~XV~

Lee stood in the doorway, silently observing as his wife leaned over little Jenny's crib. The low night-light on the dresser illuminated her slim form, and he could just make out the smooth curve of her hips and her long, lithesome legs beneath the silken nightgown.  Listening to her soft hum as she laid a gentle hand on the baby's stomach, he felt something indescribable tug at his heart.

It was good to be home.

Creeping up behind her, he wrapped her in his arms, watching with a smile as she fingered the soft strands of Jenny's fine hair. Kissing his wife lightly by the ear, he gave a low laugh, adding in a teasing whisper, "Hasn't turned blonde yet."

"Just give it time," she rejoined, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. "There's a conspiracy in this family, I know it."

He pulled her closer against him, and she rested her small hands lightly atop his larger ones. They stood quietly, locked together, watching their baby daughter's chest rise and fall in a peaceful rhythm.

"I think she grew an inch," Amanda stated solemnly in awed wonder.

He gave her a little squeeze. "We were only gone forty-eight hours, Amanda."

His wife shook her head emphatically. "She just looks different to me."

"She just looks asleep to me," he told her, adding with a soft chuckle, "Which, considering the weekend we've had, is a very good thing, don't you think?" He gave her a light kiss, his lips lingering lovingly on her neck.

"Is Matty in bed?" she whispered with a barely detectable shudder.

"Um-hmm," he murmured, smiling at her tremulous tone. Almost five years of marriage had surely taught him its meaning. "Come on," he urged, gently tucking the crib blanket around his tiny daughter. "It seems both of our children are asleep. Let's not press our luck."

He felt her hand tighten around his as she let him lead her from the room, stopping briefly to look in on Matthew.  Their son was scrunched up in a tight little ball, one chubby hand clutching his beloved stuffed rabbit. He was still wearing the JMU sweatshirt his big brother 'Pip' had sent home for him.

"Poor baby," Amanda commiserated, "he's all worn out."

"Well, fighting those flying monkeys tends to do that to you," he laughed. "Your mother said he watched that damned movie all weekend."

"You know how he is when he latches on to something. Remember that awful Mr. Rogers phase?"

Lee shuddered. "How could I forget? He had to be the guy's biggest fan. Twice a day, no less." He shook his head, marveling at his son's single-mindedness. "But Amanda, of all the videos in the store, why does he have to be fixated on the Wizard of Oz?"

"There is a certain irony to that, I suppose," she laughed lightly. "Mother was thrilled, though; it kept him happily occupied."

"Glad to know it was good for something," he grumbled.

"You know," she began in a teasing tone, "I used to love that movie myself when I was little." She grinned, running her finger delicately over his lips. "I had a soft spot for the Scarecrow."

Lee returned her look, feeling anything but soft at the moment. "Come on, Mrs. Stetson," he entreated with newfound urgency. "Come to bed."

Glancing at him almost shyly, she nodded, following him through the door. "What time did Jamie say he'd be home?"

"Eleven," he replied as she fit herself comfortably into the curve of his arm. "He's working on that history report with Cathy Wilson."

"A report?" She raised a sculptured eyebrow. "Do we really believe that story?"

Lee gave a short laugh. "No. But it's nice to see Jamie goof off a bit. He's always been so serious."

"I know. Sometimes I'd swear he's sixteen going on thirty." She smiled softly as she preceded him into their room. "It's nice not to worry about him for a change."

He shook his head, carefully closing their bedroom door. "So instead you're going to worry about Phillip."

She only smiled, crossing over to the fireplace and trailing her finger absently along the edge of the polished mantle. It had been a real wood-burning fireplace when they'd purchased the house, but, tired of the hassle, they'd happily converted it after that first year.

"Shall I?" he asked, catching her eye as he reached for the tin of matches.

"If you want."

Taking that as a yes, he squatted down to open the glass doors. Striking a match, he deftly turned the key that released the gas, the familiar 'whoosh' settling down as he adjusted the level of the flame. "There," he said, looking up expectantly. "How's that?"

