by James, Sandy
The comforting dream swiftly became a nightmare as Joy saw him standing over another young man, someone whose body was shattered and lying as still as a corpse. His friend Brad. Lucas was shouting and weeping, his arm torn and bleeding, hanging useless at his side as he begged the man to live. Lucas’s agony and despair tore through her like a knife buried deep in her chest.
Joy awoke, sitting upright with a jerk to a loud cry of pain echoing through her apartment. It took her a moment to realize the frightened shriek was coming from her. “Oh, Lucas,” she whispered as she let her head fall back onto the pillow.
After the torturing dreams, Joy felt as if she hadn’t rested at all. She could tell she was a little feverish, and tired didn’t even come close to describing her overwhelming fatigue. She fretted over what she should do.
How could she honor her family and still be with Lucas? How could she keep her beloved traditions when she was falling in love with a man outside the circle? And how could she possibly heal Lucas when he might not want her help? Her guilt and despair were taking a physical toll. It was almost too much effort to get up and face whatever the day held in store.
Her parents were still here, and they’d probably stay until they would return to Erie for her brother Andras’s wedding. They had obviously finished assessing the other two restaurants and finalized the plans for her fourth brother’s marriage. After her father looked over Gypsy’s books and the restaurant itself, the next thing he would demand would be to discuss Tamas and how soon she would commit to him. Bela and Illona would want to talk to her, nag at her, try to change Joy’s mind about Lucas. Her father would be relentless.
Papa’s worse than an old, broken record.
She hadn’t been at all surprised at his vehement reaction to Lucas, but it had stung nonetheless. Joy’s whole life she’d tried to please him, to please her family. At what cost? Her own wants? Her own needs? Her own desires?
She didn’t want to think about the whole enigmatic mess, so she tried to hide from the intrusive sun. Joy jerked the covers over her head, disturbing the fat, yellow cat curled up on the blanket. The warm bodies of the other three cats rubbed against her legs and her side, and she had a passing thought that she hoped Lucas liked cats as much as he did horses. He would have to get used to having them around if he was going to be with her.
If he’s going to be with me.
It wasn’t as if Lucas was truly a part of her life yet. Maybe she was simply jumping the gun by fretting over her family’s reaction. Perhaps he wouldn’t stay. Perhaps he wouldn’t want her despite the indications his kisses had given her. Perhaps she just wasn’t his type.
“I don’t have blond hair and big boobs,” she grumbled.
Remembering their kisses, the way her body responded to him as if she was a marionette and Lucas was the puppeteer, there was no denying her attraction. Joy could feel the connection every time they were together. But did Lucas feel it as well? They had enjoyed a wonderful time at the fair, but one real date, some stolen moments, and a handful of hot kisses didn’t make a lifetime commitment. And their parting hadn’t been good.
The Romungro in her asserted itself, spoke to her. Made demands. This man is your mate, Jozsa. You’re already committed to him. The voice from her heart prodded and pushed her to get out of bed. It ordered her to deal with Lucas, to help him share his secrets. You have to help him, to heal him.
She was suddenly afraid she’d been given more than she could handle—her family’s strain, her decision to postpone art school. Those were gut-wrenching enough. But how could she help Lucas shoulder his many heavy burdens?
“So, what do I do now?” she asked the fat cat sniffing at her chin. The animal rubbed his cheek against her face and purred. “Thanks a heap, Oroszlan.”
As she took a shower, Joy tried to use logic to talk herself out of getting more deeply involved, out of following the path that could so easily lead to much heartache. Bracing her hands on the wall, she bowed her head and let the hot water beat over her stiff shoulders. “You silly gypsy. You’ve got no good reason to go back to that house. No good reason at all.”
Help him past his pain, her heart replied.
“What if I can’t?”
While she ate her breakfast, she reminded herself that she didn’t need to sketch the place any longer. She pretended that the house was the only draw, the only thing that pulled her away from Gypsy, from her responsibilities. You’ve got too many drawings of that old house as it is, you foolish girl. She had memorized every crevice of the mansion’s exterior, so seeing it again wasn’t necessary. Lucas had told her she could help in its restoration, but she wasn’t experienced in home improvement.
