A Sweet Life-kindle

by Andre, Bella

  But she knew, deep in her heart, that it could never be.

  "Bye, Dad," Emily was saying. "Yeah, I know I need to go to bed. See you in the morning. I love you too." She turned and held the phone out to Andie. "He wants to talk to you."

  Andie blinked away the images and took the phone, expecting Emily to go back to bed. Instead, the girl perched on a chair, her knees drawn up.

  "Hi," she said softly into the phone. "You arrested Tom?"

  "Yeah." She could hear the barely suppressed frustration in his voice. "For all the good it did us. He looked shocked as hell when we knocked on the door. Denies it all, of course. And now he's shut up tighter than a blasted drum."

  "Oh no, Will."

  "He's got some hotshot lawyer flying in tonight from Cheyenne and refuses to answer any more questions until the guy gets here."

  "Do you have to stay at the jail all night?"

  He paused. "Hank says he'll take a guard shift."

  The air in the kitchen seemed to drop twenty degrees, and Andie's hand felt clammy on the phone. She forced her breathing to steady. Hank. The real sheriff who had hired Will to temporarily take his place.

  "Hank's back?" she asked, staring blindly at the wall, at the checks that were merging into one big blur.

  "Yeah. He heard what was going on and came down to see if he could help."

  Already she could sense it, the distance he was putting between them, the clouds waiting just on the horizon to roll into her life and rip it apart. She had known all along he would leave. Why did it come as such a shock when the reality hit her?

  "I'll probably be a few more hours," he added, "so why don't you just stay the night there?"

  "No," she said immediately, driven by the need to return to her comfort zone. "I'd rather be home. I'll borrow a truck from here so I can sleep in my own bed. I have to check on the animals, anyway."

  "Wait for me, then, and I'll pick you up after I'm done. I don't want you at the Limber Pine by yourself tonight."

  She debated arguing with him, but she simply didn't have the energy. And deep in her heart, she admitted she wanted this night with him. Heaven only knew how many more she'd have, and she wanted to cling to him—to his strength and heat—as long as possible. Like the gray squirrels who lived in the big pine trees near her window, she wanted to store up these memories while she could. They would have to last her through all the bitter winters of the rest of her life.

  She took a shaky breath. "All right. I'll wait for you. And, Will... I'm glad you're safe."

  He paused, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. "I'm just glad it's over."

  It's over. She closed her eyes. All of it. Soon he would be gone, and there was not one single thing she could do about it. She slowly hung up the phone and turned to look out the window over the sink. Her chest felt heavy and achy, her eyes scratchy, as if she had a cold.

  It's over.

  "You really care about my dad, don't you?"

  In the midst of her upheaval, she had forgotten Emily. She wobbled for a moment, then forced a smile.

  "Yeah, I do."

  Emily looked down at the table. "You know, that night when I saw you guys kissing, it hurt. Right here." She rubbed the center of her chest. "I thought he was gonna forget my mom, just like I've started to forget her."

  "Oh, Emily," she whispered.

  "It's okay," the girl assured her solemnly. "I have some pictures of her, so I know I won't ever forget her. Not all the way. And you know what?" She flashed a grin. "I like my dad a lot better now, when he laughs again."

  "He's a good man. And he loves you very much. Nothing will ever change that, sweetheart."

  "I know." The girl looked down at the plate and fiddled with a cookie. "I'm—I'm sorry I was such a jerk that day."

  She loved the girl as much as she loved her father, Andie suddenly realized. She pulled her into a quick hug. "Don't worry about it. Now you'd better scoot off to bed. It's hard work chasing after thirty preschoolers."

  "Hard work?" Emily grinned again. "In that case maybe I better just stay here."

  Andie smiled back. "You're not getting out of it that easily. I'll pick you up at eight."

  She watched Emily walk down the hall, then tried to return to the magazine, knowing it was useless. All she could think about was Will and Emily and how empty her life would be when the two of them left.

