Cort and I stayed with Carlson for three days at his small compound that was not far from the ghost town of Redemption. It was fairly easy to find, but Carlson's instructions to me had been purposely misleading and had made it so complicated that getting lost seemed preordained. He thought it was funny; it just pissed me off.

Everything seemed totally foreign to our guest from the past. So many times, we had to just tell Cort to trust us on something; that eventually he'd realize it was normal. Like the car. I gave up within 30 seconds of trying to explain but Carlson tried to go through the entire evolution from wagons to cars. I finally opened the door, shoved Cort into the passenger seat, buckled him in and asked him to trust that I'd never harm him.

He shut his eyes for the first ten minutes or so. His knuckles were white as his hands gripped the seat's edges. Finally, I glanced over and found he was peeking out at the passing landscape with one eye. Then the second one opened. When we got to the highway, I bit hard on the inside of my lip to keep from laughing at his reaction when I accelerated to interstate speed to keep up with Carlson. Think of this as a small train, I advised him. His white face told me he was trying, but struggling with it.

It was amazing the things we introduced him to. Every little thing, from personal products to shoes to air-conditioning to microwaved food, seemed to need explaining.

Imagine everything that had changed or been invented in those years. Flushing toilets. Safety razors. Telephone. Incandescent light bulbs. Stereo. Airplanes. Small motors. Space travel. Electrical outlets. Freezer. Skyscrapers. Plumbing. Velcro. Even the zipper on my jeans. And, he hadn't even seen a television set or a computer yet. To say nothing of the clothes, social changes, and morals. And then there were the things that showed that older didn't necessarily make the human race wiser: smog, the Atomic Bomb, environmental damage.

The enormity of the situation, having this man suddenly appear in our time from 130 years in the past... it took several days to really come to grips with the practical issues and challenges it presented. In those first few days, the three of us were isolated from the world in Carlson's reclusive home. And for Carlson and me, it was this incredible time of teaching Cort some new and marvelous delights our age held for him.

We walked into Carlson's house and took turns showing him things. I think back on those first few hours and realize that it took mere minutes for it to turn silly. Carlson showed him how the lights worked and we smiled these huge grins to see the look on Cort's face. When I felt the air conditioning kick on, I dragged a chair up under the vent and made Cort stand on it and put his hand up where he could feel the chilled air blast in toward us. Then, we pulled him into the kitchen and showed him running water and the appliances. He loved the freezer but he thought the ice cream we served him tasted odd. He plain didn't get the disposal and hated the noise.

I was sitting at the table and watching him experiment with opening a can of beer when I got a case of the giggles. His eyes had turned serious on us about the time he was probably feeling overwhelmed by our gushing desire to show it all to him at once. "I want to show you something you're gonna love," I told him. Held out my hand to him and when he took it, I led him down a hallway to where I just knew there'd be a bathroom.

His eyes looked around as I explained the various elements that modern plumbing blessed us with. Things I'd taken quite for granted until I'd spent a few days in his time. In a moment of supreme childishness, I brought him over, raised the toilet lid and showed him how to flush it. The whoosh must have seemed like an explosion to him. He jumped back away like he was afraid he'd be sucked in.

And that was it. He didn't want to see any more gadgets; he was tired of being reminded of how little he now knew of the ordinary. I saw it in his eyes and instantly felt contrite. This wasn't a game to him and it was so unfair of me to have not been more sensitive to what this would feel like.

"I'm sorry, Cort. Really. I'm just excited. That's all." Smiling into his face and seeing how lost he looked. "I'm stopping. Right now. No more new things. Okay?"

He looked at me and said, "Maybe this wasn't ... It's not going to be easy, is it?"

"Baby, I'll take care of you. Promise. But don't give up on me, Cort," I breathed out to him, coming close and wrapping my arms around his waist.

"You'll take care of me?" Deep voice, pitched low. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you'll come with me to my home and you'll be part of my life," I replied, keeping my tone easy. And knowing instantly he wasn't going to understand how hard it was going to be for him to get a new life going in this new world. Then trying to lighten the mood with a joke. "You do want to be with me, right? Or was there some other woman you were hoping to hook up with here?"

A tiny chuckle from him and I figured that might be as good as it got for a while. "I never imagined how different it would be," he said quietly.

Quick thinking and I knew he needed away from the modern world for a while. "Why don't we go for a walk? Hmm? It's the same old desert out there; the exact same one that you're more than used to."

We meandered out, exploring up a long arroyo that we found near Carlson's compound. After about twenty minutes, he seemed more at ease. He told me about hunting for wildcat, fox, and even antelope when he was a boy.

"About the only time I get to shoot animals like that now are when they wander into town," he said. Then turned and looked up along the hills shooting up from the arroyo. "That's funny. I haven't thought about my father in so long."

"Tell me about him," I asked, a rote pleasantry. When he didn't answer, I turned to see him rooted to the spot and watching me. "What?"

"You don't want to know about my father," he said, his voice hard. Too hard. I just stared at him, unsure what to say. "In fact, there are a whole lot of things about my past I doubt you'd want to know about."

"I wasn't trying to pry, I just ..." Keeping my voice gentle, calm. "Listen, if there are things you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But, I do want you to know that if you ever want to confide in me or just have someone to listen, I'm here. Okay?"

He nodded, slow, like he was trying to judge whether or not he should believe me. But as quickly as the cloud of dark emotions descended on him, he made a visible effort to shove it away. "Hey. The mescal is flowering."

I watched him walk toward a gray-green agave plant just up the slope of the nearest hill. From its center, a tall stalk was spouting broad yellow flower clusters. Drawing up near him, I looked closely at the flowers. I'd never actually seen one of these plants flower, but then I hadn't exactly spent that much time in the desert. "Are these what they make mescal from? You know, the liquor?"

He laughed softly at me. "Yes, ma'am. It'll knock you on your ass, too. So stay away from it."

"Hey, I'm not such a light weight. I've drunk mescal before," I told him, swatting his arm. "And tequila, too. So there."

"Yeah? Tough girl, eh?" He reached out for me, grabbing me around my waist and hoisting me over his shoulder. "Mescal drinkin' woman. Never woulda guessed it."

I whooped at him, feeling very vulnerable in that position and unable to get my bearings as he started walking up the hill. When he finally stopped, I was out of breath from laughing and trying to yell at him to let me down. He slung me down off his shoulder and placed me on my back on the hard packed earth. The spot he chose was nicely shaded by three large saguaro cacti. He dropped down to sit next to me with a deep sigh and looked off over the desert landscape.

"Hey. Come down here by me," I teased him and tugged on his sleeve. "What's a girl gotta do to get taken advantage of?"

"Ginny? You need to go slow with me," he said, taking forever to turn and look at me.  He smiled, looking suddenly shy. His fingers reaching out to touch my jaw. "There are things about me that may ... Just know that there is much I regret in my life. I don't want that part of me to hurt you."

