She dragged her gaze to Morgan and made herself speak calmly. “I know you mean well.”
He smiled. “Come here.”
“I’m over it, Morgan. I can appreciate horses from a distance. They’re lovely.”
“Erin.”
Stuck to the porch by the same sand that had held her frozen before, she chewed her upper lip. He held out his hand. No, no, no, no, no. His draw was irresistible. Her feet moved. Leaving the cocoa on the rail, she took one step down, then another. The horse grew taller.
She said, “I’m just not . . .”
“Sure you are.”
She reached the snowy path and paused, eyeing the horse. It didn’t stomp. But it could. Didn’t toss its head. Though it might.
“She’s very well behaved.” He reached farther and caught her fingertips.
Heart tripping, she eased her hand into his. “What’s her name?”
“Maple Sugar.”
“Maple for short?” Her voice cracked.
He drew her to his side. “Stroke her neck. She likes that.”
Her hand no longer obeyed her brain. It was connected to his voice. Maple’s hide was smooth but not soft, her mane thick with stiff strands. Disney princess eyelashes framed her large, gentle eyes angled to take in the stranger making contact. Morgan brushed his hand down the mare’s long bony face, patting her cheek and stroking the velvety nose.
Erin looked into his face, imagining the boy who’d told the stockman he belonged to himself. It wasn’t true. More than anyone she’d ever known, Morgan belonged to everyone. She touched the mare again, feeling her warmth, the solid mass of her, the patience. Breathing the horsey scent, she put both hands on the mare, letting that satisfaction flow into her.
Morgan watched without speaking. She slid her hand to the horse’s face, drew it down to the soft, soft muzzle. As a child she’d imagined kissing such a nose, imagined jumping astride and riding like a shooting star through the sky—dreams crushed by fear and an object lesson.
“Put your left foot in the stirrup,” Morgan said.
He couldn’t be talking to her.
“Take hold of the pommel and pull yourself up.”
She took a step back, and there was his hand against her spine, steadying her.
“You can do it.”
“I don’t want to. Really. I’m over it.” The mare slow-blinked.
“Hold this.” He pressed the leather reins into her hand. Stepping around her, he gripped the saddle and swung up behind it, settling easily astride. It seemed as though he and the horse had joined forces. Bending, he took the reins and held them to the far side of the mare, who stood calmly as though nothing had changed.
“Left foot in the stirrup.”
She closed her eyes.
“Swing yourself up. I’ll catch you.”
Her chest quaked as she stretched one shaky hand to the pommel. She raised and tucked her foot into the stirrup. Pushing up, she felt Morgan guide her leg over as she landed in the seat of the saddle.
“Tuck the other foot into the stirrup.”
She opened her eyes to find it. With his arms on either side of her, he touched the reins to the horse’s neck, turning the mare slowly. She held her breath, getting used to the strange sensation of an animal bearing her and praying Morgan knew what he was doing.
Except for the time she’d seen him care for Rick’s stock, she’d never thought of him as a horseman. Now she realized he’d grown up on this farm, and even if it hadn’t become his career, it was part of him. Slowly her spine relaxed. Morgan brushed a kiss on her jaw, speaking no other encouragement. She needed none.
At first she thought they’d go to the stable and be done. Instead, they rode toward the pond, the still morning spreading out around them, hooves muffled by snow. Clouds puffed from the mare’s nostrils. Morgan sat solid, and yet fluidly, behind her, guiding the horse by almost imperceptible means.
After a while he murmured, “What do you think?”
“It’s wonderful.”
He tightened his arms. “Couldn’t let anything hold you back.”
“I’m supposed to be careful what I wish for.”
“What could you wish for that you shouldn’t have?”
She sank back into him. “I love you.”
“I know.” He laughed softly in her ear.
“Is it crazy?”
“Yeah. But inevitable. I swear I fell in love before you served the pumpkin pie.”
