Breath of Dawn, The (31 page)

She made a good effort to hide her discomfort, but Morgan missed little. He brushed her arm. “Hurting?”

Her ankle and pretty much every other part hurt worse today from body-slamming against the cliff than yesterday, but she wanted
to do this for Livie. What better time than their first Christmas season to start making memories—even if the beautiful day felt summery. “I’m all right.”

He eyed her purplish foot in the sandal. “Maybe you should have that looked at.”

“I’d know if it were serious. I broke it once, picking apples with my sister. She accidentally knocked the ladder away from the tree.”

Morgan raised his brows. “Accidentally?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Uncanny how perceptive he was. “Everyone said so.” She edged Livie forward. “Hannah’s the good girl. A perfect product of indoctrination, skilled in awe and obedience.”

A preschool girl in front of them reached into her mouth and stretched a long string of chewing gum. It snapped like a rubber band and stuck to her cheek, earning her a scolding from her mother, who should have known better than to give her toddler gum.

“The same indoctrination you received.” Morgan ran his thumb up and down her spine. “Where’s the awe and obedience?”

She glared. “That meal was served, but I didn’t eat.”

“Ah.” A smile tugged his lips. He crouched and lifted Livie, who had turned toward his leg and pressed in with her little torso. “Almost there, punkin.” He smoothed her wispy hair.

Erin counted the children between them and the carousel. With the carousel ride, and then conversation and photos as the Santa Muppet heard each rider’s heart’s desire, it would take a while. The little girl with the gum must have wanted something. When her mother said no, the child proceeded to pinch the woman’s thigh with vicious little fingers. Instead of pointing out the inadvisability of pinching in front of Santa Claus, the woman yanked her daughter’s arm and pulled her out of line.

Morgan raised a brow as they stalked off. “One down.”

Erin giggled, but having counted, she knew that one meant Livie would make the cut this round.

Morgan rested his palm against her back. “So what’s wrong with your sister?”

“What do you mean?”

“She knocks a ladder out from under you. She swallows the party line and falls for Markham.”

Erin sighed. “She’s . . . impressionable.”

“That’s all?”

“Maybe a little challenged.”

“You don’t know?”

“It doesn’t matter. Once she sets her mind, she’s as stubborn as . . .”

“You?”

“I’m reasonable. I went to Paris and married you.”

At the mention of Paris, his eyes hooded, his hand coming to rest lower on her back than Santa would approve.

“Morgan.”

He shifted up an inch. “I wonder how much your sister’s limitations shaped your dad’s precepts.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he extended the necessary care and protectiveness beyond one individual to help that individual blend in. To make that level of care the norm.”

She’d never considered it that way. “That’s the kindest thing you could have said.”

He shrugged. “I get it—that’s all. If Livie had a disability, I’d change the world around her.”

Her chest warmed. “I love . . . that about you.”

He pulled a slow smile. “Careful. You might say something you’re not ready to say.”

Her heart raced. How could she not say it, and yet . . .

He leaned in and kissed her. “Doesn’t matter. It’s all over your face.”

The rat. She tugged his shirt sleeve.

Grinning, he lifted Livie onto the carousel. With a full heart, she followed them aboard.

Buckling his daughter into her car seat after several enchanting hours at the zoo, Morgan asked Erin, “Do you mind sitting in back to keep her awake?” If she slept now that was all the naptime they’d get.

“Sure.” She took her position—not in awe and obedience but as part of a team working in sync, one mind, one intention. He’d seen her ability to adapt, to either take charge or support. Good qualities. With training, she could be a force in the corporate world or anything else she chose. Was it fair to assume she wanted nothing more than to love the child who’d come with the marriage?

Livie was half asleep as he laid her down, his heart swelling as it did every time. He’d thought Erin followed him inside but didn’t see her when he left Livie’s room or in going downstairs. He went out to the courtyard, where she pointed to a spray of lavender-colored blossoms springing from the gray-skinned branches of the jacaranda.

“It’s blooming in December.”

“A minor flowering. The leaves will fall off in the spring, and in June the whole tree will burst with blossoms.”

“So here you have fall in the spring and spring in the winter.”

“For this variety of tree.” A memory came in so piercing it caught him in the ribs. He recalled standing here, giving Jill the same explanation, and her amusement that Christmas was coming and this silly tree thought it was spring.

