Best of Cowboys Bundle
Page 121
He realized she’d pulled over and was getting out of the car. He followed suit and went after her up a steep path to the top of a grass-covered hill overlooking the sea.
The view was spectacular. They were high on the point of a narrow peninsula, surrounded on three sides by water. Above the cliffs the green of the grass stood in stark contrast to the black rock and the wintry blue sky. Rugged and beautiful, yet soft and soothing in a savage way. Sort of like Arizona. But very different.
She took his hand and led him right up to the top of the hill, to a strange formation of stones, about fifty feet long and twenty feet wide. The stones were quite large and looked like granite, and were set in a configuration that looked kind of like…the outer outline of a pair of lips, without the upper dip.
“What is this?” he asked, amazed how anyone could have managed to move those giant boulders an inch, let alone into a specific arrangement.
“Most people think it’s a druid stone circle, like Stonehenge. But it’s really a boat grave. They’re pretty rare in Ireland. Mostly you find them in Scandinavia.”
“They buried a ship here?” he asked, incredulous.
She laughed. The lilting sound carried on the wind like an ancient melody. He loved the way she laughed. “No. It’s a person, or persons. But they arranged the stones in the shape of a small boat. See, the two ends are the bow and the stern? It’s thought to carry the dead to the afterlife. The grave sites always overlook the water.”
He peered out over the crashing waves. “A dead sea captain, maybe?”
“Viking.”
“Ah. Longing for the homeland. Like Fitz.”
She smiled wistfully. “Maybe. Some people, the UFO types, think it’s a radio transmitter for contacting outer space. They say if you whisper something at one end you can hear distinctly what’s said at the other end.”
He chuckled. “What a bunch of fruitcakes.”
“Yeah. No doubt.” She turned to him, but stared down at the ground, folding her arms across her midriff. “Redhawk, I’m not going back.”
At the abrupt change of subject, he stared at her uncomprehendingly. Suddenly his pulse took off at a gallop. “What?” Surely, she hadn’t said—
“I’m going to stay here, in Ireland.”
He gaped. “For how long? You can’t leave Irish Heaven on its own for—”
“You’ll be there to take care of it.”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not—”
“I know it’s a lot of work for one person, but you could hire—”
“You don’t understand. I won’t be there. I’m leaving the ranch.”
Her face was a portrait of shock. For a moment she was speechless.
Damn. He hadn’t meant to tell her yet. Not until after he’d proposed one last time.
“You are?” she finally asked. “Why?”
On second thought, her intention to stay in Ireland told him loud and clear what her answer would be.
She was leaving him. The fact that he’d planned to leave her, too, was irrelevant. He felt sick.
She was leaving him.
“Why?” he echoed, putting out a hand to steady himself against one of the ancient stones. “Because…because it’s time for me to move on. Irish Heaven is yours by blood. I have no right to take it away from you, and I don’t have the heart to try anymore. It’s yours, Rhiannon. You belong there.”
And that was the God’s honest truth. For a while he’d thought they might belong there together, but…well, that obviously wasn’t going to happen. He’d been willing to fight to stay, to stay with her, willing to throw in his lot with hers even when they hadn’t been lovers, or even friends. Now that they were both, it was killing him to let go of the dream. But she wasn’t interested. She’d rather stay here in Ireland than be his wife. So be it.
She was staring at him like he’d lost his mind.
“How can you say that?” she accused. “Irish Heaven is so yours I’ve felt like an intruder from day one. No. I can’t take that land away from you. You said it yourself, it’s what you live for. Your heart is filled with Irish Heaven, and I’d never forgive myself if I made you rip it out.”
It was his turn to stare at her.
Did she have no clue? That it was her in his heart? That by staying here, she was ripping it out more completely than if he never saw Irish Heaven again?
He was having a hard time forming words. “I don’t want it,” he rasped. “Not without you there.”
He saw her blink and swallow heavily. “I can’t, Hawk. Not like—” She swallowed again. “Sell it, then. I’ve arranged for you to be conservator when you get back. You can buy a place of your own, somewhere you’ll be happy….”
“Will you be happy here, Rhiannon?” he asked. “Is this what you really want?”
She gazed at him, her eyes moist with the mists of the sea, green as the grass of her native land, her skin pale as porcelain and her expression desolate as the wild and rocky cliffs below.
“My offer of marriage still stands,” he said, reaching for her. “Please, Rhiannon. Say yes.”
Her hand lifted to meet his, but stalled before he could catch it, or even touch her. Her lips trembled, and he was sure she wanted to say something…but she didn’t. She remained silent for a long time before at last tearing her gaze from his.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, banding her arms around herself, looking everywhere but at him.
His heart felt like that rodeo bull had crushed it instead of his knee. Sharp pain razored through his whole body so raw he had to breathe deeply to keep from crying out.
What would he do now?
What could he do?
Get up and go on. Alone. Like he always did when life knocked the legs out from under him. It hadn’t beaten him yet. This time, though, he wondered.
He nodded once, pulled his hat down over his eyes and stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. Then he walked away. He had no idea where he was going, but he had to be by himself.
