Light the Stars

by RaeAnne Thayne

  He let out a harsh breath. "If your father's half as good at the grift as you, no wonder my mother fell for him. You'll be happy to know, whatever game you were running, it worked. I fell for all of it, the whole sweet, nurturing act."

  He couldn't remember ever being so angry—most of all at himself. He should have listened to his own instincts at first, his suspicions of her. If he had held on to them and protected himself a little better, he wouldn't be feeling this terrible, crushing sense that he had lost something rare and precious.

  "I trusted you, Caroline. I let my children come to care for you, let myself care about you. For the first time in two years, the world seemed bright and shining and new. I thought you were someone good and decent, a woman I could love."

  His last word came out savage and ugly and she made a small, wounded sound.

  She was crying, he saw, and the sight of it arrowed right through his fury to his heart. Damn her. He couldn't let her get to him. He wouldn't fall for it, even though part of him wanted to hold her tight, to tell her he was sorry, to kiss her tears away.

  She was only crying out of frustration because her plans had been ruined, he told himself.

  "The tears are a nice touch," he snarled. "Too bad I've got your number now. You can shut them off anytime."

  "Oh, can I?" she whispered, blinking hard.

  Tears shimmered on her lashes and one more slid down the straight plane of her nose. She swiped at with a jerky, abrupt motion, but another one quickly took its place.

  Suddenly his anger washed away, leaving only a deep, yawning sense of loss and he couldn't look at her anymore, with her soft eyes and her pretty features and her lying mouth.

  "The minute Jake says you can travel again, I want you off my ranch," he said quietly.

  "Of course," she murmured.

  He turned away, thinking of how baffled and lost his children would be when she disappeared from their lives. Though he hated to ask her for anything, he knew he had no choice, for their sakes.

  "I would appreciate it if you'd stay away from Nat and the boys during the rest of your time here. They're going to be hurt enough when you leave. I don't want them to suffer more for my stupidity."

  He didn't trust himself to say anything more, just turned and walked out without looking back.

  * * *

  She certainly wasn't going to wait for permission from any of the Dalton brothers.

  As soon as the door slammed behind Wade, Caroline allowed herself only a few ragged breaths for strength, then grabbed her crutches and pulled herself to her feet, welcoming the physical pain if it would take some of this terrible ache from her chest.

  By sheer force of will, she made it to her bedroom and by the time Quinn wandered in a half hour later in search of her, she was sweating and pale but her suitcases were packed and waiting on the bed.

  Quinn stopped in the doorway, his gaze taking in her luggage. "What's this about?" her father asked.

  Though it cost just about everything she had left, she managed to speak in a calm, even tone. "I need a ride to the airport in Idaho Falls. I'm not physically able to drive yet."

  Quinn looked surprised. "Do you really think that's wise? Hate to break it to you, baby, but you're not looking so hot right now. Maybe you ought to sit down and rest. Think this through a little."

  "No. I need to leave."

  Something in her tone or her expression must have given away her distress. Quinn's too-handsome features dissolved into concern and he stepped closer.

  "What's the matter? Come here. You look like you just lost your best shill."

  He wrapped her in his arms and for an instant she leaned her weight against him, surrounded by the familiar scent of his aftershave and the cinnamon mints he was never without.

  The combination of smells made her feel ten years old again, and she wondered how she could love her father so much and still carry this heavy burden of anger.

  She stepped away, balancing on her crutches. "Quinn, I haven't asked you for anything. Not anything, not even that time I spent four months in jail for something we both knew I had nothing to do with. I'm asking you now, calling in every marker. I need a ride to the airport. I can't stay here another minute."

  To her chagrin, her voice broke on the last word and tears burned in her eyes again.

  Quinn studied her for a long moment. "Oh, baby. I've never been much of a father to you, have I? There are plenty of sins Saint Peter can pile at my feet when I reach those pearly gates, but the worst will be the harm I've done to my little girl."

  He slid his thumb over her cheek. "I was given a rare and precious gift, better than any score I could dream up, and I treated it like pigeon bait."

  She couldn't deal with this. Not now.

  "I need to go home. Please, Daddy."

  Her tears were falling freely now and Quinn pulled her into his arms again. When he released her, he looked sad and tired and years older.

  "Let me go find my keys."

  * * *

  Caroline wasn't sure how she survived the two weeks after she left the Cold Creek. She had little memory of the torturous plane ride home or of that first terrible night when she had wept until she'd thought for sure she must have no tears left. The intervening days all seemed to run together, a hazy blur of sorrow and loss.

  Physically, she felt much better. Though her doctor in Santa Cruz still advised her not to put weight on her leg, she was moving around on her crutches with ease and the pain had abated significantly.

  Her chest still ached but she wasn't sure if that was from her broken ribs or her broken heart.

  She sighed now, gazing out the window at the little slice of ocean that was all she could see from her cottage.

  A cold rain blew against the glass, as it had been doing nearly every day since she'd returned from the Cold Creek. She was so tired of it. If the sky would only clear, maybe she could feel warm again. She might even remember that the sun always came out again, even after the darkest night.

