If Wishes Were Horses (15 page)

lived there.

The bedroom in which she woke was small,  but the furnishings were antiques with the old wood smell that was comforting, familiar, and classy. Gauze curtains fluttered at the open window, the screen permitting a  breeze and the moonlight to illuminate hersurroundings. A china washbasin and pitcher, an antique clothes press on which her clothes had been neatly hung. Her robe lay at  the foot of the bed, on a folded white spread.

It didn’t seem like a man’s room. It was comfortable, and the tasteful choices reflected a reverence for things of enduring beauty, which was like him. However, it did not have the accoutrements of a man who slept there, like pocket change on the dresser. Perhaps his aunt’s room. It did not  have the vacant feel of a guest bedroom.

She remembered vaguely the warmth of his clothed body curled around her naked one, his hand stroking her hair,  but she was  alone now. Except at the Rite, she’d not yetseen him fully naked, but then his form had been a mix  of shadows and fire. She would like the pleasure of seeing that body close up, though she did not deny the extreme eroticism of feeling his clothed body against her wholly bare flesh.

Had he worked some spell on her to keep  her so relaxed and doubt free? If so, it was wearing off some. Waking in a strange  house and finding her life so neatlyarranged around her was disconcerting, to say the least.

Sliding on the robe, she moved across the  room and into the hallway. She heard the ticking of a clock and saw dim light coming  through an archway at the  end of it.  Trailing her hand along the wall guided her  way, and brought to her touch a  variety of framed pictures the right size for photographs, likely a montage of past and presentfamily.

The light was candlelight, of course. Did  the man ever use electricity? A dozen pillar candles reflected against the windows of the sunroom,  which served as agreenhouse for all the plants in there. There was a fountain and a lotus-shaped gazingpool, beside which was a carved bench. An  altar made  of twisted branches arched over the wide, sanded surface of a tree stump that looked as if it had a diameter of two feet.  Twined in the arch and in a chain along the  circumference of the altar’s surface were the fresh white wildflowers growing all about Lilesville. Four more lit candles stood on the altar. It also  held a wooden carving of a man-stag creature and a voluptuous Goddess, and four carved symbols burned  into the compass points of the circle beside each of the

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candles. A tiny porcelain carousel like a  child’s music box made a triangle point  between the figures representing the Lord and Lady.

Justin was in front of the altar, moonlight sliding down his bare pale body. His back was to her, just slightly turned so she could see his profile and the surface of the altar.  He laid a flower at the base of the small Goddess statue, bowed his head to the Lord  figure and then stretched his arms up. Gathering energy to him in a way she could feel  through her skin, both as a woman and as an  observer, he made a mysterious and yet  intensely vulnerable figure. She had never really seen a man truly absorbed  in prayer,  in devotion for something larger than himself.

She stepped back. Even the intimacy of passionate sex did not give her the  right to intrude on this. He turned his head and with  a shock, Sarah saw tears in his  eyes. He  blinked them  back quickly, and she pretended not to see.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I just came to find you.”

Her gaze fell to his hand. He held a lock of hair in his fingers, tied with a ribbon and  a sprig of greenery. Watching her, he placed it on the altar,  inside the chain of flowers.  The color and texture was recognizable, since she had only handled it recently.

“You took her hair.”

“A lock of it, yes.”

She studied him a long minute. “I guess a  lecture on how stupid that was wouldn't  do any good.”

“No.” A faint smile lifted his mouth, but his eyes remained sad, distant.

Well, she had promised Eric she'd try to  get more out of him. Since he'd barely  given her time to breathe up until now, this was her first opening. She was veteran  enough to  take advantage of this  opportunity, woman enough to  feel a twinge of guilt  for doing so. She acknowledged that she wanted to know more for herself as well and  took a small step into the room.

“Am I intruding?”

