Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  Beatty Andrews. A man named Beatty Andrews had wanted her dead.

  She closed her eyes, but the image of his face wouldn’t go away. He had tried to kill her once.

  What if he tried it again?

  Eighteen

  Rachel fell asleep in Houston’s arms, while Houston fell in love all over again. Except for her physical appearance, the woman he’d known and loved before was gone. She’d died in the explosion that had robbed her of her sight. The one he was holding had been forged in a fire of pain and despair. She was stronger than before, yet in a strange way also gentler.

  He lay without moving, staring intently at the separate features of her face. Black winged brows. Eyelashes that lay thick and motionless on her cheeks, and only a few hairline scars on her coffee-toned skin. Her lips were full and sharply defined, and never in his life had he wanted to taste them as badly as he did now. When her eyebrows suddenly knit, he knew she was dreaming—maybe of the explosion.

  “Don’t go there. Come back to me, Rachel,” he whispered, and had the satisfaction of seeing her relax.

  He shifted slowly, easing his arm out from beneath her neck, then pulled the bedspread over her legs.

  She sighed and rolled, instinctively following his warmth. When she whispered his name, he frowned. This was all such a farce. What in hell was wrong with him? When she left him, he’d come close to giving up. And now that he had her back, he kept delaying the obvious. It was all a bunch of bull. He loved her. He would always love her. And if he was honest with himself, he would take that love in any form she chose to give it.

  He rose on one elbow to stare down at her face, then brushed a strand of hair from the side of her cheek. She stirred.

  He waited. Aching. Wanting. Ready, this time, to accept whatever she had to give.

  Rachel shifted restlessly. Only moments ago she’d been caught in a terrible memory. Talking to Esther, laughing at something she said. The doorbell ringing. Carrying a gaily wrapped package back into the kitchen. Watching it going over the edge. She’d been waiting for the inevitable conclusion, that horrible moment when her world descended into darkness. But something spared her.

  Breath moved across her face, warm and sweet. It was the scent of a man—her man. Only he wasn’t her man anymore, she reminded herself.

  “Cherokee.”

  The longing in his voice was familiar. She’d heard it so many times before. She let herself slide back to consciousness. Her voice was soft, still heavy with sleep.

  “Houston?”

  His fingers splayed across the flat of her belly. She tensed. Oh God, please don’t let this be part of my dream.

  “Yes, baby, it’s me.” He leaned closer, grazing the tender curve of her neck with his lips.

  Rachel sighed, and it was an exhale of so many pent-up memories, she thought she might cry from the joy.

  “Am I dreaming?” she whispered, and slid her arms around his neck.

  “God, I hope not, and if you are, do me a favor and don’t wake up... at least not just yet.”

  “Are you going to make love to me?”

  There was so much uncertainty in her voice and in her touch that it shamed him. By keeping her at arm’s length, this was what he’d done to them both. It was all he could do to answer.

  “If you’ll let me.”

  Rachel began tugging at the snaps on his shirt, taking quiet satisfaction in the distinct pops they made as they came undone.

  When her hands slid across the breadth of his bare chest, he groaned. She smiled. There were some things that even time couldn’t change.

  Houston slid his hand beneath her T-shirt. “I’m so afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  Then Rachel’s whisper stilled his heart.

  “Houston.”

  His hand was trembling. Her skin was soft, so soft, and he could feel the race of her pulse against his palm. He groaned.

  “What, baby?”

  “Help me take off my clothes.”

  Outside, the sun beat down on the dry west Texas earth with persistence, fighting the wind for its place. The distant thump of the pump jacks was the only sound to break the silence. The gathering clouds on the far horizon held but a promise of what the land needed most. But inside the small, weathered house, promises were a thing of the past. Rachel Austin had come home.

  Despite the steady flow of cool air from the window unit by Houston’s bed, their bodies were slicked with sweat. Blind to everything but the feel of Houston’s hands on her skin and his mouth on her face, Rachel found herself a slave to the sensations. With nothing to distract her, she hung in the darkness, following the ebb and flow of her blood as Houston drove himself in and out of her body.

  It had been so long.

  And then everything changed. What had been pleasure suddenly became a deep, sweet pain, pushing at the boundaries of sanity and begging for relief.

  She moaned, and Houston heard it. Shirting into that hard, driving frenzy from which there was no turning back, he dug his fingers into her hair, dropped his head, and focused on the hot, wet draw of muscles against his manhood. Her nails dug into the skin on his back. He didn’t feel it. When she wrapped her legs around his waist, he moved deeper. Her breath was little more than catches and gasps against the side of his cheek. He heard her cry out, then heard her beg, then everything inside him gave way.

  The climax came as suddenly as the explosion that had ended her sight. But for Rachel, it was the first time since the day she’d left him that a light had come back to her world. The misery and guilt that she’d carried from Texas to New York was gone, leaving her weak and spent, but happier than she’d ever been in her life. She kept raining kisses upon Houston’s face and whispering soft things that only a woman in love would say. And all the while she kept thinking that losing her sight was a small price to pay to get this man back.

