The Hopechest Bride (11 page)

Josh nodded his head. “The panic button. Cops use it to summon help if they're in trouble. It's part alarm, part locater. But Toby didn't think you could wait for other officers? Did he think Pike was still close by, waiting to take another shot at you?”

“I think so. Toby must have thought so. He reached for my hand, asked me if I'd been hurt. He was dying, and he asked if
I
was hurt. Then he told me to run, to get away, to leave him. I—I couldn't. How could I leave him? I wanted to stay, get him some help, but I think we both knew help couldn't arrive in time, at least not for him. And then…he was gone.”

She looked at Josh helplessly. “He was holding my hand, and then he was gone.”

 

Josh lay awake, holding Emily close to him, his heart breaking each time she whimpered in her sleep, still obviously reliving Toby's death in her nightmare.

A hat.

Toby had died because he'd forgotten his hat.

Emily was alive because Toby had forgotten his hat.

How did a person justify such a thing? Calling it Fate sounded like too much, terming it coincidence seemed like too little.

Josh felt something sticking him in the back, and reached under him, pulling out one of the cards they'd played with earlier. He held it up, looked at it, unable to see the face of the card in the darkness, and a thought hit him.

Josh's dad had called it the luck of the draw, as if life was one big card game. Sometimes you drew well, sometimes you got the Joker. Josh's mother had drawn the Joker, and was dead within months of her diagnosis. His dad had kept trying for the Ace, and Lady Luck had kept dealing him Jokers, too.

According to his father, it just all boiled down to the luck of the draw. Either you had it, or you didn't.

Toby hadn't had it that night. But, then, neither did Emily, and she hadn't been drawing good cards for a long while, a lot of years. Maybe it was just time for her luck to turn good, just as it had been time for Toby's luck to run out.

Don't ask why, say why not. Don't try to rationalize, place blame. All luck isn't good, all the cards we're dealt aren't Aces. All the platitudes sounded so rational, in the dark of the night, here in this cave, Emily lying beside him, her breathing finally soft, and regular.

Josh sat up, held the card closer to the dying fire.
What would it be? He hadn't been drawing many Aces himself. Was it time his luck changed?

Squinting, he turned the card toward the light of the fire, then looked at the card for a long, long time.

The Ace of Hearts.

“Damn,” he whispered quietly, turning the card over and over in his fingers. He looked at Emily, snuggled under the sleeping bag, her hair not tied back in a ponytail, but spreading against the seat of the saddle—warm, and inviting, and begging for him to touch it, slide his fingers through it, push that length away from her nape so that he could press his lips against the side of her throat.

Toby had loved this woman. Josh desired her. Toby had seen her as gentle, needing his protection. Josh saw her as strong, if troubled. Toby believed he could make Emily love him, be content to settle in Keyhole, raise kids and go to church on Sunday. Josh didn't believe anything, about anything, about anyone.

Toby should have lived. Maybe then he could have convinced Emily that his love was true, that there was a happy ending for the two of them. Then Josh could keep up his rambling, rootless ways, and visit Toby and Emily on holidays, at which time he'd have to crawl into a bottle just as his dad had, to block the sight of Emily and his brother, together, from his mind.

Because he wanted this woman. He wanted her for himself. He ached for her in ways both physical and emotional, and he wanted her for all time. But he
knew he couldn't have her, not with Toby alive, not with Toby dead. It just wasn't in the cards for them.

Josh rubbed hard at his closed eyes with thumb and forefinger, then stabbed his hand into his hair. Was he out of his mind?

He tossed the card into the flames, lay down again, and turned his back on the sleeping Emily.

E
mily stirred in her sleep and opened one eye.

She was on her side. Her
left
side. She never slept on her left side, never.

Worse, she was snuggled up to Josh's back, chest to toes, folded against him, her knees tucked behind his, one arm cupping his waistline.

