by Nora Roberts
At the landing she paused, catching some faint sound coming from the end of the hall. Still moving softly, Tory walked down to the doorway of her parents' bedroom. The door was only half closed. Pushing it open, Tory stepped inside.
Helen sat on the bed in a crisp yellow housedress. Her blond hair was caught back in a matching kerchief.
Held tight in her hands was one of Tory's father's work shirts. It was a faded blue, frayed at the cuffs. Tory remembered it as his favorite, one that Helen had claimed was fit only for a dust rag. Now she clutched it to her breast, rocking gently and weeping with such quiet despair that Tory could only stare.
She'd never seen her mother cry. It had been her father whose eyes had misted during her high school and college graduations. It had been he who had wept with her when the dog she had raised from a puppy had died. Her mother had faced joy and sadness with equal restraint. But there was no restraint in the woman Tory saw now. This was a woman in the depths of grief, blind and deaf to all but her own mourning.
All anger, all resentment, all sense of distance, vanished in one illuminating moment. Tory felt her heart fill with sympathy, her throat burn from her own grief.
"Mother."
Helen's head jerked up. Her eyes were glazed and confused as they focused on Tory. She shook her head as if in denial, then struggled to choke back the sobs.
"No, don't." Tory rushed to her, gathering her close. "Don't shut me out."
Helen went rigid in an attempt at composure, but Tory only held her tighter. Abruptly, Helen collapsed, dropping her head on her daughter's shoulder and weeping without restraint. "Oh. Tory, Tory, why couldn't it have been me?" With the shirt caught between them, Helen accepted the comfort of her daughter's strong arms. "Not Will, never Will. It should have been me."
"No, don't say that." Hot tears coursed down her face. "You mustn't think that way. Dad wouldn't want you to.''
' 'All those weeks, those horrible weeks, in the hospital I prayed and prayed for a miracle." She gripped Tory tighter, as if she needed something solid to hang on to. "They said no hope. No hope. Oh, God, I wanted to scream. He couldn't die without me...not without me. That last night in the hospital before...!
went into his room. I begged him to show them they were wrong, to come back. He was gone." She moaned and would have slid down if Tory hadn't held her close. "He'd already left me. I couldn't leave him lying there with that machine. I couldn't do that, not to Will. Not to my Will."
"Oh, Mother." They rocked together, heads on each other's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know—I didn't think...I'm so sorry."
Helen breathed a long, shuddering sigh as her sobs quieted. "I didn't know how to tell you or how to explain. I'm not good at letting my feelings out. I knew how much you loved your father," she continued.
"But I was too angry to reach out. I suppose I wanted you to lash out at me. It made it easier to be strong, even though I knew I hurt you more."
"That doesn't matter now."
"Tory—"
"No, it doesn't." Tory drew her mother back, looking into her tear-ravaged eyes. ' 'Neither of us tried to understand the other that night. We were both wrong. I think we've both paid for it enough now."
"I loved him so much." Helen swallowed the tremor in her voice and stared down at the crumpled shirt still in her hand. "It doesn't seem possible that he won't walk through the door again."
"I know. Every time I come in the house, I still look for him."
"You're so like him." Hesitantly, Helen reached up to touch her cheek. "There's been times it's been hard for me even to look at you. You were always his more than mine when you were growing up. My fault,"
she added before Tory could speak. "I was always a little awed by you."
"Awed?" Tory managed to smile.
"You were so smart, so quick, so demanding. I always wondered how much I had to do with the forming of you. Tory"—she took her hands, staring down at them a moment—"I never tried very hard to get close to you. It's not my way."
"I know."
"It didn't mean that I didn't love you."
She squeezed Helen's hands. "I know that too. But it was always him we looked at first."
"Yes." Helen ran a palm over the crumpled shirt. "I thought I was coping very well," she said softly. "I was going to clean out the closet. I found this, and... He loved it so. You can still see the little holes where he'd pin his badge."
