Cara looked up from the shirt she was mending, her stomach churning at the look in his eyes. "About Striker?"
"No, Cara. About us. About what happens after all of this is over."
She stared down at the needle, willing her fingers to stop shaking. "Maybe this isn't the right time, Michael."
He sat on the bed beside her, taking the sewing out of her hands. "There will never be a right time, sweetheart. And I've always been a man to speak my mind."
She nodded, still unable to look at him, her heart thudding against her chest.
He gently cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I love you, Cara." His eyes reflected his words, and her breath caught in her throat. "I think maybe I always have. Since that night I found you in the snow. But I didn't know for certain until this morning, when I almost lost you in the tunnel."
"Michael… I—"
"Wait." He laid a finger against her lips. "Let me finish. I know that you are afraid. Hell, I know better than anyone how you're feeling. Like a fish out of water. But I can make it better. I can make a life for us here. I know I can—if you'll just give me the chance."
She swallowed tears, fighting for control. "I can't Michael. I don't belong here."
"How do you know that?" His eyes searched hers for answers she knew she couldn't give.
"I don't know, I just do." She stood up, walking to the window, trying to sort through her thoughts.
"Are you saying you don't love me?"
"No." She swung around, her eyes meeting his, begging him to understand. "I care about you. I do. It's just that isn't always enough."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The words exploded from him, his anger reflected in his tone.
"I can't afford to love anyone. Don't you understand? Every time I believe in someone, every time I love them, I wind up getting hurt. I loved my parents, I loved my grandfather, I even loved Adrian. But they all left me anyway. Even you left me, Michael."
"Adrian was a fool. And your family didn't leave you on purpose, Cara. They died. And I certainly had no control over our situation."
"But that's just the point, isn't it? None of us has any control. Everything you love can be wiped out in an instant without the slightest bit of warning. And when it happens, your heart is ripped out and torn to shreds." She pushed her fist against her chest, physically trying to hold in her emotions, to protect her heart. "Don't you see, Michael? I can't go through that again. I just can't."
"Cara, you're not making sense." His face was a wash of emotion, pain and frustration warring with compassion and love. "None of us knows what's going to happen from one moment to the next. That's part of life. You can't just sequester yourself from caring."
"I can try." She paused, searching for the right words, trying to make him understand. "You make me feel things I haven't felt in years and it scares the hell out of me. Every day that goes by I care a little more. I don't think I could survive the pain of losing you, Michael. And the truth is, one way or the other, whether it's today or tomorrow, I will lose you."
"But isn't a little time together better than no time at all?"
"No. The price is too high." She blew out a breath, her eyes meeting his, her gaze steady. "I'll stay until we've seen this through. Until I know that you'll be okay, but then I have try and find my way home."
"What if you're home now, Cara?" His words were soft, the expression in his eyes breaking her heart.
"This can't be my home, Michael. I'd always be looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to wake up and find you gone again."
"So for peace of mind, you're willing to give up all that's between us?" His fists were clenched at his sides, his fury washing over her.
"I have to." She deliberately turned away, fighting her tears, cringing as the door behind her slammed shut.
It was the only way. She didn't belong here. Didn't belong with him. No matter what her heart said, she had to listen to reason and logic. They were from different worlds, and no matter how much she wanted him, she was better off letting him go.
Loralee stood at the window looking out at the moon, her thoughts filled with a jumble of emotions. Memories of Zach and their days together danced through her head. She could still hear his laughter, see the crooked slant of his smile. She'd loved him with all her heart. And when he'd abandoned her, she'd shoved those feelings so deep inside, she'd never thought to see them again. But here they were crowding into her heart, reminding her all over again of all that she'd lost.
Tears filled her eyes, joy warring with grief. She'd meant what she'd told Michael. Zach had loved her. And he'd loved Mary. And part of her truly believed that he'd never have deserted them willingly, but another part of her, the contrary part, had believed the story about him and Rose. Even secretly hoped it was true. Because, even if it meant he'd up and left her, it also meant that he was still alive.
She sighed, watching the grass waving silver in the moonlight. But if the Macpherson's were to be believed, he was dead. He'd loved her. But he was dead. And it was almost as if he'd disappeared all over again. She looked up at the star-filled night and wondered if she'd ever be able to let him go. He was so much a part of her. So much a part of Mary. In truth, part of the reason she'd sent her daughter away was because seeing her every day had been too painful a reminder.
Shame washed through her, and Loralee tightened her fingers around the soft cotton of the curtains. She loved Mary with her whole heart, but what kind of mother could she possibly be? What kind of life did she have to offer her?
Loralee turned resolutely from the window, putting the moonlight firmly behind her. Moonlight was for dreamers, like Duncan—and Patrick. He was more like his father than he knew. He had the same charming manner. And she suspected, like his father, when he loved a woman, it would be forever.
She wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like to be that woman, and then pushed the thought away. She'd already lost one man. And truthfully, she didn't know if she could stand to lose another. She sat down on the cot and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes, a picture of Zach filling her head, his crooked grin a reflection of the love in his dark eyes.
