by Laurie Paige
"The one who shot her," Megan added.
He didn't waste time asking questions but led the way through a side door into his office. He punched in the number, discovered Jess was out and spoke to the sheriff.
"Gene wants to know if you can do a positive ID," Rory said to her.
Shannon nodded. "I can pick him out of a lineup."
"Okay," he said into the phone, listened, said goodbye and hung up. "Let's head over to his office. He'll have the guy in custody by the time we get there."
"Too bad he won't get to finish lunch," Shannon said sincerely. "The trout was wonderful."
Rory burst out laughing. "You," he said, "are too much." Then he kissed her lightly on the mouth.
Piqued, Shannon accompanied him and her grinning cousin to the sheriff's office. After a fifteen-minute wait, Gene asked her to check out the lineup he'd assembled.
"I'll need binoculars," she told him. "Or else I'll have to get in their faces."
With binoculars in hand, she easily identified the man as the perp. He insisted she was confused. "She can't even see," he shouted at the deputy who handcuffed him and read him the Miranda.
"She got her sight back. Too bad for you," the sheriff said without a trace of sympathy. "Book him, fingerprint him and lock him up."
The man yelled obscenities at her as they took him away. Rory took hold of her arm. "Good thing he's being locked up. I have an urge to bash his face in."
Gene chuckled. "I'm fighting the same urge. You up to signing a statement?" he asked Shannon.
"Yes," she answered, following Gene to his office to clear up the legalities.
* * *
"I'll see you tonight," Rory said later, when he and Shannon and Megan were standing on the sidewalk outside the sheriff's office.
"Tonight?" Shannon tried to remember if she'd agreed to dinner or something.
Although Rory had slept in her guest room for the past four nights, he'd been gone each morning when she awoke. They had shared a cup of cocoa each night when he'd arrived late in the evening, obviously tired.
And each night, she'd had to struggle not to go to him.
If he loved her, if she loved him, how different their lives might have been. If he loved her…
Because she did love him. The knowledge flowed through her with the sweet sadness of old dreams long departed. How could she not love him? He was everything she'd ever dreamed of in a man.
"Yes. I'll be in early. Then we'll talk," he added. After Megan left her at her house, Shannon put her groceries away and wondered what Rory wanted to discuss.
Maybe his folks were leaving and he wanted to break the pretend engagement and get his mother's ring back.
Touching the lovely diamond, she felt a tremendous lowering of her spirits. Love songs and stories had it all wrong. Being in love wasn't exhilarating. What had the bard said? "A madness most discreet, a choking gall and preserving sweet."
All that and more, she agreed. With a sigh, she went back to work. Clouds gathered over the valley during the long afternoon. More snow was forecast.
At four, the sky was dark and the wind from the mountains was frigid with the promise of bad weather. Rising and turning off the computer, Shannon pulled on her boots and outdoor clothing and went for a walk along the country lane. A crow cawed noisily at her as she crossed the bridge where the creek and road intersected.
The Windraven legacy, she mused. When the wind blew down from the mountain and the ravens cawed at twilight, disaster would follow within twenty-four hours. Usually to someone in her family.
The hair prickled on her nape when another crow joined the first, and they screeched at her for disturbing them. When the snow started falling, the crows fell silent. That seemed even more ominous.
Thirty minutes later, returning to her house, Shannon walked down the driveway to the cable that led to her back door. The shadows of the trees along the creek loomed dark and forbidding around her. The only sounds were those of the snow hitting the crusty drifts of last week and that of the lonely, mournful wind. She felt as if she were the only person in the world.
* * *
Rory frowned at the strange car in the driveway, blocking his entrance into the garage. More company?
Just what he needed.
Climbing out of the truck, he stood for a minute in the icy chill of the wind off the mountain and stretched tired muscles. He'd had to put down the Herriot mare that afternoon, a task that was never easy, but had been made harder by the fact that Kyle was his oldest friend. They'd suffered through school from kindergarten to graduation, through deaths of parents – Kyle's dad, his mom – and the loss of first loves … innocence … dreams…
My, but he was feeling morbid tonight. He needed to see Shannon. That always made him feel better.
Needed to?
Yeah.
Retrieving the food he'd brought home for dinner, he went into the house, curious about the owner of the car.
"Rory," his stepmother said. "Come into the living room. You'll never guess who I ran into today in town."
With a sardonic lift of an eyebrow, he left the bags in the kitchen and went down the hall. "Well, hello," he said with a smile. "I am surprised."
"Rory," Sandra Wheeler said, rising and coming to him.
They had dated briefly during high school, then she'd dumped him for the new banker's son. Holding no grudges, he returned her embrace warmly.
"What brings you back to these parts?" he asked.
She grimaced. "Divorce."
"Hey, I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm not. Ten years was more than enough to get over my illusions about marriage and fidelity. Luckily, we both agreed that we didn't want children too soon, so we don't have that complication."
He nodded, recalling his own words about marriage and fidelity, spoken to Shannon not long ago. His chest did the usual funny little pang under the breastbone when he thought of her.
