Somewhere (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 1)

by Susan Fanetti

  Again, she could only nod.

  “The first one was my great-great grandmother, Annabelle Cahill. She and my great-great grandfather, Matthew, settled this claim. They weren’t nobody back East, but here, they carved a ranch out of the mountains and made the Cahill name mean something. Annabelle, she was a real pioneer woman, the kind who birthed a baby in the morning, swaddled him up at her breast and was back at work by midday. She was tough as nails. I didn’t know her, of course, but I know all the stories. Once, while Matthew was off on a roundup, she shot and killed three bandits who thought she’d be easy prey without her man around. Wasn’t nothin’ could scare her.”

  As he spoke, Morgan’s voice took on a broad, cowboy cadence it didn’t normally have, like he was channeling the spirit of those pioneers.

  “Matthew was the first out here to make friends with the Indians—the Shoshone—instead of just shootin’ em and makin’ war over every scrap a’ land. It wasn’t easy, and when the gov’ment came through, the tribe got the shaft anyway, but Matthew knew way back then that he had to earn his claim from the people here before him, that the land wasn’t just sittin’ out here waitin’ for him to take it.”

  He looked around the room. “He built this house when he was an old man and died in it without havin’ a chance to live in it. But this was his pride—startin’ with a shack on a scuff of earth and endin’ here. Annabelle died here, too, but not before she got to see my daddy born here. Her great-grandson. My grandma, Dorothea, was wearin’ this ring by then. She’s the one made this house so grand. She brought culture to Jasper Ridge. Used to have opera singers and everythin’. They’d stay here as her guests, and she’d invite the town to the house for a performance.

  “I didn’t marry for a damn long time. I was the only boy, and I had my daddy worried that I’d let the Cahill name die off. But I never could find the right woman. I was forty-two before I knew I did, and my bride was only nineteen years old. Serena. Her daddy was Shoshone, and she was brought up on the reservation. Hardly ever came off it until she was grown and decided she wanted to see what was on the other side. Just so happened I was on the other side, like I was waitin’ for her. All those years of not finding the one, and the minute I saw her, I knew. She’s dead almost eleven years, but not a day passes I don’t wake up and hope these years’ve all been a dream, and she’s sleepin’ right at my side. She wasn’t hard like Annabelle, and she wasn’t cultured like Dorothea. But she was just as strong in her way. She was just…she was quiet.” He chuckled softly. “Indians have a way of knowing what a child should be named, and they named her right. She was serene. She always saw the good, and no matter how bad things got, she always knew good was comin’. Even when she was dyin’, she could see past it and just know good was comin’.”

  Morgan’s voice faltered, and he stopped and cleared his throat. Then he was quiet, holding Gabe’s hands, staring down at the family ring. Gabe had given up the fight long ago and was letting tears do what they would. She’d see if Emma could do anything to repair the damage.

  A sudden shake of his shoulders and a sharp sigh, and Morgan came back to the present. With the easy grace of a man much younger than his more than eighty years, he stood and brought her up with him, still holding her hands. “Maybe Heath’s told you all this, but I wanted to make sure you knew that this ring holds the spirits of a long line of strong women. Strong just like you. You’ve had a lot to stand up to in your young life, and here you are, standing up. You had to stand up on your own, and you did it. Now you’re not on your own anymore. Now you’ve got us at your side, and you’ve got all those strong women at your back. Come what may, you are not alone.”

  *****

  “That better?” Heath squeezed her shoulders and came around to sit beside her again. Gabe picked up the plackets of his denim jacket and took a deep whiff of his scent.

  Sunset had brought cool to the night, and as they’d sat at their table on the patio, a breeze had fluttered the lacy little cap sleeves of her dress, and she’d shivered. Immediately, Heath had sent Kendall into the house for his jacket. Two minutes after she’d shivered, she was swaddled in his warmth. It was huge on her, of course, but she didn’t care.