  When Houston could think and breathe at the same time, he rolled, taking her with him so that she was now lying on top. His hands were shaking and his heart was threatening to shatter itself against the wall of his chest. He thought she was crying, or maybe she was laughing. He knew just how she felt.

  “Are you all right?” he finally managed to ask.

  A soft moan drifted from between them. “I don’t know yet,” she whispered. “I haven’t tried to stand.”

  “Hell, darlin’, who said anything about getting up?”

  Rachel laughed, and the sound carried through the house, finding its way straight into Houston’s heart. She rolled over on her back, threw her arms above her head, and stretched like a cat waking up from a sleep.

  Houston grinned. He knew that expression on her face. He’d put it there many times before. He rolled until he was facing her, then propped himself up on one elbow so that he could look down at her face. He took her hand. She turned instinctively, laying her cheek against his palm.

  “Oh, Houston,” she said softly.

  “I know, baby, I know.”

  She sighed and shifted close to him again. When he enfolded her in his arms, she said a small silent prayer of thanksgiving.

  “Rachel?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Welcome home.”

  It was half past six in the evening when Kenny Monday called. Rachel answered, knowing that Houston was still out feeding his horses. When she heard Kenny’s voice, she smiled. He was such a clown. It was no wonder he and Houston had become such good friends.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Kenny said. “Where’s your ugly friend?”

  Rachel chuckled. “Feeding the horses, I think.”

  “Think I have enough time to come out and sweep you off your feet before he gets back?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that,” he said.

  “Should I get him for you?”

  “No need to do that, but as soon as he comes in, have him call me. We’ve got ourselves a little emergency.”

  “Oh no,” Rachel said.

  “Don’
t worry,” Kenny hastened to add. “It’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”

  She thought of the company Houston claimed to be working for. Only he hadn’t been to work one day since they’d been back. She couldn’t help but wonder how much jeopardy his job might be in. She thought of his new truck and the costly payments owning it must entail. She couldn’t bear to think that he might lose this job because of her.

  “Kenny, can I ask you something?” she asked.

  “Sure, sweetheart.”

  “About Houston’s job...”

  Kenny gritted his teeth. Damn that Houston for weaving such an unbelievable lie.

  “Yes,” he said. “What about it?”

  “Well, he was gone all that time while I was in the hospital.”

  “I know,” Kenny said. “We talked almost every day he was in New York City. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said. “But I also didn’t bother to ask what sacrifices he had to make just to get there.”

  “I’m sure they were all worth it to him,” Kenny said.

  “Yes, well, I don’t know what I would have done without him,” she said. “But what about now? We’ve been back quite a while and he still hasn’t gone to work. Is he going to lose his job over this?”

  Kenny grinned to himself, taking delight in the fact that he wasn’t actually lying.

  “Lord, no, Rachel. He and the boss get along famously. In fact, they’re so much alike, you can hardly tell one from the other.”

  “Well, then, I guess that’s all right,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of causing him more grief.”

  Kenny’s smile stilled. He sighed. If ever he had a woman to love him like this, he would die a happy man.

  “We bring grief to ourselves, Rachel.”

  Rachel leaned against the wall, absorbing the unexpected wisdom from such a lighthearted man.

  “Yes, so we do,” she finally said. And then she heard footsteps on the back porch and the sound of Houston’s voice as he spoke to his dog. “Houston’s coming inside now. Hang on. I’ll get him.”

  Kenny waited, listening as she called out Houston’s name. He heard a door open, then the murmur of voices.

  “What’s up?” Houston asked. “Rachel said there was an emergency?”

  “Yeah. It’s Bookout number five. Looks like we had a little vandalism last night.”

  “Damn,” Houston muttered. “This is the second time that’s happened.”

  “I know. I’ve already called the sheriff, although I doubt there’s anything he’s going to find. Personally, I think it’s some kids trying to steal a little drip.”

  Houston frowned. “Five is a gas well, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Kenny said.

  All his life Houston had heard his dad talk about the old days when teenagers hard up for gas money would sneak onto property with producing gas wells and steal the unrefined fuel they called drip to use in their cars. But in this day and age it was a little unusual. He glanced at Rachel, debating with himself of the wisdom of taking her with him. If she went, he would have to confess everything now, and on the heels of what had happened between them earlier, it seemed a bit crass—almost as if he’d been waiting for her to put out before he told her about his good fortune. He frowned, wishing he’d never started this stupid lie.

  “Look, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Houston said.

  “I’ll be waiting,” Kenny said. “Oh, and tell Rachel I said goodbye.”

  “Will do,” Houston said, and hung up. Then he looked at Rachel, trying to judge her state of mind. “Kenny says goodbye.”

  Rachel smiled. “I like your friend.”

  “Yes, so do I,” Houston said. “Look, Rachel, I need to—”

  She stopped him with a wave of her hand. “Houston, just go. You can’t stand over me for the rest of your life, and God knows I’m not going anywhere. I’ll find something to do.”

  He took her in his arms, hugging her closer. “Okay. But there’s something we need to discuss, something I haven’t told you.”

