Forty-Seven
Lainie fell asleep slowly as she ate, until her lips went slack and Sam had to pull the bottle away. “Sleepy girl,” she murmured, smiling. She stared at her peaceful face, and again marveled at the perfection of it, the incomparable wonder of life in its earliest, most innocent state. Her heart was full.
But her mind was fuzzy with worry. Aidan had left yesterday morning, and it was three o’clock of the next day. She hadn’t slept, hands groping through the cold sheets for him.
Lainie’s warm breath fanned across her throat and she closed her eyes, sent another prayer skyward. She couldn’t have found Aidan, the real Aidan, at last, only to lose him so soon. Not when she held their baby in her arms. Not when she loved him this much.
A lump forming in her throat, she went to lay Lainie down in her bassinet. She straightened the blankets, her little socks. Pressed a hand to her tight, full belly, just for the maternal joy of it. She stood and turned around–
“Aidan!” she gasped.
She didn’t know how he’d managed to sneak in behind her, but she didn’t care. She flung her arms around him.
He hugged her back. Hard. Exhaling in a long, deep sigh.
Sam closed her eyes and absorbed the feel of him. The hard padding of muscle beneath his sweatshirt. The steady thump of his heart. The tight clench of his hands at the small of her back.
She became aware of the scents of leaf mold, pine sap, and blood.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, pushing back so she could look over him. His sweatshirt was black, so it would be hard to tell. She started patting him down: chest, shoulders, arms.
He shook his head and took her hand, led her out into the hall and down to the living room.
“You’re alright?” she demanded, growing agitated with his silence.
He nodded and, still holding her hand, sat down in the recliner, pulling her down to sit in his lap.
“Baby,” she said, bracing an arm behind his neck. “Did it go okay?”
Deep blue shadows beneath his eyes spoke of his sleepless night. His smile was tired, but it was still a smile. “Nobody has to worry about that guy again.” His voice cracked with fatigue and he cleared his throat. “Also” – his grin twitched sideways – “don’t ever get on Michael’s bad side.”
“Noted.”
His hand landed on her thigh and squeezed. “Did you get any sleep?”
“No. Neither did you.”
His grin softened, became something special just for her. “You know, I…” He trailed off, shook his head.
She tickled the back of his neck with her fingers. “What?”
“I shouldn’t talk about it. Not about…”
“What it was like to kill a man?” she guessed.
His eyes came to her, a little surprised, and they regarded one another a long moment.
Sam had been thinking about this all night, as she and Lainie kept time alone, waiting on Daddy to come home. She’d made peace with some things that, truly, she’d already accepted. An official sort of peace.
“While you were gone,” she said, “I did some thinking. We both know I’m not an outlaw.” She gave him a thin smile. “You know my mom. My dad was a slightly less neurotic version of her. Safe to say I come from some very boring, law-abiding people.”
“I love your mom,” he said, immediately. “She’s a sweet lady.”
She kissed his forehead. “Thank you.” Then pulled back and continued. “So I’m not the sort of person who grew up thinking it was okay to kill people. Or do…other outlaw things.” She’d heard all the rumors around town growing up, and even if Aidan hadn’t confirmed them all, she’d guessed which were true. “God knows we’re an odd couple.”
“Don’t say that.”
“But,” she went on, “I was raised to believe that family was more important than anything. And we have that in common.” She swallowed, throat tightening. “These are strange, scary times we live in, Aidan. And sometimes keeping a family safe and whole takes…severe measures.”
He reached to push her loose hair back behind her ear, eyes shining with emotion. “Yeah. It does.”
“Don’t spare me the dirty details because you think I can’t handle them,” she said. “The only thing I can’t handle is losing my family.”
He curled a thick lock of her hair around his hand and pulled her face down to his.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” he promised, and kissed her.
It was a kiss fraught with promises. Tangled tongues, desperate lips. When Aidan reached for the hem of her shirt, she lifted her arms, helped him draw it over her head. He unsnapped her bra and pulled her up higher in his lap, so she straddled him, as his mouth latched onto her breasts.
Oh, his mouth. It was magic. Gently suckling and tugging. Then more firmly, as she felt the evidence of his excitement against her thigh.
“Wait,” she whispered, pulling back from him.
He released her nipple with a wet sound, hooded eyes flicking up to hers. Why? his gaze asked.
She slid down to the floor, between his split legs, and reached for his belt.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He tangled his hands in her hair when she took him into her mouth. She let her eyes wander across him. The clenched jaw, the head pressed back against the chair, his hips struggling to keep still. She drew him deep and pulled back, teasing at the head of his cock with her tongue. A slow stroke. And repeat. Repeat.
He forced her back before he came. “Stop,” he gasped, tearing at his sweatshirt, yanking it over his head.
Sam sat back on her heels, trying not to smile at his clumsy efforts to get naked. The humor faded, though, by the time he’d ditched his boots and was nothing but tattooed skin in front of her. She bit her lip, fighting a sudden, stupid rush of tears.
His two rivers, his roses, his Lean Dogs’ mementos. His stupid drunk tattoos – Foghorn Leghorn, for one. And his new ink, two names, in a blank space above his heart: Sam. Lainie. His powerful muscles, and his scars, and his sweet dark eyes that had seen too much. Hers. All hers.
He saw that she was crying and hit his knees in front of her. “What, baby?” He caught her face in his hands. “What?”
She sucked in a breath. “I thought I loved you when I was sixteen,” she said, voice quivering. “But I had no idea….I had no idea. I love you so much.”
He kissed her again, eased her back onto the carpet. His skin was hot against her, salt-smelling, vital and thrumming with his pulse, his energy.
She lifted her hips as he stripped off her jeans. He mounted her. And then he was inside her. A deep, hard thrust that brought him to the very heart of her, joining them in a way that was painful and exquisite.
“Samantha.”
She speared her fingers through his hair, held his face above hers.
“Do you want more babies?” His voice was straining with waiting, holding still deep inside her. “Babies that are ours?”
“We already have a baby,” she whispered through her tears. “But I want more.”
He dropped his head and started to move, murmuring sweet, hot things against her throat.
Sometimes, she reflected, it wasn’t as simple as getting the boy. Sometimes it was as difficult, painful, and wonderful as getting the man.