Behind him a muffled cry sounded, but he didn’t let himself look back. He kept walking. Until he reached the farthest stone at the bow of the boat grave, then he slid behind it, leaning his back against the cold granite for support while he sucked in several deep lungfuls of frigid air to keep his knees from buckling.
Suddenly he heard a sound. At least he thought he did. Like a whispered faerie song, sweet and magical, as though the words came from the very stone itself.
“I love you,” the faerie whispered, so low and soft it could have been the wind soughing through the grass.
He held himself absolutely still, straining to hear it again. But there was nothing save the wind. His mind was playing tricks on him.
Closing his eyes, he cursed his imagination. “I love you, too,” he whispered back, unable to stop himself.
This time he heard a soft gasp.
Rhiannon!
He spun around the giant stone to peer down the length of the formation. And saw her. Standing at the other end stone, hand over her mouth peering back at him with wide eyes.
“Was that you?” he demanded, starting to walk back toward her.
“Is it true?” she returned.
“Is what true?”
“Do you love me?”
He halted in the middle of the boat and planted his hands on his hips. “Of course I love you! Why do you think I asked you to marry me about a hundred times?”
Her hand slipped from her mouth. “To get the ranch, of course. You never said a thing about—”
He ripped off his Stetson and flung it to the ground, drilling his hands through his hair. Hell.
Hell and damnation. So that was it.
“Come here,” he said. And waited patiently for her to make up her mind to come to him. She looked skittish as a colt, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
What an idiot he’d been. An utter, complete fool. He’d been so busy worrying about how she felt, he’d never bothered telling her how he felt.
> He stretched out his hand to her. And willed her to take a step.
She did. Finally. Then another. And another.
By the time she reached him, she was running. She ran into his arms, and he folded her into his embrace, holding her tight so she could never get away from him again.
“I love you, baby,” he whispered in her hair. “I loved you from the first moment I saw you in that stupid wool skirt in the hundred-degree Arizona heat. I loved you when you were chasing that silly pig and pulled me into the mud. I loved you when we were fighting. I loved you when we made love. I love you so much I don’t know what I’ll do if you really mean to stay in Ireland. I guess I’ll just have to stay, too.”
She went so still in his arms, panic started to crawl through his limbs. Okay, maybe he was wrong.
“Of course…if you don’t love me, it’s—”
Her hand clamped over his mouth. “I do love you,” she whispered. “You have no idea how much. I just thought—”
He kissed her fingers. “Nothing’s more important to me than you, Rhiannon. Not the ranch. Not money. Nothing. Please, darlin’, if you can stand being the wife of this banged-up, hard case cowboy, please put me out of my misery and marry me.”
She tipped her head up to him and smiled. A lush, beautiful, promise-filled smile that spun his heart in his chest.
“Yes,” she simply said. “I will.”
And that’s when he knew his hard-luck days were over forever. He’d found the one thing more precious, more worth fighting for, than anything else in the world.
Love.
Epilogue
“Y ou look deadly.”
Rhiannon beamed at her old friend and returned her fierce hug. “Thanks, Maureen.” Maureen was the tenth girl in the receiving line to tell her that. The Irish-lace wedding dress she and Aunt Bridget had put together on the old farm treadle machine had turned out stunning.
“And your new husband,” Maureen confidentially whispered in her ear, fanning herself dramatically, “he looks even deadlier.” Maureen was the twentieth girl in the receiving line to tell her that and then ask, “I don’t s’pose he’s got a brother somewhere, by any chance?”
Rhiannon grinned, and gave Hawk’s arm a squeeze. “I’m afraid Redhawk Jackson’s one of a kind, Maureen.”
Her friend gave a mock sigh. “And just my luck you found him first.”
After another hug, Maureen gave Hawk a starry-eyed handshake then joined the other wedding guests on the short walk from the village church to the vestry rose garden, where the reception would be held.
They were lucky. The April weather was glorious, a rare warm, sunny day for an Irish spring. The entire village had turned out for the celebration; all of her own friends, and many of Fitz’s old childhood cronies from growing up on the farm were there.
“When can we get out of here?” Hawk murmured suggestively, nuzzling her neck after the receiving line finally wound down.
Maureen and the others were right. Her husband did look deadly. The combination of dove-gray morning suit and cowboy boots was unusual, but set off his dark, exotic looks to perfection.
And he was all hers.
“As soon as possible,” she murmured back.
It seemed like forever since they’d been on their own together, let alone able to steal a kiss—or anything else. Aunt Bridget and Uncle Patrick had gleefully seen to that. “A couple should look forward to their wedding day,” they’d said with a twinkle in their eyes. What they’d really meant was their wedding night.
Rhiannon had never looked more forward to anything in her life than she did to tonight’s simple room in a bed and breakfast down the road.
No, that wasn’t true. Even more than tonight, she looked forward to their new life together on Irish Heaven.
Hawk leaned down and gave her a lingering kiss. “I love you, Rhiannon Jackson,” he whispered.
