The Endless Sky (Cheyenne Series) (61 page)

      
A feeling of wonder filled him as he looked down at the small squirming bundle who had begun to cry lustily now. A thick cap of straight black hair covered his head, but other than that there was little to betray his Cheyenne blood. Gingerly he took the infant in his hands, holding Jeremy up to his face.

      
“He's a fierce little warrior,” he said as emotion welled up deep inside of him. Was this how Vanishing Grass had felt the first time he had held his son?

      
“Normally he's quite happy, except when I'm late feeding him,” Stephanie said as she began to unfasten her bodice. Her fingers were clumsy as a sudden surge of nervousness overtook her. Would he watch them as Cheyenne men did their wives when they nursed their babies? What had seemed so natural then seemed somehow constrained now. But it was too late for second thoughts.

      
As Chase stood there holding his son, his mouth suddenly went dry and his heartbeat accelerated crazily when she pulled open the lacy chemise beneath her unbuttoned dress. Now he could see that her milky pale breasts were lushly full. She reached out for Jeremy and he gave him over, uncertain of what to do next. The baby greedily fastened onto her rosy nipple and his tiny fingers splayed on the side of her breast while his father stood transfixed.

      
Stephanie sat down on the bed and swung her legs up, then leaned back against the headboard, cradling Jeremy to her breast as he nursed with his usual vigor. “Come sit by us,” she invited Chase, patting a place beside her on the bed. Slowly he walked over to her and took a seat.

      
“I've dreamed of this moment ever since I first learned I was pregnant,” she said, extending her hand to Chase. “The three of us, a family together at last.”

      
Chase took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips. He stroked Jeremy's head softly, watching his tiny face, then looked up into Stevie's eyes. “I never even dared dream…”

      
By the time Jeremy was asleep Bridget had laid out their food on the verandah outside the sitting room. The heat of afternoon was held at bay by a heavy canvas awning while a soft breeze blew from the ocean. Chase pulled out her chair. “Mrs. Remington?” She smiled and took the seat as he joined her at the small table. “We need to do something about making that name official, I think.”

      
“Jeremiah wants to perform the ceremony, Chase.” She waited expectantly for his reaction, clutching her napkin with both hands in her lap.

      
“That would mean going back to Boston, wouldn't it?” His voice was wary but not hostile.

      
“I know you haven't had time to plan—to think about the future but—”

      
“You really don't play fair, you know. Once I saw him—saw you together, you know I could never give you up.”

      
He sounded more desperate than angry in spite of the accusation. “I didn't plan it, Chase...it just...happened. But I did want you to want us.”

      
“Enough to go back to Boston?”

      
“Even that. We don't have to live there, but you must see your grandfather before he dies.”

      
“The old man's ill?” He looked up from the mouth-watering plate of fresh shrimp in spicy red sauce, his appetite suddenly fled.

      
“He hid it well, but after we returned from Washington he collapsed. Dr. Jamison told me he's had a bad heart for several years. We don't know how much time he has left. That's why he didn't travel with us.”

      
How could he spurn the earnest entreaty in her eyes? “I'll go to Boston, Stevie. I can't make you any promise beyond that.”

      
“That's enough—more than enough, Chase.”

      
They finished the meal, Stephanie urging seconds on Chase, teasing about fattening him up. He ate heartily, the first wholesome food he'd seen since he was arrested back in Wyoming. Finally, he moved his plate aside and looked at her. She had been watching him through most of the meal, pushing a few shrimp and some fresh fruit about on her plate nervously.

      
He stood up and reached for her hand. “Come.” She put her hand in his and followed him inside.

      
They walked into the big bedroom where he'd bathed earlier. The room had been tidied while they were gone. Chase led her to the bed but halted, remembering the tense coach ride into town. Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked into her eyes. “Do you want this, now...or do you want to wait until I marry you in the white man's way? I will wait, you know.”

