by Sandra Cox
He popped the top. Foam flowed over the neck of the bottle and over his hand. Bella bent down, picked up the glasses and held them out. He filled the plastic flutes and she sipped the effervescent liquid, the bubbles running down the back of her throat. “What a lovely idea.”
Lifting his glass, he toasted, “To you.”
She touched his glass with hers. “To you.”
“To us,” he responded, looking deep in her eyes.
Unease tapped down the burgeoning happiness in her heart. She lifted her glass. “To lunch. I’m starved, let’s eat.”
He motioned her to sit down then dropped down beside her and began to open the waxy pressed-cardboard cartons. The scent of biscuits, mashed potatoes, gravy and fried chicken filled the air. He filled a heaping plate, added some creamy coleslaw and handed it to her then filled one for himself.
He’s such a thoughtful man. “Thank you, Hank.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve never told me much about your family, Bella.” He bit into a crunchy chicken leg.
She shrugged and made a swirl in her mashed potatoes with her plastic fork. “There’s not much to tell. My daddy left when I was two years old. It took the heart right out of my mamma. She never seemed to have much spirit after that.”
He reached over and gave her shoulder a light squeeze of comfort. “She never remarried?”
“No, she stopped trusting men.”
“That’s too bad. It’s a long time to live alone.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You ever been married?” She spooned up a bite of coleslaw.
“No.”
“That’s a long time to live alone.” She bit into her chicken.
He shrugged. “The timing was never right.” He started to say something, changed his mind and poured them each some more champagne.
“You?” He handed Bella a brimming glass.
“No.” She shook her head and sipped the champagne.
“Why?”
“Never had the desire to.”
“Never?” He tipped his head, studying her.
“Never.”
“Did your mamma leave you the amulet?” he asked, changing the subject.
“My grandmamma did. She never thought my mamma was up to the challenge.” Bella looked around. “Mamma would have loved it here. She never was much for the big city.”
Hank stretched his jean-clad legs out in front of him and motioned with his fork. “I always thought this would make a beautiful spot to build a house on.”
She looked around. “Yes, it would.”
“What kind of house would you build here, Bella?”
She squinted, studying the land. “I think I’d build a fancy log cabin with all the amenities. Logs would blend with this beautiful landscape. Dark pine on the outside, warm pine on the inside, plenty of windows to let in the light, a huge studio with a glass wall.” Caught up in the fantasy, she continued, “A bath off the bedroom. A huge walk-in closet, maybe a reading room, a guestroom and of course the standard living room and kitchen even though I’m not much for cooking.”
Smiling, she glanced over at Hank and found him watching her intently.
He set down his plate down and leaned toward her, his breath warm on her face.
Her heart began to thud in erratic thumps against her chest.
“This is my land, Bella. I know I’m not the kind of man you’re used to. I’m not rich but I’ve saved over the years and done a little investing. I’m comfortable. I’d like to build that house for you, Bella. I want you to marry me.”
She could feel her pupils dilate. Her breath caught in her throat. For a heart-pulsing second she wanted to throw herself in his arms then she remembered her mother’s words spoken like a mantra over and over again through the years until she had come to believe them. “Don’t give your heart, Bella darling, ‘cause if you do, a man will just use you and toss you away.”
She couldn’t breathe. For one mad moment, she thought she would faint from lack of oxygen. With a whoosh, she managed to pull the air into her lungs and they started to function again. She jumped to her feet, her plate turning over in a messy heap on the blanket.
Hank shot to his feet like a coiled spring.
“I can’t.” The words were no more than a whisper. She ran to the buckskin grazing on the new spring grass, grabbed the reins and jumped into the saddle.
“Bella, wait.”
Through tears gathering in her eyes she saw him take a step toward her.
She shook her head, turned the big buckskin and thumped her heels against his ribs. The horse shot forward.
When Bella reached the rise, she looked back. He stood where she’d left him. A lonely figure silhouetted against the pale blue sky.
* * * * *
Striker walked up to him. Moving in close, he whispered, “Your time’s run out.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hank stood a distance from the gravesite watching her, remembering the last time he’d seen her as she paused at the crest of the hill and looked back. Even with the distance between them he’d felt her pain. And knew when he returned to the house, she’d be gone.
He looked around. It was peaceful here with the sun beating down and green grass springing up between the white markers. But it was lonesome too. Lonesome as he’d been without her.
