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September 1872

Colorado Springs

Rebecca placed the flowers on her daughter's grave and then stood back to admire them. Brilliant yellow roses, perfect against the stark backdrop of the gravestone that Robert E had lovingly made. Preston had wanted to have some fancy headstone sent from Boston but Rebecca had refused. Caroline would have been a Colorado Springs girl born and bred. It was only fitting that her headstone came from her hometown.

It had been four months since she had stood at this very spot and watched Caroline's coffin being lowered into the ground and yet, sometimes, it felt like only yesterday. Despite what she had told Preston, returning to Colorado Springs had not been as easy as she had assumed it would be. Stepping off the train on a brilliant July afternoon, she had felt an overwhelming sense of grief and sadness and it had taken every ounce of dignity she could muster not to break down on the platform. Returning to their home, left in somewhat of a grief-stricken hurry, had been difficult and heartbreaking, as the items she had purchased in preparation for her baby still lay where they had been left. Rather than discard them, however, she had merely boxed them up and put them in the attic hoping that, one day, she might have the courage to look at them again.

There had only been one truly awful day, when a cradle that Preston had ordered from Boston as a surprise had arrived on the train. Poor Horace hadn't really known what to do or say and she remembered standing staring at the box while he stammered beside her that if she didn't want it he could send it back. Perhaps it had only upset her more, but she had brought it back to the house, unpacked it and stared at it for what seemed like hours, before placing it with the rest. Preston never knew it had arrived and seemed to have forgotten that he had even ordered it.

Despite that, surprisingly, life had returned to a comfortable normality within weeks. Preston had relieved Mr Foster from his duties at the bank and the hotel and Rebecca had resumed working for Loren on a part-time basis, a job which she found took her mind off of what she had once anticipated she would be doing. If everything had gone to plan, Caroline would have been weeks old now, round, pink and chubby…healthy. But she knew that there was nothing she could do to change what had happened and she tried, every day, to move on.

She said a silent prayer and then turned and walked away from the graveyard, back through the meadow and across the bridge towards town. The autumn sun was high in the sky but there was a cool breeze which caused her to pull her shawl more tightly around her. The sudden rumbling in her stomach reminded her it was lunchtime and that she and Preston had agreed to meet and eat at Grace's. The clock on the bank wall read exactly twelve noon as she approached, just in time to see Myra coming out.

"Afternoon Rebecca," she greeted her, shielding her eyes from the sun.

"Hello Myra, how are you?" Rebecca replied.

"Fine, fine. Keeping busy."

Rebecca noticed that she didn't mention Samantha in the comfortable way that she had before and found herself wishing that she would. "How's Samantha?"

Myra looked almost shocked that Rebecca had mentioned her, "Oh she's…she's fine, thank you."

"I hope my husband isn't working you too hard."

"No, I like it when it's busy," Myra explained, clearly grateful for the change of conversation. "It's better than when it's too quiet and there ain't much to do." She gestured behind her. "You going in to see Preston?"

"Yes, is he there?"

"Oh, he's there," Myra replied, "good luck tearing him away from his paperwork though."

Rebecca smiled and continued on, up the steps, and into the bank. It was deserted, save for Preston sat at his desk, his head low over his books, writing fervently. She turned the sign on the door, closed and locked it before making her way through the half-door towards him. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

He glanced up quickly, "Not at all. Just give me a moment to finish this."

Rebecca sat down in the chair opposite his desk and waited. A good two minutes passed and Preston gave no sign of completing his task. "Should I come back?" she asked.

"No, no."

"Preston…"

"There!" he said, finishing with a flourish and replacing his quill. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, darling."

"It's all right," she replied.

"There's just so much to be done," he gestured to the papers on his desk.

"You're in danger of working too hard," she told him. "I feel as though I've barely seen you for days." It was a harmless enough remark, but one laden with enough meaning to attract his attention. He had been spending many more hours than usual at the bank since their return home, more even than at the hotel, to the extent that he regularly was unable to dine at all with her and often arrived home only after she was in bed and too fatigued to even consider anything else.