“What if he doesn’t want my help?” she asked, knowing the question had nothing to do with renovations.
He needs you, her heart answered. And you need him.
As she gathered some of her art supplies and shoved them in her bag, Joy tried to convince herself that Lucas didn’t really want her there, that it was puerile to go. You’re acting like a child, Jozsa. Leave the man alone.
He’s your mate. Heal him! her heart demanded. You have to help him.
Joy got in her car and headed for their house.
Chapter 11
Joy found herself standing outside the barn, staring up at the window she now knew was Lucas’s bedroom, and wondering exactly what she was hoping to accomplish by being there.
The gypsy in her had driven her to it. It was as simple as that.
Life is never simple. Just because your heart believes he’s your mate doesn’t mean he will be. It doesn’t mean he’ll fall in love with you.
“I wondered when you’d finally come back out here.”
Joy was surprised how high she jumped when Lucas’s baritone voice boomed behind her. For once, he’d caught her unawares. “Sweet Jesus, you scared me,” she said as she put her hand over her racing heart.
“Sorry. Where’s your art bag?” he asked, glancing over her shoulder. “I didn’t know you went anywhere without it.”
“I left it in the car.”
His eyes widened for a split second. Just enough to show Joy she’d shocked him. “You’re not going to sketch?”
She shook her head. “Not this time.”
“So you came to help me work on this pile of rotten lumber?” A handsome eyebrow arched her way. “Or did you come for...something else?”
Joy sighed and pondered the very same questions. A noncommittal shrug was her answer. She wasn’t about to explain the whole thing to him, even if she truly understood it all herself. She wouldn’t ask why he hadn’t answered her phone calls, and she wouldn’t scold him for frightening her by being out of touch. He owed her nothing.
Slow, Jozsa. Take it slow.
After several suspended seconds, Lucas finally spoke again. “I started to work on the floor upstairs. I figured since you went and poked another hole in it, you might want to help fix it.”
Joy smiled at his teasing. “I’d love to.”
“I need to feed the horses.” He slowly extended his hand. “Would you like to help?”
“I’d like that.” She loved the way her heart pounded when his sturdy hand enfolded hers. That strong connection, that feeling of belonging with him, was suddenly back.
Thank you, God.
Lucas led the way into the barn. She was surprised to see that Monterey Jack had been joined by three new animals. Then Joy realized he had used the plural “horses.”
“When did you get more horses?” She watched Lucas grab an empty coffee can and fill it with grain from a wheelbarrow. He dumped the feed into one of the buckets hanging just inside Jack’s stall. The horse nickered his approval and accepted an affectionate rub from Lucas before burying his nose in the grain.
“A couple of days ago. Just before the fair. I put the word out that I’m willing to be a half-way house for injured horses and that I’d take on boarders. One of the new ones is my brother’s. He’s retiring the old
guy. I’m going to break him to saddle and find him a new home.”
Lucas dumped a can of grain into another stall and whispered a few unintelligible words to the horse before moving to another stall. “This one is Taylor O’Riley’s mare.” He patted the mare’s neck then turned back to the wheelbarrow. “She’s here waiting to go to a farm to get turned out and be bred in February. She never turned out to be the racehorse Taylor thought she would be, but she’s got good bloodlines. He hates having horses by the practice track if they aren’t racing because they get really hyper. So now I’ve got her. Hopefully, she’ll make a good broodmare.”
“That’s what happens to old racehorses? They become pets or broodmares?” She leaned her shoulder against the stall wall as she watched Lucas and the horses. She noticed how he gave some affection to each animal and that he took the time to touch or talk to each horse. They responded to him. Joy had always believed animals were fantastic judges of character, and it was obvious that these horses had deemed Lucas to be a good man. Not that she hadn’t already figured that out for herself.
