A Promise of Fireflies (41 page)

The pause was as paramount as the insinuation. “Please,” he whispered, taking her hands. “Fall asleep with me tonight.”

Ignoring or making sense of the incredulous reservations clashing in her head was useless. But in the quiet of her heart, she heard a whisper.

And she stayed.

They undressed each other in silence and slipped beneath the sheets, their secrets as exposed and naked as their skin. She closed her eyes, but sleep did not come, overshadowed by the feel of him curled into her back, the gentle sigh of his breath on her bare shoulder and the desperate longing to mold herself into him. With his knees fitted into the back of hers, Logan cradled her against him, and through the night—illusive yet soothing in the hollow of the mountains—they clung to each other and the fragments of recent memory, content in the quiet intimacy of each other’s embrace.

Ryleigh’s arm fell across an empty bed. She longed for a few more hours of night, for a few more hours of his body next to hers. Tightening the sheet around her, she curled into a ball to fill the empty space. To be alone with this man was to be fully embraced in a protective joy. To be alone without him was nothing more than being alone. Beyond the bed lay too many empty days, too many lonely nights and too much empty space.

Knowing she had to leave and not knowing what their conversation meant for their future—if there was a future—left her numb, the uncertainty a heavy weight pressing on every fiber of her being. A casual affair had never crossed her mind and for her it wasn’t. She was crazy about a man who rarely called her by her name and who had inadvertently saved her from more than the shattered ice.

She showered, dressed for the flight home, and set her things by the double doors. Max had fixed a breakfast fit for a queen, but even the yeasty aroma of fresh croissants soured her stomach. The deep rumble of his laugh echoed through the empty chambers of her heart, and the thought of leaving here—of leaving Logan—buckled her knees. Tears threatened to overtake her composure and maybe they would have spilled, but a moment later, he walked into the room.

Logan met her at the door and wrapped her securely in his embrace, so close she could hear him breathe, yet to truly reach out and touch him, all the parts that made him whole, seemed as remote as touching stars.

Her fingers trembled as she adjusted his lapel and smoothed his shirt, a light gray, opened loosely at the neck. A tangle of chest hair poked over the top button, and she resisted the urge to touch the wiry curls. Waves of dark hair touched with silver and still damp from his shower kissed the tops of his ears, and her fingers traced the shadows of a smooth face.

She thought him tactfully gorgeous.

“Nice suit,” she said, her words masking the ache attached to her heart. “Where’re you headed?”

“Chicago.” He raked her into his arms again, his solid warmth molding them into one—for one last time. Comfortably whole and safe, she gave freely what strength she had left, and her body went soft and liquid as she clung to him, afraid to let go—afraid if she did so, she would collapse under the insurmountable weight of losing someone she cared for deeply. Again.

Though she smiled, tears blurred her eyes. “I need to go or I’ll miss my flight.”

“Carlos will take care of your things and he insisted on bringing your car around.”

“He probably thinks I’m an incredibly bad influence on his daughter and wants me out of here.”

“Bad influence? No. Incredible? There’s no question.”

“Logan, please,” she said, resting her palms on his chest. “Don’t make this any harder.”

With his finger, Logan lifted her chin and kissed her eagerly, one rooted in passion and longing for what could be, not the restrained sigh of a good-bye kiss. And when his lips left hers, she felt their absence, an ache for the loss of time and space and of his being, and the evidence of that absence stained his jacket. This time, he kissed her cheeks as if to erase the pain leaking from her eyes, but nothing he did could shield the cry of her heart.

She drew away.

Logan answered by closing the distance between them, his arms around her a shelter to the pain of letting go.

Ryleigh tried again to step away. “I need to go.”

He tightened his embrace.

“What are you doing?

Moisture gathered in his eyes. “Crying with you, Cabin Number Three.”

And they did.

Words clogged her throat, words she needed to say but couldn’t form, ones left unsaid with each passing moment. Her body turned liquid, for it seemed more than she could bear. And she prayed for one more ounce of strength to let go. And to let him go.

He took her hand, the connection between them like the draw of magnets thrown together at opposite ends. He stroked her cheek, her neck and let her hair fall through his fingers. And he looked past her eyes and touched the places only he knew, the feeling as feral yet as intimate as mink on bare skin.

“I won’t let you fall.” With a forefinger, he brushed her nose and then he squeezed her hand and she let his fingers slip from hers. And let him go.

She watched him leave as she had done with another man. Unlike that day, she felt no bitterness, no anger—only the indescribable pain of the moment; the moment her heart would surely break as the man she’d fallen in love with disappeared around the corner without a backward glance.