“I love you more,” she whispered back, and took his arm for the stroll to join their friends and family.
The reception was endless, but wonderful fun, filled with laughter and music, dancing and a feast of epic proportions, topped off by a colossal wedding cake made from several tiers of Uncle Patrick’s famous custard-filled layer cake in both chocolate and vanilla. It was a little lopsided but tasted heavenly.
Fitz had a huge grin on his face the entire time. He danced and flirted with all the girls, drank whiskey with his boyos, and even sat in with the band, playing a set of lively tunes on the penny whistle that had the whole congregation clapping and dancing a jig.
“He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him,” Hawk remarked afterward, as they sipped champagne. “The doctor was right. I can’t believe the difference bringing him back here has made.”
“I’m so glad,” Rhiannon said softly. “He’s such a special man.”
“That he is,” Hawk agreed, and they clicked glasses. “Now, can we please get out of here? I’m feeling a strong need to be alone with my wife.” The loving look in his eyes was spiced with desire.
She shivered and smiled up at him. The celebration would go on until the wee hours, but Rhiannon knew they weren’t expected to stay. Thank goodness. “I’ll fetch the car keys.”
“No need.” Hawk took her glass and set it with his on a nearby table. Then he gave a loud whistle, making everyone look up. He bowed and swept an arm toward the path. “Your carriage awaits, my love. Well, sort of.”
Suddenly there was a clattering noise, and the crowd erupted in oohs and aahs, opening a path for—
Hawk’s new stallion!
The Thoroughbred was a beauty, purest black with white socks and a streak down his nose. But today he was decked out in a multitude of white ribbons and flowers—roses, lilies and daisies—braided through his flowing mane and arranged around his saddle in a blanket over his withers and rump reaching all the way to the ground.
“Oh, Hawk!” Rhiannon exclaimed in awed enchantment as the stallion cantered regally toward them. “He’s absolutely gorgeous! But how…?”
“While you’ve been sewing, we’ve been training,” Hawk said with a heartstopping smile. “What do you think?”
She threw her arms around him. “I think it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”
She kissed him, and the onlookers laughed and clapped in delight. He whirled her around and around and then up onto the stallion, sidesaddle, amidst cheers and applause. Swinging up behind, he grabbed her around the waist and spurred the horse through the crowd and away from the merry feast.
They were soon ensconced in front of a roaring fire in their own private room on the top floor of the quaint village inn, champagne glasses in hand.
Rhiannon didn’t think it was possible to be any happier than she was right at this very moment. Wrapped in the arms of the man she loved with all her heart, the present—and the future—just couldn’t be any brighter.
“Come here, wife,” he whispered, and gave her a long, loving kiss. “You look good enough to eat,” he murmured.
Just then there was a light knock on the door.
“Ignore it,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Something slid under the door.
“What on earth…?” Hawk muttered and went over. He returned with a large envelope. From America.
“Should we open it?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Why not.” Hawk tore it open. His grin faltered as he glanced at the papers it contained, and his eyes grew wide.
“Hawk?” she asked, pressing into his side, peering over at the top document. It looked official. Sort of like a—
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered. “That’s—”
“I c-can’t believe it,” Hawk stuttered. He handed her the cover letter with a shaky hand. “This is dated over three years ago!”
Stunned, she read aloud, “As pursuant to the instructions of our client, Fitz O’Brannoch, who has decreed that the enclosed deed should be turned over to Redhawk I
van Jackson—” She choked and darted him a shocked look. “Ivan?”
He made a face. “Don’t start. Just read.”
“—Ivan Jackson and Rhiannon Margaret Sophia O’Brannoch, either upon the death of Fitz O’Brannoch, or the legal marriage of said Redhawk and Rhiannon, whichever should come first—”
Her mouth stopped working as the meaning sank in. Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, my God.” She must be dreaming. It was the deed to Irish Heaven. “He’s given us the ranch!” she cried.
And cried. And launched herself into Redhawk’s waiting arms.
He rocked her back and forth, kissing her hair and cheeks and eyelids and lips. “How did he know?” he murmured at last. “Before we even met…how did he know we’d fall in love?”
Taking Hawk’s hand, she led him to the bed, her heart filled with a joyous, overwhelming certainty. “Fitz knew you, knew what kind of man you are. How could I not fall in love the moment we met? You’re everything a woman could ever want.”
He looked at her with melting tenderness, his eyes glowing with so much love it filled her soul with light. “I’ll make you happy,” he promised, his voice rough with emotion.
And as they lay down on the bed together for the first time as husband and wife, she kissed him and whispered, “My dearest love, you already have.”
The Cowboy Way
Candace Schuler
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
1
“AH, TO HELL with it!” Jo Beth Jensen pushed back from her desk with enough force to send her chair crashing into the metal file cabinet behind her and shot to her feet. Yanking the straw cowboy hat off the peg by the door as she passed, she jammed it on her head and, spurs jangling discordantly with every step, stomped out of her office. “I’m going riding,” she said to the round-faced Mexican woman who came out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion was about.