He sleeps in the nude.

In fact, he walks around the bedroom, every night, in the nude. Usually, he's fresh from the shower, with beads of moisture glittering on his skin after he's given his body a rough going over with a towel I washed sometime recently.

In the mornings, I pick up his towel from the heap on the floor. I always put my face there to get over the irritation that he just drops his towel on the floor when it'd be just as easy to drop it in the hamper in the bedroom.

Men, eh?

You can't live with 'em ... and I don't know what to do about sex with him.

Oh, that's not the way the saying's supposed to go, is it?

Yeah, well, that's not exactly the way life's supposed to go. But it's preying on my mind in between feedings and catching a few winks in between feedings.

It's just that watching him, every night, as he walks around in the nude ... no, he struts. Yeah. That is what he's doing.

And if I didn't know him better, I'd have to wonder if he's doing it on purpose, trying to drive me insane.

Am I sleep-deprived? You betcha.

My doctor says it's natural. All the books say it's to be expected. I wonder sometimes if I am hallucinating.

Then he crawls into bed with me but he doesn't really touch me. He may hold me but it's not like before. Mainly it's not like before because I can't seem to crawl over to him and slide into him, my head on his chest, my ear over his heart, breathing through my mouth because I like the way it feels he could kiss me at any moment or I could let some dirty request slip out of my open lips ... and it used to feel so good ... my leg sliding across him so his hip fits snuggly up between my thighs, and my hand ... my hand, eh? My hand slipping easily down his belly, rustling across the coarse hair ... and gently stroking his velvet-soft penis and giving him a little caress before holding on there where my hand feels welcome.

I think he'd welcome it.

It's just ... awkward. For me. Now.

It's him walking around in the nude and then sleeping next to me in the nude that's doing it ... but I can't admit it to anyone.

I tried to talk to the doctor about it but all she did was give me a reading list and tell me my sex drive would come back.

Hey, doc, here's a news flash ... my sex drive is long time back ... so that's not it.

I tried to hint to my mom about it but it led to her absent-minded retort that I should buy Max some pj's and have him put a pair on, for god's sake, so he'd be decent when he wanders around the house at night.

Of course, she was deep into reading the instructions on the breast pump at the time because she's convinced that if I'd just avail myself of this handy dandy tool, then she could get me and Max out of the house for a whole day or so in order for her to have ample time with her grandson.

Hey, Mom, you know it's not like he prances around nude in front of you, now, is it? And if he did, I'd like to see you deal with ... Oh. Wait. That was incredibly rude and stupid to even think.

Max always wears a robe when my mother is in residence for her three-nights a week visits to help with Bennett.

Well, he wears a robe when he leaves the bedroom ... but the truth is, he wears nothing under the robe and that robe does not exactly hide his form from my prurient eyes. That soft bulge is impossible to not look at. Nor can he hide the contours of his chest ... oh, and his neck. Jeez. Try not looking at that, eh? I really do love his neck.

This evening, after dinner, I was doing the dishes while Bennett kept me company, sitting on the counter in his little snuggle seat. I tried chatting with him about, well, about how he needed to talk to his father about all this nudity around me. Bennett, a serious young man, gave me one of those 'tsk' faces and ... you know, it always makes me smile when he does it.

So I leaned over him, my hands soapy, and told him how the doctor gave me the go-ahead a few days ago ... and Bennett just looked at me like he was thinking to himself, "I do NOT want to know my parents ever have sex! Ewwww!"

Yeah, I actually used to feel the same way about mine ... still don't ever want to come close to conjuring up those kinds of images. Maybe we all want to believe we are the result of some Immaculate Conception or that they stopped after us? Or is that just me?

So, I really can't confide in Bennett. He is a very smart boy and surely he understands much of what he observes or hears around him? I do not want him to grow up and tell some counselor some day that his mother used to talk to him about her sex life ... or rather her inability to re-start her sex life.

I did mention it to Uma and she had the most practical suggestion. She said, "Maximus? In the nude? What else do you need?"

And I said, "If I knew, I'd find a pill for it."

