by J. S. Marlo
With four days left to keep her promise, she needed to rack up some names.
She’d had no problem hiring farmhands for specific tasks, like loading the hay into the barn or replacing a fence, but no one showed any interest in babysitting animals on a regular basis unless she paid more than what she earned, which defeated the purpose of working.
Short on options, she’d called Andy to ask permission to work from home until she found someone to look after her horses. When he heard her reasons, he inundated her with a deluge of sympathy messages and promised to relay her request to Martin. She didn’t specifically ask Andy to keep Ollie’s death a secret, but she hoped he wouldn’t publicize it. Ollie had been gone two months, and she didn’t want to hear any more hollow condolences.
Martin’s e-mail had come yesterday. The producer had refused to change the terms of her contract, and he’d given her a choice. “Take it or leave it.” He wasn’t known to show compassion toward anyone, and to expect a different answer had been foolish on her part, but it didn’t stop her from being disappointed. She loved writing, and she couldn’t walk away from the show any more than she’d been able to stop thinking about Blythe since he’d left.
So, as a last resort, she’d called Piper. Her son’s girlfriend had agreed to sleep at the ranch and look after the animals between her work shifts while Riley was away.
At two o’clock, Piper was supposed to meet her at the ranch for an overview of the duties and responsibilities awaiting her, but she was late, which was unusual, and it worried Riley.
Her cell phone vibrated in the back pocket of her jeans. Expecting Piper, she answered without looking at the screen. “Piper, are you all right?”
“I’m not Piper. My name is Elisabeth.” In spite of the hesitation, the voice sounded casual and friendly, not the usual telemarketer’s trademark. “May I speak with Riley, please?”
“I’m Riley. Sorry for the confusion. What can I do for you, Elisabeth?”
“I need your help.”
***
Elisabeth’s account of Blythe’s latest trials and tribulations left Riley’s mind reeling. How could fate be so cruel? Blythe had deserved closure, not more pain. That he withdrew from family and friends didn’t overly surprise her, and she wanted to offer him the same comfort he’d given her, except—no, there could be no exception. Her feelings toward him were irrelevant. His sister insisted he needed her, and Riley couldn’t refuse.
As soon as Piper showed up, Riley gave her a crash course in horse maintenance. Once the animals were taken care of, she packed and drove to the airport. She landed in Winnipeg at 11:10 p.m.
Her suitcase in tow and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder, she sat on a bench near the money exchange booth inside the arrival terminal and waited for Elisabeth. Had it been a few hours sooner or a few hours later, she would have logged on to Skype to talk to her children, but Hunter had already gone to bed, and Rowan hadn’t awoken yet.
Around her, the night cleaning crew emptied the garbage cans and waxed the floors. The luggage carousel had stopped moving, and according to the arrival board on the wall, the next plane of the evening wasn’t scheduled to land for another seventy-five minutes.
The possibility she might have been duped by the woman on the phone hadn’t occurred to Riley until now. She’d never met Blythe’s sister, never heard her voice. That woman could have been someone trying to lure her back to Winnipeg to shoot her again, and like a gullible fool, Riley had jumped onto the first plane available. It wouldn’t be the first time her impulsive nature led her into trouble, and she was mad at herself for not taking any precautions. At the very least, she should have checked the phone number.
One more glance at her watch, and she stood to use the washroom. Elisabeth, or whoever impersonated her, was forty minutes late. As Riley walked across the terminal, a petite woman with unruly golden-brown hair cascading on her shoulders rushed inside. She looked around like a frantic mother searching for her pup. Their gazes met, and the woman scurried toward her.
“Riley?” she asked between ragged breaths.
Riley recognized the voice and the blue eyes, one shade darker than Blythe’s. “Hello, Elisabeth.”
