Matt glanced at the napping redhead as he held the reins in his hands. She had her head on his shoulder and her hands curled around his bicep. He chuckled to himself, thinking of how she'd complained about the early hour for the first mile, eaten all the jerky by the second mile, and fallen asleep sometime during the third mile. He had two miles to run through every way his wife would react at the end of the excursion. As he listened to the sorrel nicker and snort, he guided the buggy through the stone pillars and onto the tranquil road. He felt her rub face against his sleeve.

Kitty opened her eyes and hazily took in her surroundings, noticing the cottonwoods lining the road. She took in the fabulous fall color of the leaves that shifted from shades of orange to gold. She sucked in a breath and gripped her husband's arm tighter. "Matt," her voice was faint and filled with trepidation as she recognized the property. She bit into her lip as Matt pulled the reins and stopped the buggy. She stared at the house that was built by years of hard work at the hands of Cillian and Saoirse O'Sullivan. Kitty held back tears, thinking of her last visit with the Irish widow in July. She'd been at the peak of morning sickness, but she ventured out to tend to her dear friend after she suffered a fall. She had been heartbroken when the woman passed away a month later.

Matt gave the house a fleeting glance and turned his head, setting his eyes on his wife and knowing she was thinking of the feisty old woman. He knew the first time he brought Kitty out to meet Saoirse that the pair would take to each other. He'd thought about the Widow O'Sullivan since receiving a lengthy letter from a Topeka lawyer. He hopped out of the buggy and walked to her side to lift her out. "Honey," he spoke softly, putting his hand on her knee.

She looked at him with a gloomy smile adorning her face. "I miss her, Matt. I didn't know how much until now," she confessed, rising to her feet and gripping his sturdy shoulders as his hands came to her waist.

"I know," he returned, gingerly lifting her and setting her on the ground.

Kitty stood at the stone steps. A part of her expected the widow to come out to meet her, to look over her with those sparkling deep set green eyes before drawing her into a warm embrace and leading her into the house to catch up over souchong tea and small cakes. She felt Matt's palm on the small of her back and bit into her bottom lip, staring into his eyes and silently asking for the reason they were at the estate.

Matt took a breath and pushed his Stetson further back. "It's ours, Kathleen," he informed her. He quickly slipped his arm around her as she paled and swayed, stricken from the revelation. He eased down with her as she dropped to sit on the step.

She glanced at the house over her shoulder and swallowed hard. "Ours?" she questioned. She'd wished she had paid more attention to that deed he'd handed her.

He nodded his head. "She left it all to us," he told her. He and his wife had inherited a successful horse ranch with hundreds of acres. He had spent days giving a once over to the stable, paddocks, carriage house, barn, ponds, and land.

"But us? Why? We don't deserve it, Matt."

"Kitty, you know as well I do that once Saoirse O'Sullivan set her mind it was set."

"Oh, Saoirse," she murmured and leaned into her husband. She knew that Saoirse didn't have anyone after Cillian passed away. Matt had found the man a mile from his home, thrown from his horse and pulling his battered body across the ground to get back to his wife. Matt brought Cillian to her on a travois and buried him after he surrendered to his injuries. The act had formed a decade friendship with the widow. Saoirse was forever beholden to the U.S. Marshal for getting to be with her husband in his final moments. Through the years, she learned that Cillian and Saoirse's sons and daughters were all taken too soon. "She was the first to know about the baby," she told him.

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. He had followed along with Doc to check on the woman before she died. At the time, Matt hadn't understood the widow's remorse over not being around for the upcoming year. She had also advised him to put any worries about the future at ease. Matt stood up, pulling Kitty to her feet. "It's not a dugout, Kitty. We're liable to get moved in before the winter. Might take five wagons for your things."

Kitty rolled her blue eyes and smacked him in the shoulder, following him through the grand foyer. "I can't believe it," she uttered as she passed under the curved archway and walked into the sitting room. "What about the Tollivers?" she asked of the foreman and his family that lived in a farmhouse on the property.

