Blue Skies, Season 2, Episode 8 (Rising Storm) (2 page)

Or maybe they’d been lucky to have each other. At least in the beginning.

“Then what?” he asked, sounding impatient. He always sounded impatient these days. Sadly, Celeste knew why. And it had nothing to do with their son’s death; his impatience with her, with their life, it had started long before that. And if Jacob had lived, they’d already have had this conversation.

But her son was dead and Celeste had lost herself in grief. Only now it was time to push the pain aside and face things head on. Jacob would want that. Lacey did want that. And Payton had done just that. There were no two ways about it—it was long past time for Celeste to stand on her own two feet.

She swallowed, looking down at the envelope, drawing strength from what she knew it contained. “I know about Kristin, Travis.”

He dropped the newspaper, the color leeching out of his face, his mouth working as he tried to find words. “Oh God, Celeste, I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, holding up her hand to cut him off. “Save it. I don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing you can say that is going to fix this. And you know that as well as I do.” Her hands were shaking, and she pulled them down to her lap, interlacing her fingers to try and hold onto her control.

“Darling, you’re not well. We don’t need to do this now.”

She pulled in a deep breath, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Yes, Travis. We do.”

He shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Travis always liked things neat and tidy. Everything in its proper place. It’s why she’d spent practically her entire marriage making sure that everything was always perfect, reasoning that if he was happy, she was happy.

What a load of crap.

“How did you find out?” he asked, still frowning.

“It doesn’t matter. It just matters that I know.”

“How long then? How long have you known? Is that why you’ve been so…so…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to finish the sentence.

“Crazy? Drunk? Lost?” She bit out the words. “No. That was because of Jacob. Because he was important to my life. I’ve known about Kristin since before he died. And had the car accident never happened, then maybe this whole thing would have played out differently. Maybe we would have found a way to work things thorough, but Jacob is gone and anything left I had to give, he took with him. So here we are, sitting in our kitchen, pretending like there’s still something to talk about.”

“But, Celeste,” he protested, “no matter what I’ve done, you have to know that I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” She shook her head, feeling the tears prick the back of her eyes. “Maybe you did once upon a time, but not anymore. Not for a long time. And while I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt, I can at least return the favor.” She stared at him, some tiny part of her wishing that there were a way to stop this. To turn back the clock. To fix whatever it was they’d broken so long ago. But deep in her heart she knew it wasn’t possible. That moment, if it had ever existed, was long past. “Travis, I don’t love you anymore either.”

Silence stretched through the kitchen, memories playing like a movie inside Celeste’s head. She and Travis laughing as they’d sat down for their first breakfast in the new house. Holding hands across the table while baby Sara Jane cried and cried. Jacob running into the room, flushed with pride over a Little League victory. Lacey, covered in flour, proud of the very first, albeit lopsided, cake she’d ever baked. This had been a family kitchen. Still was a family kitchen.

But whatever connection had existed between the two of them—it was now severed beyond hope.

“You don’t mean that.” He actually looked hurt. The thought surprised Celeste.

“I do. You’ve always thought you could have everything your way. Keep your life compartmentalized so that you could have it all. But it doesn’t work like that, Travis. Life is messy and things happen. And people change. I don’t know why we let it go. But we did, and there’s no going back. And even if there were, I don’t want to.” She pushed the envelope across the table. “I had these drawn up a couple weeks before Jacob died.”

Travis took the envelope and opened the clasp holding it closed. He slid out the papers and scanned the contents. “You’re divorcing me?” Again she was amazed at his shock.

“Surely you’re not surprised? I mean, to be honest, if Jacob had lived, it’s entirely possible that you’d have beaten me to the draw. Or were you planning to live your double life forever?” The idea was repugnant, but she suddenly realized that this was exactly what Travis had been planning to do. She could see it in his eyes.

“What about the girls?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to do this to them?”

“They’re strong. They’ll be fine.”

“But with everything that’s happened. Jacob…”

“Don’t you dare throw our son’s death at me like that. We’ve all been through hell. But like Lacey said, it’s time to come out the other side. And I can’t do that if you’re still here—living in this house, carrying on with her.”