“Thank goodness you waited.” Before Riley had time to react, Elisabeth hugged her, a big bear hug, before taking a step back. “Please call me Beth. I’m so sorry I’m late. I took the wrong exit. Ended up behind abandoned warehouses. Ran low on gas. The battery on my cell died. Todd is probably worried sick wondering where—you didn’t fly all the way here to hear me talk about my husband, or my van, or—” A bright shade of red colored her high cheekbones. “I feel like a rambling idiot. That’s so not the first impression I wanted to give. You probably think I’m a lunatic.”
The laughter Riley could no longer contain erupted in the terminal. In Beth, she’d encountered a kindred spirit.
***
Don’t buzz him, surprise him.
The advice rang in Riley’s ears long after Beth’s minivan drove back into the night. At least she’d convinced Beth to go home and not wait for her. Once she checked on Blythe, she’d call a cab and get a room at a hotel.
Using one of the keys Beth had given her, Riley unlocked the inner doors of the lobby and walked into the elevator. She pressed the number ten on the panel of the wall, and the door closed.
As the elevator slowly ascended to the tenth floor, Riley became aware of her sweaty palms and the rapid beating of her heart. She had no reason to be nervous. Blythe was no stranger. He was the man who had let her cry on his shoulder, and she came here to return the favor, not intrude upon him. Memories of the times he’d held her in his arms floated through her mind. The morning he and Hunter had left, a part of her had wanted him to stay, but confused by the feelings he awoke, she’d let him go. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him in a month, and during that time she’d come to realize she missed him for all the right reasons. But her feelings didn’t belong here tonight.
The doors of the elevator parted on a bright hallway. Beth had told her suite 1010. She looked both ways before turning left. Suite 1010 was the last one at the end of the corridor. She paused in front of the door, and gathering her courage, she knocked.
“Go away.” Through the door, Blythe sounded angry, and she didn’t blame him. Past midnight wasn’t an appropriate time for a surprise visit. If anyone bothered her in the wee hours, she’d kick him out of his boots.
Don’t buzz him, surprise him.
That didn’t sound like good advice, not unless she wanted to upset him further. Torn between walking in and walking away, she glanced back and forth between the closed door and the end of the hallway. In the end, Beth’s insistence that Blythe needed her prevailed. She unlocked the door and walked into a vestibule.
The door clicked behind her when it closed by itself.
“Leave me alone, Beth.”
A closet separated Riley from the main area. She stowed her suitcase and laptop bag in the closet before advancing into the next room, a small kitchen divided from the living room by an island.
She dropped her purse on one of the wooden bar stools surrounding the island, then leaned her elbows on the countertop. Her chin propped onto her twined hands, she studied the profile of the man slouched at one end of a black leather couch. His head was turned toward an empty fireplace, away from her, and his left hand was within reach of a bottle of liquor and a full glass, both resting on the low end table next to the couch.
“It’s late, Beth. Don’t you have boys who get up early?” He didn’t flinch, look in her direction, or raise his voice. Still, there was coldness in his tone that sent chills down her spine.
“He’s in firefighter school, remember?”
He jumped slightly, twisted around, and looked at her. “Riley?”
“I thought you never drank alone.” Beth had used the words haunted and withdrawn to describe him, but Riley sensed something else, something darker, more sinister.
“I don’t
, but I’m contemplating the idea.” He resumed his previous position on the couch, except this time his head faced the window overlooking the city lights. “I’m not going to bother asking where you got the keys since only one other person has a set. Why are you here?”
“I heard you couldn’t cope with your wife’s new prognosis.” After three and a half weeks, he should have started accepting Claire’s condition.
“I’m coping. End of story.”
“Really? Did you change the definition of coping since you barged into my stable and riled me up?”
His fist banged on the end table, shaking the bottle and tipping the glass. Clear liquid pooled on the hardwood floor near the leg of the couch. She grabbed a dish towel from the stove handle and tossed it in his direction. The towel hit the side of his head and landed on his shoulder. He snapped his head around, took the towel, and threw it on the floor, missing the puddle.
