When his little trooper was thoroughly cared for, he headed back. After the traumatic drive, he hadn’t imagined Livie would transition so well. It reminded him she had a pretty solid core for such a little waif. Like someone else.
Finished with her bath, Erin wrapped in the hotel robe Morgan had purchased in New York. All through dinner, his loss had seeped into her mind. He’d spent the night mourning, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d go from that to anything else, even though his spirits had seemed lighter.
“You want to tell me about it?” he said, coming up behind her as she stood before the foggy mirror.
She’d have to get used to him reading her moods. “Just wondering how you’re doing,” she said.
Turning her to face him he said, “Can I show you?”
He was so at ease, he put her at ease. It couldn’t be painless to be where he’d loved his wife, but as he’d said on the beach, this was what he had, and what he had he gave. And tenderly, she gave back.
Somewhere before dawn, he said, “Erin?”
“Mmm.”
“You awake?”
Not enough to open her eyes without a compelling reason.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Should I be worried?”
He nuzzled her neck. It tickled and she tucked her chin, so he tugged her hair. “Are you listening?”
“I’m defending myself.”
He ran his hand down her arm. “I was thinking that just because I don’t love you as much as I will, doesn’t mean I don’t.”
She turned her face and opened her eyes. “Say that again?”
“You should have paid attention.”
She pushed his chest.
Clasping her hand, he held it there. “We’ve been married six days.”
She could hardly believe it wasn’t even a week since they’d been in Paris changing her identity. “So you love me six days’ worth?”
He stroked her fingers. “Have to add Thanksgiving—that was great. And hauling that herniating cabinet.”
“The talking animals.”
“Technically that was Thanksgiving, but I’ll give it to you.”
“Finding the locket and the journal.” Like sleuths in an adventure.
“Psychedelic drugs and shackled beds.”
She threaded her fingers with his. “And how about the sink and paper towels for your bloody hand?”
“Unforgettable.” His eyelids hooded with the memory.
“It should count twice since you were crabby.”
“Oh, I see how it works.”
She sobered. “Do we have to subtract wrecking the Maserati?”
“It was just a dent.” He stroked the skin above her elbow.
She shoved her hair behind her ear and studied him. “Happy almost-a-week anniversary.”
He reached up and freed the hair she had just contained, then drew her in for a kiss. She settled her face in the crook of his neck, warmth and joy communing.
When the sound of Livie crying penetrated her fog, she startled up to see Morgan, dressed impeccably, carrying the child to her. Livie clung to his neck, but he gently extricated her.
“Hey, honey. Hey.” Erin drew her in and kissed her wispy hair.
“I’m in meetings all morning, maybe longer.” Morgan slipped three storybooks into the bed beside her. “I’ll call with an update.”
“Did something happen?”
“Belcorp took a downturn. If today goes okay with you two, I’ll start the consult tomorrow. There’s a lot on the line.”
“We’ll be okay.”
His kiss was minty and long enough to convey a hint more than good-bye. He pressed another on Livie’s head and left. Morgan, the success guru, in his glory.
When Hannah arrived, Markham looked as happy as she expected him to be, the role for this minister’s daughter one of his very best—scorned prophet. She so admired his forbearance.
Bleakly, she wrung her hands. “I’m sorry for taking so long and—”
“Hannah. None of that matters.” He held out his own worthy hands, and as tentatively as she did anything, she took them. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Joy and fear stormed her eyes. “But I don’t know why, Markham.”
“Because I need your help.”
Shivering in the cold mountain air, she said, “You really do?”
She was begging affirmation more than confirmation. With a nod he gave both. “You’re the only one who can help in this way.”
No fear now—only zeal. “What can I do? Tell me.”
He formed an earnest expression. “The Lord has revealed that I must forgive your sister face-to-face.”
She looked stunned and offended. “But, Markham, how can you?”
“I don’t know how I can, only that I have to.”
He sent a pained stare to the ground, then back. “Do you know what a wound like this can do? It creates a foothold . . . for evil.” He had the timbre just right. This was what he did, his gift, his art, his grand performance.
But there was also a ring of truth. Wounds did create footholds, and nature abhorred a vacuum. Maybe he’d been born vengeful. Or maybe he’d learned it. He only knew it succored him when all the injuries he’d sustained whispered in his ears. “It isn’t a request. We are ordered to forgive.”
And when the sinner won’t repent, put them out and treat them as you would a tax collector or harlot. Quinn had sinned against him, and when she failed to repent he would exact payment in full.
Her eyes filled. “Oh, Markham. I don’t think I can forgive.”
“You have nothing to forgive, Hannah. I was the one she sold for thirty pieces of silver. The burden to forgive is mine.”
She half whispered, “I would do it for you, if I could.”
Simple soul. “I would never ask it.” He led her into Quinn’s house, which he’d cleaned up from his rampage once he knew he’d be putting on the face. All the damaged things were in the Dumpster behind the grocery mart, so it looked as though she’d cleaned out and taken off, leaving only the few pieces of salvageable furniture.