And then, without so much as a by your leave, he faded away, his brown eyes turning green, his face turning into Patrick's. And Loralee realized it was already too late to decide not to care about Patrick Macpherson. Her heart had always had a mind of its own. Loralee smothered a sob, burying her face in the pillow.
No sense waking the rest of the household with her tears.
Patrick sat on the edge of the bed, listening to Loralee's soft crying. He wanted to go to her, to hold her—to somehow make her believe it was going to be all right. For the first time in his life he wanted to make things right for someone else, and the thought amazed him.
And shamed him.
Before his mother died, life had just been one long picnic. Someone was always there to clean up his messes and make sure he had what he needed. His mother and father, Michael, even Owen, had all treated him like a little king. Whatever Patrick wanted, Patrick got.
And, then, when his mother disappeared, his kingdom had collapsed—everyone lost in their own grief. Owen had tried to insulate things, to preserve Patrick's fairytale existence, but there was too much gone. He stared out the window at the pale silver of the moon.
He'd been angry at them all. Angry because his mother had run out on them. Angry because his father and Michael hadn't gone to get her, even angry with Owen, because he tried to pretend that nothing had changed. But the truth was, he'd been angriest at himself. Angry for not being enough to make her want to stay.
He sighed, looking again at the closed door. It was quiet now. Maybe Loralee was sleeping. Or maybe she was lost in her memories, too. He pictured her sweet face and wondered what it would feel like to hold her in his arms, to be the kind of man she deserved.
He grimaced, knowing that she'd had more men than he could
possibly imagine, and that, in many ways, he was no different than they were. What did he have to offer her? He had nothing to call his own. Nothing that wasn't a part of Michael or Owen.
He was a shadow man. Existing on memories and anger—on resentment for what had been and could never be again. And now… now it seemed that even that had all been a lie. His mother hadn't run away at all. She was dead.
The words brought bitter tears to his eyes.
Dead.
And because they'd all been so quick to believe the worst, they'd betrayed her far worse than they'd ever believed she'd betrayed them.
Patrick stood up, crossing to the window, the moonlight washing over him, soothing in its touch. His mother had been his whole world. And maybe, he admitted, that had been the problem. Maybe he needed to find himself. Figure out who the hell Patrick Macpherson really was. And only then would he be able to love someone else.
He closed his eyes, and wondered if Loralee would be willing to wait.
Michael stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. She was absolutely the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. He let his eyes trail downward, taking in the soft curve of her shoulder and the sweet swell of her breasts, and he felt himself growing hard, despite all that lay between them.
God, how he wanted this woman.
He crossed to the bed, sitting down beside her, tracing the curve of her face. Her eyes flickered open, regarding him with a sleep-clouded gaze. "Michael." His name come out like a sigh and he shivered as the sound caressed him.
"I'm sorry." He blew out a breath. "I shouldn't have walked away."
"No." She shook her head. "It was my fault. I just can't tell you what you want to hear."
"I know." He stroked her soft skin, needing her more than he could have believed possible.
"Nothing's changed, Michael." She met his gaze, her eyes searching for confirmation.
"I know that, too." He sighed, letting his hand fall to his side.
"Stay with me, then." She reached for him, her need reflected in her eyes, and his heart began to hammer in his chest as the burning in his loins spread upward and inward, filling him with a driving need.
With shaking hands, he pulled off his clothes, her body warm against his as she helped with the buttons. Reaching back with one hand, he cupped her neck, twisting around, pulling her with him, satisfied when the maneuver placed her firmly beneath him. She arched her back so that her breasts pressed against his chest, her nipples tracing lines of fire each time she moved.
With a groan, he took possession of her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep into her warmth. She met his passion stroke for stroke, and when her hand closed around his aching manhood, her rhythm matched the pace of their dueling tongues. Balancing on the precipice, he held tight, wanting more than quick release.
He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, their mouths still locked in a mind-numbing kiss. His fingers closed on her nipples and he rubbed and teased until she cried out for more. Replacing his fingers with his mouth he suckled at first one nipple and then the other, his mouth relishing the feel of her body responding to his. He tugged lightly with his teeth and she ground her hips against him, writhing with need.
"Now, Michael, please."
The entreaty was all he needed. Rolling over again so that she was nestled in the warmth of the covers, he lifted his body, bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes locked on hers. With one smooth stroke, he drove deep inside her, her body surrounding him in throbbing heat.
Her legs moved apart as she shifted, pulling him deeper, her arms locking around his shoulders. He lowered his head for a reverential kiss and then, feeling her tighten around him with impatience, began to move, his thrusts meeting hers, body against body, until he truly couldn't tell where he left off and she began.
And in the moment just before the world turned to light, he knew that somehow he'd find a way to convince her to stay. They belonged together—now and always—and he wasn't about to let her go without a fight.
