More 'Man In the Moon' dialogue that I don't own.

San Francisco

She couldn't sleep, and hadn't for the last few nights, but was it any wonder.

She had been part of the most…outrageous conversation she had ever thought her mother capable of engaging in. Tales had been told of blood and pain, where she might like her future husband to touch her, where she might touch him and what would happen at, what her mother called, the crucial moment. For the most part she had sat, agog, listening to the words tripping from her mother's tongue, wondering if she were in fact dreaming the entire encounter. It was only afterwards, as she had sat at the dinner table, the usual noise and banter echoing around her that she realised it had all really happened. Her mother smiled at her occasionally, a different sort of smile from usual, as though they had reached a new understanding about life. She was sure that it was meant to make her feel more confident about her upcoming nuptials, but if anything, it simply made her more discomfited.

She was due to meet Thomas the following evening for dinner and part of her wasn't entirely sure that she would be able to look him in the eye. There were so many questions rattling around inside her brain. What would he expect her to do? What would she want him to do in return? How would she feel lying in bed beside him? What if he was rough with her? It amazed her to think that every married woman she had ever encountered in her life knew of such things. The thought of someone like Regina Winters…

It wasn't that she was a prude, nor that in thirty years of life, in the dead of night, she hadn't been able to find some pleasure in her own body, but the conversation had very much brought home to her the realities of life. She had always assumed that she would feel different about the prospect of going to bed with her husband. That it would excite her in some way and bring about that slipperiness between her thighs that she was familiar with. But the thought of Thomas touching her there only made her whole body shiver with trepidation.

She wondered if he felt the same. If the thought of taking her to bed was worrying him the same way it worried her. Perhaps he was concerned about pleasing her. Or perhaps he was so convinced of his own prowess that the thought of leaving her less than satisfied had never crossed his mind. Perhaps he didn't think her pleasure was important at all. It was hardly the sort of thing she could bring up in conversation, but then if they were to be wed, shouldn't they be able to discuss such matters?

Rolling over, she looked at the clock on her nightstand, dismayed that such little time had passed since her last glance.

Surely there must have been other women, stumbling into marriage as concerned as she was. Not every woman could have been so utterly in love with their intended as her mother had been with her father as to feel nothing but utter eagerness for their wedding night. Surely her feelings couldn't be so at odds with the rest of female society. If only she felt she could speak with some of her married friends, but it was a topic of conversation that had never come up in company, perhaps due to her unwed status. Perhaps they thought she wouldn't understand, not being one of them.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to make her mind go blank and encourage sleep to come. She tried to imagine a time when she and Thomas would lie in bed happily together, when she would turn to him and touch him, guide him to her and want him to make love to her. She tried to think about his handsomeness, his strength, his voice, the way he would be able to make her feel, the pleasure they would bring one another, the delight of lying together afterwards reliving the wonderful act that had just taken place.

She opened her eyes.

Colorado Springs

The saloon was dark and quiet.

Trade had been slow that evening, no doubt due in part to his actions at the café that morning. When he had regained consciousness in Michaela's clinic, Jake and Loren eager to chastise him for his actions, he had pushed their words, and help, aside in favour of bitter anger, not to mention a sliver of shame.

He had put a gun to Myra's head and only refrained from pulling the trigger became Sully had had the foresight to throw a block of wood at him, knocking him out. Would he had gone through with it? Would he have killed her? The frightening thing was, he didn't know. He wasn't beyond questioning why a man would kill the woman he cared for. All he did know was that if he had killed her, he himself would most likely have been next and by his own hand.

As he sat in the darkness, contemplating everything that had happened, he heard the squeak of the door and, looking up, saw to his dismay Michaela coming inside. The last thing he wanted was more pearls of wisdom not to mention the fact he wasn't sure he could keep silent on how he really felt about her and all the strife she had brought to the town, and him personally, since her arrival.

"Hank?"

"Closed."

She approached the table cautiously. "I wanted to look in on you."

"And I thought you wanted a drink," he sighed.