' 'Mother, it's time you got out of the house a bit, starting seeing people again." When Helen started to shake her head, Tory gripped her hands tighter. "Living again."
Helen glanced around the tidy room with a baffled smile. "This is all I know how to do. All these years..."
"When I go back to Albuquerque, why don't you come stay with me a while? You've never been over."
"Oh, Tory, I don't know."
"Think about it," she suggested, not wanting to push. "You might enjoy watching your daughter rip a witness apart in cross-examination."
Helen laughed, brushing the lingering tears briskly away. "I might at that. Would you be offended if I said sometimes I worry about you being alone—not having someone like your father to come home to?"
"No." The sudden flash of loneliness disturbed her far more than the words. "Everyone needs something different."
"Everyone needs someone, Tory," Helen corrected gently. "Even you."
Tory's eyes locked on her mother's a moment, then dropped away. "Yes, I know. But sometimes the someone—'' She broke off, distressed by the way her thoughts had centered on Phil. "There's time for that," she said briskly. "I still have a lot of obligations, a lot of things I want to do, before I commit myself...to anyone."
There was enough anxiety in Tory's voice to tell Helen that "anyone" had a name. Feeling it was too soon to offer advice, she merely patted Tory's hand. "Don't wait too long," she said simply. "Life has a habit of moving quickly." Rising, she went to the closet again. The need to be busy was too ingrained to allow her to sit for long. "I didn't expect you today. Are you going to ride?"
"Yes." Tory pressed a hand down on her father's shirt before she stood. "Actually I'm humoring the director of the film being shot in town." Wandering to the window, she looked down to see Justice pacing the corral restlessly. "He has this obsession with getting me on film. I flatly refused to be an extra in his production, but I finally agreed to let him shoot some while I rode Justice."
"He must be very persuasive," Helen commented.
Tory gave a quick laugh. "Oh, he's that all right."
"That's Marshall Kincaid's son," Helen stated, remembering. "Does he favor his father?"
With a smile Tory thought that her mother would be more interested in the actor than the director. "Yes, actually he does. The same rather aristocratic bone structure and cool blue eyes." Tory saw the car kicking up dust on the road leading to the ranch. "He's coming now, if you'd like to meet him."
"Oh, I..." Helen pressed her fingers under her eyes. "I don't think I'm really presentable right now, Tory."
"All right," she said as she started toward the door. In the doorway she hesitated a moment. "Will you be all right now?'
"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Tory..." She crossed the room to give her daughter's cheek a brief kiss. Tory's eyes widened in surprise at the uncharacteristic gesture. "I'm glad we talked. Really very glad."
Phil again stopped his car beside the corral. The horse pranced over to hang his head over the fence, waiting for attention. Leaving the camera in the backseat, Phil walked over to pat the strong golden neck.
He found the palomino avidly nuzzling at his pockets.
"Hey!" With a half laugh he stepped out of range.
"He's looking for this." Holding a carrot in her hand, Tory came down the steps.
"Your friend should be arrested for pickpocketing," Phil commented as Tory drew closer. His smile of greeting faded instantly. "Tory..." He took her shoulders, studying her face. "You've been crying," he said in an odd voice.
"I'm fine." Turning, she held out the carrot, letting the horse pluck in from her hand.
"What's wrong?" he insisted, pulling her back to him again. "What happened?"
"It was my mother."
"Is she ill?" he demanded quickly.
"No." Touched by the concern in his voice, Tory smiled. "We talked," she told him, then let out a long sigh.
"We really talked, probably for the first time in twenty-seven years."
There was something fragile in the look as she lifted her eyes to his. He felt much as he had the day in the cemetery—protective and strong. Wordlessly he drew her into the circle of his arms. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." She closed her eyes as her head rested against his shoulder. "Really fine. It's going to be so much easier now."
"I'm glad." Tilting her face to his, he kissed her softly. "If you don't feel like doing this today—"
"No you don't, Kincaid," she said with a quick grin.