"Hmm," Amanda murmured absently, and he saw her fingering the small pewter-framed picture of Phillip and Matthew with obvious care.

Rising, Lee sucked in a breath. "Tell you what," he said thoughtfully as he set the match container down. "I've got to fly Harrisonburg on Wednesday to clean up this Walters mess. Why don't you hitch a ride on the Agency plane, and we'll both take Phillip out to dinner?"

He watched as she carefully considered his offer, slowly returning the picture to its place of honor on the mantle. "No, I don't think so. Phillip made it pretty clear he didn't want to talk to me about this Joe business.  It's better if you take him out alone."

"Amanda . . ."

"No, really, it's okay. I'm not upset." She laughed at his raised eyebrow. "Well, okay, I'm not upset . . . much.  I just think I have to take a step back. Phillip and Joe have to solve their own problems. I can't play referee any more; it's too exhausting."

Lee nodded. "I just hope he and Carrie work things out. If they don't . . ."

"They have a lot to deal with. I can't believe Joe could dismiss Carrie's desire to have a baby so easily. That doesn't sound at all like the man I remember."

The haunted face of a gaunt figure huddled in the corner of a shed suddenly found its way into his mind. "People change, Amanda," Lee said in a low voice. "Sometimes more than they want to."

"If Carrie feels strongly about it, they could adopt."

"Right now it sounds like they have their hands full just getting their relationship back on track."

She nodded sadly. "She told me last night Joe's agreed to get some marriage counseling. I hope it works."

"Me, too."  He gave the back of his neck a vigorous rub. Joe King was an okay guy; he didn't deserve what had happened to him in that rebel camp in Santarilla. For that matter, neither did Carrie.

"I like Carrie, you know?" Amanda added in a small voice, echoing his thoughts. "She's a good person; just like Joe. I just wish . . ."

He cocked his head slightly. "Wish what, Amanda?"

She shrugged, and he watched a frown pass fleetingly over her face. Then, sighing softly, she looked up, locking him in her gaze.  "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

He slowly shook his head.

"I do, you know," she stated in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "I let myself get too caught up in other things sometimes. Mother, the kids . . . even Joe and Carrie." She drew a shaky breath, letting it out slowly through her mouth.

"I'm just as guilty as you of letting things get in the way," he put in quickly. "Lately, we just haven't had any time to . . . be ourselves."

He saw her smile at his words, a faint blush suffusing her ivory skin. "I want to," she stated in a throaty whisper as she took a small step forward. "I want to very much."

He moved to meet her, his eyes still on hers. They stood by the fireplace, facing each other with unspoken yearning. The heat from the flames felt wonderfully warm, and he watched her for a long moment, letting the world slide further and further away. 

"I love you, too," he said finally, stepping even closer. "I've wanted to show you all weekend. It just seemed like the timing was never right."

"'The best laid plans'," she quipped, but her body language belied her lighthearted tone. Her breath caught in her throat, then she murmured his name so softly it was almost a sigh.

He embraced her with his eyes. He could almost see her thoughts as her own eyes grew darker. Feelings so deeply intimate they couldn't be put into words. They held him in place, frozen, unable to move.

"Lee." She said his name again, a diffident smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "We've both been waiting for this."  Closing the last distance between them, she kissed him.

He felt the same flash of astonishment he'd experienced on their brief honeymoon. Her boldness then had delighted and amazed him. It was both pleasurable and unsettling to discover Amanda had hidden depths he'd never expected. He should have guessed, he knew. Hadn't she always surprised him, right from the start?

Just as she did now.  He was keenly aware of her as she led him to their bed. Her smile, teasingly inviting, the fleeting brush of her hand against his thigh as they walked, the soft satin of her gown against his bare skin as he hastily discarded his robe.

She was so beautiful, her skin flushed with warmth, that he could only stand and look at her again, drinking in the sight. He held his breath, half listening for the baby's cry, an unwanted phone call, something – anything - that might interrupt. As the house answered with uncharacteristic silence, his lips parted in a slow grin. 

