by Helen Brooks
‘What will you do?’ she asked him tremulously, not knowing if she wanted to laugh or cry. He wasn’t the kind of man who could sit and do nothing.
‘Again, let me qualify,’ he said, settling her more comfortably in the circle of his arms. ‘This all has to fit in with what I see as my main job of being a husband and father, okay?’ He waited for her nod before continuing, ‘I have a couple of ideas, and they could run alongside the treatment programme your doctors and I have worked out, which will take one day out of the week every week for some time but could result in practically full mobility after six months or so, and excellent long-term prospects. There’s a Swiss doctor I’ve got on board who specialises in your sort of injuries—there’s no one to beat him, not even in the States—and he’s confident you’ll be walking normally by this time next year.’
She half lifted herself on one elbow and kissed him with single-minded intensity and sweetness. Just knowing he was ready to stand and fight with her was everything, and whether she regained all she’d lost didn’t matter so much now.
Zeke lifted strands of her hair and twined them round his fingers as he kissed her back just as strongly, and then he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose as he drew back a little. ‘First idea,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘We look for suitable premises and open a drama school for under-privileged youngsters. It would be the real McCoy, for kids from nine or ten upwards, so we’d need to employ teachers for the normal subjects as well as those specialising in drama and dance and so on. It could be a boarding school for those who wanted it, and a home 365 days of the year for others who need it. Children who have been kicked from pillar to post, kids in the care system or in dysfunctional homes. They’d all have to have a leaning towards acting or singing or dancing, but once they were with us they’d be there until they chose to leave. And the home part of the place would be exactly that—not an institution. A place of security and unconditional support.’
The sort of place he would have longed for as a confused and troubled boy, Melody thought, her understanding causing her to swallow the lump in her throat. Oh, Zeke, Zeke.
‘Of course you’d be in charge of the drama side—the hiring of staff and so on—and I thought you might want to be hands-on teaching dance? We’d need an establishment with plenty of grounds for a swimming pool, tennis court and so on, and a house separate from the school for us would be essential. I’ve no real idea of the mechanics of it all, but I know people who could make it happen as long as the funding was in place.’
‘And we could afford to do that?’ she asked softly.
Zeke smiled. ‘Several times over, sweetheart.’ He guided her glass of wine to her lips and took a sip of his own before he went on, ‘There are other options, of course. You might like to travel for a year or two once your treatment is over—a world tour, staying over for as long as you like if a particular place takes your fancy. Or we could run our own theatre? Something in that line? Or you could run a traditional dancing establishment?’
Melody came straight back to the idea that had fired her imagination. ‘This drama school—wouldn’t it be a huge undertaking to do it properly?’
‘Massive,’ he agreed. ‘The dance side would involve performance, choreography, management and dance theatre, including the history of dance and related arts, aesthetics and critical studies, production, music accompaniment and composition, and that’s without the drama side. Acting, directing, technical aspects, backstage crafts and writing for the stage would all be necessary, along with practical theatre.’
He paused for breath and Melody stared at him in wonder. ‘You’ve really looked into this, haven’t you?’
Zeke nodded. ‘It would be a total life change, Dee. But one which would fit with family life if it was done properly. We would afford to get the best folk for the children on board, people of like mind, and I thought—’ He stopped abruptly and she saw a muscle clench in his square jaw.
‘You thought?’ she pressed quietly.
‘We could make a difference. Not to every child, perhaps—I am a realist—but for the ones we give direction and purpose to it would be worth it. But it’s only an idea.’
She buried her face in his neck for a moment, overwhelmed at the turn their lives had taken. This was perfect, so utterly perfect. And only Zeke could have thought of it.
‘Dee?’ His voice carried a note of anxiety. ‘You don’t have to say anything until you’ve thought about it. It’s a big deal—’
She stopped him by winding her arms around his middle as she lifted her face to his. ‘I love you, I love you,’ she said, over and over again so he would know. ‘And I can’t think of anything better. Think of it, Zeke. Children who have nothing, given a foundation and a pride in the gift they have. Do you really think we can do it? Provide them with a home and hope?’
