This is for everyone who has been so wonderful to stick through all of the angst and all of the cliffhangers for the past thirteen chapters! A little teasing still – couldn't help it. But maybe I'm forgiven, at least a little! This is not the end. At least one more chapter to go. Thanks for reading!

Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter Fourteen: Nice and Easy

POV: Kitty

Episodes Referenced: "Tap Day for Kitty;" "Hostage!;" "Kitty's Love Affair;"

Rating: Teen++

Disclaimer: The original GS characters aren't mine, of course, but I created Sam. (Well, Matt and Kitty created him in my story.)

XXXX

Kitty Russell Dillon laid her head back against the enameled tub and closed her eyes as the warm water swirled gently around her, scented with bath salts she had brought back from New Orleans. She was making the right decision – she knew it. Regardless of the pain it caused, she knew she was doing the right thing. For herself, for her son – for Matt. It had been only a few hours since those horrible moments on the street – and yet it seemed like decades.

She had stood there, clutching Matt's son to her breast, desperately echoing Doc's uplifted prayer, wondering how many times she had seen him face off against some low-life outlaw in the past twenty years, wondering how many more times she could survive such sights. As dusk settled over the town she had watched his blood spill out onto the dust, felt the terror that after all those years, after everything she had endured, had lost, then found again, this was the end.

But it hadn't been the end. Somehow, once again, Matt Dillon had survived – survived to face another day, and to face another gunman. It was inevitable. It was his lot. And for any woman who risked a relationship with him, it was her lot, too.

She glanced around at the familiar walls of the dressing room and considered with a humorless grunt that, once again, she was waiting – as she had waited for 19 years before. Raising her hand to brush away wisps of hair that tickled her face, she saw the dim glow of the lamp flash mutely from the ring that circled her finger. His ring – the one he had finally placed there, the one that signified his eternal love.

Sighing, she prayed for the strength to do what she had to do.

Hannah's nosing into the situation had irritated her, had hit closer to home than she cared to admit. She certainly didn't need anyone telling her what kind of man Matt Dillon was; she knew very well herself exactly what kind of man he was. He was stubborn, and driven, and duty-bound, and frustratingly responsible – and noble, and good, and kind, and tender. It was those things that she loved most – and hated most – about him. She shook her head. No, not hated. She could never hate Matt. Be furious with him, irritated, disappointed, but never hate him. The older woman meant well, Kitty knew that, but this was something she had to do on her own. She would set her own path, make her own decisions, and square up and take the consequences. Hadn't she always? Guilt pricked at her conscience, reprimanding her for her impatience with the new Long Branch owner. Hannah had been more than kind to her, and to Matt. In fact, from the little that Matt had confided to her about Hannah's confrontation with him at the jail, the older woman was instrumental in steering him back to New Orleans. So she could forgive well-intentioned meddling, especially since –

Breaking into her soft reverie, familiar footsteps sounded hard on the stairs, too few, too fast, and she realized he was practically running up them. That, alone, startled her. She wasn't sure when she had actually seen him run lately, especially with the almost-constant pain from his leg. Nevertheless, he was running; she was sure of it.

She had been expecting him, of course, and drew in a measured breath in the vain attempt to keep her heart from pounding right through her chest.

The footsteps stopped outside the door, but no knock came right away, as if he was contemplating whether or not to ask for entry. She counted the seconds in her head, tried to imagine what he was thinking, what he was doing. Finally, just when she feared he might leave, she heard his knuckles rap firmly on the wood.

"Kitty?" His tone was low, measured.

She opened her mouth to answer, but found she couldn't make a sound.

He knocked again, a little harder this time. "Kitty, it's me."

"Yeah," she managed, finally, loud enough to reach beyond the bedroom. "Door's unlocked."

She heard him enter. "Kitty?"

"In here."

The footsteps paused again, then moved toward the dressing room. With a squeak, the door cracked open, spilling light from the bedroom, silhouetting those broad shoulders in the door frame. Kitty didn't bother to rise from the tub, didn't move to cover herself. That would be silly after all the years they had been together.

