Ryan saw Sunny gazing at the frolicking children with a wistful expression. He'd seen that look in her eyes before, and every time it packed a surprising punch to his gut.
She was thinking about their baby. Their lost baby.
He towered above her as she watched two carrot-topped boys skipping across the brook on rocks. Her eyes, fixed on the children, were suspiciously bright. "Sunny?"
"Hmmm?"
Ryan dropped down onto the blanket beside her. She was so lovely, so incredibly lovely. He wanted to take the pain away from her. A pain she wouldn't have had to live with if he hadn't deliberately seduced her—overcome her reluctance with determined kisses and the most potent wine he could find—that summer so long ago. She had just turned eighteen. Eighteen. And though he'd been a mere twenty—a week shy of twenty-one—he still felt responsible.
He tried to assuage his guilt by telling himself that if he hadn't taken her virginity, someone else would have. But in his heart, he didn't believe it. She wouldn't have given in to anyone else. Not then. Perhaps not for years, when she would have been more worldly.
"Aren't they cute, Ry?" she asked softly, nodding toward the boys.
"I suppose so." He felt helpless against her anguish; against his own guilt. "Maybe I will have some more of that cider." He took the half-empty carafe out of the picnic basket that Sunny had just repacked, along with two wineglasses.
"Ours would have been about the age of that one," ruminated Sunny. "The boy jumping across the rock. Or maybe smaller, like the one climbing that tree. I'd say they're both around nine or ten, wouldn't you?"
"Here." Ryan handed her a glass of sparkling cider, wrapped her hand around the glass and kept his hand over hers for a moment. She glanced at him in surprise. He didn't know what to say. He searched for words that might soothe her, but he couldn't find any. Never could.
She seemed to know his intent, anyway. "I'm okay." She smiled lopsidedly and took the glass. "I've been fine for years. I even teach art classes to kids in the summer. I don't know why I've been so melancholy in the last few days about children. It must be this place. Or maybe being with you again." Her voice caught, and she looked quickly away from him. "We would have been parents, you and I."
The idea of having a child with Sunny lodged like a bullet in Ryan's chest. He had wanted their son or daughter, maybe even more than she had.
An irreverent thought occurred to him. A child would have tied Sunny to him. Permanently.
"Maybe things have worked out for the best," he mused. "I might not have made a very good father. I don't know much about kids. I've never been around them." The chaos of conflicting emotions made his words harsher than he intended. "I probably won't be in the future, either."
"You don't want a family?" She sounded incredulous.
"Not especially." After he said it, he could have kicked himself. Her eyes had darkened again with that same pain—the one that had overwhelmed her at their baby's death; the one that had driven her away from him.
"Then I guess things have worked out for the best," she said in a choked whisper.
"Sunny, you know damned well I wasn't talking about … about us, or our baby. I would have wanted … I mean, I did want … oh, hell. You know what I mean." Every word seemed to alienate her more, and his confusion deepened. To change the subject, he asked morosely, "What about you? Do you plan to have children?"
"Definitely."
His gaze settled on her. He wasn't sure why he was surprised; she'd always wanted children. Or more precisely, a family. As a child, she'd been planted into one step-family after another, just long enough for her love to take root, only to be plucked out again by her flighty mother after another divorce. The only permanence Sunny had found was with her grandmother, Olive, during summers, here at Windsong Place
.
Which had ended with their divorce.
"Definitely?" Ryan repeated. He took a gulp of sweet, cold cider, swooshed it around in his mouth and wondered just how definite her child-bearing plans were. Surely she wasn't—?
"When I'm married, of course," she specified. Ryan choked on the cider, managed to swallow it and coughed. She hit him on the back in concern. "Are you okay?"
He nodded, and when he had regained his breath, croaked out, "Married? You're getting married?"
"Not any time soon. First I want to be established in my career. But if this purchase goes through, I should be well on my way to achieving that."
Ryan felt stunned. Shell-shocked. "Who's the lucky guy?
