by Mari Manning
She blinked a few times to clear her vision. “Seth? It’s me. Kirby.”
They moved closer, stepping into the soft light streaming between the edges of the curtains. Seth, looking solemn and uncomfortable in pressed khakis and a crisp blue cotton shirt, and beside him a beautiful girl with Seth’s dark hair and blue eyes and wide mouth.
Hannah?
Kirby’s gaze flew to Seth. “You found her.”
“Yes. Because of you.”
She stood in the hall like a stupid fool, staring into Seth’s eyes, unable to move or look away, unable to think. And he stared back. Immobile and unreadable. Why was he here, waiting for her? Didn’t he know how much it hurt her to see him?
Hannah cleared her throat.
But still Kirby could not move a single muscle. Or talk. A weight pressed against her chest, and she’d fall apart if she opened her mouth.
Hannah patted Seth’s arm. “I best be getting back to the kitchen. Miss Bea will need me.” Her gaze rested on Kirby for a moment. “I think my brother was trying to thank you.” She touched his arm again. “He’s conversationally challenged, but I love him anyway.” She skittered away.
The silence thickened. Kirby tried to talk past the lump in her throat. “I’m just here to sign some papers. That fool lawyer of Mr. Shaw’s insisted it had to be done in the state of Texas. Never heard of such a thing.” The words fell like lead weights into the space between them.
A haunted, hollow expression flashed across Seth’s face. He turned his head and studied Sarah Slade. “Yeah, well. I have something to show you.”
She couldn’t get tangled up with him again. “I think I better get those papers signed,” she said, glancing up the staircase. Where was Cousin Eenie? He was supposed to be waiting for her.
“Please, Kirby.”
“We said our good-byes, Seth. Why are you doing this?”
He came to her in three quick steps, as if he expected her to run. Not a bad assumption. He caught her arm. “Thirty minutes. That’s all I ask.”
There was pain in the depths of his eyes, and he didn’t try to hide it.
She shook away his hand, but denying him…she couldn’t do that. “Twenty.”
“This way.”
She followed him through the kitchen. Brittany and Hannah were hunched over the kitchen table, slicing watermelon. Kirby nodded at them, then followed Seth out the back door.
The ranch had changed. The scented purple heads of lavender had been harvested, leaving behind a carpet of ochre stubble. The lazy, quiet barnyard was a hive of activity. A dozen cowboys were shoeing quarter horses. More were nailing together fencing for new paddocks. Her feet slowed as she took in the changes.
Seth glanced back and stopped. “Cattle will be coming at the end of the month.”
“That’s great.” She was glad Shaw Valley would be a working ranch again, but sad she wouldn’t be part of it.
“Come on.” A rueful smile brought the corners of his mouth down. “I only have twenty minutes.”
He had as long as he wanted—providing she didn’t fall apart—and he knew it. But she followed him down to the barnyard, unable to pull her gaze from his wide shoulders and narrow hips, unable to stop the memory of his bare skin and how it felt against hers.
Manny was waiting in front of the barn with two saddled horses. One was Old Tom. The other a black mare.
She said hi to Manny and patted Old Tom’s nose. Seth took the horses and sent Manny off. Another rueful grin. His fingers toyed nervously with the reins.
“I just bought the mare,” Seth said. “I named her Cherokee.”
What did that mean? He was watching her closely, but she didn’t know what he wanted her to say. “Why?”
He frowned, and his thumb drummed nervously on a brass buckle. “I wanted to give you something.”
“Seth, I can’t keep a horse in Tulsa.”
“At least try her out.”
Kirby wanted to. The mare was a beauty. She glanced down at her shorts and sandals. “I don’t know.”
“You’ll be okay. We’re not going far.”
What the hell.
She swung onto Cherokee, felt the ripple of energy beneath her saddle, saw spirit in the flip of its mane, then she was flying through the harvested lavender beside Seth and Old Tom. Ahead, the ridge loomed, and the deep well of grief she’d tried to bury for the past month yawned wide. At the edge of the field, she pulled up short and stopped.
It took Seth a moment to realize she wasn’t beside him. When he did, he turned Old Tom around and brought him back.
“I can’t go up there, Seth.”
Pain streaked across his face. “I told them it wouldn’t work.”
