Page 49 of A Bartered Bride
Milk cows, she’d thought, liked to be milked first thing in the morning. But not this one. She appeared to prefer breakfast and a little post-breakfast nap before a milking. Sophia hung the stool and stepped out into the cool of the morning.
Low clouds hung over the mountains to the west as the sun broke over the east.
Sophia laid a hand on her stomach as the baby kicked. She smiled at the movement. Nothing in life had prepared her for the wonder she felt at her own child coming to life inside her.
“It’s going to be a beautiful morning.” Matthew appeared from the barn, pulling off his gloves. He laid a hand on Sophia’s stomach, and the baby kicked again. “This little one is lively today.”
“Hungry, most likely,” Sophia said. “The cow won’t let me milk her, so I suppose I ought to feed both her and us.”
“Are you ever giving that cow a name?”
Sophia lifted her chin. “She’ll remain ‘the cow’ until she decides to be less particular about her milking schedule.”
Matthew laughed. “And if the baby is the same, will he—or she—simply be ‘the baby’ until he’s five years old?”
“If necessary,” Sophia said with a smile.
He held out his arms and she willingly stepped into them. He ran one hand over her aching back as he held her to him. “Are you feeling well?”
“As well as I can be. But it isn’t so terrible. I feel lucky, compared to some of the stories I’ve heard.” She leaned back to look up at him. His jaw held more of a beard now that he’d been so busy with the ranch. She reached up a hand and ran her fingers over it. “Do you expect the cattle to arrive today?”
He nodded. “I’ve got a couple of men who’ve agreed to hire on. They should be here this afternoon to help.”
“It’s really happening,” she said. “Everything we’ve talked about.”
“It’s happening.” He drew her closer, trapping her hand against his face.
She smiled up at him. “Do you need help naming the cattle?”
He laughed.
“I’m very good at it. Let’s see . . . Steer. Steer Number Two. Cow. Big Cow. Spotted Cow. Small—” He cut off her words with a kiss.
Sophia rested her hand against his face. The breeze lifted her hair as she kissed him back. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and she smiled against his lips.
When they finally parted, he said, his voice a little ragged, “You can name the cattle and all our children whatever you like provided you kiss me like that until the day we die.”
“Agreed,” she said with a laugh.
And then she kissed him again under the sky and with all the land that was theirs and theirs alone surrounding them.
She would have braved another wagon train, ten more ladies just like Miss Timperman, and a hundred bands of outlaws for him and for this life.
And she knew he’d do the same. They were family and nothing would ever pull them apart.
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