by Diana Palmer
“But you can’t change the past.” It wasn’t a question.
“No. I can explain it, but I can’t erase it.” He released her hand and cupped her face. Long fingers stroked her cheeks. “I still love you, Sierra.”
They were so close that his features blurred. Without wanting to, she found herself pressing her palms against his chest. Love. The most perfect and most hurtful word. “Why should I believe you?” she asked. “You told me that before, then you betrayed me and left. How do I know this time is different?”
He touched his lips to hers. The heat ignited instant fire. Flames shot through her chest, then moved quickly to the feminine place at the apex of her thighs. Nipples tightened, breasts swelled and that most special part of her dampened in readiness for their lovemaking. It was as if that one, sweet kiss had joined them again. Inevitably. Irrevocably.
And on the heels of passion came fear. The darker side of love swept through her, battling to put out the fire, seeking a way to keep her doubting. He’d let her down before. He’d left her. How could she trust him again?
But the passion could not be denied. Even though he didn’t deepen the kiss—instead merely brushing his mouth against hers—she found herself dismissing the questions and not caring about the past. In the face of being with Dylan again, how could the fear matter?
She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed. He stepped back. His breathing was labored, his gaze bright with desire. “You still don’t trust me,” he said.
She shook her head. “The wanting is easy,” she told him. “It’s the rest of it that gets in the way.”
“I understand.” He glanced at the house, then up at the sky. After a minute he nodded, as if coming to some private conclusion. “You need to know the truth,” he said. “I don’t know if it’s going to help, or make everything worse.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What really happened ten years ago. I wrote it all down.”
“You mean you kept a journal?”
“No. I sent you several letters. Remember? In them I explained about Claire and Rory, and about why I had to marry her.”
A cold fist squeezed her heart. She folded her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “I don’t want to talk about that or read about it.”
“Don’t you see?” he asked. “We have to talk about it. Until you understand, you won’t ever be able to trust me.”
“There’s nothing to understand.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He reached out and caught a strand of her hair. “Silk,” he murmured, wrapping it around his index finger. “I knew it would be.” He released the curl.
“Trust me just a little,” he said. “I know I’m asking a lot, but if you ever believed we deserved another chance, if there’s even a tiny part of you that can even consider the possibility that the magic still exists between us, then go see your brother. Stop being so afraid of the truth.” He held up a hand, silencing her before she could speak. “Please. We can talk after that.”
He kissed her cheek. “I meant what I said. I still love you. You’re the reason I came back.”
With that, he turned and walked toward the house. She watched him go, still standing in the darkness long after he’d disappeared inside. Did he know what he was asking? What if there really were letters? What if he could explain the past? How was she supposed to fight against that? How was she supposed to survive loving—and losing—him again?
Sierra stared at her brother’s front door. There were still lights on inside, so she was sure he was up, but she hesitated before knocking. She hated to interrupt. She knew he treasured his evenings with Felicity and the baby. The three of them were so happy together. Besides what was she supposed to say to Kirk? Tell me about the past because Dylan says you’re keeping secrets?
The whole situation was insane. She was a fool to even consider believing the man. Yet instead of turning back toward her room in the bunkhouse, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.
The sharp sound was loud in the stillness of the evening. Before she could make an escape, Kirk stuck his head out. “Sierra? What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Her throat closed unexpectedly and she could only nod. “Fine,” she managed to say. “Do you have a minute?”
His eyes darkened with concern. “Sure. You want to come in?”
“No. Let’s talk out here. It won’t take long.”
“Give me a second.” He slipped back inside. She heard murmured conversation, then he walked out and stood next to her at the porch railing. “What’s going on?”
Having his full attention didn’t make it easier to figure out what to ask. She bit her lower lip, then sucked in a breath. “I was talking to Dylan a little bit ago.”
“Damn it, Sierra, when are you going to learn your lesson? That guy’s nothing but bad news for you. Or have you forgotten what he did to you?”
“I know.” She leaned against the railing and stared out into the night. “I haven’t forgotten. He hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt in my life. But—”
Kirk cut her off. “But nothing. The man’s slime. You’re better off without him.”
“Am I? Sometimes it’s hard being alone. You should remember what that’s like.”
Kirk placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know. But he’s not the only guy around. If you would give a few of the others a chance, you could have someone in your life.”
“Maybe.” The problem was she didn’t want “someone,” she wanted Dylan. Despite everything, that hadn’t changed.
“There’s no maybe about it. You’re a beautiful woman. You have a lot to offer. Let him go. You gotta trust me on this. He’s bad news.”
“And if I can’t?” she asked, not daring to look at him. “I’ve never loved anyone else, Kirk. I don’t think I know how. He said…” She drew in a breath and turned to face her brother. “He said I should talk to you about the past. That you know something. Do you?”
This time her brother was the one to look away. Sierra stiffened in surprise. “Kirk? Do you know something?”
