Love Will Find a Way

by Barbara Freethy

  Dylan laughed. "I think Wesley liked it," he said.

  She nodded, still trying to get her land legs back under her. Wesley had no such trouble, running over to the nearby hangar to check out some of the photos they had on the wall.

  "What about you?" he asked, hope in his eyes.

  She couldn't disappoint him. "It was fabulous. That's the biggest word I can think of, but it's not big enough." The pure pleasure in his expression made her heart turn over. He'd wanted her to like it more than she'd realized.

  "I'm glad," he said softly. "I'm glad you had enough faith in me to go up."

  "I'm glad you had enough faith in me to push me into it. Sometimes I need a good, swift kick ..."

  "That isn't what I want to give you."

  "You've already given me enough today." She put her palms on his chest and kissed him on the mouth, wanting to thank him in a way that words couldn't express.

  "Mommy?" Wesley's questioning voice ended the kiss.

  She turned and saw the confusion on his face and silently berated herself for forgetting that he was close by, that he wouldn't understand.

  "How come you kissed Dylan?" Wesley asked.

  She cleared her throat as she tried to think of something that would make sense. "I wanted to thank him for taking us on a great ride."

  "Oh." Wesley hesitated. "Can I thank him, too?"

  She glanced over at Dylan. "If it's all right with you?"

  Dylan didn't have time to answer, because Wesley had jumped into his arms and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. Rachel felt a knot rise in her throat when Dylan kissed Wesley's cheek in return. It was a tender, sweet moment, and one she knew she would cherish.

  "Ready to go home?" Dylan asked.

  "I won't be able to look at my home in the same way. I always thought the farm was big, but it's really very small. Maybe I made it more important than it is. You were right, Dylan. Flying over it gave me a whole new perspective."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rachel's head was still in the clouds Sunday evening as she closed up the gift shop and walked across the yard to her house. It had been a busy, full, satisfying day, though she wasn't thinking about the tourists or the sales they'd made, but about that incredible, uplifting flight over the valley.

  She paused on the steps leading to her porch and glanced up at the sky. It was a dusky evening, a bluish-purple tint the last remnant of a beautiful sunset. She would never look at the sky the same way again, she realized. Because she'd been up there. She'd flown through the clouds. She'd been as free as a bird.

  A smile crossed her lips. People flew every day; millions and millions of people had been where she'd been, seen what she'd seen. Were they changed by it? She didn't think so. They just accepted it as a way of life, a means to an end. Gary certainly hadn't raved about the experience; he'd spent far more time complaining about the delays, the bad food and the watered-down drinks. It hadn't been an incredible mind-blowing experience, just one he took for granted, part of his life, a life she didn't know.

  The screen door opened behind her. She turned her head. She wasn't surprised to see Dylan standing there. He seemed to be everywhere these days.

  "Hey," he said softly.

  "Hey."

  "I brought Wesley home. We worked on cabinets today."

  She nodded. They'd been planning to work on the house after their plane trip. "How did it go?"

  "We're making excellent progress. There are some things you'll need to think about, though."

  "Anything I have to think about right now?"

  "No."

  "Good. I'm too tired to think. Have you eaten?"

  "Actually, your grandmother just asked me to chase you down and tell you dinner will be ready in a half hour. She's got a roast baking in the oven that smells incredible."

  "I suppose you're invited to share it with us."

  "She did mention something about it. You look exhausted. Long day entertaining the city folk?"

  "You could say that." She tipped her head toward the porch swing. "Want to sit?"

  "I'm not really a porch-swing kind of guy."

  She sat down and patted the seat next to her. "Live a little dangerously."

  "Fine." He took the seat next to her.

  "You know, I don't think you were a porch-swing guy, but I have a feeling that might be changing." She gazed into his eyes. "Am I right?"

  "Maybe."

  "I'm changing, too. This morning made me very aware of that fact. My life used to be predictable. Now it's not. Getting married was the boldest thing I ever did, but you know what? I realize now I did it on my terms. I made Gary fit into my life. I made no effort to fit into his. It's no wonder he started to look elsewhere."

  "You don't know he did that."

  "I think I do. That woman wouldn't have disconnected her phone if she didn't have something to hide."

  "Well, maybe our investigator will come up with some new information this week."

  "I hope so. I'm glad we're getting some help, because this week is going to be crazy."

  "Why is that?" He put his arm along the back of the seat, his fingers brushing against her neck.

  She probably should have moved away, but when he began kneading the tight muscle in her shoulder, she simply sighed and let him do it.

  "The Harvest Festival starts next Friday and runs through the weekend," she said, trying to remember what she'd been saying.

  "Right. I've been seeing signs for it all week."

  "All the local growers take part as well as the town. There are events at every farm and also a dance at the Recreation Center on Friday night, a parade down Main Street on Saturday and a free concert in the park on Sunday afternoon."

  "Sounds like an old-fashioned blast."

  "It is -- if you like that kind of thing. Gary missed last year's festival. I think he planned it that way. He was a city boy at heart." She paused. "What was I thinking, giving one of our special apples to Gary?"

