Bright Eyes (34 page)

Chad relaxed against him and fell quiet for a time.

“The part of you you’re feeling right now will never die,” Zeke whispered. “How could it?
Who
we are, all our feelings and thoughts, don’t just stop. I think that part of us leaves our bodies and continues to exist. Some people say we go to heaven, where there are pearly gates and streets paved in gold. That sounds kind of hokey to me. I think heaven is right here around us, and we just can’t see it, a beautiful, peaceful parallel existence in the presence of our Creator. Sort of like a two-way mirror, where the people on the other side can watch us, but we can’t see them.”

Chad stiffened. “So you think maybe my dad’s right here?”

“I do. Even if he wasn’t good at showing it, he loved you. Maybe in time, when he knows you’re going to be all right, he’ll drift farther away and only visit when you need him, but for right now, I imagine he’s sticking pretty close. He’ll be there when you hit that home run. Someday when you hold your own son in your arms, he’ll be there, smiling over your shoulder.”

Chad took a shaky breath and sighed. “I wanted to hit a homer and have him take my team for pizza.”

Zeke smiled to himself. Pizza. It seemed like a silly wish on the surface, but when Zeke imagined all the kids in their uniforms, storming the pizza parlor to celebrate, he understood that it wasn’t about the pizza at all. It was about a young boy who’d never had his father pat him on the back and brag about his accomplishments.
Chances lost.
Chad mourned all the times when he would excel and his dad wouldn’t be there to share the moment with him.

“I’m not your dad,” Zeke said carefully, “and I know I can never begin to take his place, but I’d be honored to take your team out for pizza when you hit that home run.”

Chad stirred to look up at him through the shadows. “That’s what the fathers do.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. A good moment hasn’t presented itself. And right now isn’t a good one, either.”

“You’re in love with my mom, aren’t you?”

Zeke nodded. “Yep, Stetson over boot heels.”

Chad sniffed and wiped his nose. “Are you going to marry her?”

“Not without your permission, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s your mother, and you’re the man of the house. I’m old-fashioned about that kind of thing. I need to ask for her hand. Normally a guy asks the woman’s father. But in this case, you have more say than Pete. That’s only fair. The man you choose will end up being your stepfather.” Zeke let that hang there for a second. “Like I said, right now isn’t the time to talk about it. In a few weeks, maybe, when you’re feeling better.”

“Does my mom know you’re going to ask me?”

“Yes.”

“What if I say no?”

Zeke thought about that. “Well, I reckon I’ll wait a spell and ask again. She’s like a bad habit I can’t kick.”

He felt Chad smile against his shirt. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll get pissed.”

Zeke chuckled. “I hear you.”

They sat in the darkness, not speaking, comfortable with the silence. Again, Zeke wasn’t sure how much time passed. The shadows felt heavy with sadness, which was as it should be. For now, the future and what it might hold was only a glimmer neither of them could see very clearly.

Finally, Chad said, “I feel better now. I’m ready to go in.”

“You sure? I was just getting comfortable.”

“I’m sure. I don’t feel as sad now about my dad. It’s good to know maybe he can see me. Thanks for talking to me.”

Zeke patted the boy’s shoulder. “No problem. That’s what friends are for.”

After they reached the ladder, Zeke went down first and then stood at the bottom, watching to make sure Chad didn’t fall. When the kid’s feet touched ground, he kept one hand on a rung as he turned around.

“You can marry my mom if you want,” he said.

Zeke shook his head. “That’s not a decision that you should be making tonight. It’ll keep for a few weeks.”

Chad shrugged. “I won’t change my mind. You were my friend before you started loving my mom. I think I’ll like having you for a dad, and you’ll be a good dad for Rosie, too.”

That was one of the finest compliments Zeke had ever received. “Thank you. I think I’ll like having you for a son, too. No throwing tomatoes, though. Deal?”

“Deal.” Chad started from the barn, and then he suddenly stopped. “I guess you don’t want to go tomorrow.”

Zeke slowed his steps. “To the funeral, you mean?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to or anything. I was just thinking—well, you know—that it might be easier for my mom if you came.”

Zeke nodded. He had a hunch that Natalie wouldn’t be the only one who might need a strong arm to lean on. “You’re probably right. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does that mean you’ll go with us?”

Zeke nodded again. “Sure. Just in case your mom needs me, I should probably be there.”

