Reclaimed (35 page)

Warm tears seeped through his shirt as his own fell against her hair. Sliding her arms around his neck, she turned on her hip to hold him.

“I’m sorry about your dad. He was a good man.”

Paul buried his face in her neck.

“We’ll get through this, Suzie,” he mumbled against her hair. Sitting up, he brushed the light wisps away from her face. “All of it. We’re going to be okay.”

Suzanna tugged at her awful black wrap, hating that she had a reason to wear it again. Clyde Rustin’s funeral was a tearful celebration. It felt odd. She glanced at Andrea, wondering about her lighter colored dress. The family didn’t focus on death. They talked of Mr. Rustin’s life, his impact on his family and friends, and of the wonderful heritage he had left. They spoke as if this were a temporary good-bye that would soon be overcome by reunion.

Of course it would. Death and then life. That’s what the Bible taught. Everyone died, but then they’d be in heaven. That was the gospel, right? Suzanna had known it all her life, but something about it didn’t seem right. Why would an uncaring God offer heaven to people in whom He didn’t have any interest?

Some people thought Christianity was folklore, nothing more significant than the Greek and Roman myths, not any truer than the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales. Suzanna was more and more disposed to believe that.

Except at a funeral—especially Clyde Rustin’s. The people there seemed to live in a peace fairy tales didn’t offer. She must have missed something somewhere, but that didn’t seem likely. Her father had been a pastor, after all. She’d grown up on a steady diet of Bible stories and Christian traditions.

Paul handled grief with an odd mix of courage and vulnerability. He never closed his heart off. He seemed to embrace the ache of loss while accepting the comfort of love. He carried his father’s coffin with unashamed tears, tenderly held his mother while she bid her final farewell, and when it was all said and done, he leaned in Suzanna’s arms with a peaceful resignation.

No strife. No anger. Just open grief and an acceptance of her meager offering of comfort. Nothing at all like her experience with death, neither her husband’s nor her father’s. Why did he get to have peace at all times?

Healing crept into Paul’s heart as the winter days drew out. From the grief of his father’s death and from the anger and disappointment in Suzanna’s revelation. They pushed through it together. The lighthearted euphoria he’d known at the beginning of their relationship didn’t mark it anymore, but the surge of love ran strong and deep, sometimes almost painfully so. Through it, he had to believe the fun, easy days they’d shared would come again.

Time. They both needed time and healing. Hers was long overdue.

He hadn’t been able to dislodge the picture of his mother’s final good-bye, and it often faded into an image of Suzanna. His mind’s eye saw her beside her husband’s casket, alone. Standing at his grave, alone. Maybe it was his imagination, working off assumptions, but it seemed to explain a lot of her wounds. It broke his heart.

“Was anyone there for you, Suzie?” He’d taken her into his arms on a late January evening, resting in the soothing power of her warm embrace.

She pulled away, her hands resting on his elbows, and her eyes searched his. The walls were gone, completely broken down, and he could see into who she really was.

Her gaze moved away from his, landing on his chest, and she sighed. “My family came to Jason’s funeral, but they aren’t like yours. We don’t love like you do.”

That would be a no. His assumptions had been right—she’d been abandoned to the misery of bearing the loss on her own. “What about his family? Were they around?”

She shook her head. “His mom was in a women’s correctional facility when he died. She was allowed to come to his funeral, accompanied by a guard of some sort. I haven’t seen her since.”

Utterly alone.
Puppy tossed into a ditch.
How awful. No wonder she armed herself with anger.

Paul tugged her back against his chest, the ache of her heart making his hurt.

Healing, Father. I beg of you, bring healing.

Sketch paper and pencils covered the table in front of Suzanna. Kelsey shaded the apple tree she’d outlined, showing Suzanna how to fade the colors into a realistic shadow. She tried to apply the technique, but only Kelsey shaded. Suzanna just colored. Artistic talent was not a shared trait between them. But they connected in so many other ways.

“Are you going with Uncle Paul to the dance?”

Huh? What dance? Suzanna quit coloring and looked up. They had the kitchen all to themselves, so Suzanna didn’t feel self-conscious about Kelsey’s faux pas. She waited for the girl’s explanation.

She tipped her chin and tapped it with a pencil. “The second weekend in February Rock Creek always holds a barn dance.”

