One From The Heart

by Richards, Cinda

  “He’s a good man,” Hannah said quietly.

  “Girl!” her father said in exasperation. “He ain’t nothing! He ain’t got nothing and he ain’t ever going to.”

  “Being a success has got nothing to do with having money,” Hannah said. “My mother taught me that, too.”

  They stared at each other—until Jake Brown abruptly turned and left, letting the screen door bang behind him in much the same way as Ernie had. Hannah stood at the window and watched him drive away, with mud flying and with no regard for new tires and shiny black paint.

  I have got to get out of here.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  Ernie, where are you?

  She looked around the room. She’d straighten up the place, and then she’d see Petey, and then she would leave. That’s all there was to it.

  She washed the few dishes and made the bed and closed the dampers on the stove, rushing around as if she truly had to catch a bus. She gathered up the last of her things and stuffed them into the duffel bag. If she put some distance between herself and all this, maybe she could decide what to do next.

  The telephone rang, and she stumbled over her duffel bag in her haste to answer it.

  “Please be Ernie,” she said out loud, not even realizing she’d said it.

  It was Mim, sounding upset and out of breath.

  “Hannah—Jake was here. I was afraid you’d gone thumbing along the highway—”

  “Mim, have you heard from Ernie?” she interrupted.

  “Yes. He called just now. He couldn’t talk but a minute—and then Jake came.” Mim stopped to catch her breath. “Ernie wanted me to tell you something.”

  “Mim, what?”

  “He said to ask you to wait for him. And then he said, ‘No, ask her to please wait.’ He said he’d come there as soon as he could.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Hannah, did you hear me?”

  The silence lengthened.

  “Hannah?”

  “Yes,” she said finally.

  “Hannah, honey, I don’t want you to feel you have no choice. Michael and I will take you back to Dallas if you want to go. And I told Ernie that.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her fingers against the tight circle of pain that a restless night and a worry-filled day had centered in the middle of her forehead. “No, Mim. I’m … going to stay here. For a little while.”

  She could hear Mim’s sigh of relief.

  “Hannah, you know I think it’s the best thing for you and John Ernest both. You’ll find plenty to eat in the refrigerator. And will you walk over here if you get lonesome?”

  “I—yes. I’ll walk over. And you’ll call me if you hear anything? And Mim,” she added. “Could I talk to Petey?”

  “Jake took her with him, Hannah. He’s her grandfather. I couldn’t say no.”

  Hannah sat for a long while after she’d hung up the telephone—not an easy thing to do when all she wanted was to be gone. She just didn’t know what Ernie wanted from her … again. Elizabeth needed help, needed Ernie; she knew that. It was just that she was afraid—not of losing him precisely, since she’d never really had him. She was afraid of losing a chance with him. That was all they had, a chance, a beautiful, golden chance to go through life together, even if it meant putting up with strangers on the couch and middle-of-the-night drives to take some hard-luck cowboy someplace he needed to go. She smiled to herself. During her gypsy childhood, there had been any number of times when she and her mother had needed a friendly couch or middle-of-the-night transportation themselves, plenty of times when they’d arrived at some out-of-the-way motel to find a No Vacancy sign when they’d had neither the money nor the strength to go on. The Alma, the Bluebird of Happiness, the Evening Breeze. Beautiful neon names. But her mother had never been discouraged. If you were tired, you rested. If you needed money, you went to work. Somebody always needs a good waitress, Hannah Rose.

  She suddenly frowned. Unfortunately, somebody didn’t always need a good television person. One scratched to find a position, and one continued scratching to hold on to it. She’d been indulging herself in the fantasy of somehow sharing a life with Ernie Watson, and she’d been doing it with no thought whatsoever of how her career was going to fit into that life. This new indifference about her work was nothing if not glaring; Nathan Williamson would never believe it.

  She sighed heavily. “And Ernie thinks I’ve turned his life upside down,” she said aloud. “Look at me. I’m sitting here waiting—talking to myself—when I know better. Just because he wants me to.”

