by Jane Porter
Rory’s gaze met hers and he seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. “So this is my rival?”
“He’s not your rival.”
“It might be smart to give him a heads-up that he’s about to lose you.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“I am. Well, I’m trying to, but I keep getting distracted by your beautiful brown eyes and your lovely lips. I love your lips. They are made for kissing.”
“You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I’m taking this very seriously, so seriously I’m suggesting you never let Paul kiss those lips again.”
“You don’t own me.”
“I don’t want to own you. That’s not my style. But I’m also protective of what is mine—” He broke off as a pair of boys shyly approached their table, a pad of paper and pen in the older boy’s hand.
Sadie swallowed her temper as the younger boy prodded the older boy into speaking, but even then, the older boy, somewhere around nine or ten, was so bashful, he stammered as he asked for an autograph.
Rory immediately focused on putting the boys at ease, making small talk with them for a few minutes, before signing two slips of paper. The boys repeatedly thanked him and then waved before returning to their table, where they showed their father the autograph. The father beamed with pleasure and gratitude, and he gave Rory a small nod, clearly grateful Rory had taken time to be kind. Rory nodded back, and Sadie’s chest squeezed impossibly tight.
This man, this beautiful, wounded man that she’d loved since she was thirteen, was turning her inside out. Being near him was like riding a roller coaster—highs, lows, and endless thrills. One moment she wanted to slug him. The next she wanted to hug him. Did he have any idea how frustrating he was?
Did he know how good he was? How generous he was with others? Did he realize that just by sitting here with him, she was falling for him, again?
It was so dangerous. So impossible. She didn’t want to hurt him and yet she had to protect herself.
“You were good with those boys,” she said tautly, furious with him, and equally furious with herself because her heart felt tender and raw and her body hummed with tension from fighting a dozen different wants and needs.
She could pretend she didn’t care, but she would always have feelings for him. Strong feelings. Dangerous feelings.
“I like kids,” he answered gruffly.
“And yet you don’t want any of your own?”
“I don’t think I’d be a good dad.”
“Why?”
“I’m not...” He shrugged. “Not selfless enough.”
Those words and his indifferent shrug spoke volumes. He wasn’t indifferent in the least. If anything he was painfully aware of his fears and needs.
“At least you’re self-aware.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I was sure you’d argue with me, try to tell me what a great dad I’d be.”
And he would be, she thought. It’s why she’d wanted more than anything to be with him and raise a family with him. He was the ultimate hero, the ultimate protector. He was her ideal man. Sadie’s eyes burned, and her throat threatened to seal closed.
She was thankful her voice sounded steady and even. “I think it’s better, to be honest than have a family and walk out on them.”
His smile disappeared. His chiseled jaw jutted. “I’d never walk out on my family.”
“Are you worried you wouldn’t be affectionate?”
There was nothing friendly or approachable about him now. His eyes narrowed, his expression flinty. “That wouldn’t be an issue, not with me. I’d talk to them all the time, and hold them every chance I could.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I think I’d just love them too much.”
Chapter Six
He’d love them too much.
Those five words said it all, revealing the painful truth of who he was and what he’d lived through and how he’d survived.
She’d known the tragedy had scarred him, marked him, and he rode bulls to escape. He courted danger nightly because it was the only way he knew how to manage the loss and his grief. In that moment, she thought she’d never loved him more, but it wasn’t something she could say, or would ever say. He wasn’t a man that wanted tenderness, and she couldn’t imagine trying to get close to him only to be abandoned later when the intimacy suffocated him.
And so Sadie stayed silent, and when the waitress asked them if they wanted dessert, they said no at the same time. Rory handed the waitress several folded bills to cover lunch, and then they were on the street, saying what felt like a very awkward goodbye.
Sadie was certain he was regretting everything about lunch, from sharing his feelings to offering to take her to the Stroll tonight. She hated to think he now felt obligated. He was definitely not obligated.
“If you want to pass on tonight, I totally get it,” she said, stumbling over the words. “It would probably be better if I stayed in and got caught up—” She broke off as he reached for her, tugging her away from the curb as a motorcycle zoomed by.
“You’re not backing out, darlin’,” he said, releasing her elbow. “I’m picking you up. Just give me the address, and I’ll be there.”
“Things seem a little weird between us.”
“Things are a lot of weird, but we’ll sort it out. I’m not worried.”
“Today’s craziness doesn’t throw you?”
“You know what I do for a living, right?”
This was why the man had legions of fans who lined up at venues all across America to meet him. He was successful, determined, and confident. Seriously confident. And confidence was sexy.
She didn’t want to smile but couldn’t keep her lips from curving. “Good enough, but I think it’d be better if we met downtown this evening. I’m checking a guest later, and they’re going to pick up the keys and information from the office at six. It shouldn’t take long. Ten minutes or so.”
“Why doesn’t Natalie do it?”
“She has a dinner date, and then she’s working the booth on Main Street.”
“Fine. I’ll meet you in front of your office a little after six.”
