Now and Forever (102 page)

"And you are a welcome sight, Patrick Devane." McVie clapped him on the back, but the joy in his eyes was soon replaced by determination.

"Blakelee and Rutledge?" Devane asked.

"Aye," said McVie. "They took them not ten minutes ago to the hanging tree at the foot of Clover Hill."

"We can be there within the hour," Patrick said "I will not lose two good men."

"No!" Dakota's voice rang out. "This is Andrew's destiny, Patrick, not yours. He must do this alone."

"'Tis too big an undertaking for one man. I will lend what assistance I can."

The dark-haired woman with the aqua eyes blocked his exit. "Let him go," she said, her tone pleasant but firm. "He
will
succeed." She lowered her voice so Patrick alone could hear. "You must let him do this alone or he will never believe in himself the way that I believe in him."

He could not argue in the face of so great a love. Or in the face of a destiny so far-reaching that the future of their infant nation depended upon it. He knew it was only the first of many sacrifices the cause would demand of him.

McVie kissed Shannon Whitney and was gone.

"Was that your horse?" Dakota asked as they stood on the slope behind the house and watched Andrew gallop away.

"It was," said Patrick, "but he is welcome to it."

"I didn't even notice the stable."

"Mayhap you had other things to occupy your mind."

She started to say something but the words danced just beyond reach. She felt light-headed, as if she hadn't eaten in weeks, and suddenly her knees gave out and she sagged into Patrick's arms.

"I do not understand," he said. "I see you before me, yet I seem to see through you, as well."

"This is how it happened the other time, Patrick." Once again she told him of her last morning in 1993.

"You tell me you had no choice in the matter?" Patrick asked. "That your choice had been made for you by fate?"

Dakota's eyes glistened with tears. "Yes."
Say something, Patrick! Tell me you want me to stay. Tell me you can't live without me, that life would have no meaning if I left.

"All that kept you from fading into death was the touch of the balloon?"

She nodded.
But you don't understand. I had no reason to stay there . . . I didn't have Abby . . . I didn't have you.

He said nothing more. She sensed that he was pulling away from her, that sometimes note ven a miracle was enough to guarantee a happy ending.
Like you expected anything else, Wylie? You came, you saw, you saved his life. Now it's time to go back where you belong.

"Who is he?" Shannon whispered to Dakota s Patrick strode toward the wagon.

"Patrick Devane," Dakota whispered back.

"The traitor?"

"The patriot."

"I've heard nothing but terrible things about the guy."

"That'll teach you to believe everything you hear."

"Looks like we have a lot to catch up on."

I know,
thought Dakota,
but I'm afraid we're not going to have time.

They crossed the snowy field to the edge of the woods where Patrick stood, waiting, near the wagon.

A familiar noise sounded in the distance, the deep hiss of flame beneath a hot-air balloon as it drifted closer to the clearing.

The ground seemed to lift and tilt beneath Dakota's feet. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes, willing herself to deny the inevitable. Patrick had given as much as it was in him to give, and it just wasn't enough. He'd been hurt too deeply for her love to make him whole, and if he couldn't give her his heart, then she wanted nothing at all.

"Maybe it's not for you," Shannon said, "Maybe it's meant for someone else."

"It's for me," Dakota whispered. There was nothing for her here. Not any longer.

She turned away from both Patrick and Shannon, her tears blinding her to everything but the crimson balloon as it moved slowly, inexorably, toward her. The buzzing sound filled her head, scraped against her nerve endings, scratched along her spine.
It's over,
she thought as her heart cracked in two.
All over.

"Don't go." His voice pierced her heart.

She'd imagined the words. Conjured them up from dreams and sorrow.

"Don't go," he repeated, more loudly this time. "Is it possible you do not know what it is I feel for you?"

"How can I know how you feel when you haven't told me what's in your heart?"

"Some things do not require words."

"This does," she said quietly. "I need some words right about now."

"Words are empty things. I have shown you what I feel for you."

"Tell me," she said. "I need to hear it, Patrick."

The crimson balloon appeared grayish in the moonlight, a ghostly apparition.

"It is you I need, madam. It is you who makes my world complete."

The hiss of the balloon grew louder as it moved closer.

Her dark eyes searched his face and in that moment he saw the future without her, saw the days of his life stretched out before him, as cold and lonely as the snowy ground on which they stood. How could he embrace the bleak and endless night when he had finally learned to love the sun?

"This isn't my world, Patrick." Her voice was filled with longing. "You are asking me to turn my back on everything and everybody I've ever known, a way of life that will not come again for two hundred years. Do you need me to warm your bed? Do you need me to be a mother to Abby?" Her tone grew fierce. "Tell me, Devane! Tell me now before it's too—"

"I love you!" Terrible words of power beyond measure. Words with the power to strike a man down or to give him wings. With Susannah he had believed a golden future was his for the taking. Now he knew it for the blessed miracle it was, knew that life without this uncommon woman wasn't a life at all. "Stay with me, Dakota Wylie." He laid his heart bare for her, offered her his soul. "Be my wife and my companion and my lover in this life and the next, for I want no other by my side."

