An odd, numbing calm stole over Sunny. They had to bring him up to safety. She'd think no further than that.
"Give me your hand," commanded Ryan, reaching for him.
The boy squinted up at them, and Sunny was surprised to see defiance in his pale, oval face. "No," he said, "I have to get that flower." He glanced at a solitary white bloom that grew a few feet out of his reach. "It's a Cullowhee Lily, like the one in Professor Collins's book. He says they're very rare." Fervently, he added, "My pa will be proud I found it."
"Tell you what, kid," Ryan said in a conversational tone. "If you give me your hand, I'll get the flower for you."
"No." A shower of dirt and rocks sprayed downward beneath his high-topped sneaker as the boy moved a step farther away. His hands clutched convulsively at the rock-bound tree root.
Sunny swallowed a hysterical sob that was bubbling up in her. Another false move, if the boy dislodged the wrong rock, both he and Ryan could plunge to their deaths. Fear returned to her in a sickening blast.
Jonathon peered up at them, his face now chalky white with fear of his own. Still, obstinate determination burned in his amber eyes. "You might be tricking me. You might not get the lily. And I need it." His desperation seemed incongruous, until he said, "My pa might not believe I found it."
Ryan looked at Sunny with a mute call for help.
Through a constricted throat, she managed to say steadily enough, "If you come with us, Jonathon, we'll bring your father up here to see the lily. We'd tell him how you found it."
Jonathon shook his head, scaring her with his movement. "He won't have time to come up here. He's real busy."
She tried to think of a persuasive response, but panic clouded her mind.
"If you pick the lily, it'll die," Ryan stated firmly. "What good is a dead flower?" Only by the twitching of a muscle in his jaw could Sunny detect his tension.
"Cullowhee lilies are almost stinked. Professor Collins said so. That means they're real, real special."
"So are Pluto Power Crystals," replied Ryan.
Sunny and the boy both frowned at him. Jonathon asked, "What kind of crystals?"
"Pluto Power Crystals. Taken from a meteor that fell from Pluto. You have heard of the planet Pluto, haven't you?" Ryan spoke with such authority, Sunny almost believed him.
Jonathon closed one eye against the sun, tilted his head and nodded.
Ryan rolled to the side and dug into his pocket, coming out with a small purple stone that he held up for the boy to see. "Here it is. This is a lot rarer than any kind of lily." The smooth chunk of amethyst glinted purple in the sunlight. Sunny recognized the gem. It was Ryan's good luck charm—a small piece of amethyst his father had brought him back from his travels; Ryan had been about Jonathon's age at the time.
He'd kept it all these years! On his person, it seemed. Sunny found it easier to believe the stone came from Pluto.
"And it's magic," Ryan added. "You can have it if you come up here now."
Staring at the stone, Jonathon wrinkled his freckled nose. "Is it really magic, or are you trying to fool me?"
Ryan shrugged. "It always worked for me." Softly, he added, "You could wish for your pa to come see your lily."
Jonathon stared up at him doubtfully. An indecisive moment ticked by. His mouth twisted with regret. "I can't take your Pluto Power Crystal," he murmured, "because you're a stranger. I'm not allowed to take things from strangers." He chanced another glance toward the flower on the distant ledge. "But I better not pick that lily, either." Glumly, he explained, "If it's almost stinked, it shouldn't die."
Ryan stared at the boy. Sunny saw surprise in his gray eyes. And respect. The kind one man gives another when he's earned it.
The child saw it, too. His amber eyes grew bright, his thin shoulders squared. Like a flower in sunlight, he blossomed. "Yeah, I'll let the Cullowhee lily grow."
Ryan nodded and held out his hand.
Cautiously, Jonathon rose to his feet. Sunny sucked in her breath and prayed. Jonathon reached upward. Ryan's large hand closed around his small one. Slowly, cautiously, he pulled Jonathon up. The boy's jeans and sneakers scraped against stones, dislodging a small avalanche below.
Sunny's heartbeats shook her.
Shifting to his knees for more leverage, Ryan gave a final heave and fell backward, the boy tucked against his chest like a football in a quarterback's arms during a violent tackle.
