Re: A Journey Home - ch. 17 -- The Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman Fan Exchange

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Date Posted: 09:20:27 03/25/03 Tue
Author: dqfan
Subject: Re: A Journey Home - ch. 17
In reply to: dqfan 's message, "Re: A Journey Home - ch. 16" on 09:16:21 03/25/03 Tue

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sophie's eyelids began to flicker as she felt Peter's fingers traveling playfully up and down her spine. Irresistibly, she lingered a moment longer, enjoying the warmth she felt all over - the warmth of her body, the warmth of the sheets crumpled beneath her, the warmth of�him.

Hugging her pillow lazily, Sophie at last opened her eyes fully to find Peter lying on his side, perched on one elbow, a look of sheer contentment on his face.

Glowingly, Sophie greeted him, "Hellllo."

Peter smiled broadly and continued caressing her skin, finding it impossible to take his eyes - or his hands - off of her.

"Hellllo," he replied softly, leaning in for a very languid kiss.

"How long have you been awake?" Sophie asked dreamily, the taste of his lips intoxicating her senses.

"Not long," Peter lied, for he'd been watching her sleep for almost an hour now, happily content to stroke her back and feel her steady breaths upon his arm.

"I missed you, Soph," Peter sighed truthfully as he lovingly smoothed the hair from her face.

"I missed you, too," Sophie whispered, her emotions threatening to overpower her.

Gently, Sophie ran her hand along Peter's face, staring deeply into his clear blue eyes. The unmistakable hint of desire she saw there instantly excited her and an involuntary gasp escaped her throat as Sophie felt Peter's hand wander further down her body, caressing her beneath the thin sheet draped loosely about them.

"Peter�" Sophie drawled teasingly, reveling in his renewed attention.

"What are you doing?" The impish grin on her face was impossible to hide.

"Nuthin," he chuckled softly, feigning total innocence.

"It�ahhh�doesn't feel like nuthin," Sophie observed, her heart beginning to race.

"Oh, what does it feel like?" Peter asked seductively.

"Feels like Peter's a very bad boy," Sophie laughed, pretending to slap his hand away.

Peter beamed with happiness in spite of Sophie's torturous games. Somehow, he found it reassuring to know that Sophie was still Sophie - unable to resist a little fun. Well, he could play, too. In fact, he'd make her regret it.

"All's fair in love 'n war, Sweetheart," Peter smiled, inching closer.

"You're right," Sophie agreed far too readily, as Peter soon discovered.

Sprightly, Sophie declared, "This is war!" and abruptly rolled over, intentionally stretching her arms back lazily with a careless yawn. Continuing her dangerous gambit, Sophie arched her back slightly, the sheet barely managing to accompany her as she did so.

Her provocative maneuver elicited an instant reaction from Peter, who immediately began to regret his challenge.

"You know�" Sophie flirted perilously, her fingers now tracing the exquisitely carved headboard behind her, "this bed is soooo comfortable."

That was it. The second Sophie said it, she knew. She'd pushed Peter just a little too far. In swift retaliation, he captured her outstretched hands, eyes twinkling as he leaned over, pressing his body against hers in a daring counterattack.

"Sturdy, too," he observed menacingly, no longer in the mood for games.

Sophie's breath caught, secretly delighting in Peter's passionate response.

"But Peter�we'll miss Christmas lunch at the Broadmoor," she whined unconvincingly, trying her best to sound disappointed.

"How 'bout dinner?" Peter compromised suggestively, his voice deep with longing.

Slowly, Sophie's index finger curled temptingly inward offering Peter the invitation he'd been waiting for. As his warm lips began nibbling the soft flesh of her neck, Sophie ran her fingers through Peter's dark hair and gulped, nodding helplessly, "Dinner�dinner's good�"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Not the crazy ladies, again, Sir," Reggie begged.

"Reginald!" the maitre d' scolded, "This is the Broadmoor and at the Broadmoor, our guests will be referred to with all due respect."

Nodding quietly, Reggie listened attentively to his superior's instructions. "Now you will take this tray to�"

Reggie waited while the maitre d' paused, searching for the most charitable phrase he could muster. "You will take this tray to the distressed ladies of table three and offer them our continued support in their hour of need."

