by Sarah Abbot
Flynn nodded. “I believe you. I don’t want to, but I do. There was this time way back when he just disappeared. We had no clue where he’d gone. When he finally came home, he offered no explanation at all.” He squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head slowly.
Tragedy was thick in the room, and Abby needed to get out soon. “Sheriff Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d like some time alone with Connor.”
Flynn looked at her as there were a third eye in the center of her forehead. “Why?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not planning any mischief, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to…” What did she want to do? She gripped her clutch purse tightly. “I…I need to say good-bye.”
Flynn nodded minutely, turned his back on her, and strode toward the door. “You got five minutes.”
She forced her gaze upon Connor.
He had meant to kill her.
Technically, he had failed, but had he succeeded in some more insidious way?
For what seemed like the thousandth time, she wondered if Connor had killed her on some deeper, unseen level, had killed the very heart of her. She wondered if she would ever feel again. Ever trust again…ever sleep again.
She stood, staring at the man who had consumed her imagination with thoughts of terror, the man who had seemed undefeatable.
Now, lying on steel—his skin bluish and wiped clean of blood—he seemed significantly cut down to size.
How had he done it? How had this man, so common in measure, twisted her life, and that of her mother’s?
“I’m not going to let you win.” she said to him. “I had a life…I have a life, and I won’t let you take it with you.”
She stepped closer, watching him, hawklike, as though he would lurch into being and snatch everything that was left of her.
She bit her lip and tucked her hand into the crook of her other arm.
Abby looked at him, and understood—with a bone-chilling clarity—that she could choose one of two routes.
One, she could allow time and fear to eventually plunge her into the darkness that now threatened to bloom within her. She shivered at the thought, imagined the specter of her fears twining ’round her, sucking her under.
Or, she could let it go.
She wasn’t entirely certain how that was done, but it had to be possible. It simply had to be.
Abby waited for the eureka moment to come, listening to the sound of her breath fill the room, watching his bluish eyelids; but all that came was a quote, remembered: “…and a great and strong wind rent the mountains…and after the wind, an earthquake…and after the earthquake, a fire, and after the fire, a still small voice.”
And the still, small voice—that sounded almost exactly like her mother’s—said, “Abrielle, it’s over, and you have won. For both of us. Let it go.”
Abby blinked and looked around the room; it was empty but for her and Connor Flynn. She had heard the voice, hadn’t she? And then she knew this: of course, she had.
She had heard her mother’s voice from the only place it could have come from: from her heart, her soul, from the part of her mother that beat daily in her veins, that weighed every battle of her heart, for her mother was yet alive. Her mother was alive within her, now and forever. “Eureka,” she whispered, and walked out of the room.
She drove straight to Ryan’s, suddenly filled to overflowing with anticipation for their future. No, Connor couldn’t take her joy if she wouldn’t let him.
A note tacked on his front door read: I’m up at the cliff. Abby rolled her eyes. “Nice to see he’s following doctor’s orders and resting.”
Still, she was glad for the fresh air.
She was following the footsteps that led toward the edge of the forest. The scent of autumn was rich in the forest. She stepped into the soothing shadows that cloaked the earth in a blanket of slumber. Wind-ravaged heather caught the last vestige of light, reflecting amethyst, charcoal and deep, bluish gray.
“Abby!”
She was snatched into a crushing bear hug—enveloped in Ryan’s arms, and just as quickly released with a grunt.
“Be careful!” she said, gripping his forearms and studying his face. “Are you hurt?”
Ryan lifted a brow. “Oh, fine, aside from a bullet hole in my side.”
Abby touched his face, felt the stubble on his jaw, saw the shadows beneath his eyes and the raw glint that lit them from within. He was a mess, pure and simple. Abby thought that she’d never seen him look quite so handsome. She forced a weak smile. “Don’t talk about it—please. I can’t stand to remember you on the floor, bleeding…” She suppressed a shiver.
“It’s over now,” he said softly. “Nothing left but healing.”
He embraced her again, this time with greater care. She felt dizzy at the scent of forest that clung to his skin. She wrapped her arms around him, then breathed—just breathed—the scent of his hair, his skin, his touch. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s over, Abby. All of it.”
