Gold Dust Widow: The Story of an Outlaw's Revenge

Chapter 24: Jasper

I watched her sleeping in the firelight. The dark shadows danced across her small, peaceful face. She curled into my body tightly, a smile spreading slowly, her hands in fists.

I ran my fingers lightly across her cheek and down her soft throat. She moaned slightly, digging her face deeper into my chest. My heart skipped a beat as I smiled.

My fingers traced down the length of her arm, down her waist, up her hips, around the full swell of her bottom. Her body was perfectly carved, soft but strong. I couldn't help but notice the scars that marred her skin, cuts, burns; the bullet wound on her shoulder matched a similar one on her thigh. She'd been hurt more than once. Shot more than once.

I breathed out heavily, trying to control my rage. I was at a point where I was quite ready to kill any man who even blinked in her direction.

I distracted myself by stroking more of her tender skin.

Soft lines also creased her lower stomach, the proof she'd once carried a child. The lines were soft, feminine, and somewhat vulnerable. My mind was suddenly filled with the image of her, round and full of my baby. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest as I traced the pink lines gently.

Could I be a good father? Would she even want to be a mother again? I glanced back at her face, buried into my chest. She had her defences up since the moment she awoke in the cave. She was nothing like the sort of woman I imagined as a mother for my children. Soft, nurturing, and waiting for me. Clara was strong, definitely wild, a better shot than I, though I'd never admit that aloud, and she was fearless.

I wondered if she'd been nurturing with her son. My fingers found their way to the locket hanging around her neck, nestled elegantly between her ample breasts. I had no doubt she'd been nurturing, loving and caring to her son.

The second my fingers snapped the locked open, her hand descended onto mine, and I was met with her cornflower blue eyes, darkened by the candlelight.

"Jasper," her voice was hoarse.

I nodded and kissed her forehead lightly. She gazed down at where our fingers were wrapped around her locket. For a second, her grief was obvious in her expression, then her gaze snapped back to mine. Her fingers twisted the small picture of the baby around, so she could look down at it.

"He loved to pick flowers for me," she breathed. "He'd crush them, almost every time. But he loved to spend hours collecting wildflowers. I thought, I imagined him becoming a botanist one day. My father just told me that he'd be a rancher, like his grandpa," she let out a dry chuckle, tipping her head back a little. "But I knew there was more than ranching. He was going to be a scholar. I would have spent all my money to send him to the east to study. George would have been happy to as well."

"How old would he be today?" I asked gently.

"Six," she nodded slowly. "He'd be six, this spring."

"I wish I had met him," I murmured, before I realised what I was saying. Her eyes widened a little.

I gazed back at her, certain that if I had the chance, I would have loved to meet her son, such an important part of her.

"Really?" her voice was hoarse. I reached out to stroke her cheek, she leaned into my touch and I could feel my chest tightening, my heart racing.

"Yes," I answered. "Yes, I'm sure, I wish I could have met your whole family."

She let out a heavy breath as her eyes met mine, rimmed with red, glistening with tears. She pulled away from me, breathing heavily.

"Dammit, Jasper," she huffed, brushing at the first tears that began to streak down her face. " I don't like crying in front of you," she scowled, wiping at her cheek furiously.