*** Hello! Short chapter this week. Busy weekend, and a busier week ahead. If only real life didn't intrude into our hobbies, amiright? Thank you so, so very much to anyone who is still reading at this point. I am not very good at writing concise stories so it baffles me when people are patient enough to bear with me, lol. I love you all and I'm deeply appreciative of the time you've taken to read what I write. I am SO bad at responding to comments, but I read (and re-read) all of them and use the parts you respond to to drive the path of the story as I write it. Your efforts are not unappreciated, so thank you. Earnestly. Cheers! Liz***
Amelia
The cold made Amelia's muscles tremble as she hurried up the stairs, carefully balancing the tray with its pot of tea and two ceramic cups. The lid of the tea-pot clattered gently with her shivering. The house had grown terribly cold since they'd banked the fires and withdrawn to their rooms. Was it always so cold at night? Her toes were going numb, and goosebumps prickled uncomfortably along her arms and legs beneath the fabric of her robe. She nudged her bedroom door open, grateful for the wash or warmth that came from within.
"Josh, I have--" she stopped dead in the doorway, staring at the empty bed. Lowering her gaze, she saw her husband's familiar bulk, huddled under a blanket in his customary spot beside the bed. She could see him shivering, but he had the blankets pulled up so they covered his face and he didn't respond to her arrival.
Perhaps he had fallen asleep.
Foolish, idiotic man.
Tip-toeing, she carried the tray to the dresser and set it down, studying the steam that rose from the spout of the pot. He really ought to drink something hot, and she needed to ask what had kept him out so late. Well, that wasn't explicitly honest. She didn't need to ask. That conversation could wait until he'd rested, she just didn't want to let it. She wanted to hear his voice and perhaps say something to make him laugh. Brent had laughed so easily, and the sound had made her belly tickle with giddy love. Josh wasn't near so ready with his conservative brand of joy, so when she made him chuckle or snort at something she said, her whole body turned warm and proud-- so proud, she felt she could close her eyes and lift off the ground and float with the clouds.
Slightly off-balance with her rounded belly, she crouched at his side and reached out a hand to shake him awake. Her hand stilled in the air just above his shoulder. Her own eyes were gritty with exhaustion, and she hadn't spent the last three nights gallivanting around the snow-swept countryside. Sleep was probably more important to him, right now, than tea and conversation.
She went to rise, but her knees refused to straighten as indecision wracked her-- mind, body, and soul. A draft of chilly air wound around her ankles, making her prickled skin tighten even more, and a shiver of cold raced down her spine. She shuddered and, without wasting any more time in an argument with herself, reached out and grasped her husband's shoulder.
"Josh," she murmured, shaking him gently. "Wake up."
The blankets lowered and his eyes found hers in the darkness-- glistening dully in the firelight. "You okay?" he asked grittily, and she realized she was gripping her own arms, shivering in the cold.
"Get into bed," she said, tipping her chin toward the mattress behind him. "It's too cold down here. You won't warm up."
"It's fine," he grumbled, pulling the blankets back up, his body shuddering beneath them.
Amelia gnawed on her lip, glaring at the mussed blankets of the empty bed before turning her glare back down to her husband. She shook his shoulder again. "Josh, please?" she asked, an idea sparking in her mind as her own shivers became more intense. She unclenched her jaw and let her teeth chatter audibly. "It's so cold. I can't get warm. I was hoping if we shared the blankets it'd be a little warmer."
For a moment he didn't move, and she feared he'd fallen back to sleep or, worse, was deliberately ignoring her. Perhaps she'd misjudged his affection for her? Perhaps the thought of sharing her bed repulsed him? Then, with a sigh, he shoved the quilt off his body and sat. Amelia stood, clutching her robe about her, and hurried around to the far side of the bed. She turned down the blankets, kicked off her slippers, and crawled beneath the cold sheets, waiting until she was covered by the blankets to struggle out of her robe. As always, she bunched the soft material down by her feet so her body heat would keep it warm throughout the night. She'd discovered her first morning in the cold bedroom that rising from warm sheets and shrugging into a frigid robe was as unpleasant as going about in her nightgown.
The bed shifted as Josh occupied the other side of the bed. He lay on the very edge, stretched out on his back with his arms crossed over his chest, still shuddering with the cold. She hitched herself up on an elbow and watched him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were screwed shut, and she knew he wasn't asleep. Already, she was beginning to warm, buried beneath the mound of blankets she'd accumulated on the bed. But she forced herself to shiver dramatically, teeth still chattering, as she reached out and tugged on his sleeve.
"It'll help if you get a little closer," she said. "I'm not afraid of you, you know. Not anymore. I wouldn't mind if you held me."
His eyes popped open, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he turned his head, catching her gaze. Firelight fluttered across his face, shining off his damp hair. Throwing caution to the howling, frigid wind, Amelia reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair off his temple. "I'm not afraid of you," she said again, shaking her head to emphasize her point. "You're my husband, aren't you? It's your job to hold me when it's cold outside."
He grimaced but uncrossed his arms, reaching up with trembling fingers and toying with a lock of her hair that hung down beside her face. A shiver of something new-- not the cold-- ran up her spine as he wound her hair around his finger before shifting his attention, brushing his knuckles over the curve of her jaw.
He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, and she wondered what he was so anxious to say.
You're beautiful, Amelia.
I fear I might be falling for you, Amelia.
You're an amazing woman, Amelia.
You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Amelia.