  There was no sunshine in sight today. From here, the sea looked a churning, angry green, and the sky was heavy and dark.

  In hopes of cheering herself up, she had opened a jar of the tomato soup she'd canned with produce from her own garden. It was warming on the stove, sending out a hearty, comforting smell, and a fire burned merrily in her little fireplace, but she still felt cold, empty.

  Somehow, she had to learn to go on, but the thought of a future without Wade and the children seemed unendurable.

  She missed the children so much she could hardly bear it. Nat, with her rapid-fire conversation and her bossiness, Tanner and all that mischievous energy, Cody the cuddler, who was never as happy as when he was sitting on a warm lap with a book and his blanket.

  And Wade.

  Her finger traced a raindrop's twisting journey on the other side of the glass. She missed Wade most of all. She missed his strength and his slow smile and the sweet tenderness of his touch.

  She had to snap out of this misery. Her work was suffering—it was very difficult to help others face their problems and weaknesses when her own life was such a shambles.

  She'd had two sessions that morning and had to reschedule both, with great apologies to her clients, because she just hadn't been able to focus.

  Tonight would be better, she told herself. She would have her soup, turn on some cheerful music, then try to finish some of the paperwork she had been neglecting since her return to California.

  She had just dished up a bowl and set it on the table to cool when her office telephone rang. She waited for the answering machine to pick up but the ringing continued.

  Rats. In the distracted state she seemed to permanently inhabit since leaving the Cold Creek, she must have forgotten to switch it back on after sending a fax earlier.

  With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed her crutches to hobble in and turn it off. The ringing stopped just as she made her slow way to her office door, but it started up again before she could reac
h the phone. Whoever it was had persistence going for him.

  She could turn on her machine and let technology catch the call or she could pick it up.

  Maybe human contact would shake her out of her melancholy, make her feel a little less alone. She lowered herself to her office chair and picked up the phone.

  "Light the Stars."

  A long pause met her words and she heard a burst of static, then a male voice spoke, sounding like it was coming from some distant planet.

  "Yes. Hello. I'm interested in your coaching services."

  She almost told him to call back in the morning during business hours. But even through the dicey connection, she thought she heard a hint of desperation in the voice.

  "Have you ever used a life coach before?" she asked, trying to gauge a little background on the potential client.

  "No. But I need some serious help and you come highly recommended. I understand you're the best."

  Not anymore, even if that were ever true. Right now she was a mess and she wasn't sure she could coach a mosquito to bite.

  "There are many good life coaches out there. Finding the right one is always a little tricky. I always recommend that my clients talk to several before finding the one they want to work with."

  "I don't want to do that. It's you or nobody else. I'm desperate here, ma'am."

  She didn't need that kind of pressure—not now, when she was filled with self-doubt. But something about that staticky voice struck a chord within her.

  "All right. We can set up a time for a trial session if you'd like—"

  "Can't we do that now?"

  She laughed a little, though it sounded hollow and tinny to her ears, and she wondered how long it had been since she'd found anything genuinely amusing.

  "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. After we schedule an initial session, I usually have my clients fill out a somewhat lengthy questionnaire on my Web site and e-mail it to me so I have a little background information going into our session."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "Basic things, really. Name, occupation, your family dynamics. The areas of your life you're unhappy with…."

  "I can tell you that one right off. My life is a mess, mostly because I've been an idiot."

  Oh, I bet I've got you beat on that one, she thought.

  "I've been stupid and mean to someone who didn't deserve it and in the process I threw away something that could have been wonderful. I'm miserable. The woman I love left me and I need your help trying to figure out if there's any chance I could win her back."

  Caroline closed her eyes. Why couldn't his problem be something simple like a midlife crisis or dissatisfaction with his career choices? Why did it have to be a romance turned sour?

  She couldn't deal with this right now, not with the shambles her own life was in.

  "I don't think I can help you," she said quietly.

  "You have to. Look, I'm desperate. This woman brought joy and laughter back to a cold and lonely world. She made me feel again, when I wasn't sure I ever would again. I can't face a future without her in it. I can't."

  Even through the bad connection, the raw emotion in his voice came through clearly and Caroline was shocked to feel tears burn behind her eyelids. She definitely couldn't take on this client—or any client dealing with a relationship disappointment right now.

  "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, "but I'm afraid you're going to have to find someone else to work with you. I can give you some referrals to some excellent coaches—"

  "No. I don't want anybody else. I want you."

  "I don't think I'm the right person to help you at this time."

  The man gave a ragged-sounding laugh. "I'm afraid you're the only one who can help me."

  "I don't—" she began but the doorbell rang before she could complete the sentence, then rang again more insistently just an instant later.

  "You should probably get that," the voice on the phone said.

  "Yes. I'm sorry. Could you hold on a moment?"

  "As long as it takes," he responded.

  Cordless phone in the crook of her shoulder, she hobbled the few steps to the door and looked out the peephole, then nearly lost her balance on her crutches.

  "Wade," she breathed.

  He stood on her stoop, his Stetson dripping rain, looking big and gorgeous and wonderful.

