Battle for the Soldier's Heart (14 page)

I am,
she thought.

His time with her had made her more than she had ever been before: stronger, more confident, more able to cut loose. She had become more herself than she had ever been before.

And if she could not use those things: if she could not take the biggest risk of all to rescue Rory from himself, then were all the lessons lost?

Wasn’t what he needed to know most—and what she needed to know most—that love triumphed?

That love triumphed over deceit? That love triumphed over weakness? That love triumphed over darkness?

That love triumphed, yes, even over death.

Because, somehow, it was her brother who had brought all these events together. Even though he wasn’t here, the bigness of his heart had gone on.

Not to live up to the bigness of her brother’s heart would be a disgrace to his legacy. To say no to love would be to scorn everything Graham had stood for.

She was going after Rory. And not as Gracie-Facie, either.

No, it was the girl who dreamed of red Ferraris who would find the boldness needed to rescue Rory Adams.

From the terrifying loneliness of the world he had made for himself. Where he had to be in charge of everything and everybody.

And where, because of the hugeness of the task he had set for himself, he was doomed to failure.

The music swirled around Rory. Lights reflected off the lake, and the laughter filled the soft evening air.

He did not want to be here, even if it was for
Warrior Down, and he tugged uncomfortably at the bow tie that seemed too tight. He felt alone in the crowd, disconnected. Of course, he had felt disconnected from the moment he had made the decision to leave Gracie and go to Australia.

Now he fingered the piece of paper in his pocket.

I need you. Please come.

The words had been written on an official invitation to the Warrior Down fundraiser. And Rory could not resist them. Not even to protect himself.

Grace needed him. And he had vowed to her he would be her go-to guy.

He had to separate that vow from what he was feeling.

Ever since he had left and gone to Australia it was as if the hole in his heart had grown a little bigger.

The missing part of the dream had come on his second night in Australia.

Two teenage boys. Something about them. He’d hesitated because they were so young. And then bullets everywhere. Ducking, taking cover. Where was Graham?
Out there. Crawling out, pulling him back, cradling him in his arms.

Blood, so much blood.

Graham telling him to check up on Gracie, and then a flicker of movement. Those teenage boys, who were responsible for this, for his friend lying dying, had appeared, trying to slink past where he and Graham were hidden.

And he’d snatched up his rifle and pulled it in tight to his shoulder, seen the boys freeze and fear dawn in their eyes through his rifle sights.

And with whatever strength Graham had had left, he had reached up and yanked the barrel down.

“Don’t. Not for me. I want my legacy to be love.”

Lowering the rifle, the boys slithering away, his chance at retribution gone even as the light winked out in Graham. Forever.

Rory had wanted to phone her after he had had that dream. Had been desperate to talk to her.

And when the dream had not come back at all, he wanted it even more.

But he fought that wanting.

Now, watching her event unfold gloriously, successful beyond what she could have planned, he was determined not to let Gracie see his weakness. His wanting. But the truth was he was growing increasingly annoyed. Considering the urgency of that note, he had barely seen Grace.

She was flitting around like a beautiful butterfly, in a gown spun from golden gossamer. She looked gorgeous. Hair up. Makeup perfect.

Not like a woman pining for him at all!

In fact, she had given him a tiny kiss on the cheek when he arrived, introduced him to some people and then she’d been gone.

Well, it was her night, and obviously she took being in charge of it very seriously. And what a night it was.

The Warrior Down fundraiser had been a great success, a gala on the edge of the lake. The Perfect Day his company had sponsored had been the second-highest moneymaker at the function.

The first highest?

An idea he had scorned when he had first seen it. Grace had hatched a plan to have people sponsor vacations for military families: four-day excursions into the mountains on horseback.

Rory had thought, cynic that he was, that no one would go for that. They would want a perfect day for themselves. But to give it to someone else? A stranger? Nothing in it for them?

He hadn’t thought that would be a big hit.

But it was. The last time he had looked at the list more than thirty families had been sponsored for the mountain horseback holiday.

And all of this was well and good, but where was Grace?

Except for the occasional little wave from the distance, he had barely seen her.

He was beginning to wonder if this whole thing was a joke. A way of her getting back at him for shattering her hopes and dreams, a way of punishing him for abandoning her and everything she stood for and going to Australia.

A note had been slipped to him by a waiter a few minutes ago.

Wait for me. Trust me.