Paul hadn’t mentioned it, probably too emotionally worn out to even think about it, not to mention physically. Calving season carved exhaustion into his handsome face.

“We’ll see. Paul’s been pretty tired. Maybe he’s not up for it.”

Kelsey’s eyes gleamed as she shook her head. “He always goes. Kiera and I get to dance with him. He says it’s a good break from the doldrums of winter.”

Okay, so there goes that theory. Suzanna pushed against the insecurity flooding her brain. Maybe he didn’t want to go because of her. Because of what people in town thought and said. Disappointment pressed against her. She didn’t want to be a drag on his life.

“If you marry Uncle Paul, you’d be my aunt.” Kelsey had gone back to shading. She glanced up, her expression hopeful.

Heat flooded her cheeks. “It would work that way.”

Kelsey stopped her pencil again and looked at Suzanna with deep intent. “I would like that very much.”

Suzanna stood and moved to hug Kelsey from behind. “It doesn’t matter either way, Kels. You’ll always be my best girlfriend.” She sat in the chair next to Kelsey. “That’s pretty special, because I’ve never had one before.”

Kelsey leaned her head against Suzanna’s shoulder. “Promise?”

Suzanna laid her cheek against the girl’s hair. “Promise.”

Paul took Suzanna’s gloved hand in his as they set off down the road toward her house. He picked her up after he and Kiera had finished riding, and she suggested walking home from his house. His head ached from fatigue, and a late Sunday afternoon nap sounded good but not at the expense of time with her.

That seemed to be a luxury these days. He’d never really paid attention to how much free time he didn’t have during calving season. He liked staying busy, but he missed the extra moments with Suzie. He’d gain a whole lot more of them and be happier if she were his wife.

“Keys mentioned the Valentine’s dance today.” He set aside the uncertainty that always niggled at his gut when his thoughts turned to marriage. “Asked if we were going. I told her yes before I realized I hadn’t talked to you about it.”

Suzanna gave a small laugh. “Kelsey mentioned it today too.” She looked up at him, her eyes warm. “It’s okay if you don’t want to go. I know you’re tired these days, and with things in town…”

He tugged on her arm and pulled her close to his side. “I do want to go. With you.”

She smiled, tipping a small nod before she snuggled closer. They walked along in easy silence. Paul pictured her as she was when he’d brought Kiera back home this afternoon. Paper and pencils and erasers and oil pastels had covered Andrea’s dining room table. She sat across from Kelsey, coloring as they chatted away like lifelong friends.

The image made him smile, and he squeezed her close. “Looked like you were having fun today.”

He couldn’t see her face, but he felt a smile in the way she sighed. “I always have fun with Kels.” She glanced up, her expression merry. “With all of your family. I feel like…” Tears made those blue eyes shine. “Like I belong.”

Paul’s throat felt thick. “You do,” he whispered.
Belong forever. With me.

He wanted to say it. Desperately. Why couldn’t he?

THIRTY-THREE

Paul and Suzanna stepped off the dance floor and found Dre with her girls just as Shenandoah’s “I Wanna Be Loved Like That” came over the speakers. Bummer. He’d have liked to two-step with her to that song.

Suzanna picked up her plastic cup and sipped her lemonade, her face bright from the swinging they’d just done. She was having fun. Paul felt a smile clear down to his boots. She had danced and laughed, talked with Alice May, Joy Hurst and Dre. She’d taken Kelsey onto the floor when he’d gone with Kiera and even managed to sweet-talk Keegan into a dance.

Perhaps everything had smoothed itself out.

“Mama, I need to be excused.” Kelsey had to raise her voice to be heard above the music.

“I’ll come with you.” Suzanna’s hand slid from Paul’s, but she caught his eye and smiled before she reached for Kelsey. “Be back.”

Paul grinned as he watched Suzanna and his niece move through the crowded barn hand in hand. She did fit. So perfectly. Maybe it was about time to make it official. Permanent.

Wait. Just wait.

Where were those whispers of insecurity coming from? He didn’t feel insecure. He wanted Suzie to be his wife. So, what was with the hesitation?

“Hello, stranger.”

Paul froze. The sultry, feminine voice rippled up his spine. He turned, his gaze colliding with familiar brown eyes belonging to a beautiful woman he’d known quite well.

“Hailey.” The air emptied from his lungs. “What are you doing here?”

