“Where we going?” she asked when they were well into the shadowed woods.
“You’ll see.”
The pace was easy after her hard run, and the cooler air felt good. She breathed in the loamy fragrance as they wound their way up the hill. Brittle leaves crunched and twigs snapped under the weight of their feet. Overhead, a leafy canopy blocked out the last of the day’s light. A chickadee began a string of clear, two-note whistles.
It was a beautiful property. “Who owns this?”
He held a branch for her. “It’s part of the state park.”
“Lulu would love it up here.”
“So does Rigsby, but he comes back covered in burrs.”
The terrain grew rockier as they climbed. They crossed over a dry creek bed and a fallen tree. Awhile later Madison saw a patch of light ahead and knew they were nearly to the peak. When they stepped from the woods, Beckett began climbing a tower of boulders.
She followed, taking his hand when her shorter legs made the next step difficult.
Her fingertips gripped a ledge as she pulled herself up. “You’re trying to break my leg so I’ll have to forfeit the race.”
“You’re on to me.”
A few more reaches and they came to the top. A flat rock the size of a shed roof jutted out over the other side of the hill.
She meandered to the ledge, but the steep drop into a pine-filled canyon made her retreat. Across the way, the sun hung low on the horizon, streaking the sky with vibrant pinks and purples. Across the valley she spied the old white chapel and the nearby site of the spring for which the town was named. They were on top of the world.
She placed her hands on her hips, let out a breath, and stared in awe at the beautiful scene. “How did I not know this was here?”
He sank down onto the rock, a good distance from the edge, facing the sunset. “Pretty nice, huh?”
The perfect spot for a romantic picnic. She’d bet Beckett had brought his share of women here. Maybe all the girls he’d dated in high school.
She sank down beside him. The rock, having soaked in the heat of the day, warmed the backs of her legs. “Your own little Inspiration Point?”
“Nah, like to keep the place to myself.”
He was sharing it with her though. She cocked a brow at the realization.
He rubbed his jaw, looked away. His face had taken on a golden glow under the sunset, softening his rugged features, making him appear almost vulnerable.
He seemed content in the quiet. Madison breathed in the scent of pine, decaying leaves, and a hint of Beckett’s spicy cologne. She closed her eyes and listened as a bird tweeted from somewhere nearby. The breeze rustled the leaves and caressed the bare skin on her arms and legs.
“How often do you come up here?”
He settled back on his elbows, the position straining the material of his T-shirt. “Sometimes I do my Bible study up here. Sometimes when I need to do some heavy-duty thinking—or praying.”
“Is that what you think I need?”
“Does it matter what I think?”
She glanced at him. His own eyes were closed, as if soaking up nature. Or praying.
She wished she could unload her burden. Tell him everything she felt about Michael. How much she missed him. How much she longed to be free of him, and how guilty she felt about that. Yet how desperate—how utterly desperate she was for peace. For sleep.
He would listen, she knew that. And he wouldn’t judge her. He was all too familiar with being judged.
She suddenly remembered that night they’d danced her sophomore year, how he’d told her he hadn’t stolen the class ring, as if what she thought actually mattered to him. It was a small moment in light of all life had brought since, but it had seemed significant at the time.
Especially the kiss. It had become the kiss she’d compared every one after it to—the one that made all others pale in comparison.
She gave a rueful smile. Pretty lame, considering Beckett didn’t even remember it.
“When I sit up here,” he said, his eyes open now, “I’m just blown away that God even notices us, you know?”
She looked at the hills and valleys, at the river snaking through them, the hundreds of rooftops of Chapel Springs far below, sheltering families just like hers.
Did God really notice them? Each and every one of them? Did He notice her? She found it hard to believe. It was a big thing, being noticed. Part of what Jade struggled with, she’d always thought. It was hard finding a spot in the big world, hard even in a big family. There’d been plenty of times she’d felt a little lost in the chaotic shuffle of the McKinley household. But she wouldn’t have traded her large family for the world. She wondered if Jade felt the same.
“Some people spend their whole lives trying to be noticed,” she said.
She felt his eyes on her for a moment before he spoke. “You?”
She lay back against the rock, cupping her head in her palms. “Sometimes.”
The sun was sinking lower in the sky, the streaks of pink growing more vibrant.
“I noticed you a long time ago.”
His words made her heart thump against the rock, even as she recognized the irony. Beckett may have noticed her briefly, but he’d forgotten her quickly enough.
“No, you didn’t,” she said. “Not really.”
The kind of noticing she meant entailed more than a passing glance. It meant being seen. Being remembered. People wanted significance. She did, Jade did, everyone did.
“You were wearing a white skirt that twirled around your knees . . . and a blue sweater with tiny butterflies around the collar.”
She drew in a long, quiet breath as she turned. He remembered what she’d worn to the dance all those years ago?
He returned her gaze. There was something in his eyes she couldn’t define, though she desperately wanted to.
“You remember?” Her voice was so quiet, she wasn’t sure he’d heard.
“I remember everything about you.”
It seemed impossible. He’d been so busy getting into trouble and going out with other girls. Other than that one kiss, he’d never so much as hinted at any interest.