  The clock was just striking one when Andie heard an engine outside. She slid her chair back and hurried to the window as Will stepped out of one of the sheriffs department vehicles. A big vapor light illuminated the driveway, and she could see rain clinging to his brown hair. Even from this distance, he looked tired, with shadows under his eyes and the lines around his mouth scored deeper. He lifted his face to the rain and rotated his neck, then reached a hand to his shoulder and rubbed it through his jacket.

  She hadn't even thought of his injuries in weeks, she realized. His shoulder must still be bothering him, but he didn't complain or even give any outward indication it so much as twinged.

  Stubborn man. Stubborn, bullheaded, wonderful man. She blew out an exasperated breath that ended in a near sob as he headed up the walk. How would she ever get used to being without him?

  "Hi," she said quietly, when he walked into the kitchen. She leaned against the sink and looked just past his shoulder, afraid he would read her thoughts in her eyes. The ten feet between them seemed huge, wider than the whole Whiskey Creek valley.

  "Hi," he said. "I was hoping you'd have had the good sense to bed down here, instead of waiting up for me."

  "Where'd you ever get the crazy idea I had good sense about anything?"

  He walked a few steps closer. "You're right. What was I thinking?" A grin edged up the corners of his mouth.

  She couldn't help the little laugh that sneaked out, but she quickly sobered. "I'm glad you're safe, Will," she said again. "I was so worried about you."

  Their gazes locked and held, then he crossed the space between them and reached for her. She went willingly, gratefully, wrapping her arms around his waist, relishing the warmth of his body inside his jacket. He smelled like rain and cedar and pine, and she wanted to stay right there forever.

  "Now you know how I've felt all damn week," he said gruffly. "Afraid to let you out of my sight, knowing Jessop was out there somewhere and there was not one single thing I could do about it."

  "You did plenty, Will. You caught him, didn't you?"

  "Yeah, we did." Male satisfaction resonated in his voice, and Andie smiled. He was still leaving and her heart was still breaking apart inside her. But for now they had this—their shared heat, their mingled heartbeats. It would have to be enough.

  "Andie?" he whispered.

  "Yes, Will?"

  "It's late. Let's go home."

  She closed her eyes, listening to his breathing, strong and steady, against her cheek.

  Let's go home.

  He could have offered her a trip to the moon, and it wouldn't have meant as much.

  Chapter 12

  Like a phantom in the night, the dream crept over Will. Only when he was tangled in its sharp talons did he realize how long it had been since he'd been haunted by it.

  He was no longer in Andie's big cozy bed, with her quilts tucked around him and her warm body in his arms. Instead, he was mowing his lawn in Phoenix, enjoying the ritual despite one-hundred-degree-plus heat that seared through his clothing, just as he'd been that Saturday afternoon when his life shattered.

  The smell of exhaust mingling with the sweet, clean tang of fresh-cut grass reached him. He could feel the mower throbbing beneath his hands, hear its buzz, too loud because he needed to adjust the carburetor and he hadn't had much free time lately.

  He'd been wrapped up in the biggest case he'd tackled yet, an intricate scheme of money laundering, racketeering, and drug-running over the border. He was close. He could feel it, taste it. Richie Zamora would be one hell of a collar. Maybe even get him a promotion. They could
use the extra money with the baby on the way.

  A flash of color on the porch caught his attention, and he turned to see Sarah smile and wave, holding a tray with a cold drink on it. She looked tired, he thought. The heat had been hard on her the past few weeks. She should have been lying down, especially since Emily was at a friend's birthday party for a few hours.

  He waved back and turned off the mower, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt. As he walked toward the porch, the sunlight glinted off her blond hair and the bright pink of her maternity shorts set, and he had the random thought that it was a classic suburban scene. Ozzie and Harriet. Leave It to Beaver.

  Then suddenly it crumbled away, destroyed by raw violence.

