A Handful of Heaven

by Kristin Hannah

  The ache in his voice brought tears to Devon's eyes. She wiped them away quickly, knowing he wouldn't want to see them. Not that he was looking at her. He wasn't. He was staring into space, and she could tell by the haunted, hollow look in his eyes that he was seeing the past.

  He saw Mibelle as clear as day. She was standing in front of him, her garish red-velvet gown revealing all but the most expensive parts of her body. He was on his knees. He could hear himself begging, whining for some bit of her favor.

  He clenched his fists. God, he'd been so stupid. . . .

  Slowly he came back to the present. And felt stupid all over again. Devon was lying in his arms, waiting silently for him to continue.

  He owed her the truth. Squeezing his eyes shut against the images, he went on in an expressionless voice. "One night Mother had a huge party in The Painted Lady, sort of a thank-you for all of her prestigious customers. Everyone who was anyone in New Orleans was there-the men, at least- and the whores were strutting their stuff. Mother had me all dressed up like a penguin, serving drinks. She knew it would kill me every time Mibelle 'worked,' and it did. Every time Mibelle took a man upstairs, my heart wrenched out of my body."

  "Oh, my God ..." Devon breathed.

  "I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me."

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  had

  It happened to someone else. Some other poor fool of a kid.

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  so much from him-his pride, his ability to trust, his willingness to love.

  It all fit into place now. The anger he wore like a suit of armor; the drifting, solitary life-style he espoused; the disgust he felt for his fellow man. They were all walls that protected his heart from further injury. The falsely convicted boy had grown into a man who refused to let himself be hurt again. A man who refused to care whether he belonged.

  No wonder he refused to leave the refuge of the wilderness. Everyone he'd ever loved had betrayed him.

  She sighed. There was nothing she could say that would ease his pain. All she could do was love him as deeply and as well as he'd allow. Maybe someday, if she loved him long enough, he'd realize that his exile was over. Maybe he'd even realize that she wasn't like Mibelle and that his love was safe with her.

  With that thought she curled up against his chest and closed her eyes. She was asleep in seconds.

  Memory's icy grip eased slowly. He'd made it, he realized suddenly. He'd made it through the darkness and into the light. His eyes slid shut in a moment of silent thanks. He felt better than he had in years: freer, more relaxed.

  And all because of Devon.

  The woman he loved.

  He could no longer deny his own feelings. He needed her: her wit, her laughter, her strength. More even than that, he needed her simple faith.

  She made him believe in himself. Because she saw in him more than a reclusive, angry murderer, he became more.

  For the first time in his life he wanted something, and he wanted it with a desperation that twisted his gut. He wanted the welcome her eyes promised. He wanted the home her arms offered.

  No wonder his stomach was in knots. He wanted something that didn't exist. The home he'd felt in her arms was a false home. Like one of those storefronts on Circle City's main street. It was a home that existed until spring, and then it was gone.

  How many times had she promised to leave Dawson City when the river thawed? It wasn't an idle threat either. It was

  a plan of action. And, God knew, Devon never turned her back on a plan. As soon as she had enough money for boat fare she'd leave. She couldn't wait to leave the uncivilized Yukon backwater behind her-and the filthy Neanderthal whom she'd slept with because it was "sensible."

  Oh, she cared for him. He knew that. But it wasn't enough; not for either of them. They were both stubborn, pigheaded people, and they both knew what they wanted out of life. He wanted to tramp around in the wilderness taking pictures for the rest of his days.

  Not so Devon. She might say she'd never marry, but it was what she wanted. It was what every woman wanted: a nice house in town, a husband with a steady job, children, and a dog.

  He didn't want any of those things, and he couldn't ask her to adopt his isolated life-style. He loved her too much to turn her into a recluse.

  He couldn't leave, and she wouldn't stay. So they'd spend the winter together, laughing, sharing, loving, caring. Pretending spring wasn't coming.

  But how could he love her all winter and then return to his old, lonely, meaningless life? For one frozen, magical heartbeat, he would have belonged-and that brief moment would make the return to isolation almost unbearable.

  Maybe it would help if he never actually said "Hove you." Maybe if he didn't say the frightening, irreversible words aloud, he could pretend he didn't love her. Then he'd make it through the winter with his soul intact.

  Silence wasn't much of a shield. But it was all he had.

  Besides, he rationalized, it was better for her if he kept silent. She deserved more out of life than a broken-down old man who was terrified of love. Yes, he'd keep his love a secret. It was better that way. Better for both of them.

  Devon snuggled closer against the warmth of Stone Man's body. It didn't help. She rolled onto her back, clutching the blanket to her breasts. Her teeth started chattering. Goodness, she thought, it must be fifty below.

  Oh, why did the fire always have to die out in the middle of the night just when it was needed most?

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  love you.

  Until spring. until spring.

  right,

  His.

  Chapter Twenty

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  hers

  No.

  would.

  Oh my God! The river!

  Please God, not yet. . .

  snap. snap

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  willingly

  wanted

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  Need.

