“You’re my best friend, Mommy. You know that?” Cole wrapped his grubby arms around her one morning after breakfast. “Plus you’re the bestest reader in the whole world.”
Ashley wished there was a way to thank Irvel and Helen and Edith. In a few short months they’d taught her more about love and life and making memories than she’d learned in all her years.
She had lived in fear and shame far too long—but no more. Her past mistakes were not Cole’s fault, and she could do nothing about them now. Cole would be young only once, after all. And these times with Cole were what she wanted to remember when she was old.
When guilt about her days in Paris or her missed opportunities with her son tried to sink its claws into her, she would shake it off even before a few minutes went by. Then she’d call for her son. “Come here, buddy. Mommy needs you.”
She’d hug him or kiss him or read to him.
A week after Ashley lost her job, her mother gave her a teasing complaint. “What happened to my boy? He hasn’t spent the night here in forever.”
“I’m making up for lost time, Mom.” Ashley stooped down, kissed Cole on the nose, and laughed as he playfully wiped it away. “As much as possible, I want him with me.”
Now it was nearly two weeks since she’d been fired, and that afternoon, Ashley had given in and let her mother take Cole for a few hours. She wasn’t far away. In fact, she was just out front, fifty yards from her parents’ front door. She had decided to create a painting of the Baxter house, the way it looked in early winter, bathed in the waning afternoon sunlight.
Bundled in an oversized parka, she sat in front of her easel and studied the sun rays as they hit the north side of the house where the dormers stood out. The image captured her so completely, she barely heard a car pull into the driveway behind her.
Must be Dad.
But the car didn’t continue down the drive, and the fact that it was even there quickly slipped Ashley’s mind. The temperature was dropping, and her fingers were stiff. She pressed the bristles into the pale gold color she had mixed and gently splayed them against the side of the palette, separating the fine hairs. She was running out of daylight, but she wanted to finish blocking in the sky before the sun set.
Once more she stared at the house. In this light it looked almost as though God himself were shining a lantern on the Baxter home. It was that effect she wanted to capture in her painting.
With featherlight strokes she added a shimmer of light to the left side of her canvas. She was about to dip her brush again when she felt someone come up behind her and take hold of her shoulders.
Before she could turn around, she knew it was Landon. His touch sent chills down her spine despite her heavy parka, chills that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature. But how could it be? She hadn’t heard from him since he left for New York.
She spun around, and there he was. “Landon.” She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, but only one mattered. Had he found Jalen? She couldn’t voice the question. Instead she soaked in the sight of him and saw a canyon of pain in his eyes.
Something in his expression told her his time in New York had changed him. He smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t sparkle the way they once had. She wanted to hug away the hurt, to hold him in her arms until he was okay again.
Dropping her brush, she nearly knocked over her easel as she stood up and slipped her arms around him. He still hadn’t said a word, and she wondered if something else was wrong. Maybe there’d been another tragedy.
“Landon?” She pulled back and studied his face. She still couldn’t ask about Jalen. “Are you okay?”
He lowered his chin, his eyes unblinking. “We found him.”
His words hit her like so many bricks. “Oh, Landon . . . I’m sorry.”
“I . . .” He shook his head, struggling. On top of every other emotion battling for position in his eyes, Landon was clearly exhausted. Like the other workers at Ground Zero, he probably hadn’t taken a day off in weeks. Maybe months. No wonder he hadn’t called her. Whatever hours he’d kept in New York, the task had taken its toll on him.
His voice was barely audible over the icy afternoon breeze. “I guess I always thought there was a chance. As long as we didn’t find his body, then maybe . . .” Landon shrugged. “Maybe he’d gotten out somehow. Maybe he was wandering the city with amnesia or trapped somewhere in an underground pit with a miracle supply of food and water.”
Ashley nodded and exhaled hard, sharing his sense of defeat. What could she say? She hadn’t known Jalen, but she had seen the light in Landon’s face when he talked about their times together in Texas, seen the pictures of the two of them when she’d been in Landon’s house. It was hard to imagine the smiling young man . . . dead.
“I prayed for you. Like I said I would.”
“I know. I can tell.” He searched her eyes. “You have no idea how good it is to see you.” He slid his arms around her waist and drew her closer, burying his face in the shoulder of her parka. “There was so much death, Ashley. It felt like . . . hell—the way I picture hell being.”
She loosened the hold she had on his neck and ran her fingers along his shoulders. “But you’re alive, Landon. You’re here, and you’re alive.”
“Seeing Jalen like that, lifting his body from that awful pile of debris and silt . . .” His voice choked. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done, Ash.” He studied her face. “Apart from leaving you.”
There it was. The truth about how he felt. Even if he hadn’t called, he’d been thinking about her the same way she was thinking of him. Ashley knew what was coming, but she couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he was here in her arms again.
“Landon.” The months faded like so many hours, and their lips met in a desperate kiss that was part sorrow, part grief. Part uncertain passion. When they pulled away, tears stained both their faces. “I missed you.”
