The Hopechest Bride (12 page)

Then she smiled. “But I had a wonderful experience last night, after you'd gone to bed. I don't know how he got the idea, or where he and Maya found the time, but Drake unearthed the old film of Joe's and my wedding and had it transferred to videotape.” Meredith actually blushed. “Joe and I watched it last night in our room.”

Standing behind Meredith, Inez beamed, even as
her eyes went bright with tears. “Maya asked me to find that old film when she and Drake first got the idea. She let me see it before Drake gave it to Mr. Colton. You were a beautiful bride, and still are.”

“Thank you, Inez,” Meredith said, her fingers nervously playing with her teaspoon. “It was so long ago. So much has happened since then. Even seeing the film was like watching two other people, two very different people, which I suppose we were.” She sighed, deeply. “We were so young, Martha, so full of big dreams, huge hopes. I wonder, how would we approach those same vows now? Would we mouth them again so lightly, with such confidence, knowing what we know now? I'd like to think so. I'd really like to think so.”

Martha and Inez exchanged looks, and Martha made a mental note to herself, and a silent promise to Meredith. Somehow, some way, she'd prove to Meredith that she and her Joe were still those two beautiful young people, still with so much of a bright future ahead of them.

 

Neither of them spoke, had spoken for the past hour.

One last breakfast of watery oatmeal, one more trip outside for the both of them. A gathering of firewood, to be stacked in a corner of the cave for the next time. Mucking out the latest “gifts” from the horses. Packing up, loading up, getting ready to move out.

To leave.

To go their separate ways.

What had happened between them was obviously not to be spoken about, by either of them. There was no embarrassment, no shame, but there was also no communication. They'd said volumes with their hands, their bodies, but the words remained unspoken, perhaps never to be spoken.

It was a mutual silence, a shared isolation, a separation between what had happened and what would happen next.

Emily took one last look around the cave, wondering if she'd ever come here again, if she could bear to ever come up here again. What had been her blessed solitude had now been shared, and Josh was as much a part of this cave now as she had ever been. A trace of him would always be here. She'd see him across the flames of the campfire, hear his soft breathing in the night. If that was all she'd ever have, then she would not come up here again. She couldn't.

Josh saddled Molly, secured the cinch and led the mare and his own mount out of the cave, into the sunlight. “I'll ride first, and you follow, until we're down out of the hills. Just in case there's trees down, or too much mud.”

Emily nodded her agreement, and placed her foot in Josh's cupped hands as he helped her up into the saddle. She followed him as his mount surefootedly picked its way down the hillside, ducking her head as tree branches still dripping with rain brushed against her.

It was dark beneath the tall evergreens, but soon—too soon—it was all sunlight, the whole world seeming to stretch out in front of her, bathed in light, fresh from the rain, a beauty that stretched farther than she could see, all the way to the ocean.

Josh's light touch on the reins drew his mount to a stop, and then he turned the horse so that he was facing Emily. “I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not,” he told her, his voice deep, slightly strained. “If you tell me to go to hell, be sure I'm halfway there. But if you're agreeable, I could come by the ranch tonight in my truck. We could talk. Maybe go somewhere for something to eat.”

The newly formed ice around Emily's heart cracked, fell away. She'd been so ready for him to say goodbye, for him to move on, go to the next place, the next town, the next, the next, the next. “Dinner…um…dinner would be nice.”

She couldn't see his eyes below the brim of his Stetson, but the slashes in his cheeks, the white of his teeth as he smiled, nearly turned her into a puddle of longing she'd only just begun to know existed. “Yeah, dinner would be good. Are you going to tell your parents about me? About the cave?”

She thought about his questions for a moment, then shook her head. “I don't think so. I'll just tell them I met you in town when I bought my new sleeping bag. Okay?”

He seemed to stiffen in the saddle, and she added hastily, “Josh, it isn't like that. I'm not ashamed, or
whatever you're thinking. It's just…it's just that this is
mine.
What happened in that cave happened to me, to us. Where it goes from here, if it goes anywhere, is up to us. You don't know large families, Josh, but I do. Believe me, there's precious little that stays private, and I don't think I'm up to playing Twenty Questions with each and every Colton in the civilized world.”