No panic came, but such sadness. He realized it showed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

He dropped his gaze to the ground. “Sometimes it just comes. Everything’s great, and then . . .” He shook his head. “It’s the stealth of it, creeping in for no reason.”

“There’s a reason.” She rested a hand on his arm. “You didn’t give me a date, but if Livie’s birthday’s in September, and she was three months old . . .”

He closed and opened his eyes. “December 7th.”

“Morgan, that’s tomorrow.”

He nodded. It wasn’t as though the date could pass without his realizing, though it was astute on her part. “It’s supposed to be the rainy season. But it was dry that year, and temperatures were high.” He swallowed. “One of the freakishly hot sundowners blew over the mountains, rushing down like the breath of hell.” He shook his head. “Wrong place, wrong time. Three young
mothers. The other two survived.” He slanted her a glance. “I’m thankful for that.”

She nodded, believing him, then slid her hand down his arm and clasped his. “Could we visit her grave?”

He felt a sinking in his chest, as though the bones turned to wax and collapsed. He’d avoided all thought of it, and yet it had been there. What kind of man walks away from his wife in the ground and never once looks back? Sorrow graveled his voice. “You want to?”

“Livie can bring flowers to her mother.”

Another collapse. “She doesn’t know. I didn’t see the point, when she was too little to even realize a loss.”

“You were right. But now she could know. If you want her to.”

Erin could have pushed for a clean break. Two was little still, and her position would solidify with more time. But this was Livie’s reality as much as his, and Erin recognized that. He simply nodded. Tomorrow they would go.

The rain fell straight and neither warm nor cold in the Santa Barbara cemetery, the grass a moist green carpet on the gentle slope and level ground with grave markers laid flat and only a few raised stones and scattered trees in the portion where they walked. Her heart had stirred when Consuela asked to come and Morgan welcomed her. Now Livie walked on tiptoe just in front of the three adults, maybe because Morgan explained this wasn’t a playing park. It was a praying park.

Erin carried the small bouquet she’d brought for Livie to give her mother. She didn’t know how much the little girl would comprehend, but Morgan needed this. At the grave, in khaki slacks and black leather bomber jacket, he crouched down and encircled Livie between his knees, speaking softly into her ear. Erin’s throat swelled.

Consuela surprised her by squeezing her hand. She whispered, “
Gracias
, Señora Erin. You do his heart good.”

After a time, Morgan parted his hands and Livie slipped free, rushing over. “May have my mommy flowers?”

Erin dropped down and placed them in her little hand. “Here you go.”

Livie turned and walked somberly to the plaque that bore her mother’s name. Crouching like a grasshopper, she put them on it. “Here you go, Mommy.”

Morgan’s face twisted, silent sobs shaking him as he remained crouched, wrists draping his knees, hands slack.

She stayed beside Consuela as Livie wandered a little among the graves. The rain lessened, more mist than drops. A car drove slowly along the near road, heading as they’d done for a name on the ground. Morgan rose and came to them. He looked into Consuela’s face without speaking. She held out her hands and he squeezed them; then she went around him to tend Livie.

Erin stared into his eyes as Morgan drew her in. She turned her head against his chest and pressed in, embraced by grief and solace. Long minutes they stood, as he raised a hand and stroked her hair.

She tipped her face and said, “I love you.”

His next breath seemed to deepen. He pulled her tight again, pressing his cheek to the crown of her head. “Let’s go home.”

N
ot even trying to keep up with Liam, Noelle climbed the stairs to the small town library. He gripped the door handle and leaned back to pull it open as someone approached from inside. Noelle blinked. “Hannah. Hi.”

Hannah recognized her and flushed. “Oh. Hi.”

“How are you? I didn’t know you were still here.”

“I’m fine.”

In fact, she looked better than the last time, Noelle thought. Her heart quickened. Had Hannah split from Markham?

“I wanted a book to read, but they won’t issue a card to nonresidents.”

“That’s no problem. I’ll check it out for you.”

Liam took that as his cue to dart inside, and Noelle caught the door starting to close. She felt certain Hannah would refuse, but Quinn’s sister said, “I like to read.”

“Have you picked something out?”

“Yes.” She went back in. “He has it at the counter, waiting to be shelved again.”

Noelle headed to the old ornately carved counter where Pike
Gregory looked sorrowfully insistent. “I don’t make the rules,” he said to Hannah beside her. “Just follow ’em.”

“I’ll check it out for her.” Noelle laid her card on the counter.