She started to walk away but then turned back around. “And just to be clear, it’s not a date.”
He shrugged, broad shoulders relaxed. “You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, but you did fine at lunch.”
Sadie marched back toward him. “Lunch wasn’t a date, either.”
“We have kissed several times now.”
“You can’t take a non-date and make it a date.”
“We already did.” He reached out and brushed his hand over one of her coppery strands. “And there’s no reason to get nervous. Just talk to me tonight as you do your friends. Pretend I’m McKenna. That should make it easier.”
“Great. I’ll tell you all about the new fabric I found at the Bozeman flea market, and my last date with Paul, and the donors I’m considering.”
“Actually, I don’t need any more details about Paul. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be into fabric, but I’d rather hear about every yard you bought, than more about your donors.”
“But I haven’t told you about the three I’ve selected.”
“I can’t wait for those details.”
Her lips twitched, hearing his sarcasm. It amused her, maybe because she’d been playing defense ever since he came to town. It was his turn to do some mad scrambling. “I still need to narrow it down to one, but I’ve time. See you around six.”
Rory did something he hadn’t done in maybe fifteen years. He left town and drove to Paradise Valley, taking the back roads from the valley floor to the foothills where the Douglas Ranch had been. The property had been on the market for years, but no one had wanted to buy a huge piece of land with such a gruesome history. And because they could survive without selling it, Rory had pulled it off the market seven years ago and it had just sat there, empty. Land without animals.
Land without people.
Reaching the entrance to the ranch, Rory climbed out of the truck and unlocked the front gate before swinging it open and driving over the cattle guard back to where the house had been.
He didn’t go all the way back—he still couldn’t go there—but he went close enough that he could see the roof of the barn, and the shape of the hills behind. To his right was the cluster of poplar trees, his mother’s favorite, and not far from the road was the huge boulder that had been the site of the Douglas kids’ first clubhouse. It was where they’d jumped and climbed and played, with the big steep face becoming whatever they needed it to be—a sailing ship, a dungeon tower, a cliff rising from the ocean.
He smiled faintly at the memories, glad for the adventures they’d had. And there had been many adventures. Great adventures. Quinn had been the most athletic. McKenna the most imaginative. Tyler by far the best natured. Gordon was rough and tumble, all boy, even at five. And Grace... well at two she’d still been too young to join in the games.
Sitting in his truck, he said each of their names, and pictured them all, individually, as well as together. It was something he hadn’t done in years. It was something that needed to be done. Remembering them, and who they’d been, and how important they’d been to him.
As he sat there, truck idling, he felt waves of emotion. Anger. Pain. Grief. Rage. And after the rage came deep, unbearable sadness.
Christ, he missed them. And he wasn’t using the Lord’s name in vain. It wasn’t said in disrespect, but a prayer. Christ, he missed them. And he missed himself. He missed who he’d been, and he missed who he might have become.
He was never supposed to be this hard, isolated man. He’d never been a loner. He’d never wanted a life alone. He’d loved his family so much. He loved the little ones fiercely. When the babies arrived, he was smitten. Enamored. Quinn hadn’t his patience, and so when his mother needed a break, she’d hand Rory a fussy Grace, and he’d walk with Grace, walking until she stopped crying and squirming, walking until she’d relax, and then turn her little face to his neck, her mouth pressed to his skin. And finally content, she’d sleep.
It was in those moments when he held her and was able to soothe her, that he understood himself best. He wasn’t here to accomplish great things. He was here to live, and love. It sounded so simplistic but he wasn’t a complicated person. He loved being on the ranch. He loved riding and working the land. And he loved his family. Those were his great loves. Then they were taken from him, and their deaths broke him.
It wasn’t just that they died, destroyed him, it was how they died... slaughtered in their own home.
A year after the funeral, a year after the endless investigation which never turned up a single suspect or produced a single arrest, the house was razed. The area was plowed and he, Quinn, and McKenna scattered wildflower seeds—Indian paintbrush, forget-me-nots, asters and lupines—and they returned later that spring to see how the hillside was covered in purple, white, lavender, and brilliant orange flowers.
They’d said a prayer then, and the three of them had agreed to only remember the good because that was how their dad and mom would have wanted it, but Rory found remembering only hurt more and the pain made him angry. Better to bury the pain, and so he had.
But maybe he’d buried it too deep for too long. Maybe he should have come up here more often and looked to see if any forget-me-nots remained and the pain wouldn’t still be so intense.
Better late than never, he told himself, shifting gears and turning the truck around. At least he’d come today. At least he was trying to deal with the past. The emotions didn’t feel pretty, but it was a start.
What was it he’d told Sadie outside the diner? Baby steps? Well, he’d taken a big step coming here today, and it was a positive step. Now he just needed to keep moving forward.