The crimson balloon skimmed the tops of the trees.

"I love you, Dakota," he said again, in a voice rich with yearning. "Only you. For all time."

"Yes!" She threw back her head and shouted her joy to the stars. "I love you, Patrick Devane. I love you! I love Abigail! I don't care if that balloon lands at my feet. Nothing will make me leave you, no as long as I—"

"Papa! Dakota! Look at me! I'm flying!"

Abigail?

The balloon slipped low, dropping the basket to eye level.

"Oh, my God!" Dakota screamed. "Abby! No!"

The child was in the basket of the hot-air balloon. She clutched Lucy in one hand and waved madly with the other. "Look at us!"

"Sweet Jesus!" It took Patrick a full second to comprehend the astonishing sight before him. Abigail's eyes were wide with excitement as the balloon dipped and swayed before them. The child was filled with wonder, alive to magic and possibilities. . . she was
his.
It had taken him so long to realize the truth, so long to understand all that Dakota had tried to tell him about love. He prayed God it was not too late to make amends.

Dakota raced past him, heading straight for the basket, but he stopped her.

"Nay, I will not risk your safety." He closed the distance between himself and his daughter.

"No!" Dakota screamed. "Don't touch that basket, Patrick!"

It was too late. He gripped the railing, then was thrown through the air by a mysterious power the likes of which he had never experienced. He hit the ground hard but wasn't hurt. He tried to stand, but some unseen force kept him on his knees.

Dakota heard Shannon screaming behind her, but she didn't take her eyes from Abigail. She felt as if she were running through wet cement. It was so hard to move . . . so hard to breathe. Her mind was tangled in knots. Abigail was the only thing that was important. She had to save her . . . had to . . .

The basket trembled and tipped toward the ground. Dakota threw herself into the basket and grabbed Abigail by the child's upper arms. The child tried to wriggle away but Dakota held her fast.

"No!" Abigail cried. "Where's Lucy? I can't go without Lucy!"

The balloon started to rise again. As it lifted above his head Patrick broke free of the invisible force that had held him captive.

Dakota met his eyes as the balloon began to rise again, and he nodded.

Summoning up the rest of her strength, Dakota lifted Abigail over the edge of the basket and dropped her into her father's waiting arms. Dakota's legs buckled. She grabbed for the lip of the basket for support, but slipped and fell to the floor. Lucy lay in the far corner, just out of reach. The rough wicker cut into her palms as she tried to pull herself up again and again, falling back to the bottom of the basket each time, growing weaker . . . fading . . . fading . . . .

#

Late afternoon sun spilled over the kitchen table as Ginny sat there, shuffling her tarot cards. A cup of spearmint tea rested at her right elbow, a lighted Marlboro at her left. She wore bright red toreador pants, a Princeton T-shirt and a pair of dangling silver earrings Dakota had long coveted.

"So what took you so long, honey? I was wondering when you'd come to your mother for help."

"You were right," Dakota said. "He loves me, Ma."

"I knew that all the time. So what are you going to do—let that idiot balloon make the decision for you? Fight for what you want!"

"What choice do I have? Take a good look at me, Ma. I'm unconscious."

"No, you're not."

"I dropped like a rock. I'm out cold."

Ginny sighed. "You're faking it, just like you used to do when there was a Latin test at school."

"You knew about that?"

"Of course I knew, and this is the same thing. You were always good at ducking the tough questions."

"What's that supposed to mean? I love Patrick. I love Abby."

Ginny smiled. "And you love me and you're afraid to say goodbye."

"Oh, Ma—" Dakota choked on a sob. "You knew that, too?"

"I'm supposed to know, honey. I'm your mother."

"I love you and Dad and everyone. I can't imagine never seeing you again."

Ginny clucked her disapproval. "Linear thinking, honey. Time is fluid. This isn't goodbye. This is only the beginning."

"The beginning of what? I don't understand. My destiny's been decided. There's nothing I can do to change it. I'll probably be home in time for dinner."

"Take a stand! You've spent your whole life on the fence. Commit to your new family. Your old one will always be here for you any time you need us."

Always . . . always . . .

#

She was instantly, completely awake. Her hands were solid. Her aura was back where it belonged. She was trapped in the basket of a hot-air balloon and the ground was fifteen feet below.

"I don't suppose you have a ladder?" she called out to the three people waiting for on the ground.

"Jump!" they yelled in unison. "
Now!
"

She looked at her friend Shannon and thought of the new life she was about to start with Andrew McVie.
You're going to be happy, kid. You made the right choice.

She looked at Abigail.
My child,
she thought as her heart filled with love. She grabbed Lucy and tucked the doll under her arm.

And finally she looked at Patrick Devane, at the man she loved and had almost lost, and knew she'd finally come home. He was proud and hot-tempered, stubborn and opinionated—but then again, so was she. They were destiny's children and not even time could tear them apart.