Dragonslayer

by Emilie Richards

  “Hey, maybe we should post the Corners.” She smiled, to let him know she was teasing. “This is wonderful.”

  She still looked pale, but the stress had seemed to disappear from her face with each mile they traveled. Thomas covered her hand with his. The deer passed from view, but the oaks and poplars lining the road swayed in the breeze against a brilliant blue sky. “Winter comes earlier here than it does in the Corners. We might see snow.”

  “Snow that hasn’t already turned to slush.” Suddenly she yearned for it. “There was a park across from the hospital where I took my training. I used to get up early on mornings when there’d been snow just to go over and look at it before everyone trampled it.” She looked at him, embarrassed to have revealed something so sentimental. “That probably sounds silly.”

  “It sounds like you.”

  “No, too sappy.”

  “You’re gifted at extracting beauty from little things.”

  She tossed her head. “Well, if you don’t extract it from little things, you might not find any at all. There aren’t too many Taj Mahals in the city.”

  He started the car again, and her hand fell to her side. He didn’t want the moment of intimacy to end. He smiled at her. “There aren’t any Taj Mahals here, either, but the sunsets are spectacular.”

  She felt as if he had filled all the bitterly cold places inside her with sunlight. “I wish you’d smile more often,” she said. “It does funny things to me.”

  “I’ll smile nonstop for the next few days.”

  “Few days? We can’t stay a few days. You’ve got a church, and I’ve got a clinic.”

  “Tex is taking care of Mother and Child. Greg is organizing Sunday’s service without me.”

  “What?” She turned, ignoring the rasp of the seat belt against her bandaged shoulder. “Thomas, that’s crazy. Tex can’t function without me. And Greg hasn’t had any experience—”

  His smile disappeared. “You are not indispensable, Garnet. And neither am I. The clinic and the church aren’t monuments to us. If they don’t survive while we’re gone then they weren’t meant to.”

  She sat back and let his words sink in. “If I’m not indispensable,” she said as they entered a clearing, “then what in the hell am I?”

  “A woman who needs a few days away from gangs and bullets and death threats.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Her husband,” he said.

  “Tell me you need a few days away, too.”

  He needed a few days with her. He needed to be sure she was all right. He needed to be sure she would continue to be. But he couldn’t tell her that, because it was too revealing. “I do,” he said.

  “The last time you said those words, they got you into more trouble than you’d bargained for.”

  “They might again.” He stopped the car. The cottage was just ahead of them. He turned and touched her hair. “For the next few days we take care of ourselves and each other. We don’t worry about anyone or anything else.”

  “Like two married people on vacation?”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t ask how married they would be. Suddenly everything seemed possible. “Will you feel strange being here with me?”

  “I’ve hardly ever been here,” he assured her. “I’ll only feel as strange as you do.”

  “Then you won’t feel strange at all, because I think we were meant to come here.”

  “Meant to come here sounds surprisingly religious coming from you.”

  “I might surprise you in a number of ways.” She smiled at him again and thought of days alone together in a lakeside cottage. Suddenly the world was a brighter place than she had believed it to be that morning.

  11

  The cottage was rustic, haphazardly built of logs and stone throughout a generation. Rooms had been added without thought of easy access or privacy. The living room, with a wall of windows looking over the lake, stretched the length of the house. The kitchen had to be entered through a bedroom. The second bedroom was perched on top of the first and reached by a steep stairway in a corner of the kitchen. A third bedroom was set away from the main part of the house with only a covered walkway to link it.

  Garnet completed her tour while Thomas carried groceries and suitcases from the car.

  “This is a great house,” she said, when he brought in the last load.

  “I always liked it. It has character. It’s been painted recently, and the furniture’s been changed around. It hardly looks the same.”

  “Does Patricia’s... the bishop know we’re here?”

  “I called him.”

  “I’m glad he wasn’t using it.”

  Thomas thought about that brief phone call. Patricia’s father had sounded surprised that Thomas had asked permission. The cottage still belonged to Thomas, he'd said, and the bishop had just seen to its maintenance.

  “Do you talk to him often?” Garnet asked.

  “I didn’t talk to anyone for almost two years. When I decided to rejoin the living, I got back in touch. That’s how I got my denomination to finance starting the Church of the Samaritan. They agreed to fund a small salary for me and expenses for the building for three years. By then the church should be able to survive on its own. And after that the bishop expects me to take another big church and go back to the life I led before Patricia died.”

  “And will you?”

  He turned. Garnet’s question had been asked in a deceptively casual voice, but he sensed emotion behind her words, “What do you think?”

  She shrugged.

  “You still don’t think I have a commitment to the Corners, do you?”

  “This could just be a very colorful chapter in your life, Thomas. Minister loses wife, loses faith, and wrestles with demons on the hellish streets of the inner city. Then, when his faith in himself and his God returns, he goes back to preaching to the multitudes. With lots of new and dramatic anecdotes to spice up his sermons.”

  “I could do that.” He dumped fruit into a wooden bowl on the kitchen table.