      
At first when he had emerged from the prison, bearded and sullen, she had not been sure—not because she loved him less, desired him less, but only because they had not talked about commitment for the future, about little Jeremy and old Jeremiah. “It's going to be all right, Chase...now will do just fine,” she whispered, cupping her hand around his neck and tiptoeing up to kiss him as a deep feeling of peace settled over her. “Now and for the rest of our lives.”

      
Her murmured words were muffled as their lips met eagerly, brushing and pressing, opening to let their tongues dance and glide, tasting the once again familiar essence of one another. He rained small wet nips and caresses along her jaw and down her throat as she clung to his shoulders, throwing back her head until the long heavy weight of her hair curtained the arm he held about her waist.

      
She felt his hands at the buttons of her gown and helped him, tugging eagerly until several ripped loose but neither of them cared. His hands peeled the sleeves from her slender pale arms. She shoved the dress down and unfastened the tape of her petticoats, letting the whole mass fall to the floor.

      
“I no longer wear corsets, a lesson someone taught me out west.” Her lips bowed.

      
“A wise fellow.” His mouth returned the smile as he reached up to cup her breasts in his hands. “My son is very lucky,” Chase whispered reverently, lowering his head to ring one dark-tinged nipple with his tongue, wetting the sheer lace of her camisole. “So am I.” He carefully pulled the dainty covering away and made love to her naked breasts.

      
Stephanie arched into his hands and mouth with a sharp gasp of pleasure, burying her fingers in his thick shaggy hair. Her breasts had been tender and incredibly sensitive ever since she'd become pregnant, even more so since she started nursing Jeremy, but nothing on earth felt as wonderful as this! She trembled and murmured his name over and over.

      
When he had worked the camisole free, he tossed it aside, then began to unfasten her underdrawers and push them over her hips. He knelt, pulling them down, all the while kissing a path to her belly while he cupped her derriere in his hands. “Your stomach's as flat as a schoolgirl,” he said, burying his tongue in her navel.

      
“You should’ve seen me just before your son was born. I still have stretch marks.”

      
He kissed the faint pinkish lines around her belly tenderly, as he pushed her underdrawers to her ankles where they joined the rest of her clothing. Then he stood up and scooped her into his arms, laying her on the bed. The frilly drawers still clung to her slippered feet. He tossed them away and sat down beside her to unlace her shoes. Stephanie watched his hands, then let her eyes travel up to his face.
Beautiful as sin.
That was what Sabrina had called him and for once in her life, she had been right.

      
His profile was harshly chiseled, that unique blend of boldly savage majesty and elegantly aristocratic perfection. The rigors of prison had only intensified his dramatic appearance—his high cheekbones had been hollowed, his straight prominent nose made even bolder and his powerful jaw more strikingly male now that it was cleanly shaven. His expressive eyebrows rose like great black wings over those heavy lidded glittering black eyes, eyes which studied her intently. She could feel his gaze sweep up her body like a hot sultry breeze caressing her skin.

      
When their eyes met she reached up, letting her palms press into the black hair on his chest. Her fingertips dug in, feeling the familiar texture of him as his heartbeat comforted yet inflamed her. “Take off the robe/’ she commanded, pulling the belt with one hand, then shoving the silk away. “I want to see all of you again.”

      
For the first time in his life, Chase felt a twinge of anxiety. “You didn't see it all while you were drying my back, Stevie. I don't look the way I used to.”

      
“I don't care. Every inch of your body is beautiful to me.” To prove it she sat up, pressing him down until he lay stretched out full-length for her inspection. She could count his ribs. The slabs of muscle across his chest, arms and legs had grown thinner but he was still a powerful man, lithe and long-limbed. Her fingers traced the new puckered lines at his side and the heavy ridge slashing like a lightning bolt down his thigh. How close Burke had come to killing him! She lowered her head and kissed the wounds, offering a silent prayer of thanks that he had survived.

