Page 115 of Texas Splendor
He pressed a kiss to the puckered flesh on her shoulder. “The same man who shot you.”
“He was so intricately woven through our lives—”
“Through our pasts, Loree. He’ll never touch us again.”
She was weary of the past having a tight hold on her present. She wanted a future rich with the love this man could give her. “Love me, Austin.”
He gave her a warm lazy smile. “Oh, I do, Sugar. With all my heart.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, and their tongues waltzed to the music created by their hearts. She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, holding him near. He nipped at her chin, before trailing his mouth along the column of her throat.
“So sweet,” he rasped.
And she felt sweet. For the first time in over five years, she truly felt sweet and untainted by the past. He knew her ugly secrets, her foolish mistakes, accepted them and loved her in spite of them. For both of them, she knew the innocence was forever lost, but together they could regain the laughter, the joy, and the promise of tomorrow.
And the music. Although he wasn’t playing his violin, she almost imagined that she heard the chords thrumming through her heart as he brushed his lips over the curve of her breast. His tongue swirled around her nipple, taunting, teasing. She rubbed her hands along the corded muscles of his shoulders, shoulders that had tried to carry her burden.
“Hear the music, Loree,” he whispered before returning his mouth to hers, hot and devouring, his fingers stroking, bringing to the surface the symphony housed within her soul.
Then he eased his body into hers and the crescendo reached new heights, thundering around her, with the force of his love. Each thrust carried her higher, farther, until she reached the tallest pinnacle. As he rose above her, she held his startling blue gaze and felt the heat of the hottest flames as he carried her over the edge into fulfillment.
Her body arched as his did, both quivering like the taut strings of a violin, masterfully played. With his final thrust, he cried out her name.
It echoed over the falls and through her heart in such a way that even when it fell into silence … it remained.
Epilogue
April 1898
“Blimey! What’s that!”
Austin’s fingers tightened around Loree’s hand, and she knew he was cringing at his eight-year-old son’s choice of words. He leaned forward slightly to look out the window of the passenger car as the train rumbled over the tracks. “A cow,” he told Zane. “But it’s got such long ‘orns.” “That’s why we call it a Longhorn. If we could see its backside, we’d know from its brand who it belongs to.”
“I’ll wager it belongs to Uncle Dallas,” Grant said. At ten, he was the authority on all things.
“Father, can I ride one of Uncle ‘Ouston’s ‘orses?” six-year-old Matt asked.
“Sure can. I wouldn’t be surprised if he gives you one.”
“To keep?” Matt asked, his eyes wide with disbelief. “To keep.”
“I’m going to name ‘im ‘Is ‘Ighness,” Matt said, his blue eyes gleaming.
Austin leaned toward Loree. “Please tell me that somewhere in all our luggage you packed their H’s.” Laughing, she squeezed his hand to offer reassuranee. “I’m sure they’ll show up once our sons have spent some time with their cousins.”
“We shouldn’t have stayed in London as long as we did.”
“Does that mean we’ll never go back?”
“Sugar, if you want to back, we’ll go back. I’ll give you whatever you want. You know that.”
Yes, she knew that. In the passing years, he had given her the world—Rome, Paris, London, among others—his hand within hers more often than not, and five sons.
Joseph slipped out of his seat, crossed the short expanse, and placed his small hands on Austin’s knee. Unlike his brothers who had inherited Austin’s long slender fingers, Joseph had Loree’s short stubby fingers. “Can I be a cowboy?” he whispered.
Austin lifted him onto his lap. “You can be anything you want to be.”
“I don’t play music so good,” he said as though sharing a secret.