After only a moment's further hesitation, he stepped inside, breath coming faster than usual. He had lost his coat somewhere, she noted, and was hatless, although that was probably because of the bandage. She winced at the sight of the bloody splotches that spread from the once-white collar across his shoulder and chest and down one sleeve. Darkness had settled over the town by now, and only one dim lamp glowed in the room, but its light was enough to reflect the intensity of those blue eyes that almost burned right through her.

"I can wait outside," he offered, but made no move to leave.

"You don't need to."

He nodded. "Fine."

The curt response took her by surprise. For the past twenty years, Kitty Russell had come to know Matt Dillon well, better than anyone else knew him – or would ever know him, she figured. In that time, he had never treated her with anything but tenderness and deference. Even when they fought, he remained the gentleman. Not that they hadn't had their spats, but Matt was nothing if not irritatingly even keeled, even then. Tonight, though, as he stood before her, there was something different about his stance, the set of his jaw, the flash of his eyes. Almost as if he were about to issue a command. But surely she read him wrong. Matt Dillon had never commanded her, had never chosen to command her. Of course, she had never commanded him, either. Theirs was a mutual relationship, bonded by trust and true respect – and, of course, love.

But on second look, she was almost positive that's what it was. This man, her gentle lover, towered over her, left arm ignoring the sling so that both hands could brace on his hips, legs planted wide and solid, lips pressed hard together.

"Matt?" she asked tentatively, suddenly unsure.

He thrust out a hand, the note she had left with Dobie crumpled in it. "You said we need to talk. All right. Let's talk," he began, his tone refusing any defiance.

"Okay," she answered, trying not to frown. It was her message, after all.

He sucked in a breath that caught in his throat, then ground out, "You're not leaving."

Mouth dropping and eyes narrowing, she felt a clash of astonishment and anger. That definitely sounded like a command, all right. She frowned at the tone, so uncharacteristic from his usual gentleness with her. Even after Will Stambridge, he had bowed to her desires, left the decision to her, had been willing to accept what she wanted. "What?" she snapped.

His jaw hardened, as if he were physically bracing himself for battle. "I said you're not leaving. Look, you've always been your own woman, right? Made your own decisions."

"Yes," she acknowledged warily, eyes still glaring.

"And you knew how it had to be with us."

She damn well did.

"I was always very clear with you about that. Even though you didn't like it, I figured you knew that was just the way it was."

The way it was. God, she hated that phrase.

Emotion thickened his voice. "I had to be careful in public not to show how much you meant to me, not to show how much – how much I loved you." He reached up to run a hand through his hair, pulling it back with a wince when the touch reminded him of the raw bullet graze. "You don't know how many times I walked into the Long Branch, tired, and sore, and mad as all get about at some no account rustler or thief or wife beater. And there you were, beautiful and fresh – and smiling at me, and offering me a beer with your words, and promising me more with your eyes."

Swallowing to push down the sudden lump in her throat, she whispered, "Matt – "

His gaze unfocused, looked past her, as if he was replaying those moments in his head. "And I wanted to go to you and kiss you and hold you right there in front of everyone and let them know you were mine. Let them know that for some reason you had chosen a big, gangly, clumsy public servant over all the rich gentlemen you could have had."

She wanted to stop him, to tell him that he was more gentleman than all of the shallow, moneyed Eastern dudes put together. Instead, she let him continue, seeing from his eyes that he needed to say it.

"But I couldn't," he continued, letting his gaze return to her face, "in case someone was watching or listening who wanted to get revenge, who wanted to hurt me. Because even if they put a bullet right through my heart, they couldn't hurt me more than they would if something happened to you."

Heart aching, she grabbed the side of the tub, wanting to face him, to stand with him.

"After Bonner – " His voice broke on the name, and his head dropped.

That drew her up and out instantly, reaching for the robe she had folded next to the tub, not bothering to tie the sash. Placing a hand on his arm, she urged, "No, Matt, don't. Bonner's over, in the past. He doesn't matter. He's nothing."

