a listening crowd. "But, well, it does seem-logistically impossible."

At that, Sawyer threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter.

She thumped his chest with the side of one fist, though not very hard. "What's so funny, Sawyer McKettrick?" she demanded, blus.h.i.+ng from her hairline to her toes.

He didn't answer right away, but his amus.e.m.e.nt subsided a little.

Their gazes locked and the mood turned serious again.

"Will it hurt?" she asked meekly.

"Probably," Sawyer answered, smoothing her hair away from her cheek. "But only the first time, and for just a little while."

"Oh," Piper said.

"It's up to you," he reiterated.

"Let's try," Piper decided.

"It's not like that," Sawyer told her. "There's no atry.' You do it, or you don't do it."

"Will it hurt you?"

He kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose. "No," he answered, in his forthright way.

"And there's only pain the first time?"

He nodded. "Usually. And I'll be real careful, I promise."

She believed him. Her heart widened somehow, and took him in, and that was the moment she truly became his wife. "I love you, Sawyer," she said, and she'd never meant anything more than she meant those words. "I know you probably don't-"

He stopped her from finis.h.i.+ng the sentence by pressing an index finger to her lips. "I can speak for myself, woman," he said, with mock sternness. "And it just so happens that I love you, too. I realized it when you took off for the Bitter Gulch Saloon-even before that, really-to see to Ginny-Sue, and there was no talking you out of it."

She blinked. "Really? Why?"

He gave another raspy chuckle and shook his head. "I guess I admire spirit in a woman," he replied, "and you've got plenty of that, all right, with some to spare."

His answer pleased her deeply, settled into her, saturated her with a sense of rightness and perfect safety. "Well, Mr. McKettrick, I think it's about time we consummated our marriage, don't you?"

"You're sure?" He looked troubled, but blue-green fire burned in his eyes.

"I'm absolutely positive," she replied.

Dutifully, she situated herself on the mattress, spread her legs a little, and waited for him to get on top of her.

Instead, he gave another chuckle, and then he drove her to near madness again, caressing her, kissing her, whispering things that made her blood rush hot through her veins.

When Sawyer finally took Piper for his own, in a long, swift thrust, she wanted, needed him inside her so much that she barely noticed the twinge of pain as her maidenhead gave way.

Her body responded to his, as if drawing on some ancient knowledge, stroke for stroke, giving and then taking, offering and then demanding, and when he finally stiffened upon her, with a hoa.r.s.e cry, and she felt him spilling himself into her, ecstasy claimed her once again, even more completely than before, and her cry of triumph rose to meet and mingle with his.

Later, they slept, and it seemed to Piper, as she drifted off, exhausted and utterly spent, a vessel deliciously emptied of all she had to give, that even though their bodies were separate and distinctly individual, their souls had somehow fused into one being, a making-right of many wrongs, large and small, a kind of coming home to all they'd ever really been.

They slept for the rest of that day and all of the night, to Piper's amazement, and awoke to a frost-sparkled morning that had drawn exquisite paisley patterns on the gla.s.s in the schoolhouse's few windows.

Sawyer was already up-she could hear him rattling the door of the stove, whistling under his breath.

Smiling, purely happy, she snuggled down in the warmth of the bed, every part of her pulsing with the memory of their lovemaking.

"You'd better get up, Teacher," Sawyer called good-naturedly, from the other room. "School starts in an hour."

Reality jolted through Piper, and she bolted out of bed, immediately beginning to s.h.i.+ver as the cold morning air struck her bare skin. She fumbled for her flannel wrapper and put it on quickly. "An hour?" she called back, padding in to squeeze up close to the stove while Sawyer dumped ground coffee beans into the pot.

It was only then that she noticed he'd removed his sling, though not his bandages, and even as he finished putting the coffee on to brew, he was slowly flexing and unflexing his left elbow.

"What are you doing?" Piper demanded, instantly alarmed.

"What I can," Sawyer responded. "I still have a lot of use for this arm, Mrs. McKettrick, and I don't want the muscles to atrophy."

"They won't," she said. "Doc Howard would have warned us, if that were the case. He'd have said-"

"Doc Howard, for all his versatility, is a dentist, not a medical pract.i.tioner," Sawyer reminded her, still moving his limb. "We've got a couple of doctors in the McKettrick clan, and any one of them would tell me to start using this arm a little every day."

Piper started to protest, and then stopped herself. Reasoning with a man was one thing, and nagging him was another. Besides, she recognized a lost cause when she saw one.

"These McKettricks seem to be an opinionated bunch," she observed, ladling hot water from a kettle on the stove into a basin so she could wash up before she put on her clothes.

Sawyer's grin flashed. "You'll fit right in," he said.

CHAPTER 10.

Afternoon, Christmas Eve There were so many people in the Blue River schoolhouse, Piper thought happily, that even one more wouldn't fit.

And yet, somehow, there was a place for all the latecomers, with their smiles and words of greeting, their homemade fruitcakes and fruit pies.

The evening before, Clay had brought a fresh Christmas tree in from the ranch, deeming the first one a pitiful sight, past its prime, and Piper and Sawyer had spent a festive hour transferring the ornaments from the old to the new.

Now, Ginny-Sue's eyes widened as Clay lifted her up to touch the feathered wings of the angel that had magically appeared on top of the tree sometime during the night. "Where did she come from?" the child wondered, in an awed whisper. "She wasn't on the other tree."

