Once Upon Forever

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  She had the oddest dream. She wasn’t herself any longer. She was instead Larissa Courtney Breckinridge, and she was seeing her husband off to the war. But her husband wasn’t Hunter in his spanking-new U.S. Cavalry uniform. He was Jeff Layton in crisp khakis, his Navy wings of gold gleaming in the bright sunlight on the airstrip as he stood beside his sleek jet, saying a final farewell to his fiancée before he went into the hangar to don his flight suit and leave her … forever.

  The big, brown-haired, brown-eyed lieutenant draped his arm across the bare shoulders of the delicate, silver-haired beauty at his side. Her long gown, hoop skirt, and dainty lace gloves looked startlingly out of place with jets screaming overhead, but her beau seemed not to notice.

  He leaned down and nuzzled her cheek. “Darling, do you still respect me after last night?”

  A tremor ran through Cluney, or was she truly Larissa? She felt a blush warm her face. “Please don’t joke about last night, Jeff. It was wonderful. It was precious. Something I can hold onto until you come home.”

  “Wait for me?” he said, his husky voice, serious now.

  “You know I will.” She was trying so hard not to cry, but it was no use.

  “Hey, you better cut off the waterworks or you’ll have me getting all misty, too. Come here, sweetheart.”

  He drew her into his arms, pulling her so close that her hoops tilted dangerously. Then he kissed her—a long, deep, soul-rending kiss. It was the kind of kiss that tasted of parting—the kind that was meant to last for months so that they could both dream about it at night or just lie in bed savoring its memory when they couldn’t sleep because they were apart and, oh, so lonely.

  “I love you,” he whispered when they finally parted. “Have I ever told you that before?”

  “About a million times,” she answered, forcing her bravest smile, “but it sounds better every time I hear it.”

  “Do you love me?”

  She clung to him and suddenly her tears flowed freely; there was no way she could stop them now. “You know I do, Jeff. Oh, yes, I love you, darling.”

  “Write to me?”

  “Every single day!”

  She hated the pause that came next. She knew what he was working up to. They’d been separated before—not for months, but only weeks was bad enough. Right now, holding him and having his arms around her, knowing that she wouldn’t feel his embrace again for at least six months, was almost more than she could bear. And his next words to her, she knew, would be, “Well, so long, darling. I’ll be home before you know it. Meantime, take good care of yourself for me.”

  She bit her lip until it almost bled when he began that goodbye speech. Tomorrow would be easier than today. Jeff would be gone, but he would also be one day closer to returning to her. Right now, this minute, he was as close to her as he could be in public, yet as far away from coming home as he could get.

  He said the very words she’d dreaded, kissed her one last, quick time, then turned to leave. In that moment, her loneliness was so deep that her soul ached with it.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t bear to be without him, he reached out and squeezed her hand.

  Cluney jolted awake, but still seemed in a fog. She thought she heard the scream of a jet taking offjust before her eyes opened. But that couldn’t be. There were no planes in 1863. There was only the Civil War and the wounded man lying beside her in the bed—the man who had squeezed her hand.

  “Who were you dreaming about, Larissa?”

  “My one and only love,” she whispered, not in answer to Hunter’s question or even for his ears, but as a final, hopeless plea for her doomed lover to come back.

  “I suspected as much,” he said in a raspy voice. “You seemed a million miles away. I sensed you were not with me.”

  “I’m right here,” Cluney answered softly. Then she added silently, I was only a hundred and twenty-nine years away.

  Hunter’s next words gave Cluney a jolt, as if she were hearing an eerie echo. “I suppose it’s useless to say this to you now, but I love you. Have I ever told you that before?”

  Likewise, her answer echoed from her dream. “About a million times.”

  His hand slid from hers. His face suddenly etched with pain, his voice almost surly, he replied, “Then I won’t impose upon you by ever saying it again, Larissa.”

  She could only stare at him, wondering what she had done to anger him so.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, without a notion why she felt compelled to apologize. She knew only that she must.

