by JoAnn Durgin
Slipping his hand around Amy’s waist as they walked out of The Driskill Grill, he could tell she liked it but wasn’t used to it. A middle-aged man in a tuxedo played a grand piano outside the restaurant and musicians tuned their instruments on the small stage behind him. As they passed by the piano, he pointed out the yellow rose etched in glass on the top. Offering a long-stemmed yellow rose to Amy, the pianist launched into a rousing rendition of “The Yellow Rose of Texas.” Landon dropped a bill in the man’s tip jar with one of his cards.
“The concierge told me Austin is the ‘Live Music Capital of the World,’” Amy said as he walked her to the coat check.
“Sure is. We have the most musicians and music venues per capita than any other city in the world. Okay, you have a choice,” he said. “We can stay here and enjoy some great, top-quality jazz or we can go to a winter wonderland outside the city limits. But whatever we do, we’ll end the evening with a slow dance here in the lobby before I send you upstairs for the night.”
“A winter wonderland sounds whimsical, and whimsy wins every time.” She was so open with her heart and emotions, and the affection in her voice—combined with the look in her eyes—simultaneously captivated and haunted him. Helping her into her jacket, Landon called himself a few choice names, hating himself for squandering her affections. Lord, forgive me.
The ride in the truck was quiet. He was quickly falling over the edge with Amy and had allowed her access to his heart. It was as unexpected as it was unprecedented. Was love driving his need to know her better? Having nothing to compare it to, he wasn’t sure. No other woman had ever jumpstarted his feelings of protectiveness and unmitigated desire like Amy did. They’d passed the ultimate test alone in that motel room. It must be love because he only wanted what was best for her. He could see himself raising children with her. She’d be a great mother someday.
Whoa. Slow down, buddy. Based on your dad’s track record, you’d probably be lousy at it. Above all, he didn’t want to push her by moving too fast, but how could he help it? In New York, he’d been brash and come on too strong. Now, he was doing the same thing and yet she was right beside him for the ride. The ride of a lifetime. In essence, this woman was the girl of his dreams. No other woman possessed such purity, trust and incomparable beauty. He wanted to know more about her—everything about her—but his own stupidity might have sidelined that idea. An overwhelming sadness overtook him.
He guided Matilda into the annual festival of lights on the outskirts of the city, full of multicolored, twinkling lights.
“What is this place?” She peered out the car windows like she’d done in his airplane, full of childlike enthusiasm. Joy lit her eyes as she turned back to him. “It’s fantastic.”
“It’s a garden the city transforms into a holiday paradise at Christmas. Come on. Let’s take a walk.” He assisted her as she slid down from the truck.
Closing the door, he reached for her hand again, pleased by how easily she accepted it—skin against skin without gloves like in New York. The stars in the clear night sky winked from their lofty perch, rivaling the glowing lights surrounding them. Hand-in-hand, they traversed the narrow pathways, a dizzying maze of shades of red, green, blue and white. When she leaned her head against his shoulder, he moved his arm around her.
“Will you sit with me for a few minutes?” he asked. She nodded but didn’t speak, following as he led her to a bench and they sat close together. Seeing her shiver even though she wore her new coat, he slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it around her. His gaze slid a luxurious path from her lovely high cheekbones to the lines of her jaw, sloping to her long, elegant neck before settling on the sweet, enticing hollow at the base of her throat. She’s so beautiful, Lord.
“You’re staring.”
“I can’t help it.” He knew she didn’t mind. “I’ve been here almost every Christmas of my life and it’s never looked as incredible as it does tonight.”
“There you go again, getting all mushy.” Her dark hair reflected the lights and he longed to touch it, tangle his fingers in it, draw her near and kiss her until tomorrow.
“There’s so much to say.” He tipped her chin.
