His brother’s words sank in. Shane knew he was right about everything. It was easier to worry that Annabelle was like his ex-wife than to face the truth.
That he’d fallen in love with her and that scared the hell out of him.
“I’ve screwed up everything.” Shane stared at his brother. “What if I’ve lost her?”
“You haven’t lost her.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Yes, I can. She obviously cares about you, although for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. That’s not going to change overnight. But you’re going to have to figure out a way to convince her you’re worth a second chance. I haven’t got a clue on that one.”
Shane thought about Annabelle, how she made him laugh and how he looked forward to being with her. He thought of all he knew about her and what was most important to her. It wasn’t a matter of convincing, he realized. Love wasn’t about words, it was about actions.
“I know how,” he said. “But I’m going to need your help.”
* * *
THE MORNING OF THE FESTIVAL dawned warm and clear. Perfect weather, guaranteeing big crowds. Good news, Annabelle told herself as she secured the circle of flowers in her hair. Plenty of money would be raised today. Hopefully enough to cover the purchase price of the bookmobile along with the cost of all the books and supplies. Anything left over would go toward the little things like gas, insurance and, hey, paying a driver.
Problems for another day, she told herself. She shook her head a couple of times to make sure the flowers would stay in place as Khatar rose on his rear legs, then pulled on the white Máa-zib-inspired dress she would wear.
The full skirt would keep her covered as she rode astride. She was supposed to be barefoot, which was easy enough. She was also supposed to look fierce, or at the very least happy. Neither of which seemed very likely.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Shane, which wasn’t a surprise considering everything. He’d said he wanted to talk. Even though she kept telling herself that the only subject of interest was the baby, she wanted him to have meant something else. That maybe he’d finally figured out she wasn’t playing games with him, that she didn’t want to “win” anything. Her only goal was to be with the man she loved and have him love her back.
She would know more tomorrow, she thought, wishing she had suggested they have their conversation after the ceremony today. At least that would cut down on the wait time.
She slipped her feet into sandals and left her house. The walk to the beginning of the parade route was short. She waved at people she knew as she went and was pleased to find a large crowd already lining the streets.
When she slipped past the barricades into the prep area, she was surprised to see Mandy and her friends there and in costumes that looked a lot like hers.
“Surprise!” the girls shouted, then rushed toward her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We’re in the parade, too!”
“Shane’s been teaching us the steps with our horses and everything.”
“He said he wanted this to be the best parade ever so we would get a lot of money for the bookmobile.”
“He did?”
She told herself not to wish for too much. He would have had to start practicing with them weeks ago. Long before he’d found out she was pregnant and had decided to assume the worst.
“Our horses are here and everything,” Mandy said, pointing.
Annabelle saw Rafe leading the last of the riding horses down the ramp of a trailer. The other three were already saddled and tied up to a makeshift railing. Khatar was there as well, with flowers in his mane and his white coat painted to match the trim on her dress.
Khatar and Rafe and the girls and their horses, but no Shane.
The hope she’d been holding on to died. Shane didn’t want to talk to her about the two of them. About a future. He was going to have a child and he would want to protect his interests. If he cared about her, if he believed in her, he would have been here.
She walked over to the big Arabian stallion and rubbed his face. “You’re very handsome,” she whispered, fighting tears. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
Rafe came over. “You ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
“There’s a big crowd,” he told her. “You’re going to get your bookmobile out of this.”
“Then it’s all been worth it.”
He smiled at her. “My brothers and I talked last night. We’re going to set up a trust fund for the bookmobile. It will cover maintaining the program. It was Shane’s idea.”
She stared at him. “I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”
“I’ll let him tell you.” He touched her shoulder. “Don’t give up on him. He’s a good guy.”
“I know that. Loving him isn’t the problem.”
“Then maybe it’s time to have a little faith.”
He moved next to Khatar and laced his fingers together. Annabelle slipped off her sandals, gathered her skirt in one hand and pushed off the ground. When she’d settled in the saddle, Rafe helped her straighten her skirt, then handed her the reins. He got each of the girls ready and then it was time.
The sun was high in the sky as they started the parade. The Fool’s Gold High School Marching Band went first, followed by the cheerleaders. A few local businesses had decorated cars with banners and flowers, then Pia signaled for Annabelle to start.
“This is it,” Annabelle told Khatar as she guided him into place then lightly touched his side with her bare heel. “We’re the main attraction.”
The parade route went through the center of town and ended at the park. Huge crowds lined the sidewalk, cheering and calling out. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs mingled with the scent of suntan lotion and barbecue. Children waved small flags and a couple of balloons drifted toward freedom and deep space.
Khatar took it all in and seemed to enjoy the attention. He zigzagged along the parade route, carefully performing his steps. Annabelle found she didn’t have to offer much in the way of encouragement. He tossed his head and pranced, a happy horse adoring the waving audience.
