"He Restoreth My Soul 2: Beside the Still Waters"

"Matt's Love Story" ATC

Chapter 1

by Lilyjack

Author's Notes: This continuation was written for Photobuff for her extraordinarily kind and insightful words of encouragement which made me consider my own writing in a different light, and for this I thank her. I hope the story does not disappoint.

Clever title courtesy of TennTalker. Muchas gracias.

Warning: This is another of my sugary-sweet romances, so turn back now if you don't dig that kinda thing.

ljljljljlj

Beneath the sheltering shade of a gnarled, old cottonwood, a middle-aged woman sat patiently waiting next to a stream. She was quite striking in spite of the fact that she wore no paint on her pale, luminous skin liberally sprinkled with spritely freckles, her clothing was a mite wrinkled, and her typically flawlessly coiffed hair tumbled in messy red-gold curls round her shoulders. Her mind was a jumble of mixed emotions as she absent-mindedly picked lint from the blanket on which she was seated near the edge of the water where it ran cool and deep, perfect for summertime swimming. Drawing her heavy locks over one shoulder to provide temporary relief to her sticky neck in the sultry afternoon heat, she tilted her head when she detected the sound of someone crashing through the brush nearby. She glanced up just in time to witness Matt Dillon's cross expression as he parted the cottonwood saplings and narrowly managed to fit his six foot, seven inch frame through the comparatively small space and lope toward her with a huge sigh. Awkwardly, stiff-legged, he eased down beside her as she helped to brush dead leaves and grass from his shoulders and hair.

"Is he gone?" she questioned archly.

"I watched Reuben Tucker ride off across the prairie with my own eyes," Matt replied with considerable satisfaction.

She plucked a tiny wild daisy that had adhered to the lawman's pants as he'd traipsed through the thick underbrush and twirled it daintily between her fingers. "So we're safe to go swimmin' now, huh, Cowboy?"

He narrowed his steely gaze at her meaningfully. "I'll not have that lovesick rascal spyin' on you anymore. If I so much as catch him near you again, I'll put my boot up his—"

Kitty quickly touched her fingertips to her companion's lips. "Now, Matt. No need to get ornery. He's long gone now and we've got this place all to ourselves." She industriously brushed away a few more leaves that he'd tracked onto their blanket with his heavy boots. She'd been curious when Matt had retrieved a bedroll from his horse and spread it on the ground for her to sit on, quipping drily, "Were you plannin' on this bein' a particularly long trip?"

Disconcerted, he'd explained, "I didn't know if you'd left me and lit out for Timbuktu this time, Kitty. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had. I was prepared to search for you high and low though, no matter how long it took." Her heart had squeezed at that admission, but then he'd turned and headed off to make sure her young rescuer and the bane of Matt's existence, Reuben Horatio Tucker, had well and truly ridden off into the sunset.

Kitty couldn't keep the small smile from her lips at the thought of the handsome young ranch hand. What was not to like about an earnest admirer who thought you were the purdiest girl he'd ever laid eyes on? Sure did wonders for a gal's self-esteem when she was feeling lower than a snake's belly. Reuben had come along at exactly the right moment when Kitty had needed him most. And not just because she required his assistance in saving her hide from a deadly rattler either.

She realized Matt was studying her with anxious blue eyes, just waiting. He hadn't laid a hand on her. It was her move, but she could tell from his expression that he was worried. He wanted this to turn out well. He wanted things to be all right between them. Finally he broke the ice. He insisted, "Go ahead and say it, Kitty-'You're a damn fool, Matt Dillon.' "

She puffed out a breath and quickly cut her eyes down towards her lap.

"Go on, you know I deserve it. I know I'm a damn fool and I'll never be able to make it up to you as long as I live. I don't know what the hell happened out there, and there's no excuse, head injury or not. You would think something would have made me remember my life here." Roughly his hands raked through his hair and Kitty glanced up in time to see tortured eyes searching the horizon for an answer. An answer that he'd probably never find.

Quickly she stilled his hands and replaced them with her own, slowly running her fingers through his silky, graying tresses, her thumb glancing over a new scar on his forehead, a hateful mark that she realized with a terrible start had been what ripped him away from her these past weeks, had drained his mind of memories of her, had thrown him into another woman's arms.

She felt suffocating tears blossom in her chest, a terrible welling that blinded her vision, brimming over, burning traces down her cheeks. Wordlessly, Matt pulled her into his lap, enveloping her in his comforting embrace as her silent weeping wet his shirt and neck. What could he do but rub her back and smooth her shining hair and whisper sorrowfully, "I'm sorry, Kitty. I'm real sorry, honey." His strong voice failed him and he choked on his own words.

He held her for long minutes, listening to the mournful prairie wind whispering through the tall grass and the leaves of the big old cottonwoods overhead and even the sound of his own heart breaking for what he'd done to the woman he loved. The pain of it was palpable. He felt cruel and heartless for hurting her so, but at the same time helpless and awkward for not knowing how to make it right again. So he just held her close and petted his sweet girl until her feverish body at last started to relax and her breathing resumed its normal rhythms. Finally she looked up at him with flushed, tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, and he hurried to fish a clean hankie from his back pocket. He gently mopped at her wet face, entreating, "I'd feel a whole lot better if you'd just say..."

