Vivian Arend: Rocky Mountain Desire

Matt snapped upright. “Shit. What time is it?”

She checked her watch. “Nearly noon.”

“Fuck. I mean, what day is it? I’ve been buried up to my eyebrows in calves and—” He glanced at the bedside table and rumbled to a stop. “Oh. It’s Saturday, isn’t it?”

Hope couldn’t stop herself. She laughed, soft at first then louder. His expression of total dismay turned the situation into something she was going to remember for a long, long time.

Maybe even forever.

Matt pulled the quilt over and opened it up, smoothing it over his pillows. He fingered the empty twine then looked at her expectantly.

“Oh no, Matt Coleman. You ain’t getting out of this one.”

He mock-pouted. “Sewed my fingers to the bone—figured my message would be clearer if I spoke your dialect.”

She still couldn’t believe it, that he’d found the time to do up a quilt. Rough as it was. “You going to make me beg?”

His grin flashed bright—that one that said sex and mischief and too much Coleman to argue with. “I like making you beg.”

She sat up straighter, intending to crawl over him and make him squirm, but he beat her to the punch, pulling her hand forward as if looking for something.

“Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Hope tugged her hand free. “Ah, I need to do my nails—”

He rolled off the bed and scooted her hips forward until she perched on the edge of the mattress. “May I have it please?”

It took a moment to dig in her pocket. She had to lie back to get at the ring.

Matt growled in approval. “Hmm, maybe you should just stay in that position for a while.”

A sharp nip along the inside of her thigh made her gasp. She sat, the ring trapped between thumb and forefinger. “Later. First, I think you left this lying around in public. You should take better care of special things.”

He was up on one knee, pulling the ring from her grasp, holding her hand captive. “I intend on taking very good care of something special. If you’ll have me.”

Hope let him slip the ring on her. “You just try to get away.”

They grinned at each other. She opened her arms and he scooped her up, twirling her around before depositing them both back on the bed, all tangled together.

There was a whole lot of kissing and caressing going on, but Hope wanted a few answers before she gave in and enjoyed herself. “Whose ring was it?”

Matt rolled her on top of him, his hands slowing but not stopping. “My gramma’s. My mom gave it to me a while back. Said if I wasn’t a stupid mule I might be able to figure out the perfect woman who could appreciate not only me, but being a part of the Coleman family.”

“Your mom said that?”

He nodded. “She likes you. They all like you. Hell, my dad even chipped in and made one of the quilt squares. Of course, he called me a few names first considering the bad timing. And the fact that Mom refused to help him, but he did good. All of them did.”

His family, drawing her into their midst. “Who else?”

Matt laughed. “Blake made the log cabin. He said Jaxi was twitching so hard watching him use her machine he finally gave up and hand-sewed straight seams and then cut until it looked right. Travis—that boy surprised us all and did the star. Not sure what the idea is behind it, but it’s kinda appropriate.”

“You calling your brother shiny?”

“No, unique.”

She just listened, took it all in.

“The twins did the triangles around the edges—I guess they’re called geese?”

Hope nodded.

“Then they dumped the lot on me and told me to put it together. So I’ve been working it in-between pulling calves. And you’d better take care of it, because it’s the last time in my life I’m ever sewing.”

“Appropriate, because it’s the last time you’re ever proposing as well.” She couldn’t believe it. Her oversized cowboy had been juggling chores and making something that would have never been on his list if she weren’t important, real important, to him. “Matt, I love it. So much. And the ring—it’s perfect.”

He caught her hands in his and kissed her fingers. “And me?”

She shrugged. “Well, you’ll do.”

Matt roared with laughter and took control, rolling her under him, stripping her bare. Drawing their bodies together in the same way their hearts were knit together. All too soon, and not nearly soon enough, he slid into her core and she moaned her acceptance.

“I love you, Hope.” He hovered over her, filling her, giving her a place to be with family and a place to be herself.

“Love you too. Really.” She breathed out her contentment as he made love to her, taking her higher. Bringing her with him as they both slipped over.

Hope curled up against him when they were done. Matt’s breathing calmed, his fingers slowing where he was caressing her neck. He fell asleep again, and this time she didn’t wake him. Just lay in his arms, plotting how to make a quilt of her own with snowstorms and bathtubs and mirrors in it.

No one but the two of them would understand, but she never wanted to forget what kind of work it took to make love happen.

To make love stay.

Vivian Arend has hiked, biked, skied and paddled her way around most of North America and parts of Europe. Throughout all the wandering in the wilderness, stories have been planted and they are bursting out in vivid colour. Paranormal, twisted fairytales, red-hot contemporaries—the genres are all over.

Between times of living with no running water, she home schools her teenaged children and tries to keep up with her husband—the instigator of most of the wilderness adventures.

She loves to hear from readers: vivarend@gmail.com. You can also drop by www.vivianarend.com for more information on what is coming next.