I felt it again. The mist. Telling me to pay attention. I sat up and drew him into my arms. "It's too late to go slow. I'm already so hopelessly in love with you. Don't you know that yet? Everything feels so different to me just having you here with me."

"I'm not used to having someone ... ," he said. "I just had never thought I'd find you. I wasn't prepared, I guess. And now that it's happened, I realize I have to learn to love all over again."

"My mother warned me about men like you," I whispered to him. "She used to tell me that someday I'd meet a man who'd change my life. And, that when it happened, I would find true love. I sure wish she could have met you, Cort."

We sat there for a long time, not talking, just each lost in our own world and ... yet, at ease being together.

The rest of the day, I controlled my impulses to keep showing him gadgets around the house. Although, without thinking, I turned on the stereo and put on a CD of great jazz music so I could swing while preparing side dishes for dinner. It was just one of those things; I always loved playing music when I worked.

Cort was out with Carlson helping repair some fencing; through the window, I saw them coming back into the house when I suddenly remembered. But before I could get into the living room to slap the stereo off, Cort was walking into the room, his eyes wide. Gave up trying to explain this technology in about ten seconds and then Carlson took over, running through this explanation of the mechanics. Leaving Cort's amazing blue-green eyes mired in confusion.

"You know, Cort, it's music. Just a different style than in your day. And when it's a slow enough beat, you can still dance with a woman to it," Carlson said. Carlson grabbed me around the waist and spun me around the room to demonstrate.

I had Cort laughing within minutes of dragging him into a dance with me. We might not have been the smoothest dancers, but it was like a tonic that helped restore his equilibrium.

While they washed up for dinner, I tossed some steaks on the grill. We ate outside on the patio, candles flickering on the table, stars filling the sky, a quarter moon adding a highlight above us. Carlson and I drank a California merlot I'd brought him while Cort was content with whiskey.

After dinner, we lolled back in our chairs, stared at the stars and listened to Carlson tell us about his plans for his next book. I hoped to God I'd remember most of it so I wouldn't have to re-cover all this material when I did interviews with him over the next two days.

And finally, it was time to head to bed. The room we were staying in was comfortable and inviting. Big bed along one wall, two armchairs and a small table by the window, a few bureaus along the facing wall. And our own private bathroom.

I introduced Cort to the pleasures of a hot shower. We stepped out from the shower stall and dried off. I kept yawning and honestly couldn't wait to fall into bed. Before I turned on my blow dryer, I warned him what to expect. When I finished with my hair, I tried to do his but he didn't want anything to do with it. I was brushing my teeth and caught him out of the corner of my eye as he was going through the kit bag of toiletries that Carlson had given him. He had this puzzled expression on his face and every once in a while he'd pull out something and look at it.

"Need any help?" I asked him after I'd rinsed my mouth out. One look in his eyes and I knew the answer. Started pulling things out and telling him what they were. Deodorant. Toothpaste. Dental floss. Shaving cream. Razor. After-shave.

"Razor?" he asked me, his eyes narrowing as he examined the razor. "Shaving ... cream?"

"I'm sure they make the experience a whole lot more pleasant than those old straight razors men must use in your time, and not having to sharpen them on the razor strop," I said. "Do you want to shave? If not, let's not worry about it tonight."

He rubbed his fingers over his face and examined his image in the bathroom mirror. "You might like me that way. I'd be more presentable."

I looked at him and put my hand up on the stubble. "I like this. I don't have any complaints."

But he'd already made up his mind. "I think I want to shave. We'll see how you like the way I look with a clean face."

I'd watched my dad and brothers shave often enough that I figured I could help him get the hang of this. I picked up the can of shaving cream and swooshed some out onto his fingers. "Just spread it around on your beard," I said.

Went and got a small hand towel and draped it over his shoulder. It matched the bath towel he was wearing slung over his hips. My eyes lingered on the sight of his body and my fingers trailed down his nude back. Our eyes met in the mirror as he stood there with a handful of foamed whiteness.

Gingerly, not knowing what to expect, he started slowly patting the shaving cream on his face. When he'd finished covering his beard with the cream and telling me it felt weird, I handed him the razor and tried to explain about how to draw it along his skin. He made two futile swipes and it didn't look like much fun for him.

"Here. Maybe I can show you better than I can tell you," I said, hitching up my long nightgown and hopping up onto the counter next to the sink so I'd be at his level. "C'mere, baby. I'll get you started. You watch in the mirror what I do."

He moved in front of me; I spread my knees so I could pull him in as close as possible. I went slowly with each stroke, wanting to make sure I didn't hurt him. After each draw down through the cream and stubble, I rinsed the razor in the sink. I had him about half done when I realized he was no longer watching what my hands were doing. He was watching my body instead. I paused and tilted his chin up. "You're supposed to be concentrating."

"I am." His eyes were deadly serious and very intent on mine. "I like what you're wearing."

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a simple nightgown; cut low in front and I noticed from his vantage point, he'd been getting quite a teasing view of my breasts. The fabric was satiny and it clung in the right places. Okay. So I'd chosen to wear my favorite nightgown. After all, who would blame me for wanting to look nice that night?

Eyes back up and met his. "Pay attention so you can learn how to do this."

"I like having you do this for me. I enjoy the way you touch me." He rested his fingertips on the countertop on either side of my thighs. Darker eyes studying my breasts before meeting my eyes again. "I like watching you move."

Big gulp and I smiled uncertainly. When he focused on me like that, it did things to me. But there was also something unexpectedly erotic about being perched there, trapped between his nearly-nude body and the mirror, feeling him all around me, and doing a decidedly masculine task for a decidedly masculine creature.

I willed my hands to stop shaking and reapplied myself to the task. Then I felt him put his hands on my shins. I paused in the middle of rinsing the razor out and looked up at him. "That's dangerous, Cort."

"Oh? Why is that?" he said, drawing the words out, looking down at my legs as his hands slid up them, drawing my nightgown's hem up over my knees.

"Because you're making me nervous. And you don't want me holding a razor to your neck when I'm nervous. My hands might shake."

"Okay. I'll stop." Slow evil grin as his eyes traveled leisurely up my body. 

I made him tilt his chin up so I could get his neck and he slid his eyes closed as he did it. Every time I'd rinse off the razor, he'd move his hands up just an inch or two higher along my thigh. And every single time he did, my breath would catch. The closer he got, the strangest thing happened. My hands actually got steadier. As if he was making me focus my concentration harder. He was within an inch or two of my sex by the time I finished shaving him.

As I pulled the towel from his shoulder and went to wipe the remnants of shaving cream from his face, his fingers slid up to graze my wetness. I couldn't help a little gasp. His eyes were hooded and he smiled this knowing, determined smile at me as I swiped his face clean with the towel.

"Hey," I croaked out. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing good, mi corazón. Can't you tell?" He bent toward me and lightly rubbed his now-smooth cheek along mine. And, in some kind of coordinated assault, he slid a finger slowly into me below. "Like the way that feels?"

