Stay With Me (24 page)

Suzanne looked as excited as a kid with her
face pressed up against a candy counter. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Eat your breakfast and then come
on over. You can start today.”

***

Fred almost dropped Missy when he opened the
door of Hooper’s Mercantile and saw Suzanne standing behind the
counter. He juggled the small girl, bumping in to Helen and Thomas
who walked at his side. Missy wrapped her arms tighter around his
neck, almost strangling him. He patted her back to reassure her and
she let go.

It didn’t help his breathing one bit. It felt
like he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs.

She looked wonderful. She had her short hair
pushed up, showing off her beautiful face, her long, perfect neck.
She wore a green dress, one he’d never seen before. It covered
parts that were usually uncovered when she wore her other dresses.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d ever forget her breasts and
how they felt pushed up against his chest.

“Pa,” Helen said, tugging on his coat. “Is
that Miss Suzanne?”

He nodded.

“What’s
she
doing here?” Helen
asked.

“I don’t know,” Fred said.

“I’m going to ask her,” Helen said.

“No,” Fred said. They’d leave. They could
shop another day. He couldn’t talk to her in front of his children.
They’d have all kinds of questions later.

Just then the bell at the front door opened.
He could feel a rush of cold air hit his back. Knowing he blocked
the entrance, he took two steps forward. Helen took six, reaching
the wooden counter.

“Hello, Helen,” Suzanne said, giving his
daughter one of her sweet smiles.

“What are you doing here?” Helen asked.

“Mind your manners, young lady,” Fred said,
hurrying to the counter. He put Missy down.

Suzanne looked at him. “Hello, Fred.”

He tried to swallow but his throat wouldn’t
work. “Suzanne,” he said, his voice cracking like a young
boy’s.

Helen tapped her fingers on the wooden
counter. Missy now stood next to her sister. She looked at Suzanne
with the same suspicious look on her face that her sister had.
Thomas hung back, staying close to Fred.

Suzanne returned her attention to his
daughters. “How are you, girls?” She smiled at Missy.

“We didn’t know you worked here,” Helen said.
“Tom Turnip said that his father told him you lived and worked at
the saloon. That you were a sinner.”

Fred took a step forward but stopped when
Suzanne gave him a quick shake of her head. “I used to work at the
saloon. Now I work here.”

“What about the sinner part?” Helen
asked.

“I’ve sinned,” Suzanne admitted. “I imagine
most people have.”

“How are you feeling?” Fred asked. “You
look…good.” He could feel the heat rush to his face. She looked
good enough to eat. What kind of fool had those thoughts in front
of his three young children?

Suzanne nodded. “I’m feeling much better.”
She glanced over her shoulders, as if she cared that no one
overhear. “I’m leaving next week. I’m taking the stage with
Sarah.”

He felt his throat close up. “Where? Where
are you going?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure where I’ll end
up. Some place where I can get a fresh start.”

His arms felt heavy at his sides. He’d never
hold her again. “That’s probably a good idea,” he said. He moved
aside when a woman edged up to the counter, a bolt of material in
her arms. He gently gripped both Helen’s and Missy’s shoulder and
pulled them back.

“You look funny, Pa,” Helen said. “Is
something wrong?”

He shook his head.

“Aren’t we going to get supplies?” Thomas
asked. “You said we could get a treat.”

“I want lemon drops,” Helen said.

“I want peppermints,” Thomas said, tugging on
Fred’s sleeve.

Missy stomped her feet and pointed at the
candy counter.

He ignored them all. He’d loved two women in
his life. One he’d lost to sickness and the other one was about to
walk out of his life forever.

“Let’s go,” he said, pulling the children
toward the door.

“But—”

He silenced Thomas with a look.

Helen rolled her eyes and Missy looked
confused. He bent down, wrapped his arms around his younger
daughter and picked her up. He buried his nose in her
sweet-smelling, baby-fine hair.

He couldn’t let it matter. Franny would
expect him to protect their children. He couldn’t let her down.

