This. This was right. The feel of her body fitting against her husband’s.
Sleep pulled at her eyelids. It had been an exhausting day. Being here with Porter felt so damn right. Familiar. As if by muscle memory, her body curled around him, and she took comfort in the steady rise and fall of his broad chest.
Her eyelids fluttered shut. How was it possible to be entirely at ease and so on edge all at once?
* * *
Sleep was the furthest thing from Porter’s mind.
Then again, that was nothing new. Not since the accident. Since the endless blur of days and nights at the hospital. He’d taken to doing work in the odd hours of the evening. Using work as a way to keep his mind off the dire situation of his family.
But tonight, he was working for different reasons. He needed to keep himself occupied, to keep his hands off his wife. Tonight, concentration was difficult. Near impossible, with Alaina pressed against him.
It had been so damn long since he’d held her like this. Since the warmth of her body melted with his. He absently ran a hand through her hair. She drew in closer.
How had it been so long since they’d done this? Been in bed together, nestled against each other.
Too long.
Yes, he wanted to touch her, to make love to her, but he had to keep his goals in mind. For the first time in months, he felt as if they were working together. That they were in this for real. Not just him, but her, too. They were becoming a family. At least, he thought they were. His own experiences with family were shaky at best. And her family was gone. But this family—this family had a shot.
He returned his attention back to his tablet. Looked over some reports. Started to feel the pull of sleep.
But something was wrong. Alaina started to shake. She twisted away from him.
“Stop it.” Her voice was a murmur. But there was desperation in it.
“Let go. Just...just. No. Stop.” Her lovely face contorted with fear. She continued to thrash against an invisible assailant.
She was having a nightmare.
Gently, he shook her shoulder. “Alaina. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
She gasped in air. Her blue eyes suddenly alert. Scanning the room. Focusing on him. Breathing rapidly, her body twitchy. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Oh, God, this plan isn’t working out like I meant it... I should just go.”
He clasped her arm. “Stay. Do you remember what you dreamed? Did you recall something from the past?”
“No, not really.” She sagged back against him. “I was just having a nightmare about Douglas, about that time with him. Things get muddled in dreams, feeling out of control and scared. Did I tell you about Douglas?”
“Your ex-boyfriend before you met me? Yes, you did.”
“What did I tell you?”
“Are you trying to pull information out of me? Have you forgotten parts of that time in your life, too?”
“I remember. He was verbally abusive. I didn’t see that for a long time. Then he hit me...” She shook her head. “And then I was done. I walked out.”
“That’s what you told me.” Once he’d learned about the jerk, Porter had made a point to keep tabs on the guy, make sure he honored that restraining order. “I’m sorry tonight is bringing back bad memories for you. This was supposed to be a positive experience.”
“It would have been worse if I’d been alone. Let’s try again.”
“I’d like that, too.” She maneuvered into the crook of his arm. Laid a hand on his chest. He pulled her tightly against him, his mind churning with ways to help her feel at ease, to know he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Her breathing slowed, falling into the rhythmic pattern of a deep sleep.
And even with the determination to keep her safe from threats like Douglas, and to keep his hands to himself until she was ready for more, Porter couldn’t deny he had no way to keep her safe from thoughts of the past.
* * *
The yellow-orange rays of dawn’s first light filtered in between the tulle-like curtains, nudging Alaina awake. She glanced over at her husband, whose eyes were still closed, heavy with sleep.
Quietly, she slid from bed and crept down the hall to check on the baby.
Thomas greeted her with a chubby-cheeked smile.
“Are you hungry, my love?” she cooed, picking him up out of bed. She sat with him in the rocker while he drank from the bottle. This was her favorite time of the day, just the two of them alone. She fed him and rocked him even though he was awake. She talked to him and sang to him. Time passed in a vacuum, a couple of hours sliding by in a beautiful haze.
This was everything she’d always hoped motherhood would be. A calmness descended on her as she sat with Thomas. And a desire to crawl back into bed with Porter. To memorize all of his features. To hold these moments close so they couldn’t slip away like the others.
Maybe it was time to start drawing again. A family portrait. She’d start with Porter. Capture the angles of his face, the strength in his chest. And the smile lines in his face. And somehow, maybe their years together would come rushing back as she revisited him.
After finishing with Thomas, she set him down for a nap. Kissed his forehead. Filled with love for the making of her little family. She’d sketch him next.
On tiptoe, she made her way downstairs, grabbed her new sketchbook and pencils and crawled back into bed. Sunlight streamed over Porter’s face.
She began to outline him. Rough strokes on paper. She worked first on his face. She started to lose herself in the drawing, the world ebbing away from her.
Until a knock sounded from behind her. Alaina practically leaped out of her skin.
“Sleeping Beauty’s still asleep, I see.” Her mother-in-law called from the door, a diamond-and-silver snowflake broach pinned to the collar of her shirt. Porter let out a loud snore and turned on his side.
“Have breakfast with me? I could use some toast. And girl time.” She motioned for Alaina to follow her down the hall.
“Sounds great. I am a bit hungry myself.” Alaina stacked her sketchbook and pencils on the bedside table. If she stayed here much longer, she might not be able to resist temptation. She needed some space to gather her thoughts—and her mother-in-law might well have insights that could help her decide how to move forward in the marriage.
She hurried after Courtney into the hallway toward the back stairway leading to the kitchen.
When she’d caught up to her mother-in-law, Courtney glanced over her shoulder on her way down the steps. “I’ve never seen you draw before. You know, you get the same look on your face as Porter does when he is working on a building design.”
“I do?”
She nodded, clasping the polished steel railing. “Porter’s always been a hands-on guy. Started back in middle school. He was always building things. Once, he built a table for me for Christmas. He was sixteen then. Said he’d loved the sweat equity of the project. The ability to create something from nothing. I guess that’s a bit like art, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it’s actually a similar process. Built not bought. I think that’s why this house feels foreign to me. It’s cookie cutter decor in a lot of ways other than some of the artwork. I’ll take some imperfections in my decorations if it’s coming from scratch.”
“You sound like him. When he built that table, I think that’s when he decided he didn’t need me anymore.” Courtney gave a slight laugh. But the sound was tinged with sadness.
They turned the corner into the kitchen and