Trembling now. Nodding at him; smiling timidly; feeling unaccountably shy from the way he had totally taken over.

"How about this?" he said, moving to rub his other cheek against the other side of my face. Doing it slowly as he inserted another finger into me below and then rubbing his cheek against mine in perfect time to the way he was slowly pumping his fingers in and out of me. I could hear the wet noises like they were being amplified into the air around us. "Hmm. I think you like that a lot."

Closed my eyes. Deep breath and then a long, heartfelt sigh as his thumb massaged my clit and his mouth nibbled against mine. "That's nice," I mumbled, feeling my hips begin to sway to meet his hand's movements.

"And do you also like the way this feels?" His low voice was steady and charged to the brim with sex. I felt his now-smooth face glide along the exposed tops of my breasts and then his tongue slid down under the fabric's edge and licked over one of my nipples.

Shaking against him and delighting in the feel of his other hand pulling the straps of my nightgown down, freeing my breasts completely to his devotion. "Oh, yes. I do like that," my husky voice sounded so unlike me.

"And, my love, how about this?" I felt the head of his cock swipe hard along my slit. Opened my eyes to find him waiting on me. Mesmerized by his eyes and the way his actions felt so incredibly intimate; all I could do was nod my agreement with what he wanted. He dropped his hands behind my hips and pulled me forward even as he shoved into me.

"Oh, God. Cort ... I ... Oh. Please." He was deliberately going slow; it was driving me mad. I circled his hips with my legs but his big hands unwrapped them and spread my knees far apart. His mouth crashed down on mine, kissing me with such force, his tongue deep inside my mouth. But he didn't quicken his pace right away. Stroking in. Sucking hard on my tongue as he pulled out. Stroking back in and swiveling his hips at the end in this grinding movement that made me groan deep in my throat each time.

He was kissing me so hard that I was sure my lips would be bruised the next day. I was whimpering in need and anticipation; yet very deliberately relishing each nerve ending that was celebrating his movements and making me so glad to be a woman.

Once he started moving faster, with more purpose and determination, he was gripping his arms around my hips to pull me in to meet his pumping. My hands sought every bit of his skin they could; lingering for long, heartfelt moments to knead his shoulders and back muscles.

When I started coming, I lost concentration in the kiss and my head fell back against the mirror. The world was reduced to us; every single other thing in the universe was gone from my reality.

Lord, but I think it was the way he started sucking kisses down my throat that pushed me beyond my limit. When I came in full, my internal muscles were clenching and draining his cock all the while I heard myself alternate between cursing most obscenely and gasping through an opened mouth; then his name keened from mouth and bounced forever around that tiled bathroom.

What I do know about it was that by the time he was coming into me, by the time I could feel his fluids dripping back out of me ... By then, I grasped the fact that I was in a moment in time that would stay with me forever. An experience in love that was as much about rapture as it was about new beginnings. And, it was all wrapped up within the way that, in that moment in time, I was feeling the reality that was him ... making a heavy sacrifice ... to be with me ... in my time.

He told me later that he had thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of my orgasm. I blushed when he told me because his voice held this tone of surprise. "I love being able to make you so totally enjoy what I do for you," he whispered against me and I hugged him tenderly in gratitude.

We were laying in bed, wrapped tightly together. "Did you really mean it when you said you loved me?" I asked him, my fingers lazily drifting along his smooth jaw.

"Si, mi corazón. Te amo. I do love you. We were meant to be together. Por siempre. I'm sure of it."

I giggled against him. "I'm sorry. I just ... I just love hearing you say it. You have the most amazing voice to say things like that with."

"Did you know I brought you a present along with me?" he asked me. I rose up over him and looked down at his face. Warm smile for me; his hand touching along my cheek. He turned over and reached down under the bed, coming back up and handing it to me.

The book. He'd brought the book with him. I was crying even as I was smiling at him. "This just might be the nicest present I've ever gotten. I felt so horrible that I didn't have it with me when I came back. It was the one thing I wanted. And you knew, didn't you?"

His took my hand and rubbed it along the skin over his heart. "I felt it. In here."

That was where I rested my head. Sleep came falling in on me within the comfort of the steady beat of his heart.

He'd been in my time less than 24 hours, and my world had already changed. I just didn't know to what extent yet.

7

There can be few things harder on romance than reality. Snug in the cocoon that a blushing new romantic interlude offers, how ready is anyone to deal with the harshness of reality's demands? I would have given a lot to be the kind of person who could have ignored reality and just never left what I had with Cort in the first few days I knew him.

But even the days with Carlson, stuck out in this place of refuge from the world, even in those days we got reminders that we'd both jumped awfully fast into a relationship that might have never worked outside the romantic bubble in which we were encased.

I think he knew it before I did. That this was not going to be easy. That there were real things we were going to have to face about each other. Things about each other's reality that would be hard for the other to understand. Things that would be challenges to reconcile with the person we thought we knew.

He'd seemed to be wanting to warn me that first day, when we walked in the desert. I should have listened, really heard the concern in his voice. If I had, perhaps we would have talked, really talked, about his past and about the part of his past that still infused his present. But I was still too flushed in the romantic notion that he was to me then.

It turned out to be Carlson who began to raise the issues of reality to me in a way that forced me to consider some things.

The second day we were with him, Cort and I greeted the morning together. Wrapped tightly around each other's body. I woke up to the warmth of his breath on my neck, to the sound of his sighs, to the feel of his hands skimming over my back, to the heat and hardness of his erection pressing along my thigh.

I stretched out the kinks and then groaned as he pressed his advantage. "That's not fair," I stuttered as I felt him move into me. But I was still arching against his body and reveling in the feel of skin on skin.

"Kinda thought you were inviting me," he whispered in a sleep-fogged hoarseness. "I can stop. Maybe."

"Don't you dare stop," I giggled to him and then moaned as his mouth closed over one of my nipples. When I felt his fingers spreading me below, gliding easily along my moist slit, my neck arched back and I writhed in appreciation. He commanded my attention; his movements so lithe and sure.

Deftly finding so many ways to please me. Soft on my clit and then firmer probes inside me, stroking in a way that made me spurt my wetness. Hands forcing my thighs apart and then attacking me again when I felt so open and vulnerable. Finally, fingers focused on my straining bundle of nerves, manipulating that special nub, pressure building inside me as his fingers went from gentle to insistent, setting a rhythm and motion that rocked my senses.

Groaning out to him, "You have the best hands I've ever had on me."

"I've always been known for my hands," he murmured, pulling his head up from my breast and giving me a smoldering look that combined with the magic of his fingers to send me reeling into the sweetest orgasm.

When my eyes refocused, I looked above me to find his eyes watching me. Serious, and I got the impression I'd caught him in the midst of a thought about me I might not have liked. "What is it?" I asked him, swallowing hard and waiting.