“Not all of them. Some are bought by the Amish. If I can help train some of them to be saddle horses, they’ve got a better chance at a good life when they’re retired. I make money boarding them and sometimes some decent money selling them. I think everything, everyone, deserves a second chance.”
Joy caught the deeper meaning of his words. This house, these horses, were his new start, his opportunity to put his time in Iraq aside and start his life again. “You’re right. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, his fingers gripping the coffee can tight enough his skin blanched. His gaze found hers, those amber eyes of his pleading for her to understand.
“It’s all right, Lucas.”
“No, it’s not. I...I should have returned your calls.” He tossed the can into the grain and tugged the protective tarp over the wheelbarrow. “I didn’t... I just...needed some time.”
“I know. That’s why I waited. That’s why I didn’t come out sooner. I knew you needed some space.”
Lucas came to stand in front of her. Reaching out to touch her hair, he rubbed one of her curls between his fingers. Then he sighed. “I really am sorry. I just...” He shrugged, letting his gaze again capture hers.
Joy nodded before staring into those eyes that were so handsome they made her giddy. “It’s okay.”
Lucas’s mouth suddenly dropped to take possession of hers. The kiss was brutal in its intensity, hot and demanding as his body leaned into hers, pinning her against the wall. But before she even had a chance to properly respond, to melt into him as she wanted to, he pulled away. Joy almost cried out in frustration.
Without a word of explanation, he walked to the large bales of hay piled on skids near the barn’s entrance. Gathering several flakes into his arms, Lucas began to pitch the green hay into each stall.
Amazed that a light bulb didn’t illuminate above her head to mark the moment, Joy suddenly understood exactly what he needed, exactly what he was trying to tell her with his kiss that he couldn’t seem to say aloud.
You need to know that you’re still alive, Lucas. You survived the war. You need to...feel again. I can make you feel, Szivem.
“I’m sorry, Joy. That was—”
“Wonderful,” she interrupted. “It was wonderful.”
She waited and watched as he finished feeding the horses before he came to stand by her again. He ran his hands from her shoulders, down her arms, and took her hands into his.
Lucas stared into her eyes, and Joy saw the turmoil, the pain. She raised herself to her tiptoes and brushed her mouth across his. He responded by dropping her hands, pulling her to him, and taking possession of her mouth again. His tongue swept inside, mated with hers. By the time he eased away, her breath was coming in gasps. She was pleased to hear the same hurried tempo of his breathing.
Lucas stepped away, turned his back to her, and bowed his head as if he was ashamed. “I’m sorry, Joy. I don’t know what’s gotten into... I’m sorry.”
She came behind him, wrapped her hands around his waist, and pressed her cheek to his back. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I like it when you kiss me. Can’t you tell?” His chuckle pleased her.
Lucas turned to face her and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go get some work done.” He took Joy’s hand and led her to the house. Grabbing a toolbox from the kitchen table, he took her upstairs to his bedroom.
Showing her the green marks noting the rotten spots on the hardwood floor, Lucas handed her a measuring tape. He explained to Joy how to check for the dimensions of the new wood before he began to use a crow bar to pull up weak boards. After a large portion of the floor had been removed, the two worked to cut the fresh wood and then Lucas pounded it into place. Joy caught on quickly, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves in a good, steady rhythm. But she kept a watchful eye on him, waiting for just the right opportunity. He needs to know he’s not alone.
Everyone has scars, Lucas. Even me.
The sweltering warmth of August crept into the second story room. Joy began to wipe the sweat from her face against the sleeve of her shirt. The moisture swiftly formed on her brow again.
“Whew,” she exclaimed as she fanned her face with her hand. “Feels like a sauna up here.”
Lucas got up from where he knelt and grabbed an electric box fan that had been standing idle in the corner. Plugging it in, he set it up close to where they worked. When he turned the fan on, the sawdust began to blow around the room. He turned the dial down to the lowest speed and aimed it a little farther away from the cutting area.
“Sorry. I know it’s awfully hot. I opened all the windows this morning, but...” He shrugged. “It gets really warm up here. Soon as I get the electricity fixed, I’m going to add ceiling fans. With the huge windows, maybe I can get by without air conditioning.”
