by Sharon Sala
Something bumped her arm.
“Sorry,” a man muttered, and kept on walking.
A young couple moved past her, talking in lowered voices, still locked into a disagreement that sounded as if it had been going for hours. Rachel leaned back and closed her eyes. Travel was wearing, even for the whole and hearty.
And then someone hesitated near her seat. There was the sound of an indrawn breath, and then the air seemed to shift in front of her face. Out of reflex, she drew back and had to stop herself from calling Houston’s name. She knew he was right beside her. Nothing was going to happen that he couldn’t control. And still, the hesitant catch in the stranger’s voice made her nervous.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but aren’t you Rachel Austin?”
Rachel turned toward the sound of the voice. “Yes.”
“Could I have your autograph?”
Rachel inhaled sharply. The request was innocent, but it had taken her unawares.
“I... uh, I can’t...”
Houston leaned across, took the magazine from the man, then laid it in her lap and put a pen in her hand.
“It’s just a name, Rachel. You’ve been writing it all of your life.” He took her by the hands, making her touch the paper. “Find your boundaries and then do your thing.”
It was only then that the young man realized her handicap and started trying to apologize. Houston met his gaze and silently shook his head. The man silenced.
Rachel’s mouth went dry.
“Damn you, Houston. You know I can’t do this.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
Then Houston took the pen and magazine out of her hands.
“You’re a lot of things, Cherokee, but I never figured you for a coward.”
Rachel’s face flamed angrily as she held out her hands.
“Give them back,” she muttered.
Houston put the magazine back in her lap without a word.
Rachel measured the sides of the paper with the tips of her fingers, repeating the motion twice more before she felt comfortable. Then she held out her hand, palm upward.
“The pen, please.”
Houston took off the cap and placed it in the middle of Rachel’s palm.
“Loaded and ready to bear,” he said softly.
Rachel’s nostrils flared. Damn him. He was supposed to be helping her, not making her life more difficult. With her left hand positioned at the top left corner of the magazine, she moved the pen toward the middle of the paper, then hesitated.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
Embarrassed that he’d caused such a scene, he stuttered out an answer.
“D-David. My name is David Howard.”
Rachel lifted her face toward him, unaware that he was gazing at her with unabashed admiration.
“So, David, tell me something.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything.”
“You see the man sitting beside me.”
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing?”
Houston looked startled, but no more than poor David Howard, who’d only wanted an autograph, not a part in a melodrama he didn’t even understand.
“Why... he’s just sitting there, Miss Austin.”
Rachel’s lips tightened. “Is he grinning?”
Houston almost choked on a breath and was afraid to look up at poor David Howard, for fear that he would break out in a laugh.
“No, Miss Austin, he’s not.”
She nodded, as if to herself, and then put the pen to the paper. To her surprise, it was easier than she’d expected. The ink flowed across the glossy surface like water on glass, from the first letter of her name to the last.
“There,” she said, handing him his magazine and pen. “But don’t blame me if it’s awful. I can’t see a damned thing, you know.”
David Howard’s face turned red, but he kept looking at Rachel.
“No, I didn’t know, and I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I wouldn’t intentionally do that for anything.”
Rachel managed a smile. “It’s something I’m going to have to get used to.”
The young man started to walk away, then stopped and looked back.
“Miss Austin...”
“Yes?”
“For what it’s worth, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Then he gave Houston a nervous look and bolted.
Houston touched Rachel’s face. “He’s right, you know.”
Rachel sighed. “Damn you, Houston Bookout.”
“What?” Houston asked.
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
Houston’s eyes darkened, and the smile he’d been trying to hide disappeared. He loved Rachel so much that he hurt, but he already knew that his chances with her were gone, unless she learned to love herself again first.
“No, I’m not. And I can’t imagine what in hell ever gave you the idea that I would.”
“Sir, do you need any help?”
Houston looked up at the approaching flight attendant and then down at Rachel.
“No, ma’am, we’re going to make it just fine.”
As she felt her way down the aisle, Rachel kept telling herself that if anyone could make this right, it would be Houston.
Fourteen
Rachel waited quietly in a chair inside the terminal, the lop-eared rabbit held tightly in her lap, while Houston retrieved his old pickup from airport parking. She was surrounded by their luggage, and it occurred to her that anyone could walk off with it and she would be none the wiser. For some reason, the thought struck her as funny. What had Houston been thinking when he’d left it with her? Did he think she was going to watch it? At the same moment she thought about laughing, she wanted to cry. Her old life, the one she’d tried so hard to escape, had been a series of downward steps on a broken ladder. But right now she would give anything to have it all back.
A loud noise to her right made her jump. A few moments later she heard people laughing, and relaxed. But the tension of being alone amidst so much unidentified noise was unsettling. She shifted restlessly in her seat. Her healing ribs were still sore, and her feet felt numb from sitting so long. What she needed was a good long run, or at least a brisk walk.
