He bumped her again. He loved to play.
Chase had too.
“He said I should choose life instead of shadows, life instead of doubt, always and always, choose life.”
Sounded easy. It wasn’t. But something in her spirit stood up to cheer. Maybe it was the little girl who wanted the tears to stop. Maybe it was the woman who wanted to love. She had no idea. Regret. What if she gave up? If she gave in to the fear? Would there be regret if she didn’t love?
Could she keep everyone she cared about safe?
Could she protect herself from being hurt?
“I love you, sweet girl. I always will.” These were the last words Chase said to her. They sang in her heart. Wrapped around her soul. But what she remembered, finally remembered, gave her the answer she needed.
“You promise?” A little girl asked big questions. “Forever and ever? How do you know you will love me forever?”
Her grandfather gathered her in his arms. “That’s easy, sweet girl. Love never ends.”
She had to find Jared. She almost ran the rest of the way home. She had so much to tell him. And she had to get her ring back. Hopefully the man didn’t believe everything she said.
She dashed into the stable, looking for him, disappointed at not seeing him.
Quickly she brushed and stabled Bahadur, fed Jake, went looking again. The man could vanish like a cloud. But she’d find him eventually.
She should have looked on her front porch.
He was sitting in one of two rockers she’d have bought for herself had she seen them first. An iced tea sat on the table at his side. A pitcher and another glass were beside his.
“Hey.” She spoke softly, cautiously, and went for the obvious. “Neat chairs. Before the Classic, I think I scoured every antique shop in a fifty-mile radius looking for just such a pair. Go figure.” She paused at the edge of the steps, stared at him, not quite smiling, but not running.
Could she feel any more awkward?
“They’re comfortable too.” He didn’t make a move. Just sat there and rocked back and forth. Back and forth. His eyes never left hers.
“I looked for you. I checked your office, looked in on Pyralis, you weren’t in the barn. Then I thought maybe you were moving your stuff out of Fionola’s underground castle.” She didn’t add that she was afraid she’d see him loading his stuff in the truck. That he’d be preparing to leave. It wasn’t like she hadn’t told him to go. But…
She huffed…took a breath. “Are you saving that for somebody?” She pointed toward the tea. “I mean…” Her throat felt like sawdust.
“You’re somebody.” He grinned and rocked.
****
“Help yourself. If you want, you can sit a while. I like these long evenings. Before we know it, the days will be getting shorter.” He rocked. Wondered how long it’d take the woman to say what was on her mind.
“Shorter and colder,” she said. “Fee can’t wait for fall. I think winter is her favorite time of the whole year. She loves the snow.”
Obviously, a long time. He rocked some more.
“Yep.” He sipped his tea, playing along. “You remember the four snowmen of the Apocalypse?”
“When Fee made all of us get up and each build a snowman in the front yard?”
“Every year, regular as clockwork. The first big snow of the season and she’d have us in the yard.” He grinned, went quiet. Waited for her next topic.
“You’re not making this easy.”
What do you know! The woman caught on. He grinned. Couldn’t help it.
“Am I supposed to?”
“You’re on my porch.”
“Noticed that, did you?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake. I want to talk to you.” She was on her feet, temper in her eyes.
Better than tears, he thought. Much better. He rocked, looked at Tyndal.
“So talk.”
She rounded on him, mad as a wet snake. The woman was glorious in a temper. He thought he could hear Chase laughing. Now you’ve done it, son.
“I love you, Jared Grant. Though at the moment it escapes me as to why I would do such a thing to myself. However—”she hardly paused to take a breath“—however, I can’t seem to help myself, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wishing I’d told you that and even if it scares me silly to allow myself to feel anything for you, I can’t change the fact it’s already too late for that either. Because I do. So there. And you’re just going to have to deal with it and stay alive because I love you.”
He got the first and the last lines, figured they’d work out the rest. She had the important parts right. He reached up, took her hand, and pulled her down onto his lap. Covered her mouth with his and kissed her breathless.
Chapter Fourteen
When she opened her eyes Jared had his arms wrapped around her. The stars were out. “I fell asleep again.”
“You did. Again.” His lips were on her forehead, on her mouth. “You needed it. But I’m not charging you rent this time. I dozed off too.”
She nodded. He felt her take a deep breath. And shook his head.
“Wait, love. Before you say anything, I have something to show you first. Okay?”
“Okay. I can do a round of show-and-tell. But I’ve already seen the chairs. I’m jealous.”
“No need to be. They’re ours.” He watched her face; the eyes he’d seen dull and listless glowed. He heard her quiet sigh and murmur.
“Ours.”
Jared grinned. “There you go. Feels good to say it, doesn’t it?” He kissed her eyelids as she lay against his chest, smoothed her hair with his hand. She loved him. She was in his arms.
“Tyndal, for you to see what I want you to, we’ll have to go inside, but first…” He lifted her face, wanting her close, needing to touch, to heal, to reassure them both. He kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. It felt like forever since he’d led Bahadur to her house. In reality, it had only been a few hours. But long enough for him to ache. He’d keep a special place for the memory of her coming toward him as he waited on her porch. With all that hope shimmering around her.
