by Delynn Royer
“You,” he said seriously. “Johanna doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I haven’t felt anything for her for a long time. At least, no more than as a means to some pathetic idea I once had of success. Maybe I didn’t know it at the time, maybe my pride was still hurting, but if I ever really felt anything for her, it was finished the night before I left for the war.”
Emily frowned. The memory of that night was still very profound. And painful.
Seeing her expression, he pressed, “It wasn’t Johanna I thought about when we made love that night, and it wasn’t Johanna I thought about during those long nights when I was a prisoner. It wasn’t Johanna I came home for, either. It was you.”
“Me?” Emily looked into his eyes to see if she could read any insincerity there. She saw none. “You came home for me?”
“I believed I’d a mistake to make amends for. I thought we ruined our friendship by becoming lovers. I couldn’t live with that. I wanted my best friend back. Now, though, I suspect that our mistake wasn’t in crossing the line between friends and lovers but in trying to go back again. We can’t ever go back again.”
“No,” Emily agreed cautiously. To her, this simple truth had always been evident.
Ross smiled. “But that’s fine with me because I don’t want to go back anymore. I still want my best friend, mind you, but I want my lover, too. In fact, I find it terribly intriguing that both happen to be the same woman.”
“I could have told you that long ago,” she said.
“I think you did.” Ross leaned forward to toy with a loose strand of her hair. “Except maybe not with words...”
The playful glint in his eyes stirred a warm tickle in Emily’s stomach. To squelch it, she looked away and pretended to observe the antics of a squirrel by the foot of a sycamore. Clearing her throat, she changed the subject. “So, what happens to Eleanor?”
“Eleanor?”
“In your novel,” she said, watching the squirrel dart up the tree trunk and disappear into a green scrub of leaves.
“Ah, so you read it. I knew you would.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
“That’s because I haven’t finished the book.”
“Oh.”
“Except...”
Emily gave him a cautious sideways glance. “Except?”
“Except maybe you can help me with the ending.”
“Oh?”
“When Andrew left for the war, you see, Eleanor was still very young. Even though she was growing into a beautiful young woman, Andrew had trouble seeing that clearly. He preferred to keep thinking of her as his best friend’s little sister. It was safer that way.”
“Hmm.”
“When Andrew returns from the war, both he and Eleanor have changed, and he realizes that she is indeed a very beautiful woman and he falls madly in love.”
“That makes perfectly good sense to me,” Emily said. “He was an imbecile for not realizing it from the beginning.”
“Well, maybe,” Ross said, “but that’s beside the point. The question is, what does Eleanor say when he asks her to wed?”
Emily pondered this as she stared at the sycamore tree. It seemed forever until Ross finally broke the silence.
“I meant to tell you earlier. You have an ink spot on your nose.”
“What?” Emily looked around. “What?”
“An ink spot. Right...” Ross indicated the tip of her nose with his forefinger. “There.”
“Oh!” Emily rubbed at it with her hand, then looked to see a smudge of black on her fingers. “Darn it.”
“I know what’ll help fix that. A dip.”
Emily turned to see Ross removing his shoes and socks. “What?”
“A swim,” he said, standing and shedding his suit coat.
Emily glanced at the slow-moving creek. “We’ll ruin our clothes.”
Ross yanked his necktie loose and flung it to the ground. “Not if we leave them here.”
Emily just blinked at him.
Ross began unbuttoning his shirt and grinned. “We used to do it all the time when we were kids.”
That was true. They’d often stripped down to their underclothing to swim. It was a common practice among country children, but they weren’t children anymore. To anyone who might happen by, they would appear ridiculous if not downright scandalous. She moistened her lips. “But what if someone—”
“No one ever has before.” Ross’s voice became muffled as he pulled his shirt off over his head. He cocked an eyebrow when he tossed it down. “What’s the matter? Scared?”
Scared? Emily’s pride kicked in. “Of course I’m not scared.”
Ross didn’t reply. He merely offered an e nigmatic smile as he stripped down to his drawers, then left her to sit motionless and sweating under the merciless hot sun.
“Of course I’m not scared!” Emily called.
“Then come on in!”
He’d already disappeared over the small embankment. All Emily could see were smooth, muscular shoulders and the back of his head. Suddenly, she couldn’t even see that much as he vanished beneath the water.
“Scared... I’ll show him scared,” Emily said under her breath as she began to unfasten the front buttons of her dress.
Resurfacing with a splash and a hearty whoop, Ross shook his head, spraying droplets in all directions. “Whoa! Exhilarating!” Then, he vanished again.
“Anything he can do, I can do, too,” Emily muttered as she wiggled out of her dress and petticoat, and rose to her knees to wrestle with her corset. When she came to her feet, flinging the bothersome garment down onto the wrinkled pile in the grass, she wore a mightily determined expression and not much else.
Reaching the dried mud embankment, she stood in her chemise and drawers, watching as Ross rose from a sitting position to stand. The water level always dropped during the hottest, driest months of the year. If this were spring, it would have easily reached his chest. Today, however, the cloudy creek current only brushed his upper thighs. Water drops sparkled like liquid diamonds against the rich summer tan of his skin, and Emily’s eyebrows rose with interest upon noticing that his thoroughly soaked white cotton drawers clung to his splendid male anatomy in a most detailed manner.
