Survive the Night

by Marilyn Pappano

  Seth glanced down at Ashley and, in a tense voice, murmured, "You could jump in here any time."

  Her gaze stayed on the two men in front of them. "Frankly I think cutting his throat is too easy, too quick. I'd rather see him suffer." Then she sighed. "All right." Brushing Seth's hand aside, she approached Dillon. Pain etched thin lines around his eyes and mouth. In the condition he was in, the blows he had struck with her walking stick had probably hurt him almost as much as they'd hurt the two men. "I chose hickory for that stick," she began softly, "because my granny used to tell me that it was a good, strong wood for clubbing varmints that got too aggressive. Somehow I don't think she ever expected it to be used on varmints of this sort."

  His gaze, very faintly amused, met hers, and she studiedhimfor a long moment before giving him a knowing smile. "You aren't going to hurt him. You're a better man than that. You're a better man than he could ever be." She hesitated a moment, then reached for the knife. For just an instant, his grip tightened, then he let her pull it away.

  He released Bradley, who moved away so quickly that he stumbled into Seth's arms,then Dillon tenderly touched her cheek. "I would have killed him if they had hurt you."

  "I know, becauseI would have killed them if they had hurtyou." She drew a deep, shaky breath. "I almost got us killed, and I am so sorry. If I hadn't gone to Seth, if I had taken you toNashvillethis morning—"

  He stopped her with a shake of his head. "I don't think I would have gone. I don't think I could have left you." At last he pulled her into his arms, holding her tight.

  Clinging to him, Ashley was just starting to get comfortable, to get over the delayed shakes and to begin to think about the future ahead of them, when Seth cleared his throat and, with such reluctance, said, "I hate to intrude…"

  Without giving up one degree of their closeness, Ashley and Dillon both looked at him.

  "I know you didn't rob the bank, Dillon—or at least it happened the way you said—but … there's still the matter of the charges against you. We can get them dropped, but it may take a little time. These men are going to jail for trying to kill you guys and for trying to kill Tommy, but beyond the one comment that Bradley made, I don't have anything yet to tie them to the robbery."

  She stared at him. "What are you saying, Seth?"

  Before he could answer, Dillon did, with a soft, resigned sigh. "He's saying that he has to arrest me."

  Panic began growing dead center in her chest."No. Seth, you can't do that. You know he's not guilty."

  She tried to pull away, but Dillon held her tighter. "Ash. Listen to me, Ash." He waited until she'd stopped her struggle, until she was focused on him. "It's okay. He's just doing his job. Honey, you were right. We've got to get this cleared up. We don't have much of a future with this hanging over me, and I want—Iwant that future. Fifty years from now I want a bunch of blond-haired, blue-eyed grandkids and great-grandkids hearing stories about how their granny once helped an escaped prisoner hide from the police and how she saved their grandfather's life. I want them to know why hickory makes good walking sticks. I want them to know how to bake bread and make quilts, how to weave baskets and weave dreams. I want it all, Ash, and it starts with this. With clearing my name."

  Tears filling her eyes, she turned once more to Seth, pleading with him. "You left him here yesterday. Why can't you do it today?"

  "Because yesterday no one knew he was here but me," he replied miserably. "Today a lot of people know and a lot more are going to find out. I'm sorry, Ashley, but until the charges are dropped, I have no choice."

  Dillon brushed her hair back. "It won't be so bad. You can get a lot of work done to make up for this past week, and when I come back, I'll be a free man, Ash, and…" He tilted her face up, dried her tears and gave her the sweetest promise she'd ever heard. "I'll be back to stay."

  * * *

  The dirt road climbed and twisted through the hills, passing trailers, log cabins and farmhouses. The pastures were lush and green, the fields newly planted or being prepared for planting. It was a warm April day, the kind of lazy day when wading in a creek or walking barefoot down a dirt road beckoned, when lying in the grass and watching butterflies, birds and clouds seemed a perfectly productive way to pass the time.

  It was a perfect day, Dillon thought, gazing out the side window of the Blazer, for going home.