  Chapter Nine

  When Hunter Breckinridge had first heard Larissa’s voice hours before, he’d figured for sure he was dead. By rights he certainly should be. How else could he find old Trooper and Larissa at the same moment? He’d told himself that he’d simply passed through the Pearly Gates sometime while he slept, and there they both were waiting for him.

  Although preachers claimed that animals had no souls and, therefore, couldn’t get into heaven, Hunter knew for certain that his old hound, Trooper—reportedly shot by a mean-spirited Reb—was lying right beside him. He knew the feel of his dog, the sound of his voice, the very smell of his beloved companion. Wherever they were, there was no doubting that he and old Troop had been reunited.

  Then, for a time, there had been the other heavenly evidence—the woman beside him. He was pretty sure she was his Larissa—the only woman he had ever loved. It was sobering to admit that he knew his dog better than he knew his wife, but it was true all the same. He and Larissa, although they’d known each other all their lives, had shared a bed only twice before he went away to war, whereas he and old Troop had slept on the same feather mattress every night for as long as Hunter could recall. Except, of course, on his wedding night and the night before he left for the war.

  Still thinking he was dead, Hunter had decided that it wasn’t so bad. If passing over meant he and Larissa could be together the way he’d always hoped it would be, then heaven really was paradise. That line of thinking had ended abruptly the minute Larissa mentioned another man—her one and only love. He shouldn’t have been surprised. But how did she expect that to make him feel?

  Rigid on the bed, Hunter seethed silently, but tried to cover the pain in his heart. He supposed it was brave of Larissa to admit to her husband that she was still thinking of his brother. But, damn! It hurt so bad to hear her admit that Jordan was still on her mind after all that had happened.

  Didn’t she know he was dying? Couldn’t she have pretended for just a short while? Why hadn’t she simply taken salt and rubbed it into his open wounds? But then Larissa had ever been honest, sometimes too honest for her own good.

  “Hunter, are you all right?”

  He knew Larissa’s voice so well. She sounded genuinely concerned and loving. How could she do this to him? Didn’t she know she was tearing him apart?

  If he were able, he would rise up from the bed this minute and grab her and shake her. Then he’d take her in his arms and make fierce love to her, punish her for ever thinking about anyone else.

  No, I wouldn’t! he told himself. He knew that, if he were able, he would make love to her—yes, fierce love. But it would be with all the tenderness and passion that he had withheld from her on their wedding night.

  He had thought once that all would be perfect harmony when they married. How wrong he had been! And it was all his fault. He could blame his brother if he liked, but Hunter knew he had been unfair to the woman he loved.

  Yes, this was Larissa, there was no doubt in his mind. But having her here was more hell than heaven, he decided. He wanted her! And he wanted everything to be right between them again.

  All night she had stayed right beside him. He was so aware of her presence that he ached. His dreams had been happy ones for a change. He had drifted back to their happiness before their wedding night instead of wandering dark paths, searching for her. He had relived her sweet shyness the night they fir
st made love. He had heard her once more swearing her everlasting devotion to him. He had kissed her so tenderly that night, holding her in his arms until he ached to possess her forevermore. She had returned his gentle affection, letting her hands trail over his hard body, exploring and glorying in his strength. Jordan had not come between them that night, and what a wonder their love had been!

  Everything had been wonderful until the night before their wedding, until he found out his bride’s secret.

  Now, as he lay in the darkness, feeling her near, he could only wonder if he would still have to do battle for his wife’s affections. Was Jordan even now a part of her life?

  At times during the night, he’d heard her crying softly. The sound broke his heart. He knew the source of her sadness. Her tears were not for him. She was crying for his brother. The two of them were together again—Hunter and his wife. So why else should she sound so sad?

  For the longest time now, he’d been drifting in and out. He opened his eyes every now and again, but saw only darkness. Earlier, he might have cursed aloud at not being able to see Larissa’s face. But not now. Now his blindness seemed a blessing. How could he look on her beauty, knowing that she was thinking of another?