Sure, but finally, the endless evening was drawing down. The crowds were all gone. Now, even the tables were being packed away. The lawns had grown quiet. The dancing and revelry that had happened here were gone, like night evaporated before the morning.

He stood out on the empty lawn, wondering if he should wait any longer.

And then he heard a splash in the dark water.

“Rory! Come in. It’s gorgeous.”

He squinted out at the water. He would know that voice anywhere. It was too dark to tell.

Was she skinny-dipping?

He cast a look over his shoulder. Sheesh. Anyone could see her.

“Grace, get out of that water. No, don’t.”

“You come in.”

“You’re being crazy.”

“I know. Quite a departure for an old stick-in-the-mud like me, but you have no one but yourself to blame.”

He walked down to the water’s edge. She was swimming toward the float. He tugged off the tie, the suit jacket, the shirt, the pants. He left his skivvies on.

“Oh,” she called, taunting. “Shy!”

He dived into the water, caught up with her in a few strokes.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. He couldn’t see through the dark water. Was she naked?

“I’m drowning,” she said. “I need you to save me.”

“Stop it. You swim like a damned fish.”

“I’m drowning in loneliness. I’m drowning in need. I’m drowning in my love for you.”

“Gracie—

“No,” she said fiercely. “Enough of you being in charge. Enough of you thinking you have to run the whole world. Enough of you thinking you need to protect me. Enough. Come home, Rory. Come home to me.”

He stared at her.

“Do you have anything on?”

“Not a stitch,” she said without an ounce of shame.

And then he laughed. This was the Gracie he had come to love: spontaneous, willing to embrace the adventure, bold.

This was the girl who had carried a picture of a bright red sports car in her wallet her whole life.

This was her secret side, the side that was for him.

And she was holding it out like a gift, and he could not resist anymore. He could not.

He reached for her, and she came into his arms.

“You have a bathing suit on,” he said. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

“I know. But thinking I didn’t got you into the water, didn’t it?”

“Diabolical,” he said, but gently.

He gave in to the temptation. He pulled her water-silky body close to his. He touched the wetness of her nose with the wetness of his.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“I never want you to forget this moment. Not ever. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to have your children. I want to swim naked with you and touch the stars with you.

“I want to be the best I can ever be, and I can’t do that without you.”

“I’m supposed to ask you to marry me, not the other way around.”

“The days of you running the whole world are just over, Rory.”

He thought about that. And felt something like relief. Still, he made one last halfhearted effort to show her the error of her ways.

“Grace, you don’t know what you’re getting into. You really don’t.”

She took his lips and he found the truth there. She knew exactly what she was getting into. Exactly. She knew him as well as he knew himself, possibly better. She knew his every strength and, even better, she knew his every weakness.

And she was still doing this.

“Actually, I really do,” she said. “It might be you who doesn’t have a clue what you’re getting into.”

He laughed and drew her yet closer, nuzzled the curve of her neck with his lips, felt the sensuality of her wet hair on his shoulder.

“You may be right, Gracie-Facie.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Oh, yeah, baby, that’s the biggest yes of my entire life.”

EPILOGUE

R
ORY
lay on his back and watched the stars wink on, one by one in a perfect
indigo sky.

A loon called off the lake, that haunting, beautiful sound like
no other.

Grace sighed beside him, nestled deeper into the crook of his
arm.

A horse nickered softly, another stamped its feet. The bell of
the lead mare jangled.

And then the sound of Slim’s guitar.

“We should go back,” she said. “The campfire is starting.”

He twisted slightly, and sure enough sparks were beginning to
shoot up behind them as the sky grew darker.

“We will. In a minute,” he said.

“This is a good group,” Grace said. “Maybe the best yet.”

He laughed softly. “You said that last year.”

It was the third year they’d been invited to join one of the
Mountain Retreat Guest Ranch’s excursions for the military families sent by
Warrior Down on these adventure camping trips far, far from everything. This
year, the schedule was so packed there were hardly enough days of summer. Slim
would lead these wilderness adventures, day in and day out, until they could not
squeeze one more ounce of time out of summer.

Serenity’s voice rose, pure and true above all the others.

“Maybe it’s because this is the first time she’s been well
enough to come that it feels so perfect,” Grace said.

No, perfect would be when there were no more devastating
illnesses.