  The key phrase was he wants me to, and she knew it. He’d helped her with Petey, probably kept her from losing the job she now felt indifferent about, and she knew she owed him that …

  Who was she kidding? She was doing this because she was in love with the rascal; that was why she was doing it. She tossed her duffel bag into a corner before she stumbled over it again, and she set about the business of passing the time. She opened a can of tomato soup when she got hungry, and she found a small radio on the kitchen counter, which only picked up a local station, KTLQ. She read a paperback detective story she found in a magazine rack by the piano, and she tried not to think about Ernie and Elizabeth every time KTLQ played “You Still Move Me.”

  Desperate for something else to do, she decided to change her clothes. It was her policy to travel in comfort, so she’d only brought jeans, but she’d also packed one pale blue silk shirt. It was oversized, clingy, flagrantly sexy, and it gave her gray-green eyes more color. She’d brought it along for only one reason. She’d wanted him to see her in it, to see her womanliness enhanced as only soft, languid silk could do. She gave a mischievous smile as she put it on. She needed all the help she could get, and while a silk shirt was hardly the key to solving her problems, it certainly couldn’t hurt.

  But she grew more and more restless as the day stretched into early evening. It was getting dark, and her resolve was fading, silk or no silk. She was crazy to wait here, regardless of what Ernie wanted. She’d been foolish enough to tell him right out loud that she loved him, and she knew what kind of man he was. He’d want to tell her face to face that he was still involved with Elizabeth, and he’d want to make sure she was all right after he did it. He’d feel he had to buy her another Starlight hamburger and a brown milk shake to cheer her up, and then see her safely back to Dallas.

  He’d make her feel better; he had a knack for it—with her, and with Elizabeth, and with Petey. She just didn’t think she could stand it.

  She put on her coat and grabbed up her duffel bag, hooking it over her shoulder and replacing the key on the nail on the porch rafter by the door. She looked back once at the dark house—when she passed the musical waterwheel. The evening was starry and cold and still except for Swan Lake, and she could hear the melody during almost the entire walk to Mim’s.

  There were no vehicles in Mim’s yard, but she could see a light on in the kitchen. She walked up onto the porch and knocked loudly, but no one came to the door. She continued knocking for a moment, then sat down on the porch steps.

  “This really hasn’t been a good day,” she muttered to herself. Something must be happening, she thought. Mim wouldn’t tell her to walk over and then go off someplace. She sighed. There was nothing to do but walk back to Ernie’s father’s place. As desperate as she was to leave, the idea of thumbing her way along the highway didn’t appeal to her at all. She waited a few minutes longer, until the cold drove her to start walking again. But cold or not, she lingered a moment at the pond. She was always going to remember this place. Always.

  She was well into the yard before she noticed the track—Ernie’s no-color pickup—parked close to the porch the way her father had done. Her heart leaped. She walked faster, looking at the empty track and wondering why the lights on the house weren’t on. She crossed the porch, letting the screen door squeak and slam, hesitating only a moment before she op
ened the door and stepped inside.

  “Ernie?” she called when she didn’t immediately see him. She was cold, and she swung her duffel bag to the other shoulder so she could reach the switch near the door. The lamps came on, and she stood blinking until her eyes adjusted to the light.

  Ernie looked at her gravely. He must have only just come in, and he took off his hat and put it on the piano. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking and once again she found herself having to wait.

  “I … didn’t think you’d be here,” he said after what seemed an eternity.

  “I didn’t think I’d be here, either,” she answered truthfully.

  She stood rooted to the spot, loving him, despite the hopelessness of their situation, loving his husky voice and his sad eyes that searched hers, then went to the duffel bag she was still carrying.

  He took a few steps closer. “I guess you were leaving.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. She had lied to him before, but she wasn’t going to lie to him now. And, Lord, she wanted to touch him. He looked so tired and so sad.

  “Why?”