He’d had to wait fourteen long days ‘til Maureen and Jack had returned from their honeymoon to go after her. It had been the longest fourteen days of his life. The need of her had eaten at his gut like raw acid each and every day.
As if sensing his presence, Bella turned and looked at him. His heart constricted. She’d lost weight and even from a distance she seemed pale and drawn. She hesitated then walked toward him.
She stopped in front of him and tilted back her head to look into his face. “How did you know where to find me?”
“George said you were visiting your mamma’s grave. He gave me directions.” He stood with his legs splayed, holding his cowboy hat at his waist, feeling awkward but most of all feeling afraid. What if he couldn’t convince her? “You look like hell.”
She gave a short humorless laugh. “You don’t look that great yourself, sugar.”
He crushed the rim of his hat between his clenched fingers. “I’m not surprised. The light went right out of my life when you left.” He took a step toward her, intensity sparking behind his eyes.
Before he could say more, she interrupted. “Did Maureen and Hank like their painting?”
“They loved it. You have such a gift.”
She started to say something but he placed a finger against her lips to silence her. “Hear me out. I’m not your daddy. Nothing short of death will ever drag me from your side. I’ve waited my entire life for you. I’m not going to give you up now. You know we belong together, Bella.”
He read the uncertainty in her face, fear warring with longing. He dropped his hand holding his hat to his side and picked up her limp hand with his other. He placed it over his heart where she could feel the erratic thud under her hand. “It beats for you,” he said, his voice hoarse and shaky. “No other.” He pulled her to him and looked down into her eyes. “I need you, Bella. I need you,” he whispered and laid his forehead against hers. “Say you’ll marry me, Isabella. Say you’ll be my wife.” The words from his lips were torn from his soul. They erupted through him, aching, as they forced their way out. He could barely breathe, his lungs refusing to pump air. What would he do if she wouldn’t have him?
“Yes.”
He lifted his head and blinked, not sure he’d heard her correctly.
“Yes, I’ll marry you, Hank McHenry.” She looked up at him, love shining from her eyes. “I got a little lost there for a bit but I’ve found my way back home.”
The fist clenching his heart eased. He could feel a huge foolish grin form on his face. Drawing back his arm, he heaved his hat into the sky. “Yee-haw!” He bent her over his arm and kissed her.
When he finally rele
ased her, he pulled a ring out of his shirt pocket, took her left hand and slid it on her finger.
Bella held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. The sun caught the stone and sent colorful prisms of light flashing through the diamond.
“It’s a pink diamond.” He shrugged. “Seemed like something you’d like.”
She threw her arms around him. “You got that right, sugar,” and, drawing down his head, kissed him soundly.
* * * * *
The knife plunged deep in his chest. He fell first to his knees then slid to the floor. A light fleck of pink foam formed at the corner of his mouth and dripped down his chin. His head sank to the ground and a crimson pool materialized at his side. He blinked, stunned, as he felt his life force deserting him.
He had left it too long. He should have told her about the other amulets instead of hoarding the knowledge to himself like a miser with his gold. But he’d never really believed he would die.
He laughed and choked. The joke was on him. He was mortal after all. With agonizingly slow movements, he took his index finger and wrote on the floor with his own blood. Amulets, Victoria… His hand fell to his side and his eyes rolled back in his head.
Epilogue
Seven Months Later
Sabina Comti opened the creamy, silver-lined vellum envelope and drew out the invitation. On one side was a colored print of a band of Arabians, flying across a stream, their manes blowing, their hooves churning water that sparkled like diamonds caught in the sun. She turned it over and read—
December 1, 2007 through December 23, 2007
Recent Works by Isabella Tremaine–McHenry
Reception with Artist
December 1
7:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m.
Jewel’s Gallery
New York
Band of Horses, Oil
About the Author
A vegetarian and animal lover, Sandra lives with her husband, their dog and six cats in sunny North Carolina.
Sandra is an active member of Romance Writers of America and From the Heart Romance Writers. From The Heart Romance Writers has been the source of many treasured friendships.
Besides paranormal romance, Sandra also writes western romance, time-travel romance, young adult fantasy and non-fiction. She loves to hear from her readers so feel free to shoot her an e-mail.
Sandra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Sandra Cox
Boji Stones
Silverhills
The Crystal
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