"Can you stay for dinner?" he asked. "I brought some stuff home—"
"I thought we would go out," his stepmother broke in. "The four of us. I want to hear all about your family," she said to Sandra. "Your mother and I were friends in high school. Of course, that was back in the Dark Ages to you young people."
While everyone laughed, Rory gave his stepmom a quick study. What was she up to now? The woman was conniving, and he could spot trouble from a mile off.
Feeling uneasy, he told his guest to make herself at home. "I brought something for dinner. There's enough for everyone. I'll run next door and get Shannon."
"Shannon?" Sandra said with a glance at Catherine.
"My fiancée," he told her and noted the flicker of surprise in her gorgeous blue eyes. His stepmother had evidently forgotten to mention that detail. "Be right back."
The light was on in the kitchen when he crossed the yard to Shannon's house. He found her there, dressed in gray slacks and a blue sweater, a blue and gray scarf tied around her throat.
"Hi, beautiful," he said, his voice going thick with the desire he couldn't suppress when he was with her.
Shannon's heart melted at his smile and the warmth in his eyes. "Hi, yourself."
Then she sort of dived into his arms, eager for his touch and the fire of his kiss. She wasn't disappointed. His mouth closed over hers with the hungry tenderness she'd come to expect from him.
"Ready for dinner?" he asked when they came up for air.
"I'd rather stay here," she said impulsively, then felt her face flame as the words gave her innermost feelings away. She stared up at him anxiously, not certain how to retract the admission.
"Me, too," he murmured. "More than you can possibly know." He opened the door. "But we have guests to tend to."
His tone held an undercurrent she couldn't decipher. Worried, she walked with him across the yard and bridge to his house. There she spoke to his parents and to a new person, an "old school friend," as his stepmother put it.
"Sandra and Rory were a couple long ago.
I believe she was his first love," Catherine confided to Shannon after the introductions.
"Actually, Shannon's cousin Kate was my first love," Rory corrected. "She picked me up after I fell off the jungle gym. I was in kindergarten and she was in first grade. An older woman," he added with a wicked grin.
As the evening wore on, it became clear that Catherine had chosen her old friend's daughter for her stepson and that the daughter was interested. Shannon found herself with less and less to say. Finally, as the other two woman dominated the conversation, she fell silent.
At nine, she rose. "If you'll excuse me. No, don't get up. I can make it without help," she told Rory.
"I'll walk you home," he said firmly.
But while he retrieved his jacket and said good-night to his guest, she slipped out the back door. Grabbing the cable because the night was very dark due to the clouds, she ran toward her house and the safety of being alone with her emotions. She was very near tears for no reason she could determine, except she felt unbearably tired and everything seemed too much all at once.
"Shannon," a male voice called out just as she stepped up on the little porch.
Without looking around, she rushed into the house and slammed the door as if, by doing so, she could hide from him. When he knocked, she stepped back.
He entered and closed the door behind him, then gave the dead bolt a flick, locking them in.
Shannon removed her outerwear and insulated boots. "I, uh, I'm tired."
"What are you thinking?" he asked, ignoring her attempt to get him to leave. He tossed his jacket on top of hers on the hook beside the door.
"Nothing. I had a nice evening." She paused. "Your friend is very attractive—"
"That has nothing to do with me." He gave her a stern frown. "There's nothing my stepmother, or anyone else, can do to interfere with us, provided we don't let them. Do you understand?"
She nodded, then, hesitantly, shook her head.
He laughed briefly, ruefully. "Catherine has decided she's the perfect mother and I'm the ungrateful stepchild. She declared she's looking out after my interests. I disagreed. In fact, I told her to butt out. I'll extend to her the courtesy due my father's wife, but that's the only relationship we'll ever have. I think I got that point across, thanks to you."
"Me?" she said, astounded.
"My stepmother now understands that I'm very much in love with my fiancée, that there's room for only one woman in my heart because she fills it completely."
Shannon was aghast. "You told her that?"
"Yes."
"What about your guest?"
"Since she was in the room while Catherine and I held our discussion, I'm sure she understands, too. I really don't know. Or care."
Suddenly he was very close. Shannon backed up a step. He followed and laid his hands on the counter on each side of her, trapping her within his warmth. She stared up at him in confusion. His eyes – those beautiful eyes – were sending her messages, but she wasn't sure she was reading them right.
Her heart leaped around in her chest and landed in her throat. She swallowed hard, the hated uncertainty rising in her along with the longing to lay her head on his chest and let the world fade away. She knew that wasn't possible.
"You're the hardest female to read I've ever met," he complained softly. "I wonder about you and your feelings. Give me a clue, lady cop. I need one desperately."
"What do you mean?"
He leaned over her, his lips dangerously close. She wanted to throw her arms around him, to cling to him, to demand that he love her…
She dropped her head forward, her forehead against his chest, so he wouldn't see the longing in her eyes. Love was the most confusing thing she'd ever felt. With an effort, she willed the harsh burn of impending tears away.
"I mean," he whispered in a tone that sent waves of longing crashing through her, "do you think you could care enough to continue the engagement?"
She stared up at him. Two tears escaped and slipped down her face, burning a trail straight to her heart. He caught them on his finger.
"Give me a chance to make you fall in love with me."