"Believe it, Kitty," he responded, striding over to her with a prominent grin on his lips. "Henry and Celia want to stay on." He took her hand, leading her to the staircase and explaining how Saoirse had generously provided for the Tollivers. He launched into relaying the discussion he'd had with Henry about the O'Sullivan livestock.

The redhead barely listened to him as she drifted through the house behind him. She stood at the door of the primary bedroom. "Matt," she called out to him and rested her hand on the knob. She waited for her husband to come into view. "I'll be in here," she told him, knowing he was undoubtedly itching to get to the stables filled with Quarter Horses and Irish Draughts.

He kissed her cheek and gave her a thoughtful look. "You all right, honey?"

"Mmhmm," she replied with a short nod and entered the room. She closed the door and leaned heavily against it as she surveyed the space. She found comfort in the aromas of dry parchment, amber, and tuberose.

Her eyes landed on the storage ottoman at the foot of the four-poster bed and noticed the envelope. She picked up the envelope, sitting down and running her fingers over the delicate, flowy cursive of her name. Kitty slid her fingernail along the seal and let the pages fall into her lap.

My dearest Kathleen,

You may think it strange that I should bestow such kindness upon you, but it is not strange to me. I looked on you as the granddaughter I had not been blessed to have, and it's a grandmother's right to dote on a grandchild. I insist you stop doubting if you truly deserve my gifts. Your beautiful soul merits it all. It was a cherished honor to have you in my life. Some good angel must have whispered into the heavens that I needed you.

May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. And rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

With love,

Saoirse

Kitty released the letter, letting it fall into her lap. She brushed her fingertips underneath her eyes and sat silently for several moments. She rose to her feet and smiled sadly through her tears as she noticed the candy jar the filled to the brim with peppermint sticks on the bedside table. She opened the jar and took one out, placing the candy in her mouth and thinking of the time she disregarded Doc Adam's order to stay in bed for a month.

She snuck out of town, tiptoeing past Moss Grimmick and saddling her bay gelding. Kitty could have sworn the animal sensed her destination as soon as she sat in the saddle. She squeezed her legs against the horse and set on her way. She stopped at the edge of town and knew she needed to leave to ease her hurt. She had more than a little girl's heartache and needed to be away from the men in her life. She had to go to the one woman she knew that understood her pain.

As the sun rose over the flat grassland, Kitty led her horse to the O'Sullivan barn to reward the animal with water and oats. She listened to his soft nicker and stopped, rubbing fingers down the stripe on his face and watching his ears twitch. She heard the lilt of an Irish accent and kissed his muzzle. "Thank you, Tulsa," she whispered and changed direction. Kitty tied the reins and left the gelding outside the stable reserved for foaling mares.

The older redhead heard the straw rustle and looked behind her, smiling affectionately. She looked over the young woman with knowing emerald eyes as she came to stand beside her. Saoirse wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her in close to her. "Mo Stóirín," she whispered and tenderly pressed her lips to her temple.

Kitty sunk into the comfort of Saoirse's embrace and focused on the newborn foal struggling to break free of its protective birth membranes. She knew it was foaling season but hadn't expected to witness a birth on the May morning.

"Sorcha's first," Saoirse told her in a soft voice.

She gasped in surprise as the black as night foal found freedom and took a short rest before attempting to stand.

"A filly," Saoirse announced proudly and laughed gently as the filly's back legs flung wildly. The newborn failed and rolled onto her back before righting herself. Within minutes, she found her legs, awkwardly clambering and standing shakily. "Like her Máthair," Saoirse declared, pointing to the four white socks. "Four white feet keep her to the end," she added with a wink to Henry, her right-hand man. She glanced at Kitty and saw the tears forming in her eyes. "Henry, take over, please. Mo Stóirín needs me more."

"Yes, ma'am," Henry replied, taking over and watching the women leave the stall.

