Authors: Hope Navarre
Abruptly, she stepped away from him. Until he had come home smelling of stale beer and covered with the scent of another woman.
She hadn't wanted to believe it, not that night, not even when Meredith had admitted it with open gloating. Robyn's father's illness had given her the perfect excuse to get away, to think things over, but it had given her more than that. Her time away from Neal had showed her the bitter truth. He didn't love her, and he didn't want her back.
He hadn't followed her and begged her to forgive him. He'd never said he couldn't live without her, that breathing was hard to do if she wasn't near him. None of the scenes she'd played out in her head had happened. Robyn couldn't bring herself to confront him with the painful incident. When he didn't call for a month, she admitted the truth. It was over between them.
It
was
over between them. She chided herself for this weakness she felt when he was near. Things could never be the same again. He had to understand that.
She pushed past him and hurried down the stairs. Adam was sitting at the table. Her mother offered him another piece of pie. He held up his hand. “One's enough for me.”
“I'm sorry I took so long and that we didn't get to have dinner together,” Robyn said brightly.
“So am I. Your mother is a great cook.”
Neal came and stood in the doorway. She ignored him and gave Adam a dazzling smile. “I'd love to go for a drive. Do you mind?”
Adam jumped to his feet. “Of course not. That would be great. Thanks for the pie, Martha. It was delicious.”
“You're quite welcome, Adam. Robyn, don't stay out too late. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Martha glanced from Robyn to Neal, who followed her into the kitchen and stood with his arms crossed and one hip leaning against the counter.
Robyn kissed her cheek. “I won't, but don't wait up.” She threw a defiant look at Neal and walked out the door as Adam hurried to catch up with her.
* * *
N
EAL
STROLLED
TO
the coatrack beside the door and took his hat down. Disappointment cut deep, but he wasn't ready to throw in the towel.
“If you had even a lick of sense, you'd go after her,” Martha said with sharp disapproval, her hands firmly planted on her hips.
At least he had one person rooting for him. Neal leaned around her, scooped up the last piece of pie and bit into its flaky crust. The tart-sweet taste of apples and cinnamon burst into his mouth. He licked his lips free of the crumbs and planted a kiss on Martha's plump cheek. “You make the best pie in the whole world.”
Her reply was a huff of disgust. “Don't try to sweet-talk me. I'm not the one you need to impress.”
He settled his hat on his head. “Martha, if I had a lick of sense, I wouldn't ride bulls for a living, and I'd be chasing after you, instead of your stubborn, willful daughter.”
She snorted and shook her head. “I can tell you one thing, Neal Bryant, I'd be a whole lot easier to catch.”
* * *
A
DAM
HELD
OPEN
the door of his black Mustang convertible for Robyn to get in. “I can put the top up if you would rather?”
“No, a drive with the top down sounds wonderful.” The leather upholstery was soft and supple as she slid onto the seat. She leaned back with a soft sigh. It was such a relief to be away from Neal.
Adam got in and sat behind the wheel, but he didn't start the car. “Is it okay to admit your invitation took me by surprise? Not that I wasn't delighted.”
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I needed rescuing tonight.”
He studied her intently. “It's my pleasure to offer you my assistance wherever and whenever you need it. I hope you believe that.”
Robyn looked down, feeling flattered and guilty. She was using him to avoid Neal. She wanted to show Neal there wasn't any room for him in her life. Adam deserved better from her. He was a sweet man with a good heart. “I do believe that, and I appreciate it, but I'm just using you, Adam. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Is your mother pushing your cowboy down your throat again?”
“How did you know?”
“I think it was the wild panic in your eyes that gave you away.”
“If you ever need me to rescue you from Crabby Gabby, just say the word. I'll be there with bells on.”
“Thanks. Where shall we go?” He turned on the engine.
“We could catch the late show in town,” she offered.
“I've seen it. Twice. There really isn't much to do in Bluff Springs after dark.”
“Today is August 10, right?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, I know where there's a great show playing. Go to the end of the lane and turn left.”
“Okay. Hang on.” He flashed a bright grin, revved the engine and shoved the gearshift into First. Gravel sprayed from beneath the tires as the car shot into motion.
Once they hit the highway, he really sped up. The low sports car hugged the curves like a dream. The headlights cut a narrow swath of light down the dark road as they wound their way through the rugged hills. The wind whipped her hair, and she laughed in delight at the sense of sheer freedom it gave her. After a couple of miles, she leaned toward Adam and pointed ahead. “Slow down and turn left up there.”
He slowed the car and glanced at her in disbelief. “That's a cow pasture.”
“Just do it.”
“All right, but this car isn't made for off-road travel.”