  Everything happened so quickly, as if somebody had punched the Fast-Forward button on a VCR. He felt the first bullet whiz past inches from him a millisecond before he heard its report, followed quickly by several more. Six. Seven. He didn't know. Years of instincts kicked in and he dived for the ground, reaching stupidly for his gun, as if he'd be wearing his shoulder holster with his cutoffs, and coming up with only empty air.

  "Get down!" he yelled, and saw with relief that Sarah had ducked back into the doorway. In a split second, he judged the distance between him and the safety of the door and knew he wouldn't make it. His adrenaline pumping, he took the next-best option—the huge landscaping rock she'd insisted on, the one it had taken four of his buddies on the force to move into the yard. He inched toward it as the bullets continued to spit from the road.

  Only then, when he was safely sheltered, did he think to look to the source of the bullets. Fury streaked through him. The glossy black Cadillac with its tinted windows and sleek chrome undoubtedly belonged to Zamora. With the windows down he had a clear view of the four bastards inside. He recognized every damn one of them, they hadn't even bothered to shield their identities.

  He should have known Zamora would pull something like this. He should have known.

  The scream of approaching squad cars reached them, and the men in the car fired off one last volley of shots before squealing off down the street. It didn't matter that they'd gone. He knew who they were and why they had come for him. And where to find them.

  He scrambled to his feet as soon as they drove away. "They're gone, Sarah. You can come out," he yelled, racing toward the porch.

  She didn't answer, but he didn't realize why until he reached the top stair and found her crumpled there on her side, an angry crimson stain soaking through the pink of her shirt. As it did every time he had the dream, his hoarse, anguished cry echoed in his ears, over and over. He rushed to her, never seeming to move fast enough, as if his feet were wedged in the cement of the steps.

  He'd had the dream before. A thousand times. Always the same, the wild, choking panic, the terrible, consuming guilt. Knowing what he had to do, what he'd done a thousand times before. Will reached down to turn her, to gauge the extent of her injuries.

  Only this time, when he turned her over, he jerked back, his breathing harsh and gasping.

  Instead of Sarah with her gentle blond beauty, the woman lying motionless in front of him was Andie, with her little smile and her freckles and her dark, spiky lashes fanning cheeks as pale as the moon. It was her blood seeping onto the cream tile of his entryway, not Sarah's.

  Will clawed his way out of the dream. He came back to reality in a rush of panic, to Andie's flowery bedroom, to her white cotton sheets that smelled of springtime. He could hear his blood pulsing in his ears and the soft sound of her breathing as he battled to return to consciousness.

  He turned to reassure himself she was still lying there beside him, and he watched one corner of her mouth tilt up as she smiled in her sleep. As the thorny tendrils of the nightmare loosened their grip on him, as he watched her steady breathing, an even more terrifying thought swept through him.

  He loved her.

  The truth of it burned itself into his cells, seared into every inch of him. He loved her sweet generosity. Loved her caring, nurturing spirit. Loved her. She had thawed his heart and his soul, had replaced the grief with light and love, had taught him to laugh again.

  He felt as if his whole life had been shaken, as if the earth had spun too far, too fast, had slid off its axis, and now everything was jumbled up. How could he have let it happen? Let a green-eyed sprite seep inside him, bringing her sunshine and her gentleness and her warmth.

  With a sudden, savage longing, he wanted his grim life back. It was harsh and bleak, but it was safe, dammit. He didn't want this again, this vulnerability, this wild riot of feelings. He couldn't survive it.

  He turned his head to her again and studied her features. The light outside her window had taken on the soft pearly hue of impending dawn, and she looked angelic lying there against the white of her sheets. So damn beautiful, with her long lashes and her full, generous mouth and that little mark just in the corner of her lips. He reached out to touch her hair, but curled his hand into a fist and let it fall to the pillow. He knew if he touched her, he would clutch her close and never let her go.

  ***

  Andie awoke with a sour taste of foreboding in her mouth. Before she even opened her eyes, she knew he wasn't sleeping beside her. Funny how she'd gotten so attuned to him being there in the last week how the rhythm of his breathing reached her, comforted her, even when she slept. And how his absence from her bed left such a vast, cold expanse.