“This is Quinn’s house?” Hannah looked around.
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t she have things?”
He let his face fall. “I’m afraid your phone call gave her the wrong idea.”
Stricken, her mouth fell open. “I only said she should pay for wronging you.”
“I know. But she took it seriously. She thinks I’m out to get her.”
Anger washed over Hannah’s face. “It’s the other way around.”
“Well, she’s convincing. The man at the store turned a shotgun on me before I could begin to explain. Someone else ran me off the road.” He indicated her Tahoe outside the kitchen window. Her father had bought Hannah the large, heavy vehicle because her driving was as challenged as she.
Gulping, she whispered, “You could have been killed.”
That hadn’t occurred to him in the moment. Only the rage of defeat. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“No! You should.”
“What if I’ve put you in danger?”
Her eyes darted between his in a frenzied motion. “Would they hurt me?”
Eleven years older than Quinn, she couldn’t hide the weakness leaking through the cracks. He’d recognized a tool at first glance. Simple church mouse awaiting her messiah. Who better than he?
“You’re in no danger, Hannah. You’re Quinn’s big sister. And you’re worried about her.”
“I am?”
“You’re afraid of what I might do.”
She flushed. “No. Never.”
“You had to come and warn her. What reason would they have to keep you two apart?”
A slow comprehension filled her eyes. “You want me to say that about you?”
“Whatever it takes to lift the burden.”
“Oh, Markham.”
He closed his eyes, letting some of the real pain show
. “I tried to do something miraculous, but the Lord turned his face.”
“No. It wasn’t the Lord. It was Quinn who despised you. I will never understand why.”
“Why isn’t important.” He fought tears. “Only doing this.”
She nodded solemnly.
“You’ll go to the ranch where she cooks, talk to the people she knows.”
Her eyes grew fervent, her heart burning inside her. “Yes.”
“Tell them you need to find your sister.”
He walked her back out to the Toyota, which was still warm.
“You . . . you want me to go alone?”
“Are you afraid?”
“Yes.” Her lip trembled.
He frowned in consternation. “I could ride in back and hide under the blanket, but I can’t be seen, Hannah. She’s turned these people against me.”
“Like last time.” Her voice trembled.
The last time he went to prison. This time would be different, very different.
He got into the back seat but didn’t cover up yet. It was too demeaning. He gave her directions to Rick’s ranch, but as the general store came into sight, gusting wind flapped the tarp up on a car being towed by a flatbed truck. He cried, “Wait!”
Jumping, Hannah almost killed the engine.
The tarp flapped wildly, uncovering the Maserati, wrecked.
“What is it, Markham?”
He stared at the car Quinn had crashed—proof she hadn’t gotten far. But where was she? As Rick and the fool with the shotgun got out of the truck and fought the tarp back over the Maserati, Markham hid his face from Hannah, lest she see Satan’s own wrath in his eyes.
When the men went inside, he told her, “Pull around to the far side of that store.”
She did as he said, sliding to a stop in the slushy lot.
“Listen carefully.” He gave the instruction slowly, though there was no guarantee she’d get it right. “Run in and ask what happened to your sister’s car.”
“My sister’s—”
“The Maserati.”
Her jaw fell slack. “That car on the truck? How could—”
“She took the money, Hannah. The money I tried to use for God—she used for that.” He pointed a finger at the graven idol.
“Oh, Mark.”
He hated when she shortened the name he’d created but didn’t correct her this time. “Go, Hannah. Your sister’s in trouble. You want to help her.”
The fury in her face might be hard to hide.
“You’re afraid for her, Hannah. You’d better be. She could lose her soul.”
“She has.”
“The only way we can help is to find her. Find her for me, Hannah.”
As she walked around to the front, he crept to the store’s back door and tried the knob. Finding it locked, he took out a pick and worked it open. Pulling silently, he slipped inside and moved to the slightly open door that separated the store from what appeared to be a small apartment. From that vantage, he watched Hannah enter.
“Please.” She rushed to the men, who were looking for something in a bin. “What happened to my sister’s car?”
The shopkeeper with the ginger ponytail straightened. “I’m sorry. What?”
“The Mas-erati.” Her face broke. “It’s my sister Quinn’s.”
Beside the ponytail man, the tall rancher eyed her. “You’re Quinn’s sister?”
She nodded vigorously. “She’s . . . in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“A man. I’m afraid what he might do. I need to tell her.” She sounded like a robot.
“What makes you think that’s her car?” the ponytail asked.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“No way. That’s Mor—”
Rick gripped the man’s shoulder and told Hannah, “I didn’t get your name.”
She gulped. “I’m Hannah. Please, I really need to find her.”
“Hannah, I can see you’re concerned. But your sister’s all right.”
“How do you know?”
Good question, but Hannah didn’t let him answer.
“I . . . I mean, her car’s crashed.”
The ponytail didn’t contradict this time, but the cat was out. If the car wasn’t Quinn’s, then whose?