She cocked her head, and her eyebrows toyed upward. “You didn’t really think I’d stand you up.” Her painted lips parted into a smile. “Certainly you know I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks.”

What the
— His jaw went slack as he stared.

Hailey laughed, sliding her hand over his arm. “Come on, handsome. You remember how to dance, right?”

Her fingers trailed his sleeve and then wrapped around his hand. Before his brain could restart, Paul found himself on the pine-planked floor, moving in rhythm with Hailey. She sidled closer than he was comfortable with—actually he wasn’t comfortable with her within five feet of his personal space—and her gaze lifted to him with an intimacy that set off alarm bells.

His arms stiffened as he pushed her to a more appropriate distance. “Hailey, I really don’t know what you’re doing here.”

Her eyebrows dropped, but then she looked at him as though he were a tease. “You were always such a sarcastic flirt.”

Paul stopped moving, taking another step back. “I’m not flirting with you. And I’m not teasing, either. I had no idea you were coming, and I really don’t know why you’re here. Don’t you have a life in Denver?”

Paul moved his eyes from Hailey and scanned the crowd. Suzanna stood stone still at the other end of the barn, her heated glare clamped dead on him.

Please let her be reasonable.

“We’ve been talking about this for over a month, Paul”—Hailey’s response commanded his attention. Honest confusion—and hurt—stole over her expression—“and you know exactly what’s going on in Denver. Todd and I aren’t working. We’ve talked about this. You were willing to give us a new start.”

“Stop it, Hailey.” Paul snapped. Had the woman gone crazy? “I haven’t spoken to you since the day you left. My life has moved on, and you and I don’t have a future. At all.”

He looked again for Suzanna, catching sight of her back as she fled from the barn. Dre was close on her heels, though she looked back at Paul with horrified incredulity. He felt like someone had just drop-kicked his heart.

Leaving Hailey in the middle of the dance floor, Paul set off for the exit. Chuck stepped in his path as he neared the back door. “Playing ball on two fields, Rustin?” He crossed his arms and smirked. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Paul’s blood boiled. Stanton most definitely had a hand in whatever was going on. Suzanna was blazin’ mad, so he couldn’t deal with Chuck right now. “Get out of my way,” he growled, clearing Chuck from his path with one firm shove.

He could feel stares burning into his shoulders as he made his way out. What a scene. What a horrible, scandalous scene.

Voices drifted from across the road as Paul continued over to the vacant lot where he’d parked. The evening had been so fine. Suzanna looked beautiful in the red striped dress she’d bought especially for this dance. They’d laughed together, and things between them had felt more like they had before Christmas, before everything went deep and dark and solemn.

What the devil was Hailey doing here?

“Just take me home.” Anger edged Suzanna’s voice, though he knew by the subtle crack in it that tears lay just beneath her fury.

“Please, Suz,” Dre begged, “let’s wait for Paul. This has to be some kind of misunderstanding.”

Paul moved around his sister’s Expedition, and both women looked his way. Andrea stared at him, her eyes wide. Her mouth closed, forming a thin line, before she turned and walked away.

Suzanna balled her fists and then crossed her arms. Paul wasn’t sure if it was the February chill or her raging anger that had her shivering. She glared at him, her blue eyes making accusations that speared him in the chest. He stepped toward her, and she backed away. He continued moving in measured steps until her back hit the door of his pickup. Resting a hand against it, he leaned down to her ear.

“After everything we’ve been through, Suzanna Korine Cumberland,” he growled, “don’t you dare go doubting my heart.”

She snapped straight, drawing herself up to all of her five-foot-five inches. “Why would I do that?” she hissed. “Just because you tangled your arms around some beautiful woman—who you happened to have almost married—right in front of the whole town? That shouldn’t matter a bit, should it?”

Frustration pulsed hot in his veins, feeling more like anger with each passing breath. “You know better than to think what you’re thinking. I had no idea Hailey would be here, and she dragged me onto the dance floor before I could figure out what was going on.”

“Well, that makes me feel so much better.” She lilted the words with sarcasm. Her eyes pinched as she scowled. “The pixy just smiled, and you were putty in her perfectly manicured hands. And don’t tell me you didn’t know she was going to be here. She quite obviously thought that you expected her—wanted her.”

“Paul?” Dre’s soft voice drifted from behind.

Paul jerked upright.

“Here.” Andrea handed Suzanna’s coat over the small distance and turned to disappear into the night.