Once again, however, reality hit. Even if she felt like it, where would she go? There was nothing left in the world she’d known to guide her steps. She’d taken sight so much for granted. Her chin quivered. Surviving the explosion had taught her a hard lesson. She’d never take anything for granted again. And even though it was a waste of energy, she couldn’t help but play the if-only game. If only she’d never left Mirage. If only she’d trusted Houston and her heart, instead of letting fear rule.
Then she remembered something her mother had said only days before her death. Her voice had been weak, so weak, and her grip on Rachel’s arm almost nonexistent. But the fire in her eyes had been fierce. Rachel shivered, letting the memory flood over her.
“Rachel... I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything, Mama. You don’t have to ask.”
“Remember this... and let it guide you through life.”
Rachel nodded.
“To regret is to give importance to something that is only a mistake. But to accept it and move on makes it nothing more than a lesson in life’s journey.”
Rachel sighed. So far her life seemed to be a series of trials and errors.
Oh, Mama, why don’t I learn from my mistakes?
She sat, concentrating on the sounds around her and playing a mental game with herself that she would recognize Houston’s footsteps when he came back.
She waited, and then waited some more. Someone stopped and spoke to her in Spanish. It didn’t surprise her. Spanish was the second language in Texas, and with her dark skin and black hair, she was often mistaken for Mexican. But she didn’t understand
enough of it to speak and was in no mood to try.
“No hablo españ
ol,” she muttered.
Whoever it was moved away. She frowned. What could be keeping Houston? How large could that parking lot be? And then it dawned on her how expensive it would be for him to get his vehicle out after so many days away.
“Oh no. What if he doesn’t have enough money to—”
Houston leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got money,” he drawled. “What do you want to buy?”
The relief of his presence was staggering, but she didn’t want him to know how panicked she had been. She turned toward the sound of his voice.
“I was worried about how much it was going to cost to get your truck out of the lot.”
Houston paused. It suddenly occurred to him that she had no idea how his fortunes had changed. During all the weeks he’d spent at her side, he’d never once mentioned that they’d struck oil on his ranch or that he was pretty much rich as sin.
As he stood there, a plan began to evolve. It would be not only risky but terribly deceitful.
He knew she had some money, but it wouldn’t last forever. Especially if she had to hire someone to take care of her while she learned how to live in a sighted world. If she knew his luck had taken a turn for the better while her life was in this downward spiral, her pride would forever stand between them.
Not only that, but there was a part of him that needed her to admit she still loved the man he’d been rather than the man he’d become. At that moment he made a decision not to tell.
“It wasn’t too bad,” Houston said, referring to the amount he’d paid to get his pickup out of airport parking. “Besides, I have a little put by.” Then he picked up their bags. “Grab my arm, Rachel. It’s time to go home.”
Getting into Houston’s old pickup was, to Rachel, like pulling a comfortable old blanket up over her head and snuggling down into a lumpy but familiar bed. Nothing had changed. Not even the fact that there was an empty pop can rolling around on the floorboards beneath her feet, or that the seat was gritty with dust.
“You’ll have to get in on my side and scoot over,” he said, helping her into the cab. “I still haven’t fixed the latch on the passenger side.”
She grinned wryly. At least some things are still the same. But she didn’t say what she was thinking as she slid past the steering wheel, accidentally kicking the empty pop can as she settled gingerly in the cushion’s dip. As she waited for him to follow, her nose wrinkled at the stale scent of the cab’s interior.
“What do I smell?” she asked as Houston got behind the wheel and slammed the door.
He arched an eyebrow and then looked around. “I don’t know. What does it smell like to you?”
She sniffed again, but lightly. “Something old, but sweet... I think.”
Houston grinned, relieved it was nothing worse. “Be glad that’s all you smell.”
Rachel grimaced and reached down between the door and the seat for the seat belt. As she did, her hand brushed across what felt like cellophane, and then something crumbly and sticky.
“Ewww,” she said, quickly yanking her hand back and shaking it in the air. “What is it? What’s on my hand?”
Houston grabbed her fingers, eyeballed them closely, then lifted them to his mouth. Before she knew what was happening, they were in his mouth and he was sucking at them one by one, his tongue curling around the digits like vines up a tree. The sensation was a mind-bending pull, from the tips of her fingers to the pit of her stomach.
Someone groaned.
Afraid it was herself that she heard, she pulled her fingers from his grasp and wadded them into fists in the middle of her lap. Her heart was hammering so loudly in her ears, she could barely hear herself speak.
“Are you crazy?” she said, more sharply than she wanted.
Houston reached over and took off her dark glasses. “Not yet,” he muttered, and laid the glasses in her lap, then leaned across her lap, fished out what was left of a stale package of Twinkies from between the seat and the door, and tossed them out the window and into the pickup bed. He raked her face with a slow, hungry gaze, then grabbed her seat belt and buckled her in.
She was still shuddering. “What did I stick my fingers in?”
“My mouth,” Houston drawled, and started the engine.
