Zach blinked. It was a matter of seconds. Faith, she says. Oh, hell.
He reached for his father’s arm, catching it as his grip fell away. Marston was sobbing as Zach planted his feet, held fast, grabbed the other flailing arm and pulled.
The roar was upon them—on top of them—as Marston came up over the railing and tumbled to the floor. “Morality!” Zach screamed as both the blue and the green glass shattered.
He saw her silhouetted against the sky, and he reached for her, but his father grabbed his knees and yanked him to the floor. “Stay down!” Marston cried as glass flew toward them.
The storm’s roar was deafening, and Zach couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice as he called her name over and over. Something hit his head, scrambling his thoughts. The stairwell was inches away and, somehow, Marston pulled them both down inside it, just as the roof disappeared. Zach felt himself lifted off the ground, but his father wouldn’t let loose of his knees, keeping him anchored. “Angel!” He couldn’t feel the blood running down his face, so numb was he in both body and mind.
It was over in seconds. Seconds that took years to tick away. Zach lifted his head.
“Oh, God.” It was a cry from the soul.
All but the center portion of Season’s House lay in rubble. The cupola was demolished. Gone.
And so was Morality.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
REALITY AND ILLUSION MERGE as the wind whirls her round, and around, and around. She is flying, but unafraid. A cushion of light pillows her, an essence of love holds her cradled in its arms, protected from the violence swirling around her.
The ground is far below and earthly fears arise within her. She turns her head. Sees the face. She feels a gentle touch on her lips, and hears the words in her heart, “Sleep, Morality.”
Morality awoke to a brilliant light and a joyous symphony of birdsong. She sat up, brushed the tangled hair away from her face, and stared around her.
Flowers. Thousands of them in a rainbow of hues, a multiplicity of shapes and textures. The beauty of the sight made her smile.
She sat in the middle of a rectangular patch of blue morning glories, bordered on her right by a strip of yellow jasmine, and on the left by a sweep of snowy bridal wreath. Beyond those grew roses and lilies. Warmed by sunshine and surrounded by a mysterious, insulating haze, the flowers perfumed the air and brought Paradise to mind. She turned her head from side to side. “Paradise. Is that it?” she marveled aloud. “Is this Heaven?”
She felt a pang in her heart. She hadn’t been ready to leave Zach.
“Do not worry, my dear, for it is not yet your time.”
The melodious voice was like fresh air in Morality’s soul. She’d never heard music so sweet and warm and overflowing with love. She turned toward the sound, and the question in her heart was fulfilled.
An angel. Dressed in a flowing white robe, she hovered just above the flowers. Her eyes were a brilliant, morning-glory blue, and her skin glowed with a radiance beyond anything Morality had imagined. The gentle smile on her face was a bridge to Heaven itself.
Wonder filled Morality’s voice. “I saw you before. In the twister. I saw you in the wind.” She paused for a moment, then said with astonishment and shock, “You look like Zach!”
The spirit laughed. It was the sweetest sound ever heard by human ears. “He does have an angelic side to him, doesn’t he?”
Again the smile, and Morality felt it in her heart. “Who…who are you?” she breathed.
“Why, I am your Guardian, of course. I have been for some time now. I am Sarah.”
“Sarah?” Morality rose to her feet. She studied the face, the eyes. “Zach’s Sarah? Sarah Burkett?” At the brush of angel wing against her arm, a warm current of love flowed through her.
The angel said, “You were right, you know. You are his miracle.” Invisible hands turned her around. “Just as he is yours.”
The mist parted and there, framed by the arch of a rose-covered latticework trellis, stood Zach.
“God’s promise,” Morality murmured.
“God’s gift,” the angel replied.
For a long moment, neither she nor Zach moved. Then both were running, flying toward one another. Even as she heard him call her name, she heard the angel’s song serenade her heart. “Treasure the love you share, my children. It is God’s gift to you both.”
The joyful melody expanded, filling her heart, and her mind, and the universe, as Zach Burkett wrapped her in his loving arms.
“Hell, angel. I was so damned scared.”
That was the real Zach Burkett, all right. No dream or heavenly illusion. A lump of emotion constricted Morality’s throat, but when she saw a suspicious glimmer in Zach’s eyes, she forced herself to scoff, “Really, Zach. Your language. What would your mother say?”
“She’d tell me to soap my mouth, hold my wife, and count my blessings.” He squeezed her tight, then lifted her, twirling her around. Morality threw back her head and laughed.
Until he stopped her laughter with a kiss.
“Ah, Morality,” he breathed when they finally came up for air. “I couldn’t find you. What’s left of the cupola is half a block away in the opposite direction. I dug through the rubble, scared I’d find you. Scared I wouldn’t.” Reverently, he touched her face. “I found your shoes, angel. Nothing else, just your shoes.”
Her heart broke at the look on his face when he glanced down at her bare feet. She rested her head against his chest. “But you’re here, now. You found me.”
He inhaled a deep breath, then spoke in a gruff voice. “I had a hunk of window glass in my hand—the blue color that stood for winter. I was staring at the shard, thinking how appropriate since I felt so icy-cold inside.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Then, all of a sudden, I…knew. I knew you were safe and that I’d find you tucked away in the Marstons’ flower garden.”
