Love Will Find a Way

by Barbara Freethy

Secrets. She'd never thought much about them. They were the gossipy little tales you told when you were young and swore you'd never tell another soul. They were about goofy things like who liked whom and where you stashed your chocolate and what you'd really bought at the bookstore when your dad asked.

  Rachel smiled, remembering the elaborate lie she'd made up just so she could buy a sexy novel. She'd read it at night with a flashlight under her covers when she was fifteen years old. And no one had known. No one had suspected that she had questions about sex and love and desire. Her grandmother had tried to do her duty by giving her the motherly talk, but the abstract conversation had done little to help Rachel in terms of what hooking up meant in high school.

  She had tried to do better by Carly, to be open and honest and frank. She sighed, thinking of how she'd failed. Not about sex, maybe, but about everything else. Carly had had her own secret, her own desire, her own worries. And Carly had had no one to talk to either. She hadn't hidden in her bedroom. She'd hidden in the basement.

  Secrets. So much more a part of her life than Rachel had ever known.

  Gary and secrets. There was another combination that Rachel didn't want to think about but couldn't avoid. Maybe he hadn't done with Carly what she'd initially feared, but he had kept her visit to the city and her passion for painting a secret. Why? Why had his loyalty been more to Carly than to her, his wife? Had it not been that important to him? Had he thought of it as Carly's secret, rather than his own?

  How she wished she could talk to him, ask him all the things that were bothering her. Ask him how they'd gotten so off the track, how they'd lost touch with each other, how they'd gone from being intimate to being distant. Had it happened overnight, in a week, in a month, in a year? Or had it happened over time? If he'd lived, would they have stayed together?

  She'd never know. No matter what she and Dylan found out, she'd never know that.

  The crunching of leaves and the soft sound of footsteps told her someone was coming. She didn't have to turn her head to know it was Dylan.

  He'd followed her again. The way he'd followed her before. And it wasn't until just this moment that she realized how disappointed she would have been if he hadn't come after her.

  He draped an afghan around her shoulders, then dropped down next to her, not saying a word, not needing to.

  A second later, she put out her hand and he took it. They sat there for a long time, just listening to the night. She'd come to this spot searching for peace, for a connection to the past, to the strength of those who had lived and loved before her. But the tree hadn't given her the comfort she craved. It had come now, with Dylan.

  "How is Carly?" she asked finally.

  "Worried."

  "I should go back and talk to her."

  "It will wait. How are you?"

  "I'm better now. Now that you're here."

  He squeezed her fingers. "It's been a long night. Are you cold? Do you want to go inside?"

  "Not yet. You don't have to stay, though." She felt compelled to say the words, even though the last thing she wanted him to do was to go.

  "You're not getting rid of me that easily. So what about Carly? What are you thinking?"

  "I overreacted, didn't I?"

  "It's just art, Rachel. A lot of people in the world like to paint. It doesn't make them deserters."

  "It made my mother one."

  "Carly is not your mother. She isn't married or with children. She's free to do what she wants to do. And she wants to paint. More than that, she wants your blessing to paint."

  Rachel shook her head in bewilderment. "I still don't understand how she could like art. After everything we lost because of it."

  "She was just a baby when your mother left. She doesn't remember."

  "I remember. I remember that the only time I had with my mother was when I sat for a painting. Then I'd had her undivided attention. The rest of the time she didn't even see me. I wanted her to see me so badly. I loved her."

  "What was she like?"

  "Beautiful. Her voice was soft, her laughter like music. She didn't laugh much with us, but when her artist friends came over, she couldn't stop. I'd sneak downstairs and listen to their parties. We weren't enough for her. Now I feel like we're not enough for Carly."

  "You mean you're not enough for Carly."

  "It sounds so selfish when you say it like that. I want her to be happy, Dylan, I really do. I love her. I just don't want to let her go. But I know I have to. I have to let her be who she is." She glanced over at him. "I'll tell her in the morning."