Now a real smile twitched at the corners of Josh's mouth. “Toby could ask enough questions for a family of twelve,” he said, then lifted a hand, tipped his hat. “Take it slow with Molly, until she gets her legs back under her after being in the cave. See you tonight.”

And then he was gone, riding off toward the Rollins Ranch, and Emily was alone once more. Alone, but not lonely.

J
osh's first instinct was to run. Pack up, quit his job and head out, get away. His reaction to that strong instinct was to curse under his breath, calling himself ten kinds of coward, twenty kinds of fool.

He shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have touched her. Hell, he shouldn't have stayed in that cave. Not for one night, definitely not for two.

Yes, she'd needed help. Her mare had run off, she was stranded, and hypothermia was only one of the problems that faced her. But she'd made a fire, hadn't she? She'd had a blanket, some canned food, a camp stove. She certainly hadn't fit the usual damsel in distress description, badly in need of a brave knight on his white steed to come charging to the rescue. He
could have—should have—delivered the mare to the cave, then headed back down the hill, back to the Rollins Ranch.

He was a cowboy, damn it. He'd been out in worse weather than a Northern California rainstorm. He'd been in snow drifts up to his horse's shoulders, in cold so deep his eyelids nearly froze shut, rain so fierce and mud so treacherous that he'd actually seen cows drown in mud.

So he could have made it back to Rollins Ranch that first night, lightning and falling trees be damned.

Of course, what would have been the point of following Emily Colton, of tracking the woman for days, in town and then in the hills, if he only meant to say hello, go to hell, and then leave?

How he'd hated her, had tried so hard to hate her, blame her for Toby's death. It felt so right to blame her, because blaming himself was like ripping his own heart straight out of his chest.

“He was holding my hand, and then he was gone…”

The police report had been wrong, or just incomplete. She'd stayed. She hadn't run; she'd stayed. Even when Toby told her to leave, to save herself, she hadn't left him there to die alone. She'd stayed with him, comforted him. She'd known help was on the way, help that would definitely be too late for Toby, and might be too late for her.

She did the only thing she could.

Which didn't absolve
him.
He hadn't done the only
thing he could. Sure, he'd been making some damn good prize money these past years, and bringing down big bucks from endorsements, storing a lot of it away for the day he'd buy his own spread, bring Toby to work that spread with him. But he'd kept hunting down that next ride, that next gold buckle, long after it had been time for him to stop, to turn the rodeo circuit over to younger men still with something to prove.

If he had only quit, bought that spread. And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Josh checked his own two mounts Rollins let him keep in the stables, then disconnected the horse trailer from his freshly washed dark-green pickup and headed for the Hacienda de Alegria.

He'd showered and dressed in his best jeans, a black shirt and black leather vest, then pulled on his beige suede, sheepskin-lined jacket and donned his freshly brushed black Stetson, the one he kept for special occasions. He was as dressed up as Josh Atkins ever got, and he was pretty sure he'd look as out of place in the living room of the Hacienda de Alegria as Senator Joe Colton and his wife would look in a honky-tonk rodeo bar, tossing back shots of rock 'n rye.

So that was his first shock, and a rather pleasant one, when Meredith Colton herself opened the door to his knock. She was better-looking than the grainy newspaper photos depicted her, slighter in build, yet with a strong chin and wise, intelligent brown eyes.
And she was dressed casually, in a red-and-white checked flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that had seen a good amount of wear.

“Hello, you must be Josh,” she said, smiling up at him in welcome. “Please, come in. My husband very much wants to meet you.”

And that was Josh's second shock, coming to him while he was still trying to recover from the first one. After all, he'd seen the Hacienda de Alegria from the hills, seen its beauty, the massive scope of it. There was money here, lots of it. He hadn't expected a room designed more for comfort than show. He certainly hadn't expected down-home people, a friendly greeting. Not when this footloose rodeo rider had come to call on the cherished daughter of that house.

“Josh Atkins,” Senator Joe Colton said, rising from his chair and advancing toward Josh, his right hand held out in greeting. “I saw you ride in Tulsa a few years back. You took the bronc ride, and the overall that night, as I remember it. You sure can sit a horse, son. Welcome to our home.”