But he shook his head, struggling for control. "After – him – I started thinking that maybe my bright idea hadn't worked so well. Maybe everybody knew about us anyway."

She almost smiled, knowing both of them had realized that years ago. They stood in silence for a long, long moment.

Finally, taking a deep breath and managing a crooked smile, he said, "So, it might have taken me twenty years to ask, but I did it without the buckshot. You gotta give me a little credit for that.

She couldn't suppress the grin at his reference, marveling that he remembered.

Not giving her any chance to respond, he continued, "But the fact is I asked, and you accepted, and we're married, and we have Sam – "

"Matt – "

"So," he repeated, his eyes not nearly as secure as his words, "you're not leaving."

She looked up at him, lips pursed. After a few beats, she raised a brow and asked, "Are you finished?"

He nodded, warily, as if suddenly he wished he weren't finished, as if suddenly he couldn't stand to hear her response.

Turning her back to him, she stared across the small room, bracing again for the pain she knew her decision would cause. "When you came to New Orleans for me, I didn't know what to do at first. I had imagined it for months, pretended I could send you away and just continue my life." She tried not to hear the quick breath he drew in, didn't mean for that to hurt him. "But then you came, and there you were on the riverboat, tall and handsome and heroic, as always."

"Kitty – "

"Hear me out?" she asked, turning back to him.

Teeth gritted, he nodded, shoving his hands into his front pockets.

"And I knew I had been fooling myself, thinking I could get you out of my system. I knew then I'd tell you about Sam, and I guess I knew deep down that if you asked, I'd come back with you. Then, you surprised me with the ring, and even more with the badge. I couldn't believe that after all these years it was finally happening. I guess I figured it could really be like you said. I guess I thought you could give up the badge and we could live a normal life."

The intensity of his expression faded into earnestness. "We can – "

She shook her head. "No. You're Matt Dillon. I've accepted now that we'll never have a normal life." He attempted to mask it, but the heartbreak that bled through tore at her, hurrying her to continue. "There will always be someone after you, Matt. You already knew that, but I guess I just wanted to pretend we could get away from it."

"Kitty, I can't change the past. I can't undo what's been done. But I made a promise to you – a vow. If you want, I won't wait until the end of the year. I'll quit tomorrow. Newly and Festus can do the job until a new marshal is appointed. I'll quit, and we'll move away from here. Colorado or Wyoming. Or back to New Orleans, if you want."

Oh, how she wanted to do it, wanted to take his offer and escape into the fantasy she had always imagined. But she knew better. It was only a fantasy, after all. It would always be only a fantasy.

"Matt," she reasoned, unable to look at him in her attempt not to lose her hard-fought calm in the face of his rare emotion. "You know it won't matter. You know that wherever we go, Matt Dillon will always draw a crowd. You'll always be a target. And I understand what you were trying to tell me all those years. A wife and child only make things worse."

Any pretense at stoicism collapsed. "No – "

She swallowed hard, willed herself to continue. "I've been thinking about things. It's why I left Doc's before – well, before I should have. After – after that boy shot you, I had to do some thinking about what was best for me and for Sam." She lifted her eyes. "And for you. That's why I – "

"I don't want you to leave," he announced abruptly, the hard line dropping from his tone, falling into a raw, open plea.

"What?"

His face darkened with regret, guilt. "I know what you're afraid of, and I know it could have happened easily this afternoon, but I don't want you to leave. I should have told you that two years ago – with Stambridge. Didn't figure I had the right, but I should have told you, anyway."

"Matt – "

"Maybe now I have the right. So I'm telling you, I don't want you to leave." Jaw clenched, he looked straight at her, his heart and soul plain in the depths of his eyes. "Please don't leave Kitty."

"Oh, Matt," she whispered, reaching up and letting her fingers skim across his cheek. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm not leaving."

Slowly, his brow furrowed, and he cocked his head. "What?"

"I said I'm not leaving."

"You're not – "

She shook her head.

