The Wanting Heart

by Rionna Morgan

  Kate pushed at Luke with all her strength. She flew from the car. And ran. She heard his scream of terror. She tripped, but never stopped. Never. She would never stop fighting. Crawling on the ground, scrambling to her knees, to her feet, she ran toward the woods. Her lungs were stinging, on fire. Turning she saw the terrified Luke strike and struggle against the passenger door. She turned to run again. The train exploded against the car. The force of its wind smashed against Kate. She stumbled, lost her balance and slammed to the ground. Her eyes went blank. She saw only black.

  • • •

  Sirens wailed to the scene. The firemen and Andrew’s dad, the sheriff, worked as a team, calling orders and carrying them out. Soon foam from the long fire hose arched high and fast through the air, pushing at the smoke and flames.

  The girls scrambled out of Leona’s Cadillac, running and calling. Blake ran towards the burning car. Sally grabbed him, holding him back. Blake tore at her and tried to get to Kate’s car.

  “No, damn it. Kate’s smarter than that,” Sally screamed.

  “What if she’s in there?”

  “She’s not. She can’t be. Where is she!”

  “Kate!” Blake yelled, screamed. Fear had never gripped him like this — hot tears burned his face. Flames rose to the sky in heated black smoke. “Kate, answer me! Kate, God, please! I can’t live without you. You answer me!” Blake would have gladly run into those flames.

  “Blake!” Nichole screamed above his fear.

  Turning, Blake saw the girls. They were huddled several hundred yards from the burning car. Hope slammed into his chest as he ran to them. Falling to his knees he scooped Kate into his arms. He cradled her face in his hands.

  “Darlin’?” he whispered.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t move her.” Nichole stepped forward.

  “She might be hurt,” Erin said.

  Blake didn’t hear them. He was furious with himself. Would he never be there when Kate needed him? He was supposed to be. He wanted to be. If he had been, she wouldn’t be here. Her clothes and her face wouldn’t be bloody. Her eye wouldn’t already be darkening with a swelling bruise.

  “Wake up.” He brushed his fingers along her cheek. Feeling relief when Kate’s eyes fluttered open.

  Kate woke to warm arms clutching her. She knew who it was. Lifting her eyes she saw him.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Not anymore.” Kate smiled.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Blake,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “He’s gone, Blake.” Kate looked into Blake’s blue eyes, showing him relief and love. A tear formed and slipped to his cheek. She reached with her thumb and pressed it away. “He’s gone.”

  “I know. I can’t talk. Just let me hold you.” Wrapping his arms tighter, Blake swore he would never again let her fight alone.

  The world held the last warmth of the day as the sun shown in a misty sheen all around them. Her friends stood, holding on to each other and kneeling beside her. Sally and her mom stood beside them.

  “Blake?”

  “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “Do you still have the ring?”

  He nodded and pulled it out of his pocket. “My heart sure wants you to wear it.”

  “My heart wants it, too.” Kate smiled as he slipped the ring on her finger. “My heart wants it, too.”

  About the Author

  Growing up out West, Rionna Morgan followed her love of horses to the rodeo arena and her love of English to teaching and to writing. She has been looking forward to sharing her stories with you her whole life. Rionna is a founding member of Montana Romance Writers; she reads as much as she can possibly hold, and she loves most of all the chilling thrill of great a suspense threaded through a great romance. Rionna shares her home in Missoula, Montana with her husband, her four children and the mountains outside her window. You can visit her at rionnamorgan.com. Please do — she loves the company.

  More From This Author

  (From Love’s Justice)

  A sweet whiff of carrot cake and the final strain of the “Happy Birthday” lyrics met Justin’s senses as he walked into the brightly lit office.

  “Well, that’s not something we’d hear down at headquarters,” he muttered under his breath as the glass door swished closed behind him.

  Being in a profession clouded with intrigue and stereotypes himself, he didn’t really know what to expect of a private investigator’s office in downtown Portland. Frankly, he didn’t give a damn. This was just a rent-a-cop shop anyway. As he settled down in one of the thickly padded chairs, he couldn’t believe he’d actually come. It was like lowering himself. His surveyor eyes glared at the tasteful waterfront pictures gracing the walls and the interesting choice of reading material laid out on the end table next to his seat. He wasn’t expecting a dim, smoke-filled room smelling of old liquor and yesterday’s newspapers, but he hadn’t expected this, either.

  “God, what a sissy place.” He picked up a photography magazine. “For the wife-cheating crowd no doubt.”

  Resigning himself, he flipped to an article and used his pretended engrossment in it as a cover for his thoughts. It had taken him months to get here. He’d had to endure the pain of burying his mother. He’d had to nod his head as the doctors explained that she really was healthy, but that she’d lost the will to live. Dying of a broken heart wasn’t too hard to believe, Justin had thought as he’d stood at the edge of his mother’s freshly covered grave and his father’s aged one.

