Wildest Dreams - By Rosanne Bittner Page 0,200

who had come to see headed down the bank then, some of them still laughing. Luke managed to swallow his pride. It was enough to know that Katie was happy. If he had to put up with the jokes and the smell of sheep for that, then so be it.

Here lies Paul Lucas Fontaine, Born March 12, 1870—Died January 10, 1876. "Light of My Life, Child of Mine, Forever You Will Be in My Embrace."

Finally the beautiful granite stone had come, shipped all the way from Denver. This was something Lettie had wanted for years, a specially engraved tombstone for little Paul's grave. The pine trees Luke had planted around the Fontaine graveyard were growing fast. One day they would shade Paul's grave, as well as future family burial plots in a lovely, flower-filled field behind the house. Luke had refused to bury his son near the graves of the outlaws he had killed when he and Lettie first came here. Those graves, near the old original shack where they had lived then, were hardly distinguishable now, covered with grass, the crosses erected there long weathered and fallen.

"It's beautiful, Luke," she said softly. They had come out there together after supper, an almost nightly ritual. Luke put his hands on her shoulders. "Let's just hope the next graves here are our own and not any more of our children or any grandchildren," he told her.

Lettie nodded, the old ache returning at memories of holding her little boy, the old guilt of thinking she should have paid more attention to him in those last months. "I know it cost a lot to get the stone here, but I'm so glad now that we did it. A hundred years from now I want people to know who lies here."

Luke sighed, pulling her close, her back to him. He wrapped his arms around her. "Those are beautiful words you had inscribed."

She crossed her arms over his, taking comfort in the feel of his powerful forearms. "Maybe Katie's child will help the old ache. It will be nice having a baby around again, won't it?"

Luke grinned, leaning down to kiss her cheek, wishing for her sake she could have had more children. "I have a feeling our grandchildren are going to be very spoiled."

Lettie laughed then. "I don't care. I plan to enjoy them thoroughly." She turned to look up at him with a smile, and he met her lips in a kiss that spoke of sorrow mixed with sweet love. He gently caressed her breasts, moved his hand to her throat, the kiss lingering until he suddenly picked her up in his arms.

"Luke, what are you doing?"

"You'll see." He carried her farther into the well-manicured bushes and flower gardens at the back of the house, one of her pet projects, to which some of the men had been assigned to help her. It was a warm, quiet evening, and the little creek that ran through the gardens made only little trickling sounds, nearly dried up because of the lack of rain. It was the same creek that was fed from a spring in the rocks that they had found when first settling here. Never had that spring gone down to such a trickle, and it worried Luke, but for the moment he was not going to let something else get in the way of this special moment. He carried Lettie to a grassy area shrouded by thick, flowery shrubs, laid her down in the grass and moved on top of her.

"Luke! Someone might come looking for us," she whispered.

He moved a hand under her dress and pulled at her drawers. "They won't. I told the kids to stay inside, that we wanted to be alone. The work is finished for the day and the men are either at their homes or in the bunkhouses. We can do whatever we want on our own property, can't we?"

"Luke Fontaine, stop behaving like a corralled stallion!"

He pulled off her drawers. "I am your stallion." He unbuttoned his pants. "And why be predictable about these things? It's more fun this way," he told her.

"Luke—" She said nothing more as he entered her like a stroke of white lightning, making her draw in her breath. He moved one hand around her thigh, grasping at her bottom while he rested on the other arm, driving himself deep.

"Just a quick one," he whispered. "Who's going to know?" He nuzzled at her neck, groaned when he met her mouth again.

Lettie arched