A Woman Loved Read online

  A Woman Loved

  T B Markinson

  T. B. Markinson

  Published by T. B. Markinson

  Visit T. B. Markinson’s official website at lesbianromancesbytbm.com for the latest news, book details, and other information.

  Copyright © T. B. Markinson, 2018

  Cover Design by: Erin Dameron-Hill / EDHGraphics

  Edited by Jeri Walker and Kelly Hashway

  This e-book is copyrighted and licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner. The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  I had one final task to complete the fall semester, and part of me was terrified for it to end because that meant the Petrie mad dash to Christmas would break out into full swing. For years, Christmas hardly ever merited a blip on my calendar.

  That changed when I fell in love with Sarah Cavanaugh, who is now my wife and mother of our beautiful one-and-a-half-year-old twins.

  Sarah adored holidays, family time, and planning.

  The woman crafted to-do lists to tackle her to-do lists.

  Tapping my red grading pen against the desk, I hummed along to “Little Drummer Boy,” forestalling the inevitable.

  The office phone rang, but I ignored it—knowing it was Sarah checking in about my ETA at home—to attend to the knock on my office door.

  “Come in,” I said in a forced college professor tone. Sometimes it still caught me by surprise I was a professor, in my thirties, with a wife and kids. In my formative years, I’d always believed adults understood and accepted they were fully fledged humans as well as all that entailed: mortgages, bills, insurance, wills—the list was endless. While I took care of all those things, I didn’t feel so put together as a grown-up, and I was starting to suspect most of us were simply pretending to survive day to day.

  Dr. Marcel’s round and slightly flushed face appeared. “Still have your nose to the grindstone?”

  “Ha, I’m just about to submit my grades.” I waved for him to enter and take a seat, slightly embarrassed by the spartan-like feel of my office. Dr. Marcel, the dean of the history department, had an office that would make most academics drool, including a massive cherry-wood desk and leather wingback chairs. “How about you?”

  He brushed his hands together. “Another semester in the books. It feels good. Although, it’s weird knowing I’m retiring soon.” His eyes glazed some. “Time for new blood to lead this department. I’m hoping to see you in my office one day.”

  Taken aback, I changed the topic. “Are you ready for Christmas?”

  He chuckled. “You’ve met my wife. I have a feeling we’re in the same boat.” He leaned forward in the chair, straining his bulk. “Are you hiding?”

  Dr. Marcel had known me since I was a lost and confused grad student, and sometimes it was eerie just how much he was still in tune with my inner thoughts.

  I held my index finger and thumb slightly apart.

  He laughed. “Take it from an old married geezer like me. It won’t help.” He placed his right palm on the laminated top of my desk and hoisted himself from the rickety chair. “As for me, I’m going to head home and hope she takes it easy on me. I’m not young like you. Have a very merry Christmas, Lizzie.”

  I stood and escorted him to the door. “You too, Dr. Marcel.”

  “We’re looking forward to having all of you over on New Year’s Day. Lydia needs her twin fix.”

  “The twins love any chance for extra attention.”

  He put his hand out for me to shake, but the glisten in his eyes made me think he would have preferred a hug. I resisted, not quite ready to challenge my personal boundaries, although having a wife and children had relaxed them. Rome wasn’t built in a day, I reminded myself.

  My personal phone rang.

  I got right to it when I answered, “Submitting grades now and then I’m all yours.”

  “Quick question: did you ignore my call earlier?” Sarah asked in a frisky tone.

  “Dr. Marcel was here,” I fibbed slightly, immediately regretting it. “I mean, he was knocking on my door to wish me happy holidays. I…” My voice trailed off.

  She laughed. “I had a feeling. You’ll be punished later for ignoring and lying.”

  “Will this punishment involve naked time?”

  “Depends on how quickly you get out of the office. I’m drowning here.” She sounded tired but rather chipper given she loved this time of year. Why, I had no idea, and there were moments I wondered if she was on the spectrum of maniacal self-inflicted glutton for punishment. If there were such a thing.

  “Give me the lowdown of what I need to do before coming home.” I clicked my pen to jot down notes.

  After the call, I finalized my school duties, shut down and packed my laptop, and turned off the light in my office.

  My first task of the mad dash was to stop in Old Town, Fort Collins, at a chocolate shop Sarah was fond of. She’d provided me with a list of items to purchase for everyone’s stockings. Even Maddie, our good friend, had a stocking hanging on the mantel.

  Bundled up, I raised the collar on my gray wool coat to protect myself from the beginnings of a snowstorm.

  On the way past a shop window, a flash of gold nabbed my attention.

  I still hadn’t found the perfect gift for Sarah, something I struggled with every Christmas, Valentine’s, birthday, and other special occasion. Sarah was the shopper of the family, hence my detailed lists when she had to send me out into the trenches. The woman even listed the brand of milk.