“Told who what wouldn’t work? What are you talking about? What is going on?”
“They—we—want you to stay.”
An unfamiliar fury twisted through her. “I can’t stay here. You of all people should understand.”
She turned Cherokee around.
“I love you.”
It came out a little shaky, but his voice was deep, and the way it hit her—through the heart like a stone from a slingshot—she knew he’d spoken the truth.
She brought the horse back around. Seth watched her warily.
“Susannah said your heart was taken, and I saw Angie, and well, I thought you’d moved on.”
A bitter, barking laugh raised his chin. He looked away from her. “I’m afraid, Kirby. What if I can’t make you happy?” He took a deep breath. “What if I always remind you of—of that day, and what I did?”
She let her gaze travel over the shaved field, the busy barn, the twist of fruit trees, the seared land rolling toward the horizon. And then the ridge. The branches of a live oak lifted in the soft breeze like angel’s wings. Perfumed tendrils of lavender rode the air on a magic carpet. Tranquility and peace tumbled through the woods like bear cubs.
She didn’t look at Seth. But she could feel him beside her. His strength, his need, his love. Maybe it was enough. “Weren’t you going to show me something?”
“Come on, then,” he said.
When they crested the ridge, the scent of lavender grew stronger, curling through the trees to greet her. She turned to Seth. “Is that lavender?”
“Come see for yourself.”
She tied up Cherokee beside Old Tom and walked through the woods with Seth. The crunch of their feet against the leaves felt good. Solid. She was alive. They were alive.
She saw it then. Why he’d brought her here. Beside the quarry a newly cut limestone marker stood in a patch of lavender. Frances Charleen Swallow and Charleen Higgins Swallow were written across the top. Beneath the names were the words,
Love doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
“Oh. Seth.” She couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I looked the verse up. Had to borrow a Bible from Manny. To show you how sorry we—I—am about…everything.”
She’d been trying to work through her grief with reason. Why had Frankie done it? Who was to blame? What could Kirby have done differently? But grief wasn’t born of reason. They were as different as a thunderstorm and an ocean.
She closed her eyes and saw the bottom of the quarry, saw the chipped stone and the feathery green creatures that swayed like hula girls at the bottom, and she saw Grandy.
He’s coming for you, Kirby-nee.
Grandy had been there. But not for her. He’d been there for Frankie. And Kirby knew in the same way she knew her own breath and the sound of her voice, he’d taken Frankie through to the light.
And when the time came, he’d come back for Kirby.
That’s all there was to know.
He’s coming f
or you.
She’d been wrong about Seth. Grandy would have loved him. He’d have seen what Kirby saw. A sturdy spirit beneath sinew. The solid wall of man and the true heart beneath. The grit and the bullheadedness, the caring and the honor. The man she loved.
“I love you, too, Seth.”
The world dissolved in smudges of green trees and white cliff and black water. There was pale blue shirt and sun-bronzed skin. She found his mouth, felt it press gently against her lips, felt the silent promise of constancy pass into her with his breath.
He pulled away. His hands, warm and rough, strong, captured hers. “Will you stay here with me?”
She raised her eyes to his. There was love in them. And surrender. Still. This was Seth. Surrender would be a rare, fleeting state of mind with him. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“Hannah says it’s too soon, but I’ve a mind to marry you, if you’ll have me.” He released one of her hands and pulled nervously on the collar of his shirt.
Kirby nodded. “I’ve a mind to marry you. But Hannah’s right. Let’s start with dating.”
His eyes narrowed. “Let’s start with living together. I am not sleeping alone while you’re going to bed two hundred feet away.”
He was right. She’d be sneaking into the big house every morning before a week passed. But making things too easy for him was a bad way to start out. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Let’s play it by ear. See how things go.”
One of those gorgeous black eyebrows rose, but his eyes twinkled. “I’ll tell you exactly how things will go.” Then he kissed her, hard and deep and mouth twisting.
When he pulled away, he sighed. “We better get down to that damn supper before they send out a search party.”
She’d forgotten about the supper. “Has an hour passed already?”
“And change.”
“Oh.” Disappointment pulled through her.
He bent and softly kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ve blocked out the whole night for me and you.”
“I’ll just bet you have.” She laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it was a free, happy laugh.