Instantly, the breath left him, his shoulders slumping, hands falling, solid stance faltering. He drew a shuddering breath, the mask of command gone, replaced by raw relief.

"Matt," she murmured, unable to give him the rest of her decision, wanting to hold off that pain a little longer, to pretend this was all there was – this moment.

Ignoring the water that plastered her robe to her body, she reached around his neck and pressed against him. Instantly, almost desperately, he wrapped his long arms around her, lifting her so that her feet dangled off the floor, clutching her hard to him as if he never planned to release her. Maybe he didn't. That would be all right with her.

"Matt," she breathed against his shoulder, "I never intended to leave you. That wasn't – " That wasn't what she'd had to tell him.

"I was afraid."

She cocked a dubious eyebrow. "Afraid? You've never been afraid of anything in your life," she challenged. Except maybe a preacher.

"I was afraid of losing you," he admitted.

Sliding to the floor, she placed her hands on her hips and peered up at him. "Listen to me, Matthew Dillon, I can't say it wasn't just horrible seeing you out on that street again. And I sure as hell thought I was going to be torn apart when that bullet hit you and I didn't know if you were dead or alive."

The groan echoed deep in his chest, and she hung on to him tighter.

"But I'm not leaving. I'm not Matt Dillon's woman now. I'm Matt Dillon's wife and mother of his son. And that's who I will be from now on. I don't have the option to leave anymore," she said softly, her fingers threading through the curls at the back of his neck. "I will never leave again."

He caught his breath, and she watched him fight for control, struggle to keep the emotion from tearing away his layer of dignity. Finally, voice still tenuous, he whispered, "I love you, Kitty."

She reached up, arching onto her toes to let her lips meet his, putting all the love, all the desire, all the assurance she could into the kiss. Even though she hadn't intended for the touch to be anything more than loving and reassuring, it had been too long for them, and she found her dripping body pressed against him provocatively.

"Matt?" she murmured.

"Mmm?"

"I got you all wet."

"Yep."

"Maybe we need to get you out of those clothes." Yes, that was definitely what they needed to do.

"Kitty," he groaned into her hair. "I want to – oh, I really want to – but can we – are you – "

Reluctantly extricating herself from his embrace, she stepped back enough she that he could see her from head to toe, robe hanging open, skin glistening from the remaining water, glowing from the heat of her bath and the closeness of her man.

The deep emotions of the past minutes gave way to overwhelming desire. She had been without his touch for months – suddenly, one more minute seemed too long to wait.

"Kitty," he groaned, his eyes snapping as he looked at her, and the months apart exploded into a conflagration of desire, and she could think of nothing she wanted more than for him to take her right there, to fill her emptiness, to quench her thirst.

Nice and easy. Doc's warning nudged into her thoughts, and she swallowed. Nice and easy wasn't going to be so easy.

Her hands ran all over his body, trying to be careful at the shoulder, but not really able to slow down. The few buttons he had secured slipped easily through the holes, and she quickly shoved the bloody shirt down his arms, tugging the sling over his head along with it. When she had his beautiful, broad chest bared completely, she ran her hands over it and down his abdomen, swirling through the light hair. Her lips followed, trailing over his skin until he trembled.

She loved making this giant of a man tremble. She loved knowing she was the only one who could.

"I think you need a bath, yourself, mister."

"You already got me half wet," he noted wryly.

"I want you all wet," she purred.

Grunting, he teased, "I'll need help. My shoulder, you know."

She pouted like a little girl. "I know. Poor baby."

Her slender fingers tickled their way across his stomach, then eased down between them, pushing against the hard ridge that throbbed insistently against his trousers. "Oh my. Ya' miss me, Cowboy?"

He gasped, throwing his head back, and she couldn't stop the shiver of excitement that shook her body at the sight of her man so overwhelmed by her touch.

"God, Kitty," he croaked, "don't you know how much I missed you? Can't you feel how much I missed you? I ache for you. I've ached for you since – "

"Me, too, Matt," she whispered. "I don't want to wait. Don't make me wait, Matt."