Saoirse led Kitty into the house and took her into the library. She sat with her on the settee and held her as she cried into her chest. "Let it out," Saoirse insisted and kissed the crown of her head. "Let it all out, Kathleen." She bowed her head in gratitude to Celia as she brought in a pot of tea and poured two cups. She soothed the grieving redhead and let her out of the embrace as her sobbing slackened. Saoirse gave her a steaming cup of tea and stared at her considerately, thinking she appeared so much younger with a face free of paint and hair tied back with a ribbon. "I'm sorry, Kathleen."

Kitty took a sip of tea and sniffled. "I didn't tell him. I couldn't because of," she halted her words and broke into another sob.

"Last time," Saoirse determined and set her cup down, stroking the girl's arm to console her.

"But Matt…he found me. He saw," she said, a tear falling into the beverage. "There was so much blood. He saw, Saoirse." Matt stayed with her for a week and overwhelmed her with concern for her health and safety, but he wouldn't talk about their baby. She shared how Matt had thrown himself into work and had taken a prisoner to Hays for trial.

"It's his way." She opened a glass jar and took out a stick of peppermint, handing it to Kitty. "It's a man's way. A man needs a situation to control," she clarified and thought of the times her own husband had grieved the same way. "Cillian would seek out the meanest stallion to break after I miscarried."

Kitty swirled the confection in her tea and tried to diminish her sullenness. "I don't understand why Matt's," she grappled with her thoughts. "He's different. He didn't leave me be after the first loss. He held me tight when I couldn't sleep and pushed me to tell him how I felt."

Saoirse pursed her lips in contemplation and refilled her teacup. "He wasn't there that time."

The younger redhead shook her head. "No, he was after a horse thief."

She took Kitty's hand. "That first was yours. You were without him. You and him shared the second. He's reconciling his heart. It doesn't mean he loves you any less, Kathleen."

"Saoirse," she objected and set her tea aside. "Matt blames me," she whispered and twisted her wedding ring on her finger. "Maybe he should. I can't carry a baby."

"No," she spoke, tone firm with conviction. "You're not to blame. Not at all. He doesn't blame you. He doesn't want to burden you with his sorrow. He's searching for answers on the prairie…trying to figure the best way to mourn with you," she finished and patted her slender hand. "He'll come to you."

Kitty burrowed into the older woman's side and put her head on her shoulder, weighing Saoirse's wisdom. She let out a shuddering breath. "I don't believe I'll ever carry a," she abruptly stopped as Saoirse lightly slapped her wrist.

"Kathleen, you will. I felt the same way after losing my first three babies, but I had two sons and two daughters."

She sucked in a breath and lifted her head, staring at the woman with wide, shocked eyes. Matt told her the Widow O'Sullivan had no children. She knew she'd suffered miscarriages because of how Saoirse helped her through her first loss, but she never prodded more into the woman's history. "Saoirse, I-I had no idea," she admitted.

"I know," she said and tucked a curl behind Kitty's ear. "The ones old enough to remember my children are few and far between," she supplied, thinking there was less than a handful of Ford County residents that knew her children even Galen Adams wasn't one of those few.

"Tell me about them," Kitty requested and swiped a tear rolling down her cheek. "Le do thoil," she spoke sluggishly since she hadn't spoken the language since Christmas. She'd asked Saoirse to teach her several phrases.

Saoirse's lips curved into a pleased smile at the girl's use of her native tongue. She picked up her cup and finished off the remaining souchong blend, setting it down and taking a deep breath. "Ronan was the oldest. He was Cillian's twin in every way. A fever took him when he was five. Seventeen-year-old boys live to prove themselves to their fathers. Cillian had a stallion. I'd never seen an animal with such rage and hatred. Cillian had broken ribs from his efforts at taming the beast. Niall tried." Her voice caught in her throat, remembering how she held her son as he took his last breath. She felt Kitty's fingers lace in between hers and squeezed her fingers. "Aoibheann…she had my hair and eyes. She married when she was nineteen and died on the journey to California. And Róisín, my little rose, was three when influenza took her. She had the bluest eyes. You remind me of Róisín, Kathleen."