  "Especially since Gary didn't like apples," he said.

  "What do you mean? Of course he liked apples. We made tons of pies and tarts and breads and ..." She frowned. "Actually, he said he didn't care much for dessert. Hmm. Maybe you're right. Another little thing that slipped by me. I guess I was lucky he ate that first one."

  "He didn't."

  "Excuse me?"

  Dylan looked like he wished he could take the words back. "Never mind."

  "No, you need to tell me what you just said."

  "Gary didn't eat that apple. When we got in the car, he tossed it to me. I ate it."

  She stared at him in amazement. "I don't believe you." But she did. Suddenly it made sense. She jumped to her feet and walked over to the railing, grabbing it with both hands.

  "It's true." Dylan got up to stand beside her. "I didn't know until recently that that apple had any particular meaning."

  "But Gary did. He knew all about the legend. He never once mentioned that he hadn't eaten the apple. Why didn't he tell me?"

  "Maybe he thought it would have changed things. Would it? What if he'd told you before the wedding? Would you have married him, knowing he wasn't under some apple spell?"

  She knew she should say of course she would have married him, but the answer wasn't that clear in her mind. She looked away from Dylan. She could see the special tree in the distance, rising like a beacon in the night on the hills behind her grandparents' cottage. It had always stood there like a sentinel, guarding their property, nurturing their family, protecting their love.

  Dylan laid a hand on her shoulder. "It's done, Rachel. It was done a long time ago."

  "But you don't know. You don't know what it all means."

  "Tell me, then. Tell me the whole story."

  She hesitated. She didn't want to tell him, didn't want him to know how powerful the magic was, how strong it could bind two souls together, because they weren't talking about her and Gary anymore. They were talking about her and Dylan. Was that why they had thi
s strong connection? This inability to break apart and stay apart? Although they'd managed to do just that for nine years. Kept apart by Gary, by the man who was supposed to eat the apple, by the man who'd never told her that he hadn't.

  "Come with me," Rachel said, holding out her hand. She led him across the yard and up the small incline. The branches of the tree were lit by the early moonlight, as if Mother Nature wanted nothing to upstage her special tree.

  "This is it," she said in a hushed voice. "This is Lady Elaine."

  "Should I shake hands or --"

  "You should be respectful," she admonished.

  "Oh, believe me, I am, because if she's responsible for what I've been feeling all these years, she has a lot of power."

  "She does. The story begins with my great-great-grandmother Elaine," Rachel said. "She grew up in Virginia, the daughter of a poor farmer and in love with a rich boy named William. He was beyond her station, as they used to say. But one day he happened by her farm and saw her in the garden. It was a hot day, and she offered him something to drink and something to eat, a fresh apple from her tree. It was said that he took one bite and fell madly in love with her."

  "I don't suppose she happened to be beautiful."

  "Shh," she said, putting a finger to her lips, for she wanted him to hear the whole story. "She kept the seeds of that special apple and planted them outside her bedroom window, her heart full of hope for their future together. But William's parents were furious when they found out he had feelings for Elaine. In an attempt to break them up, they sent William to California to live with his uncle.

  "Elaine was devastated. But she refused to accept the idea of a life apart. So she joined an expedition, a wagon train to California. And she took with her the seedling, nurturing it and protecting it all the way across the country. It was a dangerous and hard trip for a young, innocent girl, but she was determined to make it, and she did."

  Rachel saw Dylan smile. She walked away from him and touched one of the apples hanging from the tree. As she did so, the story came alive in her head. She could almost see Elaine and William, their joyous reunion, their overwhelming love.

  "When Elaine got to California, she found William with his bags packed. She'd almost missed him; he was on his way back to find her. They were overwhelmed with love and married immediately. William's family disowned him, told him he would get nothing unless he dissolved the marriage. But William didn't need anything but Elaine. They planted the seedling behind their house right here," she said, glancing back at Dylan. "The tree grew and blossomed, the beginning of their family, my family."

  "That still doesn't explain the magic," Dylan interjected.

  "I think it explains a lot, but if you want more, there's more. Six years after their marriage, a fire swept through the orchard, burning all of the trees to the ground except this one. There was no reason the fire should have skipped this particular tree, but it did. Oh, you can say the wind turned at the right moment, but what made it turn?"

  "Magic?"

  "Exactly. My great-great-grandparents started over again with this one tree. They came to think of it as their salvation. The apples were especially tasty but only grew sparingly, and only during certain years was the bounty worth picking. No one knew why. They just knew that each apple was special, each apple was love.

  "Elaine told her children, all five of them, that if they fed an apple to their true love, that love would last forever. They had to be careful, because if it was given to the wrong person, the results could be disastrous. For the most part, they made the right choices, with a few exceptions."

  "It's a nice story," Dylan said.

  She was disappointed by his pragmatic response. "You don't believe me?"

  "I've never had much cause to believe in magic or long marriages. And I wouldn't think you would either. What about your own parents? What happened to the magic then?"