"It's been a challenge getting things back in order," he replied, standing up and putting on his jacket. "Mr Foster wasn't quite as adept at things as I had hoped." She wondered if this was a brief veiled reference to her refusal to remain in Boston, but she quickly pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

"I miss you," she said simply, standing up to face him and brushing imaginary fluff from his shoulder.

"I miss you too, but unfortunately things are difficult at the moment and my first priority has to be to the bank and its customers." He looked at her earnestly. "You do understand that, don't you?"

"Of course," she replied. "It's just…"

"It's just what?"

Rebecca paused. How did she begin a conversation based around the fact that they had not slept together since leaving Boston? Her successful persuasion of him to return home had led to an encounter that even all these months later made her blush to recall, but it had yet to be repeated. She had waited many nights for him to take her in his arms but he had never so much as initiated it and when she herself had tried, he had normally had an excuse. "You do still…want me…physically…don't you? I mean, after everything we said…and did…in Boston…"

Preston let out a short laugh, "Is that what all this is about? Darling, some wives would be grateful for the fact that their husband isn't demanding his conjugal rights every minute of every day. Are you telling me that you wish I were?"

"No, but…well…ever since we came back, you haven't exactly been as interested in claiming them as you were before we left Boston, and I merely wondered if there was something wrong."

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her gently to him, "If I allowed myself to think about you as much as I want to think about you, I would never get any work done. But I'm sorry if you feel I've been neglecting you in that respect." He dropped a soft kiss on her forehead. "If you locked the door behind you…"

Rebecca laughed, embarrassed at her own stupidity. "Don't be silly! I wouldn't dream of asking you to…well to impulsively sweep all those papers off of your desk and ravish me on top of it…"

Preston paused for a fraction of a second. "Do you want me to…?"

Rebecca paused too, momentarily considering it. "No!" she said finally, pulling away from him and moving back towards the door. "I just thought you might like something to dwell on this afternoon." She unlocked the door and then held out her hand to him, "Shall we?"

They left the bank together, arm in arm, and made their way to Grace's. As Preston pulled out her chair for her, he pressed his lips to her ear and murmured, "All I can think about now is my desk…"

Rebecca laughed, but her smile slipped slightly as she caught sight of Michaela and Sully passing by in their wagon, the former with little Katie sat on her knee. As much as she would never wish what had happened to them on anyone, least of all her friends, it still hurt to see other women with healthy children and it seemed, at the moment, that they were everywhere. "I went to the grave today," she said.

"Which grave?" Preston asked.

"Caroline's."

"Oh…" Preston looked down at the tabletop, averting his eyes the way he always did whenever her name was mentioned. "How did it look?"

Rebecca fought for an appropriate word. Somehow adjectives like 'beautiful' always seemed wrong, "Tidy."

"That's good."

"I left some flowers there. I thought it would…brighten things up a little."

"That's a nice idea."

"You really should go sometime," she said carefully.

"I will," he said, taking her hand in his, "when I get time." Rebecca didn't press the point. She understood enough about grief to know that people dealt with it in different ways. Just because Preston didn't like visiting his daughter's grave, didn't mean that he didn't care. "You know…" he said slowly, "we should perhaps talk about …" he trailed off.

"Talk about what?" she asked.

"Well…whether or not we intend to have another child. Accidents can happen and…well…"

It was the eternal question, and one she had asked herself time and time again with no clear answer, but he had never raised it before now. She began to wonder suddenly if that was one of the reasons for his lack of interest. "Do you…do you want another child?" she asked.

"I don't know," he replied, "on the one hand you managed well during your pregnancy and the birth posed no health problems for you as such but…"

"But?"

"But what happened before could happen again and…and I couldn't bear to see you go through what you went through. There were times, after, that I really thought I was in danger of losing you." She squeezed his hand tightly. "Not to mention the fact that carrying a child to full term…" he broke off momentarily as Grace arrived with their plates of food. "Carrying a child to full term, as we've always known, could be dangerous for you."

Rebecca stared at the meatloaf in front of her, her appetite suddenly gone. "I'm not sure I could handle it if…if the same thing were to happen again. Losing Caroline was…devastating and…and yet…I felt our child inside me. I felt her move, I felt her kick and my body was ready…"

"Well," he interrupted, "it's not as though we really have to make any decisions right now, is it? It's only been a few months after all."

