by Jodi Thomas
No one else had noticed them talking; they were all too busy welcoming the rest of the Matheson tribe. Hank, his mother, Claire, six-year-old Saralynn. Behind them, the sheriff, Alexandra McAllen, walked in with her parents. She moved directly to Hank’s side, and her parents hugged his mother the way lifelong friends do.
Suddenly, the room was packed. Gabe greeted everyone with a jerky nod, learning fast that in this group he really didn’t have to say anything as long as he smiled. His eyes kept searching the room for Elizabeth, expecting her to be at the end of the parade of people.
“She’s coming,” Saralynn whispered to him. “She told me to tell you she’d be a little late. Legal business.”
Gabe found himself backing out of the crowd a few inches at a time. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room . . . in the house. He was on the porch before he was even aware that he was moving. Too many people talking all at once. He could still hear Denver telling all about Pirate being shot and how after three days he was finally lapping up milk.
Gabe looked back through the window at the group. Denver seemed to be at the center; Claire hung back, dressed tonight in a black pantsuit and a cream-colored scarf covering her long auburn hair. She reminded Gabe of a Georgia O’Keeffe photograph he’d seen in an art gallery once. She seemed to be making a point of ignoring everyone in the room except her daughter.
Smiling to himself, Gabe thought that if he ever had to draw the sketch of an artist, he’d use Claire and her classic looks as his model. Gabe decided if Denver thought she liked him, he must have brain damage. The woman was not only out of his league, she was out of his atmosphere. Denver wasn’t bad looking, Gabe guessed. He had enough battle scars and stories to be interesting and a degree in history he’d never use from a college no one ever heard of, but he lacked the polish a girl like Claire would go for.
He moved to one of the chairs at the end of the porch and watched the last glow of sunset while he waited for Liz. If the storm hadn’t happened eleven days ago, Reagan wouldn’t have been hurt, he wouldn’t have gotten tossed in jail and called Liz, and they all wouldn’t be having dinner. If nothing had happened, he’d probably be visiting her at her office once a week, answering whatever question she came up with and then kissing her like there was no tomorrow. They wouldn’t have spent the night at the bed-and-breakfast holding one another, or cuddled on her mother’s couch after a meal with the family. He wouldn’t have grown used to the feel of her against him. So used to it that he missed her every hour they weren’t together. For Elizabeth this was probably just one of her monthly flings she had with men. If she knew what she meant to him, she’d have a restraining order posted against him.
He wasn’t sure he could endure all these people around even with Liz in the room, but he knew he couldn’t without her. The thought crossed his mind that he might just leave; Reagan would understand. The kid saw him for what he was. Denver might be mad that he got left behind, but maybe Claire would give him a ride back to Gabe’s place. Or, Gabe reasoned, once it was fully dark, he could walk home and leave Denver the Rover.
He watched an old clunker of a Ford rattling down the road toward the house. Jeremiah must have heard it too, because he stepped out the door and watched the boat of a car putter toward them. “Reagan!” he yelled. “That kid you invited is here.”
Gabe heard the old man mumbling something about the car needing a death certificate because there was no help for that engine.
Reagan hobbled past her uncle and made it to the edge of the porch before the car pulled to a stop.
Gabe sat still, not wanting to intrude as he watched.
A big kid of about her age climbed out of his car. He had on jeans and a black leather jacket with chains hanging from it that clanged when he walked. Gabe thought if this party had a worst-dressed list, this kid would win first, second, and third place.
“Hi, Bran.” Reagan smiled as he neared. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Look at you, Rea, you’re on your feet, almost.”
He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, telling Gabe that the kid was not her date for the night. Strange that she’d invited him, Gabe thought. The boy looked unkempt, unprepared, unwanted . . . pretty much what Gabe must have looked like at seventeen when he left this town.
The kid must have glanced through the window, because he took a step backward. “Who are all those people?”
“My uncle invited a few more to dinner than I’d planned.” She reached for his hand, but Bran was already moving backward.
“Maybe I should come some other time. I don’t know about this. I thought it was going to be just me and you and the old man.”
Gabe heard the panic in his voice and recognized it. The kid was afraid.
Reagan missed the step when she tried to catch up with him. Gabe and the kid both jumped toward her, but it was Bran who caught her by the shoulders as the crutches clamored on the walk.
“Are you all right?” He sounded near panic.
“I’m fine.” She laughed. “I just guessed wrong. I’m still not too sturdy on these things.”
Gabe reached them. “Reagan,” he snapped. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine, Gabriel.”
Gabe fought the urge to help the girl, knowing there was something else he had to do first. “Who are you?” he said to the kid.
“Brandon Biggs. I was invited.” If he hadn’t been holding Reagan up, Gabe had no doubt the kid would have puffed up preparing to fight.
“Well, Brandon, do you think you can carry her inside without banging her leg against the door? I’d do it, but I’ve got a bum leg myself and I’d hate to take a tumble with her.”
“Yes, sir,” Brandon stuttered. “I can do it.”
He carefully lifted Reagan.