“Me, too. Every hour, Ashley.” Their eyes held a moment longer; then Landon sucked in a deep breath and tried to smile. “Let’s get your stuff inside.” He helped gather her paints and fold her easel. “You have no idea how good this air smells.”
For the first time there was the hint of life in his eyes. Ashley took it as a good sign. Maybe after they spent time together, he’d be able to move on, despite the awful things he’d seen. Maybe his eyes would once more reflect everything good and right and loyal within him.
The way they had before he went to New York.
Side by side they carried her things to the house. They had barely gotten through the door when Cole spotted them. “Hey, you’re back!” Ashley watched her son hurl himself into Landon’s muscled arms and throw his little-boy hands around his neck.
Landon squeezed him for a long while. “That’s the best hug I’ve had in weeks, buddy.” He winked at Ashley over Cole’s shoulder. “I missed you.”
“Yeah, me too.” Cole’s voice brimmed with barely contained excitement. “After you went away, I didn’t watch any baseball games! Just football.” Cole framed Landon’s face with his hands. “And Mommy doesn’t wrestle very good.”
“No.” Landon slipped Cole back to the floor but held tight to his hand. “Girls aren’t very good wrestlers.” He dropped down to Cole’s level. “But your mom’s not bad. I definitely think you should keep her.”
Ashley’s parents welcomed Landon as though he were their own son. He stayed for dinner, and throughout the evening Ashley couldn’t take her eyes off him. Her heart jumped around within her like she was some crazy, lovesick teenager. After dinner they ate the banana bread her mother and Cole had made, and then, sometime around eight o’clock, they headed back to Ashley’s house.
Cole fell asleep on the way, and Landon carried him into the house and gently laid him in bed. Finally they were alone, and Ashley took her place on the sofa. Landon lit the fireplace and then moved to join her. But he stopped when he saw one of her paintings on the opposite wall behind the sofa. He studied it for a moment the w
ay he always did when he took in her work, his eyes narrow, thoughtful.
“That’s beautiful.”
She smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re good, Ashley.” He cast her a serious look. “People would line up for the chance to buy these.”
Ryan Taylor had said the same thing a year ago when he’d come to her house after their day together at the mall. Ashley remembered being flattered that he’d even noticed her work. But the praise sounded different coming from Landon—more . . . meaningful. Maybe it was because Landon cared about her heart. When he looked at her artwork, he didn’t see colors and shading and depictions of light.
He saw her.
Landon made a slow circle of the room, studying each painting. He stopped at her most recent piece—one of Cole on the backyard swing.
“Ash, that’s gorgeous. You captured him perfectly.” Landon moved closer and studied the detail. He gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. “I love that boy.” He glanced at her, making a fist and pressing it to the place above his heart. “Now that he’s in here, I can’t get him out.”
“He loves you too.” A sadness swelled within her. What a price little Cole had paid for her own stubborn behavior. If only she’d seen Landon for who he was years ago, when she first came back from Paris. If she had, she doubted he’d be interested in moving to New York City. He’d be here with her and Cole.
The three of them might even be a family.
She pushed the thought away. There was no going back now. Landon had other plans, other commitments. He must have. Otherwise he would have found time to call her from New York—at least once in a while. Yes, he’d kissed her a few hours ago, but there was no way to know what he’d meant by it. And she was too afraid of his answer to ask him.
After a while he returned to the sofa and sat beside her. He shifted, settling back into the cushion as his eyes found hers. “It feels so good to be here.”
“It’s weird.” She stretched out beside him, her legs adjacent to his. “You and Ryan Taylor both out there in New York, and Kari and I still here. Kari flew out to see him last week. Ryan isn’t sure if he’ll stay in New York next year. He has to finish the season first.”
“Yeah, I saw him down at Ground Zero once. He and a few players were helping with water.”
The question she’d been afraid to ask dangled in the warm light of the crackling fire. Finally Ashley had no choice but to voice it. “You’re going back, aren’t you?”
A sigh eased through his lips, and he cocked his head, his eyes begging her to understand. “Yes.”
She wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t make his answer any easier. Why had he come home, then? Was she merely a diversion, a way to refuel after too much time on the front lines? His life, his career—all of it was in New York now. And there was no telling whether he would ever move back to Bloomington again.
For a moment a wild notion flashed in her mind. She could move to New York City. Take Cole and start life over on the East Coast. That way she and Landon could be together as often as they pleased, and maybe one day . . .
The idea fell flat. Who was she kidding? Paris had left her hating big-city life. New York would be loud and hectic, and it would kill her creativity. Painting would be impossible, and besides, she could hardly take Cole away from the family support she had in Bloomington.
His eyes were still locked on hers. She struggled to find her voice. “When do you go?”
“The end of the week.”
She crossed her arms and pressed them into her stomach. Anything to ease the knot that had formed there—a knot of hopelessness and despair mixed with the absolute certainty of something she hadn’t fully realized until earlier that afternoon.
She wasn’t falling in love with Landon Blake. She was already there.
But it didn’t matter; it was too late now. Landon was moving on, and there was nothing she could do about it, nothing she could say to make him change his mind. Nothing she would say even if she could. Because working in New York City was something Landon clearly wanted, and it would be wrong to stand in his way. She’d had her chance, and she’d blown it.