And then, recently, there was Jade.
“You wrote those notes to my sister . . .”
He rolled to his side, shifting his weight to one elbow. “What notes?”
She’d read them herself. Had felt the sting of jealousy when she’d realized who they were from. The same sting of jealousy she’d felt when Beckett had shown up at their door the night of the Spring Sowers Banquet.
“I didn’t write any notes to your sister.”
Could it be true? She’d just assumed, when he’d shown up at the door in a suit coat, with a fistful of flowers for Jade . . .
Or . . . had he come for Jade?
She sucked in a breath, and everything inside froze. Her skin went hot as her eyes locked on his. She’d been in the bedroom changing clothes when he’d arrived. Jade had answered the door, and in light of the recent anonymous notes . . .
“You came for me,” she said. Another dot connected. “That’s why Jade was so upset that night.”
His lips parted and closed again. But he didn’t have to say anything. She saw the truth in the softening of his eyes. In the brief flicker of unease.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He brushed a stray hair from her face, and all thought ceased.
“I was afraid,” he said.
“Why?” she whispered.
Their gazes tangled and melded. She forgot the question, forgot everything but the desire reflected in the shadowed pools of his eyes.
He leaned forward and brushed her lips. Something unfurled slowly inside at his touch. Something warm and delicious, intoxicating.
He paused for the barest moment, his lips a breath away. She sensed a decision was being made, and her heart stopped, afraid he’d pull away. Or worse, apologize.
But he closed the gap, and her heart
beat again, harder, faster.
“Maddy,” he whispered against her lips.
She cradled the back of his neck, and he deepened the kiss, drawing a sigh from the deepest part of her.
She’d wondered, over the years, if time had embellished the kiss. Or if adolescence had inflated the impact of his touch.
But no.
No.
It was just as she remembered. As if somehow, in this great big world, he was her perfect fit. The one who could make her feel like she really was on top of the world.
His hand burned through the material of her T-shirt as his lips worked their magic. How had she lived all these years without this? How had she worked so closely with him this summer without reclaiming this thing that felt like hers alone?
His jaw was pleasantly rough under the tender flesh of her palm, but she wanted more. She wove her fingers through his hair, down his neck, searched the planes of his shoulders, staking claim.
A moment later he ended the kiss. Their breaths came in shallow puffs. Her eyes clung to his as he pulled away, but he was so hard to read.
“Mercy, woman.”
It wasn’t just her. A smile tugged her lips as he tucked her hair behind her ear. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“You’re right about this place,” she said. “I feel better already.”
He smiled.
She suddenly thought of Drew and the sympathy kiss she’d given him Friday. Just as quickly, she pushed the thought away, unwilling to tarnish the moment. The exit of adrenaline had left her pleasantly languid.
Beckett’s eyes left hers, scoping out the sky, and he squeezed her hand. “It’s getting dark.”
The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the once-vibrant clouds ashen blue. Twilight had dropped its curtain on the final act.
He gave her a hand up, and she followed him across the gentle slope of the rock. Descending the rock tower was slower than the ascent, and twice he caught her at the waist and lifted her down. Each time she braced her hands against his shoulders and hoped there’d be another kiss, and soon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DARKNESS WAS FALLING FAST, THE TRAIL BECOMING DIFFICULT to follow in the fading light. Beckett slowed the pace to accommodate, his thoughts rehashing the previous hour. He hadn’t meant to kiss Madison. Had only taken her up the hill to soothe the sadness in her eyes.
But then he’d said too much and she’d figured it out, that night with Jade. He hadn’t known how she’d respond, but then that look came into her eyes . . . There’d been no stopping things after that. The boulder had been pushed down the hill, and there was only one place for it to go.
He wasn’t sorry either. How could he be? He tightened his hand on hers as he held back a low-hanging branch for her. Almost back now, and good thing, because he could barely see the ground.
Moments later, when they stepped from the woods, Beckett offered her a ride home. In the quiet of the cab, he wondered what she was thinking. Had she come back down to earth?
Was she thinking about Drew Landon? Beckett was. He was wondering if the doctor had kissed her. If she’d responded the same way to him. And he was wondering other things too, like if she regretted Beckett’s kiss.
She was still Madison McKinley after all, and he was Beckett O’Reilly, son of the town drunk and worse things she wasn’t aware of.
He pushed the thought away. He wasn’t going to think about that, about any of it. If he could be fortunate enough to hold Madison in his arms, he wasn’t going to regret or second-guess it. He was going to enjoy it.
When they arrived at her house, he walked her to the door. Darkness had fallen completely, and the cicadas had begun their nightly chorus. She opened the front door, flipping on the porch light, and Lulu bounded out like Madison had been gone a year, making them laugh.
“Go potty,” Madison told her, and the collie trotted down the porch steps and into the yard.
Madison pocketed her keys, crossed her arms. Then uncrossed them and leaned against the screen door. The look on her face reminded him of their hours in the creek, when her fear had made her vulnerable. She was a strong woman. He loved her for that.
Love?