She put her arms around his neck and looked back at Gabe. In the last blink of light before night, he saw understanding in her eyes. She knew exactly what he was doing and how dearly his actions would cost him, because he’d have to go back inside with them.
“I’ll bring the crutches and hold the door, Bran, but you be careful.”
When they were inside, Gabe let everyone know that Brandon had caught Reagan as she took a tumble off the porch. Everyone gathered around, fretting over Reagan and patting Bran on the back. No one seemed to notice his clothes. Aunt Pat insisted he sit down next to Reagan while she made him a plate of appetizers. Hank said they could use a good man like him at the volunteer fire department. He winked when he said that catching women in peril was their favorite duty.
Gabe moved back. It felt good to think of someone besides himself. As they moved to the kitchen to fill their plates, Gabe held the swinging door for all, then stood watching the chaos of people finding chairs and filling plates and passing drinks down the table.
A gentle arm slid around his waist a moment after he smelled Elizabeth near.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered as she leaned one hip against his leg. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes,” he whispered as he let the door swing closed. They were alone in the dining room. She shifted and was suddenly in his arms.
“Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?” she asked. “Or do I have to think of a question first?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I’m glad you came. I was about to bolt,” he said, moving along her cheek toward her mouth.
“Prove you missed me,” she whispered, and in the few minutes before anyone noticed they weren’t in the kitchen, he did.
When they joined the others, they found that the only seats left were across the table from one another, but it didn’t matter. He noticed that her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly swollen. They had no chance to talk, but when he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, she blushed, and he knew they were both remembering how she’d pulled his lip into her mouth and bitten down gently.
Gabe could have been eating dog food for all the attention he paid. He loved watching the way the stray curls on her
forehead sometimes brushed over her eyebrows and how she laughed when her brother teased her. Gabe liked the way she looked at him with those fiery green eyes.
Never had a woman affected him so, and he had a feeling none would ever again.
Chapter 35
TRUMAN FARM
DENVER SIMS SAT AT THE END OF THE TABLE, A ROOM away from Claire and her little girl. He watched her as he talked and laughed with everyone around him. She spoke only to Saralynn and to her aunts on either side of her. Most of the meal he thought she looked bored, as though this were just something she had to endure.
He made up his mind about the time everyone moved to the parlor for cake and the opening of gifts that he wouldn’t say a word to her, wouldn’t try to get close, and definitely wouldn’t touch her. If Claire wanted a repeat of what had happened in the hallway of her family’s ranch house, she’d have to come to him.
While Reagan opened her gifts, Denver ate two pieces of cake and tried to act like he cared about the books and necklaces and jewelry boxes she opened. He thought, of course, that the shotgun he and Gabe gave her was the best present, but no one else seemed to think so. Claire even frowned.
Truman got her the strangest gift. An apple tree. He told her it was one of fifty he ordered, and come spring they’d start a new orchard behind the house just for her. By the time she was twenty-five, she’d be making pies from her own apples.
No one else thought the gift was special, but Reagan cried and kissed her uncle’s cheek.
When Truman brushed away the kiss, he said, “It’s time you put down roots that will last a lifetime, girl.” Then as an afterthought, he handed her a piece of paper.
Reagan opened it and looked up at him. He nodded and said, “It’s legal. I had Elizabeth make sure today.”
Liz smiled.
Everyone else remained silent for a moment before Reagan said without looking at anyone but her uncle. “He deeded the place over to me for my eighteenth birthday. He’ll have managing control of it as long as he lives, but it’s mine as of today.”
No one spoke. They all knew Truman. He hadn’t bought a new car in his life. He used and reused everything on his place. He pinched every penny. He loved his land above all else.
And he’d just given it away.
When the realization of what Truman had just done spread across the room, everyone started talking at once. The old man wasn’t telling Reagan he loved her and she was family, he was showing her that she was more important than his land. Denver understood because he’d grown up with people who loved their land, but understanding and feeling the same were two different things.
He could never love land more than his freedom. Whenever he went home he always felt like his family was tied to the land. Two of his sisters had never even flown in an airplane. When he offered them free flights, they both said no because they didn’t think they could get away.
Denver watched Reagan Truman’s face. She loved the land. Her uncle had guessed right. He’d just given her the world.
Denver noticed that Gabe stood silently behind them all, watching. These were the descendants of the three families who had started Harmony. They had roots so deep in this town that no one and nothing would ever blow them down. No matter how long Gabe stayed around or how many dinners he attended, he’d never be a part of them.
And neither will I, Denver realized. Men like Leary and him were drifters. They were the soldiers, the cops, the warriors of this world who fought for and believed in a life like this, but never lived it.
Denver moved through the swinging door to the kitchen, knowing that no one would miss him now. They were talking of the town, their land, their homes.
He wrapped a white butcher’s apron around his waist and began picking up dishes. When he was growing up, boys and girls alike were expected to help with cleanup. Sometimes he thought his older sisters kept having babies so they could get out of most of the chores.
He had the table cleared by the time he heard the swinging door creak. When he looked up, he was surprised to see Claire.
