by Jillian Hart
No man was going to love her, after all. Especially not one as fine as Gage Gatlin. Who would look at her in her beautiful wedding dress and not find enough inspiration to love her.
She crumpled to the floor in her silken gown and felt her heart break into a thousand pieces.
Where was she? Gage rubbed the back of his neck. It was damn hot in this suit in the middle of the afternoon. He felt what had to be fifty pairs of eyes watching him from the pews. Folks who had invited themselves out of curiosity. Their whispers buzzed in the back of the church, speculating on what was delaying the bride.
No wedding dress, someone had murmured, then their words fell away and he couldn’t hear what was said.
Hell, he didn’t care what she wore. She had a few real pretty dresses. Any one of them would be fine. He only wanted to make her his wife. That was all. She looked beautiful in anything she wore.
“Gage.” Mary Flannery tapped him on the shoulder and pulled him away from the front row of curious onlookers. “I spoke to Sarah, Gage.”
“She’s just late, is all. I understand that. I didn’t give her much time, and with Ella’s illness…” He shrugged. “I’m not angry she’s late. I’d wait forever to marry her.”
“Oh, Gage.” Sadly, Mary shook her head and spoke with quiet sympathy. “Sarah isn’t late. She isn’t coming. She doesn’t want to marry you.”
“That can’t be right.” What was Mary trying to pull? “I get it. This is a joke, right? Playing a game with the poor nervous groom. All right, fine. Tell Sarah it worked, so she can walk down that aisle and become my wife.”
“This is no joke, Gage. Sarah really isn’t coming. She’s in her room at the boarding house and she refuses to leave. She asked me to keep little Ella for a few hours.” Mary patted his arm. “I’m so sorry. You two are made for each other. Anyone with eyes can see it.”
Sarah wasn’t coming? She ought to be right there, coming down the aisle with his ring on her hand. What was wrong? Why didn’t she want to be here?
“I don’t understand.” He wiped his hands over his face, suddenly angry. Blood rising, he could hear the gossip sweep through the church like a wildfire. She jilted him. Sarah Redding left Gage Gatlin standing at the altar.
It wasn’t true, damn it! He marched down the aisle and flung open the door so hard it slammed against the clapboard wall. It was probably eighty or more degrees in the shade as he stalked through town, his boots ringing on the boardwalk so that shoppers and anyone else in his path scattered.
He knew what this was about, embarrassing him like this. Hurting his pride and his feelings and making a mess out of everything that was right in his life. It was those words he couldn’t say to her. That’s what she’d been so upset about last night, and he thought he’d settled the matter. Fixed the problem.
But no, she decided to do it this way. Instead of listening to reason, she’d decided to hurt him and his daughter in front of half the town. Not that he gave a damn what people thought, but it was the humiliation of it. He’d taken a punch to the guts and it hurt.
His anger grew with every step he took across the street. By the time he yanked open the boarding house’s front door, he was livid. Ready to let her have it. She wanted to play tough, that was fine by him. He pounded up the stairs and raised his hand to slam his fist into the door.
And heard her sobbing, muffled through the wood. Raw and painful. The way heartbreak sounds.
The fight drained right out of him. He dropped his fist to his side and took a shaky breath, trying to figure out what in the hell to do.
She was crying on the other side of that door. Crying. All because he couldn’t play make-believe.
He hated that she was hurting that much. Over something foolish, something that was impossible to have. What a mistake he’d made, thinking what he had to offer her was enough. Half the women in town would have jumped at what he offered, but no, not Sarah.
The door was unlocked, so there was no resistance as he opened it. The hinges creaked and the floorboards groaned beneath his boots as he dared to ease inside.
There she was, in a puddle of blue silk on the floor, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her hands to her face, shoulders shaking.
“Go away.” She didn’t look up.
“Oh, Sarah.” What in the blazes did he do? He closed the door and tried to figure it out. If he went down on one knee, she’d know she was right. That she’d won the argument.
But if he didn’t, was there a way to repair this?
