Authors' Note: The title of this chapter is taken from the first lines of Andrew Marvel's poem, To His Coy Mistress (late 1650s):

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.

Gauzy day – and Joss's gentle snoring – awakened him.

He pulled the sheets over his head to filter the gray dawn. Through the mink-colored cotton, muted light nudged him.

Lingering tendrils of sleep curled through his mind as he pressed his face into the soft contours of her neck.

She felt warm; along the shoulders, her skin smelled of yellow flowers, faint citrus, and sweat. As he slid down the length of her body, other fragrances rippled over her flesh like currents in a stream. Something of sandalwood, maybe a touch of musky cocoa butter on her breasts. At her waist, vanilla mingled with the amber perfume of their sex in a heady mix that aroused him to sharp desire again.

He didn't want to wake her just yet; this snuggling was enough for now. But his insistent blood surged with a different claim. As he left moth-soft kisses on her back, he angled his pelvis away so that his rowdy need wouldn't disturb her rest.

But the greedy drive didn't abate and after a minute of restraint he eased his erection against the seam of her thighs, pressing lightly. Fitting himself just so, he pushed back and forth between her perfect legs until relief came in a sudden rush of pleasure. He swallowed his joyful gasp in a wet sigh against the slope of her shoulder and sank into sleep once more.

POIPOIPOI

When he woke again, his mouth was open against her ribs, his head rising and falling with her deep breaths. She was still asleep, her arm curved across the mound of her stomach. Folding back the coverlet, he saw little crescents where his nails had dented the skin of her thigh; he hadn't realized he was gripping her so tightly.

Now pale sun oiled the gleaming floor and the tall oak head board of the bed. Mid-morning light dribbled onto stainless steel kitchen appliances and white marble countertops. By the rumbling of his stomach, he guessed it was well past ten.

This time he didn't feel the push for sex; that screaming drive to be inside her, sheathed in her, had waned somewhat. Now, just a vague yearning urged him to be closer, so he gathered her in his arms and hugged until his biceps trembled with the strain.

"Hi… Am I late?" Her drowsy voice rumbled into his chest. "If they start, I won't mind."

Nonsense phrases from a receding dream.

"Go back to sleep, Joss."

He kissed her earlobe and, when she smiled at the order, he licked the pulse at her throat too.

He laid his fingers over her stomach and the baby bumped against his hand. He pressed more firmly and her movements flowed as liquid ripples under the brown skin.

A heel, a rude knee, the string of pearls that must be her spine swimming under his palm. Would she know the difference between his hand and his lips? Could she feel the nice distinctions in his touch as she drifted along? He wanted to show her, play with her. So he bent low to embrace his daughter, alternating kisses and handprints across the flesh that separated them.

The sensation of touching her, feeling her for the first time made him queasy with joy.

He could never be this naked about these romantic impulses with the people he knew.

With them he had to button up, disguise, and guard the expression of these most tender feelings.

Even with Joss, this need to shelter behind banter or otherwise mask his sentiments was strong. Trust wasn't the issue; he trusted her, always had. And Finch too. Loved them truly, if he were ever to put a label on these disruptive sentiments.

But he knew from grim experience that if they ever pried back the scaly shell covering his emotions, chaos would follow. And this turmoil would expose him as an inept friend, a useless soldier, and an unreliable partner.

He could never let that unleashed havoc engulf them all.

But maybe this child of his was a new opening. Perhaps here was a chance to stand down, to release the fears and ancient superstitions that had corralled his sentiments for so long.

He wasn't sure he could do it, if he could let go and be the father she needed.

Dreadful images of the possible cost of relaxation made his fingers tremble over her tiny body. But he did want to try with this child, for this daughter of his.

He thought she deserved better than just his soldier best.

Though filled up with new resolution, his empty insides grumbled again. One more kiss dropped on Joss's stomach and he rolled from the bed.

Sunshine lacquered every corner of the loft now and the hours of this long day beckoned.

POIPOIPOI

A shower seemed like a clumsy disruption of the morning's mood, so he slipped into his lazy day uniform of jeans and white t-shirt and headed to the kitchen.