  "Good," he said approvingly, and she felt a surge of pleasure.

  His opinion had become important to her. He had become important to her. She'd known it all along, but tonight the words needed to be spoken.

  "I'm glad you're here," she said. "You're fast becoming a huge part of my life, in case you hadn't noticed."

  "You've always been a big part of mine," he said.

  "Even with all the years between us?"

  "They seem like nothing now, don't they?"

  "Like the blink of an eye. Times passes faster than we realize."

  "Which is why we shouldn't waste one second of it."

  "You're right."

  They fell silent for a moment. It was a beautiful night, filled with stars.

  "I never realized how much I liked quiet until I came here," Dylan mused. "I've always lived with noise, radios blaring while we work, the roar and hum of power tools, the television on when I'm at home. Quiet was never one of my goals."

  "Quiet gives you time to think. And you don't like to do that."

  "I don't. Very perceptive, Rachel."

  "What's wrong with thinking?"

  "When I was a kid, I spent too much time feeling sorry for myself or being frustrated with the terrible tragedies that I couldn't change – Jesse's death, my parents' divorce, my mother's remarriage. Not a tragedy to her, but it wasn't good for me."

  "You had it rough."

  "Yeah, well, focusing on it didn't get me anywhere. But staying busy, making goals, working hard, that gave me purpose and a little bit of peace."

  "Because you could outrun your thoughts. I wonder if Gary felt a little bit the same way."

  Dylan laughed. "No, Gary didn't have that many thoughts to outrun. I loved the guy, but he wasn't a deep thinker. For him it was never about the bad stuff but about the possibilities. The glass was always half full, not half empty."

  She couldn't help but smile back. "You're right. Gary was a dreamer. That's what appealed to me about him from the first second I met him. Maybe that was his escape mechanism. He just dreamed away his problems. He focused on the positive, on what could be, instead of what was." She paused. "Maybe he did that in our marriage, too. He was always talking about the future. I just never realized it was because he wasn't that happy in the present."

  "He was happy."

  "We don't know that any more, Dylan."

  "Gary didn't kill himself. I don't know what happened, but I know he didn't do that. He was the dreamer, just like you said. He wouldn't give up on life, not with you and his son waiting for him."

  His words reassured her. "I hope that's true. But there are so many secrets coming out."

  "Everyone has secrets. You were my secret – the only one I ever kept from Gary."

  She saw the pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry about that."

  "It was never your fault."

  "I didn't exactly push you away when you kissed me. And it wasn't just that night. I liked spending time with you, Dylan. I was thinking the other day that when it was the three of us before marriage, Gary was always the one in the center of the party, and you and I were usually on the outskirts, laughing at whatever he was doing, but we weren't part of it. And sometimes we weren't even watching him; we were just talking to each other."

  "Until Gary would come over and grab you and sweep you away," Dylan said. "I hated when that happened. I hated the smile you gave him, how willing you wer
e to go wherever he wanted to go."

  She drew in a deep breath. "He swept me off my feet. I'd never been in love before. I'd been living on a farm. I didn't know anything. I just went with the feelings I had."

  He nodded. "I know. You loved him."

  "He was easier to love than you were," she said. "He was more transparent, less complicated. You were darker. I think even then I sensed the turmoil in you. It scared me."

  His gaze bored into hers. "Does it still scare you? Because I haven't really changed."

  "No, it doesn't scare me," she said. "It excites me. I want to get through all your guard walls. I want to peel away the layers of protection that you wear."

  "And then what?" he asked.

  "Then I can really love you," she murmured.

  His breath caught, desire flashing in his eyes. "Do you want to?"

  "Yes," she said.

  "I can't believe you're saying that."

  "I can't really either. I'm a little scared of what comes next. I've always been responsible, practical, smart, and this doesn't feel like any of those things."

  "No, it doesn't," he agreed, a smile playing across his lips. "Thank God. Aren't you tired of being a responsible adult?"

