“Where are you going?” he demanded. For a man with a bad knee, he could move it when he wanted to.
“Out,” she replied, too numb to struggle against his grip on her shoulders.
“Succinct, Mrs. Ransom,” he answered, “but I need more information. You’re not driving off without a word like my first wife did. Where are you going?” He couldn’t help shaking her slightly, not with the way his hands were trembling. The scent of her clung to his fingers. The taste of her still lingered in his mouth.
“To visit my family, Matt,” Perri answered hollowly. “I’m just going to Donnie’s for a while.”
Silently Matt released her. It didn’t come easily. The urge to keep her flooded through him. “If you stay in Spirit, you’ll have to hurt,” he declared, knowing he was speaking for both of them.
“No,” she replied with conviction, “I’ll live. I’ll live without what I’ve wanted most, but I’ll live and teach my child how to love. No one will drive me away again.”
Matt remained silent and unmoving as he watched her walk. And it killed him. The setting sun, surrounded by popcorn clouds, brought out gold glints in the dark blond hair that swept past her shoulders. It had been much longer the last time she had left him behind, he realized. Who was he kidding? If she’d left him behind before, it was because he’d had a hand in driving her away. He curbed his thoughts. It was best not to remember the last time he and Leila had driven Perri Stone out of town.
Matt stood at the door watching her. And grew increasingly worried. For the longest time, Perri sat in the car, going nowhere in the heat of evening. Finally, much to his relief, she started the engine and headed down the drive.
He felt as if his windpipe had filled with iron filings. Had he really said those things to her? Matt wondered as his gaze followed her progress. Here he was, with the beginnings of the life he’d ached to have. He’d been given a second chance with the very woman he’d always wanted, and he’d just run her off.
Way to go, Ransom, he thought bitterly. Matt was honest enough to admit he had never made any effort to help heal the wounds life had landed on her; on either of them for that matter. He’d been resisting ever again having anyone be that important to him.
And yet, she was having his baby. It wasn’t to his credit, but in truth he was afraid to build anything with this woman. Not being able to make it work for real with Perri would hurt too much. It was best not to try.
There wasn’t much drama about Perri, as there had been to Leila and Cadie, he noted idly. He took the time to recall how Perri had been an example of grace under pressure ever since her return to Spirit. Matt had silently admired how she’d handled herself. How she’d handled him. He had been wrong to lash out at her. Too late now, he thought.
He tracked her car to the front. Why had he made it so that she’d been forced to handle so much? She had complied with his demands for this marriage right from the start. He could have met the woman halfway.
Matt understood how it must look to her. His covert triumph over her pregnancy must have seemed like solid evidence that he didn’t love her. Particularly when coupled with the fact that he couldn’t say those three, simple words. He had succeeded in binding her to him through her love for him. But he hadn’t done a blessed thing to deserve or protect her love.
Pregnant, that would hurt even more. Well, that sudden realization had occurred way too late in the day to do him any good. She’d gone as far as she could go. And now, she’d gone to Donnie’s.
It didn’t look good for him. Matt had maneuvered, and strategized, and protected his heart. He had managed to isolate himself in the frozen landscape of his feelings, where he truly couldn’t get to her. And he’d managed, through his own efforts, to convince the woman he couldn’t love her. The truth was, he hadn’t tried. Suddenly, Perri’s words in response to his own came back to haunt him. “You let me go!” she’d cried. That he had.
Matt watched her car turn east. He grabbed his keys and headed for his pickup. He wouldn’t stop her and he wouldn’t interfere. But he would see to it that his wife made it safely to the only family he’d led her to think she still had in Spirit Valley.
Ten
Doggone it. The weather had tarnished the silver. Annoyed, Donnie glared at her wrist.
Donnie had just put the phone down from trying Perri. She wasn’t really worried to receive no answer. Perri had been grieving but okay the night before, when she’d left Donnie’s place for home. After all, fighting with Ransom took a lot of energy. A nap the day after combat was only sensible.
Donnie had been staring at the receiver, as if it could tell her whether to leave another message, when she’d noticed that her wrist had turned gray from her bracelet. That the engraved sterling could be so affected by the impending storm made Donnie smile ironically.
She tried to take in a deep bream. The very air around her now felt dulled and lethal. Donnie rolled the heat and tension from her neck and put whimsical thoughts aside in favor of duty. She would, by necessity, make it an early night. She needed to get going at an indecent hour in the morning in order to swing by the old Marlowe place before work. It was her responsibility to make sure it had survived the coming storm undamaged.
In LaDonna Marlowe’s considered opinion, Spirit Valley was one of those places people either left at once, as soon as they could, or they stayed on forever. Donnie had stayed and claimed it as her home.
She felt little personal concern about riding out the approaching tempest. Everything she owned had been secured. After all, everything about Donnie was battened down. There were never any edges to tear loose.
And when her shift started in the morning, she would be ready to serve. She figured to try Perri again in a while, before she started worrying. On her way into the shower, Donnie turned off her brain and prepared herself to deal with the morning. And with the aftermath of damnation.