Her heart swelled. “Do you think Rudy knew?”
“He saw it flashing like a neon sign.” Morgan eased the mare down and up a narrow ditch.
“Were you really afraid for me to leave, or was that strategy?”
“I really did panic. But having you there opened something inside me. It was like that skeleton key hidden away until one day it turns a whole new lock.”
“You do recall that lock secured dangerous illegal drugs.”
She felt him stiffen and said, “What?”
“I just realized we never took care of that. I was going to when you came and dragged me off to Paris.”
She giggled. “Like that took dragging. I think you meant it when you proposed. Or you could have handled it like Denise and who knows how many others.”
He was quiet so long, she turned in the saddle. “What?”
“It’s just sinking in that you’re right. Rick told me to offer a job, but I didn’t want that. I tried to meld the two into that ungainly proposal, but once the vows were spoken, I couldn’t pretend.”
She sank back against him. He’d called it preordained. “God made this happen for us, didn’t he.”
“Seems that way.”
“That’s . . . amazing.”
He tightened his arm around her. “Yeah.”
They rode in silence until he circled the mare back around toward the farm.
“We’re going in?”
“This being your first time on a horse, if you sit too long, you’ll get sore. These haunches aren’t feeling any too good to me either.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have other chances. As I said, Livie needs a horse, and you may as well be able to mount up with her. I might look around for a nice spread with an ocean view somewhere in the Santa Ynez Mountains or the hills of Montecito. Get some champion stock—Andalusian, maybe.”
“And sell your wonderful home? Why?”
He pressed his cheek to her head. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s who I was. Who I tried to be with Jill. But it’s us now, and you were a girl who wanted a horse.”
Listening around the words, she guessed it wasn’t as much about a horse as it was about them. A new vision. Their own prototype.
Back at the house, she slid off awkwardly and let Morgan stable the mare.
Tara leaned on the porch railing. “First time riding?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Tara flashed her perfect white teeth. “Everyone starts sometime.”
“I suppose you were about two.”
“Eight months. As soon as I could sit up without falling over.”
Erin gaped. “That’s crazy.”
“Mom’s a believer in natural instincts. The sooner a girl bonds with a horse the better.”
She was rapidly re-envisioning Celia, and realizing how different this family was from hers.
“Just get a good instructor. You’ll catch up.”
As Erin climbed the steps, Tara took in her jeans and fitted coat, Hermes silk scarf, mohair hat, and mittens. “Paris again?”
“I’m afraid everything I have is Parisian.”
“Everything?”
“The clothes I had before got . . . lost.”
“Lost?” Tara crooked a brow in an expression very like one of Morgan’s.
“Someone broke into my house and trashed everything.”
“That’s horrible! Who do people think they are?”
She knew exactly who Markham thought himself.
&n
bsp; “I’m always afraid someone will break into my dorm, but it has security doors, and it’s a small school.” She crossed her fingers. “So here’s hoping.”
“What are you studying?” Erin picked up her deserted mug of chocolate. The skin at the top was starting to freeze.
“Well, everything, since I’m a sophomore. Core subjects, you know. But I want to major in theater, and if I don’t become a famous film star, then I’ll teach musical theater to underprivileged kids.”
Erin smiled. “Two good alternatives.” Tara had the beauty for film but seemed too pure for that industry.
“Polar opposites, I know. Fame and riches or penniless service.”
Amused by the dramatic tone, Erin said, “Musical theater must mean your talent is broad.”
“Acting, singing, dancing. Noelle taught me piano—for a little while—and then I had to take regular lessons. You’ll hear me tonight. Everyone, actually.”
“Everyone plays piano?”
“Different instruments or singing. Everyone performs something for the talent show. It’s the rule.”
A rule no one—most notably Morgan—thought to mention. “I can barely hold a tune.”
“Nuh-uh. I heard you singing to Livie.”