He opened his eyes and studied her face, breathed out a day of worry. He brushed her hair back and kissed her once more. “Now you can move.”
What he wanted to show her would probably make her cry. But some tears were good. Some cleansed. Some freed. He didn’t think there were chains much stronger than those of fear to keep someone from seeing what was good in the moment. Tyndal wanted promises for the future. Who didn’t? Maybe something from her past would help her see what was right in front of her.
It was all the certainty he could offer her. He loved her in the present, had loved her in the past, and would love her in the future. As for staying alive? He’d do the best he could. Taking her hand, he switched on the bright overhead lights in her living room, hauled in the rockers from the porch.
“Tell me what you see.”
****
Tyndal eyed the turned oak spindles, distressed from years of use, strong and oiled from years of care. The joints were tight. Even she could tell a craftsman made them.
“Ouch.” She touched the rocker points where some child’s puppy had chewed the tips. “Glad it didn’t start in on the arms.” She stroked the curves of the finely worn wood. “And I’m glad whoever had these didn’t paint them. The old patina is beautiful.”
“I can sand down some of the teeth marks if you want. But I think they’re kind of neat. It’s like being shown a little history, of knowing something about those who had the chairs before us.”
“Us.” She smiled. “To go with ours, and we. Jared, the chairs are great, but I need to talk about—”
“We will, love. I’m asking, Tyndal, be patient just a little longer?”
She’d just learned she loved and that it was okay. Nothing earth-shattering or momentous. Nothing that wouldn’t significantly alter the rest of their lives. Of course she could be patient. No wonder women
thought men were obtuse.
“I’m listening.”
“Do more than that, love. Have a look at this.” He turned one of the rocking chairs upside down. Pointed to a drawing carefully inked across the seat bottom. “What do you see?”
“It looks like a something an art student would do. Not necessarily a good one. Well, maybe a young one.”
The artist painted a picture of a horse with two people standing beside it. The picture was faded almost beyond recognition with significant portions of paint flecked off, but the horse was certain, even if he missed a leg. The people—a man and woman—were smiling, holding hands. It was a contented scene.
“I wonder who they were, the couple.”
“There’s more on the other chair. Let me show you.” He turned bottoms up on the second rocker. “Clearly, the artist believed in practice.”
On this chair, there were different signature styles; apparently the artist was deciding which he liked best. Block, script, flowing with rounded edges, angular, combinations of both, all saying one thing.
Terrance J. Morgan
T. J. Morgan
Terry J. Morgan
Tyndal looked at Jared, hurt and happiness both moving in her eyes. “Terrance Justin Morgan?” She was on her feet. “My father? Terrance Morgan was my father! My father did this when he was a child?”
The tears started. She took the handkerchief Jared offered. Oh God, how much more could her heart take?
These weren’t chairs.
These were priceless, irreplaceable works of art. They were something from her family, from her father. She had photos, but this, these were something he’d touched with his hands.
Did Jared know she couldn’t remember what her father’s hands looked like?
Were his fingers long like hers? Were they wide and broad like Chase’s?
She stared at Jared. Grinned like a lunatic.
Did he have any idea what this meant to her?
Wonderful man.
Sensitive, caring. Thoughtful.
“Where did you find them?” At least she could still speak English. She couldn’t stop touching the wood.
“At the store in town. It was just a coincidence, really. I knew you were looking for a pair of rockers and as I drove by the shop, these were outside next to the front door. I liked the wood, and liked how they felt when I sat in them. But the dealer had them priced well above the going rate for rockers, so when I asked why, he said he was charging for the art. Then he showed me the work and that, as they say, was that. I knew your dad was an artist, but I didn’t know how he started out. And since there was no way I’d allow anyone else to have these chairs, the guy had a deal. He could have charged twice as much. I have no idea how he got them, how they came to be in his store, but they’re back where they belong.”
“I don’t know what to say or do. I mean, this is beyond my wildest dreams. You’ve brought me something from my father.”
What a dumb thing to say. She closed her eyes. Maybe she should add, Gee, Jared dear, thank you very much? God help her. What could she say that could ever be enough?
She opened her eyes, met his. She loved seeing the warmth in his, the humor, the welcome, and…the caution?
What else was there? She swallowed hard. “And?”
“Tyndal, love, one more thought. Just hear me out. These chairs…” He stroked his hand across the arm of one. “The craftsmanship. I know it’d be almost impossible, but as I studied the workmanship, I kept asking myself, could it have been Chase?”
Chase?
No way. No absolute way. She shook her head in denial. It couldn’t be. No.
Jared took her hands in his. “I don’t know how much of Chase’s woodwork you remember. Are you familiar with the various pieces he made?”
“Not that familiar, I’m afraid.” She looked at Jared, not seeing him as much as thinking, picturing the memories. Chase carved miniature wooden horses for her. Made her a dollhouse.
“By the time I was old enough to follow him around, he was concentrating mostly on the horses. But Fionola said he’d worked the handrail for the staircase in the house as well as the banister along the front porch. I know he made several pieces of furniture, including a desk for you. It’s like the one Fee had in her office. You’ve seen the Queen Anne she has now—I think Chase even made that. I remember it used to be in the little sunroom on the third floor.”