Knowing he must be suffering from the summer heat wearing one of his long-sleeved shirts, Joy decided to set an example and make herself as comfortable as possible. But there was another more important purpose to her planned action. With a prayer for courage, she jerked her t-shirt over her head.
How bizarre. Doing home improvement in my bra and jeans. Yet there was a method to her madness. She simply stood there waiting for his reaction to what she had so openly revealed. Lucas just stared at her, unblinking, but remained silent.
Joy knew he saw it. How could anyone miss the large puckering line that trailed down the center of her chest from right below her collarbone until it disappeared deep into the valley between her breasts?
When they were younger, Janos always teased her and told her that the scar looked like zipper holding her ribcage together. It wasn’t a malicious taunt because Joy knew Janos loved her so much. The joking was simply his way of dealing with his fear for her. Because they were barely a year apart in age, they were closer than any of the other Kovacs siblings. Of course her heart surgeries had affected him.
Joy decided waiting on Lucas’s response was growing interminable, so she returned to work measuring and cutting floorboards. But she was keenly aware that his wide eyes followed her every movement.
Maybe he’s just staring at your boobs, Jozsa. Did you have to wear the black lace bra?
There was nothing she could do except remain patient until he came to terms with what she had bared to him. She wasn’t an expert; she really knew nothing about psychology. All Joy had read about the effects of war had helped her understand some of the burden he carried, but now she acted purely on instinct. And instinct told her the first step to help heal Lucas was to get him to accept his scars. Maybe her courage could become his.
A heavy sigh drifted from across the room, and Joy turned to glance at Lucas. His eyes were still firmly glued on her. A flush spread across her face and through her veins as she warmed to his stare.
“What happened, Jozsa? Where did you get that...scar?”
“
I had a congenital heart defect. It took a couple of surgeries to repair it. I was so little, I don’t even remember them very well. But I always have this reminder,” Joy explained as she traced her finger down the scar. “I know it looks terrible, but this line reminds me how lucky I am to be here, how lucky I am they could fix my heart. Mama always told me the doctors believed if I’d been born ten years earlier, I wouldn’t have survived. The type of surgery I needed was too new. Mama says God was watching out for me.”
Lucas furrowed his brow as if some uncomfortable thought preoccupied his mind. Joy had an idea about what was haunting him, it was one of the reasons she revealed her scar so unreservedly. He was ashamed of his arm, as much of the marks as of what they represented to him. She wanted Lucas to feel the same type of freedom she enjoyed when she had finally come to terms with the scar that would follow her through life. She never saw it as a flaw. The marks were a visible sign that she’d lived when she should have died. Just like Lucas’s scars were proof he had survived a war that many others hadn’t.
Hoping to inspire a little courage on Lucas’s part, Joy dropped the board she was working on and moved to stand in front of him. She picked up his left hand and placed his palm over her scar. “It’s just a scar. Just a mark that time put on my body, a mark that shows I’m a survivor. It doesn’t change who I am. Just like your scars don’t change who you are.”
Lucas’s hand trembled against her chest, and his fingers lightly traced the crease. So gentle, as if he pushed too hard she would shatter like delicate crystal. Joy reached out and took his right hand and cradled it palm up in her own. “You’re a survivor, Lucas.” She traced his heartline with the pad of her finger and then rotated his hand and began to slowly push up the long sleeve of his shirt.
Joy guarded her reaction as Lucas allowed her to slowly uncover his forearm. The scars were thick. She knew why he hid them, why he hated them so much. When she was old enough to realize that everyone didn’t have a scar like hers, Joy had struggled to hide it from everyone in the same way Lucas covered his with long sleeves. She had needed time to get past the embarrassment she’d felt whenever someone had glimpsed her scar and stopped to gawk at her as if she was a sideshow freak. She instinctively knew that Lucas’s marked flesh was fresh the first time she had seen his hand. His reaction had explained that to her clear as a sunlit day.
