Lips That Touch Mine

by Wendy Lindstrom

  "No."

  "Is my husband's name in here?"

  "No."

  "Then there's no need to burn it." She handed the journal back to Claire, her eyes filled with a depth of understanding and compassion Claire had never seen there. "I'm entitled to some peace of mind. You're entitled to your grandmother's life."

  Desmona's selfless gesture overwhelmed Claire, and she hugged the journal to her stomach. "Thank you."

  Addison sank into a chair beside Desmona, neither of them speaking, but they seemed to be a couple for the first time in Claire's memory. Desmona had softened toward Addison, and Claire suspected they would share their remaining years on friendlier terms.

  o0o

  As she walked home, Claire thought about the two people who'd survived decades of heartache, and yet had found the courage to open their hearts again. She climbed her porch steps, realizing that she'd already opened her heart to Boyd. She'd fallen in love with him. But she hadn't let herself trust him. What had begun as a test of wills between them had deepened into a test of courage.

  Sailor's happy bark and nudge against her leg lifted her heavy heart. She hadn't seen the dog in days. Snow speckled his nose, and his tongue lolled from the side of his grinning mouth. When Claire looked down into his adoring brown eyes and considered a life without him, she burst into tears.

  She knelt and hugged his knobby head to her breast. "Oh, Sailor, I'm such a fool..."

  Her sobs pained her ribs, but she couldn't stop crying or hugging the dog. She found passion and love with a decent, honorable man, then turned him away and locked herself back in her safe little cage. Boyd had asked her to spend her life with him and his silly dog. And like a fool, she'd said no.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Boyd climbed his porch steps with bone-weary slowness but a deep sense of accomplishment. The hunk of basswood had yielded its treasure.

  All the years of anguish, of false starts, of fear, had taken their toll on him, but time had honed and focused his skill. The lessons and losses had brought wisdom and a keen vision he hadn't possessed. He couldn't have carved the statue without first being reshaped himself—by life, by loss, by love. The love of an independent and beautiful woman.

  He thought about Claire constantly since walking out of her house nearly two weeks ago. He wanted to see her, to make her laugh, and to make love with her, but he stayed away because he was afraid of pushing her into a commitment she would later regret. But coming home to an empty saloon and an empty life was hell.

  Even Sailor preferred to stay at Claire's house.

  Boyd twisted his doorknob and heard the crinkle of paper. He looked down to find a note in his hand.

  Dear Mr. Grayson,

  I am writing to complain about the lack of noise from your saloon. You haven't disrupted my life in almost two weeks. I let the best thing in my life slip away when I acted the coward and rejected your proposal. If you're still interested in sharing bawdy songs and leisurely body rubs, please come see me.

  With love, Cold Claire

  Boyd read the note twice because his tired brain refused to believe it was real. His heart demanded it was, clamoring so hard it left him short of breath.

  He pushed inside and straddled a bar stool, afraid he would fall on his backside if he didn't sit down.

  He read the note again. Claire had written it, and she wanted to see him. She wanted to share "bawdy songs and leisurely back rubs." But what did that mean, exactly? Was she still suggesting an affair? Or had she finally changed her mind about marrying him?

  He leaned over the bar and rummaged around for a pen and paper, but Sailor's impatient scratching on the door made him give up his quest and let the dog inside.

  As if Sailor knew something big was in the air, he wheezed and circled Boyd's legs.

  "I know, I know, she's waiting for an answer." Boyd rubbed Sailor's head. "I'm looking for a damned pen."

  Sailor followed him behind the bar, sniffing pails and empty liquor bottles while Boyd scrounged up a writing implement and a stained piece of paper.

  Dear Claire,

  I have found my David, and my treasure—you.

  But I'm lost without your love and your trust.

  Marry me and I'll promise the fairy tale (as long as your version includes a clumsy saloon hound).

  Our bruises should be gone by Friday. Will you marry me in four days? Say yes, Claire, and I'll send a telegram to your parents.