"Not a problem," he ground out, teeth clenched hard.

Hastily, she helped him pull off his boots and discard the remaining clothing before he climbed into the tub, the water almost tepid now. He didn't seem to notice. They would heat it back up soon, anyway. Leaning over the side, she rubbed the dried blood from his jaw and neck, down his chest and shoulder, circling gently, leaning in to place soft kisses over the clean skin. With the bandage around his head, he looked like a wounded soldier waiting for the ministrations of his nurse. Now that could be a fun little scenario one day. Tonight, unfortunately, they didn't have the patience for role-playing. As her hands moved lower, cleaning other parts of his body, she realized things were close to being out of control.

"Kitty, come in here with me," he urged hoarsely, tugging at her arm.

She didn't need to be told twice. Lowering herself into the water, she straddled his waist, taking his face in her hands. Trembling, he raised his mouth to hers, and she moaned in relief and pleasure as their lips met, softly at first, then harder, hotter. She had waited so long for this moment and now she almost couldn't grasp that it was here. Her arms clung to his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest. His tongue pushed into her mouth, tasting her, claiming her again.

When he slid his hands up her body to let her full breasts rest in his palms, she groaned again, the familiar sensation of stimulation triggering her natural responses. Before she realized it, she felt the warm trails of milk trickle down her body to splash gently on his chest and dissolve in the water. Eyes widening, he stared in awe and jerked his hands away.

"Kitty, I – I didn't realize – I'm sorry – "

But she guided his long fingers back. "It's okay, "she assured him.

"Do you need – should I get Sam – " His head turned to the side, looking for the child. "Where is Sam?"

"Hannah has him. Don't worry. And I don't need to get him."

"But – "

"It's okay. A natural reaction." Then she stopped, realizing suddenly that he might be uneasy with it, might find it unpleasant – or even disgusting. "Unless you mind – "

But his eyes were filled not with revulsion or disgust, only with love and warmth. "Kitty, how could I mind anything about your body, especially something that's for our child?"

Our child. The lump in her throat grew, the tears in her eyes burned.

"Oh, Matt," she whispered.

"Kitty," he asked, a little timidly, looking at her in mild amazement, "may I – "

Understanding, she nodded, then gasped as he leaned forward and took a nipple into his mouth, suckling her for a brief moment before he drew her down onto him.

"Sweet," he murmured.

Sliding her hands across his wide, hard chest, she arched her back as his lips found her other breast and caressed it in the same way. His groan told her that neither of them would last very long. Too many lonely nights lay between them. A surge of desire deep inside told her that she wouldn't be able to stop her body from taking what it yearned for.

And it yearned for Matt.

"Matt," she breathed. "I can't wait. Please – "

"Are you – sure?" he managed, voice so strained it was almost cracking. "We can stop, if – "

But she knew they couldn't stop. Not any more. "No, I can't stop."

"Thank God," he groaned, lifting her up slightly so that their hips were aligned.

"Wait – "

"Wait? Kitty, I don't think I can – "

"The bed. I want to be in our old bed."

"Uh," he groaned, his voice straining, and she would have laughed if she hadn't been in almost as much discomfort. "Uh – yeah – okay."

With more than a little difficulty, they extricated themselves from the tub, the cool air rushing chill bumps across their skin. Not bothering to dry off, Matt swept her into his arms and strode into the bedroom.

"You shouldn't be lifting me. Your shoulder – " And back, and leg –

"Doesn't ache nearly as much as other parts of me," he told her.

Still, knowing his knife wound continued to bother him, she coaxed him onto the bed so that she could straddle him. He was ready for her – more than ready. Too aroused to wait herself, she lowered her hips, slowly and tentatively at first, unable to suppress the grimace at the slight pain his generous thickness caused.

"I'm sorry," he began, and tried to pull back, but she shook her head.

"No. It's wonderful. Just give me – a minute."

