A Kiss in the Sunlight

by Marie Patrick

  Ryleigh slid her hand along his arm and entwined her fingers with his as she eased against the wooden barrier beside him. “Did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Ever leave Paradise Falls.”

  He shook his head. “No, he never did. He was determined to put down roots. He started working for Buford Gaines at Whispering Pines when he was fifteen and fell in love with Mary from the moment he saw her, even though she was married to Buford.” A sigh escaped him, but the smile never left his face. “He never told her, never admitted that he loved her, even to us, although we all knew. For years, he hid his feelings for her, wouldn’t tell her even after Buford passed. It wasn’t until almost two years after Buford died that he finally made his love for her known, only to learn that she loved him, too.” His voice grew tight, and his muscles tightened as he stared at the water flowing under the bridge.

  “I’d never seen Kieran so happy as the day he and Mary married. Josiah presided over the ceremony out at the ranch. We were all there. Heck, half the town was there. Da was so proud, I thought he would burst his buttons and Mam . . . She just cried. She was so happy. She already loved Mary like a daughter and doted on Matthew, her first grandchild.”

  “What happened to Kieran and Mary? What happened to Matthew?” The questions popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  He sucked in his breath and turned toward her, disengaging his hand from hers while he did so. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to. The expression on his face said it all. Their conversation was over. She’d done it again―allowed her mouth to spill nosy questions.

  “I need to make my rounds.” He touched the brim of his hat with his fingers, turned quickly, and strode away, his boot heels heavy on the wooden boards of the bridge, his long legs putting distance between them.

  Despite how fast she was able to walk, there was no way for her to catch up to him. She wouldn’t even try. A sigh left her, and her vision grew misty as tears welled in her eyes. She wiped them away, frustrated with herself, and left the bridge, her steps a lot slower than Teague’s had been.

  She wandered back toward the hotel, her gaze on her feet, not wishing any of the passersby to see her cry. There would be questions if her tears were witnessed, especially after people had seen her walking with the sheriff earlier. Paradise Falls was like that. The townspeople genuinely cared about one another. They’d even extended that courtesy to her, a relative stranger in their midst.

  She put one foot in front of the other until the sidewalk ended, then stepped down into the street and kept going, aware of nothing except the misery in her heart. When she finally looked up, the church loomed just ahead of her, the steeple casting its shadow in her path. Was that a sign that she should, perhaps, confess her sins to the good reverend and receive absolution for her seemingly unsympathetic ways?

  The truth of the matter was, she wasn’t indifferent or heartless. She cared for the sheriff and didn’t want to see him hurt. It was just that sometimes, her inquisitiveness got the better of her, and questions slipped from her lips unintended.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “They say confession is good for the soul,” she muttered, then opened her eyes and strode across the street and up the steps of the church. The door opened easily when she tugged on it, and she entered the cool interior. Stained glass windows cast colorful rainbows on the floor and on the empty pews, creating a warm, welcoming light as she walked up the center aisle toward the plain wooden altar. Her footsteps echoed within the silent building, and her desire for forgiveness remained just a wish.

  She turned, ready to leave when she noticed an open door to her right. Sunlight shined in through the opening, creating a shaft of light along the floor. She followed the sunbeam and stepped through the door to find a well-kept cemetery . . . and a man kneeling before a marble angel, his voice soft as he pulled weeds from the monument’s base and spoke to, she assumed, the person memorialized by the gravestone. Or perhaps he spoke to the angel itself.

  He tossed weeds into the basket at his side, then wiped the dirt from his hands and rose to his feet, shaking the soil from the knees of his trousers as he did so. He turned toward the church, and his eyes lit on her. A wide, welcoming smile appeared on his handsome face.

  “Ryleigh! What a lovely surprise!” Reverend Miller grabbed the basket, then maneuvered carefully over to the next gravesite. “Come. Join me.” He held out his hand and gestured to the graves around him. “They won’t mind.”