He turned where she pointed. The metal cattle guard rattled as he drove over it. “If we get stuck, it'll be a long walk back to town.”
“We won't get stuck. It hasn't rained in weeks. Stay on the track until we get to the top of that hill.”
“And then what?”
“You'll see.”
He drove slowly along the rough trail as they climbed a steep hill. He braked sharply when the headlights suddenly illuminated three cows bedded down in front of them. He honked the horn. One cow rose to her feet and ambled a few steps away, but the other two stayed put, chewing their cud and watching the car.
Adam threw his hands up. “Now what?”
“Drive around them, silly.”
“I don't believe this,” he muttered as he backed up a few feet and pulled around them. Dry grass and brush swept the bottom of the car with a harsh rattle. “Why would they want to sleep in the middle of the road?” he demanded, steering back onto the faint track.
“Because they're cows.” She chuckled at his obvious annoyance. “It's not much farther.”
A few minutes later, they reached the crest of the hill. “Stop here,” she said.
He stopped the car and turned to face her. “Now what?”
“Turn the lights off.” He did. Instantly, inky darkness pressed in around them.
“Dare I hope you have brought me out here to âneck in the woods,' as they say?”
“Men! You only think about one thing.”
“That's not true,” he said defensively.
“Close your eyes and recline your seat back as far as it will go. And, yes, it is true.” She leaned back until she was almost lying flat.
“Sometimes we think about food.”
“Hush now, and listen.”
The sounds of the night swelled around them. Insects chirped and trilled in a droning serenade. The wind combed playful fingers through the tall prairie grass and set it to rustling and sighing. Far in the distance, a cow bellowed, then closer, one of its own kind answered the lonesome call. A coyote yipped in the valley below them. Suddenly, a chorus of eerie howling swelled until the sound filled the night, then it ceased abruptly.
“Open your eyes,” Robyn said in a hushed whisper.
The night sky spread above them like a black velvet mantle strewn with a million sparkling pinpoints of light. The pale glow of the Milky Way stretched from north to south across the face of the heavens like a tattered ribbon of gauze. The stars seemed close enough to reach out and touch.
“Oh, man,” he said quietly, as if the sound of his voice might disturb the magnificent display.
Robyn smiled, pleased by the awe in his voice. “Isn't it perfect?”
“Yes. Hey, there's a falling star.” He turned toward her and she could see the light of the stars reflected in his eyes. “Make a wish and it'll come true,” he said softly.
“Really?” Her smile widened. She turned her face back to the sky. “Then I hope you have a lot of wishes to make.”
Another shooting star and then another flashed across the face of the night.
“Wow, did you see that? Look, another one. What is this?”
“This is the Perseid meteor shower.”
“The what?”
She turned toward him. “Do you know the constellations?”
“I can find the Big Dipper, but med school didn't leave a lot of time for stargazing.”
She extended her arm and pointed toward the northeastern sky. “That is the constellation Perseus. If you watch closely, all of the meteors seem to be coming from the same place.”
Another bright light streaked across the sky and winked out. “They aren't really coming from the constellation. They're from dust debris left by the comet Swift-Tuttle. We cross its orbit every summer in July and August, but tonight is the night you can see the most meteors. Sometimes as many as a hundred in one hour. Look, two more. That makes six.”
“You amaze me. When do you find the time to study astronomy?”
“It was a childhood passion. There isn't a lot to do at night when you grow up on a ranch. Stargazing seemed to be a natural choice.”
How many countless hours had she spent poring over star charts and books about the constellations by flashlight as she lay on a blanket spread out in the backyard? Sometimes she had been alone, but often Neal had been with her. Together, they'd read about Greek gods and mythological heroes and tried to find their stars in the immense sky.
She pushed those memories from her mind. She had as many memories of Neal as there were stars in the Milky Way, but he wasn't part of her life anymore. She needed to let go of him. She needed to let go of the anger and the passion.
For the next hour, she tried to count all the shooting stars, but somewhere around thirty-five, Adam closed his fingers over her pointing hand and didn't let go, and she lost count.
It was pleasant holding hands with him in the darkness. Unlike Neal, Adam's touch didn't confuse and unnerve her. It was nice, comforting. It didn't carry with it a wealth of memories. Turning slightly, she studied his face in the dim light. Yes, he was nice to be with. Was he the man who could make her forget what it was like to love Neal?
Maybe.
Was she willing to find out? It would mean letting down her guard and letting someone new into her life. Into Chance's life. Could she do that? The thought was as scary as it was exciting.
She heard the clip-clop of hooves approaching. An instant later, a white shape loomed out of the darkness beside her. A long white nose came over her side of the car.
“What the hell? Look out!” Adam's shout startled her. He jerked her out of her seat and across his chest.