“It’s not like that, Celeste. I mean I truly care about her.”

“Good. Then you’ll have someone in your life. I don’t want you to be miserable, Travis. I just don’t want you here anymore. I need to focus on the people who love me. On Sara Jane and Lacey.”

“This is because of Payton, isn’t it? She left Sebastian so now you’re leaving me.”

“No. This is about your infidelity and the fact that we don’t love each other. I’m not even angry at you anymore. I’m just tired. And I’m drowning in grief. And the only way I can survive is if I clean up my life. And to do that, I need you gone. I need you to sign these papers and walk out the door. Go to Kristin. Go with my blessing. Just go.”

She picked up a pen and handed it to him.

“Sign it, Travis. Set us free.”

For a moment his eyes softened, and she saw a hint of the man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago, and then his jaw tightened and he flipped the papers to the signature page, signing his name with a flourish.

“There,” he said, pushing the papers back to her. “It’s done.”

She nodded, not certain she trusted herself to speak.

“I’ll send for my things.” He stood up and took his jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on. “Do you want to tell the girls together?”

She shook her head. “No. I’d prefer to do it separately. I promise I won’t malign you. I won’t lie, but I don’t want your relationship with your daughters to suffer because of our failings.”

He nodded, grabbed his keys from the bowl beside the refrigerator, and then pulled open the back door.

This is it, she thought, her fingers tightening together. The end of her marriage.

“Celeste,” Travis said, turning to face her one last time. “I never meant to hurt you. I truly did love you, you know.”

“Maybe so,” she sighed, her eyes surprisingly dry. “But it wasn’t enough.”

* * * *

Marisol Moreno pulled a pan of muffins from the oven, her mind turning over the events of last night’s dinner with Patrick Murphy. They’d finally been truly honest with each other. After over a year of dancing around the idea of becoming closer, they’d finally accepted the fact that it just wasn’t meant to be. She’d been so afraid she’d hurt him. That he’d not understand her inability to commit one way or the other. But as usual he’d been insightful and thoughtful and well…totally Patrick.

If only she had been able to fall in love with him. It would be a heck of a lot easier than having fallen for a man who wasn’t even going to stay in town. But still, just the thought of Ian Briggs sent heat coursing through her. The man made her want things she hadn’t thought about since before her parents died. And that had been a long, long time.

It wasn’t as if they’d done anything about it. A lot of flirting, but no dates and no talk of anything that might suggest there was a relationship in the offing. And Marisol understood why. Ian’s life was in Montana. He clearly cared about Marcus, but that didn’t mean he was going to pull up stakes and move here. And Marisol’s life was completely and irrevocably in Storm. She had Luis and Ginny, and, soon enough, the baby to take care of.

Her family just kept growing and they needed her. That much of her protestation to Patrick Murphy had been true. She didn’t have time for a relationship. So maybe it was just as well that Ian was only passing through.

Still, a wicked part of her mind whispered,
while he was here
...

She shook her head, grabbed a tray full of cookies, and walked out of the kitchen and into the main part of her bakery, Cuppa Joe. Best to quit thinking about what could never be and concentrate on what mattered. Her business and her family.

As if to contradict that pledge, Ian Briggs’ deep laugh echoed through the room. He was sitting at a table in the corner with Marcus, their two dark heads bent together as Ian recounted some story or another. Just seeing him in her bakery had her shivering with need.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and damned if he didn’t wink. Almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Color stained her cheeks and she bent to place cookies inside the case, trying to ignore the fact that she was now flushed from head to toe. Damn the man. Clearly, she needed to get out more.

“Marisol,” a soft voice called, interrupting her cascading thoughts. “When you get a chance, can we get another hit of coffee?”

Anna Mae Prager sat at the table closest to the counter, Chase Johnson next to her, their fingers intertwined. Talk about desire. It was thick enough to cut between the two of them. Never mind that they were both old enough to…Marisol cut off the thought. There wasn’t such a thing as being too old. Hope was eternal and all that.

