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  “I hate it when she does that,” Sawyer grumbled. “You agreed to this?”

  “I thought I could be done with them and home in time to meet you. This is the last batch. If you give me a hand we’ll be done in no time.” Jori tossed a cookie cutter at Sawyer.

  Sawyer glanced at it. “Reindeer?”

  Jori shrugged. “The customer requested festive and kid-appropriate.” Jori nodded toward the cookies she’d already finished, lined up on sheets of waxed paper on the counter. “You can either box those up or cut more out of this dough.”

  “I got the dough.” Sawyer twirled the cookie cutter around her index finger and moved close to Jori. She bumped her hip lightly against Jori’s. “You take the boring job.”

  Jori smiled and moved aside. She unfolded a white cardboard box and carefully filled it with the brightly decorated assortment of snowmen and Christmas trees. As she worked she watched Sawyer press out the reindeer shapes. Sawyer had once told her that she liked to watch Jori work—specifically her hands. Jori had never thought there was anything special about her hands, but every now and again she caught herself watching Sawyer’s hands and she totally got it. Sawyer’s hands weren’t as quick as Jori’s in the kitchen, but then again Jori had hours more practice.

  Besides, she didn’t think about cooking while watching Sawyer’s hands; instead she was enveloped in memories of Sawyer’s touch. Whether Sawyer held her tenderly or stroked her fervently, the undercurrent of her love was always present.

  “Hey, I thought you were supposed to be boxing cookies?”

  Jori jerked her eyes away from Sawyer’s hands and fumbled to resume packing up the cookies.

  “While you were over there daydreaming, I finished.” Sawyer held up a baking sheet. “Are these ready for the oven?”

  “I wasn’t daydreaming.” Jori sprinkled a pinch of fine sugar on top of each cookie.

  Sawyer leaned close enough to whisper in Jori’s ear. “You were. And I know exactly what you were thinking about. You want me to touch you.”

  Jori trembled.

  “You want me to take you someplace private and—” Sawyer laughed softly and her breath tickled Jori’s skin. “But first, we apparently have to deliver these cookies.”

  When Sawyer moved away to put the tray in the oven, Jori pulled in a deep breath and took a second to enjoy the arousal singing through her body.

  *

  “I really didn’t think this would take very long,” Jori said as Sawyer put the bakery boxes in the trunk of her Solara. “I’m sorry. I’ve spent most of our day on this.” Jori slid into the passenger seat of the convertible and checked the clock on the console. It was after two o’clock.

  She studied Sawyer, trying to figure out her mood. Sawyer had gotten quiet as they’d packed up the cookies and headed out to the car, but she seemed more nervous than aggravated. “Do you have the address Erica gave us?”

  “Yes.” With a small smile, Sawyer reached across the console and covered Jori’s hand. “It’s only a few minutes away.”

  Jori relaxed as Sawyer’s skin warmed hers. She squeezed Sawyer’s hand and felt the answering pressure against her fingers. A couple minutes outside of downtown, they navigated through an older, well-established neighborhood. Instead of the tiny lots and identical rows of houses common to most modern subdivisions, these streets fronted large lawns and homes with character and individual style.

  “I like this area,” Jori said. As a kid in foster care, she’d often imagined what it must be like to grow up in a house like these.

  “I know.” Sawyer smiled. “You say that every time we drive through here.”

  Sawyer turned into a driveway. Two large trees stretched bare limbs over the front yard and cast craggy shadows over a quaint stone house. Jori checked the number on the mailbox again.

  “Are you sure this is it?”

  “Yep. What? You don’t like it?” Sawyer popped the trunk release and got out of the car.

  “Actually, I do. It’s very cute, just not what I expected. I thought someone who merited ‘very important’ status with Erica would live someplace a bit more extravagant.”

  “Yeah, well, every now and again Erica still surprises me, too.” Carrying the boxes of cookies, Sawyer headed toward the house.

  Jori caught up and, as they walked, Sawyer put a hand in the small of her back. Jori smiled at the tender gesture. When Sawyer was a little possessive like this, she felt safe and loved, though she would never admit it to anyone but Sawyer.