When they reached the edge of the park, Annabelle saw the altar where Clay would be waiting. After Khatar performed his big finish, she would dismount—hopefully without flashing the crowd—and climb the two steps to where Clay was tied up. She would take the fake knife from her belt and pretend to cut out his heart. Easy enough, she thought. Then she could make her escape, go home and have yet another good cry. This one, she promised herself, would be her last. Her heart might still be breaking, but sobbing every day couldn’t be good for the baby.
She and Khatar came to a stop near the dais. She gave him the signal and he gracefully rose onto his back legs. His front legs pawed impressively. The crowd gasped, then cheered. When he came down to solid ground, she swung her leg over, gathered her skirt around her and slid to the ground. The second cheer surprised her.
She offered a little wave, then gave Khatar a scratch behind the ears. “You were great,” she told him.
The stairs were on her left. She started up, just wanting this all to be over. She had a few words to give, then she would pretend to cut out the heart of her sacrifice and call it a day. Only she realized the loincloth-clad man wasn’t Clay at all. It was Shane.
He lay spread-eagle on a bed of hay. His face had been painted like a Máa-zib male prisoner would have been hundreds of years ago, his wrists and ankles wrapped in rope as if he were bound, although she knew he wasn’t. He had a chain of flowers around his neck.
She climbed the second step, then stared at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a low voice, aware there was a microphone somewhere.
He smiled at her. “If you’re going to cut out anyone’s heart, it’s going to be mine.”
She heard someone murmur in the crowd. No doubt everyone was waiting for the big finish.
“I’m not mad at you,” she
told him in a whisper.
“I know.” He sat up. “You’re hurt. I hurt you, Annabelle, and I’m sorry.”
She glanced around, aware of several hundred people watching them. “It’s okay. We can talk about it later.”
“I think we should talk about it now.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Then you can cut out my heart.”
“Shane,” she began, but he shook his head.
“No, me first.” He scrambled to his feet. “I know you’re nothing like my ex-wife. I know you’re good and kind and caring and loyal. I like everything about you, Annabelle Weiss. More than that, I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out, but I did and I’m standing here to say I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and our baby.”
She heard the hum of conversation. But all that mattered was staring into Shane’s eyes and seeing the truth of his words in his beautiful eyes.
The pain inside of her faded until only happiness was left. Happiness and the promise of all that would be.
“You’re telling me this now? Here?”
“Sure. The festival is important to you and you’re important to me. I figured you’d appreciate a big finish.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Marry me. Not because it’s the right thing, or because of the baby, but because you love me.”
“I do love you,” she whispered.
“Good. Because I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you, supporting you, being your partner and husband. I have my flaws and I’ll work on them, but once I commit, I don’t give up easily.”
Tears filled her eyes. Tears of joy and promise.
“I’ll marry you,” she murmured.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Confused, she started to turn, but before she could, Khatar leaned in and nudged her from behind. She fell into Shane’s arms. He caught her and kissed her.
There was another cheer and yells that they should all be invited to the wedding.
Annabelle got lost in Shane’s kiss for a second, then drew back and looked around. “I forgot about the microphone.”
“I didn’t.” He kissed her again, then grinned. “I wanted to prove to you I meant what I said. Now we have witnesses and if I don’t treat you right, the whole town will get on my butt. That should make you happy.”
“You make me happy,” she said, leaning in and kissing him again.
He pulled her close, then murmured, “I think they’re going to want us to reenact this every year. Game?”
“With you? Always.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt of Barefoot Season by Susan Mallery!
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One
“I’m going off to war tomorrow. I might not make it back.”
Michelle Sanderson slowly pulled her attention from the five-year-old truck she was thinking of buying and focused it on the guy standing next to her.
He was a kid—maybe eighteen or nineteen, with red hair and freckles. Cute enough but way too young. Still stuck with too-long arms and legs and a chest that had yet to fill out. More man than boy, she supposed, but not yet done with the transition.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sure she must have misunderstood. “What did you say?”
He gave her a wide grin and a wink. “I may not have long in this life. After you buy the truck, we could go get a drink or something. Celebrate me going into the army.”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
“Then we could head back to my place.”
Michelle didn’t know whether she should start laughing or tell him he was an idiot in terms that would make him cry like a little girl. The latter would be easy enough. She’d served ten years in the army, nearly half of them in either Iraq or Afghanistan. She’d had to deal with more than her share of horny young guys who assumed they were irresistible. She’d gotten really good at showing them they were wrong.