  What a strange thing to say.

  Ryleigh pushed the thought from her mind, stepped down the stairs, her hand on the wrought iron railing for balance, and joined him in the middle of the cemetery, though it was a very odd place to meet. “Were you . . . talking to them?”

  His grin widened. “Of course. They are still my parishioners. I’d like to think they can hear the sound of my voice, and it brings them comfort. Or perhaps it’s just me who gains comfort from talking to them and keeping their final resting place beautiful.” He studied her, and his smile slowly faded, “But that isn’t why you stopped by, is it? What’s on your mind?”

  Ryleigh glanced around, a little troubled by her surroundings. Cemeteries had never been one of her favorite places, although she often visited the grave of her beloved grandfather.

  “Ah, you’re uncomfortable. I can understand that. We can sit over there.” He pointed to a corner where stone benches resided in the shade of a sycamore tree. A small fountain that resembled the waterfall Teague had taken her to burbled in the corner, the sound soothing as the water tumbled into the receiving pool at the base in a solid sheet. Flowers bloomed in profusion around the reservoir, scenting the air with their sweet perfume. “It’s very tranquil.”

  Ryleigh gave a small nod. The spot did indeed look peaceful, and she followed him to it. “I’m . . . I’m afraid I did it again, Reverend.” She settled on the bench and adjusted her skirts.

  “Did what?” He took a seat on the bench to her left. Sunlight sifted through the leaves of the sycamore, and for a moment, it seemed like a halo hovered above his dark hair, making him appear positively angelic.

  She blinked, and the image vanished. “Let my curiosity overrule my common decency.”

  “What did you do?” He leaned forward a little, his forearms resting on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knees.

  “I asked Teague what happened to Kieran, Mary, and Matthew. I know they’re gone, but I don’t know when or how or why.”

  “I see.” He took a deep breath, then rose from the bench and moved toward the fountain where he pulled several leaves from the reservoir, then turned to face her. “And what did he say?”

  “Nothing. Not one word. He just―”

  “Closed his mouth and gave you that look.” The reverend sighed and shook his head. “I know that look. I’ve seen it often enough.”

  “I hurt him just asking the question, but I didn’t mean to. Sometimes, my curiosity gets the better of me. He is right, though. I am nosy. And much too bold.” She let out a sigh. “It seems I’m always doing that. Asking inappropriate questions, then apologizing for doing so.”

  “Teague doesn’t hold grudges. I’m sure you know that by now.”

  “I do. He’s been nothing but kind and considerate.”

  “That’s true. He is.” He folded his arms across his chest and pinned her with his gaze. “So why are you here? Was it to ask me what happened to Teague’s family?”

  She stiffened. Had that been her ultimate purpose in seeking him out? No, that had never been her intention. At least, she didn’t think so. She shook her head. “No, that wasn’t it at all. I suppose I’m looking for . . . forgiveness.”

  He nodded, a bemused expression on his face. “From God? Or from Teague?”

  “Both, I suppose.”

  “One I can do,” he said with a smile. “The other you’ll have to get directly from the man himself.”

  The good reverend
folded his hands and bowed his head. He spoke softly, but eloquently, and a feeling of peace swept through her. “Amen.” He grinned, then stuck out his hand and clasped hers. “And now, I’ll leave you. Stay as long as you like.”

  She gave a small nod and smiled, feeling much better already. Confession was, indeed, good for the soul. “Thank you.”

  As Reverend Miller moved away, she closed her eyes and listened to the water gurgling over the rocks. Sunlight shifting through the leaves of the sycamore flickered on her face, making shadows dance behind her eyelids as a breeze moved the branches above her.

  How long she sat in the tranquil spot, she didn’t know, but the rumbling of her stomach roused her. She opened her eyes and stood. As she did, a small bronze plaque near the base of the fountain caught her attention. Interest piqued, she moved closer to read the inscription.

