The Waterfall (27 page)

“No, I never did. I wanted to be happy the way Daisy was happy, with a patch of dirt, her birds, the woods.” He squinted out at the incredible Wyoming landscape. “I suppose I needed the last twenty years to sort that out.”

“Yeah, well, you're not throwing in the towel. I figure, a nice addition to Lucy's barn, and we've got our eastern leadership training center. Invite me to the wedding?”

“I'll need a best man.”

Plato rocked back on his heels. “You have a ring? You can't be asking Lucy to marry you without a ring. I know she does all this adventure travel stuff, but she'll want a ring. Trust me.”

Sebastian sighed and dug in his jeans pocket, producing a simple diamond ring. “There.”

Plato frowned. “That's it? You can afford a bigger rock than that.”

“It was Daisy's. My grandfather gave it to her. They didn't have much money.”

“I thought you didn't take anything of Daisy's after she died.”

Sebastian shrugged. “I didn't. I appropriated this from the attic before I left.”

“You mean you stole it?”

“It wasn't stealing. Daisy meant for me to have it, only I was too stupid to take it.”

“You never thought Lucy would fall for you,” Plato said. He shook his head. “You're right, you were stupid.”

“Keep it up, Rabedeneira. I've already got you earmarked for kid duty during the honeymoon.”

“Ha. Me and what army?”

“They adore you.”

“Yeah, well, those two get me shot again, that's it for me and kids.”

 

Sebastian arrived in Vermont unshaven, jittery from too much road food and sick of his damn dog. The dog was sick of him, too. When Sebastian opened the door of the truck, the dog bounded out and immediately laid ruin to Lucy's hollyhocks and daylilies.

Well, what the hell. They'd plant more.

Lucy walked down off the front porch. She had on a long sundress and sandals, and her hair was down, shining in the late-afternoon sun. “I heard you were in town.”

“Spies everywhere.”

“You stopped at the store for something. My spies wouldn't tell me what. They recognized your Wyoming plates. They didn't recognize you. They said you were—” She pretended to search her memory. “Disreputable looking. That was it.”

“Am I?”

“Around here, disreputable is a euphemism for sexy.”

“Ah. I see.”

She glanced over at the yellow Lab, now chasing a gray squirrel across the yard. “Think he'll ever learn the rules?”

“Not a chance.”

“Hell of a nerve, bringing your dog.”

Sebastian leaned against his truck. She wasn't twenty-two anymore, and neither was he. But she was the woman he'd always loved. “Where are the kids?”

“Rob and Patti Kiley took them to their place for the night.”

“Convenient.”

“Hmm. The feds have finally left us to our own devices. The media have decamped. The bad guys are in jail without bail.” She smiled at him. “I'm alone.”

“No, you're not.”

He kissed her, long and slow and gently, and after a while he got the champagne out of the truck. It was what he'd bought in town. He'd told the woman at the counter, who had a spying-for-Lucy look about her, to keep her mouth shut. It was probably all over town by now—Daisy's grandson and the Widow Swift having champagne together up at the old Wheaton place.

They went into the kitchen, and he popped the cork and filled two glasses.

“What are we celebrating?” Lucy asked.

“Well, we can celebrate anything we want. We can celebrate getting the bad guys. We can celebrate living another day. Or,” he said, “we can celebrate Lucy Blacker falling in love again, or making love again, or anything you want, because I'll take whatever you can give me.”

She smiled. “Can I celebrate all of the above?”

He didn't think he could manage to carry two glasses of champagne and her, but it wasn't far to the bedroom. Then she threw back her head and laughed; it knocked him off balance and the champagne spilled all over her. Both glasses. He started to lay her on the bed.

“My antique quilt,” she said.

He whisked it off, the old wedding-ring quilt Daisy had stitched so long ago.

Lucy dangled her arms around his neck. “I smell like champagne.”

“You taste like champagne, too.”

“You taste like…dog hair.”

He laughed, kissing her. “Do you want me to shower first?”

“No, shower second.”

“We'll shower together.”

“I was just kidding.” She rubbed the back of her hand on his beard stubble. “You taste like a man who's driven hard across country to—” She smiled, her eyes alive, happy. “To make love to me.”

“It's all I've thought about for days.”

“Years, I think.”

He could see the shape of her breasts against her champagne-soaked dress. “You've a fine opinion of yourself, Lucy Blacker.”

“Of you,” she said. “I love you, Sebastian. I think I always have in one way or another. You've been there for me all along. It's different now. I love you as a partner, not just as a friend. I love you as an equal, not just as my protector. I love you up close.” She pulled him to her and said as her mouth found his, “Never again from a distance.”

He licked the champagne from her throat, and when they dispensed with her dress, he licked it from her breasts and stomach, until she was quaking with urgency. He made short order of his clothes, too, and when he came back to her, curving his hands over her hips, her stomach, her breasts, he could feel his own urgency, his unstoppable desire for this woman he'd loved for so long.

“I can't hold back, not anymore.”

“Then don't,” she said, and pulled him into her.

It was cool in her room, and he could hear the birds outside, his dog panting after a fresh scent, and in the distance, Joshua Brook tumbling out of the hills. He was home, and when he made love to Lucy, he knew this was where he belonged.

“I've always loved you,” he whispered. “I always will.”