Page 42 of When the Sky Breaks

“Here’s hoping,” Ansel said as he pushed open the door.

“We don’t take guests after seven,” the innkeeper snapped before we could even ask for a room.

“Please,” Ansel said. “We’ve got money. We can pay double the rate if you want, we just . . .”

Before he could continue, an older woman, I could only assume the innkeeper’s wife, came out from the kitchen, asking who was at the door.

“What are you doing, Howard?” she asked, hands going to her hips.

“We don’t take guests after seven, dear,” the man said. “And look at them!”

“I’m looking,” the woman said, “and she’s pregnant.”

“So?” Howard asked.

“And they’re married.” The woman gestured to our wedding bands.

“So?” Howard pressed.

“And you’re turning them away?” the woman asked. “With her looking like she’s going to collapse any second?”

“But it—” Howard tried to protest.

“Give them the room at the back,” his wife instructed before turning back into the kitchen. “I’ll bring up some food and extra blankets. My word, Howard, you would’ve turned away the virgin mother too, wouldn’t you? Because it was after seven.”

“Thank you,” Neal said, dropping a handful of coins on the counter. “Really. Thank you.”

Seventeen

Neal

The room was small and simple, but it was warm, clean, and enclosed. Good enough right now. There was a double bed pushed up into one corner, and heavy, faded drapes framed the windows—with real glass this time. A small writing desk and a worn leather chair sat opposite the bed. The yellow, floral-figured wallpaper was peeling in places, but it was clearly well loved.

“I’m going to go see if I can find us some food,” Ansel offered. “You two clean up. I can sleep in the chair until midnight and then watch until dawn. Alright?”

“Thank you, Ansel,” Sorcha replied.

“Clean clothes are in here,” Ansel said, handing me one of the bundles from the shopkeeper as he left.

“So much for privacy,” I muttered.

Sorcha gently took Milkweed out of her pocket and set him on the desk, then slumped down in the chair. “What would we even do with privacy right now? Neither of us has had a real bath since we left Santa Fe. We’re both disgusting.”

“You sweat out a fever on the floor of an abandoned church,” I said, “and you’ve been throwing up. You’re allowed to feel a little gross. And, Sorcha?”

She glanced up at me, waiting.

“I do not care if you smell like dirt or fever or gunpowder or blood,” I said. “It’s not going to stop me wanting to kiss you.”

Sorcha chuckled. “So prove it.”

I knelt so I was level with her where she sat at the desk, then took her face in my hands and kissed her. And here, in private, with four walls and no expectations or propriety, I felt her arms twine around me, one hand fisting in my hair. Not seeking comfort, not sweet or chaste. No, there was heat in her now. I could feel it as I bit down softly on her lower lip and heard her perfect, stifled little whimper in response. A shudder rippled through me, wondering vaguely what other noises I could get her to make.

“That’s it, love,” I murmured against her cheek, moving to kiss down her neck and feeling as Sorcha arched against me. “Good girl.”

And there it was again, that happy, half-choked little sound in her throat. Desire curled hot and tight in my chest, then the clock struck the quarter hour. Ansel would be back soon. And we both still needed to get clean, to get changed. Sorcha reached to pull me closer, take my mouth again. I let her and reached around to start unbuttoning her dress. We had to bathe anyways, might as well have fun as long as we could.

“Oh we’re doing that?” Sorcha giggled, pulling away.