She averted her eyes again, looking embarrassed. "I didn't mean that I'm engaged. I'm talking about future plans."
"But you must have someone in mind."
She took a sip of the cider. "In a way."
"In a way? What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, I have an idea of what my Mr. Right will be like."
A strong, dizzying relief filled Ryan. She hadn't yet found her "Mr. Right." Silently he cursed her mother for her several marriages and divorces. No wonder Sunny craved permanence. But in Ryan's opinion, marriage was certainly no way to find it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could guarantee "forever." Not even a wedding vow, as he knew from experience.
She continued in a stronger voice, "Practicality is the key. I'll find a man with the qualities I want in a husband. And I'll make sure that this time, the marriage lasts."
Ryan's mouth tightened. Unlike their marriage, she meant.
"You're saying you're going to hunt for Mr. Right with some kind of a shopping list?" he asked derisively.
"Not hunt. But I will keep my mind open to possibilities."
"Let's hear this list of, uh, qualities," Ryan urged, interested in spite of the heaviness that had settled over him.
She hesitated a moment. "To begin with, I'd like him to have philosophies in keeping with mine. For example, you know I feel very strongly about the fate of fur-bearing animals. Fox, mink, beaver. I'd never marry a man who bought fur products."
Ryan almost laughed out loud, but managed to control his mirth. "I have heard that mink-murderers make lousy husbands."
She directed a sharp side-glance at him. "You don't think similar ideals are important?"
"Of course I do. Really. Go on. Tell me more."
"He'd have to have a sense of humor."
Ryan nodded in total agreement. "Essential for the sake of anyone involved with you."
Sunny acknowledged his mockery with a droll smirk, but otherwise ignored it. "He has to be successful in his career, or at least a hard worker, since he'll be my lifelong partner."
"Now, that's sensible. Will you require a résumé?"
"Hopefully his life-style will reflect his efforts."
"Rich, you mean."
"Not necessarily," she protested, disturbed by the implication. "Just industrious. And he must sincerely like children. That's very important."
"This guy has my heartfelt admiration already."
"It would be nice if he were reasonably attractive, too. Not necessarily knock-'em-dead handsome like you."
Ryan cast her a sardonic glance, expecting to find a teasing light in her eyes. But there was no levity in her straight-ahead gaze. Only contemplation. He finished his cider and curtly pushed the empty glass down into the picnic basket.
If her Mr. Right ever hurt her, he'd kill the bastard.
To lighten his darkening mood, Ryan muttered, "So he has to have money, humor, patience, looks and no opinion contrary to yours."
His sarcastic tone was lost on her. She nodded with perfect seriousness. "Yes, and one more thing."
Ryan lifted his brows, waiting for her to go on.
Sunny fidgeted with a wild daisy she had plucked from the grass. Ryan shifted uncomfortably on the blanket beside her. Her blush spoke vividly of her last requirement, whether she realized it or not.
Some invisible python wrapped around his chest and squeezed. He didn't want to envision her making love to some other man. Refused to do so.
/> Sunny evaded the last qualification on her list with a bright and breezy "Anyway, what do you think?"
Ryan scowled. "I think you're crazy." As much as he tried to fight it, his earlier resentment had returned, stronger than ever. And a question formed itself in his gut: Which ones of those qualities had he been lacking? Why had she left him?
But he knew the answer. They'd discussed it at the time. She'd left him because there'd been no reason to stay. Neither of them had particularly wanted to marry. They'd done so for the sake of the baby. And when the baby had died, so had their marriage. Simple, straightforward, logical.
"Marriage is emotional suicide," muttered Ryan. "It encourages both parties to become too dependent on the other. It fosters a dangerous illusion."
"You mean, the illusion of … love?" she asked quietly.
The word deepened his illogical anger. He refused even to repeat it. "Or something equally destructive. Show me a miserable human being, and I'll show you a victim of … emotional dependence." He snatched the empty glass from her fingers, stuffed it into the basket and stood up.
He had to get out of here. Away from her. Away from the chaos roiling inside him.
