Stop And Smell The Roses...Well, Try, Anyway!

She'd brought home chicken breasts, so Sam farted around with a teriyaki
sauce for a while, marinading the meat while he waited for the coals to
heat.  He stood out on the patio, minding the grill while enjoying a cigar,
a genuine Cuban he'd got from Tommy Lee once when he stopped in on the way 
to the office - God knew where the boy got them, and watching through the 
bathroom window as Beth soaked the cold out of her bones.

He had discovered this excellent vantage point one day soon after moving in,
though the view had been far less compelling at the time - the man
installing the whirlpool bath had been bent over the side of the tub and Sam
had got an excellent view of the classic plumber's crack.  Now what he saw
turned his motor over repeatedly...Beth, stretched out, eyes closed, neck
supported on a folded towel.  Steam rose off the water gently, occasionally
he was treated to a glimpse of a round breast or thigh as she shifted in the
tub.  His jeans began to feel a little tight.  He parked the cigar and
headed into the kitchen to fetch the chicken.

There was a salad in the refrigerator, wine warming to room temperature in
the dining room, Chinese vegetables steaming on the stove, and French bread
staying warm in the oven.  He had sent her to the bath while he prepared
what she'd selected at the store.  It was the least he could do, to cook for
her after a long day in a ridiculous job...she was far too bright and
talented for the place she found herself.  He might make a few hints about
her cooking for him if she would only find something more congenial to
do...but only a few.  She tended to grow cold with him if he did and there
were two major things wrong with that.  One, he couldn't stand her to be
cold to him and two, he knew there was a way around her without angering
her, he had only to find it.

The meat cooked quickly, and he put it in the oven beside the bread, under a
cover.  He built a small fire in the fireplace - there wasn't that much
chill to drive off, despite what she thought, and then he went to get her.

She had fallen asleep.  For a minute he stood, watching, too entranced by
the sight to disturb her rest.  He wanted the damp curls at the nape of her
neck in his fingers, he wanted to pick her up out of the tub and tumble her
wet body into their bed and be damned to the fire or the food or anything
else...he wanted only to feast on the bounty she brought him every night.
Then he realized he was looking at a woman dead asleep in a bathtub at seven
o'clock in the evening and he was furious that she would refuse...him...to
continue to work in a place that exhausted her so.  Not furious at her, but
at the stubbornness he realized was part of what he loved about her.

"Beth...hon...supper's ready."

"I only just got in here..."

"Try an hour, baby.  Come on, we'll eat then sit in front of the fire for a
while.  Here...take my hand."

He helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in his terrycloth bathrobe.  It
was far too big for her and he suspected he might have just given it away,
but she wouldn't need to towel herself off.  He insisted that she add a pair
of thick white socks to this ensemble, then he led her out to the dining
room.  They had a lot to discuss.

On this particular Wednesday evening...Beth had been at work until
five-thirty.  Not a great deal of overtime until Sam considered that she'd
been there until seven the night before, and had gone in early as well.
She'd told him that this was periodic...that it would end and she would go
for long stretches working a solid forty hour week...but the tired look in
her eye brought out the protective streak in him and his mind began looking
for ways convince her to leave the job, if not the workforce entirely.

"Hon?"

"Sam?"

She was finally sitting down, after cleaning up after their meal,and it 
didn't take a rocket scientist to see that the long days were catching
up with her.  She had insisted on taking the washing up duties, against 
Sam's protests.  Not even the bath had refreshed her, and the simple act of
loading the dishwasher seemed to have worn her out all over again.  She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes.  She leaned against his shoulder now,
her hand lightly resting on the inside of his thigh.

"Think you can...call in tomorrow?  Take a mental health day?  I will if you
will."  Another attempt on Sam's part to address the issue gently.  That 
meant he wouldn't check his email, wouldn't call Cosmo in San Antonio,
wouldn't attempt to touch base with anyone or anything connected with work.

"We can stay home...stay in bed all day if you want...catch up on our
reading, some of the other stuff you've been too tired to do."

"In other words, you're feeling deprived,"  Beth replied, not bothering to
open her eyes.

"You might say that."

"Would I say no to my Sam?"

"Your Sam isn't about to ask when you come home looking like you've been run
through a blender,"  he replied, thinking that it had come out more harshly 
than he had intended.

"Thanks so much..."

"Honey, you're beautiful, you know that.  It's the damned job."

"Here we go again," Beth's voice was chilly.  Resigned, but chilly.

Sam withdrew instantly.  He had overplayed his hand and she was on to him.
One of the many reasons he loved her so much was his inability to put
anything over on her for long.  She always caught on.

"I'm gonna step outside for a while."

"Do that."  Her voice was flat, letting him know that he had better not
advance the subject again.  She had told him once that he had never seen her
truly angry, but that the time would come faster than he knew if he wasn't
careful.

Sam stepped outside, lit another cigar, one of the Cubans...Tommy said he  
seemed to have been shortchanged and Sam was to take the remainder in the  
humidor if he liked, and he liked, though what he meant about shortchanged
was anybody's guess.  He decided to take a walk around the fenceline.  If  
things were secure...he was going to get Beth a dog.  A big one.  She was    
putting a lot of faith in the security system , but he would always fall
back on superior force in the end.  He had a line on a Rottweiler, trained  
to guard but gentle as a lamb with his handlers.

An hour and a half later...it was a slow walk, with a long stop beside the
pond, Sam let himself back in.  Beth was still sitting where he had left
her, but sleeping.

"Come on, Baby...let's go."  Sam picked her up, carefully, so as not to wake
her, and set off to their bedroom.  Her head nestled down into his shoulder
for the short trip.  He stopped, briefly, just to prolong the sensation,
then carried her the rest of the way.

"Sam..."

"Yes, Honey...lift up, that's it...what?"  Sam was undressing her like a
child. stroking the lovely body as he exposed it, fighting his own arousal.

"I'm not gonna quit working...so don't..."

"Don't what?  I hate these damned hooks...there..."

"Don't push me."

Sam covered her up securely.  If he couldn't make love to her, he could at
least sleep skin to skin with her.

"I won't," he murmured gently.

"I need to be up at five."

"I'll set the alarm," he promised.  Maybe.

"Do it."

"I will."  Maybe.  "I'll be along in a bit."

"Don't be too late...I'm here all by myself...enough as it is..."

TO BE CONTINUED...How's the prose work??...