Midnight Sons Volume 1

by Debbie Macomber

  The plane’s engine continued to purr in the early-morning stillness. The pilot handed the redhead a piece of luggage, which she promptly dropped. Her expensive-looking suitcase hit the ground and snapped open.

  At least half a dozen pairs of lacy panties spilled onto the dirt-and-gravel runway. The whirling blades of the Cessna created a strong breeze, which sent the panties flying. The woman gave a frustrated cry and chased after her underwear, leaving the suitcase open. The wind caught several other items, lifting them from the neatly folded stack.

  A second suitcase appeared while the woman chased hither and yon.

  Christian would have volunteered to help, but he suspected his assistance wouldn’t be appreciated.

  The woman snatched up a delicate black bra and several other skimpy items, then hurriedly stuffed them back into the suitcase, slamming it shut.

  Christian resisted the urge to laugh.

  The redhead managed to retrieve everything. She lifted the suitcase and carried it awkwardly under her arm. One bra strap and some lacy odds and ends dangled from the sides.

  The Frontier pilot spoke to her for a few minutes, then they solemnly shook hands and he prepared to leave. She waved enthusiastically as the plane began its takeoff.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling brightly when she saw Christian.

  “Hello,” he answered, coming forward. “Would you like some help with your luggage?”

  “No thanks, I’ve got everything under control.” With some difficulty she looped her purse strap over her shoulder and picked up the second suitcase.

  “Welcome to Hard Luck.” Christian still hadn’t figured out where he’d met this woman.

  “I can’t tell you how good it is to finally get here,” she said, sighing. “I had no idea how far from civilization this place is.”

  Although she claimed she didn’t want any help, she was obviously in need of it. He removed both suitcases from her hands.

  “I hope it isn’t a problem that I arrived a day early,” she said.

  “A day early?”

  “Yes. I’m Mariah Douglas, the secretary you hired. Don’t you remember?”

  Lanni never spent a more miserable day in her life. She worked all morning and afternoon, sorting through Grammy’s personal things. When she happened upon a thick manila envelope tucked in the back of the bookcase, she suspected it had something to do with David O’Halloran. She was right.

  Inside she discovered the letters he’d mailed her from Europe during the war. Lanni fingered them, but hadn’t the heart to read them. For more than fifty years, her grandmother had saved love letters from a man who’d betrayed her.

  Lanni sighed as she thought about this again. She hadn’t eaten all day and decided a walk would do her good. Maybe she could grab a sandwich or something at Ben’s.

  Burying her hands deep in her sweater pockets, she started toward the Hard Luck Café. As she turned off Main Street, she saw Charles walking toward her. Her first inclination was to ignore him, to pretend she hadn’t seen him.

  He’d obviously recognized her at the same moment she saw him. His step faltered slightly, as if the mere sight of her was enough to throw him off balance.

  They continued toward each other at the same slow pace, their eyes wary, until only a few feet separated them. Lanni spoke first. “Charles, please…”

  “What?” he asked gruffly.

  “If I misled you, I’m sorry.”

  “If?”

  She had no response, and the silence stretched between them.

  “I assume you’re looking for an apology,” she eventually said, trying one last time, “and I’ll admit I was wrong. I should’ve told you the first day we met, but I was hoping that once you got to know me you’d be willing to put old grievances aside.” She struggled to keep the hurt out of her voice.

  He gave a smile that lacked any hint of pleasure.

  Lanni could feel her anger take hold. She pointed a finger at Charles. “Something is very wrong here. Your father left my grandmother standing at the altar fifty years ago, and I’m the one apologizing to you.”

  Charles frowned, but he said nothing.

  “You know what I found this morning?” Of course he didn’t, but she was going to tell him. “Letters. My grandmother kept the letters your father wrote her while he was away at war. All these years she’s treasured them. I found them with ribbons wrapped around them, hidden in the back of her bookcase.”

  Charles clenched his fists at his sides. “Your grandmother ruined my father’s life.”

  “Oh, please. He did it to himself.”

  “There are things you don’t know.”

  “I know enough. My grandmother was so much in love with him she went down to Fairbanks and had her photograph taken in her wedding dress—the one she intended to wear for him. Can you imagine how she must’ve felt when she learned he’d married someone else? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to stop loving someone?”

  Fire leapt into his eyes; again he said nothing.

  “What is this?” she shouted in frustration. “A family trait?”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  Lanni’s nails bit into her palms. “You,” she said, unable to conceal her emotion any longer. “Did you or did you not claim you loved me? Apparently the words mean nothing to an O’Halloran. Not to your father, and not to you.”

  She thought she saw a look of regret cross his face, but he didn’t speak.

  “I see,” she said softly.

  “You should’ve told me who you were,” he mumbled at last.

  “I did,” she returned stiffly.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  She held her hand over her heart. “I’m Lanni Caldwell. What more would you need to know?”

  He closed his eyes as if to block her out.

  Swallowing her pride, Lanni tried one final time. “What happened, happened. It’s true my grandmother was no saint, but then neither was your father. And, Charles, neither are you. Nor am I.”

