Breath of Dawn, The (25 page)

The pang was inevitable. “Not yet.”

“Morgan doesn’t mind?”

“He’s in California.”

“Oh.”

“But back to your dad . . .”

RaeAnne groaned. “I think I have to at least try.”

“Will it break your heart if he says no?”

“It’ll just prove Mom was right to stick him in a locket and leave him there.”

Erin laughed. “I like that.”

“So, here’s the thing. He lives in Juniper Falls.”

“No. Way.”

“Yes way. I think that’s why Mom moved up there.”

Erin sat on the chair. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I don’t know, but it’s a little much for coincidence.”

“You think they reconciled?”

“Maybe.”

“Wouldn’t she tell you?”

RaeAnne sighed. “Vera wasn’t like other people. She didn’t just march to another drum, she made the drum and didn’t care if anyone marched to it at all.”

“But you must have visited.”

“We talked practically every day. But I didn’t get out there that often. Maybe three times all the years she lived there. She came to see me a few too, but mostly we just talked on the phone.”

Not being close to her own mother, Erin understood. Gwen Reilly had been mortified when she got pregnant after the respectable age for those things. She never really connected with her inauspicious daughter.

“The good thing is, I’ll get to see you. And maybe you could go with me. We’d meet him together.”

Erin pressed a hand to her forehead. “What about your husband? Wouldn’t John—”

“No. He travels so much, the only other place he’ll go is a beach. And, Quinn, I haven’t told him about, you know, the cougar thing. Would you find my father with me?”

“Well, yes, but I’m not . . . in Juniper Falls.”

“I’ll wait until you get back.”

“But, RaeAnne, I’m . . .” All alone in such an awful predicament.

“Quinn?”

Erin slid her hand down her face. More than anything she hated lies. “If I tell you something, you can’t tell anyone else in the world.”

“I’m gregarious by nature, but I know when to keep my mouth shut. Got both from my mother.” She laughed.

Heart racing, Erin half whispered, “I’m in California with Morgan.”

“Morgan Spencer?”

She waited for the incredulity to wear off, but RaeAnne was anything but incredulous. “I knew it. I just had that feeling about you two.”

“RaeAnne . . . we . . .”

“I know I sounded like it about Vera and my dad, but I’m no judge and jury, Quinn. If you and that lonely man . . .”

“We’re married.”

“Whh-at?” The word sounded like wind in her ear.

“He’s protecting me from the reason I changed my phone number. And you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh. Sugar.” RaeAnne was finally at a loss for words.

While terrified at having told, it also felt good to have one person not connected to Morgan in this with her. “I’m praying you’re the friend I think you are.”

“I would never do something that hurt you.” The conviction in her voice soothed the fear. “So . . .” RaeAnne cleared her throat. “How does it work?”

“That—” she expelled her breath—“is an excellent question.”

Morgan half expected Erin to come looking for him, even though Consuela said she’d laid out nightclothes and turned back the bed. This was an awkward situation, and she might want clarification—as though he could give any. But Erin didn’t come. When enough time had passed, he realized she wasn’t going to.

He turned when Consuela entered the atrium. “Do you need anything else, Señor?”

“No, Consuela. Get some sleep.”

“Would you like something special for breakfast?”

“Everything you make is special. I’ve missed your cooking.”

She clasped her hips. “You say that so I won’t ask why your wife sleeps in another room. Or are you joining her?”

“No. We’re still working out the kinks.”

“Kink?”

“Issues.”

“Oh.” Her eyes softened, thinking of Jill, no doubt. Let her think it was grief that made the wedge. Maybe it was.

“There are no ghosts here, Señor Morgan. I would know.”

“Thank you.”

“You sleep. And in the morning I will fill your belly.” She cast him a critical eye. “It needs it.”

He smiled. “
Gracias.
”

A fountain trickled down the wall of the atrium he and Jill had designed. Finches, though silent now, sang and flitted about the live trees around the circumference that branched across the glass-paned dome overhead. Jill had loved the space, and while he knew her ghost had no reason to linger, he felt her here, not in a sad and painful way, but happy, as she’d been.

He lay down on the cushioned chaise she called a fainting couch and imagined her nestled against him. Eyes closed he felt the love they’d shared, love he’d known with no one else. Desolation overcame him, but he didn’t move. He lay there and took it in, hurting as he hadn’t let himself hurt. Here where they’d been happy, he opened the wound.

E
rin sat up in the luxurious bed and looked around her. The room was more splendid in daylight than it had been the night before. Persimmon-colored walls that could have been garish were actually spectacular. Broad bands of dark wood trim, a dense pattern of bittersweet on the window treatments, and the dusky sage green bedding made her feel like Thumbelina in a botanical garden.

She went into the amber-tiled bathroom, where a salmon bougainvillea overflowed its pot on the long counter. She washed her face and brushed her teeth. After finger combing her hair, she went back out and heard a soft tap on the door. “Yes?”

“Some clothes for you, Señora.”

“Come in.”

Consuela entered with an armload of clothing from the boxes. “I bring you choices.”