The air thickened. Her lungs flatly refused to breathe. She became light-headed.
After a second, he stepped back. A resigned smile flickered over his finely chiseled mouth. "No, huh?"
He reached for his coat while she stood there like a post, unable to move.
"Ironic, isn't it?" he continued. "To meet the one woman I've dreamed of and not be able to win her. As they say – that's life."
He reached for the door. She caught his arm. "What woman?" she asked, suddenly able to breathe again. "What dream? What are you saying?"
His glance flicked from her hand to her face. He studied her for a minute. "This woman."
He touched her chin with a finger.
"This dream."
He took her hand and laid it against his heart.
"Please. Be specific."
"All right." He laid both hands on her shoulders and pulled her near so she could see his face clearly. "You're that woman. The dream is you. I've fallen for you. Hard. Now you can laugh."
She shook her head. Placing both hands against his chest, she whispered, "How can I laugh at my guardian angel, my Good Samaritan, who gave me life when I thought it was gone?"
His grip tightened. "Dammit, I don't want gratitude. I want…" He took a deep breath. "I want your love. I want your future. I want … you, just you."
He felt sweat gathering on his upper lip, along his spine and his scalp, as he waited for her answer. He'd never realized how scary love could be, how it felt to lay your heart bare before another and wait for them to scoop it up and tuck it safely away … or to trample on it.
It was all up to this woman. If she loved him … as he loved her.
He saw the hesitation in her eyes and knew she was thinking of the future. Proud, independent little cuss.
His heart melted into a soft blob as he waited, knowing she had to come to him freely or else reject his love and turn away from all the wild, sweet possibilities of a future between them.
"Are you saying you love me?" she asked.
He was surprised by the question. "Of course. Why else would I want to tie myself to a former cop who's studied psychology and will probably analyze every move I make for the rest of my life?"
She frowned at him, but he relaxed. There was laughter in her eyes. A smile lurked at the corners of her mouth. She touched his face and explored it with both hands, running her fingertips along his jaw and up to his temples as she'd done before, as if she would know him through touch rather than sight, as if she could read his soul through the simple contact. He hoped she could.
"I love you, lady cop," he said and closed his eyes because it meant too much, she meant too much.
"I love you, too," Shannon said, suddenly understanding that the confession was difficult for him, too, that he, too, was vulnerable. "I was afraid, but I couldn't seem to stop it. I thought you felt responsible for me—"
His eyes snapped open. With a whoop, he lifted her off the floor and swung her around, then plopped her on the counter before she had time to think. His smile dazzled her heart.
"I do feel responsible," he said, nuzzling her cheek. "Because I want to be. I want to make you so happy you won't remember what life was like before we met."
"Then hold me," she said. "Always."
He caught her face between his hands, his touch gentle, and pressed a thousand kisses on her eager mouth. The flames crackled between them and threatened to get out of control.
From the road, they heard the sound of a car leaving. In a minute, his old flame was gone. Shannon took a deep breath and let it go along with the uncertainty. Nothing and no one could interfere with their love, she realized.
His gaze devoured her. Little shivers of delight danced over her skin each time she met his eyes. They laughed for no reason at all … and kissed for all the reasons in the world. They talked
about the future.
Later, going to his house, Shannon forced herself to be calm and try to appear rational. Which was difficult with her head filled with the wonder of being in love. It was hard for him, too, she saw, meeting his lambent gaze as they entered his kitchen.
His stepmother was at the stove. "I've made coffee."
"Thank you." Shannon said. "That was thoughtful."
The other woman looked from her to Rory. Her eyes met Shannon's. She smiled suddenly.
"So he really has fallen in love," she said as if she found this news very satisfying. "Good. His father and I were worried about his future. Now we can relax."
Rory glanced at Shannon and gave a slight shrug. She smiled. His stepmother had accepted her in his life. If she ever forgot, well, a wife would be an effective reminder that a person couldn't always direct the world as she thought it should go.
She thought of all her own plans for the future. One thing she'd forgotten to take into account. Love. It had its own agenda.
"When shall we plan to attend the wedding?" Mr. Daniels asked, entering the room, a calendar in hand.
She and Rory studied the dates. "Next week?" her groom suggested, his manner gratifyingly eager.
"Next month? Catherine and Kate have to help me plan it," Shannon said, including her soon-to-be stepmother-in-law in the planning. "Megan will be my maid of honor." She glanced at Rory. "Who's to be the best man?"
"Kyle Herriot."
She'd known the two men were friends, but there was still a lot to be learned about her love. Odd, to know someone all her life and realize how little she had known the inner person.
As if reading her thoughts, Rory leaned close. "We'll have the rest of our lives to learn all about each other. We already know the most important things."
She tilted her head and gave him a saucy smile. "Such as?"
"Courage. Integrity. Respect. Loyalty. Love."
"I think that sums it up."
Later, when they were alone at her house, after they'd called Kate and Megan and explained everything, he built a fire in the grate in the living room. They settled on the sofa, her secure in his arms.
"I really don't understand love at all," she told him honestly. "I've looked through my books on relationships and nothing truly explains it … not the wonder of it."