Cameron undressed her slowly, shed his own clothes quickly, then stretched out beside her, bringing her gently into his arms. Holding her, kissing her, caressing her, he made a study of her body with slow hands and soft lips. Just skin on skin, lips on lips, nothing but a breath separating them, brought such relief and contentment to both of them. “I’m going to have to go back to sleeping in the loft,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I would hate that,” she said. “You can’t imagine what it feels like, to finally have your hands on me again. It’s so wonderful.”
“We can’t do it. And we can’t even do this too much longer. We’ll just get carried away.”
“Mmm. Carry me away, Cam.”
“You shouldn’t fool around with orgasms. They could get you contracting.”
“Can I fool around with one?” she asked in a breathy whisper.
He chuckled low in his throat. “One long, slow, gentle one?” he asked. He slipped his fingers into her wet folds, stroking her, bringing a delicious moan from her. “Just lie back and relax, baby. Nothing wild. We’re going to have to save the wild part for later.”
“Oh God,” she whispered. “Oh, Cameron…” And then her hand was on him, tight and hot, stroking him aggressively, pulling on him.
“Uh, Abby, maybe you shouldn’t do that.”
“Or maybe I should,” she sighed.
“Honey, I can’t take that. It’s been too long, I’ve wanted you too much…. I’m going to explode all over you.”
Her eyes closed, lips parted slightly, she whispered, “Does it seem as though I don’t know what’s going to happen? To both of us?”
“God,” he groaned. He pampered her clitoris, slipping one finger just barely inside her, just enough so he could feel the spasms when she reached climax. It was only seconds before he felt exactly that. “Oh, honey,” he said, capturing her mouth in a deep, long kiss that hung on while she enjoyed every last bit of it. Imagining himself inside her, he came and came and came until a loud groan escaped him and his eyes rolled back in his head.
And then they lay there, their hands still intimately touching each other. He tried to imagine whether that could have felt better if he’d been buried deep inside her, but this intimacy with her brought such emotional and physical satisfaction, he couldn’t imagine anything better. He gently kissed her cheek, her neck. “Pregnant sex,” he laughed. “If this wasn’t a multiple pregnancy, we’d be doing it like bunnies right now. I’m not sure exactly how, but we’d find a way.”
She giggled then sighed and snuggled close.
After a while, he stirred. “Stay put,” he said. “I want you to stay down, resting. I’ll get a washcloth and towel.” He was back a moment later wearing his boxers. With a warm, wet cloth and soft towel, he cleaned her up. Then he crawled in beside her, taking her again in his arms, pulling just the sheet over them. She drowsed in his embrace and he listened to her soft, steady breathing. Abby might have drifted off, but he didn’t. He watched her, felt her belly against his, alert for any start up of Braxton Hicks contractions. In an hour, nothing was amiss. They hadn’t disturbed the uterus.
It was tempting to spend the day in bed with her, pleasing her as often as she’d like, but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. For another week or so, they might enjoy a little discretionary satisfaction if she felt inclined, but then to be safe, they should wait. This didn’t matter to him—his happiness was complete. She loved him, wanted him. And he would do anything for her.
By the age of thirty-six, Cameron had had plenty of sex, and by far much more interesting than what had just occurred with Abby. Definitely more energetic and creative sex than that. But he couldn’t remember ever feeling more whole, more fulfilled.
He hated to disturb her, but he had to get back to town eventually. He’d been gone all morning. “Abby,” he whispered. “Sweetheart.” She moaned softly and stretched. Her eyes opened and she smiled. “Feel better?” he asked.
“Much. You?”
He nodded. “I want you to know something—I want to marry you. Whenever you’re ready. But that’s not the most important thing. I’m committed, totally. No matter what you decide you want to do, I’m in this with you all the way. I’ll never leave you. I love you, and I don’t just toss out the L word. You can count on me, Abby.”
She ran a hand along his cheek. “Thank you, Cam,” she whispered. “I love you. You can count on me, too.”
He smiled. “Thank God those deer came into the yard. This could be the best day of my life.”
When he got to the clinic at around lunchtime, Mel was in the kitchen. He knew he had a special smile on his face and that there was far less tension in his posture. He couldn’t hide the feeling that his entire life had suddenly fallen into place. He tried to appear nonchalant, but he suspected he had the faraway look of a man in love. He didn’t say anything, but she looked him over and grinned. “Must have been quite a herd,” she said.
“Big herd,” he said. “Abby was very excited to see them.”
She chuckled. Then she stood and gave his shoulder a pat. “Cam, there are times Jack rounds up a poker game with some of the guys….”
“Oh?”
She shook her head and as she passed him she said, “Don’t ever play.”
When Jack was finally able to pick Rick up at his barracks, more than twenty-four hours after he’d started his trip, he was a little disappointed by what he found. Rick was waiting outside, alone, with his packed duffel and a walker beside him. Jack didn’t think he’d still be relying on the walker. And he had hoped there’d be some guys around, seeing him off. “You’re still using this, huh?” Jack asked.
