my hairline, snapping off the tiny budding ones from my nail beds.
Occam finished eating faster than I did and started wash water in the sink. I scraped my plate and sopped up the grease and the last of the eggs with toast. I must have dozed off in my chair because Occam was suddenly kneeling at my side. “Here. Lemme.” He wiped my hands with a warm damp cloth to get all the breakfast foods off them. I watched as he cleaned my hands, the towel warm, his nails clean, neatly pared, his hands tanned and strong, yet pale next to my wood-toned skin.
I had a flash memory of John’s hands, calloused and rough from a lifetime of hard work. His nails had always been clipped short but not smoothed, snagging on everything, a line of dirt under the nails that he never got clean. I hadn’t minded then, that John had farmer’s hands. We had worked hard all our lives. It was the church way, and my nails often looked just as grimy. But that was my past and Occam . . . Occam was my future.
His beautiful hands lifted to my hair and he gently groomed me, finding more leaves deeper in my hairline, breaking the thin petioles, piling the leaves on the table. Tears gathered in my eyes and he placed a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, gentle and sweet and kind.
This. This right here. This was the romance I had read about in books. This was the beginning of heat and passion and . . . and it was the foundation of love. Tenderness and kindness that had nothing to do with hot sweaty sheets and the moans of passion and orgasm. Not that I didn’t love that too. But this. Just this. This was love.
I raised my hand and rubbed my fist along his jaw the way he liked, his beard scratchy. I realized he must have used the shower upstairs at some point in his cooking spree. He smelled like my lavender soap. I hoped his cat nose wasn’t offended at the scent. I needed to make him something special that a cat-man would like to shower with. I rubbed harder and twined my fingers into his hair, rubbing his healing ears, his scalp, and the back of his neck in a cat caress. He tilted into my hands, rolling his head.
“I love you, Occam.” Was I saying that too much? Too often?
“I love you, Nell, sugar.” He pulled back slightly, smiling, one hand twisting a curl in my hair around his fingers. Our hands were close, both cradling each other’s faces. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll carry you to bed. I have the late shift at HQ, so if you don’t mind, we’ll get some sleep, curled up like cats. Mud won’t be home from school for a few hours so it won’t be inappropriate.”
Inappropriate in a polygamous household was a totally different thing from inappropriate in a two-spouse home, but I nodded without comment and raised my arms. Occam slid his arms around my shoulders and under my knees. As he carted me to the bed, I caught a glimpse of my gobags on the table. I needed to restock them, but not now. I was asleep before I hit the pillow.
* * *
* * *
When I woke it was to the feel of footsteps on the parking area out front. Soulwood told me who it was, and I patted the bed beside me to wake Occam. But the sheets were cold except for three cats all snuggled in where his body had lain. Occam had left for his place or had been called into work early. I was betting on the latter. I rose up on my elbows. Where his head had lain was a brand-new tablet to replace the one that had been killed from the death and decay–contaminated photo memory card. I nearly squealed with delight, grabbed it up, and rolled out of bed.
I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock and Mud shouted, “We’re home! Are you home?” Mud’s “we” included Mud, Cherry the springer, and Esther, who was waddling like she was gonna bust open at any moment, but she was humming a church song and smiling as if . . . as if she was happy. Which was really strange. I hadn’t seen Esther smile in ages.
“What are you grinning about?” I asked, walking barefoot into the main room.