The horse outside her door tossed his head and snorted loudly. Robyn laughed. “It's all right. It's only Babe.”
“Jeez!” The word came out with a rush of breath. “It scared the wits out of me.”
The white gelding reached his long neck across the seat and nibbled at Robyn's hip pocket.
“He thinks I have some sugar for him. I usually do.”
She pushed the horse's head aside. “Go on, I didn't bring anything tonight.” He snorted once as if in disgust and ambled away.
Robyn realized she was still sprawled across Adam's chest. She smiled at him. “Thanks for trying to save me.”
“You're welcome.” The tone of his voice had changed. She tried to push herself up, but his hold on her tightened. She gazed into his eyes and saw the passion growing there. She licked her lips.
“I've wanted to do this since the first day I met you, Robyn.” He pulled her gently toward him. She didn't resist as his lips closed over hers.
Maybe he was the man who could make her forget Neal Bryant.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
N
EAL
OPENED
THE
green-painted screen door of the O'Connor home the next morning and raised his hand to knock on the front door. It flew open before he touched it. He stepped back quickly as Martha led Edward out of the house with a blood-soaked towel pressed to his head. Chance, still dressed in pajamas, clung to her pant leg.
“Neal, thank God you're here,” she said breathlessly.
“What happened?”
“I was trying to help Martha cut back some of those overgrown limbs at the side of the house. The hatchet slipped out of her hand and came down on my head. It's not as bad as it looks,” Edward mumbled from beneath the towel.
“Oh, yes it is, you old fool. I darn near scalped you. I'm so sorry.” Her voice trembled. She was on the verge of tears.
He peeked at Neal and winked. “It was an accident. I've cut myself worse shaving. I told her to put a couple of butterfly bandages on it, but she's positive I need stitches.”
“You aren't making me feel any better, if that's what you're trying to do. You do need stitches and a tetanus shot.” She turned to Neal and asked desperately, “Can you keep an eye on Chance and Clara?”
“Sure, I guess. Where's Robyn?”
“It's payday. She went into town to pick up her check. She'll be back any minute.”
Leading Edward down the steps, she headed toward her pickup, and Neal hurried to open the door for her.
She paused long enough to sign to Chance. “Stay with Neal, sweetheart. Your mother will be home soon.”
“Clara is resting in bed,” Edward said as Neal helped him into the truck. “She shouldn't need anything. Martha, I'm going to get blood all over your truck.”
“As if I care about that. Just don't bleed to death before I get you to the hospital.” She slammed his door closed and rushed to the driver's side.
Neal stepped back as she started the engine, and he bumped into Chance standing behind him. What on earth was he thinking? He couldn't take care of a deaf kid and an old woman.
He hurried toward the truck and called out, “Martha, wait! Wouldn't it make more sense if Iâ” He leaped back when she gunned the truck and sped out of the yard.
“If I drove him to the hospital and you stayed here?” he finished lamely as the dust cloud began to settle.
He glanced at Chance. The boy stared at him with wide, wary eyes. Martha had said Robyn would be back any minute. Neal could only hope she was right. He motioned with his head toward the house, but the boy only stared at him.
“Okay, I can do this,” Neal said as much to bolster his own confidence as anything else. He held out his hand and Chance took it. Relieved, Neal walked into the house and stopped in the kitchen. The boy climbed onto a chair, propped his chin on his hands and stared.
An unnatural silence filled the air. Neal sat at the table opposite the boy and watched the hands on the rooster-shaped wall clock move slowly around.
“Edward?” The frail call came from the back of the house.
Great.
Neal glanced toward the hall and back to the clock. Martha and Edward had been gone for half an hour and there was still no sign of Robyn.
“Edward? I need you.”
He couldn't ignore the impatience in the call. Shaking his head, he stood up. What had he gotten himself into?
With Chance following close behind him, Neal made his way to the bedroom at the back of the house. He knocked and pushed the door open slowly. Clara lay in a big four-poster bed with several pillows stacked behind her.
“Ma'am, Edward isn't here right now. Is there something I can do for you?” Besides tune the piano, he wondered.
“Who are you?”
“I'm Neal Bryant, ma'am. We met last night. I'm a neighbor.”
“Where is Edward?”
Neal stepped into the room and rubbed his palms on his jeans. It would be better not to upset her with the details of her husband's accident. “Edward and Martha had to run into town for a moment. They asked me to keep an eye on things.”
“Oh.” She frowned at him, and then she gestured toward the corner of the room. “Can you get me up in my chair?”
“Yes, ma'am.” At least the little woman seemed to have it all together this morning. He unfolded the wheelchair, set it beside the bed and lifted her into it. She smoothed the front of her