He decided to stand. It was safer, keeping this the way he meant it to be. Realistic. Pragmatic. Logical. “The reverend said he’d wait. If you want to go now—”
“I c-can’t.” She raised a tear-streaked face. Her skin was ruddy, her eyes red.
This wasn’t fake crying, and he eased onto his knees. Wiped a teardrop from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Sure you can. We can get a little wash water and some hairpins. It’s not too late to mend this.”
“How can we fix this? You don’t even know what’s wrong.”
“I figure it’s got something to do with last night. Look how hard you’ve been crying. You’re miserable, Sarah, and I hate it. I hate seeing you hurt like this.”
Her lower lip trembled. “It hurts when the man you love doesn’t love you in return.”
“Oh, angel. There’s enough hurt going around right now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s all right.” He took her hand in his, the diamonds sparkling pure and true, a symbol of everything they could have together, and it heartened him. This could still work. If he could find the right words. “See why I think romantic love is a bad ingredient in a relationship? It gets everything all confused and turned around. It hurts too much.”
“And so it’s better never to love so you don’t have to hurt?” That wasn’t right. She wasn’t reacting the way he thought she should. More tears brimmed her eyelashes but did not fall. “Love is the only thing that matters. There are a thousand practical reasons why I ought to marry you. It’s convenient, we’re compatible, it’s good for the girls, I never have to work two jobs again. But there’s only one reason why I can’t marry you.”
“Sarah.” This was killing him. Couldn’t she see it? “What I feel for you is honest and real enough for you to touch and see. It’s not a myth, it’s not something that will fade. This lasts. This matters. This, right here.” He twined his fingers through hers. “This is what lasts. Faithfulness. Duty. Responsibility. Mutual regard. We can get along just like we’ve been doing. I’m my happiest when I’m with you.”
“Stop it.” She scrambled to her feet in a froth of blue silk and shimmering ribbon. “I can’t do this. Don’t you see? You don’t love me. You don’t love me.”
All she could hear was the words “duty, responsibility, mutual regard” over and over in her head as she looked at him. This man still willing to marry her. Still believing the best she could hope for was a dutiful, mutually satisfying, friendly marriage.
She wanted to be his one true love. The woman he cherished above all else.
Sarah wrapped her arms around her middle and wished she could hold him instead. That a hug and a kiss and wedding vows would make this all right.
It couldn’t.
So she said what needed to be said. Found the courage to end a relationship with the best man she had ever known. The man she’d had the privilege to love.
She pulled the ring from her finger and presented it to him, the diamonds sparkling in mockery of the promises he could not keep.
His eyes clouded. “I gave that to you to wear forever.”
“I know.” This was so hard, but she had to do it. She blinked fast, keeping the emotion down. It was what she had to do.
“Here.” She pressed the ring into his palm as he towered over her, all formidable man. “I hope you can find it in that hard heart of yours to forgive me. I know I’m hurting you.”
“Disappointing me.” His c
hin shot up as if nothing could ever wound him. He was tough to the core and looked it. As he bowed his head to stare at the ring, a dark shank of hair tumbled over his forehead.
She itched to touch him one more time, even in the pretense of brushing his hair into place. But she’d returned his ring. She wasn’t the woman he loved. It wasn’t her right.
“I’ll be out to fetch my things.” She cleared her throat. “And to say goodbye to Lucy.”
“Goodbye?” What for? Was she leaving?
“I won’t be seeing her anymore.” Sarah looked distant, like a stranger, as she opened the door for him. Gestured for him to go.
Just like that. He would walk out of her life. The best thing that had ever happened to him. Not that he loved her. But it felt as if he’d lost everything.
“Take care of yourself, Gage.”
He caught a brief glimpse of anguish on her face as she closed the door on him and locked it. The clink echoed down the hall and in the empty places within his chest. Where his heart was supposed to be.
“Sarah is gonna come. You wait and see.” Lucy sat stubbornly on the ranch house front step and refused to budge. She had her sewing in her lap, hemming the doll dress Sarah had helped her make. “I’m gonna get this done, ’cuz, you know what? She’s gonna be real surprised I did this all by myself.”