  “It’s perfect. Thank you. Probably isn’t the look for a wedding dress, but oh well.”

  He began to fold up a sleeve of the jacket, exposing her hand and wrist. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen. Wearing my jacket only makes you even sexier.”

  He was pretty damn sexy himself. For the ceremony, he’d worn a dark grey suit that fit him perfectly, with a crisp white shirt and a dark red silk tie. He hadn’t worn his hat, but he’d worn a pair of black boots she’d never seen before—cowboy style but plain.

  She’d never seen him dressed up before, and she’d been a little dazzled. He’d seemed dazzled, too, as she’d come to him on his father’s arm.

  The ceremony itself had been simple and short. Logan and Emma had stood up with them, and Anya, in a miniature version of her mother’s dark red lace dress, had skipped out ahead of Gabe and Morgan. They’d exchanged their vows and rings—a delicately slim gold band for her and a heavy, thick one for him—and kissed, and they’d been married.

  Immediately thereafter, they’d gone to the light-strewn patio for cocktails, and then dinner, which had been made right here in the big house kitchen by the Cahill women. Then there’d been cake and a few toasts.

  Heath and Logan had both shed their jackets and ties before they’d finished their first drink. For the rest of the evening, Heath had been in his white shirt, the top two buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up. He looked about as sexy as it was humanly possible to be.

  When he’d folded up both sleeves of his jacket for her, Gabe returned to her plate and scraped the last dregs of icing from her second slice of wedding cake onto her fork. Heath grinned at her as she licked the fork clean.

  Her dress had gotten tight across the bust in just the four days between the fitting and the wedding. She had no idea how much weight she’d already gained, because she’d only been to the doctor once so far, and they didn’t have a scale at home.

  She’d thought about stepping onto the livestock scale, but the thought of weighing herself like a cow was just a bit too close to how she was feeling.

  She put her hand to her mouth with an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry. I just can’t stop eating. I’m going to gain a thousand pounds before this baby comes.”

  “And I’ll love every one of them.” He leaned in and kissed her, licking the frosting from the corner of her mouth.

  “Hey, you two. The band wants to start up.” Emma had inserted her head between them.

  Heath turned to Gabe. “What do you think? I’m not much of a dancer.”

  “Me either. Not really. But I don’t mind standing by the band and holding you while people watch.”

  His green eyes alight with love, he smiled. Turning to his sister, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down to whisper in her ear.

  Emma smiled and kissed his cheek, and Gabe’s, then trotted off toward the band.

  Gabe watched her talk with one of the band members, maybe the lead singer. “What was that about?”

  Heath shrugged. “You want to finish my cake before they start?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” She pushed his plate away, but not before she swiped at the frosting with her finger and sucked it into her mouth.

  She made a cursory scan of the patio and their guests, still eating and chatting and milling about under the bright canopy of lights and flowers. They’d made a really pretty do-it-yourself wedding in just a few weeks and on a fairly small budget. Everybody seemed to be having a good time, and there had been no strangeness among their friends. It was just a good day—those had been few and far between of late.

  Her eyes landed on Morgan and Logan, standing together near the wall of the house. They were talking with Honor Babinot.

  Gabe would not have chosen to invite the lawyer to the wedding, b
ut Emma had insisted that Honor spent so much time at the ranch and was working so hard on Heath’s case that it would have been rude not to invite her. She’d come alone and had seemed to be observing everyone around her very closely. Gabe had the sense that she was working.

  “What’s going on over there?” The three looked serious, talking off on the side like that.

  Heath followed her attention. “Don’t care. Not today.”

  “But it looks important. Maybe we should—”

  Taking hold of her chin, he cut her off and pulled her around to face him. “Not today, little one. Today is only for us. I don’t want to think about anything else.”

  He was right, and she sighed and nodded in concession. “Shouldn’t have invited the lawyer, then.”

  “You know Em,” he laughed. “We didn’t have a choice. Besides, I like her.”