But the tee, with its wrinkled neck and frayed hem, seemed too plain for this occasion, so he ran up the spiral stairs to the sleeping loft to find something else to wear for Joss.

He fished a light blue polo shirt from the chest-of-drawers.

He remembered that his mother – before she got worse – bought him five new shirts in shades of blue for the first day of kindergarten, saying the color made his eyes look wonderful. He wasn't sure about that. But he did know that the sweet blue of her gingham shirtwaist dresses always cheered him, even much later when the cloth faded and times were bad.

As he pulled the blue shirt over his head, he hoped Joss would think it looked O.K. on him.

Staring into the refrigerator, he finger-combed his hair with absent strokes. There wasn't much to offer in the way of breakfast. He could pull together something from the scraps on hand, but this wasn't nearly as much as he wanted to lay out for Joss's meal today.

It should have been a feast; he wanted an extravagant display that would impress her as well as feed her. But he would make do.

With a little extra milk he stretched the batter thin so that he could have a pitcher for waffles and another for griddle pancakes in case she preferred those. Bananas were the only fresh fruit he had, but the jar of applesauce was three-quarters full and would taste good heaped on the waffles if she wanted. Only dregs of maple syrup coated the bottom of the container, but the new bottle of cane syrup was unopened.

As he stacked a second platter with waffles, Joss sat up in bed and smiled at him across the wide room.

"Hi."

She struggled a bit to gather the tawny sheets around her, arranging folds that left her arms and one shoulder bare.

"Hi."

He stared at her smooth and swollen body as she clambered from bed. He knew that displaying her clumsiness like this might make her feel embarrassed. But still he stared.

For sure her figure was ungainly, her movements awkward. But he loved seeing her untidy like this, so different from her usual structured crispness. This Joss, uncontrolled and disorderly, belonged to him in a way that the meticulous officer never would.

So as she approached the kitchen island he thought she looked like a Roman goddess draped in graceful swaths of fabric.

Lovely, golden, imposing, ravishing.

He wanted to tell her all that, to convey something of the lyrical feelings that filled him then, but the words wouldn't come. And instead a blunt invitation stepped on the greeting he wanted to offer.

"I hope you're hungry."

Palms up, he spread his fingers wide to indicate that he intended to cover every square inch of the marble counter with food for her.

"Well, good morning to you, too." She laughed in gentle correction.

"I guess I could eat something, now that you mention it."

The sun, burning through its early morning haze, ignited her eyes and licked flame across her cheeks.

This was beauty, but nobility too; the closest he would ever come to splendor in this life.

"There's a frittata in the oven keeping warm. I only had a few tomatoes and an onion left from last night. But if you want, I'll make scrambled or fried too."

Tilting his head toward the stove, he indicated a pot jiggling furiously.

"Two eggs are boiled already and I can make more if that's what you want instead."

She bugged her eyes out a little, making him fear that the idea of eggs turned her stomach. But when she smiled again, he exhaled and moved to the refrigerator.

He lined up cartons of orange juice and milk next to six little cans of V-8 juice on the island, backing the display with an array of tall and short glasses. Teetering on a saucer, a whole loaf of wheat toast shimmered under its gloss of butter.

"Coffee's ready to go, but I can dig up some tea bags if you'd rather have that."

Another deep laugh, her throat stretched long and her mouth widening to a grin.

"Whose army did you invite to this breakfast anyway?"

"Only you… and you." He nodded toward her stomach.

She hitched up the toga around her breasts.

"Well, we are hungry… after that workout."

She lowered her eyes and swiped her tongue along her lips until they glistened.

He wanted the kisses they offered. So he rounded the island and gathered her in his arms. Kissing seemed like the best way to convey everything he felt in that morning, so he took his time doing it.

When she raised her hands to caress his neck, the sheets fell from her body. He stepped on the puddled cloth to press closer until her firm stomach forced him into a possessive comma around her.

Suddenly all the thoughts bubbling inside him burst out in a flood of jumbled words.