So she said, "Well, let's go find out if it's only Max or if it's all studly men."

And I said, "I'm not going to stand on a street corner offering it up for sale."

And she laughed at me before saying, "Let's go hit some strip joints. Picture this: Aussie male strippers. They don't bother with pink boas down here, honey."

We had a good laugh about that. Because I'd called her after Max came straggling home, drunk on his ass, after being out with the guys to celebrate Bennett's birth ... and Max had been wearing a pink boa that looked far too fetching on him when he came home. And then I found photos on his cell that provided evidence that pink boa had captured the attention of several female dancers in the various places they'd been that night. He'd obviously felt guilty and had come up with some lame excuses.

He'd felt guilty.

But I knew he'd not done anything really bad.

He looked. Probably felt a bit of flesh on offer.

But I think he felt guilty because he was trying to save himself for me and had had a little fun teasing his own resistance maybe. But I don't believe he went all the way with anyone. I would have been able to read that on him. He's just not a good liar.

Maybe he felt guilty because he believed I'd be jealous.

Well, duh.

I am jealous.

Because I want to entice him the way those women were.

Most of all, because I want to be able to follow through, like those women would have, I bet.

Uma says maybe I'm picking up vibes from Max, like maybe he's not touching me in that certain way because he's thinking of me as his son's mother, rather than his wife. But I said to her that I think it's because he still believes we can't have sex yet and he's being all noble instead of just grabbing me like he can't keep his hands off. I think I'd be okay with that. Although ... maybe not ... I am afraid and I think my fear is that I'd freeze up with him. I don't know that my body's so great anymore and I can't look at myself in the nude now and not see that my body's sole function right now seems to be as Bennett's milk hostess.

Then Uma said something truly frightening ... that Romans apparently believed the husband should not touch the wife for a year or two after a child's birth.

A year! Or two!

Oh Lord.

He makes me much too hot to wait and yet I do.

He walks around, nude and incredible, while I hide under the sheets and feign disinterest.

This cannot be normal.

I should talk with him about it.

Maximus, I mean.

I should.

He would be understanding, I know.

He would be gentle ... unless I wanted him to be less than gentle ... but I'd have to tell him what I wanted and I don't even know what to say about that.

I stand looking at Bennett, gurgling and counting his fascinating fingers that are trying to figure out the wonders of the mobile that dips and twirls slowly above him.

He will sleep soon.

He's a good baby. Everyone says it. He is so easy to get along with and enjoys my crazy sense of the absurd. What more could I ask for?

So I pad down the hall a short way and stand before Max's study, the door open and inviting. I just stand there. I can see him, at his desk, the lamp on even in the daylight. He is writing something in a ledger ... and I know without looking any further, that it's the accounting. And he looks up to see me standing just outside the doorway.

He smiles at me. But he is troubled and I can tell it.

His hand rises and he beckons me inside.

I remember walking into this room after he died and thinking about him making this gesture to me so often when he was alive. And here he is, alive and beckoning me inside his private retreat.

"This is very nice," he whispers softly to me as I settle on his lap and he cuddles me in close. 

My arms go around his neck, my face buried there in the crook, my lips softly tasting him. "It's so nice," I say. 

"I am so pleased to hold you," he says.

And this hits me hard for the truth is that I don't come to him like this anymore. I just think I'm afraid of where it might lead. And it's not fair that he's noticed but how could he not when we used to hold each other all the time before all the shit with Mephisto took him away?

"I haven't been much of a wife to you," I say to him, my heart suddenly breaking as I think on this and think on his worried face just now. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean? Of course you have been ... Cara? Why these tears?"

"Not now, Max ... just hold me. And talk to me ... about anything. I just want to be here, with you, just us."

He leans back in his leather chair and brings me with him. He swivels around, to where he can face the window that looks out on the front of our property. My eyes are closed but I picture his face, looking out there, contemplating.

"I love you so," I whisper softly.

His hand strokes down my hair and nestles me in tighter. "Would you care to discuss some decisions I must make about our finances?"