Kitty wiped at her eyes and hugged the older woman. She couldn't imagine surviving the losses. She wished she was as strong as Saoirse and embraced her tighter, hoping her fortitude and courage would infuse into every fiber of herself. Kitty bit into her bottom lip as Saoirse let her go. "Saoirse, how did you do it? How?"

"An rud is annamh is iontach," she spoke the proverb and raised a brow, knowing Kitty was trying to interpret it herself. "What is seldom is wonderful," she translated and tilted her auburn head. She spoke slower as Kitty repeated the words with her.

Kitty silently repeated the words, folding her hands in her lap and picking at her cuticle. "I don't want to try again."

"I know you don't. Kathleen, you still want the baby you'll never have. You always will, but you'll find the strength to overcome your fear."

"I don't want to take the risk of losing another baby."

Saoirse laughed softly. "Kathleen, you are a risk taker. You fell in love with Matthew Dillon," she replied. She stood and walked to the desk in front of the window. "You are stronger than you know, Kathleen. You'll stop fighting the idea of opening your heart, and you will decide the joy that another child will bring will outweigh the challenges of another heartbreak."

Kitty doubted her friend's words and startled as the dog bounded into the room. She patted the pup's head and stroked her fingers through his rich red, silky coat. "Hi Murphy," she greeted the Irish setter until Saoirse instructed him to sit.

"Tar anseo," Saoirse directed and opened a drawer, removing stationery. She waited for the younger redhead to sit at the desk and handed her a fountain pen and ink well. "Write a letter to your babies, Mo Stóirín," she sagely advised.

"What?"

"It'll help you heal. Trust me, Kathleen," she implored and squeezed her shoulder. "When you've finished, we'll have breakfast, and you'll stay for however long you need," Saoirse told her, bending and kissing her head. "What's mine is yours," she added, drifting out of the library and leaving Kitty to let her heart bleed on notepaper.

Kitty heard his voice, summoning her out of reminiscences. She rested her hand over the rounded swell of her abdomen and gazed up at him. She took her husband's offered hand, grateful that he didn't utter a word to her as they left the house occupied with long-ago memories but ready for new ones to be created.


Henry Tolliver shielded his eyes from the sun and grinned at the couple approaching him. The middle-aged man had spent most of his morning with the lawman, but he hadn't seen the redhead since the spring. He took off his Stetson, raking his fingers through his sandy brown hair and beaming at her. "Mrs. Dillon," he addressed.

Kitty blushed as she held onto her husband's arm. "Henry, you don't have to call me that," she responded and walked to the black wooden fence surrounding the paddock.

"I reckon you don't hear it enough," Henry said, putting his hat back on.

Matt knew a smirk was gracing his wife's lips as she surveyed the paddock. He cleared his throat and adjusted his hat on his head, shooting the older man a cautionary look.

"But I've heard the secret's out."

"You did, huh?" Matt inquired and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his vest.

"Last time I was in town."

Kitty rolled her blue eyes. "The Dodge gossip mill," she unpleasantly presumed, startling as a wet nose pushed against her hand. Her lips curved into a smile at the sight of the Irish setter. "Hi Murphy," she addressed and patted the top of his head. She squinted in the sunlight and spotted a horse and rider in the distance. Her eyes immediately noticed the four white socks on the horse. She glanced back at Henry. "Henry, is that Sorcha or Raven?"

He nodded. "That's Raven."

"Raven?" Matt questioned and took a few strides, standing next to his wife. He propped his arms on the top rail and bumped his hip against hers.

Henry pointed to the horse. "Miss Kitty saw her born and named her. Turned three in June."