The word streaked across the path of his thoughts like lightning across a stormy sky. He watched her now, watching Lulu, watching a moth flutter under the porch light, looking anywhere but at him, and sudden warmth flooded through him, making his knees weak.
Yes, he loved her.
He’d tried not to. But now here he was. On her porch, watching her watching a moth, and realizing he was the moth and she the light. It would always be this way.
A certainty surged through him, strengthening him. He placed his palm against the door above her shoulder.
Flecks of gold danced in her wide brown eyes as they met his.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
A lock of hair had fallen over her delicate brows, and he ached to brush it back. Even more, he ached to feel her lips on his again, to feel her respond so unabashedly.
“Thoughtful,” she corrected.
He wasn’t sure of the difference and didn’t much care. He drew in a breath of her—fresh air and honeysuckle. He was noticing her perfect little nose, the way it tapered down to her sweet, rosy lips. And suddenly he wanted to taste them again more than he could say.
“I’m going to kiss you again.”
She returned his gaze. “I’m going to let you.”
He leaned in and collected on the promise. Her lips were soft as a butterfly’s wings and warm as the heat flooding his limbs. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he pulled her closer, loving the way she fit against him. The way she felt so small and delicate in his arms. He wondered if she could feel his rapid pulse.
A car turned into the drive next door, gravel crunching. The headlights swooped across the porch.
He pulled back, and a moment later the engine shut off. A car door slammed shut, then another and another. Voices carried across the yard, kids, their words indistinguishable.
“The Waverlys,” she said. Her hand slipped down to his chest.
“They have bad timing.”
Her lips twitched. “Yeah.”
“Hi, Miss McKinley!” A kid of about five or six waved, and Lulu went to collect some attention.
“Hello, Oliver,” Madison said.
Beckett took pride in the breathless quality of her voice.
“I lost a tooth,” the boy said.
“Be sure and put it under your pillow.”
“Come along, Oliver,” his mom said. “Sorry!” She gave Madison and Beckett a droll grin and ushered the kids up the porch steps.
A baby cried out, a light came on, and Beckett heard the fumbling of the family as they funneled into the house.
Lulu trotted up Madison’s porch and wedged between them, her backside wagging. Madison set her hand on the dog’s head.
Beckett stepped back, hating the loss of her touch. “I should go. We both have early mornings.”
“Thanks for showing me your hideaway.”
“You’re welcome back anytime.”
“I might take you up on that.”
He hadn’t even left, and he couldn’t wait to see her again. “Come over tomorrow night.”
“I have rehearsal.”
“Afterward. A late supper. I’ll order pizza.”
He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until her answer slipped through her lips. “All right.”
He drove home in a daze. He could hardly remember what day it was, and couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d held Madison McKinley in his arms, and it had felt right.
Right? Merciful heavens, it had felt perfect. He could never go back to dating Cara Meyers or Jessie Brooks or any other woman again—not that there was anything wrong with them. It’s just—he was . . .
In love, O’Reilly?
Oh yeah. Totally and thoroughly. And though the realization loosened a thread of trepidation, it was o
verwhelmed by all the good stuff bursting open inside. Joy and satisfaction and bliss. Bliss, a good word for it. He was downright heady at Madison’s response.
He pulled into his drive and got out. He couldn’t wait to see her again. He didn’t care how late rehearsals lasted or how much sleep he missed. She was like oxygen to him.
He didn’t notice the house lights were on until he was on the stoop. The faint sound of the TV filtered through the windowpanes. He never left lights on, and he hadn’t turned on the TV after work.
Beckett twisted the doorknob and Rigsby barreled into his legs, but he didn’t look at the dog. All he saw was the back of the plaid chair, the head of thinning gray hair, and the three amber bottles on the floor at his side.
All the good feelings inside settled into a pool of sludge as the chair swiveled around, knocking over the bottles in a series of pings.
“’Bout time you got home.”
Beckett shut the door, a weight pressing hard on his shoulders. “Hi, Dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MADISON CARRIED THE LAST CHART TO THE FRONT DESK and jotted a note about the aggressive cocker spaniel. The dog didn’t seem to like anyone except her mommy. A problem, with seven-month-old twins crawling around her house. The nearest trainer was quite a drive, but Madison promised to get back to the dog’s owner with a list of recommended books.
“Okay, what gives?” Cassidy said.
Madison continued writing. “What do you mean?”
“Come on. I’m wearing a new shade of lipstick—and it’s pretty hot, if I do say so myself—I spilled iced latte on your office rug, my hair has gotten bigger with every moment of this humid day, and you haven’t noticed any of it.”
“There’s a stain on my Persian rug?”
Cassidy cocked her head, crossing her arms.
So she’d been a little distracted. Madison had been on autopilot today, treating infections and allergies, giving vaccines and potty training tips. She’d been up half the night, wondering if Beckett would call, anticipating tonight. It felt like high school all over again.
Cassidy cleared her throat. All that was missing was the tapping foot.
Her lipstick was nice, a shade of rose that set off her beautiful skin. Madison’s gaze traveled up several inches to the hair. “Oh my goodness.”
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