It still surprises me how open we are with each other on things like finances and the property and legal things. I still forget that in his culture, the wife was aware of all the business matters of the household ... and that when Maximus was off at war, his wife ran it all and held the power over his estate. In my experience, his whole approach to this is much more liberal than most post-WWII marriages ... like my parents'. I have to stop comparing ... but sometimes, the comparisons are so enlightening that they make me snuggle into them with a sigh of utter delight. This is one.

My eyes open as he begins to talk about transferring the money that I had to place in trusts and new accounts after he died. I look down on the desk surface and notice a pile of official documents, letters from our lawyer ... and one that is off to the side, addressed to me, from his employer.

He says it will be easier to not revoke all the steps I had to take after his death when it comes to the accounts but that I'll just sign paperwork to transfer them to new accounts that will be opened as new joint accounts bearing both our names.

"What about your job?" I ask him, taking a stabbing guess at why he hasn't let me see the letter from his employer, though it was addressed to me. I'm mildly irritated that he just short-stopped the letter but that is fleeting ... because the reality is, it concerns him and he knew that before he even opened it.

He doesn't say anything at first.

I sit up from him and lift his chin with my hand, making him look up at me. 

"It is a difficult choice," he says.

"What is difficult?"

"Considering the type of firm they are ..."

"I don't understand."

"Though we have paid back the life insurance proceeds ... and they consider that aspect closed ... there would be a full-scale investigation, were I to ask for re-instatement."

"But, Max, you never left your job! You just ..."

"Died."

"No. You didn't. Something happened but ..."

"Anna ... I did die. Officially, for a time, and ... well, perhaps, even in the fullest sense of the word."

"We don't really know that."

"I have my own thoughts on that, as you know, Anna."

"Well, but ... but, you didn't even officially die. The lawyer had it all voided ... case of mistaken identity ... confusion in the morgue ... and he's helping us get it all straightened out, right?"

He looks deep inside me. I feel his hands come up to cup my face and he smiles at me, leans in to give me a soft kiss. Then he pulls me back down to him, to where he can wrap his arms around me, tuck his chin over my head and feel me slide my hands around him to hold him back.

"Do you remember when we first moved in together? How my company sent agents over to conduct a background investigation and interview on you?"

"Yes. I remember well ... I was afraid you were in trouble and I wasn't about to let them trick me into saying anything that would hurt you ..."

"You were not happy with me when you realized it had happened because of my company's security procedures ... because of our contracts with the government."

"Well, you did tend to shut me out of things like that ..."

"Then imagine, if you will, how they will investigate every single aspect of our lives now if I were to ask for reinstatement and must obtain a new security clearance in the wake of suspicious circumstances ... and after what has happened with Mephisto, there would be much over which they demand explanations ... and many things we would never wish any agency to have in their files or to devote their energy."

"Are you worried they will find out about all of us?"

"It was easier to hide the associations before. Once they start, they will delve into every detail surrounding Mephisto ... Tennessee, France ... here ... everyone who was involved ..."

"Can't you just not say anything? It's nothing to do with the job or national security."

"It is not in my power. They will investigate the circumstances of my 'erroneous' death ... of my hospital stay ... of my travels to France ..."

"Could they find out about what happened there?"

"Yes."

"And in Tennessee?"

"Yes."

"Oh. That's not good."

"My superior, Anna, has assured me that he will be content to close out my work history files with my resignation letter. He will officially accept my reason ... that the 'accident' in Tennessee along with the birth of my son have made me re-evaluate my desire to remain in such a demanding position."

"What resignation letter?"

"The one I will send off soon."

I swallow and hug him in tightly. He is a proud man. So very proud. What must it do to him to have to sacrifice yet again? To give up a job and a career that earned him such respect ... that gave him a purpose? That gave us both a living?

"I am so proud of you," I say to him. "You always do the right thing, the honorable thing ... even when I don't understand it, I know that's your bottom line."

"There is more than us to worry over, Anna. I am grateful you see this."