  They climbed the three steps to the porch and Jori rang the doorbell. When no one responded, she rang again.

  “Surely Erica let them know to expect us.” Trying another tactic, Jori knocked on the deeply stained wooden door.

  “Hm. Let’s see.” Sawyer handed Jori the boxes and turned the knob.

  “Yeah, okay. We’ll just let ourselves in.”

  The door swung open. When Sawyer stepped forward, Jori stared at her in disbelief. She was actually going to go in.

  “Sawyer!” Jori bobbled the boxes as she tried to grab Sawyer’s arm.

  “Whoa. Careful. I’m not going back to the restaurant to make more.” Sawyer swept the cookies from her hands and entered the house. “Maybe we’ll just leave them on the counter.”

  “Sawyer,” Jori called, but Sawyer didn’t stop. She glanced around and, seeing no witnesses, followed Sawyer inside. Was this really a crime if they had no sinister intent?

  The foyer opened to a spacious living room—an empty living room. Sunlight from a large window reflected off the dark hardwood floors unobscured by furniture. A pristine white mantel surrounded the fireplace slanted into the far corner. The broad archways separating the various rooms were decorated with the ornate woodwork of the 1940s.

  “Check out this yard.” Sawyer had set the boxes down somewhere and now looked out the window at the back of the house.

  Confused, Jori crossed to her. “We shouldn’t be in here. We’ve obviously got the wrong address.”

  “Maybe. But it’s clearly vacant. Since we’re here, let’s explore a little.” Sawyer’s eyes sparkled with mischief. She took Jori’s hand and led her toward the hallway.

  “I don’t think we should.”

  “Who’s going to know?”

  “The owner, or a realtor maybe. If we get caught.”

  Sawyer paused and pulled Jori close, grasping her hips. “Be brave with me. We’re alone.”

  She pressed her lips to Jori’s, silencing the protest she’d been about to offer. Sawyer kissed her aggressively, as if she’d been waiting all day and just realized how much she wanted it. Jori followed her, making the transition from teasing to passion quickly. She sucked Sawyer’s lower lip. Sawyer squeezed her waist and she threaded her hands into Sawyer’s hair, tugging her close.

  When Sawyer eased back, they were both panting a little. “Let’s check out the rest of the house.” She grabbed Jori’s hand again.

  They went down the hall, and Jori glimpsed two empty bedrooms and a bathroom as they passed. When they reached a closed door, Sawyer smiled, then swung open the door and moved aside. Jori took two steps inside and stopped.

  Closed curtains darkened the room and a floor lamp in the corner cast a warm glow. Unlike the rest of the house, the bedroom was completely furnished. Jori immediately recognized the cherry platform bed and matching dresser. She’d helped pick them out for Sawyer’s apartment only a few months ago. The simple pattern of the sage and ivory color-block comforter complemented the clean lines Sawyer favored.

  “Sawyer?” Jori said. “What is this?”

  When Sawyer said nothing, only watched her with a faint smile, she crossed to the dresser and leaned to look at a framed photo of the two of them. Sawyer’s arms came around her waist, and Sawyer rested both hands high on Jori’s stomach.

  “Do you like the house?” Sawyer’s cheek brushed Jori’s.

  “Yes. Are you moving?”

  “Maybe. Only if you are.”

>   Turning, Jori draped her arms against Sawyer’s shoulders. “What are you saying?”

  “I haven’t bought the house yet. The realtor is a friend and she let me move a few things in to surprise you.” Sawyer nodded toward the bed behind her. “But if you don’t love it, we can keep looking.” She feathered her fingers down to cradle Jori’s jaw. “I love you, Jori. You anchor me in ways that no one ever has. When we’re apart, I can’t wait to see you again. I want to buy a house with you and build a life together.”

  They’d been splitting their time between Sawyer’s apartment and Jori’s for months and rarely spent a night apart anyway. In the beginning Jori had occasionally worried that Sawyer, habitually unable to commit, would become bored or restless. But eventually Sawyer had put her fears to rest and Jori now trusted her completely.

