A Place Called Harmony by Jodi Thomas Page A

in her life had ever said she was beautiful. When he leaned back, she buttoned the shirt and slipped in beside him once more. His arm circled, pulling her close against him.
    He kissed her forehead and whispered, “Are you sure it didn’t hurt?”
    “No, it didn’t. In fact, I think I liked it.”
    She was surprised when he laughed.
    “I’ve been avoiding accidentally touching you in the wrong place since the night we married. Just wanting to has driven me crazy.” He kissed her cheek. “Now I know how wonderful they feel, would you mind if I touched you there, not by accident, but on purpose now and then?”
    “I wouldn’t mind at all.”
    His mouth covered hers with a kiss that warmed her all the way to her toes. When he finally pulled away, she sighed and said, “We’d better get some sleep.”
    He agreed, but she had a feeling his heart wasn’t in the idea.
    When she awoke at dawn, his hand rested on her breast and she guessed it had been there all night. To her surprise, she didn’t mind. In fact, she felt cherished. She didn’t know much about men, but she figured Patrick McAllen, all six feet of lean muscle, was a good man and worth the loving. Right there, in the tiny bed, in the run-down house, Annie decided she’d love him the rest of her life.
    By the time she helped Mrs. Dixon make breakfast, Patrick had fixed the back door and repaired the steps outside. Though the day was cloudy and promised rain, he kept working. Annie saw his skill in everything he did, not just repairing the barn and the house, but making it better than it had ever been. He even repaired the chicken coop, though Mrs. Dixon had not a chicken in sight.
    On the third day the sun returned, but Patrick insisted on hunting so they’d have meat for the road. The deer he killed would give both them and Mrs. Dixon food for weeks. That night they huddled around the fireplace and talked about their families. Patrick told the old lady all about his brother Shelly. When Annie talked about her sisters and their fights over nothing, Mrs. Dixon laughed so hard tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks.
    As they had every night, Patrick took Annie’s hand and led her to the bedroom. She’d change into the shirt with her back to him, and then they’d get into bed. Without a word, he’d kiss her good night as he slowly unbuttoned the shirt. His hands were bold now, caressing, pressing, and running his thumb over the tips of her breasts.
    “I’ve waited all day for this, Annie,” he’d whisper in her ear. “Touching you like this feels so right. You belong to me.”
    She giggled. “No, Patrick, you belong to me. I’ve already decided.”
    She let him take his time, never dreaming such a small thing would mean so much to him. Again and again he’d kiss her softly as his fingers moved over her.
    Deep into the night she woke enough to feel him moving her to her back as he lowered his head between her breasts.
    When she cried out in surprise, he moved to her ear and whispered, “It’s all right, Annie. I’m sorry I woke you. I just can’t sleep without one more taste of your beautiful body. It’s so nicely rounded in all the right places.”
    “Kiss me first,” she whispered. “Before you gobble me up.”
    He laughed. “Even if I do, you still willing to come along with me on the journey?”
    “Yes,” she whispered.
    The next morning, when they finally hitched the wagon to head north, Mrs. Dixon hugged them both and wished them well. They’d told her their story about running away. As they climbed in, the widow gave them a box, saying it was a small wedding gift, but they couldn’t open it until they had a house.
    Annie didn’t care what was in the box. It was a gift. Her first and only real wedding gift.
    Three hours later, when they passed a small cluster of buildings that seemed to be built with no order, Patrick stopped in at the general store and ordered a dozen chickens to be delivered out to Mrs. Dixon’s place along