The spirits over Spirit Valley were restless. It was going to be a savage night. John Deepwater watched the setting sun and the rising moon balance each other in the sky from his observation point on the parapet watchtower of his house in Spirit. A good night to raise hell, he mused. It was the perfect night for trouble.
He listened as the wind whipped gracefully through the old, majestic elm in his backyard What would it be like to give in to the dark side on such a night? To become one with the savage winds, rather than to stand and offer up a civilized resistance?
Well, he wasn’t going to find out. He had some deposition digests to wade through. That is, if hell didn’t pay him a visit first.
Just then, a noisy wind spiraling through the old elm scolded him. John loved that tree. He loved the sound of it most of all. Sometimes he felt that Gannie had left some part of herself in the old elm. It had her personality.
So. No going with the wild side. He had an obligation to the community, after all. An obligation to stand ready for the morning; for the time when the heatburst had played itself out. He would be there for Spirit, prepared to assist in whatever way would be necessary.
But still, it was a night to dwell on the possibilities in going over the border. A night to speculate on the odds in making it back safely. And on the conscious choice that he had made in turning away from such hazardous shadows.
He took in the view from the watchtower again, and thought of Gannie. Once again he blessed her for pulling him up short and setting him straight. Then John Deepwater began to remove his portable telescope from the parapet. Before it was too late to save it.
The woman could still fill out a pair of jeans, Sam Ransom thought as Janie Stone moved quickly out her front door and toward his car. It pleased him no end to see her running out to greet him. He relaxed a bit as he killed the engine.
Sam had been doing some hard thinking all the way into Oklahoma City. He hadn’t even turned on the car radio so he could reconcile in his own mind just what he was going to say. They needed to talk some sense into their children. They had to talk before tha
t fool son of his ruined a second chance for something precious. It wasn’t going to come easy. Sam knew he was demanding of Matt what he had never undertaken himself.
The fight they’d had still blistered his soul. Sam had not been best pleased to discover his eldest drinking alone and spending the night on Ransom land.
Remarks had been made by both of them that were meant to be forgotten. For the time being, this was the only road open to him and he was by damn going to take it.
And it had taken everything he had just to pull into Janie’s driveway. But it was time. After all, he reasoned with a wicked grin, they were family now. They could unite over the coming baby. That baby had the power to bind them and to heal the wounds. The possibility of a Ransom-Stone baby could make some room for them, surely.
Sam leaned out of his window, intent on sweet-talking a pretty lady into going for a drive. All around him, the night bordered on the wild. Something was in the air; Sam could sense it. But Oklahoma City felt to him as if it would stay out of harm’s way. This time.
As Janie came closer, Sam noted she wasn’t smiling. There were traces of love and regret in her pretty eyes, as always. But fear and urgency overpowered everything as she reached the driver’s side of his car.
“You’d better head on home, Sam,” she said with quiet gravity. “It’s on the news—there’s a heatburst forming over Spirit.” Her eyes never left his.
Janie didn’t have to spell it out for him. “Get inside and stay there. It may feed on itself and reach this far east. Promise me, Janie,” he added sharply, recognizing that look. “Matt will take good care of your girl,” he said, turning the key in the ignition and shifting into reverse.
A day without her and he was lonely. It had been a slow, lonesome day anyway; the silent kind with which Matt usually felt most at home. He reminded himself of that as he paused to look around. The very light seemed to change with the horses stabled. The different colors of their coats and the different colors of their individual personalities brought out varying shades of light in the stalls. Matt had stayed busy, letting the horses soothe him.
But he still needed soothing. His knee throbbed and so did his conscience. A fight with Sam; and yet, so much had remained unsaid between them. How he hated to fight with his father, especially over Perri.
The more Sam had tried to talk it through, the more icy and withdrawn Matt had become with each awkward attempt. Neither father nor son was any good at sharing from the heart. Matt’s definitive response had gone one toe over the line into cruel. And now he’d kick his own butt for it if he could.
Just because it was true Sam had never gotten himself on a plane to visit his father, that was still no excuse for some of the things Matt had said. Last night, it had boiled down to either getting a little drunk, or maybe coming to blows with his old man. As a result, this evening Sam had gotten into his car and driven off without a word about where he was going. And Matt was aching.
Looking back on it, Matt regretted shutting out his father. But at this point, it was one more regret among many. Regret had built as he’d sat in his pickup in front of Donnie’s place the night before. For an hour or so he’d willed himself to knock on the door and get his wife. Matt hadn’t done it and the opportunity had passed.
Now as much as he would like to mend this rift with Perri, he couldn’t see the point; not in the blazing light of day. All he would do, he was certain, was hurt her again. And he had come as close as he ever wanted to get to breaking her.
He had gone back to Gledhill at around three a.m., intent on raising some hell. Walking in the door as if he owned it, Matt had fully meant to demand his way back into her good graces. But the old house wouldn’t let him.
Gledhill had felt so sad to him. Despairing. As John had said: Gannie had wanted them to stake a claim, to “homestead.” Matt had felt it. With every step, Gledhill had drained him of his anger and arrogance.