Rock climbing. That's what he needed. Something strenuous and challenging enough to wear himself out, both mentally and physically. "I think you should head back to the inn. Take the blanket and basket with you."
Sunny stood up, but made no move toward either the blanket or the basket. The couple with the children had moved on, their happy voices fading into silence. Ryan and she were alone.
"Where are you going?" she asked.
He nodded toward one of the huge, hulking peaks beyond the hemlock forest. "I'm going to ride up to Devil's Ridge."
"Devil's Ridge?" To his amazement, her face actually paled. "Last night I dreamed about you on Devil's Ridge."
"Dreamed…?" He quirked his mouth up mockingly. "I'm flattered that you've been dreaming about me, but I'm not sure if it's politically correct in regards to your, uh, employer." Last night's anger merged with today's, and he emphasized the last word.
"The dream was so clear, it woke me up. Ryan, you fell."
He stared at her. She looked scared. Her sudden emotional intensity surprised and intrigued him. Lessened some of the heaviness inside him. "Sunny, none of your 'prophetic dreams' have ever come true before."
"So what? You know men have died falling from that rock. Why would you want to chance it?"
"Maybe heights just turn me on."
"Maybe risking your neck turns you on."
He lifted a shoulder in a negligent shrug. "Maybe."
"I know about all those crazy stunts you've pulled. Skydiving, hang gliding, bungee-jumping." She was pale, and her lips trembled. Like potent wine, her worry warmed his chest.
"More tabloid gossip," he murmured. "I've never bungee-jumped. Thought about it, but—"
"Ryan, I'm serious. I won't let you go up there."
"You won't let me?" he said in a disbelieving tone.
"That's right." She squared her jaw, ready to fight.
Amused at her stance, at her obstinacy, he softly taunted, "You gonna fight me, Short Stuff?" He wasn't sure where the old nickname came from. He hadn't thought of it in twenty years.
"Yes, I will fight you," she vowed. "Any way I can."
"Should be interesting." Visions of wrestling with her swam before his eyes. Of forcing her down onto the blanket. Pinning her beneath him. Unbuttoning her blouse, kissing her resistance away. He felt his body respond to the prospect, his hunger returning full force.
Ten years, he thought with self-loathing, hadn't helped him at all. Sunny still meant trouble. Big trouble. Instantaneous combustion every time he touched her. Or even thought about it.
Furious with himself, and with her, he muttered, "Okay. I won't ride up to Devil's Ridge." She gaped at him, clearly surprise by her victory. "But I am going to ride the trails. Alone."
Silently, he added, Until I'm so damned tired I can't even think about touching you.
As Ryan set off on horseback through the dense mountain forest, Sunny left the blanket and picnic basket at the base of the giant oak and obstinately guided her mount behind him. He ignored her completely, which was fine with her.
She had only one reason for accompanying him on this ride—her dream from last night. A sense of foreboding filled her as she remembered waking in the middle of the night crying out his name. Ryan had fallen from Devil's Ridge.
Though none of her dreams had come true before, she hated to think this one might. Even if she had felt like plotting his murder last night, after he'd left her alone.
She tightened her hold on the reins. His desire had been real on that dance floor, and later, too, upstairs. That wasn't part of his performance, as he wanted her to believe. But then, desire had never been lacking between them—not since they'd broached adulthood. In fact, desire had been their downfall as friends. Perhaps that was why he was so determined to keep their relationship "professional."
She was grateful, actually, that he had come to his senses when he had. Yes, she decided, she was grateful. Because God knew she wouldn't have come around, and without a doubt, she would have regretted the lapse later.
With a frustrated sigh, she urged her horse up a steep incline, trying her best to keep pace with Ryan. After a good hour or so of riding up twisting paths, across muddy ravines and through dense forests, they finally came to a wide, well-traveled path where they stopped to rest their horses. From the way her ears felt, Sunny knew they'd reached a relatively high elevation.
Suddenly, a loud, piercing wail—a woman's scream—broke the stillness and jarred the tethered horses into restlessness.