“I know, but I think we already said it all at dinner.” She turned her head, avoiding his probing gaze, as though afraid to allow him entrance to her private thoughts. He didn’t deserve this woman. But selfishly, he wanted her. Lord, I need her. She’d be the solid anchor he’d needed but hadn’t known until now. His eyes widened. How had he not seen what he’d been missing for all these years? Because you hadn’t met Amy.
“Why are you fighting this?” His eyes never left her face.
“You’re a romantic fool.”
“Guilty. Who’d have thought it? Here’s a thought: let’s run away together and find adventure across the globe.”
“Where would we go?” She nestled into the curve of his arm and they laughed and talked until a comfortable silence settled between them. With the back of one hand, he stroked his fingers across her cheek.
“Cooper, we shouldn’t . . .” Even as she said the words, Amy lowered her lids. Those irresistible, soft lips parted, inviting him. When he touched his mouth to hers, she trembled, prompting him to increase his efforts. Loving a woman wasn’t easy under any circumstances, but as he covered her mouth with his—tasting, nibbling, savoring—he knew he couldn’t risk not loving her.
Time lost all meaning and he finally released her. “I have something for you, but it’s in my jacket.”
“Cooper, no. You’ve already given me too much.”
“Okay, then, if you won’t do it, I’ll get it.”
With a deep sigh, she shook her head and retrieved the small black box from an inside pocket. “What did you do now?” Darting him a wary glance, her fingers shook as she opened the top and spied the gorgeous sapphire locket nestled inside. Judging by the way she ran a reverent finger over it, Amy recognized this was no trinket.
“Turn it over.” He sat back, watching with bated breath.
“Amy, Hebrews 11:1. With love . . .” Her voice faded to a whisper. Holding it up to the moonlight by its silver chain, she squinted. “I can’t make it out if there’s a name.”
Inside, his stomach churned. This was supposed to be the moment she realized who he was. He quietly quoted, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” The verse struck him as highly ironic given their present circumstances.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous. You’ve given me so much, and I have nothing to give you.”
“You’ve given me more than you’ll ever know. This is my mom’s, and her mom gave it to her.”
Amy moved her hand over her heart. “That makes it even more valuable.”
“She wants you to have it. I told her about you and she gave it to me with her blessing.”
Her glance was incredulous. “Why would she give such a gorgeous heirloom to a total stranger? You even had it engraved. I appreciate the thought, but how can I accept this?” Putting the necklace back in the box, Amy tucked it back inside his jacket. “This is such a valuable part of your family heritage, your heart.”
Using the pads of his thumbs, he wiped away her tears. He loved that he evoked such strong emotion in her, but hated that he’d made her cry. “My sentiments exactly. I was hoping you’d want to wear it as a reminder of our time together. It would mean a lot to me if you’d accept it, Amy. May I?” She hesitated so long he was afraid she’d refuse more than the necklace. Finally, she nodded without speaking, but still appeared conflicted. Retrieving the box and opening it, he pulled out the necklace and fastened it around her neck.
She touched the necklace and glanced back up at him through watery eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said as more tears slipped onto her cheeks. “I don’t mean to cry. It’s so unlike me.”
“You say that every time you cry.” This woman had no idea of the emotions roiling inside him. He wasn’t proud of his behavior, and every mom
ent that passed and he wasn’t honest enough to tell her the truth, made his self-revulsion grow stronger. “Don’t be afraid to reveal what’s in your heart.”
“This must be embarrassing for you, sitting here with me crying on your shoulder.”
“You should know I don’t embarrass easily, and I could care less what anybody else thinks. God’s the only One who knows my heart.” He pulled back and took her hands in his. “Amy, I need to tell you something.”
Putting her fingers over his lips, she stilled them. “Shh,” she whispered, “no serious talk tonight.”
“This is important.”
“And so,” she said, scooting closer, “is this.” Leaning close, she planted a warm, sweet kiss on his cheek.
“You’ll want to know this. Trust me on that,” he said, his resolve melting when she moved those luscious lips to his jaw and headed for the corner of his mouth. Did she have any idea how seductive she was?