“No,” she whispered, smiling. “It’s just begun.”
The supple leather beneath her hands hinted at the muscular frame it cloaked. She held tighter, grateful to her bones for the innate strength of him.
“I love you, Ryan,” she said, marveling in the feel of the words on her tongue. She buried her lips in his neck as she clung to him. The wind tossed around them, and whipped her hair into a frenzied halo. She felt his hands smoothing the strands, felt the warmth of his face touch her own.
It was neither day nor night as she turned to the east, looked into the wind with her face upturned and with words of promise still warm on her tongue. The earth and sea rolled out before her—their terrible beauty a living thing that could destroy as well as heal in one magnificent instant of contradiction. The sky glowed opalescent, touched hill with tawny light, hid valley in violet darkness—seemed to glow in quiet celebration and will a small portion of its strength into her open soul.
Tears filled her eyes as she witnessed twilight’s magical passage into night. She would carry this picture with her always—the colors that breathed a promise to her soul.
She turned, looked into Ryan’s eyes, and he into hers. It was a timeless moment, perfected by the surety and peace that filled her. His soul seemed to call out to her heart, to awaken every dream she had harbored of love and of beauty. She felt her heart rise to his invitation, felt his promise to fulfill each of those dreams, and felt her silent acceptance. And in that moment, she had found her destiny.
A tear escaped her eye as she wished the moment would never end, and yet, she recognized an intensity that could burn as well as exalt. Don’t look away, his eyes said. And she—knowing that it was hardly possible to turn from him—held fast his gaze, met the clear, topaz oasis of honesty amidst the firestorm of emotion that seemed to swirl around and within them.
You are mine, his eyes spoke again—in a language beyond words, a prose ignorant of untruths and incapable of deceit. And, you are mine, she promised. Forever.
Abby looked out to the sea, felt her heart grow still as she saw the White Lady—her mother—drifting silently toward the waves, a gentle smile on her lips. In defiance of time and space, Abby had found her.
Without knowing how she sensed it, Abby knew that this was the last time she would see her, and that by finding her own peace, she had in turn given peace to her mother.
Bye, she mouthed silently.
For now, replied the voice in her heart, the voice of her mother, and the White Lady vanished into the shimmering mist of the sea.
Ryan grasped her tighter. If he’d seen her mother’s ghost, he hadn’t let on. “Stay here,” he said. “Stay with me in Destiny Bay.”
She blinked a tear from her eye before she turned to face him.
“I will,” she whispered into the wind. “Forever.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve always enjoye
d reading authors’ acknowledgements, as it gives me a peek into the world of the writer I’m presently enjoying.
If you were to look into my world, the first person you’d see is my husband, Andrew. Andrew, thank you for your unwavering faith in me. Thank you for making “daddy time” such an unequalled delight for our children, and for giving them lots of it so that I could write this book. Thank you for saving this manuscript every time I accidentally sent it spiraling to its cyberdeath. Tina Turner got it right: you’re simply the best.
My sincere and heartfelt thanks go out to Natasha Kern, my brilliant literary agent. Thank you for your endless patience, for your encouragement, and for being as dedicated to developing great writers as you are to selling books. Thank you for believing in the dreams of others, and for making them come true.
To Carol Craig, thank you for your insight and guidance. I loved working with you.
Thank you to Alicia Condon and to everyone at Dorchester that made this experience so enjoyable. Alicia, it has been a pleasure working (and laughing) with you.
To my fantastic, wonderful, inspiring friends, thank you for reading, cheering, and telling me that I was on the right track. For countless dinners, unforgettable girls’ trips, and for being there when I needed you, thank you Christy, Karen, Laureene, Maria, Nancy, Dawn, and of course, Marni—my ever-true pal since grade school.
Dad, you always told me I could do anything I set my mind to. I never forgot it. Thank you. Mom, thanks for teaching me to love books.
And last but not least, very special thanks to Robert Pembroke. The trajectory of my life changed when I met you. Thank you for being the first person who told me I ought to be a writer, and for saying it with such conviction that I actually believed you.
Copyright
LOVE SPELL®
September 2008
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2008 by Sarah Shupe
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E-ISBN: 978-1-4285-0545-2
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