  With love, Boyd

  Boyd stood and cupped his palm beneath a tapped keg of ale, then squatted beside Sailor. "I need you to take our proposal to Claire." Sailor lapped the ale from Boyd's hand like a drunk after three days on the wagon.

  Laughing, Boyd washed his hands in the sink, then knelt and tied the note to Sailor's neck. "Come on. Let's see what Claire will say to our proposal."

  The instant they stepped outside, Sailor raced across the street to Claire's porch, barking. Boyd grinned, gaining a new appreciation for the lack of subtlety in children and animals.

  Claire opened her front door and gave his dog a smile that warmed Boyd clear to his soul. She looked across the street and waved. Boyd waved back, but was too on edge to return her smile. Sailor nudged Claire's legs and barked until she knelt beside him.

  Boyd held his breath while she opened and read his note. She asked him to come see her, but that didn't mean she was ready to commit to marriage.

  She stared at his note, then pressed her fingers to her mouth. She stood and waved the note in the air. "Yes," she shouted, then laughed and waved him over.

  o0o

  Claire watched Boyd—her friend, her lover, her future husband—crossing the street. She loved his long-legged, confident stride and the way his golden gaze drank her in as he climbed her steps.

  He stopped in front of her, and Claire realized how much she missed him, and that he seemed taller, and more handsome, and that his hair had grown an inch past his collar.

  "Is this real?" he asked, the hoarse uncertainty in his voice melting her.

  For her, it was a dream come true, and she nodded. "I've got a note to prove it."

  "Will you feel well enough to marry me Friday?" "

  I'm healthy enough to start our honeymoon tonight," she said with a boldness that flushed her face. But she didn't care, because she ached to be held and loved by him.

  "Don't tempt me," he said. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  She moved closer to his warm, hard body. He cupped her bottom and pulled her against him, fitting her to his groin, his body telling her how much he wanted her. Anyone and everyone could see them standing on her front porch, carrying on like young lovers, but Claire didn't care. Let the neighbors talk.

  "You're shivering," he murmured against her temple.

  "I'm nervous and excited and I...I don't want to wait one minute longer to make love with you."

  He kissed her forehead, her eyebrows, the tip of her nose. "You're worth waiting for. From this moment on, the only woman I'll ever make love to is my wife."

  She clutched the lapel of his coat, ashamed of her neediness but desperate for reassurance. "Please make that a promise."

  "I promise," he said, brushing a kiss to her mouth. "Only you, Claire, for now and forever. And I'll make you my wife in all ways on Friday evening."

  She drew back and looked at him, needing to ask the question that had been plaguing her since Boyd returned from Buffalo. "Did you see Martha when you went to Buffalo?"

  "Yes, why?"

  Her heart plunged. "You know why."

  The hint of a smile lifted his lips. "Do you remember the night of the cantata when Martha threatened to reveal 'our little secret'?"

  Claire nodded, but it hurt to remember that night and what she'd suspected happened between Boyd and Martha.

  "Martha was threatening to reveal that she's my cousin."

  Claire's jaw dropped. "Your...cousin?"

  His smile deepened, and he nodded.

  "
You rat." She tried to pinch his side, but pinched his wool coat instead. He chuckled and pulled her back into his arms.

  "Why did you let me think she was your companion?" she asked.

  "Because I liked that jealous sparkle in your eyes."

  "I was not jealous."

  "You were."

  She buried her face against his chest. "I was."

  He chuckled and eased her away from him. "Ah, Claire, from the minute I saw you, there was no one else for me. There'll never be anyone else for me. Ever."

  "I couldn't bear it if—"

  He placed his finger over her mouth. "I love you. Only you. For the rest of my life."

  She kissed his fingertips, then raised up on her toes and kissed his warm neck, inhaling the scent of soap and bay rum cologne on his skin, and the ever-present smell of fresh cut wood that clung to his coat. "I love you." She kissed his whisker-shadowed chin. "I can't wait to be your wife," she whispered. Then she covered his firm, gorgeous lips with her mouth, overcome by her need for him, surprised that she was no longer afraid.