Josh allowed his hand to be enveloped in Senator Colton's large paw, saying, “Thank you, sir. I didn't know you followed the rodeo.”

“I follow a lot of things,” Joe said, motioning toward a drinks table, wordlessly asking if Josh wanted anything to drink. Josh just shook his head.

“He does, you know,” Meredith told him, patting the sofa cushion next to her, so that he knew he was expected to sit down, probably begin being grilled by
one worried mama. “Joe is interested in just about everything. It certainly leaves few gaps in dinner table conversations. So, Emily said she met you in town. You're Toby Atkins's brother?”

Well, that was quick and to the point! “Yes, ma'am, I am.”

“Your brother saved our daughter's life,” Joe said, taking up his own seat across the coffee table. “This entire family is very deeply in your debt, son. That said, if there's ever anything we can do for you, anything at all, you just have to name it. You're family now, son, whether you like it or not, actually. Isn't that right, Meredith?”

“It's exactly right, darling,” Meredith said, reaching over, patting Josh's hand.

“Thank you, Senator…ma'am,” Josh said quietly.

“Joe,” Joe said, “and I'll beat my wife to the punch on this one, and tell you to please call her Meredith. We're not much on formality around here. Now, are you sure you don't want that drink?”

Josh smiled, shaking his head. “Some ice water, Sen—Joe, if that's all right?”

“Coming right up,” Joe said, heading for the drinks table once more. “Which is more than I can say for Emily, as memory serves. The only way to get her someplace on time is to tell her the movie starts at six, not seven. Then, if you're lucky, she'll be ready by six-thirty.”

“Oh, good, and get my baby pictures out now, too, why don't you?” Emily said, walking into the room,
her lovely face pulled up in a comical, self-deprecating grimace. “Or maybe the ones where I was wearing braces and had hideous pigtails. That ought to do it.”

She continued walking toward the drinks table, kissed Joe's cheek and took the glass of ice water he'd just poured. “Hi, Josh,” she said, approaching him as he stood up, pretty sure he should be standing if Emily wasn't sitting.

She looked great. Beyond great. She wore her hair down, that living waterfall of warm fire that fascinated him. She had on a bright blue sweatery-like thing that was all sort of soft and fuzzy, wearing it over a denim skirt that just about hit the tops of her knees.

It was the first time he'd seen her legs, and all he could remember was how they'd felt that morning, wrapped around him.

Josh ducked his head quickly, a sharp sort of nod, and said, “Hi, Emily. You look very nice.”

Oh, that was cool. Real sophisticated. What the hell was the matter with him? He'd bedded this woman, for crying out loud. And it wasn't as if he hadn't dated, and very often bedded, more women than he could reasonably be expected to remember in his thirty-five years. So what was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with him?

“Thank you. And you're about to sit on your hat,” Emily told him laughingly as she sat down in the
chair next to Joe's and Josh went to reclaim his seat on the couch.

Josh quickly righted himself before he could crush his Stetson, and then he just stood there, looking at the laughing Emily. Wanting to just eat her up…

“Joe?” Meredith said, rising from the couch. “Wasn't that the dinner bell I just heard ringing?”

Joe frowned, glanced down at his watch, looked confused. “The dinner bell? Now? No, I don't think—”

Meredith came around the coffee table and slipped her arm through the crook of her husband's elbow. “Well, I do,” she said, maneuvering him toward the hallway leading to the dining room. “Josh, Emily,” she called back over her shoulder, “have a nice dinner, you two.”

Josh reached down and retrieved his Stetson as Emily stood up, smoothing her skirt. “Want to get going while the getting's good? There's a whole houseful more of Coltons who could be wandering in here at any moment.”

Josh didn't have to be asked twice, and didn't really exhale comfortably until after he'd helped Emily up into the passenger side of his truck cab, then settled himself behind the wheel.

“I have
no
idea what just happened in there,” he said, inserting the key in the ignition, then turning to look at Emily. “Do I look sixteen all of a sudden? Is there a humongous zit flashing neon red on the end
of my nose? Am I speaking in complete sentences, without a lot of
um
s and
er
s and
golly-gee-whizz
es?”