"I'll be twenty-seven this winter," she reminded him, "hardly young to be a first-time mother."

"Look at Michaela," he reminded her. "She's not exactly a spring chicken either and she has a baby."

Rebecca snorted back a laugh, unsure whether to be more insulted for herself or for her friend. "Thank you darling," she said, leaning over and kissing his cheek, "I can always count on you to say just the right thing."

XXXX

The small, gold clock on his desk chimed the hour and Preston was surprised to see that it was ten o'clock. As he lifted his head, he felt pain in his neck, borne no doubt from hours of paperwork. He worked it from side to side and, glancing outside, saw that darkness had descended and the evening lamps had been lit. Getting up, he moved over to the window and pulled down the shade before retrieving his jacket from the coat stand and preparing to lock up for the night. As he did so, he glanced back at his desk, still covered in piles of paper that seemed to grow no smaller. He had lied to Rebecca earlier. James Foster had done an excellent job of keeping the bank going while he had been away, but the markets in New York were precarious at the moment and he had received several telegrams from his father and James concerned about the economic future of the country.

He tried to push the thoughts from his mind, locking them behind the sturdy door of the bank, before retrieving Thunder from the livery and heading out of town towards home. He rode slowly, in no great rush to get there either. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with Rebecca, nothing could be further from the truth, but there was a certain sadness in the house, that hung silently over them and had done since Caroline died. It sometimes felt as though the journey from home to work and back again was the only time that he was free of some worry or other.

The single light burning in the bedroom window indicated that Rebecca was already in bed. Preston quickly turned Thunder out into the field and made his way into the house. He noted with a smile the note left on the table indicating that if he was hungry, there was food still warm in the oven. He had no appetite, but the sentiment was appreciated. He hung his coat and hat on the peg and silently ascended the stairs, not wanting to wake her. The bedroom door was slightly ajar and, upon entering, he saw Rebecca lying on her stomach in the bed, her hair falling over her face, her breathing shallow and even. He moved over and crouched beside her head, pushing the locks away from her eyes and smiling at the squashed appearance of her face against the pillow. Then he quickly washed and undressed and climbed in beside her.

She shifted in sleep at his arrival, rolling onto her side and pushing her body back towards him, so that for a few minutes he lay pressed against her, one arm gently slung over her body. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep but found his mind too active. There were too many problems, too many issues and no matter which way he lay, the gentle comfort of sleep refused to come. Eventually, after a good hour, he rose and made his way back downstairs to try and see if some tea would help. As he waited for the pot to boil, he picked at the pie that she had left for him and then re-stoked the fire before sitting down in the easy chair beside it and staring into the flames.

"Preston?" he jumped and turned in time to see her coming through the kitchen towards him, dressed only in her nightgown, a shawl pulled around her.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't," she replied, "but I woke up and you weren't there. I wasn't sure you had come home at all until I saw your clothes on the chair." She sat down opposite him. "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," he replied, "I just…couldn't sleep. I thought this might help." He drained the last of the liquid and placed the cup on the table.

"Something's troubling you," she observed. "Is it work? The bank, the hotel…?"

"No, no," he reassured her, "it's nothing like that."

"Then, is it me? Is it because of what I said this afternoon about our relationship? I didn't mean to upset you…"

"You didn't," he replied hurriedly, "really, Rebecca, it's nothing."

When she spoke again, her voice was soft and soothing, almost as though she were comforting a child. "Talk to me."

He looked at her, the earnestness of her expression, the way the firelight danced against her face and thought for the millionth time how lucky he was to have her. "I don't want to burden you," he said.

"You burden me more when I know there's something wrong and you won't tell me."

He sighed heavily, "Things are not good at the moment. Financially I mean."

"For us?"

"For the whole country. The stock market is looking dangerous and…well…there could be financial repercussions."

"What sort of repercussions?"

"I don't know, no-one does. There's a lot of talk but…well no-one can really predict what might happen in the next few months. It's a worrying time for bankers in general. That's why I've been spending so many hours at the bank, why I've been so tired and…well…why I've neglected you."

"I'm sorry," Rebecca said, "I wish I hadn't said anything now. I feel terrible complaining about such things when you clearly have other things on your mind to worry about. Is there anything I can do to help at the bank?"