***

John walked Sarah back to her hotel, trying
very hard to make it look like he had nothing better to do than
walk around town with her.

“Nice day,” he said.

“Beautiful,” she said, raising her face to
the sky.

She was. Absolutely. He took a breath. “Want
to try it?”

“
It
?” She stopped walking.

Damn. He’d missed a step. He’d practiced it a
hundred times and he’d still messed it up. “A picnic? You and
me?”

“Oh. A picnic.” She sighed. “I can’t. If
Thomas will have me, I intend to work tonight.”

“What time do you start?”

“At seven.”

“It’s just a little after ten. That gives us
plenty of time. We’ll ride into the mountains, up Wolf Creek.”

She looked confused. “I don’t have a
horse.”

“We’ll borrow one from Pappy at the livery
stable. I’ll get the restaurant to pack us a picnic lunch.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You really
want to go on a picnic with me?”

Damn. This wasn’t going well. “Why not? You
have to eat sometime, right?”

“I just had breakfast.”

“Lunch. I meant lunch.”

“I guess.”

It was time to play dirty. He opened the bag
he’d gotten from Hooper’s the day before. “I’ve got licorice.”

She peered inside the bag and licked her
lips. Once again, he felt the answering response in his body. She
needed to stop doing that.

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
she asked.

If only she knew. He didn’t have any notion
what to do next.

Less than an hour later, Sarah’s horse picked
its way over the rocky terrain that bordered Wolf Creek. The
mountains were breathtakingly beautiful. John, weaving around tall
trees and full bushes, created a path as they went. He kept close
to the creek. When she couldn’t see the clear water flowing down
the mountainside, she could still hear it, rushing over polished
rocks.

“How are you doing,” he asked, turning in his
saddle to look back at her.

“Wonderful.” How could she not be? It was a
warm, spring day in the mountains and she was with John Beckett.
What could be better?

Staying forever.

But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d have
today. This afternoon. Then she’d leave Cedarbrook and John Beckett
behind. There weren’t other options.

That was the way it needed to be. She vowed
not to waste a minute of the time she had worrying about what she
could never have.

“I can literally see the fish jumping,” she
said.

“Brown trout. They make a nice supper, don’t
they?”

Right. She bought her fish shrink-wrapped or
ordered it with a little butter and lemon at the restaurant.

“Here’s where we cross. There’s a clearing on
the other side.”

She leaned down and spoke into her horse’s
ear. “Please tell me you can swim.”

She watched John pull on his horse’s reins,
turning him to the right. In a matter of seconds, he dropped from
sight. She saw his horse’s rear end go up in the air as John guided
the animal down the river embankment. She walked her horse to the
edge and looked over.

No way. She couldn’t do it. The creek didn’t
scare her. It wasn’t that deep. She could see the rocky bottom
through the two feet of clear water. She could handle that. It was
the five-foot drop to get to the water that terrified her. John and
his horse, already halfway across, ambled through the water as if
they didn’t have a care in the world.

She waited until he got to the other side
before calling out to him. “John?”

He whipped his horse around. “What’s
wrong?”

“I can’t do this. I’ll fall off.”

“No you won’t. Remember when you, Peter and I
took the horses up to pasture last year. You did it then.”

Maybe now would be a good time to tell him
the truth. “I didn’t realize this was the same spot,” she said.
She’d break her neck. She knew it.

She patted her horse and leaned down, once
again putting her mouth close to his ear. “When I fall off,” she
whispered, “try not to step on me.”

The horse raised his tail and pooped.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said.

“Don’t lean forward,” John yelled. “Lean
backwards.”

Sarah did as instructed, giving her horse a
little nudge in the ribs. The horse started forward. Sarah closed
her eyes as the earth fell away from under her horse’s feet.

“Sarah,” John yelled.

She opened her eyes. Her horse stood in the
water, waiting patiently for her next command.

“I did it,” she said. “I made it.” She stood
up in her stirrups and looked up and down Wolf creek. She felt
brave and powerful and very lucky. She reached down and hugged her
horse.

John laughed at her. “What did you think was
going to happen? Come on, let’s go.”