"Three, huh?" Matt mumbled, solemnly dipping his head and slipping his arm around his wife's waist to give her a comforting squeeze. He still held a few regrets with how he handled that time in their lives, but he couldn't change it. He felt her lips brush against his cheek and looked at her. Her forgiving, gentle eyes caused him to focus on the present moment.

"Raven looks like Sorcha except for a white star," she explained and glanced back at Henry. "Is that Charlie or Jesse riding her?"

"Charlie. Charlie's put a lot of time in with that horse."

"I'm glad," Kitty replied. "She's fourteen now?"

"Almost," he answered. "Celia doesn't like when I say Charlotte's thirteen going on thirty."

Kitty laughed, remembering how she thought she knew it all when she was that age. "When does she turn fourteen?" she inquired.

"November," Henry answered.

Kitty nodded and turned her head, hearing the exuberant shout of her name. "Charlie!" Kitty yelled back to the youth with the same amount of excitement. She watched her slide off the horse and run towards her.

"I can't believe it!" she yelled, throwing her arms around the woman and hugging her tightly. "Oh, it's true! You're having a baby! I asked Ma when you'd be coming back. She wasn't sure, but she knew since she let me stay home from school," she briefly paused to take a breath since she was talking rapidly. "Are you staying? Please tell me you're staying."

Kitty bit her lip, glancing at her husband and focusing her attention back on the girl gripping her hands. She met the pleading brown eyes of the brunette. "Charlie, well, we," she paused. She and Matt hadn't discussed any plans.

Henry caught the uncertain expression on Kitty's features and came to stand beside his daughter. "Charlotte Rose, let Miss Kitty breathe."

Matt dropped his hand on the girl's shoulder as she reluctantly stepped away from his wife. "Hopefully, we'll be moving in soon, Charlie. You could help Kitty fill the closets with her dresses."

Her eyes widened at the prospect of handling all the redhead's extravagant clothing. She tilted her head and stared at Kitty with an optimistic gleam sparkling in her eyes. "And try a few on?"

Kitty laughed and hugged the girl to her. "Of course," she assured and kissed her head. "I'll do your hair if you want."

"Oh, please! Oh, I nearly forgot!" Charlotte spun around, unaware her thick braid nearly hit the redhead's nose and faced Matt. "Marshal Dillon, Ma told me to deliver a message to you."

"I'm all ears, Charlie," he told her and wondered if she drank coffee or if her energy was all natural.

"You and Miss Kitty are staying for supper. Roast pork, greens, cornbread, and pie. Jesse's gonna help her," she added with a giggle.

"He is?" Matt asked, resting his hands on the front of his belt and looking down at the girl. He couldn't imagine Jesse Tolliver, Charlotte's twin brother, staying indoors much less helping his mother in the kitchen.

"Pa you didn't tell him?" she quicky looked at her father then to the lawman towering over her like a mountain. "He broke his arm two weeks ago. Fell out of a tree I told him not to climb. He was loading the wagon when I left the house. Ma's not taking no for an answer about supper."

Kitty stopped rubbing the star on Raven's forehead and cocked a brow at her husband, assuming he'd disappoint Charlotte with his tried-and-true reasoning of getting back to Dodge City to uphold law and order. Her mouth fell open as he accepted the invitation and informed the Tollivers that Quint could handle the town for the night.


She shivered and cursed her husband for pilfering one of her summer nightgowns for the unexpected getaway. Kitty rubbed her bare arms as she reviewed the contents of the armoire. Her sapphire eyes detected a burgundy velvet robe. She pulled the garment from the hanger and slipped into it, admiring the flowing fabric and flared sleeves on her figure. "That'll do just fine," she thought aloud and moved to the vanity table, sitting down and picking up a hairbrush. She raised a brow at the noise of two sets of boots coming towards the door.

"Kitty, you decent?" her husband asked loudly from the other side of the door.

"Yeah," she answered and wondered who could be with Matt. She watched him walk in with Ben Tolliver trailing behind him. The Irish setter darted past both men and came straight to her. "Hello, Ben. We missed you at dinner," she stated.