  In loving memory of Kieran MacDermott, Mary MacDermott, and Matthew Gaines.

  Beneath the inscription was the date, the same day the Logans rode into this peaceful, quiet town and wreaked havoc. Ryleigh sucked in her breath, and tears blurred her vision as the obvious conclusion struck her.

  Oh, poor Teague. He’d suffered so much that sunny afternoon more than four years ago. Not only had he lost townspeople he’d been fond of, but he’d lost his brother, his sister-in-law, and the nephew he loved. Had they been in town when the Logans rode through, getting caught in the crossfire like so many others? She didn’t recall their names being mentioned in the newspaper accounts she’d read. Had Teague specifically asked that they be omitted?

  She looked around for Reverend Miller, but he had disappeared. His basket full of weeds was gone as well. Had he purposely suggested this peaceful, shaded corner so she could see that small plaque?

  She wandered along a gravel path that led her to a gate in the wrought iron fence behind the church and left the cemetery, her mind in turmoil, spinning with more questions that Teague, and the people who were loyal to him, would never answer.

  • • •

  Teague guided Valor along the wooded path, his morning rounds completed. Once again, there had been no problems reported from the people he spoke to, and that was just the way he liked it. Quiet. Peaceful.

  Now, if he could stop the chaos in his mind, he’d be happy, but it didn’t appear that would happen any time soon. Not as long as he kept seeing Ryleigh. If he could just stay away from her, that would solve his problems, but he couldn’t. And if he were truthful with himself, he’d admit that he didn’t want to. He liked the way she made him feel, except when she asked her questions.

  He smirked as he recalled how she looked earlier this morning―a warm glow on her cheeks, her eyes more violet than blue, that brilliant smile on her lips. He thought his heart would pound through his chest. And then he noticed that her hat was crooked, the ribbons knotted and dangling instead of in a bow, and he couldn’t help himself.

  She’d been downright adorable as her gaze drew him in. Amusement tickled him. Even more so, a strange sensation settled in his soul, one he couldn’t define. Or perhaps, didn’t want to.

  He’d touched her then, unable to resist the excuse of fixing her hat. As soon as his fingertips caressed her warm flesh, the inclination to finish what they’d started at the river flashed through his mind. The middle of the sidewalk was not the place to accomplish that.

  More surprisingly, he had enjoyed talking about his brothers and sharing some of his memories. It had been too long since he’d let that happiness into his heart. And then, she’d asked what had happened to Kieran, Mary, and Matthew, and that fleeting moment of contentment vanished.

  He shouldn’t have walked away from her. He should have just answered the question, but he couldn’t. It would be admitting his guilt, his failure, not only as a lawman but as a brother. He’d been tasked to keep them safe. He hadn’t, and the knowledge ate at him more often than not.

  He shook his head, pushing the blame for their deaths away into the furthest recesses of his mind.

  He meandered along the path leading toward the road into town, the thick copse shading him as well as his passage. Movement up ahead gained his attention before he broke through the trees. He squinted and watched Ryleigh close the gate to the cemetery. He tugged on Valor’s reins. The horse chuffed and stopped. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t see him, but Ryleigh never looked in his direction, never lifted her head. He watched her disappear into the hotel, her pace slow, as if a heavy weight rested on her shoulders.

  What was she doing in the cemetery? Had she sought Josiah’s counsel? Did she see the fountain and plaque he’d had commissioned?

  His breath burned in his lungs before he let it out in a rush.

  He nudged Valor forward and crossed the road, then stopped when he reached the house of worship. Dismounting, he wrapped the horse’s reins around a fence post and let himself into the cemetery using the same gate she had. He followed the gravel path but didn’t head toward the fountain in the corner. Instead, he walked between the headstones and stopped before the final resting place of his parents.

  He kissed his fingertips and laid them on the stone chiseled with the name of his mother. He was about to do the same for his father when the closing of a door drew his attention. He turned and saw Josiah coming toward him, a rake in his hand, gloves tucked into the belt around his waist.