The following day passed in a blur for Natalie. She felt as if she were on autopilot. She moved, talked, and did what she had to do, but nothing seemed real. At odd times throughout the afternoon, she imagined her brain was a tangled jumble of electrical wires that had frayed and shorted out, leaving most of her circuits dead. In a distant part of her mind, she worried about Chad and how he would handle the funeral, but not even her concern for him penetrated the numbness that seemed to have overtaken her body. She was grateful for Zeke. He moved through the haze of unreality, big, strong, and solid, his voice a deep rumble that soothed her in a way she couldn’t understand.

The funeral was unremarkable. Grace, impeccably dressed in relentless black, wept into a tiny black hanky edged with lace. When Natalie watched her sobbing, she felt nothing, just an awful emptiness, as if her heart were a blackboard and someone had erased it. Chad was the only one who cried real tears, and even then Natalie felt nothing. It wasn’t necessary because Zeke was there, a rock for Chad to lean on. Zeke seemed to know all the right things to say. Natalie couldn’t string words together to make a complete sentence.

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. It was like being locked in a dark closet with only her head poking out. She could see and hear and respond to questions, but nothing could penetrate to actually touch her.

After the funeral, Zeke drove them home, Natalie on the front passenger seat, Chad, Valerie, and Pop in back. Even the drive didn’t seem real. Natalie turned a section of paper towel in her hands, wondering where it had come from and why she had it. She hadn’t shed a tear all day, had no desire to cry. So why was she wringing a paper towel?

What had it all been about? That was the question that kept circling through her mind. After a simple supper, Natalie went upstairs to give Rosie her bath and put her to bed. It was the strangest thing to go through the motions of normalcy—to feel the warm water on her fingers, to slick soap over her daughter’s soft skin, to run a brush through tangled black curls, to hear herself reading a bedtime story aloud, injecting expression into words that didn’t register on her brain.

When Rosie had drifted off, she went to Chad’s room to check on him because that was what mothers were supposed to do. Her son had fallen asleep reading his Harry Potter book. Natalie leaned against the doorframe, feeling heavy all over.

Valerie came up behind her in the hall. “You okay?” she whispered.

Natalie straightened away from the doorjamb. “I’m fine.” She drew the portal closed so their voices wouldn’t disturb Chad. “You know what I’ve learned from all this?”

Valerie’s suntanned face looked oddly pale. “No, what?”

“We’re all just chickens that haven’t gotten their necks wrung yet.”

Valerie did an about-face and hurried back downstairs. Natalie moved toward her room, thinking about distant thunder and cool night breezes. All she wanted was to close her eyes and let her mind go black.

She’d stripped down to her bra and panties when Zeke entered the room. Even in the darkness, she knew it was Zeke by the sound of his boots on the old hardwood floor. She tossed her dress toward the closet, not caring if it got wrinkled or walked on.

“If Valerie sent you up, there’s no reason. I’m fine. I’m not sad or anything.”

He took a step toward her. “I know. That’s part of the problem, isn’t it, that you can’t feel sad?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at him. He was a tall silhouette without a face, which made it easier to talk to him. “What’s it all about, Zeke?”

He came to sit beside her. She wanted him to say all the right things to make her feel alive inside again, like he did for Chad. But instead he said nothing. It made her angry. She knew he had the words she needed to hear, and he just wouldn’t give them to her.

“How about a walk?” he asked.

“What?”

He pushed up from the bed and went to her bureau. After rifling through the drawers, he returned and tossed jeans and a top on her lap. “Put them on. You need to get out of here for a while.”

“I don’t feel like walking.”

“I know. That’s why you need to go.”

That made no sense, but her thoughts were so disjointed she couldn’t compose an argument. After she dressed, Zeke hunkered down in front of her and slipped her bare feet into her sneakers. He jerked too hard when he tightened the laces, making the blood rush to her toes, but she couldn’t muster the energy to complain.

After he led her downstairs and outside into the night, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“Does it matter?”

Keeping a hold on her hand, he pulled her along behind him, angling across the yard and up the rutted gravel drive toward the road. When they reached the asphalt, he set a lazy pace, not speaking, not pressing her to share how she felt. A good thing, that, because she felt nothing.

As they walked, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and breathing in and breathing out. That wasn’t easy. Her feet and her lungs were at almost opposite ends of her body. She became so focused on just moving that she was surprised to hear herself say, “I should feel sad, and I don’t. I loved him once. He was the father of my children. How could I look at him and feel nothing?”

Zeke swung to a stop. In the moonlight, his eyes shimmered like molten silver. “Sweetheart, you’ve been through one hell of a week. You’re exhausted, physically and emotionally. The mind is a fabulous mechanism. When life gets to be too much, it shuts off. The sadness is there, way deep. You’ll begin to feel it when you can deal with it. For now, you’re just riding the wave and going through the motions.”