For a moment, their eyes met and he knew she hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen.
“All the men went down to see the tractor Truman is restoring,” she said with the emotion of a news anchor.
He turned back to the sink. “Where’s everyone else?” He really didn’t care, but he had to say something or the door might swing closed.
“The McAllens went home. Their son, Noah, called and decided to drive in late tonight from Dallas, and they were a little worried about him being on the roads. It might freeze after midnight. My great-aunts are showing Reagan how to quilt, since she’s going to have to stay off her feet for a while. My mother is looking bored. Saralynn is asleep with her head on Mom’s lap. Liz has vanished, which is nothing unusual.”
“Oh,” he said, without looking at her. “Thanks for the report.”
“I left out Tyler Wright, who missed the whole party because he had to make a pickup tonight.”
He could sense her coming closer, but he didn’t turn around.
When she was three feet behind him, she drew in a long breath and said, “I think I should take this opportunity to tell you that I hate you.”
“Oh,” he said, as if she were still giving the weather report.
“Yes, but don’t take it too personal. Since my husband left me three years ago with no money and a child with thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills, I’ve pretty much hated all men.”
He dried his hands on a dish towel and turned around, leaning against the sink.
He could tell it bothered her that he now faced her. She moved a few inches back and jerked slightly.
“What happened the other night should have never happened. I’m not ready for something like that. I may never be ready. We should both forget it happened because it will never happen again.” Every word sounded rehearsed.
He saw her chin lift and a tear threaten to fall. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “Nothing happened. Nothing’s going to happen that you can’t handle . . . that you don’t want.”
She looked at him then, surprised by his words. Then she gave a jerky nod, and a few strands of her hair pulled free of the knot she’d so carefully constructed. “Then it’s settled between us.”
“It’s settled,” he echoed, knowing he had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing was settled, and they both knew it.
One tear bubbled over and slid slowly down her cheek.
He tossed the towel on the sink and lifted his hand. “Come here, baby, let me hold you.”
She didn’t move.
He brushed his fingers along her arm until he reached her hand, then tugged her to him. She was stiff in his arms, but he hugged her. A big bear kind of hug that his sisters told him women want from the cradle to the grave.
“It’s all right, Claire,” he whispered against her ear. “It’s all right.”
Slowly she warmed against him, and he felt her silent tears on his shoulder. When she pulled away, he didn’t try to hold her.
“Meet me, Claire. Anywhere. Anytime.”
She smiled for a blink. “All right, for a few minutes.” She straightened, as if what he asked was only a small favor, no more. “Coffee at the Blue Moon.”
“I have no idea where the Blue Moon is, but I’ll find it. What time?”
“I take Saralynn to school tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you there a little after eight.”
“I’ll be waiting.” It took all the self-control he could muster not to kiss her. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever encountered. Beautiful, strong, aloof, vulnerable.
A moment later their time together was over and everyone was leaving the party. There were hugs and promises to do dinner again sometime, but Claire kept her distance and Denver didn’t mind. She was a quest, a mountain to be climbed, and he’d take his time. Easy women were rarely worth the effort, but women like Claire might just be worth a lifetime if he thought he could make her h
appy.
“Ready,” Gabe said, pulling him back to reality.
“Let’s move.” They were out the door and rushing to his Land Rover. Both had had about all the socializing they could stomach.
Once on the way, Gabe said, “You think Reagan liked our gift?”
Denver laughed. “No.”
“You still crazy about Claire?”
Denver shrugged. “Yeah. Why?”
“I could tell at dinner she was really starting to warm up to you.” Gabe fought down a laugh. “Well, at least she didn’t throw any silverware at you or try to kill you. You do know she paints pictures of men dying horrible deaths, don’t you? She’s not your type.”
“I don’t have a type, but if I did, she’d be it. Watch, she’ll be crazy about me in no time.” He wished he were half as sure as he sounded.
A few minutes later they pulled up to the house. Both men were now on full alert. The laughter of the dinner was forgotten. They were worried about what might be out there in the night, waiting. They went through the house and checked the alarms as if it were a drill they’d done a hundred times.
But all was calm. Pirate even got up and slowly walked to meet them. All seemed normal. Gabe reset the alarm and said, “I talked to Alex before dinner tonight, and she said she read her deputy’s report and thinks it’s probably kids. This time of year they like to go out shooting at coyotes at night. Some of the ranchers have a real problem with them.”
“The coyotes or the kids?” Denver asked.
Gabe smiled. “Both, I guess. Alex said if they were just driving down the road, they might have thought my dog was a coyote. We need to be very careful. I don’t mind killing someone coming after me, but I’d hate the thought of hurting one of the locals.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Denver added, “She say anything else?”
“Just a weird fact one of the deputies noticed. He said until a few months ago, Timber Line Road rarely had a car down it after dark, but lately traffic has picked up.”
“More teenagers?”
Gabe shrugged.
“You’re thinking it could be whoever is looking for Wiseman, but I don’t know. What are the chances, after five years, that the guys who talked about shutting you up for good are still looking?”