  “Scared, I guess,” she answered, still being truthful.

  He smiled, the shy smile that always set her heart to pounding and turned her knees to mush. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty scared myself. You hungry?”

  She made a gesture with her hand that was neither yes or no.

  “Me either,” he said, his voice going softer, huskier still. “You … going to come over here, then? I’d come over there, but my knee’s killing me, and besides that, I don’t know if you want me over there or not. I can’t tell by looking at you—except that you’re … not happy right now, and I don’t know if I can do anything about that or not.” He stopped talking when she dropped her duffel bag on the floor.

  They stood staring at each other across the room.

  “The hell with the knee,” he decided, limping the distance between them. He stopped just short of touching her, his eyes traveling over her face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

  “I’ve got freckles,” she was quick to remind him, and he smiled again, making a gesture as if to touch her face, but not completing it, letting his hand fall to his side instead.

  “Beautiful and special,” he said, his eyes holding hers.

  Oh, Lord, she thought. This is where he tells me I’m a fine woman, but he’s staying with Elizabeth.

  “Ernie—”

  “Hannah, put your arms around me,” he interrupted. “Will you do that?” His eyes still held hers, and she hesitated only a moment before she reached out for him, holding him tightly and pressing her face into his shirt so she could breathe in his heady masculine scent.

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” she said, closing her eyes in relief because he hadn’t said the words she’d expected and savoring his long sigh. Oh, he smelled so good to her, felt so good. They had a thousand things to talk about, to settle, and she didn’t care about any of them. He was here, and that was all that mattered to her.

  “I’m so glad to see you,” he whispered. “I thought I’d messed up everything.”

  “Ernie, we have to talk,” she said in spite of what she was feeling.

  “Not now, Hannah.”

  “Ernie, I want to know about Elizabeth.”

  She meant that, and he knew it. He leaned back so he could see her face. “I took her to Tulsa.”

  “Tulsa,” Hannah repeated.

  He stepped away from her, as if he could tell her better if they weren’t touching. He stood in the middle of the room, in his familiar thumbs-hooked-in-jeans-pockets stance. But eye contact between them was just as unsettling, and he looked away. “To the City of Faith Medical Center. There’s a doctor there—he rides the rodeo sometimes. I thought he could help her get herself together, and I talked her into going—pretty much over Jake’s dead body.”

  “This doctor—can he help her?”

  “He can if she’ll stop flying off in ten different directions. She’s going to lose Petey if she keeps going the way she’s going. That’s what caused all this uproar in the first place. O’Day wants his kid, and Libby left Petey with me and you so he couldn’t find her, which was a dumb stunt, doing it the way she did. I think she realizes that finally. We went to see a lawyer, too. He told her if she doesn’t make some effort to show she’s trying to straighten up, O’Day will get custody of his daughter, and there won’t be a damn thing Jake and all his money can do about it. Half of Oklahoma and two-thirds of Texas know she left Petey with me and not her daddy. God, I’m tired,” he said abruptly, sighing heavily. He looked up to meet her eyes. “I’ve told her how things are with me—about you.”

  She didn’t say anything, and he went on.

  “I love you, Hannah. I love you with all my heart, and I hurt you. I—it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, leaving you here when you didn’t understand. The bad part is I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again if I had to. I’m not in love with Libby. I don’t think I ever was, really. If I was in love with anything, it was what I wanted her to be, some idea of her I had in my mind that never really existed. My history with her is part of what I am—the same way my past with the bottle is part of what I am. And I want you to stay with me in spite of both of them. I know it’s a lot to ask, Hannah.”

  He looked so miserable that she wanted to put her arms around him again, wanted to hold him tightly and never let go. But she stayed where she was.

  “It’s like what my old man told me about being alone. I didn’t know I was lonely until the night I brought Petey to you. I need you, Hannah. Don’t leave me.”

  The golden chance. It was all she’d wanted, all she’d dared hope for, and here it was after all.