Reggie nodded sadly and headed once again to table three, fearing for both his hearing and his sanity, not necessarily in that order.

"If only we could hear something�"
"There's no hope!"
Whatever shall we do?"

"A little refreshment for you, ladies," Reggie offered above the din.

"Our Darling Peter!"
"Poor, dear Sophie!"
"Such a tragedy!"

"May I get you anything else, ladies?" Reggie continued somberly amidst the frenzied despair, which it had been his misfortune to witness for the past two days now.

If only he hadn't agreed to switch shifts with Fred. If only he hadn't been forced into emergency overtime when the blizzard hit. If only he hadn't been assigned to the crazy�no, make that, the distressed ladies of table three� Reggie had a headache as big as the snowdrift outside and not enough aspirin in the world to cure it.

"Thank you, Reggie," Charity sighed, taking his elbow and gratefully maneuvering him away from the crowd. "Has Sheriff Reardon been by lately?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, Ma'am," Reggie answered, figuring Mrs. Mitchell to be the sanest of the group, "He's in the lobby now, headed this way."

Reggie gestured as Ben Reardon approached table three with the same mixture of fear and regret swirling in his eyes.

"Ben, Ben, any word?" Charity pounced immediately.

"Not in the last five minutes, Charity," Ben sighed.

Ever since Sam Mitchell passed on, Ben had had his eye on Charity, though for the life of him, Ben wasn't sure why. Alone for all of his life, Ben had inexplicably chosen the ripe old age of 70 to fall head over heels in love. The fact that Charity Lawson Mitchell was enough woman for three men only made the pursuit more interesting.

"Ben, you've got to do something," Charity insisted with a softness to her voice that made Ben think Charity just might feel the same. "Search parties, helicopters�I can't lose him, Ben." In spite of her steely exterior, Charity's voice was beginning to crack from the strain.

"Charity, this is the worst blizzard we've had in ten years," Ben explained, brushing some stray snow from his hair. "I've got cars stranded on the Interstate - folks that've been trapped since the storm hit. I've had ten women go into labor in the last two days, and I just got the all-clear this morning to re-open the airport so we can try and prevent Christmas travel from being backed up nationwide�. I just don't have the manpower right now to search all of Pike's Peak for two experienced hikers who shoulda known better."

Charity nodded quietly, fighting the tears she simply would not allow to flow. Softly, Ben took her hand and whispered, "I'm doing the best I can, Charity."

"I know you are, Ben," Charity acknowledged, seeing in Ben's face familiar signs of lack of sleep, overwork, and despair - a reflection of her own.

"I'm sorry. It's just we've been camped out here for two days, hoping for some good news," Charity apologized sincerely. "Why don't you sit and have some lunch with us before you go back out there?"

Ben would have protested, but Charity's kind offer, in spite of her apparent sorrow, couldn't possibly be refused. Besides, the look in her eyes told him she needed him, even if she couldn't exactly bring herself to say so.

Ben had only met Peter Scarbrow once, at Rachel Scarbrow's funeral. Sam Mitchell had just died two months earlier and the loss of her husband and her best friend in one year nearly broke Charity's spirit. Ben had played poker with Sam for over thirty years, all of 'em in Charity's saloon, most of the time with her playin' right beside him - beatin' them both. She was just as amazing then, Ben remembered with a smile.

So, when Ben offered to accompany Charity to New York for Rachel's funeral, Charity was too distraught and exhausted to object. Peter seemed a nice enough guy, though Ben had heard he'd had some trouble with drugs. The way Charity had taken Peter into her arms that day, well, it was like those two needed each other more than anyone else in the world. Peter was the son Charity never had and Charity, well, she was the mother Peter had just lost.

Over the years, Ben had gotten used to the bragging and the stories�Peter this and Peter that, Charity would go on and on. Ran some school now for delinquent kids. Sure couldn't fault him for that. But goin' up Pike's Peak in the middle of a blizzard, that was just plain stupid! Ben scratched his head as he sat next to Charity and the other distressed ladies of table three. Charity had told him Peter went up that mountain after the woman he loved. Funny thing, but as Ben's hand brushed against Charity's, gratefully accepting a cup of coffee and a sandwich, Ben couldn't help thinkin' he'd climb a mountain in the middle of a blizzard for her any day.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"What'cha doin'?" Peter asked, surprised to find Sophie's side of the bed empty, when he reached for her.