The emptiness was staggering. She grabbed the doorframe to steady a world slowly tilting in all the wrong directions. Every nerve cried in protest. Every bone ached as his last words echoed in her mind.
I won’t let you fall.
“It’s too late, Logan Cavanaugh.” Tears blurred her eyes and the ache touched her heart. “I already have.”

After reapplying her makeup to hide the telltale signs of her emotion, Ryleigh battled the compulsion to look back but refused to give in and walked straight to the lobby.

Rose greeted her with open arms and a smile that could melt a mountain of snow. “It’s good to see you again, Ms. Collins,” she said with a stifling hug. “How was your stay?”

“Magical, Rose. A fantasy.”

Rose dipped her chin and raised her eyes.
“Magico come l’amore nuovo?”

“You sound like Mr. Cavanaugh.”

Rose lifted her arms. “Oh my goodness,” she cackled, raising an ample bosom. “His Italian is, well, a bit lacking yet.”

Ryleigh frowned.

“He’s a quick study, but he’s got a long way to go. He’s looking into purchasing a vineyard in Italy. Maybe as early as summer. It’s quite the buzz.”

“I see.”

“It’s a beautiful language. My husband seems to get his jollies out of seducing me in his native tongue. Last name’s Corleone, you know,” she said, winking, “just like in the movie.”

Ryleigh smiled.

Rose shrugged and released a long sigh. “Of course, now that Mr. Cavanaugh is leaving,” she said with a sly smile and let the notion die on her lips.

Ryleigh glanced around. “Is Logan—Mr. Cavanaugh around? I’d like to say good-bye before he leaves.” To see him once more…

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. He left a few minutes ago for Chicago. And for some reason beyond me,” she said, raising her hands in resignation, “he mentioned returning to his ministry as well.”

The impact of the words threatened to buckle her knees and she prayed it didn’t show.

“Oh, dear,” Rose said, “of course you wouldn’t know.” She patted Ryleigh’s shoulder. “Besides being one hell of a businessman, he’s a minister. And a damn good one.”

A shadow crossed over Ryleigh’s heart as the pieces fell together in complete understanding.

“I certainly hope he changes his mind,” Rose said, visibly distressed. “He’s proven he’s the cog that keeps Wentworth-Cavanaugh Properties turning. He’ll be sorely missed.”

“Yes,” she said, looking away. “Sorely missed.”

The silhouette of the Rocky Mountains shrank in Ryleigh’s rearview mirror, and the harder she pressed the accelerator, the deeper the ache became. Not only was she leaving a place that had left an indelible imprint but one where she had reluctantly opened her heart only to lose it under a blanket of snow.

The road unfurled behind her, the resort and her memories a shrinking blip in the mirror. “Crossfire” played on the radio, the lyrics a trigger to an avalanche of memories—dark clouds and storms, secrets, and of heartache, and it stirred her flesh as if the man she let slip away had touched her skin. The keen sensation opened a cavern in her heart, and a chill settled inside her, deeper and more intimate than she thought possible.

Across the lobby, Logan stood transfixed in front of the window, the silver SUV leaving the parking area.

“Mr. Cavanaugh,” Rose said, waving. “I thought you’d left.” She hurried toward him, holding a picture frame. “I reframed Laurie’s picture for you,” she said with a shrug, “and you just missed Ms. Collins. She wanted to say goodbye….”

Goodbye.
The thought froze in Logan’s mind and he nodded, unwilling to shift his attention and miss the last glimpse.

“You never did tell me how you fared through the storm, Logan.”

“It was magical, Rose. The storm of the century.”

“I see,” she said, faking a cough. “Clearly. You didn’t come through unscathed after all, did you?”

Logan leaned against the window and turned to her. Rose pursed her lips and held the frame to her chest. She followed his eyes to the window and watched him straighten as the silver SUV passed over the bridge and out of sight.

“You can’t bring her back, Logan.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I’m not talking about the woman who just left,” she said, approaching him.

Logan’s eyes landed on the woman nearly a foot shorter, but who stood stalwart before him.

“I meant the one who left you three years ago.”

He glared at her.

“Laurie’s gone.” She placed her hand on his arm. “And Ryleigh is right in front of you.” Rose straightened. “Don’t be a fool,” she whispered with a hard, challenging gaze and then squared her shoulders and handed him the newly framed photograph. “Your memories will always be there, to call upon. But it’s time to live again. To make new memories.” She squeezed his arm and walked away.