Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series)

by Laura Crum

  We sat together in silence for a while. I could hear bees buzzing on the flowers. A blue jay squawked in an oak tree and flashed between the branches, a bright streak of blue, vivid as the sky. The long, low slant of the evening sunshine lit the equally brilliant blues of delphiniums and lobelias, the sharp crimson of geraniums.

  Lonny brought his eyes to rest on mine. "How do you feel about killing Cassidy?"

  I'd have to talk about this sometime. "He would have killed me if he could," I said slowly, "and I know now that he killed Ed and Cindy. It's better that he's dead. If he were still alive, I think I'd always be afraid. I can still hear that sound he made, though."

  Lonny held out his hand. "You did what you had to do."

  I took the hand, and it was warm and comforting, as his body had felt when he held me last night. "I know," I said. "Sometimes it doesn't seem good enough."

  Lonny squeezed my hand. "It's good enough. Good enough for me. I love you." There was a smile in his voice, but ... he'd never said those words before.

  "I love you, too," I said after a moment. It sounded right, felt true. I wondered where it would lead.

  Lonny squeezed my hand again. "Finish that wine and let's go inside."

  I should have guessed.