Marisol grabbed a pot and rounded the counter, swiftly filling their cups. Anna Mae was beaming. “You’ll never guess what happened,” she gushed, a smile breaking across her face.

Chase was grinning, too.

“Maybe not, but I’m hoping you’ll tell me.” At least it looked like it was good news. There’d been enough bad stuff happening in Storm lately to last a lifetime. It would be nice to have something to smile about.

Anna Mae stuck out her hand, a large pear-shaped diamond winking in the light. “Chase proposed. To me.”

“Well, now, darlin’, there’s never been anyone else.” The man of the moment grinned.

Anna Mae snorted. “Like I believe that.”

Chase had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Okay, well, what I meant was that there’s never been anyone else I’ve wanted to spend my life with.” He frowned. “At least what there is left of it.”

“Now, Chase, we agreed, we live for today. No worries about what tomorrow brings.” Anna Mae’s smile filled the room as she looked back to Marisol. “Can you believe it? We’re getting married.”

“I can’t think of two more deserving people.” Marisol grinned back at them, a tiny sliver of sadness piercing her heart. What if she never found this kind of joy?

“Did I hear you say you’re getting hitched?” Ian asked, strolling over to the table as Marcus headed for the door.

“As soon as I can get her to the church,” Chase said. “About time she made an honest man of me.”

“I’d say this calls for a celebration. How about some of those cheese kolaches?” Ian tilted his head in the direction of the pastry case.  “Marisol makes the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s a lovely idea,” Anna Mae said, coloring prettily as Chase grabbed her hand again. “But we’ve got to go. I need to tell my sister before the town crier announces it from the rooftops.”

“In that case you’d better hurry,” Marisol laughed. “Hedda Garten was in here when you told me, and she’s already out the door and probably on the telephone spreading the news.”

“Hedda never could hold on to a secret.” Chase pushed back his chair and helped Anna Mae up. “We’ll take a rain check on the kolaches.”

“Absolutely,” Marisol said. “And congratulations.”

She watched as the two of them walked out of the shop, feeling Ian’s heat beside her. He was big and tall, the kind of man who’d make a woman feel protected.

He’d led a hard life. Marcus had told her a little about his past. He’d lost a son. Murdered. And then he’d killed the man who’d done it. Not that Marisol blamed him. She’d have done the same if anyone had dared to hurt Luis or Ginny. In fact, she’d had many a fantasy about what she’d like to do to Senator Rush. Payback for being such a grade-A bastard.

Of course, she didn’t actually have the cojones to see it through, but that didn’t mean she didn’t understand Ian’s reasons.

“You still want that kolache?” she asked, trying not to sound too desperate. Truth was, she didn’t want him to leave. Ever, if she were being truly honest.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “Especially if you’ll join me. Turns out I’ve got a little something to celebrate, too.”

“Well, that’s intriguing. Give me a second.” She stepped behind the counter, grabbed a couple of kolaches and some more coffee. Then after a word with Delia Bruce, who was helping out until she found a full-time job, Marisol crossed back over to Ian’s table, setting the plate and cups down as she slid into a seat. “So what’s happened?”

Ian smiled, his eyes dark and full of something Marisol wasn’t sure she wanted to put a name to. “I’m now the proud owner of a hundred and ten acres of prime grazing land about fifteen miles south of here.”

“You’re kidding. I knew you were looking for a place for Marcus, but to be honest, with the Johnsons’ hold on everything to do with cattle around here, I figured it was a lost cause.”

“Well, now, you see, I’m not the kind of man to give up without a fight.” He paused, his gaze devouring her. “Especially when it’s something I truly want.”

Marisol swallowed too fast and almost choked on her coffee. Whoever decided cowboys had the power to make a girl swoon definitely had the right idea about things. At least when it came to Ian Briggs. “I see.” She didn’t. Not really. But she found herself wanting him to tell her.

“Zeke Johnson and I had a little talk and a meeting of the minds, you might say. And now Marcus and I have a chance to make a go of it here in Texas.”

“Marcus and you…” She was sounding like a schoolgirl. Limited to repeating whatever he had to say. And to make matters worse, she’d managed to shred one of the kolaches.