The climb out on the other side wasn’t as
steep. When they got over the edge, Sarah pulled on the reins of
her horse, stopping to take in the sight. They were in a valley,
surrounding by peaks of the Big Horn Mountains that glistened in
the bright sun. Spring flowers, yellows and blues and purples,
danced in the light wind. It was stunning.

She hadn’t felt this alive in years.

“Hungry?” John asked.

She shouldn’t be. She’d eaten barely two
hours ago. But the gorgeous trip up the mountain had roused not
only her appreciation for the pure beauty of nature but her
appetite as well. “Starving,” she answered.

He got off his horse and pulled a blanket
from behind his saddle. Then he lifted off the tin pail that the
restaurant had sent along with them.

She slid off and gave her horse another quick
hug.

“You’re going to spoil that horse,” John
said. “He’s going to expect that from every rider.” John reached
into his saddlebag and his hand brushed up against the still
unopened letter that he’d picked up from Harry Pierce right after
he’d picked up lunch. He left the letter where it was—today wasn’t
a day to worry about business. “Here. Give him a sugar cube. Then
he’ll know exactly how grateful you are.”

“Give me two,” she said. “He deserves
it.”

John tossed her a second one. He walked
another thirty feet, stopping when he got close to a towering tree.
He spread his blanket across the green grass. Then he sat down, his
back up against the peeling bark.

She sat next to him, suddenly shy. “Should we
tie up the horses?”

“No need. Just let the reins hang loose. The
horses won’t go anywhere. Do you like fried chicken?” John said. He
pulled out fried chicken, cabbage-slaw, rolls, and slices of
chocolate cake. He unscrewed the lid of a canning jar and poured
lemonade into two tin cups. He handed her a plate and a fork.

“You didn’t tell them it was for me, did
you?”

He shook his head. “No.”

She filled her plate, making sure to leave
room for the cake. “Wonderful. When I stop by tomorrow morning with
cake crumbs still on my lips and tell them how much I enjoyed the
lunch, Rosie will have a stroke.”

John wiped his mouth with a napkin, suddenly
looking very serious. “I won’t stand for people being mean to
you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. No one had ever
wanted to slay any dragons for her. “In a week, these people will
forget that they ever saw me again.”

John put his lunch aside. “We never did get
around to talking about why you came back. What happened that led
you to my door that night?”

She could tell him. Right now. He’d be
shocked and scared and his warm brown eyes would turn cold. Her
perfect day in the mountains, the one and only perfect day she
might ever have with him, would be ruined.

“I wanted to see you again,” she said.

He looked surprised. “We didn’t exactly part
as friends.”

“I know. I’m sorry about that. Peter’s death
was a difficult time for you and I don’t think I appreciated how
much you missed him. I could have handled things better.”

“We all could have.”

Sarah chewed her chicken and swallowed. She
took a big drink of lemonade, hoping it gave her courage. “I hope
you can forgive me. I never meant to hurt you or your family. If I
had the money, I’d pay you back every cent.”

“That’s not necessary. Peter’s share should
have gone to you. You were his wife.”

Wife
. The word hung in the air. Then
it floated down, surrounding them, almost choking Sarah. How could
she go through with this deception? How could she not tell him the
truth?

He stared at the blanket. “I’m glad you came
back, Sarah.”

She swallowed hard. “You are?”

“I feel differently about you than I did six
months ago.”

“Different?” She cringed when her voice
creaked.

“We should talk about it.”

No. What good would talking do? “John, I’m
leaving in a week,” she reminded him.

He nodded. “A week is not a long time.”

“Not very long at all,” she said.

He leaned forward. “Seven days.”

His mouth, his delicious, delectable mouth,
was just inches away.

“A hundred and sixty eight hours,” he
whispered.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “A
bunch of minutes.” Math had never been her strong suit.

He ran the tip of his finger across her
jawbone, then traced her lips.

She licked his finger with the tip of her
tongue, and when she closed her eyes, she felt his warm, sweet
breath drift across her cheek.