Taking her hands, he pulled back. “Please listen.”
Withdrawing her hands, she rose to her feet. “This night is too precious, and I’m getting tired. No serious discussions tonight.” Her eyes, bright in the moonlight, met his. “I think it’s time to return to the hotel now.”
“As you wish.” Standing beside her, he waited until she reached for his hand. “Promise we’ll talk before I take you to Houston tomorrow.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, and I promise.”
Lord, you know I tried. He couldn’t bring himself to spoil the evening, break the connection, especially when she specifically asked him not to bring up anything serious. He’d be up all night, praying for the Lord to give him the right words when he told her and revealed his true identity. Then he’d pray she wouldn’t kill him, a distinct possibility.
Dropping her off at the hotel an hour later, he brushed her forehead with a good night kiss. “I understand your TeamWork nickname is Daydreamer.”
Amy offered him a dazed smile through sleepy eyes. “Which one of my friends told you that?”
“I’ll never reveal my source,” he said. “but it suits you.”
“Thank you for the most romantic evening of my life.” Taking his hand, she pulled him further into the lobby. “You promised me one last dance.”
Without a word, he helped her out of her jacket and laid it on the closest chair. As if it was the most natural thing in the world—he the only man, she the only woman—she curled into his chest without hesitation. The contours of her body aligned perfectly with his. “We were made to dance like this.” Made for each other. With his lips on her temple, he felt her sigh. Closing his eyes, leaning his head against hers, he blocked out everything else. Nothing else mattered. Lord, please keep me strong. Help me to be worthy of her. I’ll tell her tomorrow morning before we leave Austin. If she hates me, I’ll fight for her. But I need Your help.
In the dimly lit, deserted lobby, Landon serenaded his beautiful Daydreamer as he danced with her around the Christmas tree, accompanied by the strains of live jazz wafting down from the mezzanine musicians above. She slid her hand up the front of his jacket. He wrapped her hand in his and drew her close, cherishing this woman and the night, committing it to memory. Come tomorrow morning, it might only be a sweet memory. Twirling her, Landon lowered his lips to hers, losing himself in the pure joy . . . of Amelia.
Chapter 34
Freshly-showered and back in her suite, Amy sat on the bed for a few minutes and recounted her life with Cooper since they’d left Baton Rouge. That exactly what it was: life. She’d never met anyone like him, but even the things he did that most annoyed her—the overly-flirtatious comments, the presumptuous confidence—also attracted her. The man was certainly a challenge. The attraction between them was strong and he was physical perfection, except for that crescent-shaped scar, but it only added to his appeal.
She bowed her head. Father, I’ve only known him a short time, but it’s been a very eventful few days. What is this feeling I have for him? Is it love or infatuation? I’m asking for Your help to discern the difference.
After the most perfect evening of her life capped by the romantic dance in the lobby, he’d asked if they could push back their trip to Houston until late morning to give them time to talk. Whatever he wanted to tell her, or discuss with her, must be very important. As he walked her to the elevator, he’d been quiet as if his mind was weighted with a heavy burden. Their future perhaps? Was it crazy to contemplate a long-distance relationship with Cooper? How could that possibly work? She glanced at the clock. At almost ten, it was too late to call Lexa. She’d call her in the morning to tell her of the change in plans.
A knock sounded on the outer door of the suite, sending her pulse into overdrive. Surely not. Retrieving her robe from the end of the bed, she pushed her arms in the sleeves and looped the belt at her waist. “Who’s there?” she asked, approaching the door.
“Room service, Miss Jacobsen.” The voice was young, female, Hispanic.
Removing the security chain, Amy greeted the hotel staffer holding a large slice of chocolate cake on a china plate, covered with plastic wrap. “For you, compliments of . . . um, Your Devoted Cowboy. I think that’s what I’m supposed to say.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, resisting the urge to laugh as she took the plate. “Hold on a second and let me get my purse.”