He paused and she looked up at him. His brow was lowered in a frown. “It’s crazy, Morality. You won’t believe this. Something told me. Someone. I felt… I saw…”
She laid her finger across his lips. “You’re wrong. I do believe, Zach. I always have. And now, you do, too.”
For a long moment he watched her, saying nothing, revealing none of his thoughts. Morality waited in a silent show of faith. He’d come a long way, traveled farther than most, but he had arrived at last. She knew it, and deep within himself, he must know it, also. He simply needed to acknowledge it.
Slowly, Zach’s lips lifted in a grin so sweet, so gentle, that she caught a glimpse of Sarah in his smile. Tears pooled in Morality’s eyes as he brushed her lips with his.
“Yes,” he said, his voice resonant with peace. “You’re right, angel. Now I believe, too.”
EPILOGUE
Thanksgiving Day, 1873
WITH A RESOUNDING KABOOM, a wall of water and wood fragments exploded from the middle of the Red River. As the onlookers from the snag boat whooped and hollered and cheered, Zach turned to his wife and observed, “Sort of reminds me of making love with you.”
Morality groaned, but didn’t hide her smile as she slapped his arm. “You are a mess, Burkett.”
He lifted his shoulders. “Just speaking the truth, wife. As always.” Watching the debris that continued to fall back to earth, he added, “Don’t take this personal, but after seeing fifteen pounds of nitroglycerin in action, I reckon it’s even more powerful than that bit of black lace you wore to bed last week. And that’s saying something. Eulalie’s designs have gotten downright wicked over the years.”
Morality’s chuckle brought a smile to his heart that felt extra good on this bittersweet day. He put his arm around her waist and said, “That’s it. That’s the beginning of the end.”
“The last of the Red River raft,” she replied with a melancholy smile. “Joshua’s probably jumping for joy.”
“Fishing’s always better when the water level goes down,” Zach replied, following her line of thought. “He’s liable to come
hunting our boys for company when he heads out in search of a passel of new fishing holes.”
Green eyes glittered with amusement as Morality added, “East Texas catfish should be grateful he’s only recently retired.”
“I know Louise is.” Zach glanced around the snag boat, otherwise known as an Uncle Sam’s tooth-puller, for his children. “Joshua’s about to drive her crazy being home all the time. She stopped by the railroad office the other day begging me to find something to keep him busy.”
“So, what did you come up with?” Morality’s brows lifted. The merger of Marston Shipping and the East Texas spur of the Texas Southern railroad had been nothing but a trial to its owner and president, Zach Burkett, since it occurred.
Zach rubbed a hand over his jaw. Damn. He hadn’t intended to bring this up. Looking off over the river, he mumbled, “I asked him to make a trip back East to oversee the selling of our boats.”
“Burkett!” Morality favored him with a scowl. “The East? He’ll be gone for months. He’s supposed to have stopped working!”
“Well, Louise wants to travel,” he explained. “You know she’s been aching for a trip to New York since before the war. Rosalee has her all het up on it.”
“Het up on it,” Morality grumbled with a sniff.
Pulley ropes began to tug, and they paused in their bickering to watch a huge log bubble up alongside the boat. Zach looked over his shoulder at the sound of footsteps walking up behind them. “Tarnation, would you look at that. Must be six feet around!” Their oldest child, twelve- year-old James, stared at the water in wide-eyed wonder. “Hey, Pa, I’ve been wondering—”
“Hay is for horses,” Zach automatically drawled, flicking the bill of his son’s hat. They scuffled for a moment, then he asked, “What is it you’ve been thinking about?”
James grinned crookedly, looking so much like his father that Zach knew his wife’s sigh was meant for him. The boy said, “The end of the raft. What happens now, back at home? Will the water go down overnight?”
“It’ll take some time,” Zach said, shaking his head. “The riverboats will be with us for a while yet.”
The boy nodded. “Good. It’ll be better that way. It’ll give Grampa some time to get used to the idea.”
“Don’t worry about E.J.,” Morality said with a put-upon look. “He’s too busy with the ‘Coke for governor’ campaign to notice anything.”
“ ‘Gonna throw off that carpetbagger yoke.’ ” Zach quoted his father’s latest slogan with a smile. “Politics is what he does best. Doesn’t matter that ever since the storm he’s sworn off being a candidate himself. Texas is lucky to have him.”
Morality wrinkled her nose. “The children would be luckier to have him in Cottonwood Creek more often. As much as I love Texas, I believe this family has given their fair share. I’d like to see all our men home for a while.”
Zach lifted her hand and kissed it, unwilling to drag up that old argument. The war years had nearly split the family in two, with the Marstons strong supporters of the Confederacy and the Carstairs—Cottonwood Creek’s newest residents—maintaining their Union loyalties. Zach’s time as a member of the Marion Rifles, which had become Company A of the 1st Texas, John B. Hood’s Brigade, had been a nightmare. And although war had never physically come to Cottonwood Creek, Morality had fought her own battles valiantly and without regret.