  "That's what I am. That's what you are, Dylan," she pointed out.

  "Yeah, and I'm sick of it. I think we should be a little crazy for once."

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Let's see. A pretty girl, a warm blanket, some soft grass, a lot of moonlight... I can work with this."

  She laughed. "You are quite the smooth talker, but I'd suggest a little less talking and a lot more action."

  "Action, huh?" He gave her a gentle shove, so that she was on her back and he was leaning over her. "I'll show you action." He ran his hand down the side of her face in a tender caress. "I want to make love to you, Rachel."

  "Here?" A thrill ran down her spine. "Do you think we should?"

  "Absolutely not. Let's do it anyway," he said with a wicked smile. "Are you feeling reckless?"

  "Yes, but do you have anything with you? Like protection?"

  "Still trying to be responsible, huh?"

  "I'm trying." She swallowed hard as his hips moved against hers with just the right amount of pressure to create a great deal of pleasurable friction. Soon she would not be remembering her name, much less protection.

  "I have one in my wallet," he said.

  "Well, why didn't you say so?"

  He smiled down at her, his finger tracing the curve of her lips. Then his eyes grew more serious. "I want you, Rachel, everything you're willing to give. Maybe you don't know this about me yet, but I'm greedy as hell."

  "I'll give you everything I can -- tonight. I can't make any promises beyond that."

  "I'm not asking for any."

  "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt me. But I don't have a road map. I don't know where we're going. And I'm not sure how we're going to get there."

  "We'll find out together, Rachel." He paused. "Maybe we should take a page out of Gary's book and just go where the road takes us. To hell with maps. After all, that's how we met the first time around."

  She put her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her. "Show me the way," she murmured.

  He answered her with a kiss, his lips warm and hungry. She wanted Dylan inside her again, as close as they could be to each other. She wanted to hold on and never let go.

  Dylan must have felt the urgency for his mouth answered hers, and his hands moved under her dress. She helped him pull it over her head, welcomed his mouth to the corner of her neck, his fingers to the clasp of her bra and finally, with great relief, his callused palms to the swells of her breasts.

  "So soft," he murmured, taking a moment to just look at her. "I want to do this slow, but I don't think I can."

  "We can do slow later," she murmured, pulling his head down to hers. "Right now I need you."

  "I need you, too," he murmured. And he proceeded to show her just how much.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rachel awoke to the sun breaking through the branches of the apple tree. Her head was on Dylan's shoulder, her arm around his waist, their bodies still bare as they lay on the grass, the afghan their only protection against the bright, piercing eye of dawn. It was another day. Tomorrow had come after all.

  Dylan stirred against her. "Is it morning?"

  "Yes. We better get dressed before anyone wakes up and finds us here. She tried to grab her clothes, but Dylan rolled her onto her back and nestled his face into the side of her neck. "It's not that early, the sun is barely up."

  "This is a farm, people get up early."

  He ran his tongue around the edge of the mouth she was trying to keep closed. "You are so disciplined. I find that very sexy."

  She laughed at that. "I have a feeling you find everything sexy in the morning."

  "Just you," he said with a boyish grin that made her heart turn over. She liked seeing him this way, relaxed and happy.

  "I'm glad. Now let me get dressed."

  "All right, if you insist."

  When they had finished dressing, she folded the blanket and got to her feet. "Today will be crazy. The festival is only half over. I need to pick up Wesley, then get back to work."

  "Back to reality," he said somewhat grimly.

  "You knew it would come."

  "It always does."

  They walked down the hill. They didn't say another word until they reached his car. Then he turned to her. "Last night was amazing, Rachel."

  "It was." She drew in a breath. "But I don't know where we go from here. Our lives are in different worlds. And I don't have much luck holding on to people."

  "Maybe you've been trying to hold on to the wrong people. Maybe you need someone who wants to hold on to you."

  "Oh, Dylan," She touched his face in a gesture of love. "You make it sound easy, but it's not going to be. There are still a lot of questions and not just about Gary."