“The doctor disconnected her, Riley, and she kept breathing. Claire is neither dead nor alive. Her lungs are pumping enough oxygen to stop her from suffocating, but her brain is destroyed. I’m married to a living ghost.”
With each sentence, his voice grew louder and louder. At any moment, Riley expected the neighbors to bang on the walls, come knocking on the door, or call the police.
He leaped to his feet and began pacing the living room. “Did I ever tell you we had a son? His name was Jonathan.” His expression softened as his son’s name rolled off his mouth like a quiet prayer. “His birth mother was a drug addict that Claire rescued from the streets. After he was born, the doctors said he’d need special care. His birth mother didn’t want to bother, so we took him. He was a cute little guy with big brown eyes, and after a month, we decided to adopt him. But then, the birth mother changed her mind, and a judge gave Jonathan back to her.” An invisible cloak fell over his head and hardened his face. “Two months later Jonathan died, beaten by the mother’s new boyfriend.”
Tears stung Riley’s eyes. Emotionally, Jonathan had belonged to them, and they lost him in a terrible tragedy.
Blythe slapped his arms down his side and paused on the other side of the island. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Claire was devastated. She never mentioned adopting again, and from then on, she dedicated her time and energy to helping children trapped in abusive homes. In the end, she was shot the same day she saved a little boy. How’s that for making sense?”
Too often life didn’t make sense. “Claire risked her well-being to save a child. It’s called duty, Blythe.” His wife and her husbands had shared some similar attributes. “Her sacrifice wasn’t in vain. Thanks to Claire, a little boy has a future.”
“I know. And I know if she could do it all over again, she’d save that little boy a second time. I accepted her sacrifice, and it helped me cope with the loss.” He pulled out a stool and sat facing her. “I was ready to let go, Riley, to give her a proper farewell. But now there’s no hope and no future.”
Fate denied him closure. He didn’t need to say he felt cheated. She read between the lines.
“Her parents—they can’t accept she’ll remain in a permanent vegetative state until the day she dies. They want Dr. Salinski to remove the bullet, but they need my permission.”
“I don’t understand. Wasn’t surgery ruled out because it was hopeless and too dangerous?” They’d had that discussion over dinner so long ago that she’d forgotten the details.
“Yes.” He crossed his arms over the counter top and sighed. “Her chances of surviving the surgery are slim, but if she survives, she’ll remain in a permanent vegetative state.”
“But if the surgery won’t improve her condition, what are your in-laws hoping to accomplish by asking the doctor to remove the bullet?” As she asked the question, a possible motive dawned on her. “They’re not seeking a miracle cure anymore, are they? They want their daughter to stop suffering.”
“Except we both know Claire isn’t the one who is suffering. If I consent and she dies during surgery, does that make me a killer?”
The man facing her wasn’t haunted. He was torn and tormented. “The bullet is killing her, Blythe, not you.” She reached out across the counter top of the island and placed her hand over his forearm. “What does her doctor say?”
“He’s not in favor of it, but since the bullet might be related to your shooting, he’s willing to remove it—if I agree.”
“Detective Jackson already assumes both bullets match. He doesn’t need confirmation, not yet. Blythe, you can’t use the bullet as an excuse to authorize the surgery.” She couldn’t become the official reason behind his wife’s death, not when she harbored secret feelings for him.
The intercom buzzed.
When Blythe didn’t react, she relaxed her fingers on his arms, but he trapped her hand before she pulled away. “It’s probably a drunken tenant searching for his apartment. Ignore it.”
It buzzed again. And again.
“Let me at least help him. Please?” He let her go. The intercom was in the vestibule by the door, and it buzzed a fourth time as she pressed the speak button. “May I help you?” Through the speaker, shallow breathing answered her, so she tried again. “Which apartment are you trying to reach?”
The caller didn’t reply, and the breathing stopped. Hoping she’d gotten rid of him, she joined Blythe in front of the living room window.
