by Jane Porter
Rory reached out and tucked one of her red strands behind her ear. “I wish I could have met them.”
Sadie looked at him, her gaze meeting his and holding. “Do you mean that?”
“I do.”
She leaned across the picnic basket and kissed him, slowly, sweetly, savoring the feel of his lips against hers. She reached up to lightly trail her fingernails down his cheek, feeling the contour of his cheekbone and then the angle of his jaw. He was such a hard man on the outside and yet so tender on the inside.
The kiss gradually deepened and then somehow she was on his lap, and the kiss was no longer slow or tender but full of hunger and heat. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips cradled by his hard thighs.
She thought she could kiss him forever. His kisses were that good. She loved everything about him... his smell, his taste, his warmth. He felt beautiful and exciting but also familiar. She’d been close to men before, but no one had ever made her feel this good. Being in his arms was the most natural place to be. When his hand slid up her hip, and over her waist she arched against him, wanting more.
“Angel girl, I could get lost in you,” he said hoarsely.
She smiled against his mouth. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“But I won’t get lost in you until you agree to be mine.”
Sadie drew back, blinking, and stared into his intensely blue eyes. “What?”
“Not going to let the physical get out of hand until you marry me.” He clasped her jaw and pressed another hot, hard, hungry kiss against her mouth, the pressure and heat lighting a fire in her veins.
It was a kiss that made her clutch his shirt and hang on, aching, breathless.
And then he did it again, and she couldn’t even think clearly, head spinning, body melting, no defenses left. “You didn’t make your other girlfriends wait,” she said huskily.
“I didn’t want to keep them. I want to keep you. And when we make our baby, we’re going to be married. We’re going to do this the way our parents would have wanted it done. In a church, with our family and friends there—”
“I haven’t even said yes.”
“But you will.” He stroked his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip, making it tingle. “You want me as much as I want you.”
“Sex isn’t the basis for a relationship.”
“Exactly. Which is why we’re dating.” He smiled into her eyes, his blue irises fierce and bright. “Two dates down. Two to go. And on the fourth date, I’m proposing.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Which makes me perfect for you.”
She laughed, a faintly hysterical bubble of sound. “You’ve only been in town three days. It doesn’t work that way.”
“In my world, it only takes eight seconds—”
“We are talking about bull riding.”
“For an angel, you have one dirty mind.” He gave her a light smack on her butt. “Now look at that house behind us. Do you like it?”
She looked over his shoulder, out the back window of the truck, and as she peeked over his shoulder she shifted her weight, deliberately rocking on the hard length of him, taking pleasure in his muffled groan. Serves him right. “It’s fine.”
“Why don’t you like it?”
“It’s too much. It reminds me of a hotel not a home.”
“Do you prefer older homes, like the big Victorians on Bramble?”
“Why are you asking?”
“I’m trying to figure out what kind of house we’ll buy when we’re married.”
Sadie leaned back, trying to block out the lovely pressure of him between her thighs. “Are we house hunting?”
“Not yet. But we will. We’ll need a place of our own where we can raise our kids. I’m thinking a couple acres would be nice, but I don’t need a lot of land.”
“Are we really having this conversation?”
“Yes. Christmas is coming. With you on Clomid, you’ll soon be in ovulation.”
She clapped her hand over his mouth. “Not another word.” She choked, mortified. “Please don’t mention ovulation again.”
“You’re the one who asked if I’d show up at Dr. Crookshank’s with a plastic cup,” he said, taking great pains to enunciate against her palm.
“That’s different. It was a hypothetical question.” Frowning, she drew her hand away. “Cowboy, things are moving really fast.”
“Would it reassure you at all if I told you that McKenna thinks we’re perfect for each other?”
“No.”
“She said we’re destined to be together—”
“No.” Sadie pushed a heavy wave of hair back from her face. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because...” Her voice faded.
She couldn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer. She just knew she was afraid and overwhelmed again, and she climbed off Rory’s lap and settled in her seat, drawing the seat belt across her lap and giving it a secure click.
Rory didn’t speak, nor did he start the truck. They sat in silence facing the tumbling Yellowstone River. She kept hoping he’d say something eventually but he didn’t, and after a while, the silence was too much to take.
She shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the seat belt on her lap. “You asked me yesterday if I’d ever been in love, and I said once. I told you that I never told him.” She rubbed her knuckles across her lips, nervous, upset. “The person I loved was you,” she added after a moment. “But I don’t know what that even meant, to say I loved you. I didn’t know you. I saw you. I watched you. I read about you. But I didn’t know you, and now you’re here, and you’re interested in me, and it’s like an answer to a prayer, but I’m suddenly not sure I understood what I was praying for.”
She was still staring out at the river, but she knew he was looking at her. She could feel his gaze burning into her. He wasn’t happy. She didn’t blame him. It was a terrible thing to admit, but she had to be honest. She had to make him understand what she was thinking and feeling.