He shook his head and settled his hard cock's head against my opening. "It's nothing."

I sucked in a hard breath as he entered me and tried valiantly to lock out an uneasy feeling that look had given me. His hands traveled down my back, following my contours as I arched into his body. They kneaded my ass and drew me up to an angle that allowed his cock to kiss new places inside me.

Moaning to him and hearing his sounds of satisfaction in return. His heated voice caressing me; telling me he could stay inside me forever.

His lips felt soft and so warm where he kissed me. His tongue explored my mouth like he wanted to do it all day long. His rhythm below was slow and smooth; he just seemed locked into me. But the sense of unease never quite left me; even when I came, it wasn't with the sense of abandon he'd called up in me every other time.

After, he held me and I tried to replay that look. Just as I was convincing myself that I'd simply overreacted, he reached down and tugged on my chin so my eyes would meet his. I waited for him to say something, but he just looked into my eyes.

"Tell me, my love," I whispered to him.

"Why do you love me?" he asked. "Is it just what we do in these times when we are intimate?"

It was a warning. I didn't heed it. I thought I had nothing to fear. "I love you for the way your first instinct was to help me. I love you for the depth of your soul and for the tenderness of your heart. I love you because you were made for me."

"And if I turn out not to be the man you think you see? What then?" His eyes dropped from mine momentarily and when he peered back at me, in the morning's soft light, I could read doubt.

I ran my hand along his jaw and sighed. "There are never any guarantees, are there? But you're the man I think you are, Cort. For you not to be would mean that you'd fooled all those people back in Redemption. I saw how they looked at you, how they valued you. What has happened to make you have such doubts? You seem to think I'm going to learn something that will rob me of my ability to see you. You're so wrong."

"Other women ..." he began, then shook his head and closed his eyes.

When I reached up to take his lips with mine, I found them eager for me. His hand pressed against the back of my head, drawing me in deeper to the kiss. His tongue claimed mine and I thought that I felt his confidence in me return.

"I'm not like any other woman you've ever known," I told him, smiling when he looked back at me. "I'm the woman who loves you. I'm your soul mate. You can believe in me."

Nodding at me, then nestling his lips into my neck and kissing into these nerve endings that sang at the feel of what he could do there. Chuckling against me when I started exploring his body with my hands. "Not yet," he giggled into my neck, tickling me lightly in the ribs.

"Just checking," I said, innocently. Truly, I loved touching his body. I liked the way his muscles moved under the soft covering of skin. I liked the shape of his arms and thighs. I liked the curves of his ass. I liked the spread of his chest and the way it flexed at the touch of my fingers. And, of course, there was that other attribute; even in a flaccid state, it fascinated me.

"Sun's up, Ginny. Time for us to be up as well," he told me, flipping the covers back and pushing me to rise from the bed.

I sighed down at the sight of him but I did know we had to get the day started. Carlson and I were going to try hard to devote our attention to the interview. I wanted to cram into one day what should have taken me three days. But I was already getting anxious to leave this place and return to my responsibilities.

After breakfast, Cort insisted on returning to the fence repairs he'd helped Carlson get started on. I figured he wanted time doing something in our time that he knew he was capable of accomplishing - even using modern tools. From the patio doors, I watched him walk toward the barn.

Behind me, Carlson entered the kitchen. I had my notebook and tape recorder on the table since it seemed like the best place to set up shop for the interview. "Want to talk about him before we get started?" he asked me. I turned to see him sliding into a chair at the table.

"Nah. Let's get this interview under our belts, shall we? I'd like to be on the road tomorrow if possible," I told him. "I can only put off returning so long. And I need to stop back in Denver to see how my sister's doing. Her chemo treatments begin tomorrow."

We dove into the interview. We only paused for a fast lunch of sandwiches. Then again, we all seemed eager to finish what we were doing; I felt Carlson and I were in such a rhythm that I believed the afternoon's discussions held the promise of discovery of wonderful gems for the article. Cort was close to finishing his project and his entire body seemed so relaxed to be involved in a task that he said reminded him how he had loved working with his hands in building things. But his eyes really lit up when Carlson told him to feel free to saddle up either of his horses and go for a ride if he finished before we did.

After lunch, the interview was remarkably easy; we both credited the fact that we'd spent a lot of the last few days getting to know each other. By then, it was like talking with a friend. We ranged all over the board and talked as much about the spiritual aspects of his life's work as the historical accuracy. We were winding down; the article could have written itself by then because I believed I had been able to see into his core.

One thing I knew I wouldn't be writing in that article would be the truth about his methods. How could I possibly write about time travel? No one would believe it.

"Besides," I said with a smirk, "I wouldn't want Cort to become a freak show. Can you imagine how people would react if they ever knew - where and when - he came from?"

But as I chuckled, Carlson turned a serious face toward me. "How will you explain him? You know, the way he has just suddenly appeared in your life."

Shrugging. "I met him on vacation. That's all anyone needs to know. Besides, it's not like he's some outer space alien. I'll teach him about modern life and he'll be fine."

"Will he?" Now taking my hand, Carlson examined my face. "You're sure you can explain his presence? What about your family? Your friends?"

"I'm sure I'll tell some people. But that's different than telling the world. It's going to be fine. Don't worry."

He got up and went to the window, looking off into the distant desert. "I spent a lot of time last night thinking about how he's going to fit in. In the abstract? It seems so romantic to you, doesn't it? I mean, I can see you think you'll simply bring him to San Francisco with you and start this new life."

"It'll work out," I said, my voice not sounding quite as confident.

"Yeah? How about a few realities, Ginny." Now facing me and his fingers counting off his concerns. "We're talking a man with no birth certificate that anyone would believe. No social security number. Job skills that don't seem easily translated into the modern world. And that's just scratching the surface."

"You're talking paperwork and acclimating him to modern life."

"You're taking on a real challenge," he said, his voice low and serious. "I can help you with some of it. I know someone who can create his new identity, complete with papers. But have you really thought about the fact that he's going to be totally reliant on you?"

I dipped my head as fixed me with a hard look. "Yeah, I have," I told him.

"And? Can you do that?"

"I can, sure. I'm not sure he can, though," I said, looking up at Carlson. "I have a pretty healthy inheritance from my parents and I have a good job. I can easily support us both. But, something tells me that Cort won't be happy once he realizes he's going to be dependent on me that way."

"No, there's no way I see that man ever reconciling to being dependent on anyone. But being kept by a woman?" Carlson stopped and then started laughing hard until my frown was a stifling blanket on his amusement. "Sorry. I was just picturing him finding a job in that big city of yours. I mean, what can he do? He doesn't have the faintest clue as to the basics of life in this day and age. Can't use a phone, doesn't have clue what a cash register is, would probably freak out at a computer. Hell, he'd make a marvelous cop with his skills. Lord, Ginny, did you know he's one of the fastest draws in his day? You've never seen anyone as fast and sure as Cort. But it would take forever to update his skills to modern weapons and techniques. Could you just picture him doing it now? Can you get a load of him dueling with some gang-banger?"