“Thank you.”

The woman laid lighter-weight outfits on the bed, saying, “It is rainy today, but not cold like the Rocky Mountains. There will be no snow.” She said something under her breath, then added, “When you have dressed, come down to the kitchen and eat.”

“Is . . . Morgan up?”

“I haven’t seen him.” Her face softened, and she looked as though she might say something, then didn’t.

Erin dressed in fawn-colored jeans, a silk blouse that hung to her hips, and a thin, open vest of something shaggy. Where had he found these? She looked in the full-length mirror, taking in the transformation with amazement. If she weren’t Lilliputian, she could have walked a runway in the outfit. But could she walk out the bedroom door?

Her conversation with RaeAnne had grounded her. Quinn Reilly would face it head on. She hadn’t told RaeAnne she was Erin now, so, raising her chin, Quinn went out.

The house was filled with magnificent aromas. She put on twelve pounds just from the fumes. No wonder Morgan believed food should be an event. Consuela had prepared a banquet.

“Would you like juice?” Consuela held up a bowl of oranges.

She must mean fruit. “Yes, thank you.”

Instead of handing her an orange, Consuela cut them open and squeezed the juice. The first swallow was heaven, and it never diminished.

Consuela invited her to eat, but she said, “I’ll wait.”

A moment later, Morgan entered in the same jeans and shallow V-neck sweater he’d worn the day before. Seemingly, he hadn’t gone to bed. His eye sockets looked hollow, his cheeks sunken, but he said, “I promise not to bite.”

“Good.” She wasn’t up to date on rabies shots.

He started to request coffee as Consuela handed him a mug.

“A cup for you, Señora?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Morgan leaned against the marble counter, cradling his mug with both hands and drinking as from a holy grail. At the first sip, she understood why. What possible use had Morgan for her?

“You will eat now.” Consuela’s half question, half command mobilized them.

She and Morgan sat at the mission-style table set for two. Their chairs were across from each other on the longer sides of the rectangle, and Consuela proceeded to fill both ends with small platters
of roasted peppers, a delicious-looking meat dish, some kind of scrambled egg dish, sausage, mild salsa, hot salsa, melon and pineapple and strawberries. Erin looked at Morgan, who shrugged and smiled.

They bowed their heads, and Morgan and Consuela blessed the food in unison. Erin added silent gratitude. What other response could there be to all this? For a little person, she had a good appetite and thankfully a fast metabolism. Morgan didn’t comment, but Consuela looked delighted.

He said, “Sleep all right?”

“It’s a wonderful room. Thank you.”

He drank his coffee.

She took another bite. “I don’t know what half this food is, and I don’t care. It’s amazing.”

He picked up a strawberry and bit the end.

“Is Livie still sleeping?” She took a forkful of eggs.

He motioned to the intercom on the kitchen wall. “All quiet in her room.”

The unit looked like a command post. “Are all the rooms monitored?” She thought of her conversation with RaeAnne.

“They’re all on the intercom system, but the monitor is a manual setting for each room.” He set the strawberry on his fiesta-style plate. “We wanted to know Livie was safe in any part of the house.”

She chewed the spicy sausage Consuela called
chorizo
. “Are there cameras?” She knew firsthand how innocuous they could be.

“All the houses have one at the door and a monitor that shows the entry gate. I can install one in back if you’re concerned.”

She hadn’t meant that, but it brought reality home. How long before Markham would come knocking on the door? Or had they eluded him? She shook her head. “Not necessary.”

Morgan toyed with his strawberry.

“Won’t Consuela be sad if you don’t eat?”

“She’s used to it.”

Erin shook her head. “Then why does she make all this?”

“She likes to.”

“That’s such a waste.”

“She takes what’s left to the church.”

Erin studied him. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” He’d hardly eaten a thing on the drive.

“Don’t worry about me.”

She laid down her fork. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Enjoy your breakfast.”

She rubbed the cloth napkin over her mouth. “Will you excuse me?” She had tried cheerful and positive. Now she headed out the arched French doors that revealed a pool lined in cobalt blue, a terra-cotta patio, and a guest house surrounded by a narrow strip of shrubs and some trees, but mainly an unobstructed view of the ocean.

She walked through the drizzly rain to an opening in the low, white split-rail fence on the edge of the country. It caused a strange feeling in her stomach. Steep stairs built down the cliff wall plunged to a strip of beach with boulders heaped against the foot and erupting every so often from the sand. She started down.

“Take this,” Morgan said, catching up with a poncho. “And watch your step. I doubt anyone’s been down that way for a while.”

The poncho wasn’t the yellow plastic kind, but a Lycra-nylon blend, slate blue. A woman’s medium. Erin pulled it over her head and started down the steps, needing time and space and a plan. She did not intend to be a guest in his house.

In Juniper Falls there would have been realistic needs for her to meet. Here that seemed impossible. At least—

The stair collapsed under her foot, catching the toe of her shoe and wrenching her ankle as she pitched over and landed on her knees and wrist. Teeth clenched, she shut her eyes and focused on the sound of surf and gulls, the smell of salt and seaweed, willing the pain to stop. She silently groaned when Morgan clambered down the steps above her and reached for her foot.