He held the coat open for Suzanna, but she snatched it away and shrugged into it on her own. She wasn’t going to ease up. Fine. He didn’t feel like backing down, either. He reached for the door, opening it enough for her to fit through.

“We’re not doing this here.” He glared at her until she’d climbed her pretty little self into his pickup. He slammed the door and stomped around to the driver’s side.

The frigid silence in the cab could have hung icicles along the windshield. Paul took the dirt road a little fast, setting the bed of the pickup into a small fishtail. Memories of their muddy expedition flashed across his mind. Getting stuck in a ditch wouldn’t be nearly as much fun tonight.

He eased up on the gas pedal, and the miles rolled by under their frosty impasse. Suzanna sat straight and stiff, her mouth set hard, until he passed her house.

“You missed your turn.” Her voice cut over him.

“No, I didn’t.” He matched her edge. “We’re not done with this, and if I take you home, you’ll march your infuriated little self into that house and slam the door in my face.”

She turned to him with a defiant stare.
Nailed it. Do I know this woman or what?
Within two minutes, he pulled up to his house and killed the engine.

“I’m not going in.” She set her stare out the windshield.

“Fine. We can have it out right here.”

She glowered at him again and then opened the door. Marching over the driveway, she pounded up the front steps and waited for him by the door, her arms crossed over her chest. If he weren’t so blasted hot with her right now, he would have laughed. She had one heck of a temper. The Pickle.

Paul drew a deep breath, and his pulse began to settle.
Takes two, Rustin.
He slid from the pickup and walked to the house, forcing the whirling in his head to slow down. Opening the door, he let Suzanna pass through and then moved to hang his hat on the peg beside the entry.

“Suz”—he sighed, running a hand over his hair as he turned to her—“why would you think I would do that to you?”

She had decidedly
not
settled down. “What am I supposed to think when I walk into a room, and you’re wrapped up in the arms of your ex-fiancée?”

Her voice had a bite that sank in deep, and the accusation had him coiled up and ready to strike. “You’re supposed to know I love you,” he barked. “You’re supposed to trust me.”

“Trust you?” She shouted. “Trust you in her arms? You almost
married
her, Paul!”

Fire snapped between them as he stepped closer. He held her livid gaze, silently imploring her to stop treating his devotion with skepticism.

“I never loved her like this.” He clasped her shoulders, wanting to shake her. “Not even close. Did you know she begged me to move? I wouldn’t even talk about it. But if you told me tomorrow you’d decided to set off for Tanzania, I’d put a “for sale” sign in the front yard before the day was done. Because I
love
you, Suzanna. Hailey was a vague hope of something I didn’t understand. Had I been a wiser man, I would have known she and I didn’t have a future, but I
know
my future is with you. Whatever it looks like, however it plays out, I’ll be happy, as long as I’m with you.”

A degree of coldness melted from her eyes. Her shoulders drooped, and she looked to the floor. Her head shook ever so slightly, and her voice still sounded hard when she spoke. “That’s easy to say, Paul, because you know I’d never ask you to leave. I know how much you love your life right here.”

Dadgum it, Pickle
. He’d just laid his heart at her feet, and she toed it with as much care as one would handle a mangy pup.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you? He tipped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “There’s nothing I can say. You’re just gonna stay mad because you want to be mad. Because you’re afraid to feel anything but anger.”

She stared at him, her jaw set like granite. She blinked several times, undoubtedly to force back the tears that glistened in her eyes. “Good night, Paul Rustin.” She brushed past him, her heels smacking an angry rhythm on his floor. The door shook on her exit, and Paul squeezed his eyes shut.

Thoughts whirled again. Resentment still throbbed hard, but a sudden flash of his grandmother’s ring set everything tipsy. Man, they had some issues to work on.
This is why I can’t marry her now, isn’t it?
The house settled quietly, the familiar creaks and moans suddenly sounding painful, making him think of time and wear—of life beyond this moment.

Was it always going to be this much work? Feeling love and doing love were not at all the same. Sometimes loving that feisty little pickle made him want to howl. Then again, he was pretty sure at the moment, she didn’t feel all warm and fuzzy about loving him, either.

Creaks and moans. Wear and tear. Did they have what it would take to last?

Paul’s eyes moved to the door, and he remembered it was both dark and cold outside. Taking long strides, he dug his keys out of his pocket and set off for the pickle.