  "You should have let me tell Ashley that you were being released today."

  He glanced at Seth. The sheriff had called him yesterday afternoon to tell him that the robbery charges against him had been dropped, that the same charges were being added to the attempted-murder charges Russell, Armstrong and the others were facing. It had taken Seth three weeks, some serious investigating and, Dillon suspected, a fair amount of arguing with the district attorney to convince him to dismiss the charges. A statement from Deputy Coughlin—conscious and alert, although a long way from recovered—had been a major help.

  Dillon had spent those three weeks in a jail a hundred and fifty miles fromCatlin. Until the investigation was completed, until they were certain that Vickers had been the only deputy working for Bradley, Seth had thought he would be safer elsewhere. Dillon had appreciated the precautions, but it certainly would have been easier being inCatlin , where Ashley could have visited. As it was, he hadn't seen her since that Sunday morning, when he had told her he loved her, kissed her goodbye and left her in tears on the porch.

  She had wanted to make the three-hour drive to visit him—Seth had even offered to bring her—but Dillon had refused. He hadn't wanted her to see him in jail, locked up like a dangerous animal. Somewhere along the way being free had become more important to him; being free when he next saw her had seemed tremendously important.

  He'd had one other motive behind his refusal. They hadn't known each other long—only six days. Six frightening, intense, emotional days. He'd known that time, quiet and peace couldn't change the way he felt about her; nothing ever could. But he'd wanted to give her a chance to see if the same was true for her. Once her life had returned to normal, once the danger was gone, once she fell back into her usual routine, would she still feel the same? Would she still want him? Would she still love him?

  Soon he would find out.

  With a sigh, he finally responded to Seth's comment. "I wanted to surprise her."

  "What are your plans now?You going to marry her?"

  "If she'll have me."

  "I don't think you have to worry about that," Seth said dryly. "What about work?"

  He turned to the window again. "Her grandfather was a farmer. So was mine. I grew up on his farm. I think I'd like to give that a try."

  "If that doesn't work out, I'm going to be hiring a new deputy soon."

  Dillon gave him a sharp look,then laughed. "Right. With my background, I'd make a perfect cop."

  After a moment Seth chuckled, too. "At least you'd bring a different perspective to the job." Taking his foot from the accelerator, he shifted down and turned into Ashley's narrow, winding driveway.

  "Stop here," Dillon said abruptly. "I'll walk the rest of the way."

  Without comment Seth brought the truck to a stop. Dillon climbed out,then reached in the back for the small nylon bag that contained his meager possessions. In jail he'd worn a prisoner's uniform, and Seth had brought him a set of new clothes this morning, so his old jeans and Ashley's sweatshirt were in the bag, along with the toiletries the sheriff had provided. He started to close the door but hesitated. "Thanks, Seth."

  "For what?"

  "Getting me out. Not locking me up in the first place. Not using these three weeks to convince Ash that she was making a big mistake. She listens to you, you know."

  "Maybe … but she loves you." After a moment he leaned across the seat and extended his hand. Dillon shook it. "Be good to her."

  With a nod, he closed the door, slung the bag over his shoulder and set off up the hill. The cabin came into sight first, looking much as it had for the past eighty or a hundr
ed years. Bessie was parked out front, as pathetically ugly as ever, and the door to the workshop was propped open to let in the warm afternoon air. No doubt that was where he would find Ashley, weaving a basket or dipping candles, molding soap or stirring up her sweet-scented potpourri. That was where he would find his welcome, if there was one. If Seth was right.

  That was where he would find his future.

  He crossed the clearing and stepped onto the stoop, then into the doorway, his tennis shoes making no noise on the weathered wood. The bright lights were on inside, and the worktable was clean except for a spool of thread, a pair of scissors and an assortment of needles and pins. The loom sat neglected, and the quilt frame, a quilt stretched across the bars, wasun —

  His startled gaze moved swiftly back to the frame and its quilt. It was unbleached muslin with an intricate pattern worked in browns, yellows andgolds , old, heavily used and very much treasured. It was his grandmother's quilt.