After their late lunch at the diner, Sadie went home and got to work. She stenciled an elegant gold flourish on the painted nightstand and then, while that was drying, sat down with her sewing basket and finished stitching the blue-and-cream tassels to a new dishtowel pillow she’d made. Sewing usually relaxed her because her thoughts could drift, but today they were drifting too much. As she worked the needle in and out of the trim, she kept seeing Rory in her head and hearing his voice.
He was not as hard and invincible as he seemed.
Just acknowledging that made her heart hurt. But it also worried her, because she was supposed to be getting over him, not making more space in her heart for him. As it was, she already compared every man to him.
Poor Paul. He really didn’t stand a chance, not with Rory back in town. But Rory wouldn’t remain in Marietta. He never did. He’d be on the road again soon, and it’d be years before he came back.
Sighing, Sadie tucked the needle through the fabric and tassels one last time before finishing with a securing stitch then snipping the thread, knotting it, and returning her needle to the strawberry pincushion in her sewing basket, the pincushion and the sewing basket a present to her on the seventh birthday from her mom.
She gave the plump base of a strawberry pincushion a little squeeze, and sent up a quick silent I love you, Mom. It was still so hard to grasp that her mom was gone and not coming back. The heart attack had come from nowhere. Her mom had seemed so healthy. It was frightening to think how quickly everything could change. How quickly everything did change.
And just like that, her thoughts drifted back to Rory. He was so beautiful with his piercing blue eyes, and crooked sexy smile, and then there was his swagger. She secretly loved his swagger. But beneath that tough exterior of his, he had struggled and while she wanted to help him, she couldn’t. His battles were his own, just as her battles were hers. The best way she could help him was by being true to who she was and what she wanted—and that was love, and family.
Sadie carried the finished pillow to the garage where she tucked it inside a large plastic bag with its mate, ready to go out in Monday’s mail. And now that the pillows were done, she could think about what she planned to wear tonight.
In her room, she tried on a dozen different outfits. It was going to be cold tonight, so she needed to dress warm, but she also wanted to feel pretty, not easy when her down jacket turned her into a big marshmallow. In the end, she chose an oversized burgundy sweater and paired it with a dark green plaid scarf. She curled the ends of her hair so it did a pretty flip and then ditched the high heels for cozy, fleece-lined boots.
At five-thirty she left her house all bundled up and walked down Second Street until she reached Main. It was dark when she started out, and she wasn’t worried about walking alone, but it felt good to reach the Graff Hotel, handsome with its festive, red-ribboned wreaths in every window and fragrant greenery swagged over the front doors.
The hotel’s uniformed valet lifted a hand, and she waved back. There were times she missed Bozeman’s thriving nightlife and wonderful restaurants, but there were pleasures to living in a small town. Here, people waved when you walked by, and they slowed their cars and stopped for pedestrians, even if the pedestrian didn’t have the right-of-way. People just cared. And she liked that. A lot. It’s why she wanted to raise her children in Marietta. This was home. It would always be home, with or without Rory Douglas.
Parking was a challenge in downtown Marietta, but eventually, Rory found a spot on Church Street and walked to Marietta Properties. Sadie was just locking up the office when he arrived, bundled up in her puffy coat with a festive green plaid scarf twisted around her throat, the green setting off the bright coppery strands of hair.
“You look pretty as a picture,” he said, leaning down to give her a hug.
“You’re cold. I have a feeling you had to park far away,” she said.
“I did. But it gave me a chance to stretch my legs and enjoy the fresh Montana air.”
She laughed, and he tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm as they started walking down Main Street. “What’s our plan? Where to firs
t?” he asked.
“I think a cup of hot cocoa would be a great start,” she said, “and then, once we have our cocoa, we can just wander around, checking out displays and all the shop windows.”
Everybody seemed to have the same idea as there was a line out the door at Copper Mountain Chocolates, but people waited patiently for their turn, and once they had their hot chocolate, Rory understood why. It was rich and fragrant and tasted like melted chocolate. “This is the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had,” he said.
Sadie grinned happily. “It is. I have a girl crush on Sage. I love what she’s created here in Marietta, and how much she has accomplished in just five years. It’s hard to remember Marietta without her store.”
They were walking along Main Street, admiring the lights and decorations, as they talked. Couples and families surged around them, the crowd becoming thicker. Three boys chased each other down the sidewalk, and Rory stepped in front of Sadie to be sure they didn’t run into her.
“How is it that you went to school with my sister, but you and I never met?” he asked.
The third boy wasn’t looking and slammed into the back of Rory and would have fallen into Sadie if Rory hadn’t caught him, and swiftly righted him.
“Impressively fast reflexes,” Sadie said.
“Now Hammerfall might dispute that, but it’s reassuring to see that I’m still faster than an eight-year-old.”
She laughed, and Rory felt ridiculously pleased with himself. He was no better than one of these boys tearing down the street, all reckless energy and bravado. “You were going to tell me how it is we never met,” he said.
“Oh, right. Well, we never really moved in the same circles.”
“But you went to school with Mac?”
“We didn’t meet until junior high as I went to Park Elementary and she attended Marietta Elementary.”