“Maybe I wasn’t praying for you because I loved you, but because I felt guilty,” she added faintly, her mouth going dry because her heart was pounding so hard.
Rory sat utterly, perfectly still and part of her wondered what he was thinking, while another part just wanted him to start the truck and drive.
“Why would you feel guilty?” he asked after an endless, miserable silence.
“Because of what happened to your family,” she said, trying not to shrivel on the inside.
“But why would that make you feel guilty? You weren’t in any way responsible.”
She wanted then to tell him everything, about how McKenna had been at her house, at her birthday, when her family had been killed.
She wanted to tell him how she remembered every little thing from that night. It had been a beautiful, August evening, the sunlight lingering as it did in Montana in the summer. Sadie had been beyond excited to have the popular girls coming to her house for the sleepover, and how if it weren’t for McKenna saying yes at the last minute, the others wouldn’t have come.
She wanted to tell him how McKenna was one of the first to arrive and Sadie was standing on her front porch as Rory pulled up to the house in his old truck. The long rays of golden light gilded him as he drew to a stop. He turned his head toward McKenna and said something that made her laugh, and then McKenna climbed out of the truck with her sleeping bag, pillow, and the present. McKenna answered Rory, making him laugh.
Sadie never forgot that sliver of time. Rory so handsome at the wheel, pulling away from the curb a little too fast, his country music a little too loud, and pretty, smiling McKenna walking up the sidewalk with her things for the sleepover.
It was without a doubt, the biggest moment of Sadie’s life. But the party didn’t go as planned. Just hours later two sheriff cars arrived to pick McKenna up, lights flashing, sirens blaring. All the girls had rushed to the window, watching as the of
ficers spoke to Mrs. Mann outside, and then Mrs. Mann came inside and drew McKenna away from the others, walking her out to where the officers waited.
It was only after the patrol cars had gone that Mrs. Mann told Sadie there had been a tragedy at the Douglas Ranch. Sadie started crying and couldn’t stop. The girls called their parents and went home.
“I don’t understand the guilt,” Rory said now, his voice hard, almost harsh. “And why me, why not Quinn?”
She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. Her stomach cramped, her insides knotting with pain.
“I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “It was just always you.”
He said nothing for a minute, and then he started the truck and drove her back to Miracle Lake. He pulled up next to her car and shifted into park.
They hadn’t said a word since leaving Quinn’s house, and Sadie’s hands shook as she lifted the picnic basket. “Thank you,” she said, opening the truck door.
He turned and looked at her, his blue gaze burning into her. “For what, angel?”
“Being... understanding.”
His gaze slowly raked her, from the top of her head to her fleece-lined boots. “I’ll see you Wednesday. The movie starts at seven thirty. Let’s get dinner first.”
“You still want to go?”
“We made a deal. Two more dates, darlin’.”
Rory waited for Sadie to start her car and get safely on the road before he left, but once he was driving he didn’t know where to go, nor did he know what to do with himself. Coming home was beyond uncomfortable. Coming home created pain, real pain, serious pain, the kind that couldn’t be eased with three ibuprofen tablets and a tall glass of water.
He’d known when he drove up to the ranch Saturday afternoon that he had work to do. He’d accepted that it was time to deal with who he’d become, and with what he’d never had. Love. Marriage. Family.
Years ago he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve love.
Years ago he’d convinced himself he wasn’t responsible enough, good enough, strong enough...
But somehow in the past few days, he’d come to realize he didn’t have to be perfect. He wasn’t supposed to be perfect. He wasn’t God. He was just a man.
Rory turned off the highway and traveled down the road that led to the Marietta cemetery. The big iron gates were open, and he drove past the grounds keeper’s cottage and then on past the chapel, trying to remember where the five graves would be. He hadn’t been back to the cemetery since the funeral. He wasn’t even sure why he was here now, only that he felt compelled to stop and pay his respects.
He drove slowly around the perimeter trying to remember something from that day. It had been summer. And hot. There had been shade. But was that from the canopy or a tree?
He braked and called McKenna before he could change his mind.
She answered almost right away.
He cleared his throat. “Mac, it’s me. I’m over at the cemetery, but I can’t find where they, um, all are. Can you help me?”
She hesitated only a moment. “They are in the far right corner about four rows in if you were walking toward the middle.”
He was grateful she sounded so matter of fact. “Thanks, Mac.”
“Of course.”
And then they hung up, and Rory took his foot off the brake and then continued around the perimeter, heading for the far right corner. Once there, he parked, and stepped out of the truck and made his way over four rows and then began reading the gravestones, paying attention to the names and dates and it was overwhelming. All these people, all loved.
He had to stop a couple of times and look up and breathe while he focused on Copper Mountain’s snow-capped peak.
He wanted to turn around and return to his truck and get out of here. This was a bad idea—
And then he saw Gordon’s gravestone, and he froze. Ah, little Gordon.
Rory closed his eyes, drawing air into his lungs, trying to ease the fire and then he knelt down and put his hand on Gordon’s name, and said a prayer for him.
