Reunion

by Karen Ball

  “Actually—” he switched the carafe back under the drip—“it was more like a minute and a half, since the pot was about half full.”

  She filled the cream pitcher from the carton in the fridge and set it, along with the ceramic sugar bowl, on the table.

  “Either way, I agree. It was ridiculous to wait. Though my first preference is tea, I have suffered from the occasional craving for coffee. On such occasions, I find a mug works quite well.”

  “Ahhh, so you’ve done the same thing, eh?”

  She looked at him around the edge of the cupboard door as she got down her own mug, and he almost burst out laughing at the mischievous gleam in her emerald eyes. For a brief moment Connor had the feeling he was looking into Taylor’s green gaze.

  “Let’s just say that while I strive to be the epitome of restraint and self-control, patience is not my strongest virtue.” She poured a mug of coffee from the now partially filled carafe, then came to sit next to him at the table.

  He sipped his coffee. “I understand. Far better than I care to admit,” he said with a low chuckle.

  “Indeed?” She watched him carefully. “So you share my struggle with impatience, Connor?”

  He considered her for a moment, and the look in her eyes told him there was some vague undercurrent to the question. He inclined his head slightly.

  “And do you struggle with other virtues as well?” His eyebrows shot up at the unexpected question, but before he could compose an appropriate response, she went on. Her tone was casual and relaxed, as though she were discussing something commonplace like the weather. “I find that integrity can be most troublesome at times, don’t you? Somehow it so often seems as though honesty is … well, risky, at best. Hazardous, at worst.”

  Connor shifted in his seat but kept his expression blank, trying not to look as though he were squirming.

  “Isn’t it odd?” She cupped her mug with both hands. “For all that God directs us to use honesty, it’s remarkable how much easier it seems to be to act with caution, perhaps even a touch of deception.” Her gentle smile was filled with compassion, and he felt an unfamiliar heat in his face.

  This couldn’t be happening! He couldn’t be sitting here blushing!

  “Oh, not true deception, of course,” she continued with amiable ruthlessness. “Nothing cruel or evil. Just a small, harmless deception, one in which the entire truth isn’t told. That way, a person could—” she frowned slightly. “What is that term Ryan uses? Oh yes! Scope out! That’s it!” She regarded him triumphantly. “Not revealing hurtful or difficult facts might give one time to scope out a situation, to evaluate how those involved might react to the entire truth.” She tilted her head and regarded him. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” he said slowly.

  “Hmmm.” She held his gaze, a pensive look in her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure that seems wise, perhaps even kind, to most people.” Her eyes met his, her look direct. “It is a shame we can’t use such tools, isn’t it? I mean, if we’re to follow God’s leading in our interactions with each other.”

  Connor was fairly certain this was how bugs felt when captured and skewered by entomologists. He’d never considered the practice unkind before, but if those insects felt a fraction as uncomfortable as he did, he would write his congressman tomorrow to stop the senseless suffering. He swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer, but she didn’t give him a chance. She just went on as though totally oblivious to the fact that she was driving darts of doubt and uncertainty deep into his conscience.

  “I am thoroughly convinced that you are as devoted to honoring God as we are, Connor.”

  Her smile was positively beatific, and he floundered before the brilliance of that look. “I … well … Mrs. Camus …” The words died in his throat when she reached to pat his arm.

  “Of course you are. I can tell by your eyes. I know you understand, as I do, that it’s best, easier even, to deal in the truth from the very beginning. There are no lies to remember, no fabrications to cover, no relationships to mend.”

  He felt as though a tidal wave of emotion had come crashing down on him, grinding him into the dirt. Chief among the sensations was a deep sense of regret. And shame.

  “My,” she said with a contented sigh, “this is good coffee.”

  He blinked, almost dizzy at the abrupt change of topic. His eyes narrowed, and he studied her sweetly smiling countenance—and at that moment understanding dawned. Donelle Camus’s wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen. Beneath that guileless facade was the shrewd mind and well-honed instincts of an experienced hunter, one who recognized vulnerability and opportunity at a glance—and used them to perfection. “Would you like more?”

  The simple question hit him like a semi, and his eyes flew to meet hers. He cleared his throat with difficulty. “More?”

  She held up her mug. “More coffee?”

  “Ah.” He was out of his league. Entirely. This woman was a master. “No. Thank you. I … uh … I think I’ve had plenty.” He pushed back his chair and went to set his empty mug in the sink. “I should be heading out, anyway. There’s a lot of work to do, and I figure I can get a good bit done if I start before breakfast.”

  “Whatever you think is best.” He started for the door, anxious for escape. A few more steps—

  “Oh, Connor.”

  He paused, his hand on the knob. He’d come so close. Two more steps and he’d have been gone. Letting his breath out slowly he turned to face her. “Yes, Mrs. Camus?”

  She rose and came to him, holding out the magazines she’d brought in with her. “I read the most interesting articles last night in a few of our wildlife magazines. I thought you might enjoy them as well.”

  He accepted the magazines and glanced at them—then stood there stunned, shaken. He recognized both of the magazines. Each carried an article on wolves. Articles he had written.