27
The first trace of fuchsia had inched its way over the tops of the mountains, the color reflecting off of the bottoms of the clouds as if a celestial spotlight lit each one. Cara sat on the porch steps, hugging her middle to ward off the early morning chill, her attention riveted on the magnificent display above her, watching as the deep pink slowly faded into orange-tinged gold. She longed for a paintbrush, wanting to capture the magic.
"Penny for your thoughts."
Cara started at the sound of a voice, glancing up to see Loralee emerge from the doorway. She smiled at her great-grandmother, the concept somehow seeming less foreign now that she'd had a little time to get used to it. "I was wishing I could paint the sunrise." She patted the plank next to her, and Loralee dropped down beside her.
"It'd be nice to capture the magic. Hold on to it for the hard times." Loralee closed her eyes, the sun illuminating her face. "This is my favorite time of day."
"Mine, too." Cara studied the soft lines of Loralee's face. She'd always imagined that ladies of the evening were a harsh lot, but Loralee had a special glow about her. Almost as if the sunshine emanated from inside her. Goodness. That's what it was. Pure and simple goodness.
"Are you going to stay here? When this is over, I mean?"
Cara bit her lip, considering the question. "I don't think so."
Loralee opened her eyes and smiled gently. "There's a connection between you and Michael, Cara. Anyone can see it."
"I care about Michael, but I'm not sure that's enough. I've had firsthand experience at losing people I love, and I'm not willing to risk that kind of hurt again. We're playing with time, for God's sake. Who's to say that the decision to stay or go is even mine to make?"
"I think you have make up your mind what it is you really want." Loralee closed her hand meaningfully over the silver locket hanging between her breasts. "And when you do, I suspect the decision will be yours. No matter where you come from, the future has yet to be decided."
Cara sighed. "It's all so complicated."
"I reckon everything in life is complicated."
"True enough." Cara decided turnabout was fair play. "How about you? Will you stay?"
"Now there's a mighty powerful question. There's reasons I might want to stay here."
She didn't say it, but Cara thought maybe she was talking about Patrick. She'd seen the way the two of them looked at each other. "But there are complications," Cara added dryly.
Loralee nodded. "Not the least of them being my daughter."
"But surely after everything you've been through, you deserve a happy ending."
Loralee looped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. "I honestly don't know if I believe in happy endings anymore." For the first time, Cara thought she heard a trace of bitterness in her great-grandmother's voice.
"Sometimes happiness is only a heartbeat away. You just have to look inside yourself to find it." Cara smiled. "My mother used to say that."
"Your mother was a wise woman." Loralee stood up, all traces of bitterness gone. "I suppose things will work out one way or another—for both of us."
"I hope so, Loralee. I truly hope so."
Michael swung up into the saddle, his hand automatically closing around the butt of the Winchester tucked safely into the leather holster on his saddle. It felt right.
He looked over at Cara, who was leaning forward checking her horse's bridle. She sat her mount with the ease of someone comfortable with horses. In fact, if he ignored her strange leather shoes, she almost looked like she belonged here. Truth was, he wanted her to belong here, wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything, but the fact was, she didn't. And she'd made it perfectly clear last night that she wasn't going to stay.
"Maybe he won't even be up there."
Michael pulled his attention from Cara and focused on his brother. "It's possible, but I've got a feeling he's there. If we're right about the silver, he's not likely to go far without it."
&n
bsp; "I suppose you're right." Patrick brushed absently at a stray piece of Roscoe's mane. "I wish you'd let me come with you. I don't like the idea of you going up there alone."
"I can handle it." Michael smiled and looked over at Cara. "Besides, I've got a sharpshooter with me, remember?" Cara met his gaze and smiled in return. His heart did a little somersault and suddenly, the day seemed to grow brighter.
"I still want to go with you."
Michael recognized Patrick's mutinous look. "I know, but we've been over this. Someone's got to tell Owen. He deserves to know. It's half his silver."
"A third." Patrick's words were soft, but certain, the lines of his face hard. "A third belonged to Zach and no matter what really happened, his share should go to Loralee."
"I've got no problem with that."
Patrick relaxed. "Best you get on then. I'll follow you as soon as I find Owen."
Michael looked over at Cara. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be."
He turned Roscoe with a slight movement of the reins. "All right then—"
"Wait." Loralee came running out of the house, a leather satchel in her hands. "I've packed some food." She held up the bag,. "Can't let you all go off without something."
Michael took the satchel and secured it on the back of his saddle. "We'll be glad to have this, Loralee. Thank you."
She tipped her head up and smiled at him, then turned to Cara, holding out something in her hand. "Take this. It's as much yours as mine, and it seems to have brought us both luck. I like the idea that it'll be there if you need it."
The locket. Michael felt a shiver of dread. The locket had the power to send Cara back. He tried to push the thought away as Cara took it and fastened it around her neck. As if somehow in doing so he could postpone the inevitable.
"I'll take good care of it, Loralee." Cara's voice was low, choked with emotion.
"You just take good care of yourself." The two women clasped hands, their eyes locked on one another.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 90