  Stopping in my tracks, I stared at the locket. The lights were off in the shop, and a note on the door read By appointment only. I made note of the number on a scrap piece of paper in my pocket and, to be on the safe side, snapped a photo with my phone.

  It was well after five on December twenty-first—I was the exact opposite of my detail-oriented wife. Hopefully, I’d be able to get a hold of someone before the twenty-fourth. From the looks of the antiques in the window, the store didn’t survive on walk-in traffic but rather on those interested in finding that one piece to complete their lives or something. How many popped in to buy an antique mahogany dining set, probably named after an English royal?

  A little after seven, I walked through the garage door leading to the kitchen.

  Sarah stood on the opposite side of the island, her face splattered with flour and her brow furrowed. “Did you get everything?”

  “Hello to you too, beautiful.” I held up the bags. “Ev
erything on the list and some spare chocolate in case you need it. Judging by your expression, you do.”

  Her face softened. “I might turn you into a shopper yet.”

  Setting the bags on the floor near the fridge, I said, “Let’s not go overboard. How are the twinkies?” I skirted the island and kissed her cheek.

  “Mom and Maddie are entertaining them in the family room, hiding from me.” She wiped her forehead, getting some of the flour off.

  I surveyed the countertop. Mixing bowls. Flour everywhere. Egg cartons. Sugar. And other bits.

  Following my eyes, she said, “I’m going to chill the dough longer than necessary for the sugar and gingerbread cookies, but I had some free time and I wanted to try to get ahead of schedule. I’m just about to start the cleanup process here.”

  Ahead of schedule! My inner voice was laughing her head off, which I kept to myself. I absolutely adored Sarah, even though this need of hers to plan elaborate parties confounded my practical side. But, the glint in her eyes pulled me into her orbit.

  I stripped off my jacket and rolled up my shirt sleeves. “Let me do that. Why don’t you make some tea or hot chocolate for everyone? Put your feet up for a bit?”

  She closed one eye, appraising me. “Who are you, and what did you do with my clueless wife?”

  I playacted being hurt. “Be nice, or I’ll head upstairs and take a long soak in the tub. Can’t feel my fingers or toes.”

  She boosted my hand to her mouth and kissed my fingertips. “Poor baby. Four stores and you barely survived. And it’s sweater weather. Not sweater vest.” She circled a finger in the air to make it perfectly clear I was crazy not to dress appropriately.

  Hollering came from the family room.

  Sarah sighed, closing her eyes to dig deep for her mom patience, a process I’d witnessed many times since the twins were born eighteen months ago. “Ollie’s in one of her moods today. Can you bring the tea in when it’s ready?” She brushed her lips against my cheek, before sashaying out of the kitchen to attend to the troublesome twin.

  I filled the kettle and turned on the burner.

  My eyes wandered over the mess in the kitchen. How in the hell did she get cookie dough in the crevices of the fridge door handle? Would she notice if I sent a mayday text to Miranda, our cleaner? I’d pay top dollar to have this disappear without getting my hands dirty. Sarah, though, wasn’t very fond of the Petrie way—have hired help to do everything.

  Fred started to cry, probably because Ollie instigated it by shoving him or something.

  Maybe hiding in the kitchen wasn’t the worst option at the moment.

  I started stacking the dishes by the sink, rinsing them with scorching hot water and putting them in the dishwasher. How did women in the 1800s prep for the holidays? Considering that wasn’t the time period I specialized in, I didn’t waste too much time contemplating it. Who had time for things like that when married to the likes of Sarah?

  A little after ten, I finished up dishes from dinner, and considering we had Chinese delivered, the process only involved rinsing plates and slotting them in the dishwasher, after putting away the load I’d run earlier. No one managed to fling sesame chicken on the ceiling or anything.

  Sarah limped into the kitchen, looking much worse for the wear.

  “Can I get you something, sweetheart?” I slung a slightly damp dish towel over my shoulder.

  “Put me to bed.”

  “Do I need to carry you?”

  “Can you?” She fell against me.

  “I can try. Admittedly, I spend more time on a bicycle than lifting weights.”

  She laughed into my sweater vest. “Have you ever lifted weights?”

  “Those are the heavy things in the gym, right?” I put my arm around her shoulders and steered us out of the kitchen to the staircase leading to all the bedrooms upstairs. “Should I draw a bath, or do you want to simply crash?”

  “A bath sounds nice. You should take one. I don’t think I have the energy.”

  I casually sniffed my armpit.

  Noticing, she laughed. “I wasn’t implying that; I promise. I know the end of the semester rush is hard on you, even if you took extra time avoiding coming home.” I started to defend, but she plowed on. “And with all the planning for the Petrie family Christmas bash, it’s a lot more than you bargained for when you put a ring on my finger.” She flashed her wedding ring.