They galloped back to the barn, left the horses with a ranch hand and jogged to the front of the house. Susannah, Angie, Miss Bea, and Cousin Eenie were already heaping plates with chicken salad and corn bread and wedges of watermelon.
“What happened to the vegan menu?” Kirby asked, bending to kiss Cousin Eenie’s cheek.
He sighed. “I’m trying to be more rancher-like. Although I’ll probably pick the chicken out of my salad when no one’s watching.”
Kirby began to giggle, then stopped. Brittany and Manny appeared from the side porch. Manny’s arm hung from Brittany’s shoulder.
“Come along, you two,” Miss Bea said. “Take those seats at the end.”
Cousin Eenie patted Kirby’s hand. “We have two sets of lovebirds on the ranch.”
“Congratulations,” Kirby said.
Brittany sniffed. “It was all Mr. Maguire’s doing.” Then she blushed, and so did Manny and so did Seth.
“I’ll bet that’s an interesting story,” Kirby said.
Everyone laughed. Their voices rose like a burned offering from the porch, floating over the roof and into the air. Climbing higher and higher, sailing for the sun.
…
Seth was alone with her. His Kirby. His girl. His.
Face-to-face, chest to chest. Her arms around his neck. His hands resting at her waist. Her eyes, dark pools of love so warm, he could swim in them all day. The love light brightened, grew hot. He knew that look. Loved that look.
She pulled away from him. “Come on,” she said, dragging him into the bedroom.
He wanted to make this first time as true lovers matter, and he needed it to be exactly right. But would he know how?
She reached behind her head and loosened her braid. Let her dark hair fall in waves over her shoulders.
“I love your hair,” he said. A warm-up.
She smiled and turned away. Pulled off her shirt and shorts and underwear. He watched, tracing the curve of her hips, her bottom, her thighs. She waited. Just like that.
“Take off your clothes, Seth.”
He jerked his head down. He’d almost forgotten.
When he was naked, he went to her, gathered her in. Her breath came in soft gasps. Fierce need burned in his loins, but he held back. He didn’t want to be himself tonight. Rough man, taking what he wanted from a woman. He wanted to be what Kirby deserved. He kissed her. Softly. Carefully. So she’d feel his love, his respect, his gratitude.
Her hips moved beneath him like a wave. Her breath was a rasp. Her golden skin flushed pink. The musky scent of desire rose from her skin.
“Take me.”
He’d meant tonight to be romantic.
But she wanted to be claimed. He dropped the words in before he made her his.
“I love you.”
Her eyes popped open. “I love you, too.”
He saw in her face the promise of all the nights to come. Nights of romance and candlelight, nights of quick lovemaking after a long day, nights of forgiving when they’d said things they didn’t mean, nights of celebration, night like this one…and nights when a cold wind would roar, threatening to blow their world away, and he and Kirby would huddle together for warmth and ride out the storm, and rebuild.
Together.
The way they were meant to.
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I must thank my family: my husband, my daughters, my sons-in-law, and my grandchildren, because otherwise they will think I’ve forgotten them, or worse, am not grateful for having them in my life. They make my days worth living. I hope I return the favor.
I would also like to acknowledge my mother, who is an author in her own right and was the first to tell me that you must always delete the first chapter of any book you write. She never said why, but she wasn’t wrong. She has always encouraged my dreams (while reminding me of my duties) and planted in me and my brothers and sisters a love of art, music, and books.
Last, but absolutely not least, I would like to thank my fellow writers at the Chicago North Chapter of the RWA for all their encouragement and guidance, not to mention patience. They taught me that raw talent is not enough. There are rules that must be followed. I am a better writer for it, and I only hope that I have been able to return the favor. Thanks, ladies.
About the Author
Mari Manning is the author of several contemporary romances and three romantic suspense novels set in the Texas Hill Country. Stranger at My Door is the first in her Texas Hill Country series. The second, Stranger in My House will be published by Entangled later this year. The third book in the series is Stranger in My Bed. Currently, Mari is working on a series of cozy mysteries. She and her husband live in the Chicago area.
To learn more about Mari’s upcoming books, read her blogs, or sign up for her newsletter, visit her website: www.marimanning.com. Reader comments are welcome. Send them to [email protected].
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