"I'll give you more than a minute," he breathed, pulling out anyway and turning her so that his broad shoulders pressed open her thighs. His touch was light, gentle, and his tongue caressed her with care until she writhed beneath him, soaring on the pleasure he brought, her body opening and inviting.

As incredible as it felt, she wanted them to reach their peaks together, so she somehow gathered enough strength to push him off, then straddled his hips again and sank back onto his pulsing erection, moving with confidence when there was no longer any sign of pain or discomfort. As he stretched her again, she was overcome with an urgency that neither of them could quell.

"Kitty!" he gasped through gritted teeth as she pushed down, pulled back, then sank in a little deeper the next time.

Oh, he felt so good. No man had ever felt as good as Matt Dillon felt to her. He was shaking with the effort to let her set the pace, not to thrust up hard and bury himself. He started to pull back, and she groaned and locked her legs around him, desperate not to lose the extraordinary feel of him inside her again.

But he shook his head and smiled tightly. "Kitty, I can't – I'm not going to last if – you feel so good, too good – "

Understanding, she let him turn them so that she lay beneath him and he could set the pace of his entry. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he lowered his hips until he probed her center again. With infuriating care, he eased in, just the tip, then a few more inches. As soon as she tried to squeeze around him, he would withdraw almost all the way until she was shaking with need.

"Matt," she groaned, grabbing vainly at the flexing muscles of his back and hips.

"Something wrong?" he asked, eyes full of innocence.

Managing to steady her breathing, she ground out, "You – are – bad, Matthew – Dillon."

"You always told me I was good."

But she couldn't play any longer. "Matt, I need – I need – "

Now the voice was softer, coaxing, urging. "What do you need, Kitty? Tell me. Tell me what you need."

Her head fell back and her chest arched. "You. I need all of you. Please."

He breathed her name and pushed forward with his hips, his heat burning to her core, filling her again, completing her again. She squeezed around him hard, smiling in satisfaction at his agonized groan. She opened to him, and he pushed in a little farther, his jaw hard, his eyes closed. She could tell he was working hard not to let the sensations overwhelm him. He wasn't the only one.

Finally, when she realized her body couldn't take any more, she grabbed at his hips and pulled. "Now," she gasped. "Now!"

At her demand, he allowed himself to sink deep inside her, grunting in relief and agony. His attempt to go slow vanished as soon as her heels dug into his back, and her hands pulled his head down so that her tongue thrust into his mouth in the same rhythm as he thrust into her.

Nice and easy, she reminded herself, even as she found her body arching into his faster and faster. He felt so good that she couldn't hang on to even the semblance of control. Their hips met, hard and furious, pushing against each other, burning and demanding. His strokes were deep and powerful, and she moaned at the almost unbearable pain and pleasure. She tore her mouth from his, her breath coming in pants now, and cried out.

Nice and easy, Doc had said. Right.

Matt faltered, pulled back, and she looked up. Sweat trailed down his jaw, his wavy hair, wild and damp, fell into his eyes, clouded now with desire and worry. He was absolutely beautiful.

"Kitty?" he asked, voice rough.

She shook her head, gasping. "No! I'm – fine. Please don't stop. Please – I can't stop."

"Are you sure – "

Desperately, she bowed up to pull him back inside, clutching at him, her fingernails raking wildly down his strong back and over his hips, drawing blood, her pelvis arching up over and over. He must have been too far gone to feel any pain, because he gave in and thrust into her, his body surging and throbbing.

She almost couldn't believe it. This was Matt, her Matt, here with her again – inside her again. Love and passion and ecstasy throbbed between them. Deep inside, she felt the exquisite sensation take hold, building and building until she could no longer hang on. It took only a few more thrusts for her body to convulse in violent spasms that sucked him in and squeezed around him like a vise.

Nice and easy flew right out the window.

"Matt!" she cried out, bucking against him, clawing at his shoulders. "Oh, yes!"