“Your responsibility.”

“That’s fine.” She loved how seriously Pike took his job. He’d been watching over the library since he was born—when dinosaurs roamed the earth. She handed the card over, and he actually ran it and Hannah’s prairie historical under a scanner, a wonderful mix of ancient and current day.

When Hannah thanked her, she said, “You’re welcome. Hope you enjoy it.”

“I like these old stories. I mean stories about old times.”

Noelle nodded. She’d have guessed as much, since Hannah didn’t seem to fit the present world too well. She wanted to ask about Markham but held back. Liam came running over with a big shark picture book, and while she told him it was a great choice, Hannah slipped out. Noelle moved to the front window and saw her get into a white Tahoe with a smashed windshield. She had to climb in through the passenger door.

Noelle pressed a hand to her chest with a pang of sorrow and also regret. Maybe there would be a way to help her yet. At least she could have asked where Hannah was staying.

“What’s that?” Markham leaned over to see what Hannah held as she sat primly on the damaged sofa that was also serving as her bed.

She started to speak, then her eyes grew large.

Since he’d spent the past few days ingratiating himself at the Roaring Boar, trying to learn anything that would lead to Quinn and Morgan, he’d paid little attention to Hannah’s activities—though he’d assumed she stayed at Quinn’s except to buy food. It appeared he was mistaken.

She gulped. “It’s a library book.”

“How did you get it?”

Again the big gulp, the worried eyes. “Noelle checked it out for me.”

He frowned. “Noelle?”

“R-Rick’s wife. She was happy to help . . . me. . . . With the book, I mean.”

“What did you tell her?” As hard as he tried, he couldn’t keep the edge from his voice.

Her lip quivered. “I said I liked stories about the past.”

“I don’t mean that. Does she know we’re staying here? Together?”

She shook her head. “That’s all I said.” Eyes pooling, she half whispered, “I would never make trouble for you, Markham. God made me your handmaid.”

A phrase he wished he’d never uttered. “I don’t want you talking to anyone in this town.”

She retreated like a turtle to its shell, but instead of keeping still, said almost defiantly, “Then I’m glad I have my story. For all the time I don’t have you.”

“You think I like being out all day, trying to find Quinn?” He lowered his voice. “I
have
to do this.” For once the importance of his mission seemed lost on Hannah.

“But I’m alone. Why can’t I go with you when you’re out?”

“Are you questioning me? Maybe you no longer believe I hear God. Maybe you think—”

“No, Mark. Please don’t say it. Of course I believe. I know you’re trying to do what God requires.”

“My name is Markham.”

She blinked without understanding.

“You called me Mark. Don’t do that again.”

Her face crumpled. “Oh, Mark-ham.”

“I’m not—” he breathed through his clenched teeth—“angry.” A bald-faced lie. If something didn’t happen soon, the anger would build up. The anger would come out. But what could he do?

There’d been no sign of Quinn or the fantastic Morgan Spencer in town anywhere. As far as he could tell, there was only one location—thanks to Lydia—that might prove useful.

Morgan gave Erin a hand getting off the Bowflex home gym. On the ride home from the cemetery he could tell that she was unsure about what to expect after visiting the grave. As cathartic as that
had been, he couldn’t dwell in sorrow. He’d lost his wife this day two years ago. That was a fact he’d live with every year. But there were more hours in the day than tears, even if those were the first he’d shed at her grave, even if each one had come from a place aching to be made whole.

Erin had raised her brows but not questioned when he suggested a workout. If she’d known him before, it wouldn’t surprise her. His fitness had lapsed these past two years, but it was an essential part of him. Chasing Erin and this workout showed it was time to take it seriously again. Healing in mind went hand in hand with a healthy body.

He’d hoped by going gently on the machines, Erin might work the soreness from her strained muscles, and it seemed to have done that. They were both sweaty and her cheeks were flushed.

He hung a hand towel around her neck without relinquishing the ends. “Not bad for a sprite.”

“Watch it. I have all my teeth.”

“Even wisdom teeth?”

“Mm-hmm. They came in perfectly and make one effective bite.”

“Let me see.” He tipped her face and looked into her mouth. “Huh.”

“You?”

“Had mine out. Got a dry socket, but I manned through.”

“Wonder if your mother would agree.”

“To Celia I walk on water with Michael, Patrick, and all the saints.”

“Oh right. I forgot.”