I told him about what I'd witnessed when he'd shot the brothers in the jail. We were both suddenly so serious. "It was so fast. But, the thing was, you should have seen the way he looked after. It was so obviously a terrible thing to him to take a life that way, but he doesn't talk about it. He alluded to some past times in his life when he was an outlaw but he's never really told me about it."

"Ginny, there's so much you don't know about him. Let me tell you what I know. It might make things easier if you understood his past, but I also think it may make you slow down and think this through."

At first, I resisted. It felt disloyal, as if I was going behind Cort's back to discover some secret. If there was one thing I felt I'd begun to understand about Cort, it was that there were, within his past, things he simply did not want me to know at this point. And, frankly, I wasn't that sure I wanted to know anything truly bad. I liked the Cort I knew, and why would I want to tamper with that?

But Carlson kept hammering away at me, assuring me that there would be no harm in knowing what he did about Cort. Reminding me that everyone in Redemption knew the story. What, he said, could possibly be the harm for me to know about these things? Finally, I relented.

It was how I learned that he'd come blazing out of his small town in New Mexico after a gang of bank robbing thugs intersected his path. He'd only been 15 years old when he'd first laid eyes on the man who would be his criminal mentor, John Herod. Herod and his gang had been in that town casing out the bank. No one quite knew why, but it seemed Cort made the decision in an instant to ride off after the gang after the bank robbery. They'd almost killed him when he got too close but his quick draw of his gun to defend himself had impressed the hell out of Herod.

"Apparently, Cort never looked back. I think Herod groomed him like he would a son. He certainly respected him more than his own son," Carlson said. "And, Herod must have filled some deep need in Cort. He was frightening in how he soaked up Herod's instructions. He earned a hard reputation as not fooling around when it came to death. Get in his way and you were history."

"That isn't possible," I said, trying to reconcile the man I knew with this other person.

"It was a different time, Ginny. And Cort was a different person then. He was barely a boy. I suspect that Herod offered him the perfect escape from something he was leaving that was far worse for him," His eyes zeroed in on mine. "He became a man with Herod as his father figure and I have heard some hard tales about him in those days. But, eventually, he became a challenge to Herod, like all sons who become men and turn on their fathers. No one really knows why, but things did change between them. Cort did grow to hate the killing. And then, Herod tried to reclaim his soul and it backfired."

He told me that Herod and Cort had stumbled into a church after being shot in a fouled up bank robbery. The priest took care of them and nursed them back to health. Depending on whose version you believed, he told me, Cort either got religion or he got scared by how close he'd come to death. Maybe a little of both, I thought. Either way, Herod knew he was losing him, that Cort was abandoning their life together. "Herod wasn't about ready to let go that easy," Carlson said softly. "He was jealous of the way Cort looked up to the priest."

Herod had forced him to kill the priest before they left to return to the gang. When Carlson said this, his voice was soft. The words seemed to take so long to make it to my brain. In a lot of ways, I suppose, I was fighting hearing them. A watershed. Knowledge I didn't want.

"I don't believe you," I said.

Carlson shook his head. "I know. I didn't at first, either. The important thing is, it was the thing that finally changed Cort. He took the first opportunity he had to escape Herod and he took religious vows. He was running an orphanage near the Mexican border when Herod's men caught up to him."

Walking away from the table. Trying to put the jumbled pieces together. The puzzle that was this man. A Cort I would never have imagined. Unblinking killer. I couldn't move beyond that image. This was the man whom I'd trusted to shelter me in his arms in my most vulnerable moments? "He said he was an outlaw. He told me he'd done things that ... But ... I just can't ..."

"The first time I ever laid eyes on him, Herod's men were dragging him back to Redemption to force him to take part in this insane quick draw contest," Carlson told me, coming close to me, an arm around my shoulder, making me listen when I was already shutting down. "There was something about Cort. A nobility about him and no matter how Herod tried to break him down, Cort just never lost that strength."

He told me about the contest, the number of lives lost, the final showdown. And about how Cort stayed to help rebuild a devastated and demoralized town, how Redemption became a new mission for him, the townspeople his new flock ... and he could have no more left them in their time of need than he would have willingly left the orphanage.

"He's a good man, Ginny. Without him, I'm not sure Redemption would have gone on. I wouldn't tell you these things, but his past haunts him," Carlson said. "He's never totally lost the hard edge. But, in his time, without the edge? He would never have lived through what he has. And I know he wants to find a personal peace. Perhaps ... I think you're capable of helping him but you needed to know this. Because you haven't yet seen the whole man and until you do ..."

Angry now. Shaking his arm off me and rounding on him. "That is not the man I know. He might have made mistakes, he may have been an outlaw. But one thing I know. The man I love could never have ... Kill a priest? Impossible. He is a spiritual man. He's gentle and strong and ... No. Never. I couldn't misjudge him this badly."

A sound at the patio doors caught us by surprise. We looked up to find Cort. His eyes were angry and they were focused totally on me. In a deep, slow voice, he said, "I told you, didn't I, that there were things about my past that would disgust you? Carlson can only tell you part of it. There's so much only I can tell you, Ginny. Shall I tell it all to you so you can really judge me?"

It was like that curious sensation you get in an earthquake. Where you know the earth has just rocked but you haven't gotten scared yet. On the edge of fear. Still trying to grasp the implications of the shocks you're feeling. I looked straight in his eyes and felt myself rock in place. "I don't think I want to know more."

His chin down, a look of dark intensity wrapped over the face of the man I loved, and he walked quickly to me. Calling up in me a reaction I would never have thought he could.

A finger under my chin to hold me in place while harsh words came from him. "You've barely heard my sins, Ginny. You should hear them all. Only I can tell you how many men I've killed. Want to hear about them all? Or just the priest? Want to know his last words to me? The way his chest looked after I shot him in the heart? Or maybe you want to know about the other men I killed when I was living with a bitter soul. And I should also tell you about how easily I gave in to Herod and joined in the contest in Redemption. I can remember each one of the men I killed then as well, and the way it felt when they died so I could live. Want to hear that?"

Somewhere inside me, fear flared like it was a match that had just rasped across a rough surface. In his eyes, I saw a darkness unlike anything I'd seen before. I'd seen traces of it, shadows that seemed to disappear as fast as they came. But, not like this. This was someone new to me. A dangerous Cort that scared me. 

Shaking my head. "No. I don't. I'm sorry. I'm not sure I could handle it right now."

"Of course not. I told you. You would never want to know. You would never understand." And then, he was gone. Out the patio doors and stalking across the space toward the barn.

I tried. Really I did. Tried to get my legs moving to follow him. But I just stood there, queasy like I had to throw up, and not knowing what to do.

