Free Twice Loved (copy2) by Lavyrle Spencer Page A

the first time. Immediately, she smiled and bent to greet the Lab.
    “Ship ... oh, Ship ... hello, girl!” With a whine and a wag, Ship returned the greeting. Laura hunkered in the doorway, holding the dog’s chin with one hand and scratching the top of her head with the other. Her pale gray skirt billowed wide, hiding Rye’s boots as he stood studying the top of her head. But it was on the dog that she lavished her affectionate greeting.
    “So you’ve come to see me at last, silly girl ... and it’s about time, too. You could have dropped by now and then ...” There followed a chuckle as Laura was bestowed a brief whip of a pink tongue on her cheek. She jerked back, but laughingly invited, “No need for you to stay outside, girl. Your rug’s still there.”
    Looking down at the two of them, it was all Rye could do to keep from pulling the woman up into his arms and demanding the welcome he, too, deserved.
    She rose and led the way inside. When the door was closed, she faced it while Rye paused with his back to it, and they both watched Ship give a brief sniff to the air, then circle twice before dropping to the braided rug beside Rye’s ankles, with a grunt of satisfied familiarity.
    The blue eyes of Rye Dalton lifted to meet the brown ones of Laura. The sense of homecoming was overwhelming. Ship lowered her chin to her paws with a sigh while Rye once more slipped his fingers inside his stomach flap, as if they were safest there. His voice, when he spoke, was pulled from deep in his throat.
    “The dog’s had a more affectionate welcome than her master.”
    Laura’s eyes dropped, but unfortunately they fell to the sight of his palms tucked just inside his hip laces. She felt an unwanted heat pressing upward to steal across her cheeks. “She ... she remembers her old spot,” Laura managed in almost a whisper.
    “Aye.”
    The unfamiliar term scarcely reached the far walls while she again fought the urge to explore the differences in him. She saw one dark hand slip into the open and reach for her elbow. “Rye, you can’t—”
    “Laura, I’ve been thinking of y’.”
    His fingers curled around her arm, but she pulled it safely out of reach and moved back a step while her eyes flew to his. “Don’t!”
    His hand hung in midair for a tense moment, then fell to his side. He sighed thickly, dropping his chin to stare at the floor. “I was afraid y’d say that.”
    She glanced nervously toward the alcove bed and whispered, “Josh is napping.”
    Rye’s head came up with a jerk, and he, too, looked across the room. She watched an expression of longing cross his face. Again his blue eyes sought hers. “Can I see him?”
    Indecision flickered in her eyes while she threaded her fingers tightly together. But finally she answered, “Of course.” He moved then, crossing the room with light steps that seemed to take eons of time before he stopped in front of the alcove bed and peered into its shadows. Laura remained where she was, following him with her gaze, watching Rye pause, hook a thumb into the top of his trousers again, and lean sideways from one hip. For a long moment he stood silent, unmoving. Then he reached into the recesses of the alcove to take the binding of Josh’s small quilt between index and middle fingers. The fire burned cozily. The only sound was that of falling ash. A father studied his slumbering son.
    Rye ... oh, Rye ...
    The cry was locked inside Laura’s throat, and her eyes were drawn into an expression of pain while she watched him slowly straighten and even more slowly look back over his shoulder at her. His blue gaze moved down to her stomach, and she realized both of her palms were pressed hard against it, as if she were only now in the throes of labor. Flustered, she dropped them to her sides.
    “When was he born?” Rye asked softly.
    “In December.”
    “December what?”
    “Eighth.”
    Rye’s eyes caressed the sleeping child again, then he turned away and moved with