  She reached for an apple. “Who could blame you? You could reach a hundred people in the suburbs for every one you reach in the Corners. Of course, they would be a hundred people with only a problem or two between them.”

  “Money solves a lot of problems, but it doesn’t make life run smoothly. People get sick, have breakdowns, lose jobs or loved ones. Even in the suburbs.” He took the apple from her hand. “You haven’t washed this yet.”

  She forced a jaunty smile. “I like to live dangerously.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” He strode to the sink and let the water run for a few moments before he plunged the apple under it.

  “You never really answered my question.”

  “It was couched in preconceived notions and conceit.”

  “Conceit?”

  He tossed her the apple. She caught it without flinching and dried it on the tail of her shirt.

  “Conceit,” he repeated. “You think you’re the only person in the world who cares what happens in the Corners and places just like it? Guess again. You’re just one.”

  “And you’re one of the other half dozen or so?” She held up her hand. “Okay, okay. An exaggeration. I’ll admit it.”

  “I care,” he said. “And I’ll be staying. If I ever have a large church again, it’ll be the one I build on Wilford and Twelfth, one pebble at a time.”

  “On this pebble I build my church.” She considered, then took a large bite of her apple. “That lacks something.”

  He leaned against the sink and dried his hands. “You’re enough to drive a saint to sin.”

  “Exactly what I had in mind.” She met his eyes. “There’s a long line of women just like me in the Bible, Thomas. Eve, Delilah, Mary Magdalene...”

  “Mary Magdalene didn’t succeed.”

  “So men have proclaimed for centuries because it suited their purposes. But if she didn't, I’ll just bet she livened up a saintly life or two along
the way.”

  “You’ve certainly enlivened mine.”

  She took another bite of apple, but her heart nudged her rib cage. His expression was tender, as if the words that accompanied it had been a tribute. Her response lost most of its impact because she couldn’t look at him anymore. “Well, our life together has been anything but boring.”

  “I could use a little boredom. No more phone calls telling me you’ve been shot at, for a start.”

  “Shot, not shot at.” She struggled to be offhand. “Want to see my bandage?”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up this morning and tell me Finn couldn’t go with you to work? Didn’t you think I’d care?”

  She turned to him. “Has that been bothering you? Of course that wasn’t the reason. You just looked so peaceful, and I guess I was fooled by yesterday.”

  Suddenly all the shattered hopes of the past twenty-four hours were real again. She didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore. “I believed... something good had come from that funeral. I felt safe.”

  “I was sleeping peacefully.” He didn’t add that his sleep had been undisturbed for the first time in a long time. He had confessed all his faults, all his sins, to Garnet, and she had taken them in stride. She didn’t expect perfection from, him. She seemed to prefer honesty.

  “And what good could you or Finn have done, anyway?” she asked. “I was paying attention to everything. The first time he passed me I even suspected the driver of that car might be up to no good. And I picked out a safe place on every block, so by the time that car turned the corner—” She swallowed. Her throat felt as if it had swollen shut. “By the time...”

  “Garnet.” He went over and knelt beside her, taking the forgotten apple from her hand.

  “I’m sorry.” Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Don’t you?” He pulled her against him. “You could have died this morning.”

  “I would have.” She had no desire to resist. She put her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his shirt. “Except that I saw the car coming out of the corner of my eye, so by the time he got a second round of shots off, I was lying at the bottom of some convenient cellar steps.”

  “Then he wasn’t just a lousy shot?”

  “He was trying hard, but the car was moving fast, and I was moving faster.”

  He stroked her hair. “You’re so brave.”

  “No, just scared to death. I kept thinking I’d never told you that I care about you. I expect to die young. I’ve never believed in leaving any loose ends in my life. But there they were, the loosest ends of all.”

  “I know you care.” He searched for more reassuring words. “You’ve been a good friend.”

  “I’m not a friend, Thomas.” She pulled away a little so she could see his face. “I have friends. I play pinochle with them or go to the movies on Friday nights.”

  “And I don’t play pinochle.”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  He felt trapped, but hadn’t he known that bringing her here would bolt the door behind him? And still he had brought her anyway. Not because she was a friend. Because he cared about her as he hadn’t cared about anyone since Patricia.

  Because he loved her.

  He shut his eyes so she wouldn’t see the truth. He felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He loved her. He, who was so unworthy.

  “Thomas.” She cradled his face in her hands. “Is it so bad that I care about you? I know we didn’t plan it that way. You married me out of some misguided notion of keeping me safe, because you hadn’t saved Patricia. Don’t you think I see that? And I married you because I’ve always been alone, and just that once, it was too tempting not to let someone else shoulder some of the burdens of my life. But we’ve grown beyond that.”

  He opened his eyes. “Garnet—”

  She couldn’t let him speak. She had to push on, because she might never have the courage for this conversation again. “We’ve grown beyond those reasons. You matter to me now. I think about you when I’m not with you. I try to imagine what it would be like to be really married to you, heart and soul. And when I’m with you, I find excuses for being near you, for touching you or talking to you.”