"Go after him. Go, Ginny. He needs you. He needs to tell you even if he doesn't know it yet," Carlson whispered to me, his mouth right at my ear, his hands gently pushing me into motion.

By the time I stumbled into the barn and blinked into its darkened interior, he was putting a saddle on a horse. I said his name and he barely paused. When I touched him, he shook my hand off his arm. "Please, Cort. Please talk with me. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me."

Pausing in mid motion. Not looking at me. "Go away, Ginny. It's better this way."

And I knew then. I thought my heart might stop. My arms grabbed around his waist and wouldn't let go, even as he tried to unwrap them.  "I'm not letting you leave me. Not like this."

He stopped instantly. I looked up at his face. He glanced down at me before looking away, his jaw set, intent and determined. In a low, hard voice, he said, "I wasn't planning to leave you. Just needed to think. And to get myself ready to see that you'll never look at me the same way again."

My arms dropped from him. "Am I looking at you differently? Right now?"

"You were afraid of me. I saw it," he said in this tight voice. Then shaking his head and pushing me away from him. He looked down; and time slowed as my mind absorbed his movement. His hair swinging down over his brow and hiding his eyes from me. "You're scared of me now, aren't you?"

"No. I'm not afraid of you," I breathed out to him, praying he wanted to believe me hard enough to not see the fear I knew was just under the surface.

"Don't lie to me." Dark eyes rose to meet mine under a fringe of disheveled hair. A look that was untamed, raw, and uncompromising. Betraying an inner fury that jolted me. Involuntarily, I stepped back from him. "Not afraid? Then come back over here to me."

When I didn't instantly respond, he moved toward me and I backed up again. His hand reached out so fast that I swear I barely saw it move. His fingers clamped onto my upper arm and he jerked me toward him so hard that my head snapped back. Our eyes were locked together; it was like he was hypnotizing me, his gaze held me so securely. He studied me, his lips set in a grim line as he seemed to reach a conclusion.

"I should have known it wasn't love you were feeling for me. You almost had me fooled," he said, his voice barely above a whisper and its growling intensity felt rough against my ears. "I was wrong about you, Ginny. But I should have known; I should have been able to tell what kind of woman you really are. You were never much more than a whore in your eagerness to bed me."

It felt like the air had been kicked out of me. The pain was that visceral and that unexpected. I swallowed the bile that came instantly; my physical revulsion at his words. Yanking myself away from him. My eyes never leaving his and I wondered if he could read just how deeply he'd wounded me.

"You bastard. Why would you want to hurt me this way? All I ever did was love you," I said, shocked to a whisper. My hand flew unimpeded and I slapped him open-handed. "Go. Go back to your life in Redemption. I don't want you here with me anymore if that's how you feel about me."

The look on his face. It shook me how he seemed to regard me with such derision. He started to walk around me, heading back toward the house, but stopped and faced me. "It was never love and my faith wasn't enough after all, was it?"

The mist surrounded me, pushing at me, getting in my way. I fought back against it. Reaching out, hands on his big chest, shoving him toward the house, telling him, "I'm a whore, remember? What does a whore need with love or faith? Get the fuck away from me. Carlson will drive you back."

He backed up away from me then finally turned and started striding purposely out of the barn. Just before he reached the wide doors, I called out to him in a voice shaken from the destruction of something I had been clinging to.

"Just know one thing, Cort. This is why I have come to hate God. He waved you in front of me like it would be a forever thing. And now that I love you, you're just one more person He's taking away from me."

And, it was true, after all. His past still haunted him. Now, it would haunt me.

8

Why do we mess where we shouldn't? I had been so arrogant as to believe that that there was something magical about my being in love with him. How pitiful was my fantasy that everything that had happened had been carefully planned to bring us together across time and distance?

We stood there in the barn facing each other; he had one more step to go to leave and I hated the pain I was feeling at what was happening. Between us, in that wide space across the barn, lay my shattered illusions of love. I would never have imagined he had enough guile in him to have been able to hide such base feelings about me while he'd been making me feel the things he had when he touched me.

When he left with Carlson, I wanted to be far away from this place because I wasn't ever going to be able to just watch the best man I'd ever known walk out of my life. Fucking mist. My mind rebelled at its insistent intrusion into me; at the way it was trying to tell me things I didn't care about anymore. Before Cort moved to return to Carlson's house, I moved first. I was walking fast out of the barn in the opposite direction from the house, and heading out into the desert.

Those times we'd made love had been more special to me than could be expressed. And he thought I was a whore to want him the way I did. The tears didn't come right away. It took at least two steps out of the barn before the landscape wavered.

Gamely, I marched on, heading up the well-worn path toward the arroyo we'd walked ... I shuddered at the instant memory that we'd walked this way just the day before and I refused to keep to that path. My feet turned to the left and I started away from the arroyo, skirting around the hill to put something solid between me and Carlson's compound. Knowing what was happening there at that moment.

In my mind, I could picture him packing his scant belongings and even then I figured they were on their way back to Redemption. I tried not to look at my watch so I wouldn't be watching the minutes tick away and knowing it would take them such a short time to reach that destination.

It took maybe twenty minutes to make enough distance and to stop crying. By then, I was around the hill and safely out of sight. Like walking into a blinding fog, I felt a strangeness in the air close in on me. Unfocused voices around me that made me slow and wonder what was happening to my mind.

Trying to regain my scrambled senses because it was like being atop the rock alter outside Redemption. My mother's voice and, this time, it scared the hell out of me. Shoving my hands over my ears, and picking my way carefully along the rocky ground.

And then suddenly, there was a hand touching me, pulling on me, picking me up. A scream came unbidden from me before I could get a grip back on reality.

Cort. On horseback. Bent over, a second hand coming down to deal with my struggling body and dragging me forcefully up. Shoving me, wiggling and angry, so that I was pinioned between his lap and the saddle horn, his hands leaving me to take up the reins again. His arms trapping me and, as the horse began moving at his urging, his hard voice saying, "I'm going to show you something. And if you don't want to fall off this horse onto your pretty ass, then you'd better hold on to me."

"Let me go. I don't want anything to do with you," I said, my voice forced, coming out through gritted teeth.

He met my glare with a dark smile, looking around me and kicking the horse into a quick gallop. It took no more than one or two bounces of the suddenly fast-moving horse to snap me to what was about to happen to me if I didn't do as he'd said. My arms flew around his waist and I clung to him even as I felt myself slipping. He kept me from sliding off his lap by bringing his arms lower and blocking my body's progression.

But he kept the horse running and otherwise totally ignored me. The feeling of wind rushing against my face made me turn my head into his chest. And before it seemed possible, I was caught up in the feel of his body next to mine. Drowning in this crushing wave of sadness at his loss and was it even possible he was here? I could feel his chest under my cheek and I rubbed my face against the roughness of his shirt, snuggling into his essence, my arms gripping him so tightly. Crying into him. Wanting him so badly. Not understanding how I was losing him.