‘Of course.’ The words were pronounced emphatically, a declaration, and she knew in that moment he would make it happen.
She reached up and placed her mouth on his. It wasn’t often she made the first move, and his reaction was immediate and fierce as he crushed her into him, kissing her with a hunger that touched her to the core. He kissed her for a long time as they murmured incoherent words of love, drawing strength from each other. ‘I can do anything with you by my side, but without you I’m nothing,’ he muttered desperately. ‘Never leave me like you did this morning—without a word, a goodbye. I thought I’d lost you. I need you, sweetheart. You’ve got no idea how much.’
‘I think I have, because I need you every bit as much,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘I’ve been so miserable. Not because of the accident and knowing I’d never dance again, but because I thought I had to let you go. You’re my world, my existence.’
He gave a choked laugh. ‘So we’ve both been tearing ourselves apart because we love each other?’
She smiled tremulously. ‘Maybe we aren’t the smartest kids on the block,’ she admitted weakly. Joy, like warm honey, was spreading through her body with healing reassurance. She could believe this. She could trust him. She had wasted weeks of her life letting fear dictate her actions and rule her mind, but no more. She must have been crazy—stark, staring mad—to imagine Zeke would look at another woman or walk away from her. He wasn’t like her father or her grandfather. He was unique and all hers. Her husband, her love, her life.
They held each other tightly until the crescendo of emotion descended to a more controllable plane, and after one more long, lingering kiss she snuggled into him with her head on his chest. ‘I booked in to this hotel for a few days,’ she whispered drowsily, after a minute or two of listening to the steady beat-beat of his heart beneath her cheek. ‘We can spend them all in bed, can’t we? Have all our meals here?’
She knew he was smiling. She could read it in his voice when he murmured, ‘Sure thing,’ as his hands wandered soothingly over her skin, stroking her neck, her shoulder, her back in light caresses. ‘We’ve got some time to make up and I can’t think of a better place to do it. Besides, plenty of sleep, plenty of exercise—of the most beneficial kind,’ he added, squeezing one rounded buttock to give emphasis to his words, ‘along with good food and drink is just what you need. This is our time. No one knows where we are, the phone won’t ring, and my mobile’s switched off. There’ll be no taps at the door apart from Room Service.’
‘Mmm.’ Heaven on earth. Melody closed her eyes and felt herself gradually drift towards sleep. Zeke’s breathing had become slow and steady and she knew he’d fallen asleep, but one arm was draped over the dip in her waist and the other hand was tangled in her hair as though even while he slept he needed to know she was secure and within his grasp.
She thought of the snow family in the courtyard and smiled dreamily. Last night had been magical and infinitely precious, but they had the rest of their lives to look forward to now. Nights locked in each other’s arms and days spent together as they worked to bring hope to children who expected none, who were damaged like Zeke had been. Th
is was a new chapter, a new beginning, and when the babies came—Zeke’s babies—they would be loved as neither of them had been loved when they were young. Their children would grow up strong and secure in their parents’ love—she and Zeke would make sure of that—each one knowing they were precious and unique.
Zeke stirred slightly, drawing her even closer as he murmured her name in his sleep, and as she floated into a warm, soft, safe place she knew that to him she was everything—the only woman he could ever love, complete and whole. And because he thought she was beautiful she was.
Sleep crept up on her, and in her hazy contentment she thought of Mabel and her wise words. She would go and see the old lady again, and take Zeke with her this time. She felt they were meant to be good friends, and the loneliness she had sensed in the brave old soul could be channelled to some extent. Children loved a grandmother figure, and always responded to dogs too. She could see Mabel joining them for days out once the school was up and running, and she was sure the old lady would play her part in counselling hurting little hearts the same way Mabel had comforted her that morning.
She slept, and the two of them continued to lie wrapped closely in each other’s arms—two hearts that beat as one, two minds intrinsically linked for eternity with that most powerful and sweetest of bonds, true love.
They had come through the fiery furnace. They were home.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-8187-5
A CHRISTMAS NIGHT TO REMEMBER
First North American Publication 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Helen Brooks
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com