“You don’t think I’m terrible?”

He hooked an arm around her neck and drew her against him. “God, no. I think you’re wonderful. Don’t beat up on yourself for not feeling sad. Eventually you will, if for no other reason than because Robert was the father of your children. Just give yourself time.”

Natalie made fists on his shirt and leaned her weight against him. “Oh, Zeke, I love you.”

He pressed light kisses on her hair. “I know you do. And you know what else?”

“No, what?”

“I think you need a good, old-fashioned affirmation that you are very much alive.”

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “How do I do that?”

“Let me show you,” he whispered.

The next instant, he swept her up in his arms, carried her across the ditch that ran along the road, and went out into the field. When he set her on her feet, she glanced around them. “We can’t make love here.”

“Why not?”

“It’s someone else’s property.”

“I repeat, why not?”

She giggled even as he slipped an arm around her waist and lowered her into the tall grass. Minutes later, as she crested with him on a wave of sheer sensation, Natalie stared dizzily at the moon, glorying in the fact that she could feel again.
Alive.
Zeke definitely made her feel gloriously alive.

She could only hope that fate allowed her to have a future with him.

Chapter Nineteen

B
y Friday night, Natalie felt sufficiently recovered to attend the grand reopening, and exactly as Zeke had predicted, the Blue Parrot was packed. Karaoke buffs swarmed to the club, hoping to win a cash prize for the best performance. Unlike before, when people had come only to have dinner while enjoying live entertainment, these folks stayed, following their meals with rounds of drinks, which generated large margins of profit. Halfway through the evening, Natalie took inventory of the bar stock and feared she might run short before closing time.

Seated at a table near the stage a few minutes later, she tapped her toe to the music as she gazed at the crowded dance floor. “I can’t
believe
this,” she told Zeke, who sat across from her. “Just
look
at all the people, and they’re having so much fun.”

He grinned broadly and winked at her. “Still a classy place, too,” he said, giving her sequined red gown a long look. “The first time I ever saw you wearing that dress, I ran so fast the other way, I almost tripped over my own feet.”

Natalie saw the smoldering heat in his gaze and knew it held promises of indescribable pleasure for her later. “Why did you run?”

“I knew you spelled trouble.”

She laughed, feeling wonderfully lighthearted. Business was up, her son had come through the storm and seemed to be dealing with his father’s death, and she was wildly in love with a dreamily handsome cowboy who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It didn’t get any better than this.

“I’m glad you didn’t run far,” she said, hoping he saw the promise in her eyes as well.

“Me, too. Although I have to warn you, life will never be tame for us.” He jabbed a thumb toward the five tables behind them that members of his family had commandeered. “Mix all of them and the Westfields together, and we’re going to have something going on constantly. Weddings, birthdays, babies being born, kids getting sick or hurt, and marital problems now and again, just to keep things interesting.”

“Whose marital problems?”

A twinkle warmed his eyes. “Theirs, of course. We’ll never have any.”

Natalie laughed. “I hope not. You don’t fight fair.”

He gave her another heated appraisal. “Making up will have its benefits.”

“Stop it. We’re in a public place.”

“Dance with me?”

A moment later, they were on the floor, swirling to a slow love song. Natalie felt as light as air in his arms, and her heart swelled with happiness as she looked into his eyes.

“I spoke to Chad,” he whispered huskily. “We have his blessing. Will you marry me?”

He looked so solemn that she couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. “I’ve already said yes, so the biggest question is when. I’ve always wanted a June wedding.”

He narrowed an eye at her. “Forget June, lady. I’m not scaling that roof all winter. After the first snow, I’ll fall and break my neck.”

Natalie followed the pressure of his hard thigh, taking three gliding steps backward. “Snow will pose a problem, I suppose. A Christmas wedding, then? We could say our vows by the tree. Wouldn’t that be romantic?”

He shook his head. “It snows around Thanksgiving. How about mid-October? That’ll give the kids some time to settle in at school and come to terms with losing their dad. If we leave for a week or so, we can still be back for Halloween so Rosie can hang pumpkin drawings all over the house, and we can carve jack-o’-lanterns together.”

“An autumn wedding?” Natalie imagined the falling leaves and the crispness of the air, and suddenly it seemed like the most perfect time of the year for them to begin a life together. “All right. Mid-October. That sounds lovely.”

