"I'd like to have a picture of you, too," he said, settling her more comfortably in his arms and inhaling the sweet woman-scent of her body.
She laughed at the idea as she reached up to stroke his cheek. "Why do you need a picture? You see me every day."
Josh shrugged, unable to explain his reasons since he did not understand them himself. Instead he teased her. "So when you're old and fat, I can remember why I married you."
"Ohhhh!" she cried, trying to punch him, but he smothered her struggles and planted a kiss on her outraged mouth.
"Yes," he mused when she again lay still in his arms, "I'd like to have a picture of you looking just the way you look right now."
"That might be a little tricky…" she said softly, rubbing her nose against the whiskery point of his chin.
He grinned wickedly. "Not as tricky as the photograph I'd really like. What I'd really like is a picture of you just when you call me 'Joshua.'"
Felicity gasped at this reference to their lovemaking, still the only time she ever called him by his given name. She should not have been shocked. From the things he had said to her in the few days since their marriage, she should have realized that he was liable to say just anything, no matter how outrageous. But she had learned some tricks herself in those few days. "Well," she said, pretending to consider the possibility, "I had been thinking that Cody could take a wedding portrait of us…"
"What!" Josh shouted before he noticed the teasing twinkle in her eye. "You little…" He wrestled her to the ground and tickled her until she screamed for mercy.
"Stop! Please! I can't stand it!" she shrieked, and finally he let her go, pulling back and turning partially away from her as if he were affronted.
"A wedding portrait," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest indignantly.
Struggling to regain her breath and her composure, Felicity could not even manage to sit up, so she lay there limply on the blanket, laughing at his pique. "We really should have a wedding portrait made," she ventured after a while, trying to sound perfectly serious. "A traditional one, I mean," she clarified when he cocked an eyebrow at her.
He thought this over. "We could go to San Antonio. There's a studio there. It's not far, and we could stay a few days. It could be our honeymoon," he suggested. He still felt a little guilty for not taking her on a wedding trip, but he simply could not afford to be away from the ranch for any length of time during the spring. Ortega would be acting up again and…
"This is my honeymoon," Felicity corrected, instantly sobered, "and I like it just fine. I don't want to go to San Antonio or anyplace else."
"Not even New Orleans or St. Louis?" he said, trying to tempt her. "We could go in a few months, stay as long as you like____________________"
"I told you before, I don't want to go anywhere," she insisted, unaware that he was only baiting her.
"Why not?" Josh taunted, more than willing to hear her repeat her reasons. They had had this discussion last week, before the wedding. He did not think he would ever tire of it.
"Because," she said, sitting up again, "I've traveled all my life, and now that I have a real home, I want to stay here." Besides, she added silently, for the first time in my life I feel truly safe, and as long as I'm here, in your home, no one can be following me. But she didn't say that aloud. Instead, she said, "Anyway, I've been to San Antonio, and I don't-"
Josh silenced her with a kiss, a joyous, grateful, happy kiss. "I'm glad you like it here," he said when they were both breathless.
Felicity reached up and tenderly brushed a lock of silver hair off his forehead as she wondered why such a simple thing should please him so much. The answer came to her with surprising clarity: because of his mother. Hadn't Blanche warned her that he did not trust women because his mother had deserted him? No wonder he was glad that she liked his home and never wanted to leave it. She only wished she could assure him that she would never do what Amelia Logan had done, but he did not like to talk about her. At one point during their "honeymoon" he had started to tell her about his mother, and he had been quite relieved to learn that Blanche had already done so. He never mentioned the subject again, although he told her many other things about himself.
"I like your ranch very much, Mr. Logan," she said with a smile, coming as close as she dared to reassuring him.
"I own it all, you know," he said, pulling her back into his lap. "A lot of ranchers don't bother to file on their land. They figure the cattle is the only important thing, but my father always said that the land was what mattered. It would be here long after we're dead and gone. They'd only let him file on a few sections at a time, so he staked his claims in a checkerboard pattern so nobody could hedge him out until he could claim the rest."
Felicity nodded, acknowledging her father-in-law's cleverness and marveling at her husband's pride in his heritage. "He left you quite a legacy," she remarked, thinking of how little her own father had accumulated in his life in spite of all his hard work.
"And we'll have it to pass on. It will be here a hundred years from now, and Logans will still own it," Josh said, his eyes shining with this vision of the future.
But Felicity only half heard him. She was still thinking about her father. Gideon Logan had his memorial, but Caleb Storm had left nothing except the knowledge he had passed along to her. If she let that die… "Joshua, will you bring me out here with my wagon someday soon so I can photograph this place?"
Josh's attention snapped quickly from the future back to the present. His smile was slow and lazy. "I'll do anything you want when you call me 'Joshua.'"
Knowing she had made a tactical error, Felicity tried to slip out of his grasp, but she was too late. He was already drawing her close to his chest. "We can't-" she began, but once more he silenced her quite effectively.
His kiss was long and lingering. With his tongue, he explored the sensitive recesses of her mouth, and with his hands he stroked her body to quivering response. Felicity clung to him, savoring anew his strength and power, thankful beyond words that such a man had chosen her as his wife.
When he lifted his mouth from hers, she was literally panting, but her breath caught in outrage when she saw the teasing glint in his silvery eyes.
"Mrs. Logan!" he remonstrated. "What are you doing? We can't possibly make love out here in front of God and everybody. Someone might come along and see us…" His voice trailed off as he pretended to quail under the ineffectual thrashing Felicity was giving him.
"Oh, stop, please! I can't stand it!" he begged in a high-pitched wail apparently intended to be an imitation of her own voice.
"You are a wicked, evil man," Felicity decreed, giving him one last shove which he pretended sent him sprawling across the blanket.
"Yes, I am," he replied, capturing her hand and pulling her down beside him.
And I love you madly, she thought, but she did not say it aloud. She was still uncertain how he would react to such a declaration, and she did not want to do anything to spoil this wonderful moment. "Humph," she muttered instead, pretending to pout.
"Now," he said, settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm and leaning over so he could watch her lovely face. "Tell me the story about the little boy who was so scared of the camera he threw up."