He taunted her, “Having second thoughts?”
“You mustn’t know me very well.” She made her way down the short slope until her toes sank in mud and water. It felt cool and squashy, like soft, wet clay, and she laughed. Two seconds later, the water was up to her knees.
“Come on,” Ross urged.
Keeping her eyes locked with his, Emily forged ahead, fighting a delicious shiver that was only partly due to the cold water that lapped at her knees and thighs. She let out a delighted gasp when he reached out, catching her by the waist and bringing her flush up against him.
Wearing a sly smile, he dropped his head, and she lifted her face, angling her chin so their mouths were only a tantalizing inch apart. She closed her eyes, and—
“Get wet,” he said.
“Huh?” But his foot had already come around behind her ankle. A split second later, she landed with a splash on her rump, soaked to the skin and up to her neck in swirling muddy creek water.
“Ross!” She shook her head furiously, spat out some water, and blinked to clear her blurred vision. “That was a dirty trick!”
“Yup. Next time, watch out who you call an imbecile.”
“You’ll pay,” she said. The cold water had been a shock at first, but it already felt good. She wasn’t about to say it, though. She kept her eyes on him as he dropped to his knees and took her by one wrist.
“Of that I have no doubt,” he said and grinned as he pulled her up onto her knees to face him. “In fact, I can’t wait, but now I want to tell you how the book ends.”
“How?” But as he dropped her wrist to move closer and enfold her in his arms, her mind was not on her own sweet
revenge or his novel. It was on finishing what they’d started.
Their kiss was slow and deep, as earthy and sensual as their surroundings. A new warmth that had nothing at all to do with the sun overhead blossomed in Emily’s middle to spread like a long, lazy sigh through her limbs. If she hadn’t been able to see the truth in his eyes earlier, she would have known it now. He did love her. He loved her the way a man was supposed to love a woman.
When they parted, Ross didn’t release her but instead held her firmly pressed against the length of him. “When Andrew asks Eleanor to marry him, she says ...”
“Yes.” With her arms still locked around his neck, Emily closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder. As far she was concerned, they could stay like this. On their knees and in each others’ arms. Summertime forever. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
But Ross chose that moment to let go. Emily’s head popped up. “You’re not going to dunk me again, are you?”
He didn’t reply as he brought his left hand from around her back and opened it to reveal a fragile golden ring. Emily’s lips parted as it caught the light and flashed dazzling white. A marriage ring. And he’d had it all this time.
“Forever, Em.” Gently, he took her left hand and slid the gleaming gold circle very slowly down the length of her ring finger.
“Always,” she whispered, for that was all she could manage. Her voice had deserted her. She lifted her gaze to his and smiled. As with the promises they’d made to each other so many years before, this one, too, they’d keep.
***
From the Author
To avoid offending Civil War historians who know better and misinforming those readers who may not, I confess to shuffling some dates to fit into Ross and Emily’s story. The cornerstone for the national monument at Gettysburg was laid on July 4, 1865, not in early June.
With regard to Lancaster, Pennsylvania, many of the businesses, streets, and landmarks mentioned in this story are authentic. Some are not. While the Columbia Pike did indeed run west of the city, most other landmarks mentioned outside city limits are figments of my imagination—the Brenners’ Woods, Mowrer’s Creek, and the Kissing Bridge, unfortunately, included. I would like to think, though, that there were countless very special places along Lancaster County’s many lazy, winding streams where two children like Ross and Emily could have played in the woods. In fact, I know there were.
*
I hope you’ll linger for a short while longer as we leave Post Civil War Pennsylvania behind and move ahead about a decade in time to the American West circa1878. The setting of my next backlist title coming to e-book is a sprawling ranch near Fort Worth, Texas, where a headstrong cattle princess learns, much to her chagrin, that she needs a husband. Fast.
But only for six months.
And she knows just the footloose, not-the-marrying-kind of guy to help her...
Excerpt from BROKEN VOWS
There was more to that handsome gun than she wanted there to be…
Chapter One
The Elena Rose Ranch, Fort Worth, Texas, April, 1878
When a man knows his days are numbered, his perspective on life changes. Galen Girard knew this for a fact.
He stood with his back to the others in the room as he gazed through the window of his study and surveyed his second greatest achievement, the working section of the sprawling cattle ranch known as the Elena Rose. Over the years, he had invested his sweat, his fortune, his heart, and his soul into the Elena Rose, and he had built it into one of the largest, most profitable spreads in the state.
In his youth, Galen had cut a fine-looking figure, and now that he had reached middle age, he was proud that he still retained a full head of chestnut hair and that his body, worked hard by ranch life, had never gone to flab. That body, however, had turned traitor on him, falling prey to an invisible disease that was likely to claim him before the year was out. His mind was as sharp as ever, though, and he fully intended to see that certain things were done before he was forced to bid adieu to this world and continue on to the next.