“Don’t!” She gripped her own calf and eased her foot out of the hole, scattering splinters of rotten wood. It felt as if an invisible spiny blowfish had invaded her ankle and was puffing and deflating it with throbbing pain.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not broken.” She’d felt the difference when she fell from a ladder as a girl and broke three bones in her foot—a totally different pain.

He looked over his shoulder to the top of the steps. “Can you make it up?”

“Yes.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

“Erin . . .”

“I want to be alone right now.”

He cocked his jaw. “You know that’s crazy, right? Broken ankle or not, you’re injured.”

The throbbing didn’t let her forget.

“All right, you’re angry. You can be stubborn and crawl back up, or let me help you. But I’m not just walking away.”

She looked down at the gray expanse of water, white ridges tumbling. “I wanted to see the beach.”

He frowned, then shifted his position and lifted her.

“Not with . . . I meant alone.”

As he didn’t let go, she held on around his neck while he tentatively tried one stair step after another. She could tell when he hit spongy ones, but none of them broke. He reached the sand and stood there, taking it in himself. The rain had stopped, and the fog seemed to be lifting as a light breeze pushed in from the water. The sea scent mingled with his, a combination both foreign and right.

“How much of this ocean is yours?”

He shook his head, taking the jibe. “The beach is private for these five houses.”

“And guests?”

“You’re not a guest.”

As she watched, a large gray bird glided across the water, pointed its wings, and dove straight down, coming up a second later to bob on the surface. She couldn’t tell if its effort was wasted or rewarded.

Morgan sat down on a flat, pitted boulder, holding her across his lap and staring out to sea. After a while, he said, “I hadn’t been back to the house since the funeral.”

Her breath made a slow escape. “Are you all right?”

As the sky lightened, the moisture that had pearled in his hair matched the silver strands at his temples. “I needed last night
with Jill. I never really said good-bye.” His throat worked. “There wasn’t . . . Visitation wasn’t possible.”

She had no experience with that kind of loss, and yet she felt a part of it.

He said, “My, um, bad behavior on the drive was a resistance to facing this, after pretty well perfecting the avoidance.”

“And a staunch resistance at that.”

His mouth twitched. “I think it was the anger phase.”

“My eardrums are still throbbing.”

He squeezed her ribs. “It wasn’t that loud.”

“You were in back.”

His attention slid from the water to her at last. “I apologize.”

“It didn’t even sound like words.”

“Some of it was German.”

“I thought it was Orc.”

His eyes crinkled, then sobered. “Can we try this again?”

“This morning?”

“This everything. I don’t want some sham marriage.”

But it was. Or not a sham as much as . . .

He slid his hand inside the poncho hood, his palm warm and firm on her cheek. “I want you.”

No part of her doubted that, but she shook her head. “That’s not the same.”

“It’s a start.”

“It’s backwards.” The hood fell back.

Sunlight came through the fog, returning the blue to his eyes. “Right now, it’s what I have.”

A gull made a soulful cry as she absorbed the words and what she saw behind them. Sinking into the place he’d opened up, she pressed her fingers to his lips, then lowered them and kissed him.

It felt like a gift. Instead of covering her mouth and pressing her into the sand as he wanted to, he let her kiss linger like the high note of an aria. He didn’t want to drown it out.

With a slow hand he brushed the hair back from her face, reluctant to end this fragile reconciliation but pressed by a growing
concern. “I need to check on Livie.” He’d have gone right back inside, if Erin hadn’t fallen.

Her eyes widened. “Go. I can walk.”

Shaking his head, he got his legs under and thrust up. They tipped, then righted as her arms tightened around his neck. Consuela would have paged him at the first sounds of Livie waking, but he wanted to be there when she opened her eyes. His little girl must be exhausted to still be sleeping, but they’d get back on track now that they were home.

Home. He pressed his cheek to Erin’s hair as he climbed.
Home.

“What happened?” Consuela demanded when they stepped inside.

“She sprained an ankle,” he said and carried Erin to the atrium, smiling when her mouth fell slack. “It’s all right to ogle.” He squeezed a little, then laid her on the chaise.

She winced.

“I will wrap.” Consuela hurried for the medicine closet while he went upstairs.

Livie heard him enter. She pushed up and sat, blinking at the unfamiliar territory. “Where we are?”

“This is Livie’s room. Do you like it?”

That determination would take some time, it seemed. She rubbed her eyes and stood up.

“Which will it be—bath or breakfast first?”

She yawned and reached up. “Cheerios, Daddy.”

“Cheerios might be hard to come by. Let’s see what there is.” He took her to the kitchen to sample the feast and discovered his hunger as well. The two of them had a silly time of it while Consuela doctored Erin. As dark as the night had been, looking at Livie, thinking of Erin, he felt a ray of hope. Juniper Falls and Markham Wilder seemed far away and irrelevant. His simple thank-you hardly felt like prayer, and yet it might be the most sincere communication of all.