"We could run away, you know. Ditch New York, the machine, the numbers, everything."

"And go where, John? Where could we go?"

"I'd buy a place out west, a whole valley even."

She began to chuckle, but stopped when he creased his brow.

He'd been thinking about this for a long time and he meant for her to understand how high his passion ran now that he was speaking it out loud.

To describe the tangled yearnings roiling his heart he unpacked a treasured souvenir from his troubled childhood.

"You know that old Zane Grey novel, Riders of the Purple Sage?"

"I've heard the name. How does it fit in?"

"It's a pretty lousy book, but the end packed a real punch, at least for me."

He could see she was interested by the way her eyebrows lifted and her mouth pursed a little.

"Well, in the last chapter, the cowboy and the heroine and her adopted daughter are being chased by rustlers. To escape, they ride into a beautiful valley. It's like a paradise on Earth. Zane Grey called it Surprise Valley."

"Sounds like they're trapped, with the bad guys coming after them."

Skepticism wrinkled her forehead but the scowl didn't dissuade him.

"Looks that way. But in the final scene the cowboy topples a giant boulder from the cliff above the only passage into the valley. That rock blocks the way in or out of Surprise Valley forever. And the man and woman and little girl live out their days in the valley in safety."

He lowered his lashes, blinking three times as the images of Zane Grey's crude but masterful story washed through his mind after decades stored away in some dusty corner. He hadn't realized that calling up Surprise Valley again could force tears to his eyes, but it had.

"I first read Riders as a kid. I don't know, but it stuck with me all these years. I never could get that picture of Surprise Valley and Balancing Rock out of my mind."

If Joss ever was going to get him, really understand him and accept him for what he was, she had to follow him here. He held his breath, willing her to see him, to know him through this story.

And the softening of her eyes then, a smoky film that drifted across them as she studied his face, told him that she did see him.

Perhaps better even than he saw himself.

"Yes, we'd be safe there in Surprise Valley, I guess. Like a Western reverie in our very own Garden of Eden. But trapped like that, would we be happy, John?"

"I could be…with you."

He gripped her arms above the elbows and closed the distance between their faces so she could absorb the ferocity of his desire. She tilted her head to one side and let out a slight breath, then rose on tip-toes to kiss him on the mouth again.

"Sure, for a year. Even three maybe. But then you'd get restless. You know you would. You'd need something besides me..."

"…And the baby."

"Besides me and the baby. You'd need something to drive you, some purpose. A mission."

He shook his head, but she went on.

"You know you would, John. It's what makes you… you."

He shook his head again, this time in acknowledgement. Joss was right. There would be no Purple Sage haven for them.

His chest shuddered with a suppressed sob and he flicked a finger across his cheek to catch any tear that might have strayed.

He was done with weeping and with dreaming too.

She stretched her arms as far as they would go around his shoulders and squeezed hard. He knew she wanted to cheer him out of his blue mood and he adored the simple but soothing words she applied:

"We'll come up with something."

Then she shimmied her naked stomach against his torso until he quirked up one side of his mouth into a half smile.

"If you think hard and I do too, then together we'll come up with something. We're a package deal. The three of us."

He kissed her forehead and then the cupid's bow of her yielding mouth.

He thought she must have misspoken, that she meant to include Taylor in that calculation. But he cherished the idea that her new impulse was to build a family with him and their daughter at its center.

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and started at the goosebumps he found there.

"You're getting cold, standing here in all your glory like this."

He rubbed her arms to smooth away the prickly skin.

"You could stay in these sheets all day, if you want. I don't mind."

He stroked back the errant strands of hair springing at all angles from her temple.

"But just in case you want to change, I laid out a shirt and a clean pair of sweatpants for you in the bathroom."

She nodded and squatted to try to pick up the fallen toga, but bending was no longer possible. So John swept the sheets from the floor and piled them in a bundle in her open arms.

"Breakfast is getting cold too. So scoot and I'll warm it up while you change."

As she turned toward the bathroom, he called after her:

"We've got a whole long lovely day ahead of us"