"There's no way we can afford an investigation ... I do see that. We have to let this all die away ... and bury it all as much as we can. Think of what they'd find if they really put effort into it."

"I will not allow it."

"I think you're right."

"Look out there, cara ... at our land ... we regain ourselves here ... and what else matters beyond those boundaries?"

I shift in his arms until I am turned to gaze where he is. Out the window. Down from our second-story perch, I can see the edge of the stable and I can see white fence boards that chase down the drive, a visible outline of one of the horse pastures.

"If we have to sell and move, Max, I'm fine with that. As long as I'm with you and Bennett, I'm fine anywhere."

"We will not have to sell or move. Why you imagine such a scenario?"

"What will we do then? For income to keep operating this place, I mean ... I could always get a job ..."

"Anna," he says, squeezing me. "That will never be necessary."

"Never say never. It's not like I don't like having a job and ..."

"You are a mother. A wife."

"I'm also me and, as you know, quite capable of earning a living. And if we need this, then I'll pitch in that way ... lots of families do that."

"If you are saying this to annoy me, I am not amused. If you are worrying over our income, however, you must be forgetting the state of our finances."

He's right. I still find it hard to feel I have a call on the money he made before he met me. And I know that sounds odd ... but he managed his money very well and has investments I would have depended upon to support me and Bennett if Max had not come back. But ... I sometimes forget about that pool of money. But ... even, I'd be reluctant to feel I have any right to count on it for me. And, more than anything, I can't quite shake the lifelong need to feel I'm contributing toward my own upkeep.

"I just meant that ... well ... if we need a steady income and you cannot get a job in your field for obvious reasons ... then it stands to reason ..."

"No. Out of the question."

I sigh and let out a long groan. I cannot believe I'm in here, sitting in his arms for the first time in so long, and we're about to get pissy with each other. How can this be important? "Stop ... I refuse to argue with you."

"And why is that?"

"Because I just ... Okay, I can see that you feel we won't lose the farm. I trust you, I do. But can you not see that I am allowed to question if we can really live the rest of our lives without either of us earning more money? Besides, some day, Max, I'm almost certainly going to want to go back to work ... except ..."

"Except?" he growls, not pleased with me.

"Except I can't imagine leaving Bennett," I whisper against his ear. "He smells so good ... and he's ... you know? I am so in love with him and all. Oh, how could I not be here with him?"

He chuckles now, hugging in tighter. "If it pleases you, Anna ... then you may choose this path."

I chuckle, too, glad we're backing away from nastiness. "Oh, hush."

"We will be fine," he says softly, his hand now cupping one of my breasts, his mouth coming to the side of my neck to kiss languidly. "I have plans ..."

"Do you?" I close my eyes. "Am I allowed to know them, eh?"

"The vineyard ... remember?"

I picture the moment on our honeymoon, pressed in against him as he dreamed aloud about grapes and wine ...

"I remember ... I want it to all come true for you. All of it. You deserve it."

His hand slides from my breast to rest demurely on my hip. And I sit there, puzzled at my own reaction. At how much I want him to continue the physical intimacy. At how I want him to pursue me ... to press me ... to seduce me.

But he doesn't.

And I picture how much he is sacrificing again ... squelching his desire for me because he believes he must ... that we cannot have sex yet.

In that moment, it's like flashcards in my brain ... of how he's treated me since he's returned from the dead ... almost tentative but not really. And all the days since the birth ... and we've not had sex in so long ... and sometimes I catch him looking at me, licking his lips, a faraway look of desire he is controlling.

I'm scared and have no right to be.

He's worried and I wish I understood the scope of it.

In the morning, I am pleasantly surprised to find that Bennett sleeps long enough that I, in turn, get enough sleep that I have some energy when I do wake to his beseeching howls for sustenance and dry undies. Once he's down, now contemplating the mysteries of those toes of his, then I try to pick up and gather dirty clothes for laundry. Of course, in our bedroom, there are things to wash but, funny enough, the ones that belong to Max seem to have an abhorrence of getting themselves into the basket. Hmm. Now, my clothes seem to have no problem with this task.