  And holding a cell phone to his ear.

  "Caroline," the voice on the phone murmured and she wondered how she had possibly mistaken that slow drawl for a stranger's voice.

  Her heart stuttered in her chest and she could do nothing but stare at his distorted image through the peephole. He was here, not a thousand miles away on his Idaho ranch, but right here on her doorstep.

  After two weeks of misery, of missing him so badly she couldn't breathe around it, he stood in front of her. She almost couldn't believe it.

  "Are you still there?" he asked after a long moment.

  "I…yes. I'm here."

  "I'm sorry, Caroline," he said softly in her ear and she saw the truth in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I should have trusted you. I should have trusted myself, my own instincts. In my heart, I knew you were just what you seemed but I jumped at the chance to push you away. It's a poor excuse, but I can only tell you I was scared."

  "Scared?"

  "When I lost Andrea, I didn't think I would survive the pain of it and I sure never dreamed I might be able to love again. And then you showed up at the Cold Creek. Somehow you started to thaw all those frozen corners of my heart and it scared the hell out of me."

  "Wade—"

  "It still scares me," he admitted. "But the thought of living without you scares me more."

  She pressed a hand to her stomach, to the swirly, jittering emotions jumping there.

  "I love you, Caroline," he said quietly. "With all my heart. Are you going to open the door? Or will you leave me standing out in the rain for the rest of my life?"

  With pounding heart and trembling hands, she worked the locks as fast as she could, dropping the phone in the process. Finally, after what felt like forever, the last bolt shot free and she jerked open the door.

  It wasn't a mirage, some heartache-induced dream. He was real. And he was hers.

  Using her crutches as a fulcrum, she launched herself at him, laughing and crying at the same time. He caught her, as she knew he would, and pulled her tight against him.

  "Carrie," he murmured, his blue eyes bright and intense in the gloom, then his mouth found hers.

  It was a kiss of redemption, of healing. Of peace and hope and joy, and she never wanted to stop.

  "I love you," she said against his mouth. "I've missed you so much."

  He made a low sound in his throat and kissed her fiercely, until she was dizzy from it.

  "We're getting soaked," he murmured some time later.

  "I don't care."

  His laugh was raw. "You'll catch pneumonia, then your father will never forgive me. He's already spent two weeks telling me what an idiot I am."

  She blinked. "Quinn?"

  "My new stepfather is not too thrilled with me right now. Nobody on the ranch is, if you want the truth. For the last two weeks, I've been getting the cold shoulder from just about everybody. Even Cody."

  She couldn't believe that. The little boy adored his father.

  "The kids aren't speaking to me, my brothers only talk to me to tell me what a damn fool I am, and your father finally threatened bodily violence if I didn't get a brain in my head and come after you."

  "He…he did?"

  Without waiting for an invitation, Wade carried her through the door to her couch, then sat down with her in his lap. They would drip all over it, but she didn't care.

  "That man might have made some mistakes where you're concerned but he loves you. He told me everything, all his years of running cons, how you used to beg him to stop but he was always after the thrill of the next deal. He told me you were the most honest person he'd ever met and
would rather cut out your tongue than join him in a con."

  "You believe him?"

  He cupped her chin. "He told me about Washington."

  She closed her eyes, mortified that he knew about her time in jail, but they opened again when he kissed her lightly.

  "He told me none of it was your fault, that he dragged you into the whole mess against your will."

  "I couldn't testify against him. I would have been out in a day but I couldn't do it. I'm weak when it comes to him."

  "Not weak. You love him. And so does Marjorie, by the way. He seems to be crazy about her, too. After two endless weeks of living with their constant billing and cooing, I have to believe it's the real deal. Nobody could be that good an actor, even your father."

  "Do you mind? About his past?"

  He was quiet for a moment, his hand doing delicious things to the small of her back. "He makes her happy. She didn't have much of that, married to my father, so I can't begrudge her this."

  He made a face. "And to tell you the truth, though I hate to admit it, your dad is growing on me."

  "Yes, he seems to have that effect on people," she said dryly.

  "I know I hurt you and I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said after a moment. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I swear I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

  "Oh, Wade. There's nothing to forgive. Nothing! I should have told you about Quinn the moment I arrived at the ranch. That's the whole reason I came after him, I was in a panic that he might be running another con game, with Marjorie as his mark."

  "He signed a prenuptial agreement. Apparently he insisted on it. Marjorie showed it to me and Quinn willingly gave up any current or future claim to any ranch assets or income."

  Caroline sagged against him, as the last of the worry over Quinn's motives—the worry she hadn't even realized had been lurking inside her—seemed to seep away, leaving a vast relief.

  "I guess it takes a man in love to recognize another one, and I think what Quinn and Marjorie have is the real deal."

  "Oh, that's wonderful."

  He smiled, then kissed her softly. "I love you. On behalf of everybody on the Cold Creek—but especially for the sake of this lonely, miserable shell of a man—I'm asking you to come back. The kids miss you. I miss you and I need you more than life, Caroline. You showed me how to dream again and I don't want to give that up. Will you come back to the Cold Creek and to me?"