  He’d made arrangements for his family’s long-time butler to stay on at the ranch-style house in Austin that was now his. And as he’d hung up the phone in his Dallas apartment, he’d figured he was through with details for a while. But that’s when the message had arrived from his father’s lawyer. Following the directions in the message, he found his father’s journal and the folder. They, or rather the contents, were what had brought him to Sarah Johnson’s door.

  In his mind he could see her picture in the folder he’d left locked in his safe. She looked to be about sixteen when it was taken. Her hair was a delicate blond, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes looked blue or gray — he couldn’t be sure which. She looked young and innocent, yet so did her mother. But who better than him knew that looks could be deceiving?

  In a few more minutes, he would see the daughter of the woman who was responsible for his father’s death.

  “Mr. Breslow?”

  “Yes,” Justin looked up into the face of the voice. The woman had brown, almost frizzy hair and green eyes.

  “I’m Annie. I just wanted to let you know that S.J. will be with you in a moment.”

  “Thank you.”

  Annie nodded.

  “Have you checked him out yet?” Annie asked as she walked into Sarah’s office, folding her arms over her chest.

  Sarah cleared her throat. “Yes. But I’ve been busy wrapping up the Hansen case. So I didn’t have time to study his file. And, I didn’t know for sure if he was going to pursue this any further than a phone call.” And I’m not sure if I’m going to let him poke into my life. “If you want to read through the file, here you go.” Sarah handed Annie the papers clipped neatly in a folder labeled Justin T. Breslow.

  Sarah straightened her navy linen pantsuit and wished fleetingly that it were really a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. She wished she held a pair of running shoes in her hand and not her notebook and pen and that she was about to take a nice run on the beach and not the winding professional walk she had to make to the waiting room. But this is what I love, Sarah thought. Maybe I’ll take the vacation I keep promising myself, next year. She put a smile on her face and opened her door.

  The smile was what Justin saw first. Sure he noticed her walk. It was more of an easy jaunt and not just the simple one-foot
-in-front-of-the-other. He cringed at how carefree she seemed. He also noticed her fancy outfit and quickly calculated the money it would have cost. Looks like she’s benefiting from rich wives looking for their cheating husbands, he thought as his eyes were drawn back to her smile; pretty white teeth wrapped gently in full, lightly tinted lips. Damn woman, he thought in a blink. It’s been months since I’ve smiled just for the hell of it.

  As she got closer, he stood with a smile of his own. He schooled his features and made sure the smile reached his eyes. Briefly, he wondered if the long, blond hair framing her face was from a bottle, or if it was naturally that brilliant, and if her eyes were blue or gray.

  “Mr. Breslow, welcome to S.J. Investigations. I’m Sarah Johnson.” She held out her hand. In the time it took her to take her next breath, her eyes scanned, cataloged, and recorded his appearance and her impressions. He stood calmly, waiting. His white, button-up shirt and blue jeans looked well-worn, as did his black leather jacket. Most people looked at their clothing as an accessory for their personality. But Sarah had the impression that this man needed no accessorizing. His clothes were an afterthought. A worn-very-well afterthought.

  “Justin Breslow.” He nodded as his hand touched hers and held. Her eyes are … gray, was the last thought he had before he sank into them.

  Sarah’s smile faded as the warmth in their touch traveled up her arm and fluttered around her insides. She grabbed her hand back, fully intending to ignore the sensation.

  “Mr. Breslow, it’s nice to meet you in person. What can I do for you today?”

  “Sorry. I’m just not used to be being surprised.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Your eyes are gray.”

  “Yes?”

  “I just thought they’d be blue. You know blond hair, blue — never mind.” Justin shook his head. I sound like an idiot. Get it together. “I’m sure you’re really busy and didn’t plan on spending your afternoon talking to a reporter from Dallas about the color of your eyes.”

  “You’re from Texas?”

  “Yeah, I guess I didn’t mention that when we talked on the phone.” No wonder; the conversation had lasted about a second, Justin thought. “I’ve done some freelance work, but now I work for the Dallas Herald.”

  “I hear the accent.” Now it was her turn to be surprised. She never missed things like that. She knew it was the similarity between Justin and her mom that had thrown her. “I’ve done some thinking about what you asked me, and I decided to at least listen to what you have to say.”

  After they were seated in Sarah’s office, and after he was finished mentally chewing himself out for getting distracted, Justin began his prepared speech. “I was a huge fan of your mother’s for years. Who wasn’t? She’s a hero in the journalism world.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “I’ve begged my editor for this assignment since I knew he wanted to run the series.”

  “Why don’t you describe what the series is, exactly.” Sarah’s eyes wandered over the pictures on her desk. They settled on the last picture she and her mom had taken together. It was at a cross-country meet in high school. They stood side-by-side, arms wrapped around each other. She was dressed in her running shorts and top while her mom was clothed in a classy suit. Sarah could still feel the pride and warmth she felt from being clutched in her mother’s arms.