Matt had paused in the hallway, before the formal photograph of Vienna Whitaker and her son. Enough light had seeped in to reveal the severe visage of the first Matthew, and just how much Matt himself resembled this man of unknown stock. Ransom: The price of redemption; an atonement. Well, maybe not tonight
When he’d silently entered their bedroom, moonlight had illuminated the memory box. The box she’d made for him contained such love.
Suddenly, Matt had been flooded with images of the woman Perri had become. Her quiet poise in John’s office had come to mind. Perri’s willingness to marry him to ensure the protection of the old graveyard and Gledhill had been a decision of duty.
Her understanding after the incident with Lida had made him ashamed of the things he’d said to her. A lot of women would have made him pay for Lida, just on principle. He had certainly expected that very response. Yet instead of calling him to account, Perri had had enough faith in him to let it go. And a lot of women would have hammered on him forever because of what his mother, Leila, had done.
Yet Perri had stoically left Spirit, her only thought to defend her mother’s reputation. For the first time, he’d allowed himself to wonder how she must have felt when she’d learned he was marrying Cadie.
She had stood up to him the day she’d acknowledged she was pregnant. Matt had trapped her against the door to the refrigerator and she had fearlessly held her ground.
As his gaze had roamed over to his wife, Matt had been forced to remember everything. An honest woman. A sobering thought. He, who had made such a fuss about “family,” had declared they should divorce. And over what? He had cruelly told her flat-out that she couldn’t fit into a family down here; into his world. Yet, how poisonous some of the women of “his world,” of his family, had been for him.
His world had dictated that one woman was replaceable with another. Matt knew it just wasn’t so. Losing Janie had left Sam a hollow man. And now the same thing had happened to him with Perri.
In the moonlight. Perri had looked exhausted, as if she’d cried herself to sleep. Matt had pictured her returning from Donnie’s to a deserted house. Suddenly, that single act of disavowal had filled him with remorse.
Drawn by a deep-seated longing to the side of the bed, Matt had done his best to think it through. What was at the heart of his opposition to going to Tucson, he’d wondered? The hurt. To be open to knowing his grandfather was to be open to a well of grief. He would have to open up the very nucleus of his own wounded spirit
Matt hadn’t known if he could take that. In the past it had always been best not to put forth the effort. And then, he’d remembered the night of the lightning strikes. He had held himself apart from Perri that night as well, due to assumptions he had never questioned or explored. He hadn’t known how to break through his pattern of stoic behavior then, either.
Perri had shifted in her sleep, curving herself into his hand. Until that moment, he hadn’t been aware he was sitting beside her, gently stroking her bare hip. She’d smelled sweet, soft. His. Don’t run from me, honey, he’d found himself praying. Please.
If he had been sober, he would have stayed. Cautiously so as not to wake her, Matt had released her and stood. He’d seized the gold locket Perri had left on the nightstand. It had gleamed in the moonlight spilling in through the window. Soundlessly moving out of Gledhill and through the night, Matt had crushed it so tightly in his hand, the chain had marked his palm.
Now, as the lonesome day gave way to evening, Matt tuned slowly back into his surroundings. He realized he’d pulled the necklace out of his pocket, seeking its comfort as if it were a talisman.
The horses sensed it first. Suddenly alert and back in the present, Matt halted as all around him equine uneasiness made it clear that something was about to happen. Flicking on the radio, he raced out to check the horizon in all directions.
Nothing. Yet. But he didn’t like it. Vigilant in the certainty that something was coming, he thoughtfully pocketed Perri’s locket. The weather bulletin was being broadcast as he moved back inside.
; A heatburst. And a woman alone in a storm. He just knew Perri was at home, sitting right on top of a hill. “Holy God,” he whispered in awe. Matt’s body stilled somewhere deep inside as he grabbed for the phone. Unlike the swamp in his nightmare, incongruous and frozen solid, Spirit Valley was going to fry.
The ceiling fan above her went through the motions, but it was futile. Nothing stirred. It was the unimaginable heat that had finally brought her around from her nap. For almost four hours Perri had slept hard. Now she felt even worse. The heat, the man, and the damage to her marriage had her worn down.
As she dragged herself awake, Perri’s despair enfolded her like a shroud. It had been only one day since Matt had made it plain she wasn’t really a part of his family. I feel like I’ve been run over, she thought. How did people ever get anything done in the midst of despair? Everything in her acknowledged that this anguish was never going away.
She sat up, her movements slow and weary. Her throat hurt. It felt locked in unavailing sorrow. The muscles, as if protesting fate, were clenched and heavy. Perri brushed her hand over the place where her locket should have rested and almost wept. They hadn’t even made it through the summer. They would never have a honeymoon.
Despair would always be present, she supposed, perhaps not in an obvious way. Perhaps it would merely remain a low, dull undertone for long stretches of time. She might not be required to acknowledge it often, but losing Matt and her hope of family would be Perri’s cornerstone of sorrow for the rest of her life. She was painfully conscious of her loss; brutally aware that she could do nothing to remedy the circumstances.
The Bridal Promise Page 17