  Rachel frowned. Secrets? It wasn’t like Houston to keep secrets. And then she reminded herself she was keeping a secret herself, and not a small one. Not a minute had gone by since her trip to the doctor’s office that she hadn’t thought of what he’d said. Was there a chance? Had he been right? Could she ever regain her sight?

  “Take your time,” she said softly. “Your boss has been very understanding about letting you have time off. Obviously they need you, so of course you must go.”

  Houston kissed her quickly before he changed his mind, and a few minutes later he was on the highway heading west. He glanced at the sky. Thunderheads were still building. It would be wonderful if they finally got some rain. Then he checked his watch. He had at least a couple of hours before dark. That was plenty of time.

  By the time Houston got to the well, both Jack Bullard, the county sheriff, and a representative from the Environmental Protection Agency were waiting for him. Kenny left soon after to catch a plane, and Houston’s afternoon disappeared in a tangle of inquiries and concerns. By the time Bullard was through with his part of the investigation and Houston had satisfied the rep from the EPA, it was well after dark. He headed for home, his nerves on edge. Even though he told himself that Rachel had been taking care of herself for most of her life, he still felt uneasy. At least before, she’d been able to see what was coming.

  He glanced at his watch, as he had off and on since he started home. It was fifteen minutes after nine. The headlights of his new Chevy truck cut a bright path through the darkness. The hum of the tires on blacktop was almost hypnotic. Houston was so focused on the highway before him that he almost missed his turn. He slammed on his brakes, then made the turn south. Only a couple more miles and he would be home. He imagined the house, shining like a welcome beacon through the blanket of night. Rachel would be wearing something soft and loose after her nighttime bath. She would smell of soap and powder and her hair would be heavy on the backs of his arms as he pulled her close.

  That image was fast in his mind as he came over the last rise in the road leading to his driveway. Automatically his gaze moved to the right, and he frowned. As far as he could see, the pale yellow glow from the security light out back was the only light visible. His mind blanked out as his heart skipped a beat. When he pulled up in front of the house, Taco was nowhere in sight. He killed the engine and got out of the truck. By the time he reached the porch steps, he was running.

  “Rachel! Rachel! Where are you?”

  Houston could just see the outline of her figure as she came out of the kitchen with a dishtowel in her hands.

  “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  His heart was hammering so fast that it took him a moment to catch his breath.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Dishes. I opened a can of soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich. Want one?”

  The adrenaline was receding, leaving Houston weak and shaky. “Jesus, Rachel. In the dark?” And then it hit him. This darkness—this black, empty void—was her constant. “Son of a bitch.”

  Rachel felt his shock and, in a way, also his pain. “Houston, it’s okay.”

  “Like hell.”

  Rachel started toward him. Right now the only thing that she could do for him was hold him.

  But he couldn’t quit shaking. The reality of her life had just been driven home in a way he never would have imagined. He watched as she came toward him, and as hard as he tried, he could not separate her features from the blackness surrounding her. All he could think was, So this is what she sees.

  Rachel knew something was wrong. He was too quiet. Too still.

  “Houston, talk to me.”

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and found himself swallowing back tears.

  Rachel paused, uncertain which way to turn. “Houston, please. If you don’t talk, I can’t find you.”

&nbs
p; He went to her instead, pulling her into his arms and holding her close against his chest.

  He was trembling; she could feel it. She laid her head against his heartbeat and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I love you, Houston, so much. I always have....”

  He took a deep breath and lifted his head, but the words he knew she was waiting for wouldn’t come.

  Rachel took a step back and reached toward his face. He flinched but stayed where he stood, and when her fingers felt the first of his tears, she heard a catch in his breath.

  “Oh, Houston.”

  His words came slowly, muffled by the intensity of his emotions.

  “God, Rachel. I don’t think I really understood until now.”

  “It’s okay,” she said again, softly. And then she pulled his head down, brushing her lips against his mouth and tasting the tears on his face.

  “Houston, sweetheart... don’t you know I can bear anything as long as you’re in this world with me?” Then she took him by the hand.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To bed. The only cure for this kind of pain is more love.”

  Long after the storm of their lovemaking was over, two different sorts of storm were still brewing. One was full of distant thunder and the occasional flash of lightning, while the other was far away in New York City, swirling around Detective Danny Sullivan.

  An autopsy on the body in the trunk had revealed what they’d already suspected. It was Margaret Andrews. A warrant was out for Beatty’s arrest. They’d mounted a twenty-four-hour stakeout at his apartment, but Andrews was a no-show. Sullivan was starting to worry. Early this morning they’d begun checking to see if Beatty Andrews had left town. So far they’d turned up nothing.

  His cell phone rang. He downed the last of a cold cup of coffee and then set it on the dash of his car as he reached to answer.

  “Sullivan.”

  Gianelli shifted his phone to his other ear as he dug a piece of paper from his pocket. “It’s me,” he said. “I’ve got news.”

  “Am I going to like it?”

  Gianelli grimaced. “I didn’t.”

  “Shit,” Sullivan mumbled. “So talk.”