  “I particularly enjoyed the articles on wolves. The author is quite good.” Once again he met her eyes. He expected to see anger, accusation. Instead, there was only kindness. “His passion comes across clearly, as does his intelligence. He presents a balanced perspective on the issues. I daresay he would be most convincing in person, particularly if a person were already predisposed to his views.” The warmth of her expression enveloped him. “Or predisposed to the man himself.”

  He nodded, unable to speak around the lump in his throat.

  She patted his arm. “Now, off with you. As you’ve already said, there’s a good deal of work waiting for you. And for me.”

  He turned and went out the door, the magazines clutched in his hands, his heart beating a rapid, pained rhythm.

  Donelle turned and found her husband leaning in the doorway, his head cocked, a pensive smile on his generous lips.

  “So, think you got through?”

  “The issue isn’t whether I’ve gotten through, dear—” she went to the fridge and pulled open the door—“It’s whether God gets through. And I’m sure he will. Connor merely needed a little push in the right direction.”

  She pulled a carton of eggs and a package of bacon off the shelf, balanced a loaf of bread and tub of butter on top, and stepped back, bumping the door shut with her hip.

  “Hmmm.” Her husband’s lips twitched.

  “Oh, please, Holden. Don’t ‘hmmm’ me!” She set down the food with a thud on the counter and turned her back on the love of her life.

  “Yes, dear.” His smile broadened.

  “I just couldn’t sit there and watch this charade continue.”

  “No, dear.” He moved from the doorway.

  “But if I had told Taylor the truth about her ‘handyman,’ she would never have given him a chance to explain himself. I swear, I don’t know where that girl gets her temper!”

  “Yes, dear.” The laughing response came from just behind her ear, and strong arms slipped around her waist and pressed her close. She sighed and leaned back against her husband, lovin
g the warm familiarity of his embrace. He tucked her tight against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

  “She loves him, Holden. I don’t think she even knows it yet, but I see it every time she looks at him. And I think he loves her.”

  “I think you’re right,” he said. “And I think you did the right thing.”

  Quick tears pricked Donelle’s eyes, and she turned to slip her arms around her husband’s still trim waist. She buried her face against the soft flannel of his shirt.

  “I want her to be happy,” she mumbled, her words slightly muffled.

  He reached out to tip her chin up. Their eyes met, and they smiled.

  “As happy as God has made us.” He kissed her softly, his eyes glowing. “You’ve done your part, my love. The rest is in God’s hands. We need to wait and watch. He won’t let us, or our girl, down.” His eyes drifted to the counter, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. “Now, how ’bout some grub, woman? Your man is here, and he’s hungry!”

  Thoughts raced through Connor’s mind as he walked toward his cabin. He pulled the door open and went inside, flicking on the light and tossing the magazines on his bed. Then he sank into the overstuffed chair and leaned his head back wearily.

  God, I’ve messed everything up. Big time. Once again he swallowed the bitter reality that he was in a mess of his own making. How do I make this right, Lord? How do I tell Taylor the truth without hurting her? The image of her beautiful eyes, blazing with anger, floated before him. She’s going to hate me. And I deserve it, Father. How can I find a way to be worthy of her trust … and the trust her mother just showed me?

  Silence answered him, and he stood, going to stare out the window. The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountains, its red glow coloring the sky in brilliant hues and tones. But the beauty was lost on Connor. His eyes focused unseeingly on the landscape, then came back to scan the room. He needed guidance, direction, something that would give him some glimmer of hope.

  “God, I know you don’t drop answers from heaven on a string, but could you give me a hand here?” The desperation in his muttered request surprised him, and a heavy realization cloaked him.

  There was much more at stake here than the wolves. For the first time in years, the animals weren’t his first concern. Taylor was. Though he was determined to protect the wolves, their importance paled when compared with hurting Taylor. He’d be angry, upset, disappointed if he lost the pack, but if he lost Taylor …

  His reaction to that thought was more violent than it had been last night. It was frightening—and exhilarating. His heart thudded in his chest as the devastating truth hit him squarely. Somewhere between wanting to shake Taylor until her teeth rattled and discovering the wonder of who she was in all of her unpredictable, irrational, infuriating glory … he’d fallen in love.

  He stared blankly around the room. He was in love. One side of his mouth twitched, then quirked up, as though drawn by an invisible string. He was in love. Suddenly he was sure of himself and his rightful place in the universe. He would go to Taylor and tell her how he felt. He’d fold her in his arms, cradle her against his hest, and gaze down into her beautiful face. And she would look up at him and … and …

  Who was he kidding? She’d look up at him and welcome his pronouncement of lifelong devotion with a sucker punch right in the gut; that’s what she’d do!

  “Oh, God.” He raked his hands through his hair. “God, help me.” He sat down on the bed with a defeated sigh and reached for his Bible. Then his eyes fixed on a small plaque on the wall just above the table.

  Curious, his heart beating with an anticipation he didn’t entirely understand, he moved closer and read the beautifully scripted words: “Do not let kindness and truth leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good repute in the sight of God and man.”