Outside, the lights of the city outshined the stars in the sky. His hand trailed along the small of her back as he edged closer. She’d missed his touch and couldn’t help but lean her head against his shoulder. A soft kiss brushed her forehead. “Where are you staying?”
“I didn’t make any reservations, but a room should be available at my regular hotel. I’ll take a cab.”
“It’s late. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The moonlight highlighted the silhouettes of the evergreens standing tall on the slopes of the snowy mountains. Reared up on his hind legs, a red fox howled a lonely serenade into the night.
A runner clad in shorts and a sport bra ran along a wooded path in the dark. The wind whistled through her hair and erased the imprints of her running shoes in the snow. She reached a sparkling stream and stopped. Across the water, the fox turned toward her. He pulled a gun and—
“Shamrock!”
Blythe awoke abruptly, her name on his lips. Sweat dampened his skin, and his heart hammered in his chest. Disturbed by the intensity of the nightmare, he swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge in his boxers. Against his wishes, Riley had commandeered his couch and sent him to bed. His elbows on his knees, he cupped his head in his hands.
After Claire’s shooting, he’d dreamed of his wife lying in the parking lot, her blood staining the fresh snow a deep crimson. As the months dragged by, the nightmares had faded in frequency and intensity. Unnerved by the sudden shift of focus from Claire to Riley, he drew a deep breath.
“Blythe? Is something wrong?”
He lifted his head toward the open door of his bedroom. The fluorescent light from the kitchen illuminated the bedroom, shedding a bluish hue on the woman in the doorway.
“Nightmare. Please, come in.”
Her gaze searching his, she approached his bed. “What kind of nightmare?”
“It was winter. You were running in shorts and a sport top.” A very alluring top.
“Shorts in winter? I must have been cold,” she teased as she sat beside him. “What happened to me?”
“A fox shot you.”
“A four-legged fox with a bushy tail?” Laughter punctuated each of her words. “Is that some new kind of coping mechanism?”
He couldn’t resist that mischievous smile of hers. “I am coping, but I can’t bring myself to authorize the surgery. Claire shouldn’t die at the hands of her doctor.”
“Then let nature take its course.” She gazed at him with those dazzling green eyes, and the sparks shining in their depths bore into his soul
. “You and Claire deserve peace and dignity.”
“And then what?” He reached out, and with the backs of his fingers, he caressed her cheek. Her skin was soft and warm. “It’s been ten months, Riley. Do I move on and pretend Claire doesn’t exist?” Over the summer his feelings for Riley had grown, and somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with her. He’d be at a loss to pinpoint when, but there was no denying the truth. He loved her, but he also loved Claire. How could he be in love with two women at the same time? “Do I ask for a divorce so I can start a new life?”
Her hand moved to his bare chest, a hand bare of her wedding ring, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she rested her palm over his heart and served him a stern, motherly look accompanied by a long, exasperated sigh.
“Claire will always live in your heart, Blythe. You’ll visit her at the hospital, you’ll visit her at the nursing home, and you’ll visit her at the cemetery. She’ll never stop being a part of you, and you’ll never stop loving her. Anyone who shares your life in the future will have to accept that. Ollie never took Chad’s place; he took his place beside Chad. There’s a big difference.” Sparkling tears pearled on her eyelashes. “You should never have to give up Claire. If a woman truly loves you, she’ll understand there’s room in your heart for both her and Claire.”
He marveled at her ability to reconcile her feelings toward her husbands, to understand his emotional conflict. “Is there a chance that one day there might be room in your heart for a third man?”
A dreamy smile formed at the edge of her mouth where his thumb drew small circles. “He already found his place in my heart between Chad and Ollie.”
She couldn’t mean…
As the cryptic answer sank in, joy swept through his heart. Shamrock. Eyes half-closed, he inched forward and brushed her lips with a tender kiss. To his delight, they parted under the light touch, granting him access to the warm recess of her mouth. Intoxicated by her taste, he wrapped her in his arms and deepened the kiss. She responded with equal fervor, her tongue joining his in a ravenous dance.