  Jori’s chest ached as love flooded her. Despite the progress they’d made, she knew this was still a big step for Sawyer. She had just made the biggest commitment of her life and Jori didn’t feel a hint of hesitation from her.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Sawyer asked.

  “Yes.” Jori took Sawyer’s face in her hands. “Yes, I will move in with you.”

  “Good.”

  “So, hold on, let me get this straight, there’s no very important customer.”

  “Um, no, there isn’t. It was my plan to get you here, and Erica played along.” Sawyer tempered her words with a lopsided smile that she had to know always melted Jori’s resolve.

  “I baked all of those cookies for nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t waste perfectly good cookies. We’ll drop them by the domestic violence shelter later, an early Christmas gift for the women and children.”

  “That sounds nice.” Jori had just gotten the only gift she needed this season.

  Sawyer slid her hand to the collar of Jori’s shirt and slipped the top button free, and then the one below it. Jori watched her fingers work downward until the final button was undone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hmm. Well, I came into this bedroom with two goals. The first was getting you to move in with me.” Sawyer pushed Jori’s shirt off her shoulders and it slid down her arms and to the floor.

  “And the second?”

  Sawyer kissed the sensitive skin just below Jori’s ear. “The second,” she whispered in Jori’s ear, “I’ll have to show you.”

  Sawyer unclasped Jori’s bra and gently removed it. She touched Jori’s breast reverently, cupping it in one hand, then stroking her tightening nipple. Jori arched into her touch and sighed. She watched Sawyer’s eyes trace a path over her skin, enjoying the arousal flashing across her expression and darkening her brown eyes almost to black in the shadowed room.

  While removing the rest of Jori’s clothes, Sawyer led her to the bed, both of them nearly stumbling over her jeans when they clung stubbornly to her legs. She pushed back the sheets and guided Jori down. After she stripped off her own clothes, Sawyer stretched out next to Jori.

  “I want to go slow. I always want to go slow with you, but I can never seem to help myself.”

  “You know by now I don’t always need slow.” Remembering one particular time that Sawyer had nearly taken her on the stairs outside Erica’s apartment, Jori felt her body flush. She pulled Sawyer on top of her and slipped a knee between Sawyer’s. When Sawyer rose up, she pushed her thigh higher, keeping pressure against Sawyer’s center.

  Sawyer kissed her, softly at first, leading her, then pulling away just enough to make sure Jori tried to follow before thrusting her tongue inside. Jori moaned, part arousal, part frustration as Sawyer maintained the thread of control. Sawyer drove her fingers into Jori’s hair, and when Jori lifted her thigh again, Sawyer tightened her grip. Jori sucked in her breath as the sharp tug against the back of her head drove her to the edge of pain and pleasure.

  Sawyer moved down Jori’s body, dropping kisses between her breasts and over the slope of her belly. She circled her fingers around Jori’s ankle, then trailed her fingernails up the back of Jori’s calf.

  “Sawyer, you have to touch me.” Jori shivered as Sawyer’s other hand traced up her leg.

  Resting her weight on her arms, Sawyer looked up at Jori. Something about seeing Sawyer this way—supplicant, yet powerful, her shoulders bowed and the muscles in her arm flexing as they supported her—something about this always made Jori want her even more.

  “I love you,” Jori said.

  Lowering herself to the vee of Jori’s legs, Sawyer finally touched her, first with one finger, and then with her mouth. She covered Jori, and her tongue slid through wet folds, then withdrew as she drew Jori’s clit between her lips.

  Jori moaned as pleasure speared through her, her body tightening like a bowstring desperately needing to release a quivering arrow. “Oh, God, I love it when you suck me.”

  Jori’s words seemed to propel Sawyer as she devoured her, alternately sucking and licking, never quite giving her enough of one before switching. Jori grabbed the back of Sawyer’s head as she thrust against her mouth.

  “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Jori chanted when she was too close to go back—too close to let Sawyer shift gears on her again. Sawyer didn’t stop, she never stopped giving Jori what she needed. And seconds later, when Jori trembled and bucked beneath her, Sawyer held on until Jori’s pleasure ebbed into gentle waves.

  Sawyer crawled up the bed and collapsed next to Jori, draping an arm across her stomach. “I suppose now we have to buy the place.”

