A Promise of Fireflies (50 page)

“I’m happy, Logan Cavanaugh,” she said, and though the ghosts of the past would forever lurk in the untouchable places where nightmares roamed, they would share them as one flesh, solid and truth and protection in physical form. She dared anyone or anything to take him from her again.

“And I too, share a happy heart. Because of you.” Logan squeezed her bottom. “Time to get moving, Cabin Number Three.”

“Why?”

“Stop asking so many questions and get dressed.”

“I don’t care much for surprises.”

“So you keep reminding me,” he said in the mischievous tone she adored.

“Bite me!”

Logan grabbed her and rolled on top of her, and she giggled as the sheet tangled around them. “Gladly,” he said and nipped her neck.

Her skin tingled. “Thought you had no use for vampires.”

“Depends on who they’ve claimed as victim.” Logan kissed her on the nose, disentangled the sheet and got out of bed.

Ryleigh watched him with attentive eyes. She pulled the sheet over her mouth to cover a snicker. “Your butt is ghostly.”

“Ghostly or ghastly?”

“White. As in snow. You own all these resorts and you’ve no time to tan your hide?”

“None of my resorts are devoted to nudists. Now get dressed.”

“Can I shower first?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Need help?” He paused. “I would enjoy seeing you with nothing on but a smile.”

“Haven’t we already done that?” She turned on her side, dragging the sheet with her. “Do I need to push your rewind button?”

“You can push my buttons anytime.” Logan chuckled and pulled on his jeans. “I’ll start dinner while you shower.”

“When are you going to let me cook for you? I’m pretty good at it, you know.”

“There’s no hurry.” Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’ve a lifetime to show me all your talents.”

Ryleigh smiled genuinely, but inside, her heart leapt at the repeat of the insinuation that they would be together for a very long time. “Man of my dreams.” The sight of the man before her stilled her thoughts—how his bare chest narrowed at the waist and the way his shoulders tensed as he fastened his jeans, displaying the strong lines of his thighs and rear in perfect definition. “One who can cook and makes love like the men in my books.” Ryleigh chuckled, slipped into a robe and headed for the shower.

“I’ve been taking lessons.”

“Oh?” She stopped abruptly. “From whom?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“I’ve read your book.”

She hugged the robe around her. “You’re such a smart-ass, Logan Cavanaugh,” she mumbled. She let the robe drop and stepped into the shower. The hot spray washed over her, dissolving the weeks of doubt and sending them swirling down the drain.

By the time they’d finished dinner the sun had vanished. The sky settled into the pale violet of dusk and the air was heavy with the bouquet of a pregnant forest. Pines breathed their fragrant sigh and maple leaves fluttered in the stir of the wind. Logan leaned against the deck railing and Ryleigh huddled against him.

A stone stairway led to the creek where the water had scooped its path, moss and low-growing creeper carpeting the earth between stones. Water spilled over jagged outcrops of mossy dolomite rock and cascaded several feet before tumbling into a shallow pool. Crickets chirped their nightly songs.

“Are there waterfalls at all your resorts?”
Logan increased the intensity of his embrace. “I will never let that happen again.”

Sensing the magnitude of his promise, she squeezed his thigh.

Logan stroked her arms, his touch raising pebbles of gooseflesh. “Unbreak” played softly in the background, the strum of guitars mimicking the rhythm of the splashing water.

“I wish I could say I wrote these words for you,” he whispered. “I don’t have the gift you or your father have. Songwriters are modern-day poets, and I think this was written for me, about you.”

She closed her eyes. The lyrics scrolled through her mind, the message purposeful and as stirring as his touch and she couldn’t help wonder how he knew her so well, how he could separate every facet of who she was and nourish her with exactly what she needed. “Your words are honest and pure. They’re spoken from the heart and written forever on mine.”

“I’m no Ryan Star, but I will comfort your broken dreams and bring life to new ones until the stars rain down from the heavens.”

She let the words warm her from inside to out and then she kissed his cheek with her palm. “Wait here.”

Ryleigh considered the journal Ambrose had given her an extension of herself, filled with poems and song lyrics, her emotions set to words—letters to a man she adored and knew without a doubt she loved. Guessing it was the profound emotion of the last few months that had seasoned her pen, the passion had flowed effortlessly from her heart and into her words.

“Ambrose said the poems Ryan wrote were his love letters to my mother,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. “He sent this to me before he…died… and told me to write to you and you would hear the words.”

She handed him the journal.

Logan took his time reading and when he finally looked up, he smiled and then turned the page to the last entry and read aloud:

“‘Who winked and set the stars ablaze

and hung the moon between the peaks?

Who sprinkled the earth with fairy dust

and cast the meadows in moonlit wakes?

Who draped the trees in blankets deep

and sent wild creatures into flight?

Who whispered and asked the wind to still

and calmed the fears on a thunderous night?

Who sent an angel to save a soul

and open a heart once more to grace?

Who wrapped this frozen world in warmth?

Surely God, and your embrace.

~RME’”

He closed the journal and tucked her into his shoulder. “Poetry is when emotion, thoughts, and pieces of your soul become your words. You have a gift and I consider myself blessed to be a part of it.”