"No…"

"Course not. The almighty doctor would never stoop so low as havin' a little fun."

Michaela rifled in her bag, clearly attempting to ignore his comment. "How much alcohol have you had tonight?"

He thought back to his slow walk from the clinic back to the saloon after coming around, about how he had wanted to simply drink more and more whisky in an attempt to block out everything that he was feeling. But something had stopped him, though he knew not what. "Not a drop."

"Is that the truth?"

"Wouldn't lie to you."

"Well, your speech is slurred and if you haven't had anything to drink, you could have a concussion. I need to examine you." She leaned forwards, but he pulled away from her.

"Gonna need more than that, Michaela."

"Hank, let me help you."

Her offer only served to anger him more. "Yer the reason I lost her."

She frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"Yer the reason Myra left me. She was happy before ya come talkin' yer big ideas, fillin' her head with yer Boston ways. You turned Myra against me."

"Myra left you because she loved Horace. I'm sorry you can't seem to be able to accept that…"

Her attitude was breathtaking. Who was she to sit there and opine on the feelings of others, particularly Myra's. "What do ya know about love, Michaela? Ya never bin with a man!"

Ignoring him, she leaned over to take his wrist, "I need to take your pulse…"

"Take yer own," he replied, jerking away from her touch, "yer the one dead inside. Yer the one who can't let herself feel, can you Michaela."

"Don't call me Michaela," she retorted angrily. "I never gave you permission to use my first name…"

"Permission?" The thought was almost ludicrous. That a man needed to ask a woman permission to call her what she was.

"The way you think gives me chills."

"Yeah, keep going."

She paused. "I think you're one of the most…rude, thoughtless, insensitive men I've ever met. You're selfish and mean, and you aren't happy so you can't stand for anyone else to be. You've done nothing but give me trouble since I first arrived here, and I'll never forgive you for today! You almost killed Myra! And you could have killed a lot of innocent people, including my children! You wanna know how I feel?"

He nodded. This was the most passionate he had ever seen her about anything, and he'd have been lying to himself if it hadn't been ever so slightly arousing. But, more than that, it was the first time a woman had really told him what she thought of him, and he was intrigued.

"I'll tell you. I wouldn't care if I ever saw your face again!"

She turned away from him and all he found he had the strength to do was clap slowly. "Congratulations. Didn't know you had it in ya."

The saloon door swung closed behind her and he found himself alone again. The silence was welcome, though the pounding in his head less so. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Nobody mattered except himself. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was selfish, but what other way was there to be? And as for being unhappy…well…he'd never known what true happiness felt like and probably never would.

So, what was the point in trying.

San Francisco

3 July

"It's so lovely to have you dine with us, Eloise," Mrs Lewis smiled at her as they took their seats at the table. "Especially for the first time now that we can officially say that you'll shortly be joining the family."

"Yes, of course. Thank you for inviting me."

"Not at all. Nothing makes a mother happier than to see her children happy, and I know that you've made Thomas very happy." She looked lovingly at her son. "Far too much time spent with figures and ledgers to consider what else might be out there in the world."

"You give me far too much credit, Mother," Thomas replied. "There are far more successful bankers in the city than me. You only have to look at Father to know that."

"Unassuming as ever," Mrs Lewis nodded. "You shall have to build up his confidence, Eloise."

"Oh, I'm sure Thomas doesn't need me for that," Eloise laughed nervously.

"Nonsense! A wife is there to bolster her husband."

"Hear hear!" Thomas's father concurred. "We only have to look at you for that, my dear."

The assembled party chuckled, and Eloise found herself looking at them all, Thomas's parents, his siblings and their wives and husbands, and couldn't help but think that they all looked very happy with one another. Had they too been pushed together, or had eyes met across crowded rooms, sealing fates? She couldn't fault his family for being kind and welcoming, but in a way, it almost felt cloying, as though she was being sucked in, never to be allowed to break free. She would become one of them. Another wife to another man, like so many before her.