No, perfect would be when there was no more war, no more
families so in need of this respite from an uncertain world.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead he contemplated the miracles around him. Once, he’d
been a man who didn’t believe in miracles.

But in the face of so much evidence?

Serenity for one. The doctors had not held out much hope for
her when she had begun the treatment.

And they had nearly lost her a dozen times in that perilous
year. Rory and Grace had been there for her and for Tucker, growing closer and
closer, a family of the heart. When his mother was ill, Tucker lived with them,
moving seamlessly between their houses.

And to Serenity’s credit, she had dug deep and she had never
given up. Rory had redefined courage when he had seen her Herculean
struggle.

And somehow, through that terrible year of hardship, the real
Serenity had emerged. Not hard. Not wild. Sensitive. Sweet.

Slim had fallen madly in love with her, but for the longest
time she would have none of it.

Not because her health offered no guarantees, but because she
couldn’t believe a guy that squeaky clean, as she called him, wouldn’t get tired
of her.

Her extraordinary efforts to get rid of her suitor reminded
Rory of him and Grace at the beginning.

Just like him, Serenity had not really believed that she
deserved love.

And just like Grace, Slim had refused to let her believe
it.

And so Slim and Serenity had married last year in a simple
ceremony with just a few people and a whole lot of horses.

Tucker came now, out of the darkness, sighed with relief when
he found them. He was twelve, stretching up the way twelve-year-olds do.

Tucker was not a normal twelve-year-old and Rory had come to
understand he never would be.

He was a serious kid, always worried. He monitored his mother’s
wellness program with the tenacity and fierce devotion of a pit bull.

Now, he settled down on the ground beside Grace.

“Auntie, are you all right?”

Auntie.

Grace had wanted so desperately for her brother to go on. The
funny thing was, that he had.

Even though this boy was no relation to them,
Graham went
on.

In Grace. In Rory. In every single person he had ever touched.
In a tiny chance encounter with Serenity years ago, Graham went on. Who could
look at this, all of them together, the stars in the night sky, Serenity’s voice
soaring higher than the stars, and not be convinced of the existence of
miracles?

“I’m fine, Tucker, honey.”

Out of the corner of his eye Rory saw her reach out and give
Tucker’s hand a quick hard squeeze.

“What if the baby comes tonight?” Tucker asked, not
reassured.

She didn’t tell him not to be silly, or that the baby was still
more than a month away.

“Uncle Rory has his satellite phone set on speed dial for the
helicopter.”

Rory could sense the tension ease from those skinny
shoulders.

“Remember, a long time ago when you asked me about a perfect
day?” Tucker said.

“I remember.”

“Who knew it could be better?”

Rory smiled to himself. It was true these mountain days were
pure delight and the nights were so intensely beautiful your soul stood
still.

But perfect?

Rory’s perfect Day was lying beside him and, much as he enjoyed
things like this, he had no sense of needing them.

No, perfect was glancing up from the newspaper to see her
curled up in a chair engrossed in a book. Perfect was when she made a small fist
with her hand and smacked his shoulder with mock annoyance. Perfect was her
breathing beside him at night.

Perfect was that moment, nearly three years ago, when she had
looked at him with shining eyes and said, “I do.”

Perfect was this woman as his wife.

And now a baby, not completing their circle, expanding it.

That secret longing he had always had to belong to something,
to find a purpose larger than himself had been found.

Once he had served war.

Now, he served love.

They could hear voices now, raised in song. The songs would
begin like this; fast and rowdy, but as the evening grew chillier, the songs
would grow more quiet, softer, slower.

Serenity’s voice rose up above all the others: pure, perfect
and impossibly angelic.

Rory turned his head slightly so that he could see Gracie’s
gorgeous profile silhouetted by the night.

Just as he had known she would be, Grace was crying, the tears
trickling down her cheeks.

And he understood perfectly. He had long ago told her about the
end of the dream that did not haunt him anymore.

This was Graham’s legacy. Tucker was not his flesh and blood,
but this was how he went on, nonetheless. What he had wanted more than anything
had come true.

He had asked that his legacy be love.

And against all odds, it was exactly that.

Graham went on in the love.

Rory had a thought, reassuring to a man who had long since
realized his power only went so far. He took Grace’s hand more firmly.

And this is what he thought:
This is how
we all go on, long after the light is extinguished, long after the last
breath
is drawn. In the love.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt of
The Rebel Rancher
by Donna Alward!