  “True. Back then, I wasn’t in much contact with them. Some beautiful woman encouraged me to mend broken fences, and now…”

  “Who is this woman? I’d like to have a few words with her.”

  I’d learned it was never wise to bring up she was the cause of her own pain by insisting on going over the top for every family celebration. I veered to safer waters. “I never reveal my sources.”

  “Yes, you do. You footnote footnotes in your journal articles.”

  “Ah, well.” I shrugged one shoulder. “Historians, we’re sticklers for getting things right and covering our asses when others heap on attacks, which happens often since every academic is attempting to slog their way to garner prestige.”

  We strolled past the nursery, stopping in the doorway to gaze upon our children. “They’re so cute when asleep.” She rested her head on my shoulder. “And so challenging when awake. We haven’t even reached the terrible twos stage.” Her eyes darted toward the heavens, implying God help us.

  She didn’t budge from the doorway.

  Freddie made a sound as if he was singing in his sleep.

  Ollie’s face was relaxed, the complete opposite of her usual awake expression.

  Sarah pressed into me harder. “I know this may be the worse time to say this, considering the troubles we had with them this evening, but I really do want another baby. We aren’t getting any younger, and I’ve always had my heart set on three. If we wait too long, I won’t have the energy to chase after a toddler.”

  I lifted her chin with my finger and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I know, honey. You mention it two to three times a week.”

  “You can be pigheaded.” She kissed me sweetly.

  “Pot. Kettle. Black. Let’s get you in bed.”

  We completed the walk down the hallway.

  In the bedroom, with the door mostly shut, she said, “Did your I know mean yes, or did it mean you know but you don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  I perched on the foot of the bed and motioned for her to stand in front of me. “It means there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you. I’ve had time to adjust to the news, and it doesn’t send me into a heart-attack frenzy to contemplate it.” After unzipping her jeans, I lowered them to the ground, and she stepped out of the legs. I tossed the jeans onto the chair by the window—the reading chair I’d specially purchased when we first moved in but neither of us had the energy to sit in during quiet moments.

  “Do you want another baby, though?” She lifted her shirt and sweater off her head in one motion.

  My eyes took in her candy-red lace bra. “Sorry, it’s hard to focus at the moment.”

  She unclipped the bra.

  I tapped the side of my forehead. “Not helping with the focusing part.”

  She flashed her sexy, crooked smile. “I know.”

  “Does this mean you don’t want me to take a bath to relax?”

  She straddled my lap. “It means I want an answer to my question.”

  I cupped her right cheek, staring into her dark eyes. “Yes, I want to have another baby. Shall we try to make a Christmas miracle?” I tapped the bed.

  She yawned.

  I laughed. “Bath it is.”

  Chapter Two

  December twenty-second started off with a bang.

  Literally.

  Sarah and I sprang out of bed and dashed to the nursery. Ollie stood in her crib, grinning. She’d managed to chuck her stuffed monkey across the room, knocking over the Diaper Genie, which had cracked open, emitting an unpleasant smell to start off the day. I atten
ded to the problem, scrunching my nose and contemplating how such cute children could produce such noxious creations.

  “Maybe being an Olympic athlete is in her future,” Sarah joked, seeming much relieved that the source of the commotion was quite innocent compared to the ruckus of the crash.

  “Is this the time to mention maybe it’s a good thing you fell asleep before we created a Christmas miracle baby last night?” I scooped Ollie into my arms. “And how is my princess? Ready to get the day started?”

  She cooed innocently in such a convincing manner, making me worry about the future.

  Sarah eased Freddie into her arms, snuggling his head with her chin. “This doesn’t change my mind at all.”

  I placed Olivia on the changing table. “Do we need to chat about making a doctor’s appointment, then? Sooner rather than later?”

  Sarah, at Fred’s table, turned her head and goggled at me. Recovering somewhat, she asked, “Does this mean you haven’t found my Christmas gift yet and this is your way around it?”

  I laughed, tickling Ollie’s tummy. “The women in this family! Going to make me gray before my time.”

  I sensed Sarah’s eye roll. “What about you, Freddie?” She wiggled his feet. “Would you like a baby brother?”

  “I’m not sure you can order up a baby boy like that.” I fastened Ollie’s fresh diaper. “Need I remind you we were aiming for only one last time?”

  “Oh, no. You’ve said that before, dear,” she said with her special emphasis. “Help me set up the twins for breakfast, and then you can hop in the shower and wash off the rude awakening. I need to send you out for a few last-minute items.”

  “Nothing would make me happier than to leave the comfort of our warm home and head out into the frenzied days before Christmas Eve. Should we crack the window to air it out some?”