In sleep she had done what she refused to even think about while awake. She'd somehow gravitated toward Josh Atkins, sought out his warmth, his strength, the very solidness of him. And, once she'd found it, she'd hung on for dear life…and slept soundly for the first time in months, perhaps years.

She closed her eye, rubbed her cheek against the flannel of his shirt, amazed at the feel of taut muscle
beneath that soft material. She remembered his body as she'd seen it that first night, when he'd stripped off his shirt before she could avert her eyes, pretend disinterest.

Whipcord lean, not an ounce of fat. Muscles that rippled rather than bulged. Those scars on both his belly and chest. A deep tan that told her he spent long hours working, shirtless, in the sun. A man of iron, from his physical body to his strong mind.

But his eyes were like Toby's, in much more than their color. There was a softness to Josh Atkins, a humanity—even if he tried his best to pretend it didn't exist. He had all of Toby's caring ways—for who had raised Toby, taught Toby, if it hadn't been his big brother? But where Toby had been young, still somewhat unformed, Josh's unprotected life had served to carve the grown man to mimic the strength of granite, the hardness of diamonds.

He was the Grand Canyon, rock that stood strong, even while shaped and carved by storms, by the sheer passage of time. The rivers, the weather, had eroded a lot of his softness, leaving this hard exterior, one that could stand up to threats from without, although he could still be deeply moved, hurt, by the threats from within.

No, his softness, his humanness hadn't been eroded. It had gone inside, hidden in the caves of self-preservation. But it was all still there. It shone in his eyes as he'd spoken about his brother, it had manifested itself as he'd allowed her to cry on his shoulder
last night, as he had held her close, comforted her. His brother was dead, wrongly, tragically, and he had comforted
her.

Molly whinnied softly, blowing, shifting her feet, and Josh's mount shook its head, its harness jingling. Morning. It would soon be morning. Through the night no more storms had rolled in, and the sun would soon rise.

It would be time to break camp, to head home. This strange, unreal interlude would be over, gone. Lost. Josh's softness, Josh's heart, would go back into hiding, and he'd ride away, go back to his lonely, solitary existence. She'd never see him again.

Toby had so loved his big brother. He'd spoken of Josh often, and he'd confessed that he wished his brother would settle down, leave the rodeo circuit, put down some roots. “He needs the love of a good woman,” Toby had told her, half smiling. “We all need the love of a good woman.”

Love? Was that possible? Was Josh Atkins the sort of man who could recognize love, would accept it if it was offered? He had to be in his mid-thirties, and had been forced to grow up at an age when other boys were playing Little League and trading baseball cards. And, except for his love for his brother, his heart had been locked away, forced to hide in order to protect him from more hurt, more disappointment.

He'd become a loner, mature beyond his years, hardened by circumstance. Emily had read case histories of children like Josh, even children like Toby.
The oldest—the “protector/parent.” The younger—the “sheltered innocent.”

Toby had grown up wanting to help others, to make a contribution, to make a difference.

Josh had grown up, handled all his responsibilities, and then gone in search of the childhood he'd never been allowed to live. What was a thirty-something-year-old man who had no home, who followed the rodeo circuit, who picked up and dropped odd jobs because it was time to move on, before roots dared to form? Was he a man who kept his troubles packed in his bedroll, and took them with him, to the next town, the next ride, the next woman?

Was this a man a levelheaded, home-loving woman should ever love?

Emily's arm tightened as she kept it wrapped around Josh's waist. No. No, this definitely was not the sort of man she needed, should ever want.

And yet she didn't want to let him go.

Not now.

Not yet.

Molly whinnied again, and Josh stirred, slowly coming awake. He raised his right arm slightly, then held it in midair for a moment, as if giving her the opportunity to roll away from him, before slowly lowering it, his hand seeking and finding hers at his waist, squeezing her fingers. It felt so right, so natural. So much more than she'd expected, so much less than she wanted, suddenly needed.