"You claimed you were going to immortalize me, so get on with it."
"Go fix your face first, then." He pinched her chin. "I'll set things up."
She turned away to comply, but called back over her shoulder. "There's not going to be any of that 'Take two' business. You'll have to get it right the first time."
He enjoyed her hoot of laughter before he reached into the car for the camera and recorder.
Later, Tory scowled at the apparatus. "You said film," she reminded him. "You didn't say anything about sound."
"It's tape," he corrected, expertly framing her. "Just saddle the horse."
"You're arrogant as hell when you play movies, Kincaid." Without fuss Tory slipped the bit into the palomino's mouth. Her movements were competent as she hefted the saddle onto the horse's back. She was a natural, he decided. No nerves, no exaggerated gestures for the benefit of the camera. He wanted her to talk again. Slowly he circled around for a new angle. ' 'Going to have dinner with me tonight?"
"I don't know." Tory considered as she tightened the cinches. "That cold steak you fed me last night wasn't very appetizing."
"Tonight I'll order cold cuts and beer," he suggested. "That way it won't matter when we get to it."
Tory sent him a grin over her shoulder. "It's a deal."
"You're a cheap date, Sheriff."
"Uh-uh," she disagreed, turning to him while she wrapped a companionable arm around the horse's neck.
"I'm expecting another bottle of that French champagne very soon. Why don't you let me play with the camera now and you can stand next to the horse?" "Mount up."
Tory lifted a brow. "You're one tough cookie, Kincaid." Grasping the saddle horn, Tory swung into the saddle in one lazy movement. "And now?"
"Head out, the direction you took the first time I saw you ride. Not too far," he added. "When you come back, keep it at a gallop. Don't pay any attention to the camera. Just ride."
"You're the boss," she said agreeably. "For the moment." With a kick of her heels Tory sent the palomino west at a run.
She felt the exhilaration instantly. The horse wanted speed, so Tory let him have his head as the hot air whipped at her face and hair. As before, she headed toward the mountains. There was no need to escape this time, but only a pleasure in moving fast. The power and strength below her tested her skill.
Zooming in on her, Phil thought she rode with understated flare. No flash, just confidence. Her body hardly seemed to move as the horse pounded up dust. It almost seemed as though the horse led her, but something in the way she sat, in the way her face was lifted, showed her complete control.
When she turned, the horse danced in place a moment, still anxious to run. He tossed his head, lifting his front feet off the ground in challenge. Over the still, silent air, Phil heard Tory laugh. The sound of it sent shivers down his spine.
Magnificent, he thought, zooming in on her as close as the lens would allow. She was absolutely magnificent. She wasn't looking toward him. Obviously she had no thoughts about the camera focused on her. Her face was lifted to the sun and the sky as she controlled the feisty horse with apparent ease. When she headed back, she started at a loping gallop that built in speed.
The palomino's legs gathered and stretched, sending up a plume of dirt in their wake. Behind them was a barren land of little more than rock and earth with the mountains harsh in the distance. She was Eve, Phil thought. The only woman. And if this Eve's paradise was hard and desolate, she ruled it in her own style.
Once, as if remembering he was there, Tory looked over, full into the camera. With her face nearly filling the lens, she smiled. Phil felt his palms go damp. If a man had a woman like that, he realized abruptly, he'd need nothing and no one else. The only woman, he thought again, then shook his head as if to clear it.
With a quick command and a tug on the reins, Tory brought the horse to a stop. Automatically she leaned forward to pat his neck. "Well, Hollywood?" she said lazily.
Knowing he wasn't yet in complete control, Phil kept the camera trained on her. "Is that the best you can do?"
She tossed her hair behind her head. "What did you have in mind?"
"No fancy tricks?" he asked, moving around the horse to vary the angle.
Tory looked down on him with tolerant amusement. "If you want to see someone stand on one foot in the saddle, go to the circus."
' 'We could set up a couple of small jumps—if you can handle it."