He studied her. “Tell me something else about you.”

She gave a little laugh at his silliness. “I won every spelling bee I entered.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“There were only three. In first, second, and third grade. Then my father thought it inappropriate for the minister’s daughter to compete.”

With his fist holding the towel, he chucked her chin. “Knew the others had no chance.”

With a shrug, she wrapped her hands over his. “Now you.”

He paused, then went with the obvious. “I had my first kiss at eleven.”

“Now
I’m
not surprised. Who was it?”

“I can’t kiss and tell.”

“You probably don’t remember.” She pulled the towel out of his hand. “I want to know something that isn’t physical.”

He rested his forearms on her shoulders. “When I was a kid, maybe four or five, I wandered off at a stock show. I kept going stall by stall, barn by barn, corral after corral, thinking I’d see my parents and Rick, or someone I knew.” He remembered the enormity of the fair, the smell of the animals, the dung, the sunbaked hay.

“Were you scared?”

“I must have been, but I didn’t cry. I kept looking until this cowboy stood in front of me and asked who I belonged to.” He pictured the man in tan shirt, Stetson, and chaps. “I told him I belonged to myself. He thought that was funny, but I didn’t know why. Even then I had this sense of identity.”

“What happened?”

“He asked my name and I said Morgan Spencer and told him my family got lost.”

Erin drank it in, amused. “What did he do?”

“He put me on his horse and walked us to a microphone, then asked the announcer to call the lost Spencer family to meet Morgan at the bandstand.”

Her whole face lit. “Livie has that. She not only knows exactly who she is, she’s sizing up the rest of us as well.”

He leaned in and kissed her. “I love that you see that.” He kissed her again. She had told him days were like years to Livie, but now it seemed they were putting years into days, learning each other at a feverish pace and a cellular level.

She brushed his cheek with her fingertips, her eyes shiny and mysterious, her puckish features adorable. “When I was little I wanted a horse. Some of the people in the church had land and animals, and I wanted a horse so much I could hardly stand it. I read stories about them, drew pictures of them, dreamed and begged. And finally my dad took me to see one that was for sale.

“I was so excited I almost cried.” She rested her hand on his arm.
“The mare was brown with a white blaze, and I already knew all the promises I would make if I could only have her.”

He tipped his head, sensing a twist.

“As I drew close, I realized how big she was, and being—as you incorrigibly observe—diminutive in stature, it gave me pause. As I stood, the mare stomped a hoof and tossed her head, that giant muzzle coming up. All of a sudden, I was afraid. It was like someone opened my head and poured fear in like sand. It sank down and stuck my feet to the ground, froze my hands to my sides. I was terrified of the thing I loved most in the world.”

“And?”

“My father turned to me and said, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’”

Morgan hissed a breath between his teeth. “He should have put you on her back.”

She formed a faint smile. “It was more important to make his point.”

“That natural affections would endanger you?”

“That I couldn’t trust myself to know best, even about my own heart.”

“Are you still afraid of horses?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Haven’t really explored it.”

So, yes, but the lesson hadn’t kept her from wishing or taking chances. She’d followed her conscience and found her own two feet. That strong, feisty woman he’d first seen was the real deal, her core, in spite of misunderstandings and questionable judgment. Quinn Erin Reilly Spencer had more substance than her diminutive stature suggested.

Erin hurried out of the shower to answer her phone. Swabbing that side of her head with the towel, she raised the phone to her ear and answered without concern since almost no one had her number.

“Quinn? Hi, it’s RaeAnne. I hope I’m not getting you from something, but I just haven’t stopped thinking of you and had to call.” She spared a second to breathe, then, “How are you and that hunky husband?”

Erin laughed at the impossibility of expressing the strides they’d made, even since Noelle had asked her the same question. “It’s kind of amazing, actually.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so happy. And his little girl?”

“She’s wonderful. I thought she’d miss Noelle so much, and she does, but Morgan’s been so integral in her life, it’s not as painful a separation as he’d feared. It’s like he’s her true north, and even at two she’s navigating by his constant love.”

“Oh.” RaeAnne sniffled. “You made me cry.”

“I guess that was sort of a Hallmark commercial.” She laughed. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know, still wanting answers or closure or whatever.”

It hit her that she hadn’t told her about Raymond Hartley’s asylum file. Toweling dry with one hand, she strode to the bathroom and hung it, then pulled on her robe. “Well, are you sitting down?”