“Lucy, I know this is tough, but you’ve got to accept this. Sarah isn’t coming back. She doesn’t want to marry me.”
“Does, too.” Lucy poked the thin needle through the fabric, head bent. “Sarah loves us.”
He couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t do any good to argue about it. Sarah did love them, that was the trouble. She had to go and turn this compatible connection between them into a romance.
He wasn’t going to have anything to do with it. He wasn’t going to open himself up to that kind of pain again. He feelings shut down, he felt numb remembering what it had been like. The cold silences. The angry accusations. The aching disappointments. May’s tears in the night, tears he couldn’t console.
The same way Sarah had been crying. Raw and hurting, and it was a waste, that’s what it was. A plain waste of emotion. What he and Sarah had together was ten times—no, a hundred times—better than any marriage he could think of. Passion and laughter and honesty. His way had worked just fine. The girls had been happy. He and Sarah had been happy. Why did she have to go and ruin that? Look what she was doing to Lucy.
“Do you know what, Pa?” Lucy tugged the thread through the fabric. “Sarah needed a dress. That’s why she didn’t come. Know what? We could go to the store and buy her one.”
“It’s not that simple.” He settled on to the step next to her. “I wish it was.”
“You just gotta buy a dress, Pa. You don’t gotta make it.” Lucy glared at him. “Hitch up the buggy and we can go. I’m gonna help. I sew now, so I know about dresses.”
“No, darlin’.”
“But Sarah loves me. Just like a ma.” Lucy’s voice rose, thin and trembling and full of pain. “She made me a doll and she braids my hair and she’s just like a ma. She was gonna marry us. She promised.”
He tugged Lucy onto his lap, holding her against his chest while she cried. Horrible, wrenching sobs that shook her little body. He couldn’t help feeling angry. This was Sarah’s doing. Hurting Lucy like this.
He’d been crazy, that’s what. Plumb loco to think a relationship with a woman could have worked out. Sarah may be special, but she was a woman. She wanted fancy words and romance and fairy tales, and that kind of thing could ruin a man’s life. And his daughter’s.
Never again, Gage vowed as he comforted Lucy the best he could, holding her until there were no more tears, and holding her some more. There was trouble in the fields, but Gage waved Juan away. Let him deal with it the best he could—he was more than capable. Gage wasn’t about to leave his child alone like this.
He wasn’t ever going to expose her to this kind of pain again.
Next time he saw a beautiful woman with kindness in her heart and a smile that turned him inside out, he was going to keep on riding. Next time he felt this amazing connection, this understanding with a woman, as if being with her was the most natural thing in the world, as if he were made to do it. He’d remember Lucy’s tears and walk away.
What have I done? Sarah sat in the dark, the lamp turned low as midnight neared, and listened to Ella’s muffled tears.
Had she made the wrong decision? Her finger felt bare without the golden band. It was amazing how quickly she’d gotten used to it, and how much she’d treasured it. Not because of the gold and diamonds, far more fine than any material possession she’d ever owned, but because she thought it represented Gage’s love.
When he’d wanted duty. Friendship. Passion in the night. And nothing more. He didn’t harbor a deep emotional love for her. Never had. What had he said? That love was a fairy tale. He didn’t cherish her love. Didn’t believe in it.
Ella had taken the news hard. She’d wanted to be best friends and sisters with Lucy. To ride horses and play in the green fields and make mud pies in the shade of a pretty white house.
She was still crying, silently into her pillow, her hopes shattered, too. What of Lucy? Sarah hated to think of Lucy, who’d wanted a mother so badly, crying, too. And Gage?
No, Gage wouldn’t be devastated. He hadn’t loved her, so how could he be hurting? He wasn’t in love. He hadn’t lost his heart’s desire.
Sarah felt cold, even though the breeze filtering through the curtains was warm. She was lost without Gage. How was she going to live without him? How was she going to move on, get through each day? See him on the street and wave, as if nothing had ever happened between them?