He grunted as she writhed beneath him, driving as deep inside her as she could take him, swelling and pulsing until she felt the climax rip through his body and join hers, flooding her with heat and bliss and love. Over and over, he emptied inside her, and with each powerful surge the months of despair and fear and loneliness poured out, cleansing their souls, making them whole again. She moaned as her own body continued to seize around him while he thrust in and out even after they had both spent themselves completely. Gradually, his movement slowed to a gentle rock, the easy motion soothing after the furious pounding. Almost like a chant, he murmured tender words of endearment in her ear, of her beauty, of his love.

With a gasp, he collapsed, pinning her to the bed, but she didn't protest. It was heaven to lie beneath him again, to feel the pounding of his heart, to feel the heat of his skin. There was a time she had thought she had only the memories of such pleasure. Now, the tears burned her eyes with the feeling. After a few minutes though, needing to breathe, she reluctantly pushed against him. Groaning, he managed to brace on his elbows and ease his hips away from hers. She felt a sharp loss, a sense of emptiness as he withdrew, allowing the warmth of their releases to spread over her, but she snuggled into his broad chest almost immediately, the smells of perfume, leather, soap, sweat, and passion swirling around them.

It was at least another ten minutes before either of them could conjure the energy to speak. Matt managed first, placing his lips against her hair and breathing, "My God, Kitty, I missed you so much."

"You're not the only one, Cowboy," she told him, letting her fingers play in the dusting of hair on his chest. Her body still shuddered with after-shocks as she drifted into a deep, satisfied sleep.

XXXX

Kitty opened her eyes slowly to the dim light of her room – her old room, anyway – at the Long Branch. The lamp still glowed softly, painting gentle shadows over the bed. Soft snores soothed her, sounds she hadn't heard in her bed for almost a year. Turning her head, she couldn't help but smile at the huge man who lay beside her, his arms curled around her, her head resting against his chest. It had been so long, so many lonely months without this. How had she ever survived? She blinked a couple of times and wondered what had awakened her. The noises from downstairs were just as boisterous, telling her it must not be too late. Maybe some raucous cowboys had disturbed her sleep. Then she heard the knock again, and wondered how many times someone had been trying subtly to get her attention.

Placing a soft kiss on his shoulder, she slid carefully from the warmth of Matt's embrace, slipped on her robe and tip-toed to the door. "Who is it?" she whispered.

"Hannah."

Hannah? Yes, of course. It was her room, after all. With a start, Kitty remembered the most probable reason Hannah would be knocking.

Sam. Oh, dear. The poor child must be starving.

Taking a breath, she did her best to maintain some miniscule appearance of calm before opening the door. Beyond the crack of hall light, Hannah's smile faltered a bit as she held a whimpering baby out toward his mother.

"Kitty, I'm – I'm awful sorry to disturb you." The saloon owner's face reflected true regret. "He was frettin' and downright disappointed that I didn't have anything to offer him."

Kitty reached to hold her child, smiling when he grunted and rooted for the nourishment he desired the instant he was in her arms.

"I rocked him, jiggled him," Hannah explained. "I even tried to sing to him, but I'm not too sure that didn't hurt more'n it helped."

"Thank you, Hannah," Kitty told her, anxious for a little privacy so she could nurse.

But Hannah didn't take the hint right off. Instead, the older woman's gaze took in Kitty's appearance, and frowned. "I hope everything's all right – "

"It's fine," Kitty assured her.

"Because if – " But she broke off as her gaze shifted to look deeper into the room. The frown burst into a wide smile. "Well, I'd say everything is fine. I'd say it's mighty fine. Mighty fine, all right."

Kitty glanced back, suddenly worried that her very masculine husband was not sufficiently covered by the quilt. It was close. His upper body lay completely bare, giving both women a generous view of his wide chest and long-muscled arms. One leg thrust out from under the covers, the strong thighs still well defined even relaxed.

"Yes'm," Hannah repeated, gleefully. "Mighty fine."

Not particularly liking the close perusal the other woman was giving her husband, Kitty stepped into her line of sight. Knowing there could not have been any misunderstanding about what she and Matt had done, she issued her own repentance. "I'm so sorry about – well, I sort of – forgot – this was your room. We shouldn't have – "

"Honey," Hannah assured her, "that's the most fun this place has had since you left. I'm just – well, I can't tell ya' how good it is to see – well, you know."