“No tip.” She shook her head. “Very handsome man, your cowboy. Nice.”
“Yes, he is.” Amy smiled. “Thank you again.”
Closing the door and reattaching the chain, she eyed the cake as she carried it into the bedroom. Eating something this sweet wouldn’t be advisable if she wanted to sleep. Cooper, you shouldn’t have. The man forgot nothing. She left the plate on the small writing desk in the outer part of the suite and returned to the bedroom.
Turning back to the bed, she frowned when she spied her purse sitting by her pillow. Time to do a little housecleaning and toss old receipts. Switching on the news, she half-listened as she scanned the receipts, crumpling the ones she didn’t need to save. A story about a homeless shelter in New York caught her attention and she grabbed the remote to increase the volume. “The project is funded by a group of Manhattan and Texas businessmen, part of a Christian organization called . . .”
Amy’s breathing grew shallow and she mouthed the word at the same time as the newswoman. “TeamWork.” Leaning forward on the bed, she watched a few seconds of video footage of the group in action at a soup kitchen in New York, riveted. She scanned the group of men and women, some she recognized from her inner-city projects. Landon. There he was, big as life, smiling and talking with a group of men. In another clip, she spied him helping to stock supplies for a food pantry and then in a final clip, she saw him in a lineup of men, serving food at a shelter.
Landon’s part of TeamWork? Since when? Why hadn’t he said anything? TeamWork was a huge organization, but with her projects in New York, wouldn’t they have crossed paths? Did he know she was a TeamWork volunteer, too? Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her trancelike state. She reached for it, not checking the display.
“Hey, Amy.”
“Hi, Mitch. No offense, but it’s late, and I’m really tired.” She yawned for emphasis. “What’s up? Make it quick.”
“Hear me out on this.”
The somber tone of his voice sent off alarms. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but go ahead. Speak.”
“Have you ever researched the two men in your life?”
She frowned. “No, I haven’t. Unlike you, it’s not my first instinct when I meet a handsome man. Men,” she added, “which sounds weird enough. I take it you have a report. You’re making me nervous.”
“Excuse me for stating the obvious, but for an intelligent writer trained in research and investigative work, you haven’t done your homework.”
“Spill it, Mitch the Itch.” That childhood nickname was well-deserved tonight. Staring at a chipped nail, she made a mental note to touch it up before leav
ing the hotel in the morning.
“Okay, there’s all sorts of information out there about a Landon C. Warnick, but I can’t find a single thing on any Cooper Warren of Austin, Texas or anywhere else for that matter. Can’t find any record of him in the alumni records of Texas A&M either, although again, there’s tons of stuff on Landon Warnick.”
“Is that really so unusual? After all, Landon keeps a much higher profile than Cooper. Some people like to keep their life private. Is that so hard to believe?”
“No, but even so, you can usually find something to indicate the person actually exists. But, like I said, there’s absolutely nothing. All I’m saying is, I find it very curious.”
Her agitation transitioned into bewilderment. “Surely you’re not suggesting I either made up the man or that he doesn’t exist. If that’s the case, I can assure you he’s a living, breathing, fine specimen of manhood.”
“Well, thanks for that. Neither am I suggesting the man could have taken great pains to remove all traces of his name from the Internet. You can do that, but it takes a whole lot of time and trouble. You need a good motivation.” Her brother’s voice dripped with irony.
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting,” Amy said. “I trust Cooper, and I won’t listen to any of this since it serves no worthwhile purpose. So, please take your insinuations and doubts and keep them to yourself.”
“You can’t blame me for looking out for my little sister’s heart. I want to make sure the man who’s stolen your heart hasn’t also stolen something else, or done something he doesn’t want anyone to know about. Or simply—”
“What makes you think he’s stolen my heart?”
Mitch’s sigh was audible. “This is me, Maddy.”
Her eyes opened wider at the nickname. “Good night, Mitch.”