  Once she made up her mind to say yes to Boyd, and to the myriad of experiences that would come with loving and living a full, robust life, something miraculous happened. The fear that had darkened her life and clouded her judgment dissipated, leaving behind a clear view of her future—one filled with light, laughter and love. With Boyd at her side, life couldn't be any other way.

  He tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss into a slow, seductive mingling of tongues. She moaned into his mouth and slipped her fingers up through his soft thick hair.

  "Am I hurting your ribs?" he asked, his breath hot against her cheek.

  "No, but you're killing me with need."

  A laugh rumbled in his chest and he looked down at her, his eyes lit with humor and heat. "This is a fine time for you to fall into my arms. I spent weeks trying to seduce you, and you'd have none of it."

  "I didn't want to be seduced," she said, unable to keep from spilling her heart out to him. "I wanted to be loved."

  "You are." His earnest eyes never wavered from hers. "You are loved."

  Her heart swelled with joy, and she felt honored and blessed to be loved by such a handsome and noble man. Their gazes locked, and she pressed her palm to her palpitating heart, knowing she would remember this moment and this intense feeling for the rest of her life.

  "You're crying," Boyd said quietly, lifting his hand to wipe away the tear that had slipped from her eye.

  "Because I never thought I could ever be this happy."

  "We'll always be happy. We'll always be in love. We'll always have this," he said, dipping his head to capture her mouth in another hot, languorous kiss. It sparked a strong blaze in her already aroused body.

  "I don't want to wait any more," she panted against his lips.

  He opened his mouth, but before he could speak or kiss her again, the front door opened and Anna stepped out. She spotted them, her eyes rounded, and her glance instantly assessed the heated moment she'd just interrupted.

  "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were out here." With flushed cheeks and the hint of a smile on her face, she stepped back inside and closed the door.

  Boyd grinned. "You almost convinced me."

  Claire leaned her forehead against his chest. "Does this mean I'll have to start all over again?"

  "No," he said, easing her away. "It means I'm going to leave before I act the cad and take advantage of you."

  "Wait." She caught his hands but allowed him to put some distance between them. "I can't ask Anna to leave," she said, praying Boyd would understand her need to help Anna start a new life.

  "I know that, Claire. She can live in my apartment. You and Anna can turn my saloon into an actual inn, or if you prefer, use it as a safe house for those women and children you want to protect."

  "Oh, Boyd." She was too overcome by his generosity to adequately express herself. "You have no idea what this means to me."

  "I'm afraid I do." He gathered her close and stroked her back. "I understand why you need to help women like Anna. And you'll never have to worry about me standing in your way." He gave her a gentle, rocking hug, then eased back to see her face. "I admire your compassion and courage, Claire, and I'll support you in whatever you do. If you want to take in strays, then I won't care if we have a house full of them. If you want to give women and children a safe place to stay, then the Pemberton Inn is yours."

  She was touched beyond words, in the deepest part of her soul where flowers of hope and joy were beginning to grow again. Boyd would nourish her spirit; he would be her light and her love, her slayer of dragons, her knight in shining armor, her prince, her friend, her lover, her husband—her everything.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  "Be careful where you grip it," Boyd warned as his brothers helped him lug the huge, cloth-wrapped statue into the office at the sawmill depot. "Set it on that pedestal."

  "What the hell is this?" Kyle asked, huffing as he stepped away from the monster they just stood upright on the four-inch oak base.

  Boyd's nerves jangled with apprehension and excitement. "Something I've been working on for a long time."

  Duke groaned and arched his back. "It had better be worth my strained back muscles."

  Radford pulled out a pocket knife and handed it to Boyd. "Cut this behemoth loose, and let us see what we've been busting our backs over."

  Boyd couldn't disguise the tremble in his hands as he cut the cords. He finished the final touches on the statue just before dawn, and had roared like a madman, screaming out all the joy and anguish he'd experienced while carving the piece. He laughed and cried and gotten down on his knees and thanked his father and God and anyone else who was listening at that hour of the morning.