“That's not possible.” He went from his knees  to his heels in one easy motion and  shrugged into the cotton robe to the left of  his feet. He turned toward her, belting it, and  eased onto the bench. “Come sit with me.”

She complied. His arm was along the back  and it was a small bench, so she ended up inside the crook of shoulder to chest with  him gazing down into her face. It was asnatural as the water pouring from  the fountain  to accept the kiss he  pressed on her lips and drew out, his fingertips grazing her jaw.  When he lifted his  head, her hand lay on his knee, as if for balance.

Sarah cleared her throat, looked away. “The  carousel. I don't understand that,” she nodded to it on the altar.

“It's…It’s hard to lie to you, Sarah.”

“Have you been?”

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“No.” His fingers tightened on  her shoulder when she tensed and would have  drawn back. “No. If I can’t tell you something,  I’ve simply told you I can’t, or won’t.”

“Is it because I'm a cop you find it hard to lie to me?”

“No, it's not because you're a cop.” His finger traced down her cheek, that gentle touch that kept surprising her, as if he considered her delicate, something precious. It  startled her to realize she had never been treated that way by any man in her life, and  how much she welcomed it. The knuckle moved  to touch her beneath her  chin, his  other fingers spreading out to feather her jaw. “It's  not that at all,” he murmured, gazing into  her face with an expression of intent wonder that made her self-conscious, though not in an unpleasant way. She stifled the urge  to speak or squirm beneath the regard that seemed almost reverent.

“I can tell  you the truth about the carousel,”  he said finally. “I  want to  say I  can't, but that would just be cowardice. The carousel is a small urn. It holds a handful of my  daughter's ashes.”

“Oh.
 
Oh.
” It was automatic, her hand closing  over his on his knee, bare where the  robe parted, her fingers firm and sure. “Justin, I'm so sorry.”

He nodded, and now, when she saw him fight back the grief, she knew what had  sculpted that gaunt, haunting quality of his face. She knew the psyche articles and the stress ratings, but most importantly, as a former homicide detective, she had seen the  loss of a child crumble a person instantly,  from the inside out. She wondered that anyone ever  survived such a blow to the soul.

“I suppose I wanted you to know,” he said. “Otherwise, I wouldn't have brought  you here. Her pictures are all up in the hallway. I know she's at peace with angels somewhere, or maybe embracing  a new life, a new incarnation someplace where she'll  get a longer chance to experience what the world has to offer her. That is my faith, and  that is  what I believe. But I miss her, every  day.” He lifted a shoulder, shook his head  and looked away at the moonlight  playing in the fountain  waters.

“Can I…do you want to tell me how it happened?”

That same  half shrug, a slight gesture,  like a wide range of movement might break him. Sarah moved in closer, laying her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her arm around his  chest, curling her hand around  his  far side, thinking she could help protect his heart with the strength of her arm. His freed hand rose, touching her forearm. She heard the thud of his heartbeat. Slow, almost  too slow, as if maintaining its normal resting rate  was too much against so much pain.

“We were walking down the sidewalk together. Where I used to  live. We'd  take a walk each day. To the end of the street, turn the corner, walk up to the neighborhood store. The manager there was an  older man  who missed his grandchildren, so she was always welcome. We'd get a piece of candy for her, a paper and a soda for me, walk home. The road the convenience store was on  was a busy one, but the sidewalk made it safe.

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“It was over in a second,” he murmured,  “maybe even less. She was holding my  hand, laughing, looking up at me. A driver  changing a CD in her car wasn’t paying  attention to what she was doing. She jumped the curb.”

Sarah's grip on him tightened and he turned his face even further toward the window, so all she saw as she looked up at  him was the strong straight line of  his neck,  the gray marble plane of his jaw  and cheek, stark in the  moonlight.

“The car didn't touch me. The grill rammed  right into my little  girl, threw her a  hundred feet into  the air. The car  skidded by me, hit a tree. I can still feel her  fingers in  mine sometimes, that brief second  before they were gone.”

