Finally Home (28 page)

They stared at him, but he had turned his gaze back to Emily.

“I convinced myself that you would have called if were pregnant. I mean . . .” He shook his head. “Why didn't you call?”

She stared at him. “I did call,” she said. “I believe I asked your mother to have you get back to me.”

He held her eyes for a fraction of a second before moving his guiltily away. “Why didn't you call
again?
” The words were almost inaudible.

Colt shifted the rifle. Linc winced.

“We've all made mistakes.” Casie kept her voice soft, but Colt heard her. He tilted the Ruger's muzzle back toward the ceiling.

“So the baby's his?” Colt asked.

Emily snapped her panicked gaze to his. “I don't know who the father is. I mean . . .” She laughed. The sound was harsh. “How should I know—”

“Emily!” Colt barked. Even Casie jumped.

A tear slipped from the corner of the girl's eye. “She's
mine,
” she whispered. “Nobody else's.”

Lincoln winced. “I'm not trying to take her from you, El. But I messed up with my dad.” He swallowed. His eyes were bright with tears. “And sometimes you don't get second—”

“I don't care!” she rasped. “I don't care that your father was a genius and your mother's a saint. I don't care that you all lit sparklers on the Fourth of July and stocked food shelves on New Year's Eve. You can't have Bliss. She's
mine!
” she repeated. The words were whispered. “She's all I've got. All I've ever wanted.”

The world was silent for one long moment, waiting.

“Is he the father?” Colt asked finally.

Emily closed her eyes and swallowed. “Yeah,” she said. “He is.”

CHAPTER 30

T
he sun peeked with cheeky optimism through winter's gossamer veil.

The six weeks since Christmas had been productive ones. The haybine had been fixed, as had the roof on the corncrib. Lumpkin had moved into the barn with the new lambs, which had begun to arrive in earnest.

Ty watched as Casie slipped a halter over Chesapeake's nose. He didn't like to have her working with stallions; they were too unpredictable, too aggressive. But he wasn't the boss of her. Then again, neither was Colt, but Ty was pretty sure that rodeo cowboy would show up before long. He'd putter around the fences, tightening up loose wires and pounding in stray nails, staying close while Casie threw a saddle on the bay's back. Colt Dickenson might not be the savviest horse in the herd, but so far Casie's refusals hadn't chased him off. He had to get points for persistence. Which was more than could be said for Ty himself. He glanced surreptitiously toward the arena where Sophie put Freedom over a homemade double oxer. Her hair, bright as a harvest moon, flared out behind as the mare cleared the two vertical jumps. The sight of her face so alive made his breath catch in his throat.

“Careful,” Linc said and tossed a pair of unidentified cables over his back as he made his way toward the ancient pickup truck parked beside the baling equipment.

Ty wasn't sure what to think about Lincoln Alexander, aka David Lincoln. A month ago he'd taken an apartment in Hope Springs. He paid the rent by working part time at the garage and made pocket change by selling his sculptures somewhere east of the Mississippi, but he seemed to spend most of his time at the Lazy. Ty didn't really think the ranch needed another man hanging around, but Emily sang a lot these days and laughed even more, so he was willing to reserve judgment. “Careful of what?”

Linc jerked his chin toward the arena where Sophie had just dismounted and was talking to her mare. “If you don't exhale every once in a while, you're gonna pass flat out.”

Ty scowled. He and Soph hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words since before Christmas. For days, he had been absolutely certain she was out of line; he wasn't smug. And he sure as hell didn't think he was better than her. But in retrospect, he realized that knowing Casie had changed him. He felt different now, bigger somehow, whole, and maybe that swagger showed through.

“You're doing it again,” Linc said.

Ty turned away from the sight of her. She was not magical. She was just a girl, he told himself, but somehow that didn't ring true in his soul. He blushed at the thought.

Linc chuckled as he pushed up the hood of the ancient Dodge.

“You ain't exactly top dog around here, you know,” Ty said. His tone sounded a little pouty.

“Top dog?” Linc grinned and shook his head as he stared into the unfathomable depths of the old pickup's engine. “I'm still in the dog's
house.
”

Ty straightened his back. He'd heard a truncated story of the other's relationship to Emily. He didn't know how much he had missed, but it hardly mattered. “Em deserves better than you,” he said.