Zeke lifted a dark eyebrow. “Another question. Where do you want to live? I’m willing to lease my place out or sell it if you’d like to stay at the farm.”

Natalie couldn’t believe he would offer. “With my family?”

“I’m used to a crowded household. I can handle it again.”

She smiled and shook her head. “We’ll be close enough living next door. My family’s crazy, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I like their brand of crazy. It’s your call. I honestly don’t care where I live as long as I’m with you.”

“Your place,” she whispered. “If I want to go over, I can. When they get on my nerves, I can stay at home.”

He nodded. “Do something for me?” he asked huskily. “Sing ‘Forever and for Always’ next.”

Natalie wanted to kiss him. “You’ve got it, cowboy.”

A few minutes later when Natalie returned to the stage, she looked directly at Zeke as she began singing the requested song. When she got to the part about staying right there forever in his arms, he pushed up from his chair and moved slowly toward her. She continued to sing as he scaled the steps and came to stand with her behind the mike. On the last line of the refrain, he harmonized with her, saying that he meant to keep her forever and for always. And then he drew a sparkling diamond ring from his shirt pocket.

Natalie was so stunned that she stopped singing in the middle of a number for the first time in her life. She stared up at him with tears of happiness welling in her eyes, scarcely able to believe that this wonderful, handsome man meant to put a ring on her finger in front of so many people. She was even more incredulous when he dropped to one knee.

“Oh, Zeke,
no!
” she cried. “Get up. This is crazy.”

“Go, Zeke!” Hank yelled. Jake let go with a shrill whistle, his deep voice resounding in the suddenly quiet room when he said, “I’ve been trying to take him to his knees for years, Natalie. Make him stay there for a while.”

Zeke flashed her one of those slow, lopsided grins that never failed to make her bones melt. Then he said, “Natalie Westfield Patterson, will you make me the happiest man alive by agreeing to become my wife?”

Natalie’s throat went so tight that all she could do was nod. Zeke slipped the ring onto her left hand, then pushed to his feet and bent to kiss her soundly on the lips, no easy task with the guitar between their bodies. Everyone in the house applauded wildly. Then they began calling for the rest of the song, with both of them singing this time.

It was the most beautiful moment of Natalie’s life—and without question her most memorable performance, not because her delivery was perfect, but because every word came straight from her heart, and she had only to look into Zeke’s eyes to know that the words came straight from his, too. He really and truly wanted her, forever and for always.

At a tender age, Natalie had given up on dreams of true love and lasting happiness. For the last several years, she’d been grateful for a so-so life and had allowed herself to expect nothing more. Now, suddenly and inexplicably, all the wishes she’d made as a young girl were coming true. Right when she’d convinced herself that there was no such thing, she’d finally found a handsome cowboy prince and love to last a lifetime.

Earlier, Zeke had asked if she was prepared for all the upheaval their combined families would bring into their marriage. Natalie was ready for anything. She wanted a life with this man. He was surely heaven-sent. She believed with all her heart that God had looked down on her miserable, sad little life and decided to send her a hero.

When the song ended, Zeke kissed her again and left the stage to return to his seat. People in the audience began clapping their hands and stomping their feet, calling for Natalie to begin another number.

Feeling content and complete, Zeke sat back to enjoy the performance. Natalie was a brilliant flame in the red dress, so beautiful that half the men in the room couldn’t take their eyes off of her. Zeke didn’t mind. She loved him, and she’d just promised him forever by letting him slip that ring on her finger. Let them look and eat their hearts out. The lady was taken.

As always, she electrified the air before she ever opened her mouth to sing again. The dancers fell silent, and people at the tables went motionless. As though to build the suspense, she caressed the handle of the mike and smiled at the crowd. “This next number is one of my favorites because it can be so much fun. I hope you’ll keep the beat and sing along with me.”

She settled the guitar on her hip and strummed a few notes, her dimple flashing in an impish grin. Then, her voice a honeyed explosion of magic, she shouted, “Sweet Home Alabama!” The crowd cheered and whistled. The dancers began to stomp their feet and clap their hands to the music. Grinning at their enthusiasm, Zeke sang along, too, tapping his toe to keep time.
Natalie
. She was a born entertainer, blessed with an uncanny ability to captivate an audience.

Pretty soon, the vibration of stomping feet was making Zeke’s table jiggle. Watching Natalie, he suddenly got an eerie, inexplicable sense of impending disaster. His heart started to pound. His body tensed. The crazy thing was, he had no idea why. Perhaps it was a sixth sense kicking in to give him a vital few seconds of forewarning so he would be able to react quickly.

