John Riley's Girl

by Cooper, Inglath

  Liv had curled up against him on the too-short sofa, her expression soft and trusting. She slept deeply, peacefully.

  She made a little snuffling noise, shifted, then angled closer against him, her naked body bringing his out of its drowsiness. He tightened his arms around her, tucked his chin into the curve of her neck.

  Dear God, he’d never imagined feeling like this again. Wanting like this. Needing so badly that a place way down inside him, a place that felt like his soul, actually ached with it.

  As a boy, these were the feelings he had known with Liv. Despite his youth, he’d known the magnitude of them then. He’d realized that it must be rare to know such a connection with another human being. But now as a man, his appreciation for the rarity of it went beyond what he could even find words to describe.

  Making love to Liv had been like going back, traveling a familiar road to a much-loved place and realizing once you got there that memory had failed in the recollection of detail. It had failed to recall the softness of her hair and the way he had once loved the feel of it brushing his chest when she bent to kiss him. It had failed to remember the soft sound that came from some equally soft spot inside her when he touched her.

  But maybe that was all that had saved him in losing her fifteen years ago, the fading away of such details.

  He had no illusions that anything about this night would ever fade from his mind. He was a man now, and she was a woman who unlocked all things for him. Love had trickled through from the past and roared through him now in a river at its banks.

  Where do we go from here, Liv? Can there be more than this? Will you want more? Will I lose you all over again? Could I survive that?

  The questions did not come with answers. And their sharp edges kept him awake, afraid to sleep, afraid to miss even a moment of this unexpected gift.

  SUNLIGHT DUCKED its head inside the room.

  Olivia awoke with reluctance, stretched one arm above her head, midsection arched, aware even before full reality settled upon her that this was how she would wish to wake up every morning for the rest of her life were she given the choice.

  John had ended up on the inside of the couch, his sleeping position one of half-sitting because his legs were too long. He had both arms around her bare waist; her face was against his chest, and she had tucked herself into him as if it was where she belonged.

  Which was exactly how it felt.

  “Are you awake?”

  His voice was night-roughened, and just hearing it made her curl more deeply into his embrace. He made a sound that did not exist as a word in the English vocabulary, but which she understood all the same, aimed as it was at letting her know her movement brought him equal parts of pleasure and pain.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said.

  “It’s early, but Celia’s gonna be knocking on her feed bucket pretty soon.”

  “I’m used to early,” she said.

  “So what time do you get up for work, anyway?”

  “Between two-thirty and three,” she said.

  “Good grief, you and Cleeve keep the same hours.”

  Olivia smiled, tipping her head back to study his face, even though she already knew every angle by heart, appreciating, nonetheless, the morning stubble on his jawline, the lazy sexiness in eyes that said the hours they had just spent together had not been nearly enough.

  And they hadn’t—they felt like just the tip of a beginning. And when he dipped forward to kiss her neck, she found herself wishing it would be just that. A beginning.

  The sun broadened its hint, tiptoeing into the corners of the room, while they ignored the hour and enjoyed one another a while longer.

  Voices sounded outside the office. John lifted his head and listened. “Sounds like Flora dragged Hank down to see if the baby was born last night.”

  “Daddy?” Flora called out.

  “Go,” Olivia said.

  Leaving her was not his choice; his expression clearly said so. “Call me when you get back to the bed-and-breakfast?”

  “I will,” she said, her hand splayed on his chest, his heart thudding against her palm. He did not want to leave her. And for now, it seemed like more than enough.

  IT WAS ONE of those mornings when everything looks as if it’s been rejuvenated overnight. The grass in the fields alongside the roads leading back to town was a brilliant green, still wet with dew. The sky was highlighted with trails of pink from the rising sun.

  And Olivia felt the same rejuvenation within herself. A reawakening, an igniting of hope, and something else, too. Peace. The knowledge that she and John, after all these years, at least had that with one another. That, and that alone, filled places inside her that had been void, empty. She told herself not to be hopeful, not to attach too much meaning to what had happened between them last night.

  But how could a woman not be hopeful when the man she had loved almost half her life had made love to her, the man whose hands made her feel as if she were some long-lost custom instrument that had finally been returned to its original and rightful owner?

  How could she not be hopeful?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Second Chances

  HANK HAD NEVER mentioned the fact that Olivia’s car had been parked outside the barn that morning. And since there was no way he could have missed it, even if he’d walked by it with blinders on, John could only assume the older man was respecting his privacy.

  For which he was grateful.

  He’d stayed down at the barn with Flora for an hour or more. She could barely contain her excitement over the new foal, and he’d promised to bring her back a little later that morning after they’d given him time to rest.

  He hurried through a shower, not wanting to miss Liv’s call. How was it possible to feel like a seventeen-year-old again? A week ago, he would never have believed it possible of himself, and yet it was true. He felt as if he’d been injected with some life-altering wonder drug, and the future lay before him with a maze of possibilities that seemed staggering in their implication.