  He ached, remembering the sweetness of her face. Her countenance was imprinted forever in his mind’s eye—her lovely blushrose skin, her searching eyes of Clair de Lune-blue, her delicate mouth, and all that long, wonderfully silky hair the color of moonlight that wrapped around him when they made love.

  No, he needed no eyes to see Larissa. Nor could he exorcise her image from his dreams.

  Both Hunter and Cluney slept fitfully till dawn. She woke first and watched him for a time, wondering at his sudden flash of anger last night. She still couldn’t think what she might have done to upset him so.

  His lips moved silently and she guessed that he was finally waking up. She hoped he was. She’d been sitting up in a hard chair all night and she ached to move about, to stretch her arms and legs and back. But she dared not leave him until Mary or Free came to relieve her.

  As she watched, his eyes flickered open.

  “Hello there,” she said softly. “You’re awake at last.”

  “You’re still here, Larissa?” He sounded pleased, yet surprised.

  “You still can’t see, can you?”

  He raised one hand to his eyes, then waved it impatiently. “That doesn’t matter. What would I want to see, anyway? A little while ago, I was sure I’d died and gone to heaven. But that’s not so, is it?”

  Cluney glanced around the shabby room. “No. This certainly isn’t heaven.”

  “I should have figured,” he answered. Then he gave a sharp laugh, followed by a ragged cough. “If it were heaven, there’d be no pain any longer, and I’d be able to see the whole universe at a glance.”

  “Do you really believe that’s the way heaven will be?” Cluney asked. She’d never given it much thought.

  “I certainly hope so,” he answered. “I suppose I’ll be finding out soon enough.”

  “Don’t talk that way. You’re going to get well.”

  “Why should I want to get well?” he asked. “So I can go back to the war and let the Rebs finish me off?”

  “What about your home, your family?”

  “My home has probably been burned to the ground by now. As for my family—you tell me, Larissa.”

  Cluney didn’t know what he expected her to say. And she didn’t know what to do. He obviously was convinced that she was his lost wife, but something seemed wrong between them. Maybe the medicine Mary Renfro had given him had confused him.

  Hunter clearly wanted and needed to believe that Cluney was his wife. But how could she, in good conscience, participate in such a strange masquerade? It was dishonest and, in the end, it could prove far more painful to him than the truth. She sighed, unwilling to deal with the problem at present. If he was truly dying, as Mrs. Renfro said, what harm could it do to give him a few days’ happiness by pretending? Maybe that was the true reason she was here.

  “You really shouldn’t waste all your strength talking,” she warned gently. “You need to rest.”

  The old hound shifted positions on the bed and Hunter reached down to pat him.

  “The servants at Bluefield told me my dog was dead, shot right through the heart. I never believed it, though. Did you have old Troop with you all the time, Larissa?”

  Cluney thought for a moment, then answered honestly, “No. He just wandered out of the woods when I was coming up to the Renfro place. You know how faithful hounds are. He probably followed your scent all the way here from Bluefield.”

  Hunter tugged his dog’s ear affectionately. “Good old Trooper! You’re my family, aren’t you, pal?” Then he turned back to Cluney. “What about you, Larissa? Where have you been all this time? How did you find me here?”

  Cluney squirmed in her cane-bottom chair. She had no answers for his questions. Should she try to make things up as she went along or simply tell him the truth? Evasion, she decided, was probably the best course.

  “I’ll tell you everything later. Right now, you need something to eat. I’m sure Mrs. Renfro has breakfast ready for you.”

  She rose and stretched.

  “Don’t go just yet.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it,” she assured him.

  “Larissa?” He spoke the name sharply.

  Cluney hesitated, then finally said, “Yes?”

  “Before you go, kiss me, won’t you? It’s been a long time. After so long, a man aches to touch his wife.”