As she ruffled the palomino's blond mane, she gave a snort of laughter. ' T thought you wanted me to ride, not win a blue ribbon." Grinning, she turned the horse around. "But okay," she said obligingly. At an easy lope she went for the corral fence. The horse took the four feet in a long, powerful glide. "Will that do?"
she asked as she doubled back and rode past.
"Again," Phil demanded, going down on one knee. With a shrug Tory took the horse over the fence again.
Lowering his camera for the first time, Phil shaded his eyes and looked up at her. "If he can do that, how do you keep him in?"
"He knows a good thing when he's got it," Tory stated, letting the palomino prance a bit while she rubbed his neck. "He's just showing off for the camera. Is that a wrap, Kincaid?"
Lifting the camera again, he aimed it at her. "Is that all you can do?"
"Well..." Tory considered a moment, then sent him a slow smile. "How about this?" Keeping one hand loosely on the reins, she started to unbutton her blouse.
"I like it."
After three buttons she paused, catching her tongue between her teeth. "I don't want you to lose your G
rating," she decided. Swinging a leg over the saddle, she slid to the ground.
"This is a private film," he reminded her. "The censors'11 never see it."
She laughed, but shook her head. "Fade out," she suggested, loosening the horse's girth. "Put your toy away, Kincaid," she told him as he circled around the horse, still taping.
"Look at me a minute." With a half smile Tory complied. "God, that face," he muttered. "One way or the other, I'm going to get it on the screen."
"Forget it." Tory lifted the saddle to balance it on the fence. "Unless you start videotaping court cases."
"I can be persistent."
"I can be stubborn," she countered. At her command the palomino trotted back into the corral.
After loading the equipment back in the car, Phil turned to gather Tory in his arms. Without a word their mouths met in long, mutual pleasure. "If there was a way," he murmured as he buried his face in her hair,
"to have a few days away from here, alone..."
Tory shut her eyes, feeling the stir...and the ache. "Obligations, Phil," she said quietly. "We both have a job to do."
He wanted to say the hell with it, but knew he couldn't. Along with the obligations was the agreement they had made at the outset. ' 'If I called you in Albuquerque, would you see me?"
She hesitated. It was something she wanted and feared. "Yes." She realized abruptly that she was suffering.
For a moment she stood still, absorbing the unexpected sensation. "Phil, kiss me again."
She found his mouth quickly to let the heat and pleasure of the kiss dull the pain. There were still a few precious weeks left, she told herself as she wrapped her arms tighter around him. There was still time before... with a moan she pressed urgently against him, willing her mind to go blank. There was a sigh, then a tremble, before she rested her head against his shoulder. "I have to put the tack away," she murmured. It was tempting to stay just as she was, held close, with her blood just beginning to swim. Taking a long breath, she drew away from him and smiled. "Why don't you be macho and carry the saddle?"
"Directors don't haul equipment," he told her as he tried to pull her back to him.
"Heave it up, Kincaid." Tory swung the reins over her shoulder. "You've got some great muscles."
"Yeah?" Grinning, he lifted the saddle and followed her toward the barn. Bicks was right, Phil mused, watching her walk. She had a way of moving that drove men mad.
The barn door creaked in protest when Tory pulled it open. "Over here." She moved across the concrete floor to hang the reins on a peg.
Phil set down the saddle, then turned. The place was large, high-ceilinged and refreshingly cool. "No animals?" he asked, wandering to an empty stall.
"My mother keeps a few head of cattle," Tory explained as she joined him. "They're grazing. We had more horses, but she doesn't ride much." Tory lifted a shoulder. "Justice has the place mostly to himself."
"I've never been in a barn."
"A deprived child."
He sent her a mild glance over his shoulder as he roamed. "I don't think I expected it to be so clean."
Tory's laugh echoed. "My mother has a vendetta against dirt," she told him. Oddly, she felt amusement now rather than resentment. It was a clean feeling. "I think she'd have put curtains on the windows in the loft if my father had let her."