The conversation around the table was jovial and there were moments when she realised that she was enjoying it and the company. But then, every so often, she would glance at Thomas and have to remind herself that this was not just any dinner party that she had been invited to. He would be her husband and this would be her family.

Once the meal was over, the men and women separated for cigars, brandy and gentile conversation, however Thomas took her elbow gently and led her into a small sitting room, with a bay window overlooking the vista below.

"I felt we should have some time alone," he said before pausing. "I confess I'm not sure what to call you now."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Eloise is such a beautiful name, but I can't help but think that I should have some sort of pet name for you, given that you'll be my wife."

"Oh…well, my parents call me Lou," she replied. "It might not be as pretty as Eloise, but…"

"Hmm…" he frowned. "No, I feel that I should have something all of my own to call you. I shall have to think of something appropriate."

"What am I to call you? Tom?"

"Heaven's no, I think Thomas will suffice, don't you? Or you could simply call me 'dear' or 'darling' when we're alone together."

"Oh, well, yes I suppose…" she trailed off as he stepped forwards and took her hands in his. "Your hands are cold."

"Only because they haven't been able to be near you until now." He smiled at her. "We've had so very few chances to be alone together these last few months. It seems almost ridiculous to think that in two short weeks we shall be alone all the time."

"Yes, indeed…" she felt her heart pound in her chest, thinking back on the previous conversation, as she met his gaze and dredged deep within herself to try and draw some feeling of passion.

"I fear my hands may be very warm once we're alone."

"Yes…I…I wondered if…" She met his gaze to find him looking at her intently. "I mean, I wondered if you had given much thought to our life together, after we're married."

"In what sense?"

"Well, I mean…in every sense. I…"

"I'm sure you will be a wonderful, caring wife," he said. "I've every confidence that you will be the prefect hostess and loving mother to our children."

"Children…yes…" she cursed herself for her ineptitude at speech. "I suppose that…that children pre-suppose…well…the act of…"

He leaned in closer to her. "Lovemaking?" She felt her face grow scarlet and made to step back, only for him to let go of her hands and slip his arms around her waist, drawing her into him. "I don't believe we shall have any difficulty in that department, do you?" She opened her mouth to respond but found that no words would come out. "I don't want you to worry about that," he continued. "I think you'll find yourself quite satisfied."

He kissed her then, harder than he had kissed her before and, pressed against him as she was, she couldn't help but feel his desire for her, low against her stomach. Closing her eyes, she tried to lose herself in him, appreciate what it felt like to be held by him and thrill at the anticipation of what would come next, but instead she felt her body start to recoil.

"Perhaps we shouldn't be so free with one another," she said, pulling back from him.

"No, perhaps not, though you do taste sweet," he smiled mischievously. "There will be plenty of time after all, when I'm home."

She paused, "When you're home?"

"Yes. Father is keen for me to oversee the expansion of the bank on the East Coast. I'm afraid I may be away from time to time and for extended periods." He looked at her sorrowfully. "But given that there will be opportunities for your to accompany me, it will at least give us the chance to decide where we should live."

"You mean, we won't be living here, in the city?"

"Well, we'll have a home here, of course. But we may decide that New York or Boston are more to our liking."

"I see…" her mind raced. "I had no idea that…well…that travelling would be an option. What about my work?"

"What about it?"

"Well, I have a good following of customers at the store, and I already have a number of orders to complete before the end of the year…"

"My darling, you won't have time for work once we're married. I'm not sure you realise how all encompassing being a wife can be. There will be dinners, parties and other social events to attend here, or in other locations. Besides, I don't see either of us wishing to hold back in having children, especially given your age, and I would like several so…" he smiled at her again. "Do you know, I think I've got it."

"Got what?"

"My pet name for you. Lolly."

She paused, unsure she had heard correctly. "Lolly? As in…the candy?"

"Yes," he put his arms around her again. "A sweet pet name for a sweet wife, don't you think?"

He kissed her again before she could respond, and once more she tried to enjoy it, but all she could think about was the new, strange life he expected her to live…and all under a new, strange and, quite frankly, ridiculous, nickname.