Emily reached over and patted his arm. “Sort of overwhelming, aren't they? And that was only two of them. I'm used to it, grew up with it, and can't tell you how much happier and, well, warm the house is now that my real mother is back with us. But take Mom and Dad, multiply them by all the rest of the assorted Coltons—real, adopted and assimilated, as Mom calls it—and you can understand why I like my cave.”

Josh started the truck, headed out of the drive toward the highway. “They're good people, they really are. I don't think I've been around many other people like them. I was welcomed, with both arms. No questions, no looking down their noses at the rodeo bum—nothing. They…knew about Toby, that he's—that he was my brother.”

Emily nodded in the dark. “Yes, I told them this afternoon. I explained that you often find work on ranches when the rodeo circuit travels somewhere you don't want to go, and that we met in town, at the sporting goods store. They think it's all a happy coincidence.”

“Thank you, Emily. I don't think I would have gotten such a friendly greeting if they'd known I came here purposely to stalk you.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said quietly, and Josh turned to look at her.

“What's wrong? Should I have kept my mouth
shut about that stalking business? Oh, wait, I get it. I still haven't apologized for the way I was all over you that day down at the stables. That was mean, and low, and I am sorry, Emily. I was sorry the moment I opened my mouth.”

“Thank you. I didn't realize I wanted to hear that until you said it. Remember, Silas Pike stalked me, too. So, yes, thank you. Are you hungry?”

“Truth? For a while there, before I met your parents, I believed I might never be able to eat again.”

“And now?”

He grinned at her. “And now I'm starving. Do you know of any steak houses around here? I'm thinking in terms of a hunk of meat too big for the plate.”

“And rare, of course, right? Big and juicy and rare on the inside, well done on the outside. Yum!” Emily snuggled against the bench seat, her fiery hair flowing over the collar of her coat. “I know just the place.”

 

Did the man have any idea of the effect his smile had on women?

Emily did her best not to stare daggers into the back of “Hi, I'm Missy, and I'll be your server tonight,” as the curvy blonde wiggled her way across the room to turn their order in to the kitchen. When Emily had asked to hear the specials for the night, Missy had immediately turned to Josh and recited them in a Marilyn Monroe-like breathy voice, as if listing her own body parts and their particular talents: “A pair of plump, juicy chicken
breasts, spread on
a bed
of
wild spiced
rice, and accompanied by a basket of
fresh, hot buns.
”

It was to gag, or so Emily decided, but when she realized that Josh was totally oblivious to Missy's culinary seduction, she just grinned up at the waitress, thanked her kindly and ordered the prime rib, rare enough to moo.

She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her cupped hands. “You have no idea what just went on here, do you?” she asked, marveling at Josh's composure as he sipped beer from a frosted mug.

“Huh? Oh, you mean Missy? The waitress? Sure, I knew. How old is she? Twelve? I'm thirty-five, Emily. I don't rob cradles.”

Emily sat back in her chair. “I'm twenty.”

Josh cocked his head to one side, grinned at her. “Really? Maybe I should have asked to see your drivers license?”

“Very funny—not. And Missy has to be at least twenty-one, or she wouldn't have been able to serve your beer.”

This was silly, stupid. Why was she talking about the waitress, for crying out loud? Why was she telling Josh her age, almost daring him to tell her she was too young for him? Why was she picking a fight? Because that was what she was doing, wasn't it? Picking a fight?

“You know, Emily, if Missy had been orphaned, adopted, traumatized by a car accident that seemed to
rob her of her mother, lived the next ten years in fear and confusion, thrice damn near been murdered by some hired killer, and had a good man die in her arms, well, maybe then I'd say she was old enough, mature enough. And I could be wrong, but I don't think our bubbly waitress has had anything more traumatic happen to her than losing a fake nail in someone's Caesar salad. You may be twenty, Emily, in years, but I think you've paid your dues. I think you're all grown up.”

She blinked back quick tears, made herself busy rearranging the linen napkin on her lap. “And how old has life made you, Josh?” she asked quietly.

“Ninety. Sometimes six, or maybe fifteen. Or did you think I didn't know that?”