"You're a damn fool, Matt Dillon," she croaked irritably.

"Good...now blow," he muttered earnestly as he held the damp hankie to her nose.

"Give it to me," she insisted in a stuffy voice. "I can do it."

He dutifully handed it over and she blew her nose and blotted away the rest of her tears, releasing a cleansing, shuddering sigh. He took the wilted cotton handkerchief and stuck it back in his pocket, and they looked appraisingly into each other's eyes for a brief moment. Apparently satisfied with what she saw there, she leaned into him once again, nestling her body close, slipping her arms around him. He squeezed her gently, deliriously happy that she was still within his embrace and not hotfooting it for Timbuktu.

She sighed and laid one cheek against his shoulder. Matt felt himself immediately begin to relax as he gazed at her lovely, flushed pink face and those big blue eyes of hers. Truth be told, those eyes could devastate him in a way no outlaw's threats or abuses could. The woman's beauty made him positively weak in the knees and short of breath and had been doing so for nigh on two decades now. She just became lovelier with each passing day and he didn't know how she managed it. Matt brushed strands of spun red-gold hair from her face, still damp with her salty tears, and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. He murmured, "You are the most beautiful woman, Kitty Russell. I've never seen another who could compare."

"Oh, Matt, I'm a mess right now, and you know it." She swiped at her eyes and sniffed self-consciously. "Besides, I reckon you're just sayin' that to make me feel better."

"Oh no, I'm not, sweetheart." He shook his head and squinted at her, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepening. The way he said "sweetheart" right then made her stomach flutter. Kitty noticed that his expression looked a little hurt, like he was upset that she didn't believe him. His thumb was tracing her bottom lip, still swollen from crying and he added, "I think you're more beautiful than the day I first saw you."

She started to laugh self-deprecatingly, "Oh Matt, really..."

But he interrupted, murmuring, "Kitty, can I kiss you?" His clear, honest gaze was so warm and sincere and his low, throaty voice held an undercurrent of passion so that her laugh died quickly on her tongue.

"Why, Matt Dillon, you haven't asked for a kiss since we first..."

"I figure it's your call, Kitty. I don't wanna do anything you're not ready for. I know you're upset with me and you've every right to be."

Those intense, pale blue eyes trailed lingeringly over her face, in that heated way he'd always had about him. Matt Dillon had always been able to walk into the Long Branch and just look at her and send shivers of longing down her spine. And he was looking at her that way right now.

His low, rich voice always tickled her belly, way down deep. He lowered it for her a little more when he said, "But no matter what you say, I do think you're the prettiest girl anywhere, honey. Even when you think you look a sight, you're still prettier than all the other girls."

All the other girls? She eyed him levelly. "Even prettier than...?"

"Oh, no..." He shook his head firmly. "We're not talkin' about her, nosiree." Then he looked like he had second thoughts and amended just a little, "And no, she is not as pretty as you, not by a long shot, so there. And let's not talk about her again, alright?"

"Hmph..." Kitty looked away from him, but inwardly she was awful pleased at his response.

Matt traced his index finger over the pale amber-colored freckles on the bridge of Kitty's nose. "Will you please answer my question now, Miss Russell..."

"Which was...?" She decided to string him along a little.

"You've forgotten already?" He sounded disappointed and the tiniest bit exasperated. He pulled her closer.

She raised her voice a note and placed a hand on one hip. "Well, what do you expect when you bring up that woman?"

"I didn't bring her up, Kitty. You did. And my question is this-" He tucked her long red hair behind an ear, then traced a finger across her forehead, down her temple, across her jawline and to her chin, the whole journey raising pleasurable gooseflesh on her arms. He lifted her chin so she would meet his eyes, murmuring to her in a rumbling voice she could feel all the way down to her toes, "Can I kiss you, Kitty Russell? You don't have to, honey, but I'm burnin' to kiss your sweet lips right now. Will you let me?"

Oh heavens, the man knew how to make her stomach do somersaults. The big, gruff, strong marshal by day was a sweet talkin' son of a gun when he was alone with Kitty Russell. Nothin' fancy, just enough to truly melt her, inside and out.

"You can kiss me, Cowboy," she breathed, and her eyes fluttered closed when their warm lips touched and their tongues met lightly. If there was one thing Matt Dillon had always been able to do, it was kiss the daylights out of her. She wrapped her arms loosely around his neck and gave herself over to his embrace. His hands threaded into her thick hair and he kissed her gently, slowly, reverently, but with a skill that belied his rough exterior. Her tough cowboy was a very tender, giving lover.

He began to artfully work his way down her slim throat and then back up to nibble at her sensitive ear lobe.

"Oh, Matt..." She pulled away and looked him soberly in the face. "You think it's about time to go swimmin' now?"

He immediately began stripping off his brown vest. "Yep...think so."

"Even though you're gonna hafta' help me undo everything you just did up a few minutes ago?" She began unbuttoning his red shirt.

He removed his Stetson and pitched it on the ground. "I don't mind if you don't."

"Okay, just checkin'..." She grimaced as she struggled to unbuckle his gun belt.

He volunteered helpfully, "Come 'ere, honey, and let me get those clothes off you."

tbc

ljljljljlj