With a glance at each other, Ryan and Sunny climbed an embankment toward the sound. It was only when they reached the top that Sunny recognized where they were. Her heart stopped.
They stood on Devil's Ridge.
* * *
7
« ^ »
Beside a steel fence lined with danger signs, a stout woman in a navy-blue wind suit stood on a huge granite boulder, her round, unadorned face white with panic. "Jonathon went over the cliff!" she cried. "He climbed this rock to get over the fence. I told him to get down, but he wouldn't listen."
Beyond the fence lay a sheer drop onto a rocky gorge. Dread clutched Sunny's heart.
"Stay here," Ryan told her. He followed Jonathon's route up the boulder, across the fence and down onto the rocky gray ledge. "He's okay," Ryan called. "He's on another ledge."
Sunny held her hands to her heart in relief. But it was a shaky, tentative relief. Jonathon, whoever he was, was still stranded on Devil's Ridge, a mile above a rocky gorge.
"The kid took off the minute my back was turned," whined the woman. "He outran me."
"Are you his mother?" Sunny felt certain she wasn't.
"His nanny. Should've given my notice weeks ago. I don't get paid enough to chase him up mountains."
Sunny cast her a blistering stare. "Will you go for help, or shall I?"
"I will. I'd rather not see—" The woman broke off mid-sentence, looking somewhat ashamed of herself, and hurried in the opposite direction from Windsong Place
.
"Hey!" called Sunny. "Windsong Place
is that way."
"Yeah, well we live that way." She pointed westward.
"Take my horse. It's tied up down there."
"No, thanks. I'd rather walk." The woman disappeared down the westward, twisting path. Sunny prayed it wouldn't take her long to get to a phone.
Weaving her fingers through the steel mesh fence, Sunny watched Ryan stretch out on his stomach at the edge of the precipice, his black hair whipping around his somber face. Fear drummed in her ears. He was too close to the edge.
Her dream replayed itself vividly in her mind. Ryan edging along Devil's Ridge. A sudden shout, a dislodging of rock. Him plunging into the rocky gorge below…
"Ryan," she cried, aching with
fear. "Come back here. I'll get the boy."
"Don't be crazy. You'd never be able to pull him up. Stay behind the fence, Sunny." Then he called down to the child, "You okay, Jonathon?"
"A little dizzy is all" came the faint reply in a boyish voice.
Sunny climbed up the boulder and found a smooth place to get a grip on the sharp-topped steel fence. When she found one, she supported her weight on her hands, then carefully swung one leg over, looking for a good toehold in the steel mesh. As she straddled the fence, she resisted the suicidal urge to turn around and peer over the edge of the cliff.
"Listen to me carefully, Jonathon," ordered Ryan. "Don't look down, understand? Just look up here at me. That's good. Now, I'm going to help you climb up."
"I'm not ready to come up yet."
Sunny couldn't believe her ears. How could any human being stand at the edge of death without panicking? But the boy sounded calm enough. His stoic attitude helped to ease the panic that threatened to overcome her as she lowered herself from the fence to the forbidden side.
If a child could keep his head while clinging to the side of a vertical cliff, couldn't she keep hers, standing on solid ground?
Despite her resolve to stay calm, her heart rose to her throat as she peeked over the ledge. She could see no bottom. Only a jagged rocky wall on the other side of the gorge, and vast, gray nothingness below.
Dizziness rushed over her. Her pulse thudded and her mouth went dry. What if the land should give way? If Ryan were to die, how could I bear to live? The thought shook her to the core, locked her into immobility.
Silently, devoutly, she prayed. Dropping to her knees, she edged her way closer to the cliff. She had to be there if Ryan needed her. Holding her breath, she narrowed her vision to include only the child who knelt on a lower ledge and not the sheer drop beneath him.
Kneeling on a narrow ledge with his small hands gripping a root that jutted out from the gray-and-russet rock wall, was a boy who looked no older than eight. His straight auburn hair was cut like an upside-down bowl and matched his amber eyes. A spray of freckles dusted his nose.
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