I hear the moan starting inside me.

His dirty underwear on the floor ... it just kind of sets my teeth on edge ... I have better things to do now than be his personal maid, I grump to myself.

He makes the mistake of coming in at just that moment and witnesses my scowl ... which was not really a scowl by the time I realize he is standing there, all shirtless before getting dressed to go do some chores around the ranch.

That should be outlawed. Doesn't he know what he does to me?

But then he asks if I'm tired or tense ... says I should go ask the doctor for some help ... and then in like this huge running gambit, says he also wishes I'd ask the doctor when we can start having sex again ... that it looks to him like I'm back to normal.

And I'm thinking, back to normal? Wow. What sweet talking ... not. I'm looking for romance and him to come get me ... and he's looking for me to just spread my legs and let him get his rocks off?

If he hadn't followed that up by grabbing me and pulling me close, kissing me briefly, muttering about maybe we don't need to ask the doctor but maybe we should just find out ourselves if I'm ready ...

Danger, danger! I got this flash ... I'm not ready for this!

And even if I didn't get an immediate flush of fright, I know what my body looks like under these rumpled clothes ... dumpy, frumpy, unshaven, stinky, dirty hair, bags under my eyes.

Such a sex goddess.

He'll write a love poem to me, for sure.

So I just say ... I say I can't ... that I stink and he should stay away ... that I have to wait on the doctor's okay.

And I look at him as I back away and wonder if he can tell I'm lying.

But then he gets this look on his face. He cannot hide how that wounds him.

He blurts out about his wife ... and when he returned from the front after his son was born ... and how his wife said to hell with this convention about no sex until the baby was weaned ... and they did it, no big deal ... except as he's saying it, I know it was a big deal to him that she did that.

And yet I can't help but fail again.

He says, just before he walks out on me, that he's not wanting sex with me just because he's some horny teenager ... but that we're man and woman ... we're in love ... it's life ... it's how we come together ... it's a part of who we are.

I stand there, watching him walk away.

And I feel like dirt.

Absolute dirt.

Because I know I've handled this all wrong and now I've hurt his feelings.

What if I'd just said that I'm scared and I need him to get me past this?

What's he waiting on?

I don't know what to do.

And now I'm scared because ... because I've hurt him.

After what we've been through, and knowing all he has on his plate to worry over ... I cannot believe myself.

That night, I wear something skimpy to bed. Not the usual thing I've worn since the birth ... now that sleep is heaven and I don't want to fumble with frou-frou things that stand between Bennett's howling cries and my milk ...

This night, though, is not about Bennett. It's about Maximus. So I'm dressed for him. Not his son.

I prop myself up on the pillows and listen to Max showering. I have just put Bennett down. And I recline there, arranging the sheets just so, telling myself I'm not too tired nor am I at all scared, that no matter what, Max will take care with me ... that now he understands.

In the middle of the night, I jerk awake. Bennett's warbling protests about his hunger blare at me from the little radio at my bedside.

I stumble down the hall to where he waits on me. His wails grow muffled and more heartrending as I flip on the lamp and he knows I'm there ... his milk lady ... his mom.

What am I wearing, I think, my brain sleep-fumbled as I am trying to do three things at once and one of them is to get his milk jug out for him after I've changed him ... and I'm picking him up to go with him to the rocker ... and realize what I'm wearing ... and ...

Oh, God.

I fell asleep before Max even got out of the shower!

My head thumps back on the rocker as Bennett finds the mother lode and goes for it. But it isn't long before I'm lulled by his rhythmic suckling and moved into some ethereal plane of existence by the endorphins that seem to infuse me at some point in this process when I have time to just enjoy it all. In the quiet and the dark. Just us. Me and my little man.

His fingers that curl around mine as he stares up at me ... and his eyes get all droopy as he fights to stay awake to enjoy his meal. He's already dozing as I change him again.

Inside our bedroom, Max looks solid and immobile. Asleep. He's kicked the sheet down and it only covers his legs up just past his knees. 