Emily's blood ran hot, then cold, then hot once
more as Josh lifted their joined hands to his mouth, pressed his lips against her fingertips. She felt her bottom lip begin to tremble, closed her eyes tightly to hold back sudden tears.

Josh released her hand as he shifted his long body, removing his heat, and turned over onto his right side, so that they lay facing each other. His eyes were clear, completely awake, and his mouth was so close it would take only a small movement for her to put lips to lips. His arm went around her, as hers had been around him, and he pulled her closer, so that their bodies touched again, this time belly-to-belly.

“Say no now, Emily. For God's sake, say no now.”

He barely held her, yet she felt unable to move, to retreat. It was too late for retreat. She could only go forward. An inch, two, and their mouths met, their mouths melded, their bodies melded in the heat of the hottest summer day, right there, right then, on one of the coldest, dampest days in November.

Emily snaked an arm out from beneath the sleeping bag and slipped it around Josh's neck as he moved once more, his mouth never leaving hers, to put her fully on her back. Covering her with his body, his long legs entwining with hers.

She lay against a pair of rubberized ground sheets laid over the rocky floor of a cave, and yet she felt as if she were reclining on the finest goosedown, floating on a cloud, borne up by gossamer wings.

Her body was weightless, yet filled with sensation.
The warmth that burned inside her, the chill that somehow accompanied it. The weight of Josh's body against hers, the wild, hungry sensations that accompanied each touch of his hand, each movement of his body.

Their kiss deepened, his mouth, his tongue becoming the center of her universe. She forgot to breathe, didn't need to breathe. She only needed to feel. Feel warm, feel loved…feel alive.

So long. She'd been asleep for so long, lost in her misery, her fears, her regrets.

This man knew. This man understood.

This man could help her, free her, absolve her, cleanse her.

She needed him, needed him so much.

And he needed her, Emily was sure of that. He needed someone to hold, someone to ease his own tortures, understand his grief, and maybe his own guilt.

Two hearts, two souls, came together in the most elemental of ways. Filling, slaking, comforting. Reminding them that life was for the living, life was to be lived, and dreams could only come true if you reached for them, reached for them now.

There was pain, but she didn't care, barely noticed. She'd had so much pain, inside her mind, inside her heart and soul, that this small, fleeting discomfort meant less than nothing. Because now she was whole. With Josh inside her, part of her, she was somehow whole.

His gentleness brought tears to her eyes, his rising passion delighted her, his strong arms held her safe as she soared, flew, scraped the stars so that they exploded around her, within her.

Josh's abrupt withdrawal and shuddering release at first confused her, but she quickly understood, held him even tighter against her, stroked his back, kissed his cheek, his neck, as his head lay heavily against her. His body was fluid now, his muscles smooth, almost slack, and she gloried in the softness of his skin, this new power she had discovered within herself.

She had given, and she had taken. He had taken and given in return. They had a bond now, they shared more than their pain, their grief.

Emily turned her head toward the mouth of the cave and saw the sun, filtered through the towering pine trees, making a bright, dusty path for the dawn of a new day…a new life.

 

Dawn came early at the Hacienda de Alegria, Martha Wilkes had discovered when she first came to stay with Joe and Meredith. She liked that. Dawn in Mississippi was slower; everything was slower in Mississippi. More leisurely, perhaps, but Martha realized now that perhaps she hadn't been built for leisurely awakenings.

It had taken her nearly fifty years, as a matter of fact, to realize she was awake at all, alive at all.

Now she woke with the dawn, eager to be up,
dressed and off to Hopechest Ranch. She'd always liked her profession, believed she did good work, sometimes very good work. But never had she felt as fulfilled as she had these past days, walking with Tatania's hand in hers, Tatania feeling safe enough to talk, to giggle, even to skip in her new shoes.

How strange it had been, that first meeting of woman and child. Somehow Tatania had known, as Martha had known, that they were meant to find each other, feed each other, love and protect each other. The bond was almost instant, and immediately strong. The joy was incredible.