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  sense of impending disaster swelled. She was tense, edgy. The burden of holding back her thoughts was killing her.

  After washing his hands he sat down at the little table and; put the carefully folded napkin in his lap. He no longer even thought about it; the action was as natural as breathing. ,

  A knot twisted his throat as he stared at the bright yellow flowers. How much longer before he was eating off a dirty, · scarred wooden table again-without a napkin, without a tablecloth, without even utensils?

  Amazingly the poppies blurred. He swiped angrily at his eyes and jerked his gaze over to the stove.

  She was doing her sparrow in a glass box routine again. The sight brought a bittersweet smile to his lips.

  She turned around suddenly. Bustling to the table, she swept up their plates and hurried back to the stove. In an instant their plates were piled high with food.

  He stared down into his plate, and as he did the full impact of what was happening hit him all over again. Sweet Christ, she'd cooked all his favorite foods. Every goddamn one of; them.

  The condemned man's last meal. "Cornelius? Is something wrong? I thought you'd be pleased ..."

  He lifted his head slowly to look at her. "Nothing's wrong. It's a wonderful meal. All my favorites."

  She beamed. "Good."

  She started eating, counterclockwise, one food item at a time. He stared at her a long time, feeling a hollowness spread through his chest. Then, reluctantly, he began to eat. Even the roasted bear meat in chutney tasted like ashes on his tongue.

  After dinner, as they stood side by side washing the dinner dishes, Devon tried to study him covertly. She couldn't see his face, but when their bodies brushed she could feel the tension in his arms.

  Around them the air seemed charged with undercurrents of disaster. She had to clench her fists constantly to still the trembling of her fingers. />
  "Shall I make some hot cocoa?" she said in as bright a voice as she could muster.

  "No. I don't want chocolate."

  "But I'd planned-"

  "I don't give a good goddamn for your plans, Dev." He threw down the soggy dishtowel and swept her into his arms. "IVe got plans of my own for tonight-and they don't include listening to your logical babble. Not tonight."

  "Logical babb-"

  He silenced her with a kiss that left her breathless and trembling. "Now," he drawled against her moist, parted lips, "would you like to hear my plans for this evening?"

  A wave of desire washed through her body, chasing her calm, rational thoughts into the dark corners of her mind. She could ask him later. . . .

  "I believe I'd rather feel them," she murmured back, arching into him.

  She thought she heard a muffled"Thank God" as he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  They undressed each other eagerly. Naked, they came together like new lovers, with a pent-up passion that left them both reeling.

  Afterward they lay twined in each other's arms. For the first time all evening Cornelius allowed himself to relax. He was safe for tonight. He knew Devon well enough to know that if she'd planned on saying good-bye tonight she couldn't have made love first. When her mind was on something there was no getting through to her body.

  Devon felt his skin against every hot, sweaty inch of hers, and she reveled in the feel of it. The smell of his body, as familiar now as the smell of her own, filtered to her nostrils. They were so perfectly matched, so right. How could he not see it, how could he not feel it?

  He had to, she told herself.

  She chewed nervously on her lower lip. It was time to find out. Her first instinct was, of course, to blurt out the question burning in her mind. She refrained, reminding herself of her plan to go slowly, to start with a few innocuous, leading questions.

  She laid her cheek on the soft, slightly damp mat of hair on his chest. Her forefinger trailed lazily through the black hairs, her touch slow and feather soft.

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  "You know, Cornelius-"

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. She halted, peering up at him. He was smiling broadly.

  She frowned. "What are you laughing about?"

  His hand stroked her face. "Just memories, love. It's nothing."

  Love. He'd called her love! Hope soared in her breast. Her plan was going to work. She could feel it. He already loved her; he just didn't know it. All she had to do was get him to realize it, slowly and in his own way, and then everything would fall into place. If he loved her, really loved her, he would want their child. He would ask her to stay and make a life with him.

  She took a deep breath, forcing herself to follow the plan. She still had to go slowly. "Cornelius, I've been thinking about your work."

  "My work?" He chuckled. "We make hot, exciting love,| and all you can think about afterward is my work? How] unflattering."

  She caught the teasing in his voice and smiled. "Well, I've been thinking about it for a while," she admitted. "I have an idea."

  "Fire away."

  She scooted upright for a better look at him. She didn't want to miss any nuance of emotion that crossed his face.

  Her expression was too earnest, too eager, she knew, but she couldn't seem to change it. Excitement tinged her voice. "You know how much I hate you stomping off to the gulch, dragging that horrid sled."

  "Yeah."

  "Well, I know you have to carry all that stuff with you, and I thought . . . Well, I thought a dog might help." She smiled at him expectantly, waiting for his agreement.

  It didn't come.

  In fact he didn't say anything; he just looked at her, strangely, a lazy smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. | She frowned. He certainly didn't seem to be thinking about the merits of home and hearth.

  Maybe he needed a little more convincing. "Plus it would be nice to have a pet, don't you think? Especially a dog. He

  could sleep on the floor, curled up in front of the stove. It would make everything so ... homey."

