Chapter 10

The reception was held in their backyard, the tables groaning with food brought by the villagers. There was an awkwardness at first, but as the whiskey flowed and the music played, people began to mingle and accept the new family. Sue and Mrs. Stephens danced together, their laughter infectious, while Smoke held court, telling tall tales of their journey from Dreadworth.

The setting moon painted the sky in shades of blue and grey, casting long shadows across the yard. As the night grew cooler, the townsfolk began to drift away, leaving the trio to their newfound life. Sue and Mrs. Stephens stood side by side, watching the last of the guests leave, their hearts filled with a mix of joy and trepidation.

Smoke approached them, his hand outstretched to both. “Ladies,” he said, his voice gruff but affectionate, “This is ours now. Let’s go inside and make it our home.”

They walked into the house, the warmth of the candlelight spilling out to meet them. The furniture was old but sturdy, and the walls were adorned with the remnants of the Burris family’s life. It was a stark contrast to the empty, crumbling buildings of Dreadworth. Mrs. Stephens took a deep breath, her eyes misting over as she looked around the room. “This is more than I ever dreamed of,” she murmured.

Sue nodded, her hand tight in Smoke’s. “We’re going to make this place shine,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “We’re going to make it a home.”

Mrs. Stephens looked around the room, her eyes lingering on the dusty piano in the corner. “We’ll start with a good cleaning,” she said, her voice brisk. “And maybe a song or two to chase the ghosts away.”

Smoke chuckled, his hand finding the small of Sue’s back. “But not before we do something special,” he murmured, his eyes dark with desire. “It’s our first night as man and wives. I reckon we should make it memorable.”

Mrs. Stephens nodded, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Indeed,” she said, her voice a low purr. “We’ve earned ourselves a bit of comfort.”

With a sense of anticipation, they climbed the stairs to the bedroom, their footsteps echoing through the silent house. The room was sparse, with a large, dusty bed taking up most of the space. The windows were thrown open, allowing the cool desert air to whisper through the curtains.

One by one, they shed their wedding finery, the fabric sliding off their bodies like the layers of their old lives. Sue stepped out of the emerald dress, revealing her slender form, the moonlight tracing the curves of her hips and breasts. Mrs. Stephens unbuttoned her velvet gown, her fuller figure bared to the night, the candlelight playing over the soft folds of her skin. Smoke, his age evident in his paunch and gray chest hair, removed his shirt and trousers, his eyes never leaving the two women he now called his own.

They lay on the bed, Smoke in the center, his arms stretched out to embrace them both. Sue cuddled up to his left, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand playing with the silver chain around his neck. Mrs. Stephens lay on his right, her head on his chest, her hand tracing the lines of his stomach. They were a tableau of love and trust, an image that seemed almost surreal after the dust and despair of Dreadworth.

The candle on the nightstand flickered, casting shadows that danced across their bodies. The desert air slipped through the open windows, carrying with it the scent of sage and distant fires. It was a gentle caress, a reminder that the world outside had not disappeared, but that for now, it could wait.

Smoke’s hand slid down to rest on Sue’s thigh, his thumb making small, soothing circles. Mrs. Stephens reached out, her hand covering his, and for a moment, they just lay there, feeling the pulse of their hearts, the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Then, almost as if on cue, they began to move, their kisses deepening, their touches growing bolder.

The bed creaked under their weight as they explored each other, the years of loneliness and pain slipping away with every caress.

“I can’t decide,” Smoke murmured, his voice thick with lust and love. “I want to make it right for both of you.”

Sue looked up at him, her eyes dark with need. “We can start without you,” she suggested, her voice a soft purr.

Mrs. Stephens’s hand stilled on his stomach, her gaze locking with Sue’s. The air in the room grew thick with a new kind of tension, a silent understanding passing between the two women. They had shared so much already, their bodies had become a canvas for their shared experiences, their pain and their joy. This was just another chapter in their story, one that they were ready to write together.

With a knowing smile, Sue rolled onto her back, her hand sliding down to the apex of her thighs. Mrs. Stephens watched for a moment, her eyes hungry, before leaning in to kiss Smoke deeply. He tasted of whiskey and hope, and she felt a thrill run through her as she realized that she had found something she had never thought to look for in this dusty town.

As their kiss deepened, Sue’s hand grew more insistent, her fingers moving with a practiced ease that spoke of a lifetime of solitary nights. Mrs. Stephens broke away from Smoke, her eyes never leaving Sue’s face as she reached out to mirror her movements. Their hands brushed against each other, sending a jolt of electricity through the air, and Sue’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath catching in her throat.