  “Even if we wanted to try a real marriage...”

  He let his words trail away. He couldn’t choke out the words that should follow.

  “You don’t try a real marriage,” she said softly. “You commit yourself for better or worse.”

  “I’m sure that’s not what you told Ema.”

  “You’re wrong. It is. And she did. Ema committed herself, but Ron didn’t. She has nothing to be ashamed of. You and I do. We’ve been playing at something sacred. You’ve said as much yourself. But I don’t want to play anymore, and I don’t want to try a real marriage. I want to have one.”

  “And I can’t give you that.”

  “Are you attracted to me? This isn’t because you don’t find me... appealing?”

  He stood. “I find you appealing, damn it. It doesn’t make any difference.”

  “You had a terrible thing happen to you, Thomas. It was bound to affect you. But you’re on a different road now. Your life is different. That could be different, too.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “Let’s not talk around it anymore. I’m impotent. We’re talking about a man who can’t make love to his wife, Garnet. Whether he’s playing at marriage or wallowing in it. I can’t make love to you, no matter how appealing you are. Something happens inside me. Some switch gets turned off, some defense goes up. I went for a thorough physical, and every cell of my body was poked and prodded. I’m in perfect health. I’ll live to be a hundred, but I’ll live those years celibate. It’s just too bad I’m not a priest or a monk, isn’t it?”

  “You’re afraid to try,” she said. “You’re afraid you’ll prove your theory. Well, listen, you’re talking to a nurse. I know a little about this. If you tell yourself enough times that you’re impotent, you will be. You—”

  “I don’t need any two-bit psychology. I know it’s in my head! It’s just too bad it’s not manifested there, isn’t it? Because then I could claim you as my wife. And I’d like nothing better. If we’re going to be honest, let’s really be honest. I want you. I go to bed at night hard from wanting you. And I know as well as I know anything else in the world that if I try to make love to you, I won’t be hard anymore!”

  He wanted her. She was filled with triumph. “So what if that happens nine times out of ten? And what if the tenth time you succeed? What then?”

  “What if it’s ninety-nine times out of one hundred? What then? Could you stand the frustration? Would you feel anything for me by then except pity?”

  “I don’t feel anything like pity for you! And I never would. You’re not a man to feel sorry for. You lost your wife in a terrible way, and you lost your faith. But you’ve climbed out of the hole you dug, and you’re fighting back. Now it’s time to fight back on this, too.”

  He shook his head as if one or both of them was crazy. “Can't you see? It shouldn’t be a fight.”

  “But we can’t have everything just the way we want it, can we? So we take what we’ve got, and we make it suit us.” She stood and walked slowly toward him. “I suit you. I won’t ever let you be pompous or self-important. I’ll keep the gloom away when you come home feeling tired and defeated. I’ll shake hands with your congregation on Sundays, but even better, I’ll fight for them if they need me. I won’t be Patricia. I can’t be. But I’ll be Garnet, and that’ll be good enough.”

  “This has nothing to do with you suiting me!”

  “But do I?” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You suit me. I love it when you touch me. And I love it when you bare your heart. I love watching you preach, because I know that under the sincerity, the passion and compassion, is the man who smiles at me over the dinner table, who sneaks my mystery novels and hums my favorite songs under his breath when he thinks
I’m not listening.”

  She leaned against him. “You suit me, Thomas.”

  He covered her hands, as if to tear them from around his neck. But he loved the feel of her body against his. Her breasts pressed softly against his chest; her hips melted into his. The fragrance of her hair wrapped around him.

  “And I suit you,” she said. She pushed her hips more firmly against his. “You can’t tell me I don’t.”

  He wanted to tell her, but once again, he couldn’t lie. She suited him too well. He hadn’t married her just because he had failed to keep Patricia safe. He had married her because she was all the things he was not, and he had feared those things might die. He hadn’t given his name to protect a woman. He had done it for this woman, a woman who had stirred him from the first moment he’d seen her.

  “I don’t care if we fail at making love,” she said. “I don’t care if we have to try a hundred times, or even a thousand. Will you give us a chance? Will you give this marriage a try?”

  He could feel himself teetering on a threshold. And the voices in his head that screamed for him to run away were not loud enough. She pressed against him and rose on tiptoe. He shut his eyes as she kissed him; then, powerless to do otherwise, he groaned—in defeat, in victory—and kissed her back.

  She was jubilant as his arms came around her. She had been so afraid he would reject her. She had never risked herself this way, because the stakes had never been this high. Now she let herself bask in the heat of his body, the strength of his arms. She had won this much.

  “Garnet.” There was nothing else for Thomas to say. His hands moved down her back. Even through a cotton T-shirt, her skin was warm and smooth. As he kissed her he traced the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rounded perfection of her bottom. Her breasts tantalized his chest; her arms, velvet soft and utterly beguiling, brushed his cheeks as they tightened around his neck.

  “I’ve never seen you without a shirt.” She murmured the words against his lips. “And I want to now.” She slid a hand between them and fingered his top button. “Will you look as sexy out of one as you do in it?”