“Not exactly,” he growled. “Damn him for bringing this up again. It doesn’t matter, Sierra. It was a long time ago.”
She curled her fingers in toward her palms, shock battling with disbelief. “Tell me what you know. Tell me what you’ve kept from me.”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Okay, technically nothing. Dylan sent you a few letters. You know, back when all that was happening. I don’t know what they said because I never read them.”
Dylan had told her the truth and she hadn’t believed him. “I never got them. I—” The world tilted slightly, then righted itself. “He was right about them.” What else had he been right about? “You thought you were protecting me, so you kept them from me,” she told her brother.
“I didn’t want you hurt more. I figured the bastard would try and talk his way out of the situation. I was afraid you’d get caught up in something ugly. You were pretty in love with him. I was trying to help.”
Letters. She didn’t want to hope the situation could be explained, yet she found herself praying it was true. That he hadn’t betrayed her because he’d wanted to. That there was another explanation. “Do you still have them?”
Kirk nodded. “But I don’t think you should read them. What do they matter now?”
“They might not matter at all.” Or they might change everything, she added silently. “Still, it’s my decision to make. I want to read them.”
“Okay.” He went into the house.
A few minutes later, he returned with a handful of unopened envelopes. She recognized the handwriting and her heart tightened as a flood of emotions washed over her. Regret, hope, pain and something that just might have been the precursor to love.
He held them out to her. “I did what I thought was right,” he said.
She took them. “I know. You love me, big brother. You were looking out for me. I wish you’d giv
en me the chance to decide for myself, but what’s done is done.” She clutched the letters to her chest. “Thanks.” She turned to leave.
“Sierra?” he called after her.
She paused on the stairs and looked at him. He was tall and powerful, a dark silhouette against the light from the house. “Be careful.”
“I will,” she promised, even though it was a lie. It was already too late to be careful. Somehow Dylan had drawn her back into the past. All she could do was hang on for the ride.
Chapter Eight
Sierra set the letters on her dresser and stared at them for several minutes. There were five in all. Unopened, untouched for ten years. She wiped her damp palms against her skirt and wondered if she had the courage to actually read them. She sensed that opening the envelopes meant opening up old wounds from the past. While she’d been wrestling with some feelings from long ago, she hadn’t actually reexperienced the horrifying pain of losing Dylan. She wasn’t sure she could stand to feel all that again.
But there wasn’t a choice. She had to know what had happened. So she undressed and put her clothes away, pulled on an oversize T-shirt, then picked up the letters and crawled into bed.
The lamp from the nightstand cast a warm glow on the small room. As the only female ranch hand, she had private quarters behind the kitchen. The room wasn’t big, barely ten by ten, with a single bed, small dresser and a closet. But it was all she really needed. Life had taught her to travel light.
Tonight she was grateful for the confined space. She didn’t have to worry about unexplained shadows or sudden sounds. Tonight, with her knees pulled up to her chest and the quilt her mother made warming her bare legs, she could risk going back to a time she hadn’t been sure she would survive.
She flipped through the letters, glancing at the postmark. The first one sent was on top, the last on the bottom. Drawing in a deep breath for courage, she opened the first envelope.
The letter was two pages long, the white paper covered with Dylan’s familiar scrawl. She’d always loved his casual handwriting, black ink only. Despite her apprehension, she smiled, remembering how no one else had been able to decipher his notes, but she’d had no trouble reading them. Maybe because she’d had no trouble reading the man.
My dearest Sierra,
I know how much you must hate me. No, that’s not true. I don’t know how much, but I can imagine. I know you think I’m the worst kind of man. That I’ve betrayed you with another woman. With Claire.
I’m not sure it matters, but I have to tell you what happened that night. You remember. When I took Claire to the dance at the country club. You and I fought about it for two days. I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. I should have done a lot of things.
When I told you about the dance, I mentioned that I owed Claire and this was just a way to repay that debt. Her date had backed out at the last minute. She was a member of the organizing committee and had to go to the dance, but she was too humiliated to go without a date. So I said I would stand in for the guy. It didn’t mean anything. Not then, not now. You’re the one I love, the one I’ve always loved.
There was a blank space on the page. Without wanting to, Sierra could imagine Dylan staring into space, trying to figure out what to tell her, searching for the right collection of words to make her believe. She found herself hoping he would be able to do that. Even if the understanding came ten years late, she still wanted to know what had happened, and to finally be convinced that he hadn’t betrayed her. At least not on purpose.
Claire knew right away something was wrong. My mistake was in telling her about our fight. I see that now. She was sympathetic and took my side, which I liked because I thought I was right. I thought you were being possessive and demanding for no good reason. But I was wrong.
The party was pretty boring, so we went out to the stables. Claire had some whiskey in her purse and we started drinking. She kept telling me how you didn’t understand me and that I had every right to be angry with you.
Several lines were scratched out. Sierra held the pages to the light and tried to read them, but she couldn’t. A lump formed in her throat. She told herself he wasn’t going to make her cry—not again. But she knew she was wrong.