He expelled a hard breath, then another. He turned Jonathon by his shoulders and stared at him sternly. "Never climb that fence. You might have fallen. And died. There's only one of you in this world, too. That makes you almost extinct."
Surprise now shone in Jonathon's eyes. "It does? Wow!" Clearly impressed, he vowed, "I won't climb the fence again. Ever. I promise."
Their gazes held—man's and boy's. Ryan nodded, accepting his word. "You made the right choice back there, son."
Jonathon's thin chest expanded beneath his gray sweatshirt. He put his arms around Ryan's neck and hugged him. For a reason Sunny couldn't quite fathom, she felt like crying.
After a thorough mussing of Jonathon's auburn mop, Ryan helped Sunny climb the fence, then boosted the boy over; he scampered down the boulder on the other side.
When Ryan had hoisted himself over the fence, a husky, uniformed sheriff's deputy came huffing toward them. "The boy okay?" he called.
Ryan nodded. The deputy asked a few more questions, then some of Jonathon. Ryan drew the officer to the side and handed him the amethyst stone—the Pluto Power Crystal. With a brief smile, the deputy ushered Jonathon back down the path that led to his house.
Ryan stood staring in the direction they had taken, his hands curled at his sides. Silently, Sunny tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. He turned abruptly and pulled her into a hug, pressing his wind-cooled cheek against hers. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe. They clung together in silence, the aftershock of near disaster freezing them with visions of what might have been.
"He almost fell, Sunny," Ryan said. "To his death. Reaching for a flower to—" he drew in a steadying breath "—to make his father proud."
She heard the tremor in his whisper and a deep, warm emotion welled up inside of her. "But you were there for him."
There for him. The words echoed deep within Ryan's heart, touching places too painful to examine. She hadn't been referring to his physical presence on that ledge.
The hushed rustling of the mountain forest took on the solemnity of a thankful prayer. A wistful prayer.
When her throat had loosened enough, Sunny said, "A kid like that—" She gave a soft little laugh. "Well, someday he will make his father proud."
Ryan, too, gave a little laugh, but it was harsh, devoid of humor. It chilled Sunny to hear it, because she remembered the little boy he had been, once upon a time, with eyes as needful as Jonathon's.
After a while, Sunny felt Ryan relax his embrace. "Your prophecy didn't come true, Short Stuff." His tone was light, but the look in his silvery eyes was oddly poignant. "I didn't fall off Devil's Ridge."
"Not this time, at least. Thank God."
Ryan glanced back at the Ridge. Then down at Sunny. "There won't be a next time."
It was a promise Ryan knew he'd keep. For when he had peered down that rocky cliff into the gorge miles below, he had experienced no thrill. Not even a ghost of one. Only a strong, inner warning of peril. And a sharp regret at the thought of dying. He had too many things left unresolved.
Like Sunny. He hadn't yet made love to her. Hadn't reclaimed her as his own.
But now, as Ryan basked in her approving gaze, the inner warning sounded again. Here also lies danger. And he forced those near-death revelations from his mind.
They rode their horses back to the inn, stopping only to gather the picnic basket and blanket from beneath the towering oak tree. By the time they arrived at Windsong Place
, a small crowd of guests had gathered on the front porch.
Someone sh
outed, "Here they come now."
The crowd parted, and Lavinia glided down the front steps, past the pink azalea garden. She smiled warmly as they dismounted and handed their reins to the gardener.
"I'm so proud of you two, I could just burst." Lavinia extended her arms to include both Ryan and Sunny in her hug. "We're so fortunate you were here." Stepping between them, she placed a hand on each of their backs and guided them up the garden stairs. "Come, tell us about the rescue. We're dying to hear."
"How in the world did you hear about it?" asked Sunny.
"A reporter from the local newspaper called. I swear they have the sheriff's office bugged. He's on his way over to interview you."
"Interview us?" Ryan repeated incredulously. "For what? We gave a kid a helping hand, that's all."