Rick said, “I’m sure if you give her a call, she’ll tell you everything’s fine.”
“I don’t have her number. I . . . I did, but then it got disconnected.”
The men stood in silence.
“I mean she calls me at home. To the house. I . . . I don’t have caller ID.”
The woman should be put down.
Rick eyed her so long Hannah squirmed. “Did someone put you up to this?”
“Put me . . .” Her slow brain worked through the implication.
“Are you in danger, Hannah?”
“Me?” she squeaked. “No, it’s Quinn.”
So much for her getting anywhere he couldn’t.
Her voice got shrill. “If you know where my sister is, tell me right now.”
“You probably should let this go.”
Ordinarily, Rick’s tone would have her running for the door, but Hannah stomped her foot. “Do you know who you’re protecting? She took the Lord’s money to buy a sports car.”
Shut. Up.
“She’s not a good person!”
The men looked at each other. Unbelievably, Hannah flew at them, her little fists performing a function they’d never attempted before. The ponytailed one caught her shoulders, and Hannah broke into sobs. “You have to tell me. You have to. She lied. Whatever she said, he isn’t like that at all.”
Disgusted, Markham let himself out the back.
Noelle blinked when Rick entered the kitchen, for a moment thinking Erin was walking before him. The woman wasn’t Erin, only similar.
“Noelle, this is Quinn’s sister, Hannah.” His expression said Quinn was no slip. “She got stranded at the general store.”
“I’m so sorry.” She motioned. “Please sit. Would you like a cup of cocoa?” How clearly she remembered serving Erin and thinking she’d make a nice friend.
Confused or dazed, Hannah blinked at her. “I need to find my sister. Your husband won’t help. Will you?”
She glanced up. If they were at an impasse, why had Rick brought the woman to the ranch? She said, “I can see you’re upset.”
Hannah lowered her face to her hands and cried softly.
Noelle looked at Liam stabbing his marshmallows with a toothpick. Catching the glance, Rick moved their son and his cocoa to the dining room.
Hannah started talking. “Quinn ruined everything. She never listened, never obeyed. She always knew better than everyone, even her own father—the minister.” She looked up, shocked and indignant.
Noelle smiled politely.
Hannah’s nostrils flared. “She sent an innocent man to jail. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t.”
“Her lies took away four years of his life.”
“Wasn’t there a trial?”
Hannah huffed. “A mockery. She said he stole the donations!”
“There must have been evidence.”
“From Quinn! She never saw the vision, never believed. Not even our Lord could work miracles in the midst of unbelief.”
“This person worked miracles?”
“He was only the tool.” Hannah’s mouth pulled tight. “The miracle was God’s.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what miracle?”
“The multiplication of loaves and fishes. If he hadn’t been cut down before the miracle came, everyone would be reaping the blessing.”
He must have put on quite a show. “But I don’t understand. If you’re so angry with Quinn, why do you want to find her?”
Her eyes bulged. “So he can forgive her.”
How sadly convoluted. “Is this the man who left you at the store?”
Hannah’s mouth fell slack. “It . . . he . . .” T
ears welled again. “He wants to do the right thing.”
“Then he should return the missing money.”
Hannah looked incredulous. “He didn’t take it. Quinn did.”
CHAPTER
23
Morgan’s morning meetings had stretched into the afternoon, so Erin put Livie down to nap in the crib all done up in Battenberg lace and cream embroidered rosebuds. Uncertain, she’d offered a Pull-Up, and Livie objected.
“Those are nighttime. Not naps.” Her serious eyes weren’t quite offended, but close. Even though she’d worn a Pull-Up on the drive, Morgan had taken her into the bathroom, so potty training had probably occurred. There were so many things she hadn’t asked and didn’t know. But they’d work into it, little by little.
Limping only slightly, she closed Livie’s door and decided to explore the house. The master suite took a major portion of the upstairs on the ocean side, with Livie’s room next to that. Across from Livie’s was the guest room where she’d slept and another done in marigold with teal accents. Someone had a flair for color.
A small open parlor area surrounded a window that looked into the landscaped courtyard, and on the other side of that she found a room furnished as a workroom. One table held clear plastic bins like smaller versions of her own storage tubs. The bins held assorted papers, stickers, scissors, punches—school supplies? The realization dawned. This was Jill’s space.
“Señora.” Consuela came in with a cordless phone. “Your sister.”
Erin came down hard on her ankle, wincing as she dropped into an office chair at the end of one long table. How could Hannah have Morgan’s house number?
Fighting a wave of panic, she said, “Hello?”
“Hi, Erin. I hope I’m not bothering—”
“Noelle.” Relief rushed in hard. Her sister-in-law.
“Are you in a place you can talk?”
“Yes.” She assured Consuela with a smile that she could go. “What’s up?”
“Well . . . Hannah’s here.”
“What?” It felt like a reprieve revoked. “What does she want? Does she know—”
“We haven’t told her anything.”
More guilty relief. “I’m so sorry to have put you in that position.”
The Breath of Dawn Page 27