  Cluney stared down at Hunter. The pain in his face tore at her heart. He needed to be kissed and he deserved to be. Any man who adored his wife the way Hunter Breckinridge obviously adored his Larissa should be kissed. Cluney reminded herself that she’d kissed a lot of other guys with a lot less reason for doing so. Besides, what could it hurt?

  She moved to the bed. “Of course, I’ll give you a kiss.”

  Trying to be careful not to hurt him, Cluney leaned down over Hunter, closing her eyes as her lips pressed his gently.

  Her shock was total when he captured her with his good arm and pulled her close. Cluney hadn’t meant to kiss him this way. She’d thought to give him only a swift, soft press of lips. But Hunter had other plans for his long-lost bride. His mouth claimed hers with a fierce hunger. She sprawled—half on the bed, half off—as his fingers tangled in her hair, holding her for a long, deep, thorough kiss.

  Cluney was very aware of her breasts crushed to his bandaged chest. She knew this must be hurting him since his strong grip was hurting her. But, obviously, any pain Hunter felt was far overshadowed by the pleasure of embracing the woman he assumed to be his wife.

  By the time he released her, Cluney felt perfectly dizzy and thoroughly confused. No one had kissed her that way since Jeff. Dear Jeff—their last night together. They had made love for the first time the night before he left for that ill-fated deployment to the Mediterranean. Before that evening, she had managed to stall his sweet advances with promises of a more exciting honeymoon if they waited. But when Jeff had told her jokingly that everyone did it the night before a deployment because you never knew who might not come back, his words had twisted Cluney’s heart. She had finally given in to her own need as well as Jeff’s. Little did she suspect at the time that it would be their only chance, ever, to share love.

  She stared down at Hunter. How could this total stranger from another century stir the same emotions, light the same fires that had been hers and Jeff’s alone?

  “You taste good, Larissa,” Hunter whispered. “Now I know for sure that I didn’t die during the night. I may even last through one more night if I can look forward to more of your kisses.”

  His mention of dying brought a flood of tears to Cluney’s eyes. “Don’t say things like that, Hunter Breckinridge! You’re not going to die. I won’t let you!”

  With a sob that came str
aight from her breaking heart, a sob that Cluney could neither understand nor control, she fled the room. Just outside, she ran right into Mary Renfro.

  “Land sakes, child! What’s come over you?” Mary caught Cluney by the shoulders and stared into her tear-streaked face. Then she glanced toward the bedroom door and frowned. “It’s not the major, is it? He ain’t up and died on us?”

  “No!” Cluney cried. “He’s not dead and he’s not going to die. I won’t let him!”

  “Here now, girl. That’s not for you to decide. When the Lord figures it’s time to take the major home, he’ll go right enough.”

  “The Lord can’t have him!” Cluney cried.

  “You hush that blastphemy this minute! And you under the reverend’s very roof! You ain’t got no right to say what happens to that poor man in there. If you ask me, he’d be a whole lot better off with the Lord, what with all his pain and his sorrow over losing his wife.”

  Cluney managed to calm herself. Mary was right, of course. But somehow, she couldn’t make herself believe that Hunter Breckinridge would be better off dead.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Cluney muttered to herself.

  “About what?” Mary said. “All you can do is keep him comfortable till his time comes.”

  “You don’t understand, Mrs. Renfro. The major thinks I’m his wife. He’s convinced of it. Do I tell him the truth or go along with him? I don’t want to hurt him. He’s taken all he can stand already.”

  Mary gave Cluney a sharp look. “I don’t hold with tying, girl.”

  “It wouldn’t be lying—not exactly. I’d just be avoiding the truth, and it would only be for a time. But you and Free would have to go along with it. You’d have to call me Larissa.”

  “Well…” Mary was still frowning, deep in thought over whether she’d be sinning outright if she joined this outlandish conspiracy. Finally, she made up her mind. “Well, if it eases the major, then I don’t reckon I see the harm in it.” She glanced heavenward. “Forgive me, Lord!”