  "My mother hated apples. I'm not sure why she married my father. I think it was to escape her parents. They were very controlling. Getting married was her way out. Having children was what she gave back to my father. Once they both had what they wanted, there was no reason to stay together. But I've seen it work lots of other times."

  "What made you choose Gary? You didn't even know him."

  Rachel rolled the apple in the palm of her hand. It was smooth and cool. She could still feel the texture of the one she'd handed to Gary, still feel the butterflies in her stomach when she'd made the decision to give it to him, still feel the excitement.

  "He was so ... happy," she said, settling for a word that wasn't really right but was the only one she could think of. "He made me feel like I could be happy, like I could catch whatever he had." She paused. "I knew my dad was sick. I was losing him, losing my life, and I wanted to hold on. It was a rash thing to do. My grandmother was really worried when she found out what I'd done. But everyone came to love Gary. They figured the apple tree had worked its magic once again. Of course, they didn't know Gary never ate the apple."

  "What do you think -- now that you know?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't you?" He put his hand under her chin and looked into her eyes. "There's been a connection between us since that first day, and it's never gone away. You can call it magic. You can call it whatever you want, but it's there."

  She swallowed hard at the question in his eyes -- a question she couldn't answer. The branches from the tree cast shadows on his face. Maybe the shadows had always been there, always hiding what they felt for each other.

  "I can't wipe away the past nine years," she said. "I can't pretend they didn't exist, that I didn't live with and love someone else, because I did."

  "I'm not asking you to do that."

  "What are you asking me?"

  "I don't know, Rachel. You tell me. You're the one who believes in the legend. If the magic is real, if an apple from that tree binds two people together for all time, then what are you going to do about me?"

  "What do you want me to do?"

  "How about you stop answering questions with questions, to start with?"

  "I don't know what you want me to say."

  "Sure you do. You're just afraid to say it."

  She saw the challenge in his eyes and wanted to rise to the occasion, but she couldn't seem to get there. "I need to go. I'll tell my grandmother you have other plans for dinner."

  "That scared, huh?"

  "I think we need some time apart."

  "I think we've had too much time apart. But go, Rachel. Just remember this -- you can run, but you can't hide," he said as she turned away.

  "Oh, yeah?" she muttered, "Watch me."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "You are impossible," Carly told Travis, fighting back the urge to stomp her foot. That would be childish, and she didn't want to be childish. She wanted to be mature and sophisticated and way out of this jerk's league. But he was being nice, and she hated him for it, hated him for making her feel anything but irritation.

  "What is your problem? I just did something incredible, if I don't say so myself. I thought you'd be happy." He waved the tickets in front of her face, and she immediately grabbed them and tucked them out of sight.

  "Someone could see you," she snapped, casting a quick glance into the hallway behind them. Her grandmother and Wesley were in the kitchen, but Rachel would be back any second. "How would I explain tickets to the opening of an art gallery in San Francisco? Where did you get these anyway?"

  "A friend of mine works for a radio station in the city. I asked him to let me know if he got free tickets for anything arty."

  "I can't go," she said flatly, even though she couldn't believe she was turning this opportunity down.

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's for Friday night, the night of the Harvest Dance, and Rachel would ask where I'm going. I can't tell her that I have an interest in art."

  "You'll have to tell her someday. In fact, you should show her. I went into your basement earlier, and
--"

  "You did what?" she asked, her jaw dropping.

  "I looked at some of those other paintings you tucked away."

  "You had no right."

  "They were incredible. You have a talent, Carly, a talent you shouldn't be hiding."

  "A talent my family would hang me for,"

  "I'll take you to the gallery opening," he said. "Tell Rachel we're going out on a date. She'll be happy it's me and not Antonio."

  That reminded her. "I was going to take Antonio to the dance, another reason I can't go anywhere with you."

  "He's still in New York, isn't he?"

  "He should be back soon."

  "I assume he hasn't called you?"

  "I'm sure he's busy."

  Travis sent her a thoughtful look. "You didn't sleep with him, did you?"

  "As if that's any of your business!"

  "You didn't. I'm glad."

  "It has nothing to do with you." She didn't like the gleam in his eyes. It was more than just a knowing look, it was a look filled with something else, a something else she wasn't going to give him. "Why did you do this?"

  "Because I want you to have what you want," he said.

  She couldn't have what she wanted, not at the expense of her family. She couldn't bear to lose them, and she would lose them if they thought she was like her mother. They'd feel betrayed by her painting. She knew that with complete and utter certainty.

  "You want to go, don't you?" Travis asked.

  "Of course I want to go," she grumbled. "I would love to go."

  He smiled "Then let's do it."

  "What about the dance? Rachel won't believe I'd go on a date with you instead of to the Harvest Dance."

  "We'll figure something out."

  "But why would you want to go to an art show? You don't even like art."

  "How do you know what I like?" he challenged. "You think you know exactly who I am and what I want, but, baby, you don't have a clue. I'll pick you up five o'clock on Friday. Be ready to go." He grabbed the tickets out of her hand. "If you aren't ready, I'll go without you."

  "Like you'd go by yourself."

  "You want to take that chance?"