Tears pooled in her eyes. She didn’t know where they came from. She really was a woman who had been done with tears long ago. Dashing the moisture away, she nodded. “I do understand, Zach. And I’d...I’d like to say a few things myself now, please. If you’ll hear me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then replied, “All right. Say your piece.”
She gulped, brushed at her eyes again and began. She told him of the wild-hearted seventeen-year-old she had been. How what she’d thought was love for Josh DeMarley had quickly faded to grim duty. And she told him what he already knew—of the hundred ways Cash had come to her rescue, through all the tough times.
She said, “I honestly believed I loved your cousin. For years. Lately it’s occurred to me that believing I loved Cash was a way to keep love alive in me. A way to keep hoping, when there wasn’t much left to hope for. A way to keep something shining and fresh inside me, when what I really felt was just plain used up and helpless—barely in my twenties, with a hopeless wandering dreamer for a husband, a little girl to raise, and no chance to advance myself on any job I did manage to get.”
She rose from the boulder, took off her own hat and tossed it in the grass beside his. Then she looked up intently into his beloved, craggy face. “Oh, but, Zach, now, with you, I’ve learned what real love is. Because I’ve found it at last. And it’s so much deeper and finer a thing than I ever knew. It’s...having so much in common, wanting the same things. And yet still feeling that little catch of excitement, feeling my heart beat faster from a look or a smile. It’s...it’s you, Zach. You are my love.”
She thought for a moment that she saw tears in his eyes, too. And then he turned away.
She looked down at her boots, at their hats so close together, at the shiny green grass. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Why should you believe me? I haven’t been honest, ever, I know it. I don’t think I ever really loved Josh. And the love I felt for Cash was nothing more than gratitude, in the end. Why should you think I even know how to love?”
“Tess.”
She forced herself to meet his eyes again. And she gasped. His sun-lined face looked so young, suddenly. And full of joy. He took both her hands. “I do believe you.”
She stared at him. “You do? But how can you?”
“I felt it in the way you held me. I heard it. In your voice.”
“But I don’t understand. You mean last night, that you knew last night?”
“No, for some reason, I couldn’t see it then. It wasn’t till a few hours ago, when you found me tied to that pickup wheel, when you jumped on me and grabbed me and ordered me to open my eyes.”
“A few hours ago?”
“Yeah.”
She felt more than a little bit irritated with him. “You knew, you believed, when we got here, to the creek? You knew I loved you then?”
He released her hands and backed up a step. “Now, Tess. Don’t go getting yourself worked up.”
“But, Zach. You didn’t tell me. You let me say...all those embarrassing things....”
“You asked to talk before I was finished.” That mouth she loved curled in a sheepish smile. “And besides...”
She looked at him sideways. “Besides, what?”
“I guess I wanted to hear what you said. It was beautiful, what you said. And the part about me,. about how I’m so special to you, how we think alike and want the same things. How you get excited when you see me. That was real...edifying.”
“You liked it.”
“Yeah. I did.”
“It was...edifying?”
“Yeah, I believe that would be the right word.”
They stared at each other. And then they were smiling at each other. They started to laugh—and then, all at once, Tess found she was crying.
He reached for her, pulled her close. “Hey. It’s all right. It’s good. You know it is.”
She buried her face in his shirt. “I...I’ve been so ashamed.”
He stroked her back. It felt like heaven, to have him hold her this way, to have him show her such tender care. “You’ve been on your own,” he murmured, “struggling to make a life with some dignity in it. You’ve done your best.”
“I’ve lied in my heart.”
“Tess Bravo, you don’t have to lie anymore.”
She looked up at him, swiping at the darn tears. “That’s good. I’m glad of that.”
His gaze strayed to her mouth. “Kiss me, Tess.”
And she did, there in the shadows of the cottonwood trees, with the creek rushing past a few feet away and the warm summer wind sighing all around them.
Not too much later they mounted up for the ride back. Zach gave her a smile. “Ready?”
She nodded, her heart so full, thinking how beautiful and impossible life could be. Eight years ago, she had foolishly left the ranch she loved. She hadn’t known then that she would never return.
And yet, in her heart now, she felt just as if she had found her way back.
With her true love at her side, Tess Bravo turned her horse for home.
Coming in October of ’98, meet Billy Jones, the
newest member of Christine Rimmer’s beloved
Jones Gang. Enjoy a sneak preview of this
emotion-packed Silhouette single title release!