Linc caught his gaze, all trace of humor gone. “That's why I'm trying to
be
better than me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Emily asked and walked in. She was wearing a chunky knit sweater that exactly matched her tiny daughter's. Both were nubby. Bliss's looked like hers had been made for a three-armed hunchback.

Ty waited for the other boy to mention that fact. Colt certainly would have teased her about her lack of knitting skills, but David Lincoln seemed to be struck momentarily dumb. “Hey, Em,” he managed finally, but his tone was funny. He'd given up calling her Ellie a couple weeks ago.

“Hey.” Her cheeks were a little pink as she avoided Lincoln's gaze and latched onto Ty's. “I'm having trouble with the drain again.”

Ty set aside the halter he was carrying, ready to help out. But a thought struck him suddenly. Chances were this David Lincoln guy was never going to be good enough for Emily, but maybe she didn't know that and maybe she needed a chance to figure it out on her own.

“There's a strawberry strudel in it for you if you'll try to fix it,” she said, never shifting her gaze to the older boy's.

Ty glanced toward Lincoln. His brows were pulled low. He shuffled his feet and looked a little like he'd swallowed a land mine. Turned out there wasn't hardly nobody that did this love thing very well, he thought. But it could be that everyone should have the opportunity to fail.

“I'm kind of busy right now,” Ty said.

Emily scowled before finally glancing toward her baby's daddy. Behind him, the truck's driver's door stood open. The new leather seat gleamed a bright, cool red in the overhead lights. She took in the half dozen parts that littered the tarp on the floor, then bit her lip for a second. “How about you?” she asked. Her voice was very soft. “Could you—”

“Yes!” Lincoln said, and wiping his hands on a towel, stepped toward her. Their gazes met in one sharp clash and then they turned in tandem toward the house, walking side by side, arms almost touching, tiny Bliss little more than a comma between their bodies as they strode uphill. Lincoln spoke. Emily glanced up to catch his eyes.

And there was something in her expression, some glimmer of hope so bright it made Ty's gut cramp up.

“He's not as bad as you think.”

Ty jerked around at the sound of Sophie's voice and hoped rather wildly there weren't tears in his eyes. He busied his hands, doing God knows what. “I didn't say he was bad,” he said.

“I know you don't think anybody can be good enough for her.”

He shrugged.

She glanced sideways. Perfection in profile. “She . . .” She paused, then exhaled and let her shoulders drop a little as if forcing out the tension. She'd left her mare outside, but carried her English saddle, barely enough leather to fry up for supper, as the old codgers would say.

Ty focused all his attention on that saddle. Looking at her straight on just made him loopy.

“I'm sorry.” Her words brought his attention back to her face with a snap. Her lips were pursed, her expression haughty, and for a moment he was absolutely certain he had heard her wrong.

“What?”

She raised one regal brow. “I said . . .” She gritted her teeth. “I apologized.”

“Oh.” As far as he could recall he had never been privy to such a thing. “Thank you?” He was pretty sure that was the proper thing to say, though her presence made it nearly impossible to be certain of anything.

She scowled at him. “For saying you thought you were better than I am.”

He nodded. “I . . .” Would it look bad if he bolted out the door and hid in the sheep barn? “I don't think—”

“Well, you are.”

He stopped, blinked, and scowled.

“You're kind,” she said. Her voice had lowered. She cleared her throat. “You're loyal. You're hardworking, and your
stupid
hands . . .” She stopped and shifted her gaze abruptly away as if the hills beyond the wide-flung doors called her name.

He stared at her. Could be he wasn't the only one who was crazy around here.

“I'd just . . .” She glanced at him again. A flicker of despair shone in her lost-girl eyes. “I'd like to be friends.”

Something warm and hopeful unfurled softly in the middle of his being. “I thought we
was
friends, Soph.”

She swallowed, pretty neck drawing his gaze. “Well, I . . . I was . . .” She raised her chin and tightened her jaw, but damned if she didn't look like she was about to cry. “I was an idiot.”

He couldn't look away, but he managed to force a shrug. “Couple a words,” he said. “That don't make no difference between real friends.”