"Spoken like a true hero," Lavinia gushed as they reached the front porch. "But the reporter's going to want details. Like exactly where the Barrett boy was stranded, how you managed to pull him to safety—"
"Barrett boy? His name's Barrett?"
"Yes. Son of the country-western star. I suppose that had a lot to do with the media's quick response.
Ryan's brows furrowed. "He's Grady Barrett's son?"
"Why, yes, he is," confirmed Lavinia. "Jonathon lives in the house next door. With his father." She paused, then added, "Actually, with that sour-faced nanny of his. Jonathon sneaks over here to visit us whenever he can. Grady spends most of his time on the road, performing."
Ryan couldn't picture Grady, his boyhood pal from the house next door, as a father. Obviously, neither could Grady.
"Where's Jonathon's mother?" asked Sunny, more concerned about the boy than with his father's identity.
"Paris, maybe?" Lavinia shrugged. "Timbuktu? She and Grady are divorced. Anyway, we don't have much time to chat. The reporter should be coming soon. Oh, there's the news van now."
The interview lasted only moments, during which a young, bespectacled reporter recorded Ryan's and Sunny's responses. Ryan cut the interview short by professing to be hungry and tired, for which Sunny was grateful; she herself wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a good meal and a rest.
After the reporter left, Lavinia shooed the guests into the Oak Hall for tea, handed Sunny a menu and told the chef to send whatever dishes Mrs. Alexander ordered to their room. "Sunday nights are quiet. I figured you'd enjoy privacy this evening."
Ryan hesitated at the foot of the Grand Stairway. Privacy. That was the last thing he and Sunny needed. "Where's Wilbur? I have a few questions to ask him about renovations."
Lavinia colored slightly. "To be perfectly honest, he's driven into Asheville to meet with the other bidder. Just to let him down gently, you understand. The poor man wanted to buy Windsong Place
in the worst way. Wilbur agreed to have dinner with him in town. But don't let it worry you."
As Ryan and Sunny ascended the stairway, they shared a glance loaded with doubts. They both knew Ryan's father a little too well to not worry.
After a hot, relaxing shower, Ryan dressed in soft faded jeans and an old college sweatshirt, then stepped out onto the veranda of their private suite, into the softness of the May evening. Sunny sat beside the small round table, where fragrant dishes steamed; she was staring at the mountains silhouetted in the deep gold of twilight.
Ryan pulled out a chair, and Sunny's luminous green eyes took on a welcoming warmth. "Shrimp and pork egg rolls. Sizzling rice soup. Chinese vegetables. Szechuan chicken."
All his favorite dishes. He sat down with his uneasiness growing. Ten years they had been apart, and she remembered his favorite meal. Why did he find that fact so disturbing? So … provocative?
Before he could help himself, Sunny dished him out a good-sized portion of everything. She even mixed the duck sauce with just the right amount of hot mustard on a side dish for him to dip his egg roll.
"A meal fit for a hero," she quipped.
At last. Something he could gripe about. "Don't you start that hero stuff now. I've had about all I can take of that. What the hell would anyone else have done? Twiddle their thumbs and watch the kid fall?"
Her full, shapely lips curved into a grin. "Face it—you were magnificent."
Ryan scowled and ate in obstinate silence.
Sunny didn't say much, either. When she had finished only a bowl of sizzling rice soup, she set down her Oriental spoon and strolled over to the railing to gaze up at the sky. It had darkened to a rich butterscotch streaked with magenta.
Ryan couldn't help but watch the leisurely sway of her hips as she moved. The warm breeze ruffled her silky curls.
He realized then his plan had backfired. The extensive physical exertion of the day had not lessened his dangerous longing for her. He wanted her even more now, with an even deeper hunger.
He forced his attention away from Sunny and concentrated on his Szechuan chicken.
Sunny attributed his silence to exhaustion. She knew he hadn't slept much the past two nights. After today's hike, he probably needed a good, long sleep.
"You take the bed tonight," she said. "I'll take the cot."
"The cot is mine." He didn't raise his eyes from his plate.
Sunny decided he didn't look or act sleepy at all. He looked … explosive. A shiver raced through her. Rescue me now, she thought. Reach out your hand. Pull me to you.