I honestly don’t remember what happened. I swear, Sierra. I don’t remember touching her. I never wanted her, or thought about her that way. You’re the one I love, the only one. The next morning I realized she’d set me up. That’s when I came to you and told you that you’d been right about Claire. I thought we could put this all behind us. That it would just be a bad dream. But we can’t.
Claire’s pregnant and we’re going to have to get married.
The words were a knife to her heart. Sierra wasn’t sure why. Rory was living proof that Claire and Dylan had indeed slept together. She knew that. And yet it was so awful to see it in writing. She supposed that in her heart she’d always wanted there to be another explanation.
She reread the few lines detailing what had happened and Dylan’s claim that he didn’t remember what they’d done. His lack of memory was a small and cold comfort.
I will always love you. No matter what happens, know that. You don’t know how much I wish it could have been different. You are my dream for the future, my only fantasy. I can’t believe I messed everything up like this. I wish I hadn’t been a fool. I wish I hadn’t betrayed you.
I’m so sorry. More than anything, I want to be with you and hold you. I will never love her. I will never forget you. I know that’s wrong, but I don’t care. I know you won’t forgive me, and I’m almost glad. As long as you hate me, you’ll be thinking of me. Right now, that’s the best I can hope for.
All my love,
Dylan
The ache in her belly made her pull her knees closer to her chest, but it didn’t help the pain at all. A thousand questions swirled through her head. What had really happened that night? How had Claire seduced Dylan? Sierra was sure it was seduction. They might have been young, but Dylan had loved her with every fiber of his being. He wouldn’t have knowingly betrayed her. She hadn’t believed that at the time, but she did now.
She leaned her head back against her pillows and thought about those awful days. The fight they’d had, his date with Claire, his promises the next morning that everything was going to be fine between them. Then, less than a month later, the news that he was marrying Claire.
She folded the first letter and returned it to the envelope, then opened the second. The familiar handwriting made her eyes burn with unshed tears. She blinked them away, refusing to give into the weakness.
It was dated nearly a month after the first letter. In the beginning paragraphs, Dylan told her how much he loved her and missed her.
I heard that you’ve left to join the rodeo circuit. I still remember when you won the junior barrel racing championship. I was so proud of you. I know you’ll do great. But I wish you were here. I’m scared, Sierra. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m more and more convinced Claire set me up because she wanted to marry me. But I still can’t remember what happened that night.
I don’t… I need to tell someone this, and you’re my best friend, so you’re the only person I trust. But I know you don’t want to hear this. Damn.
I still can’t remember being with her that night. She kissed me the other night and it was like kissing a stranger. Nothing was familiar. I had to walk away because all I could think of was you.
And there’s more. I went to talk to her a couple of nights ago and she wasn’t home. When I asked her about it, she said she’d had dinner with friends. But she’d told me she was tired and wanted to stay in that night. I can’t help wondering if she’s seeing another guy. I have this knot in my gut. What if she is? What if he’s the father of her child and not me? What if I’ve destroyed all our lives for nothing?
Sierra closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to read anymore. If Claire had tricked Dylan… But she hadn’t. Rory was his son. He had c
ustody and was raising him. He wouldn’t do that if the boy wasn’t his.
She read the rest of the letter. Dylan still swore he loved her and couldn’t stop thinking about her. He begged her to write him back. The silence was killing him. Couldn’t they at least be friends?
That made her smile bitterly. No, they couldn’t have been friends, not after all they’d meant to each other. She could have loved him, or hated him, or tried to forget him, but she couldn’t have survived having contact with him.
The third and fourth letters were more of the same. His confusion about his lack of memory with Claire. His growing belief that there was another man in Claire’s life. His distressing conviction that the child she carried wasn’t his. He begged her to write him back, to tell him what was going on. He couldn’t believe she’d forgotten him so easily.
Sierra picked up the last letter and tried to read the postmark. The small numbers blurred and she realized she was crying. She wiped her face impatiently and cleared her throat.
“I’m not going to lose it,” she said aloud. “Not after all this time.”
But it was so hard. All those old feelings overwhelmed her. She’d never loved anyone but Dylan and it was painful to read about his life with Claire. Maybe Kirk had been wrong to keep the letters from her, but right now she was grateful to have ten years between these words and herself. Back then, she would have written Dylan back. If he’d asked her to meet him, she would have gone. They were too much in love to have denied each other, and they would have found themselves in a very ugly situation.
She opened the fifth letter.
My darling Sierra,
This is the last time I’m going to write you. It’s been nearly six months and you haven’t been in touch. I can only assume you’re truly over me. I respect you for that and wish I could say the same.
But I can’t. I still love you with every breath I take. I still want you and need you in my life. There isn’t an hour in which I don’t think of you. Last night I dreamed of you, of being with you, talking to you, touching you, loving you.