Kitty smiled, truly grateful. "I know. We'll get back to the Dodge House later – "

"You'll do no such thing," Hannah scolded. "You'll feed that baby and put him down and get right back in that bed with that fine looking husband of yours." Leaning in, she whispered, "If ya' need me ta' take the baby again in the morning, while ya – well – just holler. I figure you two ain't gonna get completely reacquainted in just one night."

Cheeks flaming now, Kitty couldn't help smiling. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

"Don't mention it. Does my heart good to – well, it does my heart good." With a wink, she backed out of the room, floating a "Goodnight, Marshal," over her shoulder as she went.

Easing the door closed, Kitty turned back to the bed, surprised to see Matt stirring, one eye peaking out at her. "Kitty?"

"Hey, Cowboy," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"Was that – "

"Hannah. She brought Sam back." She laughed. "She didn't have what I have to offer him."

"Well, I'll sure agree with you on that," he smirked.

She threw a mock glare his way and eased onto the mattress next to him, exposing one breast for the eager infant, who latched instantly. Briefly, she considered telling him the rest – what she had intended to tell him when she left the note with Mr. Dobie. But now wasn't the time, either. Now, she just wanted to bask in the moment of warmth with her husband and child, not bring up the pain.

She shrugged. "I had to get her out of here before she tried to seduce you."

Horror spread across his face and he sat suddenly, wincing slightly and touching his head. "What?"

"She sure was eyeing you with more than just good will," she noted as casually as possible.

"Kitty!" he declared, looking rather sick. "By golly, you can't mean that Hannah – I mean she's as good as gold, but – "

"But I'm the only woman for you, is that what you meant to say, Cowboy?"

He smiled then, more than a little relief in his eyes. "Absolutely."

The baby sucked greedily – grunting in satisfaction with every swallow.

"He needs a little work on his manners," Matt observed wryly, turning onto his side and propping his head in his right hand.

"Reminds me a little of Chester."

Her husband laughed at the mention of their old friend. "Yeah, he sure could put away some grub."

"Is Samuel hungry?" Kitty cooed to the baby. "Is mama's big boy hungry?"

Matt grunted. "Say, uh, I think mama's other big boy is hungry, too."

"It's the middle of the night, Matt. Delmonico's isn't open – "

But one look at his eyes told her he wasn't interested in any kind of nourishment Delmonico's could give. "Oh," she breathed, heart pumping with the unspoken invitation.

"But I'll wait my turn," he assured her, his face softening as he watched his wife and son in the closest mother child bonding nature created, staring, mesmerized as the baby latched on hungrily, the little fists clenching and unclenching in satisfaction. Losing all teasing, he breathed, "My God, Kitty. He's beautiful."

Her eyes lifted to his, filling with tears at the sheer joy of having the two men she loved the most with her. "He is, isn't he?"

Matt watched them in silence, his expression awed.

Even as her body reveled in the unique sensation of giving life to a child, it also yearned to feel again the touch of the father of that child. Doc's advice had been forgotten in the throes of passion earlier, but this time, maybe, she could heed his caution.

Nice and easy.

When she put Sam down, she'd show Matt how nice and easy she could be.

Yep. They'd be sure to go nice and easy.

She let her gaze linger appreciatively on her husband's brilliant blue eyes and wild, thick hair. She lowered it to follow the hard planes of his chest and stomach. She drifted lower over the loosely covered hips and groin.

Nice and easy, she reminded herself.

He shifted, unaware that the move left him completely bare to her view, every impressive inch of his body open to her – and only her.

Nice and easy, she tried to think.

Nice and easy.

Then, he looked up at her and smiled, that beautiful, toothy, genuine, crooked Matt Dillon smile, and her heart leaped beneath her ribs, and her loins burned in anticipation.

Nice and easy? Nope.

Doc would just have to get over it.

TBC