Biting the corner of her lip, Sunny turned her eyes toward the mountains. This stark longing for Ryan had somehow worn her defenses thin. No doubt because of the intensely emotional day.
She had almost lost him. Irrevocably. Not as a lover—she had lost him that way years ago. But in those fearful moments on Devil's Ridge, she had realized with astounding clarity how vital it was that Ryan Alexander share the same planet with her. The same time span etched out of eternity. She had promised God anything—everything—if only He'd keep Ryan safe.
Sunny filled her lungs deeply with the fragrant air, as if she'd been drowning.
Not only had he survived, but he had saved a child's life. And established a bond with him in a way she could not have. In doing so, he had shown a side of himself he always tried so hard to hide—his compassion, his sensitivity.
Sunny's hands trembled on the veranda railing. Ryan had turned to her after he'd mastered the crisis. He had hugged her, struggled with tears. She'd wanted to go on holding him. She'd wanted to kiss him … make love to him until their passion melted away the sadness that loomed just beyond her reach.
The longing in her intensified.
Her prayers had been answered today. She'd said she'd be satisfied sharing a planet with him. But thinking of her desperate prayers only reminded her of how vulnerable human beings were, how short a person's life could be.
He could die tomorrow. Without ever making love to her again. The realization stunned her. Left her feeling bereft. She couldn't let that happen.
"Think I'll go take my bath now," she whispered. He didn't look up from his meal as she quickly made her way past him.
Sometime during her flower-scented bath, the truth came to Sunny quite clearly. Its simplicity almost made her laugh. Why was she trying so hard to resist her physical longing for Ryan?
They were both mature, independent, secure adults now, not impressionable youths. Neither of them would "get into trouble," as her grandmother had so often phrased it. And no matter how often Ryan might remind her that she was his employee, she knew in her heart she was more than that.
She was an integral part of his past. They had grown up together. Courted. Married—even if it had been a humiliatingly short, painful marriage. They certainly wouldn't make that mistake again.
So why couldn't they behave like any two normal, single adults who were physically attracted to each other, and happened to be sharing the same bedroom?
When she thought of it in that light, she realized exactly what their problem had been lately—they weren't being honest with each other. At least, she wasn't being honest with him. By hiding her desire for him,
wasn't she, in effect, lying?
Truth. That's what was lacking between them. Yes, indeed. The truth would set her free. She hoped.
In a zippered pocket within her purse, she found a condom tucked away long ago, just in case she'd ever needed it. She would need it tonight.
She brushed her hair to a radiant glow, glossed her lips to a pearly shimmer, and slipped into a long, diaphanous ivory gown that floated around her as she walked. The temptation was strong to add its matching robe, which would have kept the ensemble modest, the way she originally had intended to wear it. But she resisted the impulse. With her heart tripping over itself, she left the robe draped across the vanity chair.
With her fingers wrapped tightly around the condom, she stepped out of the tiny dressing room wearing only the translucent gown.
A small bedside lamp cast golden shadows as she slowly glided across the suite. Her nervousness increased with each step. The room was silent. Where was he?
She found him lying on the narrow cot, with his bare, muscular back to her. His bronze shoulder rose above the patchwork quilt she had lent him. One dark-haired arm was tucked beneath the pillow; the other rested across his lean waist. His deep, even breathing convinced her he was asleep.
Disappointment coursed through her. He needs his rest, she told herself.
Quietly, she rounded the cot to his other side and peered down into his face. She took in his dark lashes, the black hair framing his angular face, the cleft chin and wide, firm lips. His male beauty entranced her. And the elusive scent of his skin and hair—musky, masculine, uniquely his—deepened her sensual longing.
She wondered what he'd do if she kissed him. Sudden doubts flurried through her. Years had passed since they had last made love. She had been eighteen then; she was twenty-eight now. Would he still find her desirable?
She paced away from him and struggled to rid herself of the doubts. Boost her confidence. Regain the certainty she had felt so strongly back there during her lily-scented bath.
When she turned back toward him, she froze. His eyes were open. And he was staring at her.
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