I’m sorry I woke you. I hadn’t meant to say your name out loud.”
Aggie fell back against the pillow and pretended to snore.
Hank laughed. “Don’t you want to stay awake and watch the sun come up?”
“I’ll catch it tonight, then turn it over in my mind.”
He scooted up and propped the pillow behind his back. “Come on. Wake up and watch. Sunrise is the best part of the day.”
Like a grumpy groundhog, she crawled out of her warm hole and sat beside him.
After a few minutes, he asked, “Are your eyes open?”
“Is it here yet?”
“Almost.”
“Just let me know and I’ll open them then.”
Hank couldn’t resist—he tugged her to him. He wanted to pull her shirt off and repeat all they’d done before, but for now, he had to let her set the pace. Just because he couldn’t advance physically with making her his, didn’t mean he couldn’t move forward.
“Listen, sunshine, I’ve been thinking.”
She was busy settling atop his chest.
“Are you listening?”
She made a slight sound, half yes, half yawn.
“I don’t think I’m going to build another bed. If you’ve no objection, I think we should just share.”
He felt her nod.
“I mean from now on, not just while I’m laid up with this leg.”
She nodded again. “I understand. Except for the few months I had after all my sisters left, I’ve always shared a bed. It has advantages. Someone to cuddle with on cold nights. Someone to talk to when you can’t sleep.”
“Aggie, sharing a bed with a man is different.”
She stilled. “I know.”
He waited for her to say more. The easiness between them was gone. She lay stiff at his side. “You know,” he whispered, “I would never hurt you.”
“I know,” she said again. “This isn’t what I thought it would be like between us.”
He understood. When he’d handed her his gun, he’d thought he was making a partnership that at best would keep her safe and offer him company. But now, it was already more, far more.
Without a word, he leaned down and brushed his lips over hers, loving the sweet dawn taste of them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him to her as she turned the kiss to liquid passion.
Hank fought to keep it light, but his hands slipped back over her bottom, tenderly gripping each hip and holding her close.
She broke the kiss and shoved away, and reason fought its way into his brain. He tried to find the words to say he was sorry for something he wasn’t, but before he could speak, she unbuttoned her shirt.
“Touch me again, dear.” She opened the flannel and in dawn’s first light he saw her beauty.
All reason vanished as he lowered his mouth to her breast.
She cried out in surprise, then arched her back and allowed him his fill of her flesh.
By the time sanity returned, the sun had cleared the horizon. He kissed her long and hard, letting his hands continue caressing her breasts, now moist and full from his careful inspection. She’d complained only when he pulled away.
In the lazy stillness while they each remembered to breathe, Hank spread his hand across her stomach and made lazy circles over her flesh. “There’s more,” he whispered, loving the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed.
“I figured there might be.” She moved her cheek against the side of his head.
“You’ll let me know when you’re ready.” He didn’t bother to say “if you’re ready.” After the way she reacted to his second touch, there was no doubt where they were headed.
She sighed.
“It might mean children.” He’d heard of a few ways to prevent pregnancy, but doubted any one would work all the time. “You wouldn’t mind children?”
She frowned. “I wouldn’t mind your children. I think I’d love them dearly.”
He tried to keep the sadness from his voice. “That’s more than my mother did.”
“That’s not true.” She shoved away, unaware how the sudden sight of her beauty stopped his heart.
He shrugged. “I’m afraid it is. My mother left me before I could talk and never looked back.”
“No,” Aggie shouted as she scrambled off the bed. “No!”
As she backed against the wall, he saw the quilt for the first time. “Where did that come from?” He knew nothing of crafts, but he could see that he must be looking at a work of art. No clumsy blocks, no crazy designs, but an intricate picture painted with tiny bits of fabric and fine stitching.
“Your mother. She loved you and must have spent years making these.”