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Joss sighed with relief and stretched, breathing in the fresh summer air. When the call came to get to the barns, he’d been out in the meadows, checking the health of the flocks of sheep. The cow had been in distress, her calf stuck and unable to be born. Cow and calf both wanted this over with, but with a little leg in the way...
They’d managed it, but it had involved hours of messy work. Joss emerged bruised, drenched with sweat, exhausted, and up to his shoulders in – well, whatever you called the fluids inside a cow – not to mention shit and straw from the floor of her stall.
The cow was relieved. The calf was hungry. Joss left them to their bonding, washed off the worst in the barrel set outside the barn for that purpose, and trudged toward home. He’d finish cleaning up in the lake.
Home.
Willow might be there, or might be off on a herb gathering expedition or a Healing. He sensed in her a restlessness, an itch to get back on the road. If she decided to go, he’d go with her, although he’d be sad to leave Hallan. But before that, he had something on his mind, something he needed to run by her.
The heat of the evening gave rise to the aromas of summer, of scythed grass and flowers. Yes, he thought, home. Through the spring, they had learned to be together over stews and the warmth of the cookfire, both of them going about their work during the day, braving the spring storms. And then the birthing of lambs, watching the land he’d come to love as it burst into life, helping with the tilling and planting. It had been a time for him to consolidate his power, learn its ways and how to manipulate it. The exhaustion of maintaining a screen around himself, the sheer joy of relaxing that screen when he was alone with Willow. Reading her feelings, letting her read his.
On one such evening, when they were lounging on the hillock in the late afternoon warmth, exchanging news of the day, he’d sensed distress from one of the not-quite-feral, not-quite-tamed goats that frequented the environs of their cabin. He’d spent half the night seeking her where she’d gone to ground. Willow had handled the birth, delivering her of a fine kid. Where she’d found a sire was anyone’s guess; the only goats around Willow’s little cottage were female.
Sire.
The word had never entered his consciousness before his life with Willow. Now it was seldom absent.
Willow wasn’t in the cottage, although a pot of lentils simmered on a low cookfire. Joss grabbed a thin rag that passed for a towel and headed down the trail. He swam with more assurance now, so he struck out for the warmer water in the middle of the lake, fed by one of Hallan’s numerous hot springs. He had plans to pump the water up to the cabin, one day.
Before long he spotted Willow on the bank; she peeled out of her tunic and skirt and dove in. She still out-swam him, but on the other hand, he could watch the smooth arrow of her body carving through the water all evening.
They met and kissed, Joss rather frantically treading water, hoping not to pull her under. Then they both stroked toward the little beach. There he pulled off the wet but considerably cleaner tunic, and they climbed the hill to the cabin.
And then dry clothes, supper, and time to talk. Share their days, their moods, themselves.
God, he hoped she’d be receptive to what he had to say. He wasn’t sure. Because while he’d learned a lot, he didn’t know the magnitude of what he’d be asking. Women were still a mystery to him.
Once they were well into their lentils and corn cakes, he cleared his throat, prayed for a steady voice, and said, “Something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
Willow swallowed and smiled. “So talk.”
Talking to her was easy... relatively easy. But speaking aloud anything that mattered to him was another matter entirely. On Terra, you sacrificed personal desires to the corporation. Not to do so meant brutal punishment. While conversation with this lovely, gentle woman who shared his life seemed, on the surface of it, simple and logical, in practice... well, it wasn’t.
He started again. “I’ve been thinking...”
“I gathered that. Go on, Joss.”
Nothing much scared Willow, but at least she tried to understand his hang-ups.
Swallow. Breathe.
“The way I see it, this is my home now.”
“This planet, or Hallan, or here with me?”
“All three. I wouldn’t go back if I could.”
“Are you sure? They’re here, out on the plains. Even if you can’t go back, you could live with other Terrans.”
He gave his head a firm shake. “I live here.”
The line appeared between her brows. “Are you telling me you don’t want me to travel? Because that’s been my life, Joss. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop completely.”
He looked at the stubborn set of her mouth and smiled. “Like I’d try to stop you? All I ask is that you let me go with you.”
She nodded. “Traveling together is... well, it’s good. Because you’re sharing your lives. Bryar and I—”
“I know,” he interrupted. He didn’t need the specter of Bryar in this conversation. “I want more than that.”
Jesus. Was it possible to be more ridiculous?
But Willow, as usual, saw through him. “Take a breath, then tell me what this is about.” Her free hand, the one without a spoon in it, stroked his forearm. “I’m listening.”
And doing things to him that made him squirm. Would he ever be comfortable with the simple sexuality she exuded and shared with him?
Hell, yes. He wasn’t on Terra anymore.
“Okay, here goes.” Another breath. “It’s occurred to me that when I’m gone, I’ll be gone without a trace. Nothing left.”
“Hardly that. You’ll be remembered by so many people. The giant who fell from the sky.” Her gentle, tolerant smile turned to a quick grin. “More lentils?”
“Not yet.”
“Joss...”
Here it was. The crux. And after his sloppy delivery, it all hinged on her reaction. “Willow, I want to leave more than a memory.”
The room was silent; her hand lay still. Even the evening chorus of birds outside seemed muted. He watched her, willing himself not to close off. Because damn, he’d never felt so vulnerable.
Then her smile returned. “You want a child.”
Beyond words, Joss nodded.
“Childbirth gets riskier once a woman approaches forty. Not unheard-of by any means, but more challenging, both for mother and for baby.”
His spirits collapsed. “I was afraid of that.”
“Joss, listen.” She squeezed; her touch had been so light, and so expected, that he’d almost forgotten her hand still rested on his arm. “I said more challenging. I didn’t say no.”
He looked up, swallowed. “So... you’ll think about it?”
Willow rose, scraping her chair back against the rough floorboards. She circled the table and stood behind him, her arms draped over his shoulders, palms on his chest, bending down to rest her head on his. Time froze while he sat, afraid to move so much as an eyelid, in the fading light trickling through the window.
Then she straightened, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and stepped away. “I’ve thought.”
Which meant no. Surely no woman made so momentous a decision in the space of a handful of minutes. His spirits sagged, and he found himself biting his lip, fighting against disappointment.
Willow crossed the cabin to the shelf where she stored containers of herbs. She chose two and put a pinch of each into the small bowls she used for preparing her concoctions. She brought both dishes to the table.
“This one’s banebark.” She touched one dish with her hand. “It prevents conception. Every woman in the Midland, probably on the planet, knows it.”
She picked up the dish, pushed aside the leather curtain that covered the door, and tossed the herb out.
Back at the table, she fingered the other herb. “Motherwort. Can you guess?”
Joss stood.
Willow set the dish on the table. “I’d like nothing better than to make a child with you. And raise him to be as fine a man as you are.”
Damn. He’d teared up. That hadn’t happened since he was seven years old and someone soaked his shoes in the urinal.
Her hand brushed his cheek, then trickled down his front. “Let’s start now.”
He’d let her lead him anywhere, do anything she wanted with him. He nodded, wordless, and gripped her tightly against him as they made their way to their sleeping room.