The world went silent. He was holding his breath again. But maybe she was, too. And then she smiled, the tiniest curve of a grin, and he couldn't resist slipping his stupid fingers around hers. Warmth slipped up his arm, enveloping his being, like sunlight against bare skin.

 

From the pen on the far side of the barn, Casie buckled Chesapeake's throatlatch and felt her heart swell as she watched the young couple trail hand in hand back to the riding arena. There would be fights again. There would be insecurities and wounded pride and bruised feelings, but that's what life was about. For right now, her favorite people in the world were happy.

And that was enough. More than one could ask for, as Emily would say. Far more than one should expect. She wouldn't overburden fate by asking for more. Wouldn't tip the world into despair by insisting on perfection.

Her mind wandered dreamily. Maybe Lincoln and Emily would marry. Little Bliss could be the flower girl, decked out in a poorly knit white dress that dragged down to her feet on one side and hiked up to her chubby knees on the other. She would toddle down the aisle holding Aunt Casie's hand. Ty would smile. Really smile to see Emily so happy, and all would be right with the world.

 

From his pickup truck, Colt watched Casie lead Chesapeake out of his corral. Sunlight glimmered on her hair, and her lips, so sweet and seductive, curled up the slightest bit as if she was just about to smile.

Well, he didn't care if she was just this side of euphoria. He was about to ruin her day. Again. He was about to break his word and his own rules and a thousand self-warnings and ask her again to . . .

It all happened so fast that even though he replayed the moment a thousand times in his mind, he would never truly know what happened. He would never understand what went wrong or what he could have done to change the course of the universe.

One moment she was walking, shoulders back, lips canted into that fairy-princess smile of hers. And the next the stallion was rearing, hooves thrashing. It was just like that. One second all was well. There was hope. There was reason and sunshine and tomorrows.

And the next she was on the ground.

“Casie!”

He was out of his truck and running before another thought registered in his brain. The world stood still around him. No sound, no thought. His footsteps were as silent as death as he raced toward her.

There was nothing but Casie. On the ground. Unmoving. Silent. He collapsed beside her.

“Case!” He reached for her. Her body was as limp as a sodden rag. He rolled her over, breath burning in his throat. Her head flopped back. Golden hair was sprayed across her brow. He pushed it aside with trembling hands. Her eyes had fallen closed. “Casie!”

She didn't blink, didn't speak, didn't move in his arms.

He'd been ungrateful. Asked too much. The thought exploded in his mind.

“Help me!” He yelled the words, desperately cradling her lifeless body against his own. “Somebody! Help me!”

He saw Ty spin toward them. Saw him sprint across the yard, snow flying in his wake.

Emily stepped onto the porch and shaded her eyes. Her mouth moved. The door slammed, but there was no sound. Only emptiness. Only never-ending nothingness.

“Don't do this! Don't! We're supposed to spend our lives together.” His words were guttural as he clenched her to his chest.

Behind him, Ty panted up and stood unmoving.

Colt curled over her, rocking her in his arms.

And then her hand moved on his sleeve.

He opened his eyes slowly. Her fingers were pale. He stared at them for a breathless second, then shot his gaze to her face.

“Say yes,” she said.

“Casie!” His heart burst into motion. “What the devil are you thinking? You scared the living hell out of me.”

The shadow of an angel's smile played around her lips. “Say yes,” she repeated.

He scowled, new worries crowding in. “Are you . . .” His cheeks felt wet. He wiped the back of his glove across his face. “Where does it hurt? Don't move. We'll get an ambulance.”

“Marry me.”

He loosened his grip a little, failing to breathe again. “You must have hit your head harder than I thought.”

Her lips cranked up another quarter of an inch. “Could be Chester knocked some sense into it. Marry me.”

“What about . . .” His world felt upside down, topsy-turvy and crazy hopeful. “What about your hungry horse syndrome?”

“Screw it,” she said.

His heart was bursting in his chest, sending sparks of lightning spearing through his body. “What about the fights?”

“Fights?”

“The ones we're going to have about the kids, and the stray men, and that
damned
stallion.”

Her grin lifted another notch. “We're keeping the stallion.”

“We're not—” he began, but in that second she kissed him.

And, suddenly, all was right with the world.