Thanks for waiting up for me, Amelia.
I'm glad you finally let me into bed, Amelia.
His brow wrinkled and he shook his head slightly. "You confuse the hell out of me, Ames," he said, his voice a raw half-whisper.
Joy tickled her insides, not unlike her baby doing his daily exercises, but somehow more expansive. It fluttered against her ribs and trailed up her spine and flowed out of her in a soft laugh. She ducked by his arm and pressed a kiss to his cheek before resting her head on his shoulder. His body radiated cold, but she tucked herself up beside him all the same, cuddling close as if seeking his warmth. Tentative-- the weight barely noticeable at first-- his arm settled around her, hand resting on the curve of her hip. His fingers didn't grip her, and she could feel them clenched into a fist as if to keep himself from holding her.
"This is much better," she said, cautiously slipping her own arm around his broad body and wrapping her fingers in his shirt. "Are you warming up, too?"
"Mm," he grunted, and she felt his body relaxing in increments. The giddy, girlish part of her wanted to see how far she could push him. Maybe entice him into a kiss and see if she could get him to respond this time. She thought he would be a good kisser if he applied himself to it. He was so attentive in the way he touched her. When they went into town and he held her hand for the sake of appearances, his palm was never sweaty and he never squeezed her fingers too hard like men often did. His grip always shifted in a kind of unspoken language. He jerked on her hand a little if there was something he thought she'd enjoy looking at, or tightened his hold playfully if they saw something funny, or tugged her a bit closer when they passed a rowdy-looking group of men.
When they had danced, he had held her close without trapping her. He'd twirled her about on the dance floor, following as she led them where the music took her. He seemed to laugh with his body while they danced, his muscles shifting beneath her hands as they spun and glided in their own world, alone amidst a crowd of people.
When he truly held her-- those rare occasions when necessity dictated he tug her close and trap her against his body-- she felt most keenly what he couldn't say with words. After Mr. Mulligan had confronted her, he had hugged her tight against him for a fraction of a moment and she'd heard his heartbeat thundering against her ear, roaring of possession. When he'd yanked her away from the fire, she'd felt the tension and the panic in his arms as he ran with his body curled protectively around hers.
He could communicate a lot just by holding her hand, dancing, and hugging her. What would he say with a kiss?
Alas, but she wouldn't find out tonight. He'd fallen asleep, sometime between her recollection of the dance and her plotting to lure him into a kiss. His body still trembled slightly, but his breath had slowed and his hand had uncurled and gripped her hip with an honesty she knew he wouldn't dare display if he was awake.
Sighing, she nestled closer, tossing a leg over his and willing her warmth into him. She felt as if a fire was blazing inside her. Brent had always made her feel like she was sitting in broad sunlight. He'd brought life and growth to her quiet, staid existence and she loved him for it. He warmed her like a summer day-- all smiles and quick affection and the burning heat of passion.
Josh...
Josh was decidedly a winter night, and at first his brusque coldness had terrified her. She'd worried it would bank the fragile, sputtering flame inside her that Brent had stoked. Little did she know, she thrived in winter. Her fire had grown inside her until it roared-- a crackling bonfire that heated her up from the inside out-- and she wanted to share it. And who better to share it with than a man who had just stumbled in out of a blizzard?
Careful not to dislodge his hand from her hip, Amelia pushed herself up slightly and studied her husband's face. It had relaxed in sleep, the lines in his forehead and the crease between his brows so faint she could barely see them. His lips were no longer tinged blue, as they had been when he'd first arrived, and his hair was finally drying, sticking out from his head in unruly, sleep-mussed tufts.
Again, she thought of Brent. Brent's lush, full lips and his light, wavy, perfectly-coiffed hair. Brent's sparkling blue eyes. Brent's lean body. Brent's bay rum scent. She wondered, briefly, if her son would take after his father. She realized with a painful jolt that she hoped he wouldn't. She hoped he'd have messy dark hair and soulful eyes, and a broad, strong frame so she wouldn't have to worry so much when he trailed after the man he called father and took to riding horses that didn't want to be ridden.
Deep inside her, the baby danced along her spine, and she knew it wouldn't be too long before she'd be able to place Josh's hand against her belly and let him feel it too. He'd like that, she knew. Without asking, she could already imagine his face lighting up with cautious delight and his tentative touch on the taut skin of her stomach.
A log shifted in the fire, and Josh twitched, sucking in a deep breath and hugging her closer, turning his face into her hair. Amelia closed her eyes and smoothed her hand over his side, wishing she had the nerve to slip her fingers beneath the hem of his shirt just to see what his skin felt like beneath her fingers. Brent's had been so soft and smooth, pale and flawless, with a dusting of golden hair over his chest. She had loved to trail her fingers over his ribs and toy with the soft strands of hair until he groaned and rolled over on top of her. Rolled over on top of her and gave her a baby and then abandoned them both in the unforgiving west.
Sighing, Amelia willed her racing mind to calm and allow sleep to overtake her. She forced herself to breathe with Josh, sucking in air as his chest rose beneath her head, and letting it out slowly as it fell. In, and out. In, out. In... out...
Warm, contented, and happily trapped within her husband's embrace, Amelia fell asleep. And while she slept, she didn't dream of sunlight. When she sighed softly in slumber, dreaming of hands caressing her body and warm weight settling over her, of gentle fingers and husky, sweet words pouring fuel into the fire in her soul, it wasn't Brent's face that floated above her in the flickering firelight of her fantasies.