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“That’s probably not necessary,” I replied, but my protest was weak. I wanted to see what kind of magic she could weave.

Nimkii raised an eyebrow. “Your fiancé said to get you everything you need. And I say you need a pretty dress.”

I glanced over at John, who was being measured for a new pair of boots. He was watching me, and tipped his chin toward me, clearly prompting me to get back to what I was doing.

A giggle escaped. “Alright, then.”

Nimkii showed me sketches of dresses she’d made in the past, offering adjustments to make mine unique. She held swatches of fabric up, made adjustments, asked me a hundred questions about my preferences.

She fussed over me in a way that nourished my soul, filling me with a bone-deep contentment that banished the sadness I’d felt earlier.

It’d been so long since I’d done something as normal as shop for clothes or had the luxury of wondering if I looked pretty or not.

Too much time had been taken up by bare survival. It made me feel human again.

When she’d finished with the casual dress, we discussed wedding dress ideas, and she created a beautiful sketch that incorporated my desire for a simple, elegant design. She promised to work on it in the coming months and have me back for a fitting .

When everyone had finished, we headed for the door, and I impulsively hugged Nimkii goodbye. To her credit, she gave a sweet, tinkly laugh and hugged me right back.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “You made me feel so welcome today, even when others turned me away. I…I needed that.”

She nodded. “You make your own path, Claire. You can make your differences your strength if you choose to.”

From the Payette homestead, we visited the homes of the blacksmith (for tools), the glassblower (for glass containers), and the chemist, who restocked Kimmy’s medicine supply and traded us for toiletries like soap and shampoo.

She even made perfume and lotions, and offered me a small jar of rose oil, which I happily accepted.

Finally, as it was getting dark, we decided to call it a day, our saddlebags filled to bursting. I would’ve felt sorry for the horses, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself: my whole body was screaming in protest as John helped me mount Ghost for the ride home.

The ride back to Summerhurst was excruciating. Every muscle in my body burned fiercely. Teeth gritted, I stiffened, which only amplified the pain.

“Nearly there,” John murmured behind me, stroking my thigh.

I now understood why he hadn’t promised me another ride earlier: he knew that I’d be practically begging for mercy after my first long day on horseback. My lower back and buttocks felt like they’d been through a meat grinder.

By the time we’d settled the horses in the stable and walked to the farmhouse with our saddlebags, I was ready to die. I half-heartedly offered to help put away our new things, and Kimmy chuckled at my lack of enthusiasm.

“You should go to bed,” she said, then turned to Asha. “You, too. Neither of you are used to riding.”

In truth, Asha looked every bit as exhausted as I did. She headed for the stairs without another word. I looked to John, who gave me a knowing half-smile.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll be up soon.”

Relieved, I climbed the stairs, wincing at every torturous step. I went to our room and collapsed onto the bed face first, not even bothering to take off my jacket, and passed out. I was woken an undetermined amount of time later by the sound of running water .

I rubbed my bleary eyes. The room was dark except for the low glow of the woodstove; John must have stoked it back to life.

A sliver of light peeked through the cracked door of the ensuite bathroom.

A moment later, the water stopped running, and light poured into the room as John appeared at my bedside.

He’d shed his jacket and looked infinitely more handsome than I probably did at the moment.

“Murder me, Wastelander,” I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. “Put me out of my misery.”

He chuckled. “A little saddle-sore, are we?”

“A little? I’m pretty sure my backside has been worn down to nothing.”

“Luckily, it’s still intact,” he said, a playful grin touching his lips as he gently stroked my sore bottom.

“How do you tolerate this?”

“You get used to it,” he replied. “Once you’ve built up some strength again, and work on holding proper form, it won’t hurt so much. Now, let’s look after you, hmm? Wouldn’t want to risk any permanent damage to that perfect ass—it might be my favourite part.”

“Perv,” I muttered, groaning with effort as I lifted myself up off the bed, and he laughed.

He led me to the bathroom, where a full bathtub awaited, tendrils of steam rising in the air.

“I thought you said it was wasteful?” I asked, arching a brow.

“We’re making an exception tonight,” he answered, steering me towards the tub. “Just don’t get too used to it.”