Once again, she made the first move, her hands skimming ephemerally over his chest. He watched as she carefully catalogued the bumps and bruises he'd acquired in his recent scuffle, her eyes narrowing as she took in the large, black and blue area below his ribcage. Catching his eye, she shook her head, then knelt down to place soft, butterfly kisses over his tender skin. Reaching out, he reclaimed the initiative, pulling her up and against him, his lips seeking hers with renewed desire.

He pulled her down on top of him, both falling backwards onto the waiting bed. She reached up to switch off the light, but he shook his head. "Leave it on," he told her hungrily. "I want to look at you."

She complied, smiling as she stretched out on the mattress. Hovering above her, he swept his eyes over her admiringly. Amanda kept saying she still had 'baby' fat, but he couldn't see it. She looked so diminutive beside him, small and achingly vulnerable. It filled him with an overwhelming desire to protect her.

He heard her sigh again, plainly impatient with his hesitancy. Reaching up, she gently traced the scratches on his cheek and forehead with her fingers, then clasped her hands behind his head, pulling him firmly down to her.  He touched his lips to hers, softly at first, reverently, and she moaned almost plaintively in response. He smiled against her lips, knowing she yearned for the same thing he did. There had been too much slow and sweet since her pregnancy and not nearly enough passionate abandon.

He kissed her again. Like a smoldering ember suddenly stoked back to a roaring blaze, her response was immediate.  He felt the stress of the past months dissolving slowly but surely in the fiery heat of her embrace. She was clearly experiencing the same passionate hunger that drove him. It had been so long, he thought with a rush of desire, then, suddenly, he remembered why.

He kissed her lightly on the lips. "Amanda," he whispered tenderly. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It's okay," she told him, and he wondered briefly if she meant it was okay, he wouldn't hurt her, or okay, she didn't care. "Lee," she murmured again as her lips found his. "I love you."

He didn't need to hear more. He kissed her again, pulling her against him. "I love you, too," he mumbled breathlessly in her ear.

* * * * *

They lay together, recovering, the damp tendrils of her hair pressed against his cheek. He ran his hand soothingly over her back, feeling her skin cool as they relaxed languorously in the comfort of their bed, their limbs still entwined in an intimate tangle.

Feeling her shiver, he drew the sheet tighter around them. She let out a long, low breath, her hand searching for his.  Interlocking their fingers, he pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You okay?"

She gave a wicked little laugh. "Couldn't you tell?"

"Well, I, uh . . . yeah," he said at last, feeling ridiculously embarrassed. No other woman had ever possessed the power to do that to him. "It was a pretty spectacular finish to our weekend," he added with a silly grin.

She laughed again, a happy, lazy sound. "You know what they say," she teased, her fingers straying carelessly over his chest. "There's no place . . ."

"No," he warned ominously, "please don't . . ."

" . . . like home," she finished, laughing as he groaned in mock consternation.

"I swear," he growled under his breath, "one of these days . . ."

She raised up on her elbow, looking down at him with a satisfied grin. "One of these days - what?"

"One of these days, I'm gonna toss that video right in the trash." He grinned sheepishly. "Well, as soon as I can pry it out of Matthew's clutches."

She settled down beside him again, chuckling softly to herself. "It could be worse, you know. . . 'neighbor'."

He laughed with her, tightening his embrace. "I guess it could at that," he said with a tired yawn. "I might have to walk around the house in an old cardigan sweater."

She raised her head, kissing him affectionately as she switched off the light. "Get some rest, Sweetheart," he heard her whisper softly in his ear. "It was an exhausting weekend."

He nodded, settling himself comfortably against her. He knew she wouldn't sleep yet, even though she was equally tired. She would check on Matt and Jenny one more time, then patiently wait for Jamie to come in.

"I love you, Mrs. Stetson," he muttered again, his eyes closing. His last coherent thought as sleep claimed him was that maybe – just maybe – that damned video had a point after all.

It sure did feel good to be home.

The End