He held her, wishing she would open her eyes. He longed to see that distinct sparkle in the blue only meant for him. He wanted to hear her effervescent laugh that always sparked delight in him. He'd been too late. He hadn't been there in time to stop the bullet. His hands trembled as he touched her face and looked over her lifeless form, scarlet stains spattering over the intricate embellishment of her dress. He buried his face into her and inhaled the scent of her perfume, replacing the coppery, metallic smell of the blood and the gunpowder remaining in the air. He cried out and sobbed as he held his wife.

"Matt, honey," she spoke, voice level and consolatory as he startled out of his nightmare. "It's a dream. Just a dream," Kitty soothed and put her hand on his chest, feeling the anxious thudding of his heart. She pressed her lips against the cold sweat on his brow and smiled softly as the distress in his eyes lessened. She rested against the headboard as he sat up, curling into her and resting his head on her chest. "Just a dream," she repeated softly and threaded her fingers through his damp curls.

Matt sluggishly returned to reality. His eyes oriented to the room. He blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and let his tense muscles relax, realizing he was far from the scene of his nightmare. He closed his eyes and listened to the steady beating of her heart.

"You wanna tell me about it," she entreated in a whisper.

"You were," he quieted, toying with the cotton lace trim on the sleeve of her nightgown. "I didn't get there in time, Kitty. I couldn't stop her from," he broke off.

"Matt, you did stop her. I'm still here, honey," she assured and kissed his head. "I love you," she murmured as he slanted his head upwards. "Kiss me until it's out of your mind, Cowboy."

"I love you," he returned and sat up, keeping his eyes fixed on hers and smiling at the vivacity in her stunning orbs. He didn't hesitate. His mouth was on hers, caressing her lips in a deliberate, tender kiss. His hands came up to hold her face as he tasted every inch of her mouth in deep kisses for long, precious minutes.

She pulled away to catch her breath. "I know what you need," Kitty told him.

"You do?"

"Mmhmm," she crooned and slipped out of bed, padding barefoot to the liquor cart. Kitty took the stopper off the crystal decanter, pouring a generous measure of brandy into the glass. She nearly spilled the spirit as Matt's arms circled around her.

"Not what I had in mind, Kathleen," he said faintly, brushing his lips along her neck. He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear and grinned as she shivered. Matt knew the places to get sure fire results. He explored her neck with his tongue, offering a quick nibble here and quick swipe there. He added a gentle suck to put her over the edge.

"Matt," Kitty stammered and gripped the edge of the bar cart. She groaned as he squeezed her hips and turned in his embrace. She offered him the glass and watched him leisurely drink to savor the flavors.

He licked his lips and concentrated on the rise and fall of her chest. Matt finished and set the short-stemmed glass down. His breath caught as Kitty leaned in and sucked a droplet of the napoleon brandy off his bottom lip. He moved to scoop her into his arms.

"Your stitches," she reminded. Her fingertips gingerly ran over the healing gunshot wound on his bicep. She hated to think of the bellyaching Doc would do if he had to close the laceration a third time. The stitches hadn't held after Matt picked her up and carried her up to her rooms when she fainted days ago.

"What Doc doesn't know won't hurt him," Matt said. "He did say he didn't want to see us for a week or two," he added. He was grateful the man had prescribed a holiday. For once, the lawman hadn't locked horns with the ornery physician.

"I'm not sewing you up," she countered and swept past him, sauntering to the king-sized bed and discarding her nightdress on the way. She stepped out of the puddle of cotton and lace, staring at him over her shoulder. She knew his eyes were raking over her and appreciating every curve. "You coming, Cowboy?" she asked.

Matt dipped his head, dizzy from the brandy and the sight of her illuminated by the firelight. He stalked towards her and grunted in surprise as she shoved him onto the mattress. He propped himself on his elbows and bit his lip, watching her gracefully climb onto him. He lifted his hips as she tugged down his underwear and unceremoniously tossed it behind her.