The eighteen-year-old smiled at her and unloaded the firewood in his arms. "Pa's told me I should have been at dinner instead of being a lovestruck fool and getting a shotgun jammed into my stomach," he moaned, placing each piece of wood into the log rack next to the fireplace.

Kitty dropped the brush and looked at Ben with concern. "What?"

Matt knelt down and began the task of getting a fire started. "Ben took his girl for a moonlit picnic and got caught by her father when he took her home."

"Who?" Kitty asked. Her curiosity was piqued. "Ben, who's your girl?"

"Nancy Creed," he answered.

"Jake's daughter? Ben, he's the meanest man in the whole county. You're lucky he didn't shoot you!"

"He wanted to. That's what he said he'd do the next time. I didn't get the chance to ask her to the barn dance," he woefully announced.

Kitty glimpsed at her husband and drew in a breath to gather her thoughts as she set her eyes on the blonde. "Ben, do you love her?"

"She's the one I want to settle down with. I know I'm young, but she's the one, Miss Kit—Mrs. Dillon," he corrected. "I wanted to ask her to marry me after the dance."

Matt looked up from heaping kindling in-between two logs. He knew his wife would be downright committed to helping Ben after that admission. He shook his head and thought about telling the young man to wait until he had his own roof over his head and land before proposing, but he hadn't that either when he married Kitty. He snatched the newspaper out of Murphy's mouth and started ripping it into strips.

"What are you gonna do? How are you gonna see her? You sure can't go out there," Kitty said. She hated to think of the boy's life being cut short by Jake Creed for simply being in love with his daughter.

"No, but I can get word to her."

"You plan on having her slip out and meet you some place," she assumed.

"If I can find a safe place."

"Well, I know the place," Kitty professed, stealing a glance at her husband as he lit a match. "Jake couldn't do anything even if he caught you."

"Where?"

"Out back of the Marshal's office," Kitty supplied and pointed to Matt.

"What?" Matt snapped and almost burned his finger. He tossed the match and stared at her in disbelief over involving him and his office.

"Well, it's the safest place in town," his wife asserted and slipped off the chair.

"Now, just a minute, Kitty," Matt rebuked as the fire started burning and stood to his full height, dusting his hands off on his pants.

"Now, hold on Matt," she cautioned, stepping towards him and staring at him critically. Kitty was content that he wouldn't debate her and focused her attention on Ben. "You get word to Nancy to meet you there tomorrow night," she paused and pushed her finger into her husband's chest, "and you make sure that you're in the office just in case Jake does show up," she finished, satisfied with her plan.

Ben couldn't miss the apprehensive look on Matt's face. He thought he could have sensed the uneasiness from a mile away. "Nevermind, Marshal. I'll find some other place."

Matt recognized the determined glint in his wife's eyes. He didn't care to argue with her for the rest of the night. He pushed his worries to the back of his mind. "No, no," he yielded and waved his hand. "It's alright, Ben. Kitty's probably right. It is the safest place for Nancy. No tellin' what Jake might do if he caught her. I'll make sure nothing happens, and you ask her to that dance."

"Well, it's all settled then," Kitty decided with a bright smile. "Now, you go on home, Ben."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you both!" he said quickly and exited the room.

Matt shook his head and gave his wife a look as he stared down at her. "Kathleen."

"Oh, don't Kathleen me, Matt. If we weren't helping them, they'd find some other way. This is the safest," she told him and reclaimed her spot at the vanity table to finish brushing her hair. She worked out a knot in her curls as he heavily dropped onto the bed and yanked off his boots. "Matt."

He glanced at her, standing and unbuckling his belt.

"You haven't asked me to the dance."

"What?" he croaked out, dropping his belt and swearing as the buckle landed on his toe.

"Oh, you didn't think you had to ask because I'm your wife," she uttered.