  But now, he wondered if it was any good. Had his moment of jubilation clouded his judgment? Should he have waited? Was there more work to do?

  Bat wings beat inside his chest.

  Kyle smacked him on the shoulder. "Unveil the damned thing before it mildews."

  Before he lost his nerve, Boyd yanked the canvas off and dropped it on the floor.

  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Duke said softly, his eyes filled with awe.

  Radford, Kyle, and Duke stared at the statue of their father leaning on the diamond willow cane Boyd had made for him, giving them a just-between-us-boys wink. Kyle's mouth hung open, his gaze glued to the wooden replica of the man they had loved so dearly.

  "If Dad could see this—" Radford compressed his lips, and clipped off his words. Moisture edged his eyes and he looked away.

  Boyd's heart swelled with pride and love and a hundred emotions he couldn't name. That block of wood had been riding his shoulders for seven long years, and he was finally free.

  Radford hooked his arm around Boyd's shoulders and gave him a brotherly squeeze. "Dad would love this."

  It was one of the nicest things Radford had ever said to him, and it warmed Boyd clear through to be able to share this moment with his brothers. Almost reverently, they smoothed their callused palms over the statue, as if touching it would, allow them to touch their father again.

  "This is incredible." Wonder filled Kyle's eyes as he touched the statue's face—their father's face. "It's so life-like, I'm waiting for Dad to tell us to get our asses back to work."

  Their laughter cut the cords of tension gripping Boyd's chest. Finally, he could breathe again. It felt good to laugh with his brothers. For so long he felt unworthy of even walking in their shadows, but today, he could stand beside them and feel proud of himself. Today he was whole again. He'd chipped and carved and smoothed and sanded his way to the heart of his "David."

  His brothers clapped him on the shoulders and praised him for his masterpiece. "Dad would be honored," Radford said, leaving the office with moisture still beading his eyes.

  Kyle thumped him on the shoulder. "He'd be pretty damned impressed. I sure am." He followed Radford outside.

  Duke stayed behi
nd, shaking his head as he eyed the statue.

  "Dad wasn't a vain man," he said, "but if he were alive, he'd make sure every person in town saw this." He turned, pride in his eyes. "This is a hell of a tribute to a man who loved you."

  Then he stepped outside, as if he knew Boyd needed to be alone.

  His brothers' words warmed Boyd, but as he stood in front of the statue, in front of the man he'd loved with all his heart, he knew the statue wasn't just about honor and pride, but about letting go. Unashamed, he embraced the statue and gave his father a hug.

  Chapter Forty

  Claire exchanged vows with Boyd in his mother's small but homey parlor. Her father gave her away, and her sister Lida stood as her maid of honor, giving Claire a sense of homecoming she desperately needed.

  Duke had traded his sheriff's badge for a handsome black suit and starched white shirt to stand as Boyd's best man.

  Anna stood behind them in her magic dress, slowly but surely building herself a new life. With the help of Duke's lawyer friends she was trying to divorce Larry, who had been convicted of two murders and would spend his life in prison.

  Claire's mother, and Lida's husband and three children, were comfortably ensconced in the warm, welcoming bosom of Boyd's family.

  Claire stood beside her future husband, eyeing him with open admiration as she spoke her vows. He looked tall and proud in a full-dress black tuxedo and a snow white shirt, his eyebrows black slashes above warm honey-brown eyes as he promised to love, honor, and cherish Claire until death parted them. When he added his promise not to be a toad, the room filled with laughter.

  Claire cried. She couldn't name a time she'd been this happy.

  After their vows, Boyd's brothers slapped his strong shoulders to congratulate him. And one by one, each tall, dark, handsome brother-in-law kissed Claire's cheek to welcome her to the family. Her parents hugged her and wished her well. Her sister and Anna cried. And by the time Boyd's family finished introducing themselves and congratulating her, Claire's head was spinning as if she'd had too much wine.