Then he saw it—a slight shift of the sound-system platform suspended above the stage.

He leaped to his feet with such speed and forward momentum that he sent his chair flying backward. Natalie turned her dark head to look at him, her brown eyes filling with question. Running toward her, Zeke thought,
Oh, God—oh, God!

It was as if everything happened in slow motion. Zeke had to cover only a few feet—six to ten, at the most—but it seemed to take an eternity. He saw the platform above Natalie break completely loose from the ceiling on one side, plaster raining so slowly downward that it seemed to float like feathers. Natalie glanced up, her face contorting with terror. Her guitar slipped from her hip and fell in a wide arc, the neck grasped in only one of her slender hands. Beyond her, Frank Stephanopolis jumped up from the piano bench, turned, and tried to run.

Zeke saw it all unfolding before him like a scene in a movie. His boots impacted so hard with the floor with each running step that jolts went clear through his body. Trying to save herself, Natalie hunched her shoulders, threw up an arm to protect her head, and fled toward the edge of the stage.
Not quickly enough.
Zeke had no idea how much the speakers, amps, and framework weighed, but he instinctively knew that it was enough to kill anyone unlucky enough to be standing below.

Natalie.
In a last, desperate attempt to reach her before the platform collapsed on the stage, Zeke pushed off with one foot in a flying leap. He caught Natalie around the waist, carrying her along with him as he hit the steps and rolled. He heard screams and shouts, followed by a deafening explosion of noise.

When Zeke and Natalie came to a stop, he rolled a final time to come out on top and hunched his body over hers to shield her from the falling debris. A two-by-four struck him across the back. A speaker fell beside them, one corner colliding sharply with his hip.

Then, almost as quickly as it happened, the noise stopped, and a hush fell over the room. It lasted only an instant before chaos erupted. Running footsteps, screams and curses. Zeke lifted himself off of Natalie, frantically running his hands over her arms and legs to check her for injuries.

“Are you all right?” he cried. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Fine, I’m fine. What happened?” Even as she asked the question, she looked toward the stage and screamed, a long, high-pitched wail, followed by, “
Frank!
Oh, dear
God! Frank?
”

Zeke sprang to his feet and ran toward the stage where Frank Stephanopolis lay buried under the demolished platform.
Motionless.
Even as Zeke tore at the boards and sections of blue plywood to reach the unconscious piano player, he yelled, “Someone call an ambulance!”

Natalie despised speckled linoleum. Zeke’s sports jacket draped over her shoulders, she sat on the edge of a chair in the ER waiting room, holding a vendor cup of cold coffee between her hands, wondering vaguely how her life had become such a nightmare. Frank Stephanopolis was in surgery. He had sustained a serious head injury, several broken bones, and a crushed pelvis. The doctor who’d come out to see them a while ago said that the piano was all that had saved Frank’s life. The platform had crashed onto the Baldwin first, sparing Frank’s body the full impact of all that weight.

Sharon Stephanopolis, Frank’s wife, sat huddled across from Natalie on an ugly green chair, her hair mussed, her eyelids smudged with mascara. She was a thin woman with a bony, angular face and dishwater-blond hair. Every once in a while, she glanced at her watch.

“It’s been so long,” she said again. “Surely he’s out of surgery by now.”

Natalie shook her head. “It’s been only forty minutes. Have faith, Sharon. He’s going to be all right. He has to be.”

Sharon looked at her imploringly. “Why does something like this happen to someone like my Frank? He’s such a good man. He’s never hurt anyone.”

Natalie felt as if a party balloon were being inflated inside her chest. Every time she looked into Sharon’s pain-filled eyes, the pressure increased. She wanted to say that the collapse hadn’t been intended for Frank, that it should have fallen on her. But if she so much as hinted that the collapse hadn’t been an accident, Sharon would ask a dozen questions.

Natalie had no answers yet. Zeke had driven her to the hospital to be with Frank, and then he’d returned to the club to see what had caused the platform to collapse. He’d called her on the cell a few minutes ago, his voice taut with worry, to tell her that the eyebolts anchoring the sound-system platform to the ceiling had been cut nearly in two.
Not an accident.
That was all Natalie could focus on. Zeke hadn’t overreacted the other night after the burglary at the club. Someone had indeed sneaked inside and hidden until Jake and Hank left, and the place had been booby-trapped, just as Zeke had suspected. He’d only guessed wrong about the threat. Someone had spent all those hours compromising the eyebolts, expressly to make the platform fall during one of Natalie’s performances.