"Packing�" Sophie smiled, without turning around to face him. She was standing before the rocker, wearing only her jeans and Michaela's camisole, busily throwing a few final items into her backpack.

"Well, come back here," Peter growled temptingly, peeling back the covers, inviting her in.

"Not a chance, Mountain Man," Sophie laughed, shaking her head and avoiding her gaze. "We'll never make Christmas dinner if I do."

"And the problem with that would be?" Peter teased.

"That I feel like celebrating," Sophie explained joyfully.

Reluctantly, Peter dragged himself out of bed, dressing from the waist down. With her back still to him, Sophie instantly felt the warmth of his body as Peter came up behind her, brushing the hair off her neck with his lips.

"Thought that's what we were doin'," he whispered.

"Peter�Charity will be worried," Sophie squirmed, trying to maintain her resolve.

"I know�you're right," Peter agreed with a sad look in his eyes.

"Don't you want to go home?" Sophie asked quietly. Noticing the change in Peter's voice, she'd turned to face him, concerned that his reluctance was something more.

"Guess I'm starting to think of this as home," he shrugged, not sure if he should tell her what was worrying him.

"I know," Sophie sighed, "I'm going to miss this place, too." Hoping to brighten his mood, she placed her hands on his broad chest and patted cheerfully, "Hey, why don't we come back here - once a year�"

Again, Sophie noticed a cloud cross Peter's face. "Peter? What is it?"

"Will we, Soph?" Peter asked softly, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Will we what?" Sophie ran her fingers tenderly along his jaw line, urging him to confide in her.

"Will we come back here once a year? Or will everything change once we leave here?" Peter felt terrible for asking.

He hated guilt trips. What was wrong with him? Sophie was still here: beside him�loving him. He'd asked her before if she was sure, but now, as they prepared to leave the homestead's incredible cocoon of warmth and love, he found himself needing to ask once again. Was this all just a Christmas fantasy? Would things still be the same back at Horizon or even once they returned to the Broadmoor? Would she be his wife by the time they returned next year - if they returned next year�

Sophie didn't know what to say. All the times she'd blithely left him, returning only when she felt like it - when she needed to touch home base - she'd never really known how deeply Peter cared, or considered how much she was hurting him by her actions. And when she'd told him she wanted to take her time so they'd be sure they wouldn't wake up one morning and realize they'd made a terrible mistake, Peter had replied with such quiet confidence that that wouldn't happen to him. She hadn't seen the depth of his love. Maybe she didn't want to. But there was no denying it now. And there was no denying her feelings either, especially after last night.

With total honesty, Sophie looked deeply into Peter's eyes. "Nothing's going to change, I promise," she reassured softly. "Peter, I meant what I said, 'for now and for ever.'"

Peter smiled and, feeling a wave of relief wash over him, took her eagerly in his arms, kissing her soundly.

"But�" Sophie pulled away with a grin.

"But?" Peter asked warily.

"You could at least buy me dinner," she said, appearing to sound shocked by their indiscretion.

"Sophie Becker," Peter mocked, shaking his head at her unbelievable sparkle.

"Yes, Peter Scarbrow?" she returned gleefully.

"Tell me one thing," he asked, the timber of his voice suddenly filled with longing.

"Yesss," she replied suspiciously.

Slowly, Peter began playfully lowering the straps of Michaela's lace camisole. "You planning on taking this home?"

"Nooo," Sophie answered with a smile, gently sliding his hands, and the camisole straps, upwards with her own. "You know we can't take anything from here."

"Want any help putting it away?" his eyes twinkled.

"Thanks, Sparky, but I think I can handle it�" she laughed, grabbing his sweater and thrusting it into his hands, pushing him toward the bedroom door. "Now go get your bike."

"Soph, you don't suppose Victoria's Secret has anything like�" Peter playfully wondered aloud, taking a last look at her in the camisole.

"Go!" Sophie ordered, grabbing a pillow and throwing it furiously in Peter's direction, missing him by only an inch as the door closed safely behind him.

