Sleepless in Montana (48 page)

“I get the picture. Hasn’t she always been in
the middle of everything? Did you expect less from her?” Hogan
asked, amused at the desperate expressions of his father and
brothers. He enjoyed Jemma’s fast mind, the way she charged into
life, emotions wide-open, nothing hidden.

“She’s yours. Do something,” Ben ordered
before the three men turned and rode away.

Hogan shook his head and washed his hands
over his face when he heard Jemma call, “Ben! Aaron! Mitch! Come
back!”

Moon Shadow sidled away from the pickup that
skidded to a stop. Jemma leaped out and circled it, tugging a big
tarp-wrapped object to the lowered tailgate. The bright red huge
bow gleamed in the sunlight. “Since you’re all here, help me with
this.”

Hogan swung down and walked to Jemma, and
with the air of a man accustomed to a woman of many interests
asked, “What is it, honey?”

“Pull the ribbon. But save it for later,
sweetheart. I have big plans for it.”

Jolted by the image of Jemma wearing nothing,
but the ribbon, Hogan’s body hardened immediately.

She flipped back the tarp to reveal a
brand-new iron sign. “The Double Bar K. For your land, Hogan.”

Ben began to laugh, the sound of his pleasure
rolling over the Kodiak pastures. “Well, let’s do it, son. Let’s
get this up to your place and set it.”

*** ***

Jemma’s cries stirred Hogan’s hardened body
as he massaged her bare legs on their bed. He ran his hands up to
her bottom, found the lace covering them, and eased it away.

Turning her, Hogan bent to find her breasts,
nuzzling her gently, licking and suckling and enjoying the soft
unsteady catch of her breath. Her hands locked in his hair as he
moved lower, opening his mouth over her navel, flicking it with his
tongue.

He took her hand, pressing his face to it,
sucking each finger in turn, delighting in the sudden upthrust of
her hips, the scent of her tightening the skin of his body. He
sucked the incredibly sensitive portion of her thumb, just where it
joined her hand.

Jemma responded immediately with a ragged
sigh. “You’re so sensual, Hogan. I feel as if you’re devouring me.
As if your lovemaking is a promise.”

“It is a promise.” He’d share his life with
her, honor her, and love her all the days of his life. He turned
her to lie facing him, his hand caressing her breasts slowly, the
long curve of her legs, the jutting ridge of her hipbones. When her
hand found him, drew him near, Hogan could wait no longer and
surged into her, pinning her to the bed, moving slowly upon her,
his hands capturing hers.

“Are you my heart?” he asked roughly, needing
the reassurance that the woman who held his body, knew she also
held his heart.

“I am, and are you mine?” Jemma demanded,
matching his need before passion took them both.

The ritual served as their vows, easing
Hogan’s need for a marriage certificate. When it came to Jemma, his
patience was endless. He trusted her to work through their
relationship to the basics: that they loved each other.

Jemma needed time, adjusting to living with
him. She moved easily within the framework of their lives,
unhampered now by the tethers she feared.

Later, as he lay naked in front of the fire,
waiting for his love to come to him, Hogan smiled slowly as she
yelled, “Hogan! Hogan!”

She tore from the kitchen, dark red hair
streaming away from her. She carried his matted and covered
watercolor paintings. “We’ll make a mint! Limited editions, right?
Only so many prints, each numbered? Art gallery showings, you with
your artsy Native American look, me in—”

She frowned and eased to sit beside him. “A
turquoise gown, I think. Full-length, off one shoulder.”

“For me?” he asked, and she blinked. Jemma
could be undone when she was on a full roll. He thought of the Fire
Feathers necklace and how it would look on her Christmas
morning....

“Bad boy. Down,” she ordered, as he began to
toy with the edge of the towel wrapped around her breasts. “What is
it, Hogan? I mean it’s beautiful, all the horses and wild animals,
blending with mountains and scenery, and Native Americans. But it’s
so unusual, everything is involved, flowing into reflections and
the other images.”

Her gray eyes widened. “This is it, isn’t it?
This is what’s inside you. The images you say stir you? Oh, look,
that’s a foal within a mare! Oh, my. It’s so intricate, so
intense.... You’ve found what you wanted. They’re so beautiful,
Hogan.”

She moved through the watercolors, then
stopped at one of a tall, fair-skinned woman, a blaze of fiery hair
waving up and away from her face. Amid flowers that moved about her
nude body, the woman... “It’s me. Is that how you see me? Like a
fairy goddess? No, more earthy, more sensuous.”

“You are Woman to me. It’s called camouflage
art, and yes, I’m very intense about you. I love you.”

Jemma smiled softly, bent to meet his kiss,
and asked a question he’d asked her, “Are you going to marry me, or
what?”

*** ***

Hogan inhaled the crisp dawn air, at ease
with his life. Dressed only in jeans, he stood on his porch and
watched the steam shoot from the horse’s nostrils. It was a good
time, a healing time.

He wrapped contentment around him and smiled
as Jemma came from the house to wrap her arms around him. Dressed
in a long white robe, knotted at the waist, she snuggled against
him. “Come back to bed.”

Hogan smiled against her hair. “Would you
like that?”

“Mmm.” She snuggled closer. “You know I
would. You’ve got that edgy look, dark and secretive and that’s
when you’re the most volatile— Hey, what are you doing?” she asked
as Hogan swept her up in his arms.

He hurried to Moon Shadow and plopped Jemma
on the horse’s broad back, then swung up behind her. He wrapped one
arm around her and drew her close as he guided Moon Shadow by a tug
of his mane.

“Okay, I’ll ask,” Jemma said, impatient as
always. “You’re not going to tell me. Where are we going?”

“To have breakfast with Dad and Mom and the
family, of course.”

“I’m in my robe, sweetheart,” she reminded
him, turning to wrap her arms around him and snuggle close. “Did
you say, ‘Dad’?”

“I did, and does it matter what you’re
wearing today?’’ he asked, feeling as if he were floating in pure
Montana sunlight.

“Not a bit. Not as long as I’m with you,” she
said, holding him tight like she would for a lifetime.

Hogan scanned the rolling fields, the cattle
and horses, and Montana’s clear blue sky. He gathered his love
closer and smiled.

“Home,” he said simply. “I am home.”

The End

*** ***

An Invitation from Cait London:

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