She couldn’t. What she had to do was leave. Make a new start in a new place, where she wouldn’t have constant reminders of Gage and how she hadn’t been enough for him to love.
Why, she hadn’t planned on staying in this town anyway. Ella was well. There were other opportunities in other places. She had to find the right one. Somewhere out there, there could be another man with eyes the color of the wind. A wonderful man with a touch that seared her to the soul.
But it didn’t seem likely.
Damn it, he couldn’t sleep. Gage tossed back the sheet that smelled faintly of Sarah’s rose soap. He should have changed the sheets. The scent was driving him crazy. His feet hit the floor and he grabbed his denims. Maybe a hard ride would help him get Sarah out of his head.
The sound of her crying. The way she’d said, “You don’t love me,” as if it were something personal. As if he couldn’t see what a special bond they shared. And how wounded he was that it wasn’t good enough for her.
At the back door, he jammed his feet into his boots. Tried not to remember it was that place at the counter where he’d kissed Sarah for the first time. First tasted her passion that made him hunger for more. The stove where they’d cooked together. The garden patch outside she’d planted for Lucy. Well tended, with lacy carrot greens marching in a neat row, the young peas and beans strung up on poles, and the silky tassels of growing corn.
Reminders of Sarah were everywhere he looked. In the barn where the kittens slept. The buggy she used to drive. Each sight lashed through him with the sting of a bullwhip, and he didn’t bother with bridle or saddle. He rode bareback into the night and came across the field where he and Sarah first made love.
It felt as if someone had taken a knife to him and carved out his heart. Left him bleeding and mortally wounded. Nothing had ever hurt like this. Nothing.
A pack of coyotes streaked by, crouched low, nothing more than wraiths moving through the dried grasses. Then he heard it, a faint rapport that disappeared across the vast plains. Growing louder. Birds scattered from the grasses, squawking with alarm. Antelope breaking around him sailed over the split-rail fence.
Gage smelled the smoke, faint, but unmistakable.
“Gatlin!” Juan’s warning rang above a distant thundering from somewhere
near the creek.
A stampede, coming his way. But that wasn’t the trouble the foreman meant. Smoke scented the air as the earth quaked and the night felt thick with the terror of stampeding animals.
A horse whisked past him. Another broke stride and nearly bashed straight into the mare.
His heart kicked as his mount bunched and strained beneath him, ready to bolt. He tightened the reins, riding the bit hard, leaning forward to talk low to her. “Easy, girl. You keep right on going. I’ll get you through this.”
The night broke apart around them in high-pitched bawls and neighs of terror. The drum of hoofs and the dust and the crush of a stampede pushing his horse back. An impossible force, a fast-moving current of horses and cows. The mare reared with terror, and he dug in his heels to control her.
Gage wrestled the mare through the mass of panicked animals, cutting diagonally through the deafening thunder of cattle and horses, gritting his teeth as a bull horn scraped his thigh.
He had to find Juan. He had to gather enough men to stop that fire, but the savage night fought him and there seemed no end to it. Already red glow stretched across his fence line, spreading lightning-fast through the tinder-dry grasses. Coming his way.
Toward the stables and the barns. Toward the house. With Lucy in it.
“Juan!” He cupped his hands.
A sting pierced his arm. He looked down and saw a bright crimson stain on his shirt, eerily lit by the glow of the rising flames. He’d been shot? Another crack boomed above the stampede and the greedy lick of the flames.
He felt the strength drain from his thighs. He was slipping to the left so he grabbed hold of the mare’s thick mane. Held on as a cow slammed into the mare’s hindquarters, spinning them against the fence, out of danger.
Before he could recover, a stinging pain skidded across his ribs. Another bullet. His fingers slipped and he slid in slow motion as the world tilted crazily in a swirl of red flames and thundering animals. He hit the ground with a teeth-rattling thud.
Hot blood wet his shirt as he came to rest in the grass. The mare sidestepped, ready to panic, her hooves striking the ground less than two inches from his chest.