Now, he disregarded the stunning vista outside his window and turned to face his single greatest achievement of all, that which far surpassed the success of the Elena Rose—his only child, Rachel. She was a grown woman and magnificent to behold. This morning, she stood tall, dressed smartly in a navy blue riding habit, with her coppery mane loose and wild. She had her late mother's high cheekbones and flashing green eyes, but that square jaw and that stubborn, determined set to her mouth, they were Galen's own. Oh, yes, Rachel was his daughter, in spirit as well as in flesh, and he was proud of her.
Knowing her high spirits as well as he did his own, he eyed her warily now, aware that her apparent calm in the face of his latest pronouncement was only a prelude to the storm. After all, she had no way of knowing the truth about his condition. He had sworn his old friend, Doc Bowers, to secrecy.
"Married?" Rachel spat out the word like a piece of spoiled meat. "What in blue blazes do you mean I have to get married? That is the most outrageous piece of poppycock I've ever heard in my life!"
Galen's sister-in-law, Charlotte, rose from her chair in a corner of the study and glided to Rachel's side. "I'm sure your father didn’t mean it like it sounded, did you, Galen?"
Galen flipped open the lid of his cigar box and extracted a Havana cigar. As he cut it, he had to rein in his irritation. There was only one reason he had planned to have Charlotte sit in on this exchange, and that was because he knew her presence would exert a certain pressure on his daughter. "I meant it exactly like it sounded, Charlotte."
So many years ago, Galen had warned his twin brother not to get involved with Charlotte, but she’d been comely and flirtatious, and George was a sucker for a pretty face. When Charlotte became pregnant, George did the right thing by her and then lived just long enough to rue that day. Now it looked as if George’s son, Nicholas, had inherited his father’s weakness for enticing coquettes. One had only to look at Nick's new wife, Daisy, to see that history was about to repeat itself.
Rachel pointed at her father as he reached for a match. "You have rounded the bend! You're plumb loco if you think I'm going to get married just because you've suddenly got the addle-pated idea that you want an heir. Take a look in front of you. I am your heir!"
Galen made a grand show of lighting his cigar in a leisurely fashion. “Why, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, my dear, but an heir would be nice. I’d consider that a point in your favor when I make out my will.”
Charlotte interjected eagerly. “Galen, you needn’t fear for the Girard name. There is Nicholas, you know, and given time, I’m sure he and Daisy—”
Galen shot Charlotte an annoyed glance that caused her to clamp her mouth shut.
Rachel tried to collect herself. She sucked in a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone. “Daddy, you aren’t being reasonable. I’ve worked hard to earn the Elena Rose. You always said—”
“You’re right. I’ve always said it would be yours when I’m gone, but I’m still breathing, Rachel Elena, and until that fact changes, I call the shots.”
“But—”
“No buts!” He pointed his cigar at his daughter. “You will get married, and your husband will be capable of running the Elena Rose, and he will not be some weak-kneed pansy you can dance a do-si-do around whenever you have a mind to!”
Galen realized too late that he’d begun to shout in an effort to intimidate his defiant offspring. It wasn’t working; it never had. Rachel merely raised a recalcitrant eyebrow.
He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Now, I’m giving you a chance to pick him out for yourself. Two months is plenty of time as I see it. If you haven’t found yourself an acceptable man by then, well, by God, if you want to inherit the Elena Rose, I’ll pick one out for you myself.”
“And if I refuse?”
With great dignity, Galen lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. “The ranch will go to Nicholas”—and now
he chose his words carefully for maximum effect—“and Daisy, of course, since she’s his wife.”
Rachel dropped all pretense of control. Her eyes shot sparks of pure fury. “Daisy? Daisy Parker? You would leave our family’s legacy in the hands of Daisy Parker?”
“She’s Daisy Girard now, Rachel,” Charlotte cut in. “I know you two have never gotten along, but I think—”
Rachel gave her aunt a look that would have wilted a blooming rose. “Daisy Parker is not a Girard! She will never be a Girard, and she will never get her greedy hands on any part of the Elena Rose!”
Charlotte pressed her lips together and held her tongue, but it was obvious that she too was now simmering.
Rachel narrowed her eyes at her father. “What’s brought all of this on so suddenly, Daddy? All this foolish talk about retiring from ranch work and writing up a will and—” She paused and frowned. “Is there something wrong with you?”
Galen took the cigar from his mouth, fixed his beloved daughter with his unflinching blue gaze, and lied through his teeth. “Of course not. It’s just come to that time in my life when it’s time to set matters straight. I’ve been meaning to get to it ever since your mother passed on.”
Rachel stared at him hard, perhaps trying to discern if he was telling the truth. Finally, she scowled. “Then there’s no other explanation for it except that what they say about you is true. You’re just a mean old, ornery son of a—”
She didn’t dare finish, and Galen tried hard not to grin as he plunked his cigar back in his mouth and reached for some papers on his desk. He’d always been partial to folks with guts enough to speak their own minds. That went for his business associates and staff as well as his daughter. “I’ve said all I need to say. I’ve got work to do.”
Rachel opened her mouth to retort but decided against it. Instead, she spun around to leave and bumped a desk lamp with her elbow.