“I write words in pencil. But you’re written across my heart in indelible ink,” she said, stroking his chin.

“God has blessed you with an extraordinary gift,” he said to her as “My Heart is Open,” played softly in the background. He paused before he spoke again. “I have a confession to make.”

She tensed. “Confessions are first cousins to surprises.”

“I have a contact in St. Louis. He’s an historian of sorts and helped me locate the cemetery where Ryan is buried.”

An unpleasant shift turned Ryleigh’s stomach.

“We don’t have to go, but the option is there if you wish.”

Ryleigh leaned her back against his chest. She couldn’t rewrite the past and the last thing she wanted was to complicate things. But most of her past remained a mystery, as did a family she wanted to know—had fantasized about. “Mom shared few details about Daddy, fewer about his death, and none about my father or my twin brother. I understand why now, and I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“You won’t have to do this alone. I’ve taken your body as my own and I’ll hold your hand as well. I’ll be there with you, every step and I’ll never let go.”

She wiggled around to face him. “When I’m ready, I’ll go. To find the rest of the missing pieces to my past. My family.”

“I want to know everything about you, Cabin Number Three, including your past.” He stroked her arms. “And your family. I don’t want to go through life as an ‘I’ any longer. You’re better at seclusion than I am and I’m ready to be a ‘we.’”

She lowered her head and swallowed. “What about your ministry, Logan? You’ve never mentioned it.”

He let out a long breath. “You know about that?”

“Rose mentioned it.”

Logan chuckled. “You women bounce off each other like rogue balls in a pinball machine.” His expression turned serious. “My prayers have been answered, Ryleigh. That part of my life is over. ‘There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:’”

“You won’t miss it?”

Deep-set dimples accentuated his thoughtful smile. “I’m not giving up anything I’m not supposed to, nor relinquishing anything I don’t want to. God’s fingerprints are everywhere—in your words, the laughter of the birds, and the redolence of the wine. On us.” He kissed her hand. “He isn’t just a part of me, God is a part of everyone. And everything. Besides, I speak to Him daily. He’s speed-dial number one, right above the lawyers and accountants.”

She punched him playfully on the arm. “Logan Cavanaugh, you are the biggest smart-ass I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.” She gasped and slapped her hand to her mouth. “Is it okay to say that to a minister? And while we’re on the subject, you never answered my question. Before, you know, I asked if it was okay…to do what we were doing?”

Logan’s laugh echoed through the still evening air. “
That’s
what you meant?”

She nodded, heat rising in her cheeks.

“Come here,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “I’m a man who used to be a pastor. Now I’m just an ordinary man who loves the Lord, and ordinary men laugh, we cry and we become angry as much as anyone does. We fall in love. And I believe love, and making love, are to be shared for a lifetime. Not simply for pleasure or when convenient. When you honored me with your body, you gave me your soul, and mine I gave willingly to you. We’re one in my eyes and for all it’s worth, I’m yours until God calls me home.”

The promise of his words soothed her, and she allowed herself to rest in their assurance, words not read from a book but from a heart seasoned in love. To reside in the intimacy with which he gave so selflessly was to relinquish herself. And she had.

“Don’t be afraid,
un dolce.
It’s only love we’re falling in. Not an icy river.” And with a one-sided smile still playing across his lips, he kissed her deeply.

“God,” she said, resting her head on his chest, “your kiss is deadly.”

“I can’t give God the credit, Cabin Number Three,” he said with a laugh. “I spent four years at Yale.”

“Classic answer for a smart-ass.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

“Now where?”

“I know—you can do without surprises.”

Her mind drifted back less than twenty-four hours, and a flirty smile preceded a shrug. “Depends on the surprise.”

“That’s my girl,” he said and kissed her nose. “I’m taking you to the footbridge over the Wauwatosa.” He slipped his hand in hers and led her off the deck.

“The wa-wa what?”

“Wauwatosa. It’s the name of the creek.”

Dusk slipped into the cool azure of twilight, the lazy space before nightfall consumes the light. Hand in hand, they made their way along a narrow cobblestone path illuminated by the iridescent splinter of the moon. Crickets chirped. An owl hooted her evening lullaby and summer thunder rumbled in the distance.

The footbridge wasn’t far. The rocks along the edge of the creek were smooth and colorful, not the jagged spires that formed around the waterfall. The water gurgled peacefully beneath them, inconsequential matters washing away in its flow. Logan stooped, picked through the smallest pebbles along the creek, came up with a smooth white one, and then closed her fingers around it.

Ryleigh looked up and caught the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “You’re giving me a rock?”

“You once told me you had a thing for penguins.”

“I love penguins, but what does that have to do with rocks?”

“It’s not a rock, it’s a pebble.”

“A pebble, then. Why?”

Logan smiled, his eyes bright with interest. “Male penguins find the perfect pebble for their chosen mate. It’s up to the female to accept it and if she does, she tucks it in her nest.”

The recollection came tumbling back. The resort. Fleece penguin socks. His remark about the pebble. She tucked the pebble in her pocket. Logan smiled, took her hand and led her to the center of the footbridge.