  “I’m sorry, Lanni,” he said, pushing back his dark hair with one hand.

  “Sorry?” She didn’t understand. “What are you saying?” It came to her then with a sickening sense of dread. “Charles,” she whispered, her voice catching, “what are you saying?”

  He sucked in a deep breath.

  “You don’t want anything to do with me?”

  He nodded slowly.

  Anger and frustration boiled inside her. “Then say it!” she shouted. “At least have the courage to say it to my face.”

  The pain in his eyes was almost more than she could bear. He stroked her face gently. “It was never meant to be, Lanni. Not for us.”

  Chapter 7

  Lanni had told Charles she’d studied journalism. He sat nursing his coffee in the Hard Luck Café, mulling over the way things had gone between him and Lanni. Mitch Harris, who worked for the Department of the Interior, and his daughter, Chrissie, were at another table, having breakfast.

  He remembered the day he’d taken her to his grandfather’s original claim, when they’d sat by the camp stove and talked. He’d wondered at the time what she was doing working as a secretary if she had a journalism degree, but the truth was, he hadn’t cared. He was so glad she was in Hard Luck he hadn’t questioned the whys or wherefores.

  Since his behavior at the wedding reception, recriminations had been coming at him from all sides. Even Ben seemed ready to take him to task.

  “Ready for a refill?” Ben stopped at the table, coffeepot in hand.

  Charles stared down at his cup, the coffee long since cooled. “No thanks.”

  Ben lingered. “Normally I don’t butt into someone else’s business unless I’m asked, but—”

  “I’d advise you to do the same now,” Charles said evenly. He’d been friends with Ben for a good many years. He didn’t want that relationship ruined now, especially over Lanni.

  “I’d keep my trap shut if it wasn’t for one thing.”
Ben set the coffeepot on the table, and glancing over at Mitch, lowered his voice. “I told you about Marilyn. I haven’t said her name aloud in ten, maybe fifteen years. Talking about her stirred up a lot of old feelings that should’ve stayed at rest. The way I figure it, you owe me.”

  “I owe you for the coffee, nothing else.”

  “Not this time, Charlie.”

  No one called him Charlie. Ben knew that.

  “Lanni’s leaving town,” Ben said. “I heard her making the arrangements.”

  “I know.” What did Ben think he’d been doing for the last thirty minutes? Charles had been sitting there, trying to figure out where he was going to find the strength to let her walk out of his life.

  Ben’s mouth thinned. “You know?”

  Charles’s hand tightened around his mug until his knuckles showed white. “It’s inevitable, don’t you think?”

  The older man didn’t answer. “You’re going to let her?”

  Charles expelled his breath forcefully and nodded.

  Ben cocked his head as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Or, more to the point, as if he simply hadn’t liked what he’d heard. “You mean to say you’re actually going to let Lanni Caldwell walk out of your life even after what I told you?” Ben sounded incredulous. “If you do anything so damn stupid, I guarantee you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, so you don’t owe me anything, but what do you owe yourself? Lanni, too. She deserves better than this. Maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to be rid of her. That’s what it seems like to me.”

  “Stay out of this, Ben,” Charles warned. “What happens between Lanni and me isn’t any of your business.”

  “I don’t understand it,” Ben muttered. “I really don’t understand it.” He picked up the coffeepot and returned to the kitchen. “College-educated, smart as a tack when it comes to book learning, yet I’ve never met a stupider, more stubborn—”

  “Bastard,” Charles supplied for him.

  Ben just shook his head.

  It was useless for Charles to explain that there were certain elements of his relationship with Lanni that Ben couldn’t possibly understand.

  “One last word of advice,” Ben called. “I’m telling you this because I know.” He splayed his fingers across his chest. “I’ve lived with my mistakes for the past twenty-five years. I didn’t know when I refused to read Marilyn’s letters that we wouldn’t see each other again. There was never anyone else for me, Charles. Think about that. Would you let Lanni go if you knew you’d never see her again?”

  “Yes. I would.” Charles stood up and slapped a fistful of change on the table, then walked out of the café.

  Duke Porter would be arriving with the Midnight Sons’ truck shortly after noon. Lanni was ready for him. She’d transferred the boxes from the living room onto the porch, then sat on the top step to wait. Her muscles ached, but she welcomed the physical pain.

  A cloud of dust appeared down the road. Wiping the perspiration from her brow with the back of her wrist, she got to her feet, assuming it was Duke. She quickly realized she was wrong—it was Charles driving past. He kept his eyes trained ahead, avoiding even a glance in her direction. For all the notice he gave her, she might have been invisible.

  Lanni sank back onto the step, struggling with her emotions. She covered her face with her hands and drew in one deep breath after another in an effort to distance the pain.

  How often, she wondered, had her grandmother’s heart raced at the sound of an approaching car? Had David come to her? Ever? All those years she’d waited for him. Hoped. Pined. Suffered. Now Grammy was dying, and Lanni knew why. The doctors said it was her heart. In a manner of speaking they were right. Her grandmother had been slowly dying for the past ten years because she had no reason to continue living. David, the man she’d loved from the time she was a teenager, was dead. The only hope she had of ever being with him again lay on the other side of life.

