Never Marry a Cowboy (29 page)

His seed. The possibility that she might carry his child filled her with incredible joy, joy that she'd never experienced.

He had given her what she craved most, and now she was terrified that death would not afford her the opportunity to enjoy everything.

She heard his movements as he dressed while all the doubts in the world plagued her. She had lived her life appreciating each day, fearful that she would have no tomorrow.

Yet, tomorrow always arrived to mock her uncertainty.

Kit knelt beside her and placed her clothing in her lap. “You should get dressed.”

She slanted her gaze at him. “I have spent my life waiting for death.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Death waits for us. We should not wait for it. When Gray, Harry, and I faced those outlaws in the street of For
tune, just before I fired my first bullet, I thought of a thousand things that I wished I had done before that moment.” He smiled. “A few moments ago, I managed to enjoy the first thing on my list, which leaves me with nine hundred and ninety-nine things left to do.”

Irrational anger shot through her. “So making love to me fully was an item on a list?”

His smile warmed. “Every item on my list revolved around doing something with you. I want to watch the sun rise with you. And watch it set. I want to watch storms roll over the land. I want to inhale your fragrance when I awaken and hear your breathing as I drift off to sleep.”

She clutched his shirt and buried her face against his chest. “Oh, Kit, what if you give up Ravenleigh and I die tomorrow?”

“What if I don't give it up and
I
die tomorrow?”

She jerked her head up and met his gaze.

“Twice in the past month, I've come nearer to death than you are at this very moment. You told me once that tomorrow is a gift, and we take for granted that it will be there. So we've both held back, fearful that if we gave too much we would lose what we treasured and our grief would increase. I say to hell with living only for today. Let's live as though we have a thousand tomorrows.”

She combed her fingers through his hair before trailing them along the strong cut of his jaw. “I don't want you to have regrets, to give up something that you cherish.”

“You are all that I cherish. All that I hold dear.” He
slipped his hand inside the blanket and splayed his fingers over her bare stomach. “If what passed between us a few moments ago wasn't enough, tell me what I must do to convince you that all I shall ever regret are the moments that I don't have with you as long as you live.”

Tears burned her eyes and clogged her throat. “I love you so much.”

“Then grow old with me.”

“And if I can't?”

He released a wistful sigh. “Grow a moment older with me. An hour older. A day. A week. Just don't leave me until you absolutely must.”

“You broke your vow. Your child could die with me.”

He shook his head. “You're stronger than you realize, not nearly as frail as you once were. I'll risk giving you a dozen children if you'll but fight death.”

She placed her hand over his where it rested against her stomach. “I've never been more afraid than I am at this moment. I've always faced death. I don't know how to face life.”

He entwined his fingers through hers. “'Tis simple, sweetling. Just hold my hand.”

S
itting on the sofa, Ashton nestled against his side, her fingers threaded through his, Kit studied the man standing before the window, gazing out. He had welcomed his visitors, but Kit doubted that he would welcome their news.

“I love Ashton, David,” Kit said quietly and felt Ashton's fingers tighten their hold on his.

David slowly nodded. “I was afraid that might happen if you spent much time alone together.” He glanced over his shoulder, sorrow etched in the lines of his face. “I won't ask how you feel about him, Ashton. Your love for Kit is reflected clearly in your eyes.”

With a sigh, he shook his head. “I'm sorry, Kit. I don't know why I thought everything could stay simple and uncomplicated. You're welcome to stay here”—he darted a quick glance at Ashton—“for as long as you want.”

“Actually, Ashton and I are going to move to the western part of the state.”

David took a step toward them. “You can't be serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

“She isn't strong enough—”

“She is,” Kit insisted. “She's stronger now than she was when we married, and I have hope that a drier climate will serve her well.”

David looked at his sister. “I suppose you want to go.”

She smiled warmly. “I want to be with Kit.”

He held out his arms. Tears welled in Ashton's eyes as she rose to her feet and walked into her brother's embrace. “I love you, David.”