  He caught her hand and pressed it against his lips. "I know, but the answers will come, all of them."

  "I just hope they're the right answers."

  "Me, too."

  * * *

  Carly was asleep on the couch in the living room when Rachel entered the house. She paused and studied her baby sister's face. She'd been looking at Carly asleep for twenty years, she realized, watching over her like a mother hen. It would be hard to let her go, but she would do it because she wanted her sister to be happy.

  Carly slowly stretched and opened her eyes, coming fully awake when she saw Rachel watching her. She sat up, her tangled hair falling about her shoulders, her eyes still red from the night before.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "You are?"

  "Yes." She sat down at the other end of the couch. "I love you, Carly. I want you to do what makes you happy. I want you to live where you feel comfortable, where you belong."

  "Even if that's not here?"

  "Even if. I don't know why I expected you to stay. Look at our history. Elaine came across the country in a wagon train to follow her heart. Why shouldn't you go where love takes you?"

  "I thought it would be easier if I went with a man. That you would understand love and marriage more than you would understand a passionate desire to paint."

  "So that's where Antonio comes in. I wondered."

  "He's not really interested in me. I guess it's a good thing I didn't actually feed him one of our special apples."

  "You wouldn't want to tie yourself to the wrong man for all of eternity, that's for sure."

  Carly looked tremendously relieved. "I can't believe you're being so great about this. I should have told you before."

  "You should have, but I probably wasn't ready to hear it then. I've had tunnel vision and a steel grip on the people I love. I know now that I can't hold on to someone who doesn't want to be here."

  "It's not that I don't love you, Rachel. You've been the best sister ever."
/>   "You've got that right. Now, you better get dressed so you can help me today. You can't leave until after the Harvest Festival, deal?"

  "Deal."

  Rachel got to her feet, then paused. "You weren't really planning Travis's mother's birthday party last night, were you?"

  Carly's face lit up. "No, Travis took me to the opening of an art gallery in San Francisco. It was so cool, Rachel, and Travis knows this man who owns another gallery and he wants to see my paintings."

  "That's amazing."

  "Nothing will probably come of it, but I can't believe someone wants to see my work."

  "It was nice of Travis to set that up."

  Carly waved a hand as if she didn't care. "He's always butting into my business."

  She smiled to herself, wondering if it had occurred to Carly yet that leaving Rachel and her family wouldn't be half as hard as leaving the annoyingly irresistible Travis. And wasn't it a complete and utter irony that Carly would fall for a country boy and Rachel would fall for a city guy? Just went to show the best-laid plans ... "We always do things the hard way, don't we?" she said.

  Her sister nodded. "I'll deal with Travis. Don't worry."

  "First we deal with the festival. I'll meet you at the barn in an hour. I have the perfect job for you."

  "What's that?"

  "Face painting. After all, you're the artist in the family."

  * * *

  At precisely five o'clock on Sunday, Rachel declared the Harvest Festival officially over. Unfortunately, she had no one to declare it to except herself. The family, the temporary workers they'd hired for the weekend and the tourists had all vanished. Most had headed off to enjoy the free concert in the park. The others had no doubt gone to find rest, relaxation and cooler temperatures, she thought, fanning herself with the last of the gift-shop brochures.

  It was time to take herself off for something or somewhere, but she'd been living from moment to moment for the past forty-eight hours and hadn't given much thought to what she'd do this evening. Wesley and Carly had gone into town with her grandparents, leaving her alone to finish putting things away. Of course, they'd begged her to come, too, but she'd refused. In truth, she'd been looking forward to some quiet time.

  Too much had happened in her life these past few weeks. She wanted a chance to let it all sink in. She wanted a moment to absorb everything she'd discovered. However, now that she had that moment, she felt more restless than peaceful. She wondered what Dylan was doing -- if he was sitting on the grass listening to the musicians, or holed up in his hotel room doing some paperwork, or maybe he was working at her house.