Overcome with this new loss and needing him more than he would ever understand. And then my arms went around his neck and my mouth came close to his ear, wanting him to hear me in the maelstrom of the rushing wind. "Slow down. Please, Cort. Slow down and just hold me. You can still leave me. But just hold me right now."

I felt one arm come to hold me around my back and I sunk back down to settle against him. Felt him lean his face against mine. Lingering lips soft on my temple. Slowing his horse until it was a gentle walk and then dropping the reins and holding me so tight with both arms that I wondered if we could be closer.

"I don't want to leave you, Ginny. I don't," he whispered to me. "But I cannot bear the way you looked at me. With this fear of me that makes me remember all the bad things I've ever done in my life. You have no idea how many people have looked at me like that. I never wanted you to be one of them."

My face was still buried in his chest. I didn't want to look at him, either. I didn't want to see the contempt in his eyes that had been there when he told me ... "I thought we were making love. Is that what makes me a whore to you, Cort?"

He swallowed hard against me. His arms loosened their hold and his hands petted my back, gentle, tentative. "I didn't mean that. Will you believe me that I said it only to hurt you? But it wasn't true. The way you are with me, Ginny? It's like a gift, and I'm ashamed I would say that to you."

Now willing to take the chance and lean back to look in his eyes. A lingering darkness but it didn't scare me anymore. My hands reached up to cup his face and he closed his eyes and leaned into me, dipping his head down and I reached around to hold him to me.

"You need to tell me, Cort. Let me share this burden with you. I promise you that I'm strong enough," I whispered to him.

Forever passed in the minutes I held him there. Forever, and I think there was a part of me that wished we could have stayed that way. But I didn't need the mist to explain what was happening to me. That maybe ... just maybe, the only reason I'd been brought there was to help him with this heavy weight that clouded his soul. A good man ... who'd turned his back on a life so black ... and turned toward a life that should have allowed him to reclaim joy. But facing his demons, starting a new life of sacrifice and helping others hadn't been enough to give him inner peace.

And if that's the only reason God let me meet him, so that we'd reach this point together where I'd be able to help him deal with his past, then ... yes, then I could let him go if that would be required of me in return.

"There's someplace I want you to see," he told me, drawing his body upright, looking at me with clear eyes. His hand stroked my cheek and I wanted him to smile at me. "Will you come with me?"

Nodding and still wanting the smile that didn't come. Then nestling against him as he picked up the reins and prodded the horse into a fast walk. We traveled a short way and when he stopped, I looked up to find him staring off. I looked in the direction he was facing; a small rise and it was hard to see what it was.

"Cemetery," he said, nodding at me. When we reached it, he set me down on my feet and then swung down off the horse. Holding out his hand, drawing me with him and we walked amidst a ragged patch. Long ago graves. Long since forgotten to the ravages of faded memories. I'm not sure I would have even known what it was if he hadn't said. Wooden crosses and tombstones beaten and weathered along the ground. Cracked, brittle, and barely discernable names or dates.

I watched him wander among the haphazard rows. When he came back to me, he looked off, saying, "They wouldn't let me bury Herod here. Not after what he'd done to them. But the other men I killed in Redemption? They did bury them here. Sometimes, at night, I have nightmares about where the people in other towns I killed are buried. And I regret that one of the people I killed wasn't my father."

Now fixing me with a look so vulnerable and needy that I wanted to hold on to him forever. I took his hand in mine and led him to a place we could sit and talk.

We sat in the shade of a giant saguaro that forked into three arms. Its gray spines prickled against the dullness of the green skin. They reflected in his eyes as he laid his head in my lap and began to tell me.

His voice. Would I ever forget? I held on to it, capturing it inside me, hungry to store it forever.

"I was always a willing participant," he began. "No matter what else, I've always accepted that responsibility. "

"Tell me, sweetie. Tell it like you want," I told him, stroking into his hair with my hand and watching as his eyes shifted and unfocused.

He settled into me. An arm wrapped around my back at my waist. His other hand rested on his chest as he stared above him at the ancient cactus that sheltered us from the late afternoon sun. "I wanted out of my life. It's how it started. Maybe there's a pattern there. Every big change I made in life was because I was running from something."

His story came out of him haltingly and I guessed it was because he didn't have any practice in reliving it for someone else. He never tried to explain it away; he just told it. About his mother, who wanted a better life for her boy and only lived long enough to see him grow to be a teenager. About his father, who measured him by his own failures and thought beating his son would make him respect him. He probably never really saw who his son was until the day Cort left their town behind.

"I remember watching Herod. We all knew exactly what he was. No one was brave enough to do anything. When they robbed the bank, it was so easy for them," he said, closing his eyes, his voice soft. "I wanted to be like them. Men. Strong men. I wanted respect. And I knew they were killers, Ginny, because I saw them kill the sheriff on their way out of town. But I wanted to be one of them."

And then he simply told me most of what Carlson had. He asked me if I needed to know about every misdeed; I put my fingers on his lips and shook my head. "This isn't a confessional, my love. I need to hear only what you need to share with me. And I'm not here to judge you. Just to listen."

The priest, he told me, saw the possibility of a better person somewhere inside him. "He was the first man I ever met who saw me as a man. He was the first person who made me look at the man I'd become."

The priest's blood on his conscience. He cried and turned in to my body, hugging me with both arms and I leaned over his form, my hands stroking his back. Then, dull voice to tell me of the work he'd done in the orphanage; penance for sins of which he'd never absolve himself. Not seeking my absolution, either. I heard the strength of will in him; not proud of what he'd finally made of himself, just one step in trying to find his way in the world. And, finally, empty voice describing the destruction of the orphanage he'd built through shear will and stubborn might.

"The moment I saw John Herod again, I knew. With a certainty," Cort said, turning over on his back again and peering intently up into the sky. And I knew he wasn't seeing this sky above us but that he was seeing his past. "I knew that I would never be free until I killed him. I spent long hours trying to find the words of the Bible that would give me the permission I needed to take his life."

I reached down and stroked his cheek, lingering on his jaw and drawing soft circles on his neck. His eyes slid shut. I got this image of what had happened, piecing together what Carlson told me of the contest with what he told me and layering it all over the views I held of that town and the way the residents of Redemption treated Cort with a mixture of respect and quiet affection. He had been their savior every bit as much as the woman who'd eventually fired the fatal shot in Herod's chest. Without his quick gun and deadly aim, Herod's gang would never have been defeated.

What was it like for this man to live with this and never be free from his past? What was it like for him to meet a person who didn't know about it? Who cared for the man he was then, without the taint of history? Who respected and trusted him not in spite of his past, but because of what she saw of his present?

"In your eyes, I saw myself differently," he whispered to me, for the first time in so long looking directly at me. "You reminded me of who I had become. I liked the person I was when I was in your arms. I wanted you to only see me that way. And then this happened, and I could see in your eyes ... And now, it's too late, isn't it? You won't ever look at me like that again. I know you think you love me, but how could you?"