Why does he have to sleep in the nude?

I crawl into bed, my side of the mattress. I swallow hard as I force myself to slide over next to where Max is sprawled, his legs all long and hairy ... one arm covering his eyes and the other thrust up over his head.

But as soon as my hand reaches out to touch his chest and pull myself into his hold, he turns over. He makes no noise, no grunt like I've disturbed him, no snort like he's in the middle of a dream ... he just turns from me.

And I suspect quite strongly that he's awake. And that he's done that on purpose ... because maybe he feels too much and would not hold back ... or because he can't deal with me on top of all the other stress.

So I retreat, but only a few inches. And I am so tired that it takes nothing to fall asleep, even feeling this way.

In the morning, he's gone and Bennett's calling to me.

I need an unlisted number, I think to myself but still I am smiling when I pick him up and he gives those little hiccups because he's trying to stay mad but really he's just relieved the milk lady's here to change and feed him.

After Bennett is happy and wants to play, I wander around with him, looking for Max ... to hand him off while he's in a good mood and because I like to see the two of them together. Ralph says Max is out plotting his vineyard.

And I still feel like I'm not handling anything right.

He's more interested in the vineyard than ... than ... I don't know. I don't know what I'd say to him. I want to apologize, I want to say ... 'I'm just scared, Max' and 'I need you but don't know how to do this' and 'I don't know what to do' and 'Tell me you still have the hots for me.'

I really should open a dialogue with him. I should.

Instead, I bundle Bennett up, put him and his accoutrements in the car ... and take off before I have any chance to screw up any worse with Max than I already have.

It isn't long before I'm walking into the restaurant that Andy and Uma have not yet formally opened. The final touches of renovations are taking place still. I walk in and remember how little penetrated me during those months I lived with them ... and helped Jeff out with overseeing the paperwork on this project.

Uma is unpacking and arranging the bar area. I hoist Bennett's carrier on the bar top and say I'll help out. She's busy checking out Bennett's fingers while he's checking out her hair. When he starts to crash and I'm not making much headway on the glasses, Uma says we should 'have a cuppa.'

So she's sipping tea and I'm slurping coffee. She's kind of looking at me and I wonder if she sees all the rough edges. I think she saw enough of mine when I stayed with them and she helped me survive those months after Max died when I wanted so badly to go to him and only stayed because of the baby.

And I say, "Maybe it's time for the visit to the Aussie men strippers" and I follow that with a laugh.

And she says, "I doubt even they'd live up to the stud you've got at home...any chance Max'd give you a live show with his newfound pink boa skills?"

"That's the point, Uma. We seem to have a problem. We can't get it together."

"You mean, you haven't? Not since...? Not even a quickie...? Bloody hell...why? Max adores you, he adores Bennett. He has to be as randy as all get out...How can you two have a problem...?"

"I'm scared," I tell her and when I say it out loud for the first time, I wonder why I let fear control me? "I fear ... I think I fear that maybe it won't be the same with us. That maybe the desire won't be the same ... that maybe I can't do it anymore."

"Can't do it anymore? What do you mean, can't do it anymore? Then just lie there and think of Rome, or something...I doubt he's forgotten how to do it... Ann, I don't understand...is it one of those post-natal thingies? Where you don't find your bloke sexy anymore? Ann...you're married to Maximus. It is impossible not to fancy Maximus. It's a genetic code all women are programmed to..."

"I want him to want me ... just me ... but I'm afraid maybe that I'm ... I know this is silly but it's like I've never had sex with him before. And I'm afraid I'm going to be horrible in the sack and he'll never call me again," I say, chuckling nervously and very fake, trying to pretend I'm joking.

But I'm not.