Tyndal smiled. She knew a few things. She still had the tiny horses. They were on her mantel. The dollhouse was in the sunroom, just in the closet. Fionola put it away until someday, when maybe Tyndal had children. Or so she’d said. Could he have made the chairs?
Jared nodded. “I stored my desk in the attic at Timberline until I found a place and had it shipped to England. It’s in my office there. One of these days, I’ll bring it back to Morgan’s Walk. Anyway,” he continued, “do you remember him talking about making a pair of rockers?”
“Sort of? Maybe? I don’t know. When I first came to Morgan’s Walk, he did a lot of woodworking. But he’d hurt his hand. I remember that.” She looked at Jared. Wrinkled her brow. “Fionola has a chair he made for her in her bedroom. It’s a big, comfortable chair with an ottoman—but not a rocker. Regardless, she wouldn’t part with it for the world. So if he made these, why doesn’t she have them?”
“Do you know if he signed any of the pieces he finished?”
“Yes! I do! That much I do know. He always signed his finished pieces.” She scoured the memories of the little girl who’d loved watching her grandfather work. “Fionola showed me his mark, as she called it. He just used his initials: C.M. It’s on the dollhouse and each of the horses.
“I believe,” she continued, “if the piece was a chair, the initials were inscribed underneath the edge of the arm. If it were for family, he’d add a little heart. Fee said he put it there, like it is on her chair, so when she wrapped her hands around the arm, she’d feel the carving and remember who made it for her. She said it was his private I love you.”
“On the desk he made me,” Jared said, “slightly inside the center drawer—the initials and heart are right there. In plain sight. I touch it every time I reach for a pen.”
Tyndal studied his face. His eyes turned that deep, burning color when he felt strongly about something. “You know! You already know! Show me!”
“Just look, love.” He grinned.
Next thing, she was on her knees beside the chair, fingering underneath the arms, feeling for the small but distinct heart. She knew exactly what she was looking for. “It’s here! On both of them! The heart!”
“My grandfather made these. Chase’s heart!”
“Oh, Jared. Look! He must have made them for the house, for Fionola. Has she seen them? Does she know? We have to find her, tell her about all this.”
Tyndal jumped to her feet, tugged at his hand.
“She has, love. I took them to her as soon as I brought them home. She recognized them instantly. The first thing she did was turn the chairs upside down to look for the painting underneath. She said your father would draw on any flat surface he could find and thought of Chase’s workshop as his own. Chase would be doing something with wood, and if he didn’t keep an eye on him, Terrance would be painting. But when he painted the chairs, Chase added a sealer to protect them. He knew Fee would get a kick out of having the drawings.”
Jared looked at Tyndal’s face. “Sweetheart, you’re as bad as your grandmother.”
Torn between laughter and tears, Tyndal’s eyes flooded. She buried her face in the tissue he handed her. “Why? I mean, why is this bad?” She sobbed.
“It’s not, it’s wonderful, love. I meant she laughed and cried at the same time too. Especially when she showed me the heart.”
Tyndal felt his hands on her hair, on her shoulders, as he turned her to face into his chest. “I offered to let her keep them. I want you to know that.”
“She should. She should have them. We have to take them to her.
”
“No, love. She wants us to have them. She asked me to tell you their story.” He motioned toward one of the rockers, invited her to sit. He sat beside her. “Fee said a long time ago, a couple of the hands got mad at Chase and when he and Fionola were away at a party one night, they stole the chairs. Fionola said the chairs sat out on the front porch, so they wouldn’t have been any trouble for a thief. After that night, they never heard anything more about the incident, the police looked, but the two guys vanished, the chairs with them. After a while, everyone quit looking. Fionola’s happy they’re home, but she’s set on us having them. She says for us to consider them a house-warming gift. That Chase would have wanted it this way.”
Tyndal sighed, laid her head against the high back spindles of the chair. She’d finally run out of tears. There was only so much a girl could handle in twenty-four hours.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Do you have to be somewhere?” She stared at Jared. She wanted to do something, swallow something, needed some time to sort through all the tumbled feelings churning inside. She didn’t know what she needed.
She stood up to pace. That was something anyway.
Crafted and gifted to Fionola, with love, from Chase.
Touched by her father.
Found by Jared.
Brought home to Morgan’s Walk.
Shared with her. Like an arrow following a line straight to her heart.
Jared stood. Was the man going to leave? He couldn’t. She didn’t want him to leave. She started to reach for his hand, then looked at him, at the chairs, at his smile, and did the only possible thing. She launched herself into his arms, wrapped her arms tight around his neck, and clung.
“I love you. I love you. I love you. Please forgive me. I understand now. We have to live today. And love today. Can you forgive me?” It all poured out in one long torrent. She felt his heartbeat under her hands, the heart Sasha almost silenced.
She kissed him, touched his face, felt the life in him. Life that was strong.
She looked at him, not seeing a man hooked up to IVs fighting for his life, but a man willing to share his life, willing to make room for her inside his heart.
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