  Justin wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but he knew he didn’t like the sad look on her face. And he sure as hell didn’t like the need he felt to reach out and comfort her.

  “It’s a series of articles on your mother’s life and her final assignment investigating the treatment of women prisoners in Alabama.” He noted the confusion and hesitancy that flitted across Sarah’s face. He had to pull this off or his plan was ruined. “Sarah, listen. Your mother was wonderful.”

  “I know she was.”

  “She won the Pulitzer Prize.”

  “But that’s not why she wrote.” Sarah crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. Hmm, this should be interesting, she thought. Let’s see how much this guy can come up with. Let’s see if he’s found the truth.

  What else? Justin wracked his brain for remnants of what he’d planned to say. “She died when she was on assignment in Alabama and deserves to be honored, remembered.”

  Sarah glanced back to the picture of her mother.

  “I would like to do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was — ”

  “No, I mean why you?” Sarah asked.

  “Like, my credentials?”

  Sarah shrugged.

  “Well, I have a Masters in Journalism from — ”

  “No, you know what? I don’t care about that.” Sarah leaned forward. “I want to know why you want to do it.”

  Justin took a deep breath. Here it goes. “We, meaning you and I, have sort of a personal connection. My father and your mother grew up together in Texas Hill. It’s probably through him that I learned to admire your mother so much.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Who’s your father?”

  “He was Thomas J. Breslow, but everyone knew him by Tom.”

  “Hmmm.” Sarah tried to remember if she’d heard anything about this Thomas Breslow in her youth. Maybe.

  “Yes.” Justin bent his head. The anger was so fierce. He needed a chance to get it under control. “He died when I was young.” Your mother killed him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. It’s just that my mother recently passed away and it’s — it’s hard to relive the whole thing.” Justin looked up. He saw true concern and sadness in her eyes. The woman was making him sound like a sap. “When I was going through my father’s papers, I found what might be a connection between my father and your mother beyond their friendship when they were kids.”

  “What kind of connection?”

  “That’s where I’m not certain and would need your help.”

  “Would I be able to read and approve the articles before they go to press?”

  Ah, hell. I knew she’d ask that. Justin cringed. He knew his cover might not be such a good idea. He hadn’t written anything for a long time. He’d have to figure something out.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. When do you want to start?” Sarah asked.

  “As soon as possible. I want to focus on her life for the first few articles and then delve into her final assignment at the Alabama Women’s Prison. I would really like your help — with all of it, if that’s possible.”

  “I can definitely help with her life. But we’ll have to talk to my Dad about her last assignment. He knows about the details and will be able to help more than I can.”

  “I’ve already talked to him. He’s who sent me to you.”

  Sarah frowned. “What’d he say?”

  “That he’d be willing to meet with me. But, that was about it. He said if I wanted help, I’d have to ask you.”

  “You haven’t met with him yet?”

  “No.” Justin shrugged his shoulders.

  “I’m leaving this afternoon to spend the weekend with him. It’s my birthday.” Sarah motioned to the streamers and banners sporting the message, “Happy Birthday S.J.”

  “Sort of figured that.”

  “He and I always spend some time together for it.” Sarah looked at the man before her. He was a little taller than she was. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He looked average, but something in his eyes held her. She felt as if she could trust him. He seemed to be telling the truth, at least part of the truth. It was the other part she was concerned about. She needed to know what that other part was before agreeing to work with him. Coming with her might not be a bad idea. And if he came, she’d be able to watch him and make sure he didn’t upset her dad. “Would you like to come with me?”


  “Yes.” Justin nodded with surprise and smiled.

  “If you give me a number where you can be reached, I’ll call before I leave.”

  “Great.” Justin shook her hand. He was careful not to look directly into her eyes this time. But her sexy, intoxicating scent delivered a quick gut punch. Damn woman!

  • • •

  Sarah looked out the window and watched Justin get into a cab. Her instinct told her he was trustworthy, but there was something … The feeling she had when she just touched his hand told her she should walk the other way.

  “S.J.,” Annie called.

  “Yeah, Annie.” Sarah turned to her researcher and friend.

  “I read through that info on Justin.”

  “So you know, huh?”

  “I talked to his editor, Patrick Walker, at the Dallas Herald. He said Mr. Breslow’s assignment is to write a series of articles on Helen Prescott.”

  Sarah thought, if only it were that simple. “I know.” Sarah rubbed her hands over her face. Her mind traveled back to her sophomore year of high school. Her memories raced through track meets, award ceremonies, and old boyfriends. But the moment she remembered the most was the day she’d come home from school and met her father in the yard. Seeing his anguished face, she’d stumbled into his arms. As the mist of the evening had settled around them, he’d told her what had happened. While his body had shaken with sobs, he’d told her there had been a fire at the prison where her mother had been on assignment.

  “She’s dead, honey. She’s dead.”

  Sarah wiped away the silent tear. “Happy Birthday, S.J.,” she mumbled.