Free Redemption: Reckless Desires (Blue Moon Saloon Book 3) by Anna Lowe Page A

the front door behind Cole and Jenna, who were driving Emma home. Then he waved a silent good-bye to old Harry, the cook, who left through the back door. Jessica’s and Simon’s footsteps dragged wearily up the stairs, and the saloon went silent for a while.
    Soren took a last look around, turned off the lights, and headed to the office in the back, dreading the numbers he’d have to crunch at some point. He had money to put in the safe, tonight’s receipts to drop off, and—
    When he opened the door to the office, his thoughts broke off, and he growled. Not a growl of warning or anger, but a throatier, possessive sound. Sarah was there, sitting in his chair. She’d folded her arms, laid her head down in the nest of paperwork on his desk, and fallen asleep.
    My office. My desk. My mate,
his bear hummed.
    He rubbed a shoulder against the doorframe, marking his turf the way he wished he could mark Sarah. He used to spend hours scrubbing his chin along her neck and cheeks until she went pink all over. Until she’d finally trap his head and guide his mouth to hers, and they’d get started all over again with deep kisses that were much more than just the prelude to another round of sex.
    He watched her for a good minute, breathing the peaceful feeling deep into his soul. Not that he liked the fact that she’d gone right on working instead of going to bed — she’d started on the saloon accounts, from the look of it — or the fact that it couldn’t be comfortable, sleeping like that. But still, something about the scene warmed his soul.
    Sarah, in his place. Sarah, as part of his clan.
    A dream come true, if only in a convoluted way. Still, he’d take what he could get these days.
    The envelopes and papers spread around her were covered with sticky notes and pencil marks. Jesus, she’d already started color-coding stuff. He could just see the office a week down the line if he didn’t stop her. There’d be stacking trays, calendars, and folders. Lots and lots of folders, all arranged in neat rows. Or worse, hanging files. Alphabetized. All that, and a chart printed in big, clear letters so his dyslexic brain could figure out what went where and why.
    He smiled in spite of himself.
    “Sarah.” He tapped her on the arm.
    Her shoulders rose and fell with every peaceful breath, and his heart raced from the warmth shooting through his hand where he made contact with her.
    Mine!
his bear sang.
My mate!
    “Sarah,” he whispered, touching her hands. He rubbed the burn scars gently, aching inside. If only he’d been there that night. If only he’d never left Montana. If only…
    He clenched his jaw and shoved the thoughts away. He’d beat himself up about that later, not ruin this precious moment with it.
    “Sarah,” he whispered.
    Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t wake up. So he slowly, gently rolled the desk chair back and lifted her gingerly in his arms. He cradled her good and close and spent a minute relishing the sensation of so much of her pressed against so much of him. She was too thin, but it was her. Still Sarah and still his, at least in his heart.
    He sniffed her scent deeply, savoring it. Yes, it was a little different than he remembered, though he’d finally figured out why. She was pregnant, and that changed her scent. It changed everything.
    Not everything,
his bear murmured.
    He held her a little closer and found himself nuzzling her gently. Almost humming with pleasure at being able to do that again. Maybe the bear was right.
    Of course, I am.
    Weary as he was, he wished the staircase was longer or that Sarah’s room was farther down the hall so he could hold her for a little longer. But her room was right there, so he pushed the door open with one shoulder and knelt slowly by the mattress. The sheets were pushed back, so easing her into bed was easy. Letting go of her, though, was hard. Damn near impossible.
    Just another second,
his bear begged.
    God, another second would be nice.
    He