He did this for each of them. Prayed for them, and silently told them he loved them. When he finished, he was grateful for his cane as he stiffly pushed to his feet.
He turned around to start back to his truck and stopped. Just a few feet away stood McKenna.
“What are you doing here?” he said gruffly.
“Came to make sure my big brother was okay.”
“I’m okay.”
She went to him then and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hard hug.
He hugged her back.
“Love you, Rory,” she whispered.
“Love you, too, Mac. Just sorry I haven’t been around more.”
“You’re allowed to live your own life. In fact, you’re supposed to live your own life.” She smiled up at him. “You were never meant to stay here and cluck over us like a mother hen.”
“I hate that I’ve worried you.”
“Rory, you’re here. You’re well. Best of all, you’re home for Christmas. What more can I ask?”
He turned away, looked back at the bare gray gravestones. “Do you ever come here? Do you ever talk to them?”
“I usually come on each of their birthdays with flowers.”
“This is the first time I’ve come since the funeral.”
“I wondered.”
“Is that terrible?”
“No. We can’t live in the past. No point in that.”
Chapter Nine
Sadie spent the rest of the day hoping he’d call.
She needed him to call so she could apologize. She needed him to call so she could tell him she was confused and what she’d said to him was true, but at the same time, it was only a partial truth.
The whole truth was that she didn’t understand why she’d decided all those years ago that Rory was the one for her.
She didn’t understand how she could feel so strongly for him, and only him, for years on end.
She didn’t understand why her heart had chosen him and then refused to let go... and then right when she let go, he showed up, and he was a million times bigger and more thrilling than the man she’d followed from afar.
She didn’t understand how love worked, and she didn’t understand what made her feelings for him so intense. And they were intense. Yes, there was some guilt, but there was also tenderness, protectiveness, admiration, respect, and desire. So much desire. He was beautiful, and male, and her ideal as men went. She couldn’t imagine ever being this attracted to anyone else.
And that was what frightened her the most. If he was the only one for her, how would she cope when he wasn’t there?
If he walked away from her, what would she do?
She paced her house, moving from the living room through the dining room to the compact kitchen and then out again to look toward the bedrooms. Her room and her mom’s room. After moving back into the house Sadie had taken her old room. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting her mom’s room, even if it was bigger.
Truthfully, this wasn’t her forever house. She didn’t want to raise her children here. She wanted a fresh start.
Sadie suddenly thought of Rory and she pictured him today at the ice rink, and then again sitting in the truck outside Quinn’s house. She didn’t need a fancy house. All she really wanted was Rory there.
Sadie glanced at her phone, checking the time, checking for missed calls, checking for text messages.
It was eight, and there was nothing.
Her heart hurt. She hurt. And she wondered if he hurt.
She’d said it all wrong earlier. She’d been wrong. Now she desperately wanted to make it right.
She could call him. Or text. Or wait and hope he’d call her tomorrow.
But she would never sleep tonight, not when she felt so upset.
Sadie shoved her feet into her winter boots and pulled on her heavy coat and jumped into her car and drove the four short blocks to Rory’s stable-house. The house
looked dark except for the porch lights that were on.
She went to the door anyway, and rang the bell. Let him be home, let him be home, let him—
The door swung open and he was there, barefoot in jeans and an open flannel shirt.
She sucked in a breath and stared at his beautifully muscled chest and then down lower to the hard carved knots of his abdominal muscles. This wasn’t a six-pack. It was an eight-pack. Or more.
“Ahem. My eyes are up here,” he drawled, mouth curved in a faint dry smile.
She jerked her head up, heat and need rushing through her, heightening her emotions. “Forgive me,” she breathed. “Rory, I said things this morning I didn’t mean. I panicked about... everything... and, yes, I do feel guilty that—”
“I think you better come in,” he said, opening the door wider. “Sounds like this might take a while.”
“I don’t want to barge in. I just want you to know that I am sorry. I’m sorry I don’t know how to do this with you.”
“Are you breaking up with me, darlin’?”
“No.”
“Then come in, because I’m freezing.”
She followed him into the little house, watching nervously as he shut the door and then headed into the kitchen. “I just opened a bottle of red,” he said, gesturing to the bottle and glass on the island. “Want to join me?”
She nodded. “Yes. Please.”
He poured her a glass and handed it to her. “You drink this. I’m going to get something warmer to put on.”
He returned a minute later, the flannel shirt replaced by a T-shirt and a V-neck cashmere sweater and sheepskin slippers on his feet. “So,” he said, drawing out a barstool and sitting down. “What’s happening?”
“Today at Quinn’s house I said things that I thought I meant, but maybe I meant some of it, but not all of it.” She frowned, forehead wrinkling. “I’m sure that confuses you because it confuses me.”
“What did you say that you didn’t mean?”
“I didn’t pray for you all these years because I felt guilty. I prayed for you because I care for you.”