  Lanni knew that, like his father before him, Charles wasn’t free to love her. But it wasn’t another woman who stood between them. Family loyalty had destroyed their love. Now Charles wanted nothing to do with her.

  Unlike her grandmother, Lanni would leave voluntarily. But not without pain or regret. Head held high, unwilling to apologize for who she was, she would walk away.

  Duke pulled up a few minutes later and loaded the truck himself. She signed the necessary papers, gave him her parents’ address for the bill and returned to the house.

  In the morning she’d leave Hard Luck.

  That night, Lanni sat on the swing on her grandmother’s front porch. A light breeze, scented with tundra wildflowers, stirred restlessly. Lanni closed her eyes and recalled the last time she’d sat on a swing. A child’s swing, very different from this one. A night very different from this one, too…

  Lanni basked in the silence. She listened to the crickets, the birds, the sounds of evening—an evening as bright as noontime—searching for solace she knew she wouldn’t find.

  She didn’t understand how her grandmother could have remained in Hard Luck waiting for a man who’d never love her. Year after year, until she was old and bitter.

  How unhappy she must have been.

  Lanni closed her eyes. These final hours in town were agony for her. Yet Catherine had stayed on year after year, never giving up hope that one day David would be hers again.

  The sound of footsteps alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone.

  Lanni opened her eyes to see Charles standing on the other side of the fence that framed her grandmother’s yard. Her pulse quickened.

  Was he real or some figment of her imagination? Had this happened to Grammy, too? Had she been so desperate for David that she’d pictured him coming to her the way Lanni was seeing Charles?

  “I shouldn’t be here.”

  Yes, so he was real. One look told her he hadn’t wanted to come. His eyes were filled with a pain that reflected her own. He turned to leave.

  She rushed down the steps. “Don’t go.”

  He hesitated.

  “Come sit with me,” she invited, gesturing toward the swing.

  Charles moved closer. Watching him, she could almost see the battle being waged inside him. She realized he didn’t understand what had driven him to her. She suspected he considered it a deficiency of character, a weakness. If that was the case, then she was weak, too.

  Lanni turned to climb the steps and sat where she’d been sitting moments earlier, on the swing, leaving space beside her.

  Charles opened the gate and came through. He climbed the steps, too, but paused at the top. His face revealed nothing; nevertheless Lanni could tell how tightly he’d reined in his emotions.

  “I’m not as different from my father as I thought,” he said hoarsely. “He couldn’t stay away, either.”

  Lanni didn’t know what he meant, but she wasn’t sure it mattered. Not right now. Charles was here, with her, on her last night in Hard Luck.

  She stared at him, feeling a jolt of pain when she saw the lines about his eyes and the rigid way he held himself. He was hurting, just as she was.

  “Years ago,” he continued in an emotionless voice, “my mother returned to England. She took Christian with her. My father was devastated. At first he found comfort in the bottle, but that didn’t last long. He was never much of a drinking man.”

  Charles rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. “Later it was Catherine who…comforted him.”

  If that was true, Lanni didn’t understand why Charles hated her grandmother so much. She couldn’t decide whether to be shocked—or pleased that Catherine had even a little time with the man she loved.

  “Dad didn’t think Sawyer or I knew where he went at night,” he said. “But we did. We never talked about it. Catherine became an addiction to him.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “He couldn’t stay away from Catherine,
and I can’t stay away from you.” It sounded like a confession. “I don’t have the strength to resist you, Lanni.”

  She stood, causing the swing to sway gently behind her. Wordlessly she walked over to him and touched his face. “I love you, Charles.”

  He pulled her toward him, urgently seeking her mouth. Again and again he kissed her, as though he couldn’t get enough. She sensed that whatever she gave him now would need to last them both a lifetime.

  Charles buried his fingers in her hair and groaned.

  She slipped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him. He drew in a swift breath and kissed her with an intensity that left her reeling.

  Then he caught hold of her arms and pulled them down to her sides. “No more,” he said roughly. “We can’t do this.…”

  Lanni hugged him, molding her body to his. The quick surge of his heart, the hardening of his body, told her what she needed to know. After a moment she felt his hand move lightly on her hair.

  She slipped out of his embrace and led him into the house, her heart beating heavily. He turned to close the door.

  “Just hold me,” she said in a whisper, nestling in his arms. “That’s all I want.”

  They sat on the sofa, the same one her grandmother must have sat on with his father. Charles seemed to realize this at the precise moment she did.

  “My father was with Catherine—here.”

  “I know. We can move,” she said quickly.

  “It’s not important.” When he brought her back into his embrace, his touch was tender. He kissed her face, her eyes and nose and chin. Lanni’s heart fluttered with excitement, with passion. With hope.

  He eased away from her, his breathing ragged. “We have to stop,” he whispered in a voice she barely recognized as his.

  She nodded.

  Charles settled back on the sofa. He gathered Lanni to him, her back against his chest.

  “Tell me what you meant earlier,” she said when she found her voice. “About David not being able to stay away from Catherine. Did they…have an affair?”