  He'd thought it had been lost forever.

  A soft hum from that side of the room drew him through the doorway and closer to the frame. He saw her feet first, bare, slender, delicate, then a flash of leg, mostly covered by a long chambray skirt. Seeking courage and praying for the best, he stopped beside the frame and crouched down so he was closer to her level.

  She was sitting on the floor underneath the frame, her head tilted back, using an impossibly small needle to replace old stitches on the back that had finally given way. For a moment she was totally unaware of him, then her humming gradually faded and her stitches slowed until the needle was barely moving. Finally she looked at him. Her hands dropped to her lap, and she simply looked.

  God help him, she was beautiful, with the kind of beauty that made him ache just to see it. Looking at her made him feel weak. It made him feel humble. And it made him so grateful.

  Her smile came slowly, starting in her eyes and making its way to her mouth, lighting her entire face, lighting his entire life. She didn't move toward him, though. She simply sat there and smiled that smile.

  "How—" His voice was husky and quavered. "How did you find my grandmother's quilt?"

  "Ihave them all. And the Bible. And the photographs." Her voice was as sweet and unconsciously seductive as he'd remembered in his dreams every night for the past three weeks. "I drove in toAshevilleone day and looked up your old girlfriend. When the landlord cleared out your apartment,Pris persuaded him to give them to her. She knew they were important to you. She knew you would want them back."

  He drew his finger along the pattern where it folded over the wood frame. "I can't believe you didthat, that you went to so much trouble…"

  "It wasn't any trouble," she whispered. "I was just repairing a few places on this one. I wanted to have it ready for you when you came back." Her gaze darted away, then back again. "Youare back, aren't you?" she asked hesitantly. "You aren't leaving?"

  He shook his head solemnly. "When Seth arrested me, I told you then that when I came back, it would be to stay."

  On hearing that, she gave him the sort of welcome that he'd been dreaming about for weeks, launching herself out from beneath the wooden frame, throwing herself into his arms with enough force to make him tumble backward and take her with him. Laughing through tears, she covered his face with kisses. "I've missed you so much," she whispered. "I've been waiting and hoping and praying…Oh,Dillon, I love you."

  Cradling her face in his palms, he kissed her, tasted her,savored her. She was so sweet, so special, so familiar—a part of his very soul. That was only fair, he supposed, since she already owned his heart.

  Needing air, he ended the kiss—no, not ended, but interrupted, since he would pick up where he'd left off in a minute—and pushed her back so he could memorize every tiny detail of her expression. If he ever needed in the years ahead to know what pure joy was, he could recall this moment…or he could simply look at her face or his own. "How long would it take your family to get here from California?"

  "For something special?"

  "A wedding."

  "Less than twenty-four hours."

  He feigned disappointment. "That soon, huh? I kind of had plans for the next twenty-four hours … and the next…and the next…and they don't include anyone but you and me."

  She smiled delightedly. "Of course, if we told them to come next week, they wouldn't show up early."

  He returned to the kiss, then rolled her onto her back on the floor and leaned over her, resting his head on his right hand, using his left to unfasten the top button of her white blouse. "Next week," he murmured. "That should be enough time." He opened the next button, then the third, before a sudden intensity swept over him. "I love you, Ash."

  She grew serious for a moment,then her expression softened and warmed. "I know. Oh, by the way,Pris gave me a message for you. She said to tell you that she wishes you the best."

  He thought of all the things he had in his life now. The cabin. The farm. A place to belong. A bright future. The promise of children and grandchildren, of years of passion and years of pleasure. And Ashley. Beautiful Ashley who had taken him into her home and her heart, healed his body and his spirit, saved his life and his soul. She had undone all the harsh lessons of his past and taught him the tender lessons of love. She was every wish and every dream he'd ever had, all rolled into one. She was his life.

  "Ihave the very best," he whispered before he kissed her once again. "I haveyou."

  * * * * *