When the blanket lay spread out in the moonlight, Natalie looked at her husband and smiled.
"Gage Baron," she said solemnly, "you're going to get us in a whole lot of trouble."
The words were the ones she'd whispered to him so many years before. And, as he had that night, he kissed her and drew her down with him to their improvised bed.
"I'll stop if you want me to," he whispered just as he had all those years ago.
Natalie lay back, her arms around his neck. "Never," she said fiercely. "Never stop, Gage, because I love you. I love you. -"
He kissed her hungrily, ran his hand over the body he knew and worshiped. And then he drew back.
"Babe?"
"Yes?"
"Wouldn't it be wonderful if we're lucky enough to make our baby tonight, right here on Superstition Butte?"
Gage entered her on one long, sweet, possessive thrust. She sobbed his name, lifted herself to him, and gave herself up to love.
The wind sighed through the trees. The moon slid from the sky. The owl flew home on silent wings.
And just at the moment Natalie cried out in Gage's arms, a shooting star flamed like a fire-tipped arrow across the black Texas sky.