  “If I could get all your eyes and ears over here,” the front man of the band said into a microphone. “The bride and groom are ready to get the dancin’ started.”

  The small crowd of their guests applauded, and there were a few whistles, too.

  “The groom made a special request for a song, and it’s not our usual kinda music, so this first dance is just gonna be me and my guitar. If the happy couple’ll come up here for the honors…”

  Heath stood and held out his hand, and Gabe, still wearing his big denim jacket, let him pull her chair out for her and lead her to the level grassy area that was their dance floor. As they stood before the band, the lead singer, who had slung an acoustic guitar over his shoulders, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Mr. and Mrs. Heath Cahill.”

  As their guests applauded again, Heath swung Gabe around and brought her into the circle of his arms. At their side, the singer began to strum a few simple bars. Gabe didn’t recognize it at first, but the first words he sang were the title of a song she loved, and she stared up at her husband, shocked.

  “This is Beck.”

  She loved Beck. Heath, on the other hand, liked the country music that everybody else in Jasper Ridge—maybe all of Idaho—seemed to like.

  The song was ‘Waking Light.’ The singer was performing it like a country piece, but it was still familiar. There had been whole nights alone in Santa Fe that she’d spent listening to that one song on repeat. Sometimes it had felt like the song itself was keeping her going.

  But she’d never told Heath that.

  He nodded. “It was top of your most-played list on your phone. When I heard the lyrics…I think I understand why. And I knew it was right for now.”

  He’d figured it out on his own.

  “I love you, Heath. I love you so much.” She rose onto her tiptoes so she could wrap her arms around his neck.

  “I love you, too, Gabriela Cahill. You woke me up. You brought light back to me.”

  He lifted her off the ground so that she could hold him even more tightly, and they stood in front of their family and friends and swayed to beautiful music.

  *****

  Heath stumbled into their bedroom and pushed Gabe against the wall, leaning his full body into her. His mouth moved greedily over her cheek, her throat, down the V of her neckline as his hands clutched at the lace of her dress.

  God, he was so hard, his body so big and hot and overwhelming, and Gabe’s head filled with glitter and swirls. She dragged his shirt and t-shirt from his waistband, trying to get to his skin.

  “I don’t want to mess up your dress,” he rasped, tracing his tongue over her cleavage. He had most of her skirt hiked up, and she could feel him searching through the lace for her underwear.

  “I don’t care about the dress. I’m done with the dress. It did its job.” She was finally under his shirts, and she yanked at them, trying to pull them up over his shoulders, not bothering to work out buttons.

  “No, no.” His words came with the tempo of his gasping breath. “It’s too pretty. Our little girl might wear it someday.”

  He’d found her underwear and moved it aside, and his fingers—so rough and yet so gentle—slid through her folds. Her whimper answered his groan, and she gave up on his shirts and went for his belt and pants instead. She needed him inside her.

  “What if it’s a boy?” She got his belt open and went for his fly.

  He flicked a finger over her clit. It always felt a bit swollen and extra sensitive now, and her knees buckled, but Heath held her. “Then maybe the next one’ll be a girl.”

  Gabe froze, her desire locking up at once. His trial started in nine days. Honor expected it to last no more than a month, and the alternative theory she was trying to put together still had major holes. Like motive. Heath’s chances hadn’t improved. There wouldn’t be a next baby.

  Heath felt the change in her and stopped, too, taking his hand away. He brushed his lips over hers.

  “Don’t, Gabe. We got married today. Today, we have everything. Believe that with me.”

  She drew a fingertip down the line left by one of his dimples. “I’m trying not to be scared, but it’s there all the time. I can’t help it. I don’t want to be without you.”

  He brushed a wayward lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair had been done up for the wedding, but she hadn’t let Emma stick the billion pins in it that she’d wanted to, and now it was mostly a loose clump of curls on the back of her head. The pretty little headband wrapped with wildflowers had been left behind on the patio.