Kit saw tears fill David's eyes as he touched his sister's cheek. “I love you, too, and I just want you to be happy. If going wherever this Englishman decides to take you is what will make you happy, then go with my blessing.”

“Thank you, David.”

Kit stood, placed his arm around Ashton as she joined him, and drew her close against his side.

“So when will you leave?” David asked.

“Christopher is in Fortune now, arranging his own wedding,” Kit explained. “Once that happy event takes place, we plan to spend a month in Galveston with my father and Christopher's new family. When they set sail, we'll begin our journey west.”

 

Ashton stood on the dock as Kit bade his brother and father farewell. As a new bride, Elizabeth glowed. Her three daughters were jumping, skipping, and talking excitedly about their journey. Ashton wanted to ask them to be still. She wanted to ask everyone to quickly get aboard the ship or leave the dock.

It was too crowded. She was having a hard time drawing in air and the more she fought to breathe, the harder it became. She could feel the August heat suffocating her.

Too many people. They were blocking the breeze. She desperately needed the breeze.

Ashton felt the beads of sweat pop out on her brow and the bile rise in her throat. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

She heard Kit's laughter from a great distance as he talked with Christopher.

Kit glanced over his shoulder, and she saw his brow furrow. He took her arm, concern clearly etched in his features. She hoped she didn't look as bad as she felt.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded, her tongue thickening. “I'm fine.”

“You look pale.”

Tears stung her eyes as she cradled his face with trembling hands. She wasn't fine, and she knew it. Symptoms had been arriving daily, and today they were the worst. “Please, go with them. Return to England.”

“Why?”

She felt the tear roll along her cheek. “Death is here.”

“The bloody hell it is. Ashton, listen to me—”

She desperately wanted to, but his voice faded as she sank into a darkened abyss.

 

At St. Mary's, Kit stared out the window. He felt like a ship without an anchor caught in a tempest at sea. He couldn't remember the last time Ashton had
coughed. She had seemed so much stronger that he'd almost forgotten that she was ill.

Today's episode on the dock had been a sudden and frightening reminder that all was not well with her. He wanted to rant and rail and curse, but he didn't know at whom he should direct his anger.

His thoughts were as scattered as promises on the wind, unable to take hold.

“The physicians in England would not keep us waiting like this,” his father grumbled. “Do they not realize who I am here?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Kit's mouth. His father had grown rather fond of Ashton in the past month and, in the end, had accepted with grace Kit's decision to stay in Texas.

“Your ship will sail without you if you don't leave now,” Kit said quietly.

“There will be another,” Christopher replied.

Kit nodded. Yes, there would be another. A hundred more would follow this one. How many more moments would he have with Ashton?

A door opened and a man stepped through. Kit recognized him as the physician he'd spoken with before, Dr. Stewart. “Mr. Montgomery?”

Kit turned to see Christopher take a step forward and his father struggle to get out of his chair. If his heart weren't breaking, he would have laughed. He placed his hand on his father's shoulder to still him. “He only means me.”

“We all bloody well care,” his father snapped.

Kit squeezed his shoulder. “I know you do. I'll let you know what he says.”

Kit followed Dr. Stewart into the room. His chest tightened at the sight of Ashton sitting in front of a desk, her hands clasped together. She was still so incredibly pale. He sat in the chair beside her and placed his hand over hers.

She shifted her gaze to him and gave him a tremulous smile. How he wanted to pull her onto his lap, into his arms, and reassure her that all would be well.

The physician sat behind his desk and smiled. “I always like to begin with the good news first.”

Kit's heart sank. “I prefer the bad news first.”

Dr. Stewart gave a brisk nod. “All right.” He crossed his arms across the top of his desk and leaned forward slightly. “Your wife tells me that last winter a physician diagnosed her with pulmonary consumption.” He pursed his lips and held Ashton's gaze. “I see no evidence that the disease has spread beyond your lungs. As a matter of fact, I see very little evidence of lesions in your lungs. You mentioned that you were coughing up blood last winter.”