Billy Jones turned off the Jeep, silencing a great Randy Travis tune in mid-note. Then, for a moment, he sat studying the two-story building where Prue had brought his son to live.
He estimated the place to be anywhere from forty to a hundred years old. It had been freshly painted white, with the trim and shutters a dark green. It had a nice, deep porch and a white picket fence around the yard. A big old rough-barked locust tree hung over the fence, looking a little scraggly now that it was losing its leaves for the winter. But the lawn was thick and green and the slate walk that led up to the porch steps seemed to just invite a man to come inside.
He had to admit it. The place seemed like just what Prue had been looking for—the perfect setting for Jesse to get a good start in his “ordinary” life. It was also across and down from the white frame community church. Leave it to Prue, he thought with some amusement, to find a house on the same street as the church.
Billy got out of the Jeep and went around back for his garment bag, suitcase and guitar. He slung the bag over his shoulder and took the suitcase and the Martin in either hand. Then he went through the front gate and up the pretty slate walk.
The look of stunned disbelief on Prue’s face when she opened the door made the trip more than worthwhile. Now all he had to do was find that meddling uncle of his and knock his teeth down his throat. Then Billy Jones would be a totally contended man.
“Billy.” She said his name the way some might say, “measles,” or “poison oak.” Her glasses had a smudge on them. She wore jeans and an old shirt and her hair had a red bandanna over it.
“Getting a little cleaning done?”
“Billy,” she said again, dazed. Disbelieving.
He savored her obvious stupefaction at the sight of him, here, where she had been so sure he would never come. “Your mouth’s hanging open, Prue.”
She snapped it shut.
“Can I come in?”
She fell back, still wearing an expression of pure befuddlement. Feeling really good, really happy, really pleased with himself, Billy entered her house. It had no entry hall, so he stepped into her living room. It was just what he had expected—hardwood floors and comfortable furniture, roses floating in a cut crystal bowl on the coffee table. The television was new, with decent-size screen, but there was no stereo in sight. He’d have to do something about that.
He set the guitar and the suitcase down, though he kept the garment bag on his shoulder. “Where’s Jesse?”
“Taking a nap.”
He grinned. “In a bed, I hope.”
She frowned. “He’s too young for a bed.”
He put on a reproachful expression. “He’s still in a crib?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, he is.”
“Well, I’ll have to fix that.” He grinned again. Ever since she’d left him in his office that night a week ago, he’d been making plans. For the things that he would fix.
Behind the smudged glasses, her eyes had lost that dazed look. They were starting to glitter dangerously. “Wait a minute. How dare you assume you can just march in here and—”
He cut in, sounding very reasonable, he thought. “He sure does sleep a lot. That worries me a little.”
“He’s hardly more than a baby. Babies do sleep a lot.”
“Still, it could be a warning.”
“A warning of what?”
He had no idea, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. “Hell, lots of things.”
She folded her arms under her breasts and tapped an impatient foot on the floor. “Oh, right. You’re an expert on children now. After all, your experience with them is so vast.”
She was starting to irritate him. “When it comes to my son, my experience is going to get vaster, Prue. Just watch.” He hoisted the Martin and the suitcase again. “Now, where’s my room?”
She blinked at him through those grotesque glasses, which he knew damn well she wore as much to hide behind as to see through. “Your room?”
He hefted the suitcase, just in case she hadn’t noticed it. “I’m staying a while. Contrary to your expectations, I’m taking you up on that offer of yours.”
“What offer?”
With relish, he reminded her, “You know, to visit? To get to know my son. To learn how to be a father.”
“But, you can’t—”
“Oh, yes, I can.” He stepped a little closer to her. “Unless....”
She moved back. “What?”
“...you were lying to me.”
She gulped. “Lying?”
“About how I was so welcome to come and stay. Any time. Were you lying about that, Prue?”
Her eyes darted back and forth, as she desperately tried to find some avenue of escape. But there was no escape, and Billy knew it. He’d done a lot of thinking about Prue. And he’d come to a few conclusions.
The woman was hopelessly honorable. And she possessed an ingrained determination to do the right thing. Honor and integrity. Such commendable qualities. Qualities that put her right where he wanted her....
The surprises are just beginning. More Joneses are coming in the fall of ’98....
ISBN : 978-1-4592-6677-3
PRACTICALLY MARRIED
Copyright © 1998 by Christine Rimmer
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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