I stripped off my clothes, shuddering at the cold air, and climbed in. The hot water was an instant balm on my aching body, and I moaned in a provocative way that made John grin.

“Baby, I know you’re in pain right now,” he said with wicked amusement, “but don’t tempt me.”

He undressed and carefully climbed in behind me, letting me lean back against him.

“All I’m tempted to do is pass out again,” I replied, resting my head on his shoulder. “I absolutely could get used to a hot bath and a naked you at the end of the day.”

John chuckled. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

He gathered my hair in a loose ponytail, moving it away from my face and over his shoulder .

“Today was lovely,” I sighed after a moment. “I liked meeting everyone.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. I was surprised how many people were…receptive to me being here. I know a few households didn’t want me today, but…most of them let me in.”

He was quiet for a moment, idly playing with my hair.

“You’ve been needed here for a long time,” he said finally. “Bringing in outsiders was a matter of when, not if. We just nudged them in the right direction.”

“You did, you mean. I’ll never be able to repay you for bringing me here, you know.”

John kissed my cheek. “You don’t need to. I didn’t do it as a favour. It’s only right that my wife should live here with me.”

My heart gave a pleasurable tug.

“But Asha,” I continued, and I felt him tense slightly at her name. “That was a favour to me. I know she’s hard to deal with sometimes. I can thank you for that, at least.”

He didn’t reply directly, just kissed my temple.

We relaxed in comfortable silence until I was dozing off against him, and the water had gone lukewarm.

He helped me out of the bath and led me back to bed.

The room had warmed considerably thanks to the woodstove, and though my body still hurt, I felt pleasantly heavy as I sunk into the mattress and closed my eyes.

John clicked open a container, and the faint scent of rose oil filled the air.

A second later, his strong hands, slick with oil, turned me onto my front and kneaded gently at my lower back, loosening the knots embedded there.

I gasped in half-pain, half-relief, then moaned as he continued down the base of my spine.

Slowly and patiently, he massaged away tension and pain, then started on my legs—first my aching thighs, then calves, then feet.

I melted into the bed.

“Oh my God,” I groaned as he pressed on the tender arch of my foot. “Where have you been hiding these skills all this time?”

He laughed. “Used to do it a lot for my grandparents, especially in the later years. Guess I got good at it.”

I basked in his attention for a while longer, feeling wonderfully loose and drowsy. My pain had quieted to a dull roar, while a whole new ache had begun between my thighs. His prolonged touch made it inevitable, and his focused attention on my body was undeniably sexy.

He worked the oil into my skin, his strokes growing long and languid over my buttocks. He parted my thighs, and I moaned as he stroked me open, carefully sliding a finger inside me. I tensed a little in response.

“Relax for me,” John murmured. I let out a long breath and obeyed. “Good girl.”

He added another finger, stretching me, and I moaned into my pillow. Still in no hurry, he slowly, methodically pumped his fingers into me, stroking my sensitive inner wall. He tormented me for a long time like that, making my clit ache worse than ever, desperate for contact.

“Don’t fight for it,” John said as he moved to kneel between my legs. “Just let me give it to you, nice and easy.”

I sighed heavily, releasing more tension, and he hummed his approval. “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s so good.”

He slid his free arm underneath me, propping up my hips, and then his mouth was on my clit, teasing it with his tongue. I moaned louder, fisting my hands into the sheet as he shamelessly devoured me from behind.

“I was missing the taste of your pretty cunt,” John said softly, his hot breath on my clit. “Couldn’t help myself, seeing you laid out so nicely for me.”

He pressed his tongue harder against me, licking irresistible circles, and I cried out into the pillow. My orgasm worked through every cell in my body, injecting pure bliss—and crushing exhaustion—into every muscle.

John laid down beside me again, pulling the bearskin blanket over both of us as he gathered me against his body. His rigid erection poked against my belly, and I reached for him, even as I felt myself slipping dangerously close to dreamland.

John shook his head.

“Sleep, baby,” he said, nuzzling my hair.

“But…it’s your turn,” I replied drowsily, giving him a half-hearted pump with my fist.

He chuckled and took my hand in his. “I can have my turn tomorrow.”

I sighed. “Now I love you even more.”

He laughed again. “I know. Now, rest.”

He didn’t have to tell me again.