Ashton nodded. “Occasionally. It was frightening.”

“I imagine it was.” Dr. Stewart held up a palm as though he hoped to find an answer there. “When the lesions burst, the patient may cough up blood. Sometimes the lesions heal. Unfortunately, most of the doctors in this state are self-taught. They can misread symptoms or jump to conclusions based on limited knowledge. Because I did not examine you last winter, I have nothing by which to compare the examination I just gave you. But if his diagnosis was correct, then you show a remarkable improvement in health
that is not unheard of. Diet, rest, activities that force the lungs to work harder than they have before can make a difference.”

Ashton intertwined her fingers with Kit's. Kit shifted his attention away from the doctor, his heart gladdened by the adoration in Ashton's eyes.

“My husband forces me to eat and take long walks with him.” She smiled. “We're going to move to a drier climate.”

“Based upon what we've been able to ascertain, that should help as well,” Dr. Stewart said. “I'd like to recommend one more thing. The town of Mineral Wells has a medical well that has been known to cure a variety of illnesses. I would suggest a visit once or twice a year.”

Kit leaned forward to make certain he had not misunderstood. “Once or twice a year? You say that as though you expect my wife to live beyond Christmas.”

“I do, Mr. Montgomery. I have read of documented cases where a patient was given a month to live and lived fifty years. Consumption is a baffling disease. Unfortunately, as is the way with many diseases, we don't know all we need to know.”

Squeezing Ashton's hand, Kit settled back in the chair. “That is good news, Dr. Stewart. I should have let you begin there.”

Dr. Stewart grinned broadly. “Oh, that wasn't my good news, Mr. Montgomery. My good news is that your wife is with child.”

Kit felt as though he'd taken a blow to his chest. Ashton gasped and pressed both their hands against
her stomach. Such joy radiated from her face that Kit felt a lump rise in his throat. Leaning over, he kissed the beautiful smile on her face.

He glanced back at the doctor. “You're certain?”

“It's an easy diagnosis, Mr. Montgomery. I've never been mistaken yet.”

Unease settled in. “She fainted on the dock—”

“Probably too many people. She's breathing for two now. She needs more air, more food, more rest, more attention.”

Kit looked back at his adoring wife. “I'd give her more
love
if it were possible.”

Kit bowed his head, his throat tightening and his chest aching. Even when death was expected, grief was overpowering and came without warning. He was grateful that he had reconciled any differences he had with his father, more grateful that in the end his father had respected his decision.

Kit heard the soft footfalls and glanced up as Ashton knelt beside him.

“Your father's gone,” she said quietly, resting a hand on his arm.

He nodded as his eyes filled with tears. “I had not expected to miss him. He was an ocean away, for God's sake. When I saw him off in Galveston, I knew I would never see him again, but I did not weep.”

She placed her palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Grief knows nothing of distances measured in miles. Love dictates its depths.”

He pulled her onto his lap and nestled her head within the crook of his shoulder. “My wife has become a philosopher. Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Grow old.”

He gazed into her penetrating blue eyes that dared him to deny her words. She was stronger than she'd ever been with a glow to her face that he hoped would
never fade. In the farthest recesses of his heart, he knew he would watch her hair turn silver and wrinkles form across her brow.

He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Christopher says Father proclaimed Damon to be the next Earl of Ravenleigh.”

Ashton smiled. “It seems appropriate that our son would be, since his father should have been.”

“We shall have to see that he receives a proper education and is well mannered. None of this spitting tobacco and cursing that these Texans are so fond of! We shall have to endeavor to bring culture to this state.”

She laughed lightly. “First you bring law to the western part of the state, and now you want to bring culture to Texas. Whatever am I to do with you?”

“Grow old,” he murmured, before he gathered her into his arms, stood, and carried her to the bedroom where he planned for them to grow old together.