She straddled him and leaned over, running her tongue along his collarbone. Kitty moved down to his nipples and sucked the tender flesh into her mouth, feeling his hand tangle in her hair as the other cupped her breast. She teasingly rocked against him. She heard her name escape from him and laid a palm on his chest, shifting her body and joining with him in a well-practiced move. Kitty concentrated on the familiar feel of him as she gently rocked her hips.

"Kitty," he ground out. Her slow pace was driving him insane. He pulled her to him, roughly nipping her breast and thrusting up into her fiercely. He groaned as her thighs squeezed him in reprimand and felt the sting of her sharp pinch to his nipple. Matt slammed the back of his into the pillow. "Kathleen," he growled. "You're," he quieted as she kissed him.

"I know," she whispered, smirk curling on her warm lips as she looked down at his rugged face. She was torturing herself as much as she was torturing him.

"Please."

His plea struck her to her core. She grinded against him and increased her rhythm to match his need. She felt his body hum underneath her as he matched her cadence. He gave himself over to her completely.

His fingers gripped her ribs and moved down to her hips. He stared at her beautifully flushed face, her parted lips, and heat flaring in her eyes. Matt let every wretched thought disappear from his mind. He focused on the sensation of her rocking against him and her muscles tightening in the same moment as his. Her rasping, short breaths signaled that she was close. He shifted slightly and felt her weight change with him. His gasps turned into moans as he tumbled over the edge with her. He pulled her head down to him and kissed her with a whimper, hating losing the deeper connection between them as she slipped off.

Kitty pressed her body against him, clinging to him and pressing her lips against his jaw. She placed her head on his chest and ran her hand up his hard, muscular torso. "I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep, honey," she said softly and pulled the blankets up as his arms pulled her closer to him.

Kitty took a sip of the hot cinnamon spice tea and set the cup down. She released a content sigh. She thought she'd miss the hustle and bustle of Dodge, but she hadn't so far. The redhead couldn't put into words the peace she felt at her new home. She loved the quiet, uninterrupted mornings with her spouse and her lazy afternoons reading on the sun porch. She turned a page in the book and bit her thumb nail as her eyes scanned over the writing, stretching her legs and propping her feet on the wicker ottoman. She took another sip of tea and cursed under her breath as the afternoon breeze disturbed her place in the book. Kitty heard his boots coming up the steps, and she lifted her head from the pages.

Her warmhearted smile welcomed him to the porch. He opened the door and walked to her, bending and kissing her forehead. Matt stepped over her legs and flopped onto the sofa beside her. "What are you reading?" he inquired and wondered if she'd finished Great Expectations. He took off his hat and raked his hand through his disheveled mop.

She lifted the book and shyly showed him the front cover.

He lifted a brow. "A name meaning book?"

"Unless you think it's too soon to—"

Matt shook his head. "It's not, Kitty," he told her and stretched his long arm out behind her, smiling as she nestled into his side. "Not too soon at all."

"Well, I figure if we have a son that he'll be named after you."

"No."

"No? No little Matthew?" she questioned, eyebrows crinkling in puzzlement. She smoothed her hand over her swollen belly and thought there wouldn't be anything little about the baby considering how much she'd grown in the last couple of weeks.

"Kitty, he'll have a hard enough time being the son of a U.S. Marshal. I don't want him thinking he has to live up to my name. Let him have his own."

She bowed her head in understanding and bit her lip. "I like the way Spencer Dillon sounds," she disclosed, smiling as he mouthed the name and nodded in agreement. A middle name popped into her mind, and she let the potential full name roll off her tongue, saying it aloud for the first time.

"Galen?" Matt squawked, brows furrowing. "Where'd that come from?"

She pushed herself off him and peered at her baffled husband. "Matt, you're joking," she determined. He had to be jesting.

He shook his head. "Did you get Galen from that book?" he asked and took it out of her hands, aimlessly flipping through pages.

"It's Doc's name!" she cried.

"What? Galen. Galen Adams." He chuckled, scowling as she smacked his arm.

"Hush. No one laughs at your name."

"Well, yeah," Matt drawled. "I'm not named Galen," he retorted and caught her hand before she could swat him a second time.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp and snatched the thick book back from him, setting it in her lap. "Spencer Galen is a no," she huffed, shooting him a dirty look. "Spencer Jameson?"

"Like the whiskey?" he questioned, snickering at her sheepish expression.

"It was involved in the conception," she admitted as her cheeks reddened. "Maybe."

He kissed her auburn hair and let his arms fall around her shoulders, glimpsing at the current page of the hardback.

"What do you like?" she asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and speculating if she liked the mischievous, crooked grin covering his mouth.

"Amos. Newton. Oh, Seymour. Ow, Kitty," he muttered and rubbed his assaulted forearm.

Kitty rolled her eyes, realizing he was choosing names to get a rise out of her. She pinched him with every dreadful suggestion for their unborn child.

"Calvin," he said, thinking he needed to stop soon before he had an ugly bruise from her assaults.

She shook her head. "No, Matt. Calvin means little bald one," she informed him, thinking of the schoolboy she knew in New Orleans that was teased incessantly for that.

"Aren't babies bald?"

"Be serious," she pleaded, growing tired of his conduct.

"Hezekiah. That's in the Bible," he said and patted her belly. "Hezekiah Dillon."

She slammed the book closed and stood to her feet, glaring as he pulled her back down next to him. "Matt, if you can't be serious," she warned.

"I'll be serious," Matt promised. "Do you know how pretty you are when you're mad?" He ducked his head as she glowered at his ill-timed compliment. "Forgive me, honey," he implored and kissed her temple. "You like Spencer. I like Spencer. How about Spencer Matthew?"

She smiled at him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured gratefully. "Now, if it's a girl," she paused and beamed as he uttered Saoirse in unison with her. "Do you know what it means?"

"I don't, Kitty," he stated, taking the book from her since they had settled on names. He set it aside as she cuddled into him.

"Freedom," she disclosed and gazed up at him through her lashes.

He smiled softly and thought of the woman his future daughter would be named after. He imagined a headstrong daughter with her mother's auburn waves and azure eyes. Matt wondered if he'd be able to handle a girl.

Kitty picked up her tea and stared at him over the rim of the teacup as she drank, studying him considerately. She tapped his cheek to break him out of his thoughts. "Is big, tough Matt Dillon doubting if he can raise a sweet, little girl?"

"If she's like you, I'm in trouble," he joked, but he was partly serious. He could count on one hand the times he'd been unbreakable when it came to his beloved redhead. All it took was a look with those big, blue eyes, and he more often than not crumbled to her wishes. He felt like he'd be worse with a daughter. He knew he'd be wrapped around that tiny finger in an instant.

She simpered and put her empty teacup down. "A girl can be an awful handful if you use too tight a rein."

"What are you talking about, girls or colts?"

Kitty sighed. He was in a mood to rile her, but she decided not to indulge him. She pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Colts, Matt," she answered sarcastically.

"Thought so," he replied with a wink. He chewed the inside of his cheek and smoothed his hand over her middle, feeling a punch. "Kitty, I'd like her to have someone else's name too," he whispered.

"All right."

He wiped his hand on his thigh and shifted in his seat. He didn't know what his wife's reaction would be. "Alana," he faintly spoke his departed younger sister's name. She was born the spring before his sixth birthday and died hours later. He remembered holding her, tiny and innocent with rosy, chubby cheeks and the weakest cry he'd ever heard from an infant.

"Oh, Matt," she rasped as her heart tightened in her chest at the mention. She held his hand and laced her fingers with his. "Of course, we can name her after your sister."

"She didn't live long, but I think she'd like to have her niece named after her."

Kitty nodded quickly and felt tears pooling in her eyes. "Alana Saoirse is perfect," she whispered and stroked his hair.

He was to the brink of insanity. Doc Adams tugged his ear in annoyance at his companion and was relieved to see the cottonwood lined road. He wanted to put the horses into high gear, but he thought better of it considering how the wagon was loaded. He glared at his sidekick as he began singing. "If I hear you sing about geese one more time, I swear I'll," he cut through the chorus and steered the wagon towards the house.

"You'll what, Doc? What'll you'll do, you old scudder? You ain't gonna do nary a thing. You all hot air and ornery and," he hesitated and searched for another adjective. He frowned as his mind drew a blank, blowing out an agitated puff of air.

"And what?" Doc questioned and raised a wooly brow. "What else am I?"

"Nothin'. I don't even know why I come out here with ya," he muttered under his breath. He could be in the Long Branch and enjoying a cold beer. Festus blustered as he craved a beer he couldn't afford. He'd missed sweet talking a certain saloon proprietor into free drinks.

"I don't know either," Doc returned sharply. The trip to the ranch would have been more peaceful without the hillman's yapping and singing. As soon as Festus found out about Doc's plans, he had done everything in his power to tag along.

"Doc," Festus spoke and sounded serious. "Think Matthew and Miss Kitty's missed us?"

"Festus, it's been a little over a week."

"I know that, but you reckon they have? I bet ole Matthew's itchin' to get back to lawin'," he proclaimed.

"Ole Matthew will get back when he wants to get back," Doc said firmly. "And I don't know about you, but I'm sure they've missed me."

Festus huffed and shook his head. "You get me so mad. I could just smoke a pickle!"

The young brunette crossed her arms, leaning against the column on the porch and listening to the two men squabbling. Charlotte shook her head in amusement. "I think there's a few folks around that didn't hear you."

"Howdy, Charlie!" Festus hollered and hopped out of the wagon. "How are ya?"

"Fair to middlin'," she answered and leapt off the steps, bounding to the wagon. The girl greeted Doc Adams and tilted her head as he whispered to her. "Doc, she's fine. I've been helping her move Widow O'Sullivan's things to the attic most of the mornin'," Charlotte divulged.

Doc scratched his cheek and grumbled under his breath. "I told Kitty to rest."

"She has, Doc. Miss Kitty's rested. Honest," Charlie defended her auburn-haired friend. "I didn't let her carry anything heavier than a petticoat. Ma told me to help her even if she didn't want my help."

"Good," Doc said and patted the girl's hand. "I appreciate you helping Kitty, Charlotte."

"No trouble, Doc," she replied as she turned her head at the noise of Festus tripping over a package in the wagon. "What's that?"

Festus recovered his footing and kicked the offending bundle out of his path. "Oh, it's a rockin' mule," he announced proudly as the girl pointed at his creation. "I made it for the little fella."

"Festus, what if the baby isn't a little fella?" Kitty inquired as she descended the stone steps and adjusted the lambswool shawl she'd found among Saoirse's things on her shoulders. She winked at Charlotte and shielded her eyes from the sun to get a better view of the rocking mule.

"Well, Miss Kitty, I reckon a girl fella can use it too," Festus responded and pulled the rocking mule from the wagon. "Grump head thinks it's the silliest thing he's ever saw."

Doc ignored the comment and stared at Kitty, silently evaluating her. He knew the time away had done her a world of good just like he'd thought. He could tell she'd put on a few much-needed pounds. He was certain he could thank Celia Tolliver for making sure Kitty ate decent meals throughout the day. He swiped his hand over his mustache to cover his pleased as punch grin. Doc thanked Charlotte as she picked up a few parcels to take into the house.

Kitty shot Doc a look and examined the hillman's handiwork. "It's not silly at all," she remarked, touching the leather ears and noticing the piece of rope used for the tail. She was impressed by his thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Festus. I love it, and I'm sure the baby will too," she told him sincerely. "You can take it inside if you don't mind."

"I don't mind at all, Miss Kitty," he replied.

She stepped closer to Festus. "Festus, I didn't ever thank you for agreeing to be Matt's deputy," she whispered and rose on her toes, planting a kiss on his cheek. She noticed how he puffed out his chest after the smooch.

He blushed and bashfully grinned. "It ain't no trouble at all bein' Matthew's deputy, Miss Kitty," he said and carried the rocking mule inside. "Howdy, Matthew," he greeted as he entered the foyer. "I made a rockin' mule for the little one," he informed and sat down on the wooden log, rocking and showing off his work.

"Well, that's fine, Festus," Matt praised and surveyed the design. He glanced at Doc as he came in with Kitty and Charlotte. "Kitty, what is all that?" he asked and attempted to count all the different sized packages.

"Baby things," she answered simply and walked up the stairs with Charlotte.

Matt creased his brow and wondered what all one baby could need. He assumed his wife went overboard with the order she'd placed. He glanced at Doc. "We can go into the library," he told him. He was more than ready for the stitches in his arm to be removed. Kitty had stopped him several times from doing it himself.

Festus leapt from the toy mule, picked it up, and followed the pair into the library. He perused the shelves and wandered over to Doc, peeking in the medical bag. "Matthew, I sure hope it's a boy."

Doc slapped Festus' hand as he stuck it into the black leather bag. "Not very much you can do about it," Doc grumbled as he set his tools out and gestured for Matt to sit. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the woodwork, wondering if Festus would carry it into every room of the house he wandered into.

He rubbed his slapped hand and scowled at Doc. "Well, if you use Aunt Tory's test, you can tell."

"What's that?" Matt asked as he sat down and unbuttoned his shirt, slipping his arm out. His curiosity got the better of him. He didn't know if Aunt Tory's test worked, but he knew Festus' rambling would take his mind off the tugging and pulling Doc was about to do to him. He grimaced as Doc began the task.

"Well, what you do Matthew, you see you get you a big, long piece of string like that," he explained and used his hands to measure the appropriate length of string, "then you tie Miss Kitty's wedding band to it. See? Then you have Miss Kitty lay down flat and then you hold it up over her belly. If it swings, clockerwise, well, then, she's gonna have a girl. But if it swings contrary-clockerwise, then it's gonna be a boy," he finished.

Doc rubbed his hand over his face and stared at his patient. He couldn't believe Matt was considering trying Aunt Tory's silly test. He listened to the marshal grill Festus about what had happened in town during his absence.

"A few ruckuses, Matthew. Wasn't nothin' to 'em," Festus assured, hooking his thumbs into his vest pockets as he wandered around the library. He stopped in front of a tapestry hanging on the wall. His eyes went wide as he took in the imagery of lions and boars.

Doc squinted and removed a stubborn stitch, glancing at Festus. He figured the Irish family crest would keep him occupied for a substantial amount of time. "It's been peaceful, Matt. Most of the ruckuses," he imitated the hillman, "have been between Festus and Quint," he told him and saw the relief in the marshal's features as he confirmed the shortage of law-breaking. He considered bringing up the subject of retirement with the lawman. In all his years of knowing Matt Dillon, he'd never seen him so stress-free and comfortable. He wasn't feeling the heft of the badge in the security of the inherited ranch, and he didn't seem like he was chomping at the bit to resume his duties.

Matt grunted and shifted in his seat as Doc wrenched the strand from his skin. "Take it easy, Galen."

Doc halted in his services and narrowed his spectacled blue eyes at the younger man. His mouth creased in an infuriated line. "How in thunder," he groused.

"Matthew, when ya comin' back to town?" Festus asked and slanted his head in an effort to magically make him understand the script along the bottom of the wall-hanging. "Who's Galen? Is that somebody on this here picture?"

"Oh, it's a name that Kitty wanted to use if the baby's a boy," Matt supplied.

Doc's lips turned up at the corners at the admission. The information overwhelmed him. Kitty wanted to name her child after him. The act pinged at every corner of his grouchy heart. He cleared his throat and felt his eyes watering as he pulled the last stitch out. He turned away from Matt and listened to him tell Festus that he'd back in the office in a week or so. Doc pushed the notion of broaching retirement to the back of his mind. He wouldn't ruin the day.