Laughing would be a bit tougher. Mostly because every part of her hurt. Not just her hip, which had the excuse of a recent run-in with a couple of bullets from armed insurgents, followed by a partial joint replacement, but the rest of her. She’d spent more time than she even wanted to think about in the hospital. Healing happened in its own time, her physical therapist had told her. She’d tried to beat the odds, which had netted her nothing more than an extra three nights in the hospital before she’d finally been released.
“Aren’t I a little old for you?” she asked.
He gave her a wink. “Experienced.”
Despite the pain, she managed a chuckle. “Yeah, right. Looking to have your fantasies fulfilled?”
“You know it.”
He was so eager, she thought, feeling more weary by the second. And obviously he hadn’t passed the vision test yet. She knew she wasn’t at her best. Her pale, too-thin body gave away the length of time she’d been in a hospital bed. Her eyes were hollow, her color too gray to be considered normal. She had a cane to help her walk. Which just went to show how powerful a young man’s hormones could be.
Before she could figure out how to pass on his invitation, a yellow Lab came bounding around the side of the house. The animal raced up to her and jumped. Michelle took a quick step back to avoid being knocked over. The movement put pressure on her hip and fiery pain shot through her.
For a second, the world spun. She felt herself starting to black out. Nausea threatened. One or the other, she thought desperately, fighting to stay present. Not both. A surprisingly strong arm wrapped around her body, holding her in place.
“Buster, get down.”
She blinked and the cool, damp afternoon returned to focus. The fire in her hip banked enough to allow her to breathe. The kid stood so close she could see the freckles across his nose and a small scar on his right cheek.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
He stepped back and studied her. The dog stayed back, his eyes dark with worry, a low whine indicating his concern.
She held out her hand to the dog. “It’s okay, Buster. I’m fine.”
The dog stepped forward and sniffed her fingers before giving them a quick lick.
“Hey, I wanted to do that,” the kid said, managing a shaky laugh.
Michelle smiled. “Sorry. He’s more my type.”
“You’re hurt.”
She raised the cane slightly. “Did you think this was a fashion accessory?”
“I didn’t notice it, really.”
Which proved her theory about his poor vision. “Just a flesh wound.” Actually flesh, bone and a few tendons, but why get into the details?
He looked from her to the army-issue duffels on the sidewalk, to the cane and then back into her eyes. “Were you there?” he asked.
“There” could have been a hundred places, but she knew what he meant. She nodded.
“Sweet. What was it like? Were you scared? Do you think…?” He swallowed, then flushed. “Can I make it, you think?”
She wanted to tell him no. That staying home, being with his friends, going to college, would be so much easier. Safer. More comfortable. But the easy way often wasn’t the best way, and for some, being a part of something meaningful was worth any price.
Her reasons for joining had been far less altruistic, but over time she’d been molded into a soldier. The trick was going to be figuring out how to find her way back.
“You’ll be fine,” she said, hoping she was telling the truth.
“A hero?” he asked with a grin, then slapped his hand against the truck. “Okay, you
’ve done your best to confuse me by being sexy and a war vet. But I’m not going to be distracted. I want ten thousand. Not a penny less.”
Sexy? That did make her laugh. At this stage in her life she would have trouble qualifying as a trophy girlfriend for a man pushing ninety. But hey, a compliment was always nice to hear.
She turned her attention to the truck. It was in decent shape, with relatively new tires and only a few dents. The mileage was low enough to allow her to get a few years out of the thing before she would have to start replacing parts.
“Ten’s crazy high,” she said. “I’m paying cash. I’m thinking closer to eight.”
“Eight?” He clutched his hands to his chest. “You’re killin’ me. You really going to do that to a future hero?”
She chuckled. “Come on, kid. We’ll take her for a drive and swing by a mechanic friend of mine. If he says the truck is good, I’ll give you nine-five and you can call it a win.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
* * *
Two hours later, Michelle let the guy—Brandon—off at his place. A mechanic she knew on the base had given her the thumbs-up on the truck and she’d handed over an ordered stack of crisp bills. In return she’d collected paperwork and keys.
Now, as she pulled away from Brandon’s house, she eyed the gray sky. She was back in western Washington state, where rain was so prevalent that a day of sunshine was the lead story on the local news. Leaving luggage in the open was taking a risk and she’d dropped her two duffels in the back. She decided the clouds looked more lazy than ominous. Her duffels should be safe enough on the drive home.
Home. It was a long way from where she’d spent the past ten years. Blackberry Island, an actual island in Puget Sound, connected to the mainland by a long bridge, might technically be within commuting distance of Seattle, but it was a world away. The single town on the island billed itself as the “New England of the West Coast.” A selling point she’d never understood.
Quiet, touristy, with quaint stores and a slower pace of life, the island celebrated all things blackberry. There were silly traditions and a rhythm to the seasons that had always seemed annoyingly out of step. At least before. But what she once hadn’t appreciated now seemed appealing to her.
Summer Nights Page 27