  The words washed over him, easing the self-recriminations and anger he’d been allowing into his heart. He read the plaque again, then opened his Bible to the reference, Proverbs 3:3–4, and settled back against the pillows to read and to prepare.

  Come hell or high water, before the day was out, he would tell Taylor the truth.

  EIGHTEEN

  SEVERAL HOURS LATER, CONNOR HEADED FOR THE KITCHEN for the second time that morning. This time, however, he was filled with resolve.

  He opened the door, walked in, then stopped in his tracks. Taylor sat at the table, deep in what was clearly a heated discussion with Gavin MacEwen. They looked up as he entered the room, and the expression on Gavin’s face when he saw Connor could only be described as predatory. Warning bells sounded softly in Connor’s head.

  “Connor. I’m glad you’re here.”

  At Taylor’s carefully controlled words, the warning bells went from soft to blaring. Her eyes raked him, and he saw hurt and disbelief reflected on her face. His heart sank.

  He wasn’t going to have the chance to tell Taylor anything. The Scotsman had done it for him.

  “Gavin has the most interesting bit of information,” Taylor said as Connor pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Connor drew a breath and met her eyes squarely, waiting.

  “It seems there’s a gentleman who works for an organization, the Wildlife Awareness Coalition, I believe”—she glanced at Gavin and he nodded—“a wildlife biologist. He’s a field representative, apparently. When Gavin spoke with a secretary at the organization, she said this man is on an assignment. Something to do with wolves in Wyoming. But the most interesting fact is that … he has the same name as you do.”

  Connor’s gaze didn’t waver.

  “Gavin has the idea that you’re here under false pretenses. That you weren’t looking for a job at all, but for wolves. On Galloway Glen.”

  The slight tremor in her voice as she spoke those words pierced Connor. Oh, Taylor … I’m so sorry. “He’s right.” His words were calm and steady. He gave no indication that they cost him everything.

  Taylor’s face drained of color. He started to rise to go to her, but she held up a shaking hand, halting him. Her eyes, which had never left his face, now blazed with contempt.

  He eased back into his chair. Lord … what do I say? “I see.”

  He hadn’t realized how cold—how dead—two words could be.

  She rose from her chair and walked to the doorway of the kitchen. She paused for a moment, her back to him. When she finally spoke, it was in a low, hoarse whisper.

  “I want you gone. As soon as possible. And I don’t ever want to see you again.” She spun back around, her eyes large and dark in her white face, and hurled words at him. “I trusted you! Believed in you! I even let myself care—” She closed her eyes against him.

  Even as she closed her heart. He knew it as surely as if he’d heard a door slam shut and a key turn in a lock.

  She walked from the room, her back stiff and straight.

  Connor sat there, silent, absorbing what had just happened. He wanted to hate Gavin, wanted to jump up and beat the man to within an inch of his life, … but he couldn’t deny the fact that all he’d done was reveal the truth.

  Without giving the Scotsman a glance, Connor stood and left the house. He walked to his cabin, his steps slow and heavy.

  He had lost her. Before he’d even had a chance to tell her he loved her.

  He’d never felt so sick in his life.

  Taylor sat in the living room, in her favorite chair, curled into a ball. Her face was awash with bitter tears.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could you trust him? How could you trust anyone like that?

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and Gavin came to kneel in front of her. He looked into her face, searching.

  “I was a fool.”

  “No, Taylor. You were trusting. That’s all.”

  “I should have known better. You can’t trust anyone, not if you don’t want to be hurt.”

  There was a flicker of emotion in his dark eyes. “Did he mean so much t
o you, then, lass?”

  She couldn’t answer. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Oh yes. Yes, he’d meant that much to her.

  A gentle touch on her face brought her attention back to Gavin, and when their gazes met, she saw sadness—and loss—in his mahogany eyes. Remorse swept over her.

  “Gavin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  He stopped her words with a slight shake of his head. “Taylor, it’s okay.” He took her hand in his, studying her face, taking in the feelings she couldn’t hide. “You’re sure?”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I don’t know. I wish I did. All I know is that he matters. A lot.”

  He exhaled slowly, as though breathing were painful. “So. Your heart has chosen then.”

  His eyes were dark with emotion, and she wanted to reach out, to comfort him, ease his pain, … but she couldn’t. She was the reason he was hurting.

  “It’s not what I would have wished for, but lass, I trust God to lead you to the right decision.” His smile was gentle. “And the right man. If you’re meant to be with me, you will be. But first I think you need to find out what this man really means to you. And you to him.”

  “I can’t mean too much—” a sob caught in her throat—“otherwise he wouldn’t have lied to me.” Gavin gathered her close, cradling her against his broad chest. She leaned against him, giving in to the grief that washed over her in bruising waves.

  “It’s okay, darlin’,” he said, his arms tight and protective around her. “It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Not when she had just sent away the man she loved. Despite his deceit, despite the sense of betrayal that swept over her, she could no longer deny what her heart had been telling her for weeks.

  She was in love with Connor Alexander.

  It would never be okay again.

  “Sasha, you idiot dog! Where are you!”