Early on in the War Between the States, long before Zach had decided to fight, his wife had declared herself a pacifist and done her level best to convert others to her cause. She caught hell from the townsfolk when their men started marching off to war, but Morality stood her ground.
Remembering, Zach grinned. For a pacifist, she’d sure fought a mean battle, using her most effective weapon when he’d followed his conscience and declared his intention to enlist. Of course, he’d won that particular war. Otherwise, their second eldest, cotton-topped Melinda, would never have been born.
“Papa!” a boy’s voice called. Zach and Morality both turned to see their youngest son, Jess, wave from his perch atop the snag boat’s pilothouse.
“That boy will be the death of me yet,” Morality grumbled as Zach hollered at their five-year-old son to come down.
“Aw, angel, it’s natural for boys to climb around like that.”
“I don’t mean jess,” she corrected. “It’s Patrick who’s the problem. I told him if he was going to allow Jess in the pilothouse, he’d have to keep an eye on him. He thinks that just because he’s the pilot on this boat he’s the boss of everything.”
“That’s because he is boss of everything.” Zach grabbed his wife’s arm as she made nagging gestures at Patrick Callahan while mumbling, “I still can’t believe he fell in love with the riverboats. He should have been a veterinarian.”
“Watch it, or you’ll never get a ride on any of his boats again.”
Morality gave him a sidelong glance. “Do you actually think Patrick would ever tell me no?”
“Dumb idea.”
She nodded and Zach grinned, glad to be boating on the Red River with his family that morning. Cognizant of the history linking Morality, Zach, and the Red River raft, Patrick had invited the Burketts along to witness firsthand the removal of the last remaining portion of the blockage that had indirectly brought them all together. Today was a watershed day, so to speak.
“By the way, angel,” he added as an afterthought. “Don’t you think it’s time you quit calling that man a boy? He’s twenty-four years old, by damn.”
“Burkett!” she said with a long-suffering sigh. “I despair that you’ll ever learn to control your language.”
An unholy grin spread across Zach’s face, displaying his dimples at their very best. “Ah, c’mon now, angel.” He bent his head and gave her a quick, but thorough kiss.
“Don’t you believe in miracles?”
Don't miss any of New York Times bestselling author Geralyn Dawson's romances now available in digital format!
Historical Romances
THE TEXAN'S BRIDE
CAPTURE THE NIGHT
THE SCOUNDREL'S BRIDE (Originally published as TEMPTING MORALITY.)
THE WEDDING RANSOM
THE KISSING STARS
THE BAD LUCK WEDDING DRESS, Bad Luck Wedding series #1
THE BAD LUCK WEDDING CAKE, Bad Luck Wedding series #2
SIMMER ALL NIGHT, Bad Luck Wedding series #3, Bad Luck Abroad trilogy #1
SIZZLE ALL DAY, Bad Luck Wedding series #4, Bad Luck Abroad trilogy #2
THE BAD LUCK WEDDING NIGHT, Bad Luck Wedding series #5, Bad Luck Abroad trilogy #3
HER BODYGUARD, Bad Luck Wedding series #6, Bad Luck Brides trilogy #1
HER SCOUNDREL, Bad Luck Wedding series #7, Bad Luck Brides trilogy #2
HER OUTLAW, Bad Luck Wedding series #8, Bad Luck Brides trilogy #3
Contemporary Romances
MY BIG OLD TEXAS HEARTACHE
THE LAST BACHELOR IN TEXAS (Originally published as MY LONG TALL TEXAS HEARTTHROB.)
Women's Fiction novel
SEASON OF SISTERS (Originally published as THE PINK MAGNOLIA CLUB.)
Contemporary Romances written as Emily March
ANGEL'S REST
HUMMINGBIRD LAKE
HEARTACHE FALLS
LOVER'S LEAP
NIGHTINGALE WAY (September 2012)
About the Author
Geralyn Dawson is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over twenty-five novels written in a variety of sub-genres including historical romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense, and women's fiction. She is a three-time Finalist for Romance Writers of America's prestigious RITA award and a recipient of Romantic Times magazine's Career Achievement Award. Her novel THE WEDDING RANSOM was named one of Romance Writers of America's Top Ten Favorite Novels of the Year. The Detroit Free Press named her THE WEDDING RAFFLE as one of the best romances of the year.
Geralyn is currently writing romantic women's fiction for Ballantine Books under th
e pseudonym Emily March. The first three novels of Emily March's Eternity Springs series, ANGEL'S REST, HUMMINGBIRD LAKE, and HEARTACHE FALLS each earned coveted starred reviews from Publishers Weekly magazine. The fourth book of the series, LOVER'S LEAP is a January 2012 release with NIGHTINGALE WAY to follow in Fall 2012.
Geralyn invites you to visit her website at www.emilymarch.com and register for her e-newsletter, which includes contests, news about her upcoming releases, and other fun stuff.
You can follow her on Twitter at both @geralyndawson and @emilymarchbooks. Geralyn is also active on her Facebook page, www.facebook.com/emilymarchbooks and she hopes you'll "like" the page and join the discussion ther
Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
About the Author
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Scoundrel's Bride Page 36