“Oh, Justin.”

“She landed  in traffic. On that busy four-lane road, not one of them hit her, even

though she dropped in  among them like a bird  shot from the air. They all managed to  stop in time, or were at the right place to  miss her. I was running out even as she was  coming down. I don't remember anything about the cars,  even though someone said  later I was almost hit by two of them.

“I thought,
 
maybe I can catch her
, only seconds before she landed. She…her head hit  the pavement first. Then I was on the ground, holding her in my arms, and I knew. It  was worse than dying, worse than any torture. She looked at me, blinked, those  beautiful blue eyes, and I saw the light going  out of them, it was so quick.  ‘Daddy, it  hurts,’ she said. And that was it. She died.”

Sarah laid her hand against the side of his  face, felt the tears there, and tasted her

own at the corner of her mouth.

“They said it was a miracle she even had that second or  two of life after she

landed…that her brain function should have  stopped immediately after such a blow.”

“When…when did this  happen?”

“Yesterday. A minute ago. Four years ago. It's all the same.”

Eric thought Justin Herne had come to Lilesville to care for his aunt. Sarah realized  the truth was more likely that he had come to  Lilesville so his aunt could help care for  him.

Justin bowed his head, his face still averted from her, but she saw his eyes close tightly, like  his hand  beneath hers on his leg. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” He lifted his head, looked at her. “We'd
 
all
 
ride.”

She nodded. She understood that  only too  well, and knew he could see that she did.

She wanted to ask about the child’s mother,  but he’d given her enough of his  personallife for one  night. As a cop  she also knew how often the tragedy of losing a  child wascompounded by the divorce of the grieving  parents, their pain and guilt so large it destroyed their love.

He let her wipe away his tears, then took her hand, brought it to his chest, held it. “You are kind,” he said. “But, Sarah, I've a fine life. I don't want you to think I'm telling

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you this to distract you. I want you to  investigate Lorraine's death as you feel  appropriate.”

Sarah studied his tired face, the handsome  jaw and dark eyes that held so much.  “But you still won't tell me all I need to know.”

“You've already indicated you won't believe  me, Sarah. I won't waste your time, or  mine.”

“If you believe she conjured something that killed her, you're right. It makes me  question my sanity, being attracted to a guy who thinks ‘the truth is out there’.” She reached up and caressed his jaw. “But you might be as sexy as David Duchovny.”

“Ah, flattery.” He smiled then, and Sarah relaxed as the sorrow in his eyes receded.

He curled his fingers in her  hair,  tugging. “So, if I let you go tonight, are  you going  to be willing to see me again, or will  we be back to 'Herne' and 'Chief Wylde'  tomorrow?”

“I don't know.” He’d been honest with her,  so she gave him an honest answer. “I'd  like some time to think, Justin. A little space. Let me come looking for you. One way or  another, I promise I'll let you know  how it's  going to be. I won't make you guess.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he said, though  there was a forced lightness to his  voice  that suggested it was an effort for him not to push the point. Warmth curled in her  stomach at the sound of it, a response to  being wanted, desired. She laid  her hand inside the collar of the  robe, stroking the bare  skin over his pectoral. “How long do you  want?” he asked.

Her fingers found his nipple, threading through chest hair, and he caught her hand,stilling it. “Don't distract me,” he said sternly, though she heard the humor in his voice.

“Okay,” she said. She  snaked her other  hand beneath his robe and cupped theround curve of his testicles, accessible  from the splayed position of his knees.

“Sarah.” He caught both her hands, laughing then, and took  her to the  floor,  pinning her body next to the gurgling fountain and the  altar. “
How long
, or I swear I'll  never let you out of this house.”

“That's kidnapping, Herne.” She grinned,  and raised her legs, wrapping them around his hips. She pressed against his hardening cock, a sure  sign she had dispelled  his pain, something she recognized was more  important to her than  grilling him on the case, for the moment.