Now, that was an idea. Partner with Livie and let her steal the show. “Speaking of Livie, I better go see how she’s holding up with those rowdy boys.”
“Grammy’s watching.”
“Your mom might be more than ready for a break, especially since she’s trying to bake.”
“Okay.” Tara pushed off the rail and bounded down the steps. “See you.”
Erin carried the remains of her cocoa to the kitchen and set the mug down. Livie’s rush into her arms warmed her heart—and Celia’s apparently, no doubt relieved that not only Morgan but his little angel had opened to her. “How you doing, sweetie?”
“I doing great. Want to play animals?”
Noting the big-girl version of the question, she felt a tiny pang of loss. “Are there some?”
“Soft ones with bean stuffing.”
“Well . . .” She cocked her head. “Do they talk?”
“They do talk!” she insisted, tugging.
Erin sent Celia a smile before settling in at the toy box, where she entertained herself as thoroughly as Livie. Every now and then the boys barged in, their attention and energy wholly different and overwhelming. She laughed when all three “captured” her, tumbling on like a munchkin football team.
When Livie joined in, Erin fought back with tickling until Morgan and the other men came in. Perceiving rescue, she collapsed onto her back, arms outstretched as the various dads complied. Morgan extended a hand and got her to her feet. “I leave you alone for a minute . . .”
She planted her hands on her hips. “You have some ’splainin’ to do.”
He crooked an eyebrow.
“The matter of a talent show?”
He tipped his head in mock compassion. “No talent?”
“Maybe not.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I have a secret plan.”
He laughed. “Of course you do.”
Markham sat up on the kitchen floor with a slight itching pain from the cut on his arm. He looked up at the broken pane on the cabinet door, remembered reaching in. Beside him, a tiny glass vial had rolled up against the foot of the cabinet. He remembered breaking it open. He’d intended it for Hannah, but the liquid spilled on his hand, down his wrist, and into the cut.
Dizzy and restless, he’d staggered around the kitchen, Hannah wailing in the other room. Or maybe it hadn’t been Hannah. It had seemed like a multitude.
He remembered sinking to the floor in a wonderful intoxication, his stimulated mind bursting with fantastic shapes and kaleidoscopic colors. But then everything he saw began to waver and stretch, distorting in horrifying parodies of themselves, Hannah’s face twisting and morphing monstrously.
He couldn’t move. He’d felt paralyzed, glued to the floor, while the cabinet loomed and threatened to fall on his head. Screaming beside it, Hannah became a witch with green brushy hair and a mouth as wide as a door.
He’d shut his eyes and kept them shut, losing all sense of time, unable to tell how long the horror lasted before the colors returned, alternating, spiraling in and out, exploding fireworks of color. Every sound transformed the vision, creating a new and wondrous landscape, until at last exhaustion brought sleep.
Now, when it seemed he should have felt a dreadful aftermath, he woke refreshed, clearheaded, as he hadn’t been for days. A euphoric sense of renewal and well-being brought him to his feet.
Seeing Hannah asleep on the couch, her face puffy and streaked red from distress, he rushed in and dropped to his knees beside her. “Hannah.”
Her eyes flew open. “You’re awake!”
“Of course I am.”
“I tried and tried to wake you.”
“It’s all right. Everything’s all right. It’s wonderful.”
“It is?”
“Yes, don’t you see? It’s all going to work. I saw it.”
“In a vision?”
“Oh, Hannah. Such a vision.”
Her eyes pooled. “Then we can go home? For Christmas, Markham?”
For a moment the exhilaration dimmed. “You know what I have to do, Hannah. It hasn’t changed.”
Her face fell. “Isn’t it enough to forgive her in your heart? You don’t have to tell her face-to-face. God knows.”
“Of course God knows.” His mind still seemed accelerated and fresh—brilliant even. “But Quinn will have no peace. Quinn can’t go home until I have forgiven her. She’ll keep running and running. Only I can stop her. Only I can give her peace.” And deep eternal rest.