  Jori smiled. “Of course. You’ve christened it. It’s ours.”

  Sawyer rose up on one elbow, her gaze on Jori’s possessive and passionate. “Say it again.”

  “It’s ours.”

  Cate Culpepper grew up among the luminarias and enchiladas of southern New Mexico. She returns to her Southwest roots in her newest novel, River Walker, her sixth title with Bold Strokes Books. She is also author of the four books of the Tristaine series and Fireside. Cate is a 2005 and 2007 Golden Crown Literary Award winner in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy category, and a 2008 recipient of the Alice B. Toklas Readers’ Choice Award. She now resides in the Pacific Northwest, where she supervises a residential program for homeless young gay adults, and haunts Taco Bell.

  “Luminaria Light” features characters from River Walker.

  Luminaria Light

  Cate Culpepper

  The keening wail of a lost infant instinctively captures the immediate attention of any human heart. Grady Wrenn didn’t consider her own heart particularly maternal, but a baby was lost out there in the storm, and she had to find it before it died.

  She power-kicked through another bank of sodden snow, her face stinging from the wind and icy pellets of the current flurry. She couldn’t see more than a few feet through the stark whiteness, which was broken only by the cruel grays and browns of dead trees and stones. The infant was barely audible now, its whimpers weakening in the force of the wind. Lunging toward the sound, she tried to contain the gasping in her lungs lest she miss it. The baby’s sobs were breathless and fading.

  “Elena!” Calling that name in dire circumstances came naturally to her. “Elena, help me!”

  But she was alone.

  Grady was the only hope this baby had, her only chance of survival. The weak cry drifted to her again, this time from the opposite direction. She staggered toward it, sobbing now herself.

  “Grady.” The voice was brushed satin, calm and low and dear—Elena’s voice, calling Grady up into the cold and implacable sky.

  “Open your eyes, querida.”

  Grady grasped a pair of familiar arms and felt herself pulled upright on the deep sofa. Cool hands cradled her face. Her eyelids felt glued shut, but she wanted badly to see Elena right now. She forced her eyes open and her lover’s pale face, framed in curling dark hair, swam into view. Elena’s gentle brown eyes watched her intently.

  “And where have you been?” Elena swept Grady’s hair off her swea
t-beaded forehead. “You went very far away, I think.”

  Elena was a curandera, a healer who dealt with the spirit world, and she took dream-travel seriously. She was also a nurse, and she measured Grady’s pulse at the throat with clinical practicality. “Grady? Can you hear me? You’re scaring me a little here.”

  Grady understood Elena’s worry. She was sure the dumb shock that infused her dream still fogged her features—she couldn’t seem to shake the daze. Elena’s expression deepened into real concern before she could string words together.

  “Okay,” Grady gasped. “That was a little intense.”

  “I see that it was.” Elena frowned. “Your heart is still racing.”

  Grady swung her legs over the cushions, but Elena held her arms. “I don’t think you should get up just yet.” She was a good foot shorter than Grady, but she was strong.

  Elena was strong, but Grady was embarrassed, or she was getting there fast. She patted Elena’s hand until it loosened from her forearm. “It’s okay, I’m back. I’m okay.”

  “All right. I’ll believe you.” Elena let her go, still studying her with a worried frown. “This dream comes at a strange time, mi amiga. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to fall asleep so early.”

  “It’s still Christmas Eve, right?” Details were surfacing through the murk. She had fallen asleep on the sofa in Elena’s herb shop below the rooms Elena shared with her mother on the second floor. She was surprised she had dozed off, too—she had never been especially comfortable sleeping in Elena’s home, in close proximity to Inez Montalvo. She liked Elena’s mother, she had even grown to love the cantankerous bat, but the woman was not exactly a relaxing presence.

  “Sí, it’s still Christmas Eve. About nine o’clock.” Elena took Grady’s pulse again and seemed satisfied. “Are you going to tell me about this dream?”

  Grady shrugged, finding comfort in nonchalance, feigned or not. “A newborn lost in a blizzard in the woods. I could hear it, but I couldn’t find it.”