"This is serious, isn't it? I'm not sure I can help on this one, sweetie. I mean, I'm very good at sexual technique and how to make a man froth at the mouth but I'm not sure I have any strategies for being scared of sex. It's never happened to me...I hope it never does, either... Maybe you should talk to Heather? She's always whining that she and Dino never get any time for sex...or maybe that's not what you want to hear? I don't know...I'm not really qualified in this area...Except...is it like falling off a bike, or something? Don't they say you've just got to climb back on straight off or you'll never get over it? My advice, for what it is worth, would be simple. Dump the kid, tart yourself up, drink a glass of bubbly and just throw yourself at him. Don't give yourself any thinking time. Thinking is bad for sex. It makes you become too rational. Sex is about not thinking. It's about feeling....That's what I'd do. Jump his bones. Think later. Although something tells me your brains would be pretty addled afterwards..."

"I don't know why ... it's just everything, I guess. Him dying ... then coming back ... and the baby born early ... and ... I keep waiting to feel like I am me again or something."

 "Look...I know it sounds shallow and I don't mean to be shallow...but, you are dithering about here telling me you want him but you think he might not want you and maybe you've forgotten how to do it or he ought to start it all off to make you feel desirable...has it occurred to you Maximus might be in the same boat? He doesn't know if you want to or if it's allowed yet. Maybe he thinks you don't fancy him much either after the whole rigmarole of childbirth. You know, Max might be a big tough macho man and all, but he can be a little boy when it comes to a woman's feelings. He grew up in a world of men. He was never at home much even when he got married. He hasn't got a bloody clue what to do in a situation like this...and talk about it? He just can't. He isn't programmed for self-analysis, much less reading the emotional minefield of the female brain...I remember when he found a box of tampons once years ago and I found him unwrapping one and looking at it curiously...I told him what they were for - somewhat bluntly- and he nearly died of embarrassment. Yet this is a guy who has seen a fair amount of blood in his time...and has absolutely no problems where he goes once he gets the green light...er...allegedly..."

For some reason, the image she paints is just too funny. I can imagine his face. His reaction. That confused look he gets sometimes about 'women's matters' ... and suddenly, I feel a wave of dawning awareness rush over me.

Of course.

Suddenly, it makes sense. I've been waiting for him to come to me, to make me feel desirable, as if that's some duty of his. But what I have lost in all this? I've lost sight of Max ... and of what these past months have been like for him. And I picture him, watching me all these weeks since Bennett has come to us, and waiting on me to show him clearly that I am ready to be his wife again, not just his son's mother. And I know, right then and there, that it's cost him dearly to wait on me ... and he did it without hesitation.

"This is so like him. To hold himself back. To put me first. To be that strong ... Okay, now it's official. I really am strange because now I find that the sexiest thing I've heard of ..." I say, trying not to be caught up too hard, but I am. I look at her and then at Bennett, snuggled in her arms. "I need to be with him."

"Look...leave Bennett with me. I can be trusted for a few hours, honestly, and both Jeff and Paul are around if I can't find the right end...or for smelly diapers... What you need is for your baby to be on another continent for a few hours, literally, so that you can have at his daddy without any feelings that this is inappropriate behaviour...although I suspect that even the legendary Maximus'll only need about five minutes in the circumstances...Go...use my bathroom. Raid my closet...second drawer down, I have some really naughty underwear...And I shall sit here and make goo-goo eyes with your glorious little boy all afternoon...."

I am standing in the pub's bathroom for just a moment. I may want to be different sometimes, but I'm still me. I still want to feel ready for him ... I still need that confidence that comes from knowing my legs and underarms are shaved ... and my hair's not ugly ... and I smell good and will taste good, too. And I know I still am not in great shape ... and my breasts still don't quite feel like mine. But then I think about what Uma said ... and I get this visual that cuts right inside me ...

... Of Maximus.

Walking around nude.

And the look he is capable of giving me when he wants me too bad to even talk.

But I also hear his voice, right up against my chest ... muttering to me in that way he has ... the way it vibrates inside me and makes me feel his power over me and mine over him.

I pop a breath mint in my mouth and I charge out of the powder room.

I'm driving up toward our lane not ten minutes later. I pause at the start of the long drive along the front pasture and dial his cell. Maximus answers with that gruff tone of his.

"Where are you?" I ask him. My voice is low, concentrated.

"In the stable. Where are you?"