      
Her hair brushed, then curtained his body as she caressed it. He filled his hands with the glorious silken mass as a shaft of sunlight from the window caught it, turning it to molten bronze. She slid up against him and he enfolded her in his arms. They lay side by side with her breasts pressed against his chest as he rolled on top of her and kissed her. He raised up over her and looked deep into her eyes. They shared an exchange of silent understanding as she opened her thighs and he slowly entered her body.

      
Stephanie locked her legs around his hips, arching up and urging his hardness deeper inside her. She was slick and tight in spite of having had a child. He moved slowly at first, careful not to hurt her, but she rolled her hips in that old familiar rhythm they had perfected together, eager with the same innocent abandon she had always brought to their lovemaking. The wonder of her amazed him once again as he increased the tempo, unable to resist her urgency.

      
After so long an abstinence, their hunger quickly flared into a white-hot frenzy, ending in a mutual blaze of glory. He could feel the tiny tremors of her orgasm build into intense contractions, milking him of his seed. She recognized through her haze of pleasure the swelling rigidity of his staff buried so deeply inside her, and knew the thrill of added pleasure when he pulsed high and hard into her womb.

      
Sweat slicked their bodies in the sultry ocean air as he collapsed on top of her. They both struggled for breath, murmuring love words and clinging to each other as if never to let go. Chase remained buried inside her, unwilling to break their joining. He raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I love you, Stevie, more than anything. I always have, even when I walked away. I'll never’do that again.”

      
“On your honor as a warrior?” she asked with a purring smile of utter contentment on her face.

      
“On my honor—witch,” he said with a sharp intake of breath when she wriggled her hips and squeezed his phallus in her sheath. “So you want more...” he murmured.

      
“I'm as greedy as our son,” she whispered, feeling him harden deep inside her.

      
This time they went slowly, savoring every nuance, prolonging the ascent to the pinnacle, making up for all the lost years and celebrating the many, many more which would come. When it was at last complete, they slept while the late afternoon sun filtered in the window, bathing them with golden light. Chase rolled over on his stomach with one arm stretched possessively across Stevie's waist.

      
She awakened first and sat up in the bed, holding his hand, watching him as he slept. The cruel disfigurement of his back no longer brought tears to her eyes. She accepted that it was a part of Chase just as his other scars were. When he stirred and rolled over to face her she smiled down at him.

      
“What were you thinking?” he asked, heavy lidded and drowsy with contentment.

      
‘That you were mistaken to say these had no honor,” she murmured, touching the welts on his back and thigh. “You received these for love of me and there is honor in that as well as in the Sun Dance.”

      
He pressed her hands to his lips and kissed them. “You are right. What a fierce and wise Cheyenne wife you've made. But we must also be married in the eyes of white society and we will be.”

      
“I want it for Jeremy's sake but I no longer need it for mine, Chase. I've had a lot of time to think since the day Hugh died. You were right. He was no longer my husband—you were. I didn't kill him to be free, only to save your life.”

      
“More than my life…my soul,” he replied, folding her into his arms.

* * * *

      
They were fortunate to book passage on a coastal packet headed north in the morning. The journey was surprisingly calm considering the uncertain spring weather as they traveled past Cape Hatteras and into the North Atlantic. The nearer they drew to Boston, the more Chase brooded and the tension between them grew. Stephanie knew he was dreading his meeting with Jeremiah. He agreed to it only to please her. She prayed he would be able to see how bitterly his grandfather had suffered and how much the reverend loved him.

      
Spinning off that dilemma was another—where would they spend the rest of their lives? Stephanie knew Chase's heart and soul lay in the West. He saw the narrow, crowded streets of Eastern cities as little better than the Fort Marion prison. After her years out West she shared his love for the land and would gladly return to it but for Jeremiah. He needed them now and he had so little time left on this earth. Surely God, the Everywhere Spirit, would provide a way.