  “I’m scared all the time, too. That’s why I need to have everything while we can. Even if we can only have it a little while.”

  Her fear didn’t matter. When his trial was over, he would either be found not guilty and come home, or he would be found guilty. If that happened, she would return to the ranch, to their family and their home, and she would have their baby and make some kind of life that had love and comfort at the ready. He would go to prison and have loneliness and drudgery at best.

  His fears and his needs were all that mattered. She could be sad and scared later.

  She put a smile on her face and finished unzipping his pants. “Okay. But I don’t care about the dress. I just want to fuck my husband’s brains out.”

  His grin was bright with love and relief, and he picked her up and hooked her legs around his hips as she took hold of his cock.

  “God.” The word sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. “God, I love the feel of your hands on me.”

  He bent forward and kissed her chest, then sucked her crucifix into his mouth until the chain was taut around her neck. It was an oddly obscene thing to do, and it made the nerves between her legs jangle so hard she shivered.

  Holding his cock in her hands, she shifted and pushed his tip against her core. He slid in, changing the way he held her, one arm at a time, until her legs were over his elbows and she was spread wide beneath her lace wedding dress. His hands dug into her ass and held her tightly, and he buried himself deep, until her hands were crushed between them.

  She started to release him, but he shook his head and dropped her pendant from his mouth. “No, keep your hands on me. Hold me.”

  The noise he made was pure sex as she kept one hand wrapped around him and put the other on herself.

  She felt him moving inside her, felt her own hands and his cock both at the same time, and she cried out as the new twist of sensation pulsed through her. She closed her eyes and felt him, all of him, felt them, at the point of their connection.

  But that wasn’t their real connection. Their bodies—that was beautiful and hot and intense, but it wasn’t where their love was.

  That was why everything would be okay. That was why he wouldn’t leave her. Why they couldn’t be separated, no matter what.

  It was a powerful sensation, to understand that she would still have him, even if they couldn’t be together in flesh, and Gabe was coming before she knew it, swept up in a torrent.

  “Oh fuck, Heath! I need—I need—” she couldn’t get the words out.

 
“Look at me, look at me!” he demanded. “I want you to see me!” She opened her eyes and met his blazing at her, his face damp and flushed with exertion. He sped up his frenetic thrusts, pounding into her, crashing her to the wall again and again, until she screamed, and he slammed his mouth over hers, turning that outburst into a wild, biting kiss.

  When he came, he shouted straight into her mouth and then reeled backward. He lost his balance and fell, and she landed on him. She heard fabric rip as they went down. Their bodies separated as he came out of her, but their connection could not be lost.

  “Are you okay?” he asked right away.

  “Yeah, yeah. Tore the dress, but I’m okay. You?”

  “Yeah. Damn. That was…fuck.”

  “It really is gonna be okay, isn’t it? No matter what. We have each other.”

  He held her tightly and kissed her head. “Yeah. Your love’s the only thing I can’t live without.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Every courtroom Gabe had ever been in was exactly the same. Every one looked different—this one had windows high in the ceiling and was full of dark wood—but they were all exactly alike. They even smelled the same—like anguish and mildew, as if tears had seeped into the walls and made them rot.

  She’d spent so many days sitting in courtrooms, so many days listening to her life and family deconstructed, seeing the horrors of its destruction thrown up on screens for the judgment of strangers.

  The first day of Heath’s trial, Gabe almost hadn’t been able to walk through the door. Heath had taken her hand and stood with her at in the doorway as she’d shaken from head to toe and tried not to cry—and failed.

  “It’s gonna be okay, little one,” he’d said. Giving her comfort, when it was he who would sit at the table up front, his life that hung in the balance.

  In his hand around hers, she’d found the strength to cross that terrible threshold, and now she sat just behind him, every day, all day, with his father, brother, and sister, and listened to her life and family deconstructed, saw the horrors of its looming destruction thrown up on a screen for the judgment of strangers.