  I am afraid, Elizabeth.’ Maybe there is something wrong with both of us!

  “Hannah, don’t look at me like that,” he warned her. “Don’t. I love you. Don’t look at me like that!”

  Like Bambi, she supposed, tears welling up in her eyes. She hadn’t meant to cry, but her mouth was quivering anyway.

  “Ernie, we don’t know each other. Not really. There hasn’t been enough time for this.”

  “Tell me about it,” he said, giving a resigned sigh. “You want to know what I think? I think some things you can’t measure in time. I keep remembering something Mac McDade told me about his wife, Amelia. He was in a V.A. Hospital in New York City when he met her. He’d been wounded really bad in Southeast Asia, and she was married to somebody else. He said he was lying on a gurney out in the hall, and she came walking toward him. She had long black hair, and she was wearing a yellow summer dress. The sun was behind her all the way up that long hall, but he knew. Even before he saw her face, he knew she was the one. He waited ten years for her, and all that time he loved her without her knowing it. I think that’s how it is with you and me, Hannah. Ten seconds from now, or ten years, I’m going to love you with all my heart just the way I do right this minute.”

  A hot tear slid down her cheek. “Ernie, I—Are you sure?”

  “Am I sure?” he repeated incredulously. “Hannah Rose, would I act as crazy as I’ve been acting if I wasn’t? It’s the only thing I am sure about. Ah, Hannah, don’t cry. I don’t want you to be sad.”

  “This isn’t sad,” she said, her voice breaking. “This is like—the national anthem.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, that delighted chuckle she adored so, and he reached for her, hugging her to him hard. “Hannah, Hannah,” he whispered against her ear, finally holding her at arm’s length and smiling into her eyes.

  But the smile faded, and his eyes grew dark and intense. She could see the passion there—and more. Uncertainty. He still had his own doubts and fears. He’d been hurt too badly not to be uncertain, but he was willing not to let their golden chance pass them by.

  “Ernie?” she said, her eyes locked with his. “Could I … kiss you?”

  There was the smile again, just as she’d hoped, quiet and shy and infinitely pleased. He
didn’t move. He waited, eyes open while she reached up with both hands to hold his face as she touched her mouth to his.

  Lord, she loved the taste of him. He was sweetly, deliciously—Ernie. She kissed him to savor, enjoy, to arouse, and his eyes closed as he gave himself up to whatever else she wanted to do. She loved the soft feel of his mustache and the scratchy stubble of his beard.

  “I love doing this,” she murmured when she finally broke away. Her heart was pounding and her knees had gone weak.

  “I’m kind of partial to it myself, Hannah Rose,” he assured her, his voice strained and his breathing shaky. They both laughed, foreheads pressed together.

  “Don’t stop,” he whispered.

  She didn’t, kissing him again and following one kiss with another until his lips parted and she could savor him even more deeply, until he could no longer be just the recipient, and he returned her attention with a knee-weakening kiss of his own.

  “You’re not going anywhere tonight, are you?” he asked, holding her tightly, keeping her head on his shoulder.

  “No,” she said contentedly.

  “Am I going anywhere tonight?” he wondered, and she laughed softly, giving him a squeeze. He leaned back to look at her. “Am I?” he asked again, his dark eyes probing hers.

  “No,” she said again, and he grinned.

  “You’re sure?” he persisted.

  “I’m sure.” She reached up to touch his face, serious now. “You look so tired.”

  “I am. I didn’t get much sleep.” He covered her hand with his to keep it there for a moment, then kissed the the inside of her wrist. She felt it all the way to her toes.

  He was staring into her eyes again, and she could see the weariness—and something else—just a touch of mischief. “Could we … go to bed?” he wondered further.

  “Now?” she asked, as straight-faced as she could manage.

  “Well, yeah. Now,” he said nonchalantly. “Now is what I was thinking.” He gave an innocent shrug.

  She didn’t answer, looking at him steadily, trying not to grin.