He unfastened the buttons of his shirt, strolling over to the chair and standing behind her. He wanted to kiss the smirk off her lips. "Mrs. Dillon, I'd be honored if you'd allow me to take you to the barn dance in three weeks."

"I'll think about it," Kitty chided and stood, turning to softly kiss him. "Hurry up and get into bed. I'm still a little cold and need warming up," she added with a coquettish flutter of her lashes and drifted to the four-poster king-sized bed, pulling back the covers and slipping under them after discarding the wrap. She watched him strip down to his union suit and head back to the fire place to add more seasoned hardwood. Kitty didn't mind Murphy launching himself onto the mattress. She stroked her fingers through the long, silky hair of his ears, chuckling softly as the dog jerked his head from her middle and stared at her. "It's all right, Murphy," she told him, smiling as he pushed his snout into her belly gently, sniffed, and put his head back down. "Maith an buachaill," Kitty whispered and hoped she hadn't butchered telling the dog that he was a good boy. She glanced at Matt as he stood at the end of the bed.

"He looks mighty comfortable," he caustically noted.

"He is," Kitty replied, laughing as Murphy stretched and put his front leg over her. "I think he's missed sleeping with a redhead. Saoirse let him sleep with her."

"Murphy, I'm not sharing my wife or my bed with you," Matt said decisively.

"He's not hurting anything, Matt," Kitty assured and scratched the top of Murphy's head.

Matt rolled his eyes. His wife was always a soft touch. It was one of the things he loved about her, but sometimes he didn't care for it. He narrowed his eyes on the Irish setter. "Get," he directed, looking sullen when the dog didn't move a muscle. "Get," he repeated.

She smirked as the dog yawned and cuddled closer to her. Murphy was unbothered by the intimidation. "Matt," she began, rolling her eyes as Matt gave her an unpleasant look.

"I can handle a dog, Kathleen."

"Suit yourself," she muttered, listening to his unsuccessful attempts to get the Irish setter out of bed. She glanced at her husband as he stepped closer. Murphy surprised her, sitting up and focusing his attention on Matt. Kitty shook her head as Matt widened his stance and fixated on his opponent. She'd seen that plenty of times before he threw a drunken cowboy out of her saloon. She heard the low rumble of irritated growls from her bed companion. "Stad," she uttered. "Murphy, síos leat!" she commanded and smiled, pleased with herself as he jumped out of bed, stretched, and flopped in front of the crackling fire.

Matt looked over his shoulder, turning his head to stare slack jawed at his wife.

"I tried to tell you. You weren't speakin' his language."

"I'm gonna have to learn Irish," Matt grumbled and stripped out of his union suit, eyeing the canine.

"Who said I'd teach you?" Kitty joked, giggling madly as her husband dove into bed and grabbed her to him. His fingers tickled her sides, and she pushed against him. "Okay. Okay. I'll teach you. Stop tickling!" she screeched through her laughter and scooted away from him. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and fluffed her pillow. "I suppose I'll teach you a little Irish, and Celia'll teach me a little cooking."

"Kitty, I don't want the house burned down before we move into it," he teased and pulled the blankets over him.

She socked him in his chest. "Matthew," she warned.

"I didn't marry you because you could cook."

"I know you didn't," she replied haughtily. "It was for all my other qualities."

"You got that right," he murmured, staring at her lips as he inched his body close to hers. He climbed over her, supporting himself with his arms and hovering over her. "What do you say we see how sturdy this bed was made?" His lips brushed against hers as his hand slid down to lift the hem of her nightgown. Matt concentrated on making flirtatious circles on the inside of her thigh. He grinned as she gently nodded her head. He pressed his lips against hers, kissing her deeply before disappearing under the covers.


Author's Note: I have to thank AZGirl66 for pushing me to share a special memory of a conversation between Kitty and Saoirse O'Sullivan. I borrowed inspiration from Ben Tolliver's Stud, S6.E11.