  He pulled on jeans and boots, then stood in front of the sink and ran a razor over his face. His shower had steamed up the mirror above the sink. He erased the center with his palm and saw the differences in his face. Fog had finally lifted to let the sun in again. With that observation, something else settled in his chest. Fear. Outright terror, the roots going back a decade and a half. To have Liv again meant accepting the risk of losing her. Could he do that? Go forward without looking back? Without living in fear of having to learn how to live without her again?

  He swiped the razor across one cheek, then reached over to crack open the window next to the sink. He set the blade to his face again, tilted his head and angled the razor down his jaw.

  “Daddy!”

  John looked out the window. His heart stopped, then bucked and raced off out of control.

  “Daddy, look!”

  Flora. On Naddie, loping bareback around the ring between the house and the barn.

  He jerked the window up and stuck his head out. “Flora!” he called out, trying to keep the terror from his voice. “Just tug on the reins a little and ask her to stop.”

  “It’s a surprise, Daddy!” she said. “See! I can ride Naddie!”

  She couldn’t hear him from there. Forcing himself not to panic, John grabbed his shirt and bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  At the bottom, he crossed the foyer in a couple of strides, yanked open the front door and hit the porch running. Halfway across the yard, he heard the ominous roar of a jet engine. His heart leapt to his throat. “Flora!” He waved, trying to get her attention. She was on the other side of the ring, her back to him. “Flora, get off! Baby, get off now!”

  But the jet was already over the farm, its sudden roar sending Naddie into a terrified gallop around the ring.

  John stopped, watched in paralyzed helplessness as Flora grabbed the filly’s mane, the reins falling from her hands. She slid to the left, held on for a s
econd longer and then dropped to the ground, her small head hitting the rock-dust footing first, her body limp like a broken doll’s.

  BACK AT LAVENDER HOUSE, Olivia took a shower and changed clothes, forcing herself to finish getting ready and pack her suitcase before calling John. She couldn’t wait to hear his voice again. The need to see him hummed inside her like current through electrical wire.

  Olivia. What have you done?

  She was leaving this morning. So what happened now? What did they do now?

  She had no answer. And maybe it was foolish to ask. Maybe it was foolish to think there could be more than what they’d had in this weekend, which seemed so far removed from their normal lives.

  But her heart paid no heed to the self-administered caution. She pulled the county phone book from the drawer beside the telephone, looked up the number, surprised to find that it was still the same and that she remembered it. She dialed, pulse thudding.

  Sophia’s brisk hello did not sound like Sophia at all.

  “Sophia. It’s Olivia,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  “No. No, it’s not,” the older woman’s voice cracked with emotion. “Flora’s taken a bad fall off Naddie. We’re waiting for the rescue squad.”

  All the air left Olivia’s lungs. “Is she…is she going to be all right?”

  “She’s unconscious. We were afraid to move her. Oh, I hear it coming now.”

  “I’ll meet you at the hospital, Sophia,” Olivia said, fear making the words barely audible. She dropped the receiver, grabbed her things and raced from the room.

  AMAZING HOW WORRY could siphon every other emotion from a person until the bones actually felt brittle with it. As if just to be touched would crumple any semblance of strength.

  John sat beside his daughter in the ambulance as it tore down the county road toward town, its siren scream ominous, surreal. A paramedic put a stethoscope to Flora’s chest for the second time since they’d left the farm. She had not yet regained consciousness. John stared down at her small form, fragile and vulnerable in a way that tore at his heart.

  His daughter. His child.

  How had this happened?

  The answer came at him, obvious in its simplicity. And terrifying enough to roll him flat with a wave of defeat.

  He could not protect the people he loved most in this life. Not Liv all those years ago when she’d been at the mercy of a father who had not deserved her. Not Laura with the awful illness that had drained the life from her. And now, not Flora.

  He reached for her hand, squeezed it between his and prayed for God to hear his pleas.

  OLIVIA HALF WALKED, half ran down the hospital corridor. At the registration desk, they directed her to the emergency room where she found Sophia and Hank, both looking as if they had aged ten years.

  “Olivia,” Sophia said, holding out her hand.

  Olivia took it and then put her arms around the older woman, hugging her. “How is she?”

  “We don’t know yet. They’re doing some kind of X-ray, a cat scan, I think they said. John’s with her.”

  “She’s going to be all right, Sophia. She just has to be.”

  They sat in the disinfectant-drenched waiting room an hour or more, the minutes crawling by, none of them willing to put voice to the worry etched in all their faces. At one point, Sophia, standing by the window with her arms wrapped around her waist, shook her head and said, “Dear heaven, if he loses that child…”

  Olivia refused even to consider the possibility. Not Flora. Not that beautiful little girl. For John, for them all, Olivia could not bear the thought.

  Finally, when every minute that passed had begun to feel like torture, a nurse came out and said, “Are you the Riley family?”

  Olivia stepped back, but Sophia put a hand on her arm and said, “Yes, we are.”

  “Come with me,” she said, and the set look on the young woman’s mouth had Olivia imagining all the awful things they could be about to hear.

  They followed her down a long hallway, the tile floor squeaking beneath their shoes.

  “I’ll wait out here,” Olivia insisted when the nurse stopped in front of a room, the door half closed.