  He propped up on one elbow to look at her. "You want me to get a dog?" He sounded incredulous.

  Devon felt the first stirring of apprehension. It wasn't going right. The plan had barely begun, and already he wasn't following it. He should have agreed by now. Why was he smiling?

  "I'd take care of him," she added as an afterthought.

  That smile again, a little bigger. "You would, would you?"

  "Y-Yes." She nibbled nervously on her lower lip. Oh, why didn't he just agree? How hard could it be to say "Yes, Dev, a dog would be nice. A malamute, maybe." That's what he'd always said in her thoughts.

  When she couldn't stand the silence anymore, she started talking again, "A dog would be nice. At least, / think it would. I mean, it would make us more like a family-" She looked at him meaningfully. "You know, a real family. You know it-"

  He pressed a finger to her lips."You're babbling, Devon."

  "I know, but-"

  "Shhh. I appreciate the thought, Dev. Honestly I do. But if I'd wanted a dog, I'd have one."

  "But-"

  "But nothing. A dog is too damn much responsibility. Hell, what if I forgot to feed the damn thing and he died? I'd feel like shit. No, it's a nice thought. But I couldn't take the responsibility."

  Devon sucked in her breath as the implication of his words hit home. Tears seared her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly then sank into the mattress, burying her face in the pillow.

  " Devon?" She felt his hand on her bare shoulder, stroking it gently."What is it? Did you really want a dog that much?"

  She shook her head, grateful now for the russet curls that shielded her face. "No," she answered in a muffled voice. "I'm just tired. Let's go to sleep."

  He snuggled alongside her, his arms coiled around her naked body. One warm hand slid beneath her body and settled against her navel.

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  When she felt his hand on her stomach, she lost control Tears poured from her eyes. She didn't try to stem their flow, for she knew it would be useless. Every dream she'd ever h had just been shattered.

  God help her. She was pregnant by a man who couldn accept the responsibility of feeding a dog.

  A child was certainly out of the question. There was choice left to be made. She loved Cornelius too much make him accept a responsibility he didn't want. She'd firsthand how forced responsibility affected a man.

  Not that Cornelius was anything like her father; he wasn't He was an honorable, loving man. So honorable in fact that if he knew about the child, he'd marry her. A marriage he didn't want for the sake of a child he didn't want.

  No, she decided grimly, that kind of marriage wasn't what she wanted. Not for herself, not for the child, and certainly not for Cornelius. There was no choice to be made. She had to leave before Cornelius found out about the baby-and that wouldn't be much longer.

  When the boat left Dawson City, she'd be on it.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  In her sleep Devon snuggled closer to Cornelius. Beneath her bunched-up nightgown, she felt the welcome, familiar warmth of his legs intertwined with hers; a quiet, contented snore escaped her lips.

  She became aware of it slowly: his sensuous, lingering kiss. Without thinking she parted her lips, allowing her lover free access to her mouth. The kiss-a building, magical caress-deepened. She felt his tongue graze her teeth then move on, tangling with her own. A knot of sweet, aching pleasure formed in her loins.

  The hard skin of his palms slid across her breasts, making her shiver in anticipation. She blinked awake.

  "Hi," he said.

  The sound of his voice brought a lazy smile to her lips. A smile that faded the moment she remembered last night.

  The memory hit her with the force of a physical blow. Oh God, she thought suddenly, if the boat came today, this would be the last time she'd waken in his arms. The last time she'd feel his loving touch on her body.


  She threw her arms around him. A sob welled in her throat; she felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes.

  "Love me," she whispered shakily. "Now ..."

  It was slow and quiet and almost bittersweet, their love-making. Afterward, as Devon lay in his arms, she tried to block out the memory of last night, but it was useless.

  "Devon?"

  She heard his voice as if from far away and wrenched her

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  thoughts back to the present. Pulling out of his warm embrace, she looked up at him. The concern in his eyes twisted her heart. "Y-Yes?"

  "What's the matter?"

  She bit down on her lower lip to stop its tremble. Her gaze plummeted. God help her, if he kept looking at her like that she was going to crumble. . . .

  "Dev?"

  "Nothing's the matter. I was just thinking about-"About last night. About our child. Her voice wobbled."-about the post. Shouldn't one of us get down there? The men are counting on us."

  He sighed, a worn, weary sound that said he knew exactly what she'd been thinking about-and that it wasn't the post. "Yeah," he said finally, pushing away from her body. "I'll open up. You come on down when you want." '

  The minute their bodies separated, Devon felt coldness, sweep the length of her exposed skin. A coldness of the soul, j

  She forced herself to remain in bed as he dressed for theL day. It was the only way she could keep from flinging herself I into his arms.

  When he'd finished dressing he sat down on the bed beside her. The wooden planks supporting the bed groaned beneath his weight, as they did every time he came to bed. For the first time the noise sounded melancholy to her ears. She felt an almost overwhelming sense of loss.