  She reached a hand out to the empty place beside her, then rolled onto her back. He was gone. Oh, probably not permanently yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  The air in the room was chilled, she realized. Before too much longer, she was going to have to take a match to the pilot light in the furnace. But she knew no hot blast of forced air would melt the icy fear squeezing her heart.

  She heard the door open and turned her head to find Will, dressed in a clean uniform, gazing at her through his shuttered gray wolf eyes. Something had changed. She knew it immediately, could see it in his face, feel it in the charged energy buzzing around the room. She didn't know what, exactly, but she could sense it.

  Distance, she thought. He had put distance between them again. And even through the murky morning light, she felt his intense gaze, studying her features as if he were trying to memorize them.

  "Good morning," she whispered, her voice hoarse with sleep and a weary resignation.

  "I have to go."

  By sheer force of willpower she stopped herself from flinching, from curling into herself. "I see."

  "We're questioning Jessop again this morning. I should have been at the jail an hour ago."

  She slid her feet out of bed and reached for her robe, struggling for some degree of normalcy. "I should be leaving soon too. Did I tell you Emily's coming to school with me this morning? I think she'll enjoy it. We're having Leaf Day today and going on a treasure hunt to see how many different kinds of leaves we can find." She was babbling and she knew he knew it.

  "We need to talk, Andie."

  Her gaze flew to his face. His features could have been carved from granite, they showed such little emotion.

  "Now?"

  The granite mask cracked a bit as a muscle flexed in his jaw. "No. Not now. But soon."

  Soon. How she'd come to hate that word. Soon they would talk. Soon he would leave. Soon she would be alone again.

  ***

  Emily was waiting for her when Andie reached the Bar W. She hadn't been sure whether to expect her or not, the events of the night before seemed so surreal now. Still, when she pulled into the long gravel driveway leading up to the ranch house, Emily was sitting on the front porch step in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  As soon as Andie braked, Emily opened the door and climbed in, a wide grin on her face. "Cool. I finally get to ride in your truck."

  Andie locked away the grim thoughts that had haunted her since Will had left her bedroom an hour earlier. "At last!" She summoned a smile.
"Someone who appreciates a fine vehicle."

  "I don't know about a fine vehicle. But I do like your truck!"

  Emily spent the entire drive into Whiskey Creek admiring the floor gear shift, the broken speedometer with its big numbers, the huge padded seat that put them several feet off the ground.

  When they arrived at Growing Minds, she hopped out with an eagerness that surprised Andie. She had to hurry after her, and Emily practically ran inside as soon as she'd unlocked the door.

  Emily waited in the playroom while Andie hung up her jacket in her office. When Andie walked back out, she found Emily in the playhouse window, manipulating the mouse puppet on her hand.

  "You're good at that," Andie told her.

  Emily peeked her head up in the window, flushed, and pulled the puppet off her hand. "I was just playing around."

  "If you want to, we could do a puppet show for the kids."

  She shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."

  "Let's wait until later, though, all right? The first thing I do in the morning is put out an activity for the children so they have something fun to occupy their interest as soon as they arrive. You probably don't remember being such a little kid, but some of them have a hard time watching mom and dad leave. Today I thought we'd paint first thing."

  "What can I do to help?"

  She gave the girl an approving smile. This Emily was a far cry from the sullen, uncommunicative girl she'd met a few months earlier. "I've got roll ends of newspaper print back in my office. They're pretty big, though. Do you think you can carry one?"

  "Sure," she boasted. "I even helped Dad and Uncle Jace haul hay a few weeks ago."

  "A measly little roll of paper is nothing to a girl who can lift a hay bale then."

  Emily smiled back and walked into the office just as Andie heard the door to the center open. She turned, expecting one of her three assistants, but her welcoming smile faltered when she found a disheveled Marty Jessop looming in the doorway. He was wearing a long black oiled slicker, and she could hardly see his face in the shadow of his cowboy hat.