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, Anna. Is there a problem?"

"Do not move. Wait on me."

He must hear my car when I drive up. He is waiting at the stable door, wiping his hands on a green towel. He is sweaty and disheveled. He starts walking toward me but I put a hand up to ward him off.

I am walking toward him. He tilts his head, narrows his eyes, asks if I'm okay ...

When I reach him, I put my hand in the middle of his chest and push him backwards. And I'm saying nothing, just looking him up and down while he's asking me, "What is it you need from me, Anna?"

"You did say you were alone in here, right?" I ask.

"Yes. What are you ...?"

He rocks a bit as I push him again ... he is scowling at me now ... unsure and therefore unwilling to be cooperating with me by letting me just keep pushing him backwards into the darker interior of the stables.

So I unbutton my shirt ... and thank Uma for the loan of a black bra that makes Max's eyes drop instantly to my rounded breasts ... and he gets that confused, anxious look ... like a little boy who's just seen a new toy in the shop window and knows he can't buy it because he has no money.

And I feel every bit of power I have over him as he licks his lips and blinks rapidly ... and it is exhilarating ... freeing ... intoxicating. I've never felt this with any man but him. Only he has ever made me understand this part of myself.

He is knocked so for a loop by my aggression that he is off balance ... and I shove him hard into one of the support beams, press in tight to him, up on my toes, my teeth nipping his chin.

"I need you," I finally say, my voice husky and urgent.

And my hands are pulling his head toward me ... to kiss him, open mouthed, hungry ... and taste him again as his body shifts from wary to testosterone-fueled desire.

By the time my hands are down, working on his jeans' snap, he is aware of only one thing: if he was looking for any kind of a sign that I want him, he has it in neon.

His hands grab me ... and I honestly don't remember my name anymore. He is unleashed and powerful. And all he needed was me to set him free.

The first time is pure madness and starvation-fueled. He is still high on what has happened ... I am reeling from the onslaught and grinning like the madwoman I know I am about him. I can't stand up. He whispers to me that he is not done with me yet. And this is when he picks me up and walks out of the stable, holding me, both of us somewhat still dressed but what's on us is rather tattered.

I don't have a clue where Ralph is ... I get this momentary image of one of our neighbors choosing this moment to walk over to talk with us about something ... only to see us in this state as Max carries me across to the house.

Up the stairs.

We don't make it to the bedroom. We don't make it past the top of the stairs.

He's been storing up for so many months ... and now that we're unable to stop, he can't bother with wasting time when I mention that I can feel he's hard again ... and that I'm coming just at the thought of it ...

But even so ... even though we are needy ... somewhere in the midst of this time of carpet burns and all ... we slow long enough to really kiss ... really look ... really feel ... really connect.

Really savor.

And really cry.

We are such saps about each other, I know.

Later, he seems to be able to think again ... and he asks where Bennett is. And I tell him about leaving him with Uma. About how she listened to my worries and my fears ... and how it came to me ... that we weren't at cross purposes but that we just had needs so big. And I say to him that I want to hear everything that's been weighing on him. That I want to share that burden with him.

And that I am here for him as he is for me.

When he leaves later to pick up Bennett, I snuggle into the pillow he slept on last night ... and I see his worried face again, the one I saw yesterday, as he struggled over his duty to our group and his desires for his own future. And the myriad of paperwork and hoops to jump just to straighten everything out from when we thought he'd died.

But a second later, as my heart is breaking for him, I see his face as we snuggled on the stairs ... and he talked about how he never considered it a real sacrifice to leave his career. And he was lying and I could tell.

Would there be a better reason than that he'd do that for us, for me, than for me to look for the bright side in this? So you have to leave that behind, I whispered to him, but on the plus side is that you get to live a more peaceful life with me and Bennett now.

This is the life he wants, when all is said and done.

I can read it in him.

He will rise from the ashes.

I can believe in him.

And his dreams ... he deserves having them come true. More than anyone I know, he deserves that. I want to jump in and enjoy walking right alongside him as we make them come to fruition.