Hannah sank into the couch and said in a tiny voice, “It’s always about Quinn.”
“Hannah.” He clasped her hand between his. “How can we begin anew with this Sword of Damocles over my head?”
“Sword of—”
“Never mind.” He stared into her bloodshot eyes, her red swollen nose, her splotchy cheeks. Unable to hate her, he wondered if what she wanted might be good. Quinn had changed her number, and no one Hannah asked admitted having the new one, but might she not call at Christmas? If they were there together, if he announced his desire to marry their daughter, their simple daughter . . .
“All right, Hannah. For you, we’ll go home for Christmas.”
Her whole body shook. “Do you mean it?”
“I do. We’ll go right now.”
She jumped to her feet, hands clutched beneath her chin. “Oh, Markham!”
As she ran to gather her things, he imagined finding Quinn and all the money she’d stolen and all the money he might add to it from Morgan Spencer and the life it would buy him. No more cons, no more being what someone else wanted, only what he wanted. Enough money to be nothing at all, or even . . . himself.
He had to make that happen. But how? And then he saw the door behind the hutch.
CHAPTER
31
One of these days they would need to move the baby grand to the family room for the holiday talent show, but so far they fit. Barely. Morgan looked around the music room. Stephen had been through the drill several times, but it was new for Luke and Danny. And for Erin.
His parents started with a duet to break the ice, then Noelle played something exquisite from memory that made Tara groan with envy. So, of course, she brought the house down with her “Santa Baby” on Hank’s knee. The world had better prepare itself for his baby sister, Tara.
Morgan motioned her to the piano to accompany him singing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” to Livie. And for Erin it had to be “All I Want for Christmas is You.”
It was embarrassing to see the tears in his family’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He’d fallen in love with a woman like no one else—except maybe Livie. Bright spirits, both of them.
Dabbing her eyes, Erin scooped Livie up and took his place on the tall stool. She d
etached the microphone—feeding their talent to the computer for posterity—from the stand and said, “This isn’t a Christmas tune, but I don’t think anyone will mind.” She held the mic to Livie’s mouth and whispered something.
His heart swelled when his little girl, with gentle promptings from Erin, sang the song he’d sung to her since the day she was born. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”
When the last sweet “please don’t take my sunshine away” faded, applause filled the room. Erin hung the mic, lifted Livie, and moved back toward her place. Unfortunately for his wife, everyone started chanting, “Erin, Erin, Erin.” So much for her secret plan.
She shot him an ocular plea. Laughing, he drew her back to the mic, whispered in her ear, and when she nodded, told their choice to Steph, who’d taken Tara’s place at the piano. Together he and Erin sang “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” At the end, he gave a thorough demonstration, to laughter, boos, and hisses.
Coming back up, he saw Noelle crying. She had doubted, but she must realize now that the radical proposal she so opposed had saved his life.
After a midnight celebration of the Savior’s birth and a few hours’ sleep, they all packed into the family room around the tree. Caught in the crush, he cocked his head at Erin. “What?”
“Are you kidding? This has to break every fire code known to man.”
The rooms of his parents’ old-style farmhouse were boxy and small, but the tree had always occupied the family room corner, and what did it matter if some of the young guys had to stand and most of the girls were on the floor? Pressed into the lower branches with Livie between his knees, he had Erin almost in his lap as well. Sure, it was snug, but who cared?
Although it seemed chaos reigned, in fact the activity had time-honored order, alternating youngest to oldest or oldest to youngest, with time to see each gift opened before the next. Purchasing small, as opposed to ungainly, gifts had entered the tradition as the family grew and space diminished. Hank’s present to Celia this year broke that rule—as would what Erin received. While not overly large, ungainly certainly applied.
They’d made the rotation several times when the doorbell rang. People looked around until Morgan nodded at Danny. “Can you get that?” No way was he getting through to answer it himself.
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