“Better than falling on my ass,” Rick said. “You have no idea how hard it is to get up.”
“I can imagine.”
“Grab that duffel, would you, Jack?”
Jack hesitated before picking it up. “Good thing I didn’t leave you to catch the bus, huh?”
“No time to be the smartest one, okay?” Rick said, making his way to the truck. And of course, Jack’s truck was jacked up. Rick opened the door and just looked up at the climb.
Jack threw the duffel in the back and stood beside him. “Well, let’s figure this out right off. You can put weight on the prosthesis, right? Left hand up here, right hand on the door, left foot on the runner, and pull. I’ll get the walker.”
“Gimme a hand, huh?”
“I’ll spot you,” Jack said. “You have any trouble, I’ll catch you. Give it a go.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if you try?” Jack replied, very proud of himself for not saying fucking try. Mel would be proud, too.
Rick made a face and a noise of displeasure, placed his hands and foot, gave a tug and hoisted himself up into the cab. He did it, first time. But while it made Jack so happy, it obviously gave Rick no pleasure at all. “Well, there you go.” Jack grabbed the walker and put it in the truck bed. Really, he wanted to throw it as far as it would go. He wanted his boy back; he wanted the dependence on the excuse of this disability to stop, probably long before it was reasonable.
Jack was too impatient. He knew that. He wished he could be another way. But he felt so desperate to have his Rick back, no matter how many pieces he was in. Even if it took a while, that was okay, as long as Rick wanted to get back as much as he should. It was this attitude of defeat that was killing Jack.
He should have gone down to San Diego a few times while Rick was in rehab, if only to run through fast food and feed him. He’d gotten thin. All that upper body strength he’d had before Iraq had wilted. Rick was going to need the muscle to compensate for the missing leg. A little time on Preacher’s food would help, but he had to work those muscles, and that took motivation.
“Let’s get some breakfast,” Jack said.
“I had breakfast,” Rick said.
“How about more breakfast? Looks like you could use it.”
“Get some for yourself if you want. I’m not hungry. I’ll wait in the truck.”
Jack just kept driving. It was going to be a long trip home.
Every couple of hours Jack stopped, someplace there was food if he could help it, and forced Rick out of the truck to move around. “Come on, the PT guy in Eureka said you need to move around to avoid something—I can’t remember exactly what it was….”
“Contractures,” Rick supplied. “I’m fine. But this leg has got to come off for a while.”
“Right after this stop. Let’s do it, Rick. Look around—you have your choice. Big Mac, Subway, fish ’n’ chips, whatever you see.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Christ,” Jack muttered. He hauled the walker out of the back and put it down beside Rick. “Walk around the truck at least twice. Then we’ll get the leg off.” Then he took off across the street and walked into a sandwich shop, coming back out with two big submarine sandwiches. He almost smiled to note the walker was back in the truck bed and Rick back in the cab. Not so disabled when he wanted to be done with his exercise. And Jack wasn’t sure how he’d accomplished it, but the prosthesis was in the backseat of the extended cab.
Jack tossed one of the sandwiches in Rick’s lap, put two giant colas in the cup holders and started up the truck.
Rick just stared at the food in his lap.
“Eat what you can. It’s been hours since you’ve eaten and I’ve eaten three times. When we get back, I’m going to get some of Preacher’s weights out of the storage shed for you. You should probably bulk up those arms, shoulders, chest. Give you back your advantage.”
“For?”
Jack was stupefied. He shook his head. “For getting through life?” he said by way of a question.
“For?” Rick said again.
And Jack thought, you can’t slug him. You have to keep your mouth shut and be patient, that’s what Mike said, what Mel said. So Jack talked to himself. Okay, I’m not the best person to deal with this. I never had it this bad, and sure not when I was this young. Mike, he’s been through a terrifying, life-threatening injury. Mike might be able to step in. Mel had done as she promised and lined up a counselor through the VA. He couldn’t make Rick help himself, but he could throw him in the truck, drive him there and sit outside till the hour was up.
Eventually Jack said, in his sensitive and mellow voice, “Eat the goddamn fucking sandwich. And I mean it.”
A few seconds later, Rick peeled off the wrapping paper and took a bite, then another bite.
But Jack had lost his appetite. He was glad Rick was eating something, but this didn’t feel victorious at all. The drive had to come from inside Rick, not from the bully in the seat next to him.
Jack forced down about half his sandwich, wrapped up what was left and managed to keep heading north. After Rick had eaten what was presumably his fill, he leaned back in the seat and dozed, his own wrapped half sandwich on his lap. Jack lifted it carefully; he put it in the sack for later. Rick’s nap gave him a little time to think.
He remembered what Mel had said, that Jack needed his boy back so bad, he was pushing on him. He remembered when Mike Valenzuela picked Virgin River as a place to recover when he’d been critically wounded on the job at LAPD—because his family and friends needed him well again so badly they were suffocating him. And he remembered that he’d never loved a kid as powerfully as he loved this one, except maybe David and Emma, and his love was strong. Sometimes it caused him to act in desperate ways. He could end up doing more harm than good.