Martha stepped out of the shower, donned underwear and pulled on a thick white terry-cloth robe, then walked to the window that looked out, toward the distant mountains.

What a beautiful world!

Was she rushing things? Certainly she was. If she were her own patient, she'd prudently advise stepping back, moving more slowly, definitely not pinning all her happiness on one small child, the possibility that she could become mother to this one small child, find a home for the two of them, build a life, form a family.

But women did give birth, didn't they? One day a girl, a woman, and the next a mother. Holding a brand-new life in her arms, feeling emotions she'd only read about come flooding in with such a sweet intensity that it brought tears to her eyes, humbled her.

“I've given birth,” Martha told the rising sun. “All my life, all my training, all my experience, has been the gestation, and now I have the chance to understand,
really
understand, what I've read, what I've seen and never experienced.”

Martha padded over to her closet and pulled out a long wrap skirt fashioned of brown, yellow and white material patterned with giraffes, lions, tigers, animals that freely roamed the Serengeti. She teamed it with a soft yellow Angora pullover sweater, layered two lengthy strands of brown wooden beads around her neck, topped it all off with a longish, loose cape-like cotton jacket of chocolate brown.

Tatania would like the giraffes.

She unwrapped the length of Velcroed terry cloth from her head and checked her reflection in the mirror, assuring herself that her hair was fit to see the day. It was, and after the application of some face powder and lipstick, so was she.

Breakfast, an informal session with Meredith, a call to the Realtor about a house with home office she'd seen last night on the Internet, and then the short drive to the Hopechest Ranch. A full morning, and she looked forward to every minute of it, with a love of life that amazed, astonished her.

Martha knew Inez would be up and about, banging pans, preparing biscuits, but was surprised to see Meredith when she entered the kitchen, sitting at the table, sipping tea.

“Sun's up,” Meredith said, smiling at Martha over
the top of her cup. “I'm hoping Emily will ride in soon.”

Behind her, at the stove, Inez turned to look at Martha and rolled her eyes. “Been up since before the dawn, clucking around here like a hen with one chick.”

Martha smiled, took up what had become “her” chair, and thanked Inez, who put a cup of steaming coffee in front of her. “I don't blame you one little bit, Meredith. In fact, I wouldn't say you were wrong if you hadn't slept all night, just waiting for the dawn.”

Meredith tipped her head to one side, looked at Martha. “Really? My goodness, who are you? Where's that woman who taught me that worrying and fretting change nothing and only deplete our stores of energy?”

Ducking her head slightly, Martha said, “She's in Mississippi, Meredith, sleepwalking through her days, hiding from her own emotions, thinking life is easier, safer, that way. And she can stay there, thank you very much. I'm—” She raised her head, grinned. “Well, I'm actually looking forward to worrying about Tatania, walking the floor, peeking out the window, waiting for her to come home from her very first date with some downy-cheeked boy I have frightened half to death with my questions concerning how he drives, how fast he drives, and does he know how badly I'd hurt him if Tatania isn't home by eleven o'clock.”

“Eleven?” Meredith shook her head. “I didn't let my girls stay out past ten when they first dated. Or my boys. They hated that, but I told them,
I'm
the one worrying, so the sex of the child doesn't mean anything. But goodness, Martha, Tatania is only seven years old. Aren't you rushing things?”

“No, just dreaming about things I thought I'd never experience. And I certainly don't want to rush things. I want to enjoy every moment, not miss a moment.”

Meredith's lovely brown eyes clouded, and Martha immediately realized her mistake. She put out her hand across the table, touched Meredith's arm. “I'm sorry, my friend.”

“It's all right,” Meredith told her, her smile wan, but there. “Everyone's been filling me in on what I've missed. Although I believe I'm seeing highly edited photographs and videos, so that Patsy doesn't appear anywhere. It's just such a roller-coaster ride of emotions, Martha. Video of Sophie's Meggie being born, learning that old friends have died, seeing weddings of my dearest children only through videos.”