"No," he replied, "but I worry about you too."

"Well you have no need to."

"How can I not? After everything you've been through…"

"After everything we've been through," she reminded him. "I know that Caroline's death has been no easier for you than for me. I suppose people forget about the father when these sort of tragedies happen, but I haven't."

"Father," he tried out the word ruefully. "Perhaps, all things considered, I shouldn't have made such a good father in any case."

Rebecca rose from her chair and came to kneel beside his, "You would have made a wonderful father, Preston. Of that I have absolutely no doubt." He leaned forward and cupped her face with his hand which she turned her mouth to and kissed gently. "Will you come back to bed now?" He paused, still unsure that he would be able to forget all the things that were playing on his mind. She got to her feet and towered above him, "Please?"

He looked up at her, his mind casting back over months of pain, back to before his illness, before their loss, back to when she had been round and full with his child, back to when it had been almost impossible for him not to touch her, back when there had been hope and excitement in every caress. He wanted that again, wanted to feel the warm glow that had encompassed him once he had put aside his fears over her health, wanted things to go back to how they been before the veil of sadness had been drawn over them. He wanted to make love to her, slowly and tenderly, delighting in every part of her…and he wanted another child, wanted it more than he had ever thought possible.

"Come here," he whispered gently.

"Come where?" she asked.

"Here," he reached out and took her hand, drawing her forwards towards the chair so that she stood between his legs and he could lean forward and press his cheek against her flattened stomach.

He felt her flinch slightly, "Preston…" Then he turned his face into her, breathing hot kisses through the fabric causing her stomach muscles to quiver. "What are you doing?" she asked, but instead of providing an answer, he merely sat back in the chair, pulling her further towards him so that she was forced to climb onto it with him, one knee resting either side of his waist.

"I'm reminding myself how beautiful you look," he replied softly, prising open the buttons on her nightgown and peeling back either side of the fabric to reveal her body. "And how good you taste," he continued, leaning forward to her chest and catching one eager bud in his mouth. He felt her shudder against him and knew instantly what she was thinking. Both times in Boston, the abortive attempt when his mother had walked in and after he had agreed to return to Colorado, had been heated affairs. The latter in particular had been to such an extent that neither of them had been sure they would reach the privacy of their bedroom in time. This would be the first time they had properly made love since before it had happened.

She let out a soft sigh, arching her body towards him, her hands straying to his head and her fingers threading through his hair, holding him to her as his tongue swirled around her nipple. With practiced precision, he slowly slid one hand down the length of her leg and back up again, his fingers brushing underneath the hem of her nightgown and reaching for the cotton panties she wore underneath.

Rebecca pulled back suddenly from him, her face flushed, her eyes bright in the amber light. "Not here," she whispered. "In our bed." Before he could respond, she had climbed off of the chair and stood, holding her hand out to him again. He got up quickly, took it in his and allowed her to lead him back upstairs to their bedroom. Once there, he watched as she peeled off her nightgown in front of him before sliding back into the bed. He followed suit, slipping in beside her, automatically positioning himself between her open thighs.

"I love you," he whispered, looking down at her, bending and catching her lip with his.

"I love you too," she replied softly. "And I think we should."

"Should what?" he asked, hardly daring to think that she might have been thinking along the same lines as he himself had.

"I think you know," she replied, sliding her arms up around his neck and pulling him down to her.

He responded without any further hesitation, kissing her waiting mouth as he gently pushed inside her and silencing her cry. With painstaking determination he kept his movements slow, his hips pushing into hers in an undulating rhythm. He ignored her whined protestations to speed up and when she clawed at him, determined to force him to thrust harder and faster, he gently took her wrists and pinned them down so that she was forced to simply accept it. As the end approached, he pushed himself slightly up and away from her so that he could look down and watch her pleasure. Her cheeks reddened, her breathing grew shallow and she turned her face to one side, closed her eyes and arched towards him with one final, animal-like cry as he felt himself fill her.

Afterwards, he lay with her in his arms, feeling warm and contended and as though he could finally sleep. "I still say…" he said drowsily, his lips against her hair, "that Preston A. Lodge IV is a good name."

He felt Rebecca laugh softly against him, "And I still say no."