Happily, Sophie took a moment to consider her life as Mrs. Peter Scarbrow. Of course, she wouldn't be, exactly. Sophie Becker she was born and Sophie Becker she'd remain - no name change for her. What she would be was married. Sharing her life with Peter from now until the day she died. Sharing the good and the bad, the fun and the adventure. Their time at the homestead had certainly included all that and more. Sophie took a last look around Sully and Michaela's bedroom. There was one last thing she needed to do.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Ready?" Peter shouted, spying Sophie coming down the front porch steps as he led his motorcycle out of the barn. She had already stacked the backpacks by the fence posts and was waiting for him now at the foot of the steps.

The crisp air was invigorating after so many days inside and Sophie took a deep breath, happy to be alive, happy to be with Peter.

"Ready?" he repeated more softly, hanging his helmet on the handlebars and coming over to give her an equally invigorating kiss.

"Not quite," Sophie said mysteriously.

Peter looked at her expectantly, wondering just what she had in mind.

"Merry Christmas!" Sophie explained brightly, removing the gift she'd tucked so carefully beneath her jacket. "Well, go on, open it!"

"Soph, you didn't have to�" Peter smiled, untying the strange package, wrapped hastily in a pillowcase and some red ribbon.

"Sophie�I can't take this�We can't take anything with us�" Peter sighed, running his hands over Sully's tomahawk, the blade glistening brightly against the winter snow.

"I know," she grinned mischievously, "but that doesn't mean you can't throw it�"

Peter's eyes widened as he considered the possibility. "Really? You think?" The desire in his voice was unmistakable.

"I'll never tell�" Sophie promised, raising her hands innocently. "Go on, aim for the oak�" she encouraged.

Peter caressed the tomahawk lovingly, causing Sophie to smile at his obvious reverence. Slowly he carried it to the middle of the front path, staring determinedly at the old oak straight ahead. Clumsily, Peter tried to feel its weight in his hand by twirling it, as the history books said Sully often did. Unfortunately, the tomahawk slipped from his grasp and fell unceremoniously to the ground below.

Peter looked sheepishly at Sophie. "Maybe you should just stick to throwing?" Sophie suggested helpfully.

Chagrined, Peter picked up the tomahawk and brushed the snow from its blade. Sophie knew how much this meant to him. "Come on, Peter, you can do it�"

"Think of the tomahawk as a tool�like the punching bag�use it to release your anger, your frustrations�" Sophie began, sounding more like Peter's counselor than his fiancee.

"The oak is your target�someone or something that annoys you�" she continued, watching Peter swing the tomahawk slowly back and forth in his wrist, unsure whether he was even listening to her suggestions.

"It could be the thought of singing in public�or Randolph P. Lodge�" Peter's expression was growing darker and more focused.

Suddenly, Sophie felt inspired. With a quiet, almost off-handed quip, she added wickedly, "�or even Bobbbbbb."

The resulting whoosh and smack was like a thunderbolt from the sky. Eye on the target, Peter had released the tomahawk with a fluid toss and a loud yell, closing his eyes once the weapon was unleashed from his hand, finding it unbearable to watch its progress.

Sophie, too, had closed her eyes, hoping she hadn't egged him on too far and ruined his concentration, afraid her gift may not have been such a good idea after all. At the sound of metal hitting wood, each had slowly opened their eyes, turning toward the oak with agonizing hesitation.

Amazingly, the tomahawk stood before them, solidly wedged into the side of the old oak like a badge of honor, dead center in the trunk, a perfect bullseye.

"You did it!!!" Sophie cheered, throwing herself into Peter's arms, locking her hands tightly behind his neck.

"I did it?" Peter whispered stunned, a broad smile spreading across his face.

"Feel better?" Sophie asked seductively, her lips inching toward his.

"Uh-huh�" he nodded with the grin of a child visited by Santa.

"Good�" Sophie nodded right along with him, grinning just as excitedly, rejoicing in his success. Passionately she claimed his lips with hers, hoping she could always make Peter's dreams come true.

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Replies:

Re: A Journey Home - ch. 18 & 19 -- dqfan, 09:24:32 03/25/03 Tue
- Re: A Journey Home - ch. 20 & 21 -- dqfan, 09:29:31 03/25/03 Tue
  - Re: A Journey Home - ch. 22 -- dqfan, 09:46:37 03/25/03 Tue
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