"I guess it's a miracle," Clay told the child, his gaze on Dara Rose, who stood nearby, glowing as she showed off the new baby to one and all. The special angel was their gift to the children of Blue River. "There are a lot of those going around these days, it seems to me."

Ginny-Sue, still weak but mostly recovered, had returned to school only the day before, a little subdued but eager to be a part of things. Once Clay set her on her feet, she hurried off with Edrina, Harriet and Madeline to get ready for the program, and Piper, standing next to Dara Rose, smiled and offered a quick, silent prayer of grat.i.tude.

There was so very much to be thankful for.

Indeed, this was a season of miracles, just as Clay had said.

Sawyer, neatly dressed in garments from his travel trunk and temporarily without his sling, caught Piper's eye and winked.

She drew a deep breath and went up to the place where her desk normally stood-it had been pushed back against the wall so the raised floor could be used as a sort of stage-clapping her hands smartly to get everyone's attention.

The cheerful talk ceased, but in a scattered, here-and-there way, and every upturned face was friendly-except, of course, for Eloise Howard's.

Piper gave the other woman a warm smile, secretly feeling sorry for her, and addressed the group in general. "The children have worked very hard to prepare for today's program," she said, in a voice trained to carry to every corner of the room without screeching. "We all hope you'll enjoy it."

Bess Turner, standing in a corner with a cl.u.s.ter of her "girls" from the Bitter Gulch Saloon, faded flowers clad in fuss and feathers, beamed with pride as Ginny-Sue took her place and began to recite the second chapter of Luke. Her performance was flawless, delivered in a bell-like voice, and afterward, no one stinted on applause.

Even Eloise clapped, after a fas.h.i.+on, soundlessly touching the gloved fingers of her right hand to the palm of her left, still flushed with the singular pleasure of informing Piper, twenty minutes before, that her teaching services would no longer be required after the school term ended in early June.

Piper hadn't minded, given that she and Sawyer had already made plans to make their home on the Triple M, up in Arizona, starting the journey north as soon as school was out and the new and more permanent town marshal had arrived, but she'd pretended to feel a little bit bad, for Eloise's sake. Heaven knew the poor woman was hard up for things to celebrate, which was a sad thing in and of itself, since she had a good husband, a lovely child and a comparatively easy life, far more than many other people could even have hoped for.

Bess Turner, for example, now hugging and congratulating her proud daughter, might have been grateful for the kind of respectability and love Eloise evidently took for granted-as less than her due.

With a sigh, Piper put the whole matter out of her mind. There was no changing other people; one had to accept them as they were and proceed as best one could, making allowances wherever possible.

The boys took the stage next, putting on a little skit of their own composition, in which shepherds and Roman soldiers speculated about the unusually bright star in the sky over Bethlehem. The soldiers had swords fas.h.i.+oned from kindling and the shepherds had staffs and feed-sack headdresses and, though brief, the play met with critical acclaim and much cheering.

Edrina played a lively tune on her ukulele next, with Harriet turning the pages of her sheet music for her, importantly competent throughout.

Recitations followed, mostly poetry, and when the last of those had mercifully ended, all the students a.s.sembled to sing "Silent Night," as rehea.r.s.ed over many, many days. Piper was touched when, one by one, voice by voice, some awkward, some remarkably sweet, the audience joined in.

It was time then for the presents-the owner of the mercantile had, as usual, brought along the promised oranges and peppermint sticks.

The children were delirious with excitement, especially Ginny-Sue, who had confided to Piper earlier, in a brief moment of privacy, that she had a Christmas tree at home, too. There were parcels tucked into the branches, and "the ladies" had lent all sorts of baubles and ribbons and even silk garters for decorations.

Piper had been delighted by the image and kissed Ginny-Sue on top of the head, telling her, "You'll have a happy Christmas for sure."

And Ginny-Sue had nodded vigorously, eyes s.h.i.+ning with joy.

Now, with the oranges and peppermint sticks dispersed, the adults chatted and indulged in pie and cake and all manner of country delicacies, each family, even the poorest ones, having contributed something.

Bess made her way to Piper's side and tugged at the sleeve of her new blue dress, a ready-made from the mercantile. She'd splurged on it, now that she wasn't saving her money to go back to Maine, along with small gifts for Sawyer, Dara Rose and Clay, and, of course, the children.

"We'll be going now," Bess said quietly. "I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did, you and your man, and to wish you a happy Christmas."

Piper's eyes burned, and she smiled, her response delayed by a few moments because she was suddenly choked up. "You're welcome," she said, at last. "And a happy Christmas to you, as well."

"It's the best one ever," Bess confirmed, with a fond glance at her daughter.

And then she and her bevy of twittering birds left the schoolhouse, surrounding little Ginny-Sue, in her warm coat, hat, boots and mittens, like a royal guard escorting a princess home to the palace.

Piper watched them go from the front window, knowing she would treasure the recollection forever after, while the party went on behind her. They were a family, those fancy women and that sweet child and bl.u.s.tery Cleopatra, as loving and tightly knit as any other. They'd come to the schoolhouse, knowing there would be some who looked askance, resolved to watch Ginny-Sue make her recitation and celebrate with her cla.s.smates, and they'd even put up a Christmas tree, festooning the branches with what they had, rather than tinsel and colored gla.s.s.

If that wasn't love, what was?