  Sophia went inside while Olivia and Hank hovered at the entrance. Catching a glimpse of Flora’s small form tucked into the white hospital bed, Olivia started to turn away, somehow feeling like an intruder. John looked up just then; their gazes caught and held, her heart twisting at the look in his eyes, proof that he had been through agony and then some since they’d left one another earlier that morning.

  Sophia came out and beckoned them both in. “She’s conscious,” she said, a smile of pure relief on her lips.

  John got up from the chair beside the bed and stepped toward Olivia, reservation on his face. “Thanks for coming,” he said, distance in his voice.

  Olivia felt suddenly unsure of her place here. “How is she?”

  “She has a concussion. They want to keep her overnight for observation. But the doctor thinks she’s going to be all right.”

  “Hi, Olivia and Hank,” Flora said in a small voice that held no hint of the full-of-life child Olivia had spent time with that weekend.

  Hank went to her, leaned down and planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead. “Hey, little bit. You gave us a good scare.”

  “I’m sorry, Hank.”

  Olivia took Flora’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts.”

  “I had a concussion one time after I fell skiing. It made my head hurt, too,” Olivia said.

  “Did it hurt a long time?”

  “Not too long.”

  “They’ve got some paperwork for me to fill out,” John said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans as if he didn’t know what else to do with them.

  “You go on,” Sophia said.

  He nodded once. “Be right back, sweet pea,” he said to Flora and left the room.

  Olivia felt the color drain from her face. John was understandably upset. But it was as if a wall had gone up around him. Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe it wasn’t her place to be here. She looked up to find Sophia’s gaze on hers, as if she understood something Olivia did not.

  “Do I have to sleep in this all night, Sophia?” Flora asked, putting a hand on the standard-issue hospital gown.

  “Not if I run home and get your pajamas. And how about Ace? That old teddy bear’s not going to like sleeping in your bed without you.”

  “’Kay. Will you watch after Charlie while I’m gone?”

  “She can stay in my room tonight.” Sophia looked at Olivia. “Would you mind waiting here with her while Hank and I run back to the house?”

  “Of course not,” she said. And then, a shaft of uncertainty hitting her, “If you think John won’t mind.”

  Sophia put a hand on her arm. “Be patient, dear,” she said, her voice threaded with understanding. “If we’re to have love in this life, we’ve got to be willing to face the pain of losing it. That’s something he’s going to have to accept sooner or later, unless he wants to miss out altogether.”

  Sophia’s directness caught her off guard. Olivia had no idea how to respond, so she merely nodded.

  “We should be back in a little while. I don’t imagine John will be gone too long.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Olivia said.

  Once Sophia and Hank had left, the room seemed too quiet.

  “Do you feel all right?” Olivia asked the subdued child. “Is there anything I can get you? Some juice or water?”

  Flora shook her head and fiddled with the edges of the bed sheet, her gaze on her hands. “I think I was way too bad this time. I knew Daddy didn’t want me to ride Naddie.”

  Sensing there was more, Olivia waited.

  “But if I’m not bad sometimes, maybe I’ll have to leave like Mommy did.”

  “Oh, honey.” Olivia’s heart did a painful thump in her chest. She sat down on the chair beside the bed, took Flora’s hand
s between her own, remembering then what the little girl had told her that first night from her raised window. Had that only been three days ago? It seemed as if a lifetime of events had happened since then. “I don’t think your daddy ever meant for you to worry about that. I happen to believe that you were meant to be in your daddy’s life. That there was a special purpose for it. And he loves you so much.”

  “He’s going to be mad at me for a really long time.”

  Olivia squeezed the child’s hands. “We all do things sometimes that we might not do again if we could rethink it. But that’s part of growing and learning, and it’s really nice when we get a second chance.”

  “Will I get a second chance?”

  “No doubt about it,” Olivia said.

  Movement turned her gaze to the door. John. The sight of him sent her heart galloping off in a confusion of gladness and uncertainty. The awkwardness between them now felt more like that of strangers than lovers.

  “How’s the patient?” he asked, his voice not quite steady.

  “Good. Sophia and Hank ran back to the house to get a few things for her,” Olivia said, feeling as if she needed to explain her presence and wondering how long he had been there.

  John set a can of ginger ale and a cup of ice on the tray in front of Flora. “Thought you might be thirsty.”

  “Thank you,” Flora said, clearly subdued in her father’s presence.

  John crossed the floor to sit on the side of the bed, a finger tipping Flora’s chin toward him. “I heard what you said to Liv just now. I never meant for you to think that being good meant you might have to leave me.” He hesitated as if searching for words. “People say things sometimes when they’re hurt or angry because they’re struggling for a way to accept something that’s happened to them. Your mama didn’t die because she was a good woman. She was sick, and it was time for her not to suffer anymore. That’s why she died. Do you understand that, honey?”

  Flora nodded.

  “And as for your worrying about me, it’s my job to worry about you. That’s what fathers do. Little girls aren’t supposed to worry about their daddies or anything else.” He reached out, pulled her into his arms and hugged her, the embrace full of love. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re not going anywhere.”