She inhaled sharply. “Damn it, Houston, don’t play games with me. Not about this.”
He relented. “Twinkies,” he said, and drove out of the loading area and headed for the highway.
“What?”
“It was a half-eaten package of Twinkies.”
Rachel resisted the urge to pull her feet up off the floor. “Before we go any farther, is there anything else I should know?”
Still convinced that keeping Rachel in the dark about the change in his lifestyle was the best option, Houston never batted an eye. “Nope. Nothing I can think of,” he said, and pressed the accelerator down to the floor.
The engine backfired once, leaving a black puff of smoke as he put the truck into gear.
For Rachel, the sensation of an airplane’s liftoff had been frightening, but it was nothing compared to the sheer terror she felt now. The dust-laden wind suddenly whipping through the half-open windows was plastering her clothes to her body and stirring her hair into a frenzy. And the speed... God, the speed. She clutched the stuffed rabbit a little closer to her chest.
“Houston.”
When he didn’t answer, she realized her hesitant voice had gotten lost in the wind. She took a deep breath and then yelled to make herself heard over the roar of both engine and wind.
“Houston!”
“What?”
“Slow down. Please slow down.”
When he looked at her face, the knowledge that he had frightened her made him sick. Immediately he let up on the gas, then reached across the seat and took her by the hand.
“Rachel... baby... I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
Shaking now as she came off the adrenaline high, she leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath, willing her heart to a more normal rhythm.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “If you need to stop, just tell me.”
She shook her head, and then felt around for the glasses he’d taken off her face. When she found them, she slipped them hastily up her nose, settling them in place. Only after she was safely hidden behind the dark lenses and her fingers were deep in the soft plush on the rabbit’s back did she begin to relax.
“No. I’m fine, just fine.”
Houston gave her one last glance, then turned his attention back to the road. She might not realize it, but what she’d just done was patently clear to him. The glasses had become her shield. A kind of if-Ican’t-see-you-then-you-can’t-see-me protection.
But Houston saw her just the same. He saw way past her hurt and all the way to her fear. He didn’t know what scared him most—that her spirit might never heal completely, or that it would heal and she wouldn’t need him anymore. This time he accelerated slowly. They rode the rest of the way home in silence.
It wasn’t until Houston turned down the driveway and saw Taco sitting on the porch like a sentry on duty that he began to relax. He glanced at Rachel. She was pale and ramrod stiff.
The trip had been grueling for her. And it was only just beginning. There was nothing he could do except provide her with shelter and food and whatever love she would allow herself to take. The rest was up to her.
“We’re home,” he said softly.
It was a reflex that made Rachel take off her glasses, as if she’d forgotten that their removal would make no difference to the dark she now lived in. A lump came to Houston’s throat. Tears burned his eyes, but he wouldn’t let himself give in to the grief. Instead he cleared his throat and managed a chuckle.
“You won’t believe this, but Taco is actually standing up, wagging his tail, and coming to meet us.”
A tiny smile tilted the corner of her mouth, but she didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak. The realization of her loss was just beginning.
T
he next few minutes passed with excruciating politeness: Rachel taking Houston’s arm as he helped her out of the truck, Houston reminding her how many steps there were to the porch, Houston fumbling for the key before unlocking the door.
Rachel felt her senses coming alive. Here were scents that she knew. Even the heat and the wind were acceptable, because they were familiar. And yet something was different; she just couldn’t say what. Waiting for Houston to unlock the door, she focused on the sounds. It was then that it dawned on her. Something new had been added.
“Houston, what do I hear?”
He paused and looked around. “I don’t hear anything, baby. What does it sound like to you?”
“Sort of a thump thump thump, but in the distance.”
Houston stiffened. The pump jacks from his wells. He’d become so accustomed to the sound that he no longer heard them. “That must be the pump jacks,” he said.
She frowned. “Pump jacks?”
“Yes, lots of changes have occurred since you’ve been gone.”
His comment was enough to stifle whatever else she might have asked. She withdrew inside herself, waiting for him to open the door.
Finally they were inside.
This time it was Houston who wrinkled his nose. The air was stale and hot. But it looked to him as if Kenny had come out and picked up a bit, maybe when he’d come to feed Taco. He sighed. Kenny had become more than a friend—he’d become the brother he’d never had.
Guilt hit him hard as he stared at the shabby rooms and worn-out furniture. Less than six miles away, he had a brand-new home full of brand-new furniture and appliances. He could take her there now and their comfort would be ensured. But if he did, then he’d have to tell her the truth. He glanced at her. There was an expectant look on her face, as if she was waiting for him to make the first move.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said softly. “This place is a—”
Rachel handed him her rabbit. “Godsend,” she said, finishing his sentence for him.
He frowned. “What?”
Rachel almost hugged herself with relief. “It’s familiar. I know this place like the back of my hand.” And then she turned. “At least I used to,” she said. “Have you moved any furniture? Has anything changed?”