“Then what?” She kept her tone even, not wanting to make him feel guilty for his decision.
“I take Jalen’s place at the station.”
“Jalen’s place?” She was awed at the thought. The two of them were supposed to work together. But now, with Jalen gone, the experience would be completely different. Every call, every fire, Landon would feel Jalen with him, feel as though he were fulfilling Jalen’s passion. She understood why he wanted to go back. But still . . .
“Why . . . why’d you come home?”
Landon took her hands in his. “The captain said I needed time away.” He hesitated. “I’ll begin a one-year contract when I get back.”
Ashley swallowed her disappointment, but her mind was reeling. It didn’t make sense. If he was going back, if he was still taking the job even after all that had happened, then why was he here now? He could have gone to his parents’ house and called her once before his flight back to New York. Instead, he’d found her the moment he got home. Did he still have romantic feelings for her, or had he finally accepted her as “just a friend”? The way she once wanted to think about him?
Landon lifted her hands and held them to his face. “You’re cold.”
Ashley felt herself blush. Her hands always got cold when she was nervous. “Cold hands, warm heart, I guess.”
“You don’t need cold hands to prove that, Ashley.” He shot a look at her nearest paintings again. “Look at your work.” His eyes softened, and his expression grew thoughtful. “You can’t fake that kind of warmth. And you can’t put it on canvas if it isn’t in you.”
He lowered her hands but still kept hold of them. “You didn’t tell me you’d lost your job.”
Ashley bit her lip and shook her head. Her father had mentioned it over dinner, probably assuming Landon already knew. Landon had missed much about her life, her heart, while he was away. Most of the time she had doubted he was coming back—at least not for a long time. “You”—her voice was barely a whisper—“you never called.”
“No.” Again his eyes searched hers. “I couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t?” Her voice rose and a splash of anger colored her words. It was unavoidable. Her frustration ran deep, as though it had been silently building in the basement of her heart for weeks. “Every day I wondered how you were, whether you’d found Jalen.” Her tone became more sad than angry. “One call, Landon? You couldn’t make one single phone call?”
He didn’t react, but his expression was more intense than she’d ever seen it. “I couldn’t because I knew what would happen.”
“What?” Ashley shook her head, trying to make sense of his answer. “What would’ve happened if you called, Landon?”
His head fell back a bit, and he stared at a spot on the wall behind her, his eyes distant. “It was so awful, Ashley. Death . . . grief . . . devastation in every direction, filling every breath.” A horrible pain, raw and haunting, filled his features as his gaze met hers again. “Don’t you see? The sound of your voice would’ve put me over the edge and sent me running home, desperate for the next plane out of New York.” He squinted, his eyes watery. “I couldn’t do that to Jalen.”
His explanation cut Ashley to the core. How shortsighted she’d been to mistake his silence for anything but what it had been—a driven, single-minded determination to find his friend. “I’m sorry, Landon. I didn’t think—”
“Don’t.” He lifted one of his hands from hers and brought a finger to her lips. “You don’t owe me an apology. I should’ve called you.” He leaned forward and gave her a tender kiss on the forehead. “I wanted to. I just couldn’t.” He dropped back to his spot. “Understand?”
“Of course.” His answer made his silence clear, but it didn’t answer the bigger question. Why was he going back? It was a question she wasn’t ready to ask, so she bit the inside
of her lip and waited for him to talk.
“Okay.” Landon drew a slow breath. “Tell me about your job. What happened?”
Ashley took a moment to mentally switch gears. “Belinda. She didn’t like me from the beginning.”
Ashley told him about her Internet discoveries, how she’d tried to reach the residents at Sunset Hills with methods that Belinda and Lu considered controversial. Ashley let her gaze fall to her lap. “Maybe it is better to keep them grounded in the present.” She lifted her eyes to his. “But you should have seen them, Landon; it was amazing. Edith stopped screaming. Helen was almost normal. Irvel wasn’t worried about whether Hank was late.” She raised one shoulder. “It seemed good to me.”
For a long while Ashley sat there looking at Landon, studying his face. Ever since the day she met him, Ashley had worried that he was too simple, too conservative, that life with him would be predictable and routine. But now she wondered where she’d gotten that idea. And there was something else—a quiet depth to him that she hadn’t noticed before. A depth that was intensely attractive.
He released one of her hands and pushed a wisp of hair off her forehead. “You miss them.”
“Yes.” Tears stung at her eyes before she could stop them. “Especially Irvel.”
“What you did was right, Ashley. I agree with that pastor you read about. Memories are from God.” He cupped the side of her face and pulled her close until their lips came together. Their kiss was tentative this time, as though they both had questions. When he pulled back, his eyes caught hers, and she felt a piercing bit of the hurt that was to come. The hurt of telling Landon good-bye after being in his arms again, after knowing for sure that her heart would never love another man the way she loved him.
“Sometimes . . .” His tone was low and spoke volumes about his feelings for her. Their faces were inches apart, and the glow from the fire shone in his eyes. “Sometimes memories are all we have. All that keep us going.”
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