Smiling absentmindedly at him as he examined me. Wasn't it better to know, to be able to understand him in his entirety? My hands twined through his hair and I looked deep into eyes reflecting a merciless sky back at me.

There wasn't a doubt in my mind. I loved him and I wasn't letting him go. 

"Let me show you how I feel about you," I said, so softly. Bending down, fingers tracing his lips, and his mouth opened instantly when my lips replaced my fingers. Slow, involved, resolute kiss that I wanted him to feel in his wounded soul. Breaking the kiss and whispering against his ear, "Can you hear my heart speaking to you?"

His arms gathered me down to him and we huddled together. Caught up in each other. He stroked his hands along my back; it took longer than it should have before I felt the change in his movements. It wasn't until his hoarse voice said, "Will you be with me, mi corazón? Knowing me now as you do, do you trust me?"

I sat up and smiled sadly at him. "I didn't react very well, did I, at first? But hearing you, understanding more about the choices you made in your life ... I find that it hasn't done much but make me love you more. I feel closer to you than I would have thought possible. Can you understand that?"

"No more fear?" His hand coming up to cup my jaw and I leaned into it.

Eyes shut. Shaking my head, whispering, "I don't think so."

He sat up; I could feel him drawing so close to me; his hand gently staying on my face. "Look at me, my love."

Eyes open. Gazing into his soul, finding the man I knew. Smiling soft at him. "I know you."

"Show me," he said, his voice a heady mix of lust and need.

And something held me back. His words. The ones that denigrated my enthusiasm to let myself love him physically. All over again, feeling the way it had hurt. Tears dripped down from me as his fingers drifted down to my simple shirt, sliding the buttons open and exposing me to him. I was looking in his eyes when they came back to me and he saw the hesitation in me.

His mouth closed over the trail of tears even as his hands slid around my back under my opened shirt, slowly drawing me into an embrace. My breath caught in my throat at the feeling. "Don't be shy with me, Ginny.  Please. I need you to still love me. I need to feel it in the way you touch me. In the way you let me touch you."

My shaky voice said, "I feel uncertain how to act with you, Cort. That you might disapprove ..."

"Here, then. Let me remind you." Deep voice, a rumble that I felt deep within me. He took my hands in his, and began using them to undress him. Putting my fingers on his shirt, unbuttoning it and then taking my hands and pressing them inside the open shirt, against his exposed skin, moving them in a caress as he sighed against my ear. Guiding my hands to slide his shirt off his shoulders and then down each of his arms.

By then, I could have taken over. But there was something so captivating about the way he was manipulating my hands. Like he was showing me, so plainly, what he'd liked about the way I'd always loved touching his body.

His hands moved mine to his face and together we stroked along his jaw, then back down his chest, kneading him until we reached his abdomen and he pulled in a shaky breath. Leaving my hands there, he reached for my face and pulled me to his for a kiss that turned slowly from longing into deep passion. But as the kiss continued, his hands dropped back to cover mine and he moved them lower on his body even as he shifted, dragging one of his legs over mine and nearly straddling me. Spread invitingly, making it easy for us to stroke his hardening shaft.

He pulled his mouth from mine just far enough to groan out, "I need you, Ginny. Help me."

I moved my hands from under his and began unbuttoning his jeans; and his arms smoothed down my back, making me shiver. Reaching in, touching his cock, holding it, pumping slowly, feeling the way that satin shifted over steel hardness. And leaning toward him, my mouth kissed down his neck, sucking in and trailing wetness down lower until he said, "Undress for me. Let me watch."

It took minutes to talk myself into it. I rose slowly to my feet and at first I couldn't look at him. Sitting there, half dressed, his face a study in concentration. There was still this different look about his eyes, as if the edge of dark danger was lingering there. I didn't really move until he looked away from me and I saw him spreading his shirt out on the ground next to him. Then he kicked off his boots and shoved his jeans off before moving to sit on the shirt.

We are really going to do this, I thought. My eyes swept the landscape in front of me even though I already knew we were alone out there in the unforgiving desert. When I looked back at him, he was leaning back on his hands and his shaft was nestled up against his abdomen. I took in the sight of his body, and knew he needed to see me still needing him.

My shoes were first and then I pushed my own jeans down my legs, stepping out of them and trying not to look at him. But he said my name and my eyes swept up to his face. He was holding a hand out to me but I paused to let my shirt slip down my arms and off. Then my bra.

He held my hand and drew me to stand in front of him on the shirt. I went to lower myself, but his hands on my hips stopped me. He stroked my skin, down my thighs, around to my rear, even as he leaned ever so slightly forward and placed a chaste kiss on my mons. I sighed and when his hands prodded me to spread my legs over his, I responded easily.

His mouth. Breath. Fingers. Tongue. A languid exploration. An effective seduction.

My legs shook even as I could feel my insides quiver and shake in bliss. He caught me as I collapsed into him. Strong arms holding me close and then his lips roaming over my breasts. And even as I arched into him, his hands were guiding me down, lower. I was unafraid and unashamed to want him this badly.

The head of his shaft nudged into my wetness and I draped my arms around his neck and let him pull me down onto it. "Oh God," I moaned to him as he filled me. Whispering against his neck, "I need you so much, Cort."

"Te amo," saying it in a hushed voice that crashed across my heart. Hugging me in tightly against his chest.

We moved slowly against each other, our bodies agreeing on a rhythm. As we sped up, my heart seemed to race suddenly and I leaned back in his embrace, my hands smoothing his wild hair back from his face, needing to be gazing hard into those eyes when I came. Needing for him to be seeing me and not his own fears.

Him. Me. In unison. As one. Open to each other. A gift. A taking.

Sparks lit my nerves below and signals crashed over me. I was smiling at him when I came. I remembered to tell him I loved him, my voice almost cracking in response to what I was feeling.

After I came, he gripped my hips and began thrusting harder into me, speeding toward his own release. I still held his eyes with mine for most of it, until his lips smashed against mine. His tongue jutted deep into my mouth, dancing with my own tongue and making me almost lightheaded from the way it felt so urgent.

And then, I felt him come into me and his mouth slipped away from mine. I heard him groan, ending in the most heartfelt whimper, and I hugged him in against me. Holding him tight, tight until he calmed and slowed. When he stopped, I listened to the hard way my heart was thudding in my chest.

"This is the way I always want us to love," he told me. "I want it to be everything."

We held each other there, reveling in our union, for some time. And then he slid down on his back atop the shirt, pulling me to lie atop his body. I dozed there, fatigued with the emotional onslaught of the day, and needing the solace of his arms more than seemed possible.

When I woke, he was lightly stroking my back. I looked at his face and he was staring into the magenta sky above us. "Cort?" His eyes drifted to mine, and a soft smile was a gift for me. "Where were you just now?"

His fingers played with my hair. "I was trying to remember the last time I felt free."