  “Today must be my lucky day.” The reverend greeted him, a huge smile on his face.

  “I saw Ryleigh leaving through the back gate,” Teague said without preamble as he met the man in the middle of the cemetery.

  “Yes, she was here,” Josiah admitted.

  “Why?”

  The reverend shrugged and folded his hand on top of the rake handle. “You know I can’t tell you that. Whatever a parishioner says to me remains with me.”

  “Did she ask about Kieran? And Mary?”

  “Actually, she did not.”

  Teague squinted as his gaze held the man’s intently. “But you told her, didn’t you?”

  Josiah let out his breath in a long sigh as he held Teague’s gaze. “I didn’t tell her anything about your brother or his family, but I think maybe it’s time you did.”

  The reverend took another breath and moved a little closer to rest one hand on his shoulder, the other still holding the rake upright. “Don’t you think it’s time you forgave yourself for what happened? You carry your guilt around like a stone in your heart and blame yourself for things you couldn’t control. It isn’t right.”

  Teague studied him for a long time, every muscle in his body tense, every breath forced into his lungs, the thudding of his heart against his chest painful. “Could you?”

  “With help from God and the people who love me—yes, I could.” He took a step back, removing his hand from Teague’s shoulder. There was sympathy in his eyes, as well as a touch of exasperation. “I’d tell Ryleigh what she wants to know. Tell her about the gunfight and what happened to Kieran, Mary, and Matthew. Tell her how Brock and Eamon almost died. And let her write her story. Maybe then you’ll find peace.”

  Teague scoffed. As if I’ll ever find peace. The thought rambled through his brain though he didn’t say the words aloud. He let out his breath, his body still stiff, his anger building. Maybe, it was irrational, that anger. Then again, maybe, it was his only defense against the truth Josiah was speaking. Still, he didn’t believe he deserved peace. Or mercy. “Well, you’re not me.”

  “No, I’m not.” Josiah’s voice rose just a little, letting Teague know he was becoming frustrated. “As difficult as it may be for you to hear, you’re still a human being, Teague, with frailties and imperfections, just like everyone else, but their deaths were not your fault. I’ve been telling you that for four long years.”

  Teague had nothing to say to that, because he didn’t believe it. And never would. He gave a slight nod, then turned and walked away, each footstep heavier than the last, like he had Jake’s anvils tied to his legs.

  “I exp
ect to see you in church on Sunday!” the reverend called after him. Teague gave a wave with his hand, signaling that he’d heard. He walked around the corner of the church and stopped in the shade to lean against the building. He drew in his breath, even though the pain around his heart was acute.

  Was Josiah right? Was it time to forgive himself? He shook his head, then took another deep breath, filling his lungs, releasing some of his anger as he exhaled.

  No, there was no forgiveness for what he’d failed to do, but he couldn’t leave, not with Josiah frustrated with him. The reverend had been a good friend over the years. Trusted. Loyal. Honest and forthright. Always willing to listen with an open heart.

  He came back around the corner. Josiah was already plying the rake to the gravel pathways between the graves, his movements slow and precise. He waited a moment or two until he got the man’s attention. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Josiah paused in his actions, his mouth stretching into a grin. “Now, go talk to her. If you still can’t talk about what happened, at least let her know you’re not upset with her.”

  Teague gave a nod, but he refused to commit to anything.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Goodness!” Ryleigh peered out the window of the bakery and groaned. While she’d been selecting several treats to bring to Nate and Celia’s for dessert, it had begun to rain, and not the gentle drops of a light sprinkle, either, but a heavy downpour, like the clouds just opened up and released everything all at once. When she’d left the hotel a mere twenty minutes ago, there had been dark clouds overhead, and the smell of rain had hung heavy in the air, but she thought she’d be back before the storm hit and hadn’t taken her umbrella.