His nose was buried in the crook of her neck, his strong, warm arms were wrapped around her.
The taste of toasty chicory coffee and sweet confectioners' sugar from a beignet lingered on her lips from his morning kisses. Her lips were swollen from the caresses.
"We could start every day this way. We don't have to go back. We could make New Orleans our home."
"Home is Kansas," he replied gruffly against her skin.
"Nobody would think any less of you for retiring." She felt his muscles tense.
"I'm not retirin'."
She took a breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm pregnant," she boldly announced and moved his hand to her stomach. "Your son will be here in January."
"No," he rumbled, unwinding his arms from her and untangling himself from the wrinkled bedsheets. He gathered his clothing from the floor, pulling on his pants, and tugging on his leather boots. "I'm not having a son. Kitty, I won't fall for it."
He slipped his arms into his button down and stomped out of the bedroom.
She sprang out of bed and ran down the hall, colliding into him. She gripped his arm. "It's not a trick! I'm having your baby, Matt!"
"Use your painted lady tricks on some other fool. I'm not the one, Kitty," he growled and shoved her off him. He walked away, ignoring the thud of her backside landing on the pine floor as she sobbed.
"No! Matt! No! Come back! Please!"
In a cold sweat, she fell out of bed and gasped for air, twisted in the cotton.
The wind howled around the edges of the building. A million raindrops drummed the roof. Lightning sparked, splitting and dancing across the pitch-black sky. The thunder rumbled on its heels and battered her ears. She shakily stood on the third-floor balcony, copper tresses whipping her cheeks.
She placed her hand against her flat abdomen, life snug inside of her unlike the past babies that had occupied her womb. Kitty gripped the ironwork. Impulsively, she placed her high heel into the rung, heaving herself up and peering down at the rained soaked avenue below her.
His eyes widened. He lunged, closing his arms around her waist while pulling her back. He staggered. Her weight knocked the breath out of him while her sobbing flooded over him.
"Chérie," he uttered, sitting up with her as he swiped her wild, wet curls from her face.
She thrashed against him, her hands pushing against his chest. "Let go of me!" she cried.
"No, Chérie, no," he soothed and held her tightly to him. "He's not worth it. He's not."
"You don't understand."
"I do, Kathleen. I do understand," he assured.
"No, you don't, Henri!" she wailed and struggled.
"You give love like no other. You love with everything you have. You gave too much of yourself to him. He didn't deserve you," Henri told her, shielding her from the raging storm.
Her weeping intensified, rising up from the depths of her soul. She collapsed into him.
"No man deserves your giving heart, Chérie. No man," he repeated in a hum, stroking his hand down her back. "My hands won't ever be deep enough to hold all your goodness, but I'll try," Henri whispered, holding her against his chest. "Let me try. Marry me, Kathleen."
"I'm pregnant with his child," she confessed, bracing herself for his rejection. Her eyes drifted up to him. She thought she was imagining the smile settling on his lips.
"Un bébé, Kathleen," Henri blithesomely crooned and slid his hand over her middle. "I'll be the father to your child," he pledged, gently pressing his lips to her forehead. "I'll take the place of the one who won't commit to you."
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, placing her head against his collar. "But I still love him, Henri," she faintly uttered, "I still love Matt Dillon."
"Je sais, Chérie," he whispered and cradled her in his arms. "But I love you and your child. I hope someday you will grow to love me."
In the dim light of an oil lamp, he flopped into the wooden chair at the table. Another day finished.
The day had been hot, and the beer had been cold. The malty brew hadn't tasted as good without her pretty face and flirtation.
He picked up The Daily Picayune, thumbing through the pages until he found the society section of the Louisiana newspaper. He heard the door rattle and the jangle of spurs as his deputy stepped in.
"It just don't make a lick of sense, Matthew. Somebody a-comin' up to a Deputy United States Marshal like I am, squawkin' about seventeen chickens gettin' stole," Festus ranted and traveled to the wood stove for a three-day old cup of coffee.
Matt's eyes skimmed over the print of page nine.
The crowning social event of the week was the wedding of Miss Kathleen Russell to Mr. Henri Broussard on the morning of June 30th. The high social standing of the groom awakened more than an ordinary degree of interest in the occasion.
His heart sank. His eyes glazed over the words describing how the morning had been made to order, her elegant dress of cream corded silk covered with white lace, along with how the newlyweds had looked the picture of happiness. He folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the tabletop. He hoisted himself out of the chair and stalked to his desk, absentmindedly shuffling wanted flyers around. He wanted to be alone in his misery.
"Festus, why don't you forget about the chickens. Maybe go out and check the street," he suggested and fortunately masked the heartsickness in his deep-toned voice. He kept his back to his deputy.
"Already done did that, Matthew."
"Well, then, why don't you go on to bed, Festus," he spoke. His tone was heavier-handed than he'd meant it to be. He didn't want to hurt the loyal hillman's feelings. He'd done his best to cheer him up since his return to town.
Festus glanced down into his freshly poured cup of coffee. His eyes caught the creased newspaper and recognized the lettering. Doc had told him it was a newspaper from New Orleans. "Alright, Matthew," he said. He put his cup down and slowly walked to the door. "See ya in the mornin'."
"Sure, Festus."
Festus glanced at his friend. He wanted Miss Kitty to come back to Kansas. She could put the light back in Matthew's eyes.
Her deep plum tea gown was thrown onto the cherry oak bed, Japanese wisteria embroidered in soft green, lavender, and white silk peeking out from the heap of fabric.
She unfastened her corset and let it fall as she stood in front of the floor length mirror in her frilly chemise and bloomers. She pulled the delicate rose colored ribbons of the chemise loose. Her breasts seemed to have doubled in size. Her hand fell to her rounding abdomen. The swell of her belly was becoming more difficult to hide. She seemed bigger than she should be.
Her mind thought of all the omens she had ignored: a double egg yolk in her breakfast, a pair of Fox Terriers outside The Seraphine, two diamonds beautifying her wedding set, two checkerboard cakes delivered from the bakery instead of one, and last but not least, Clementine and Cerise LeBlanc at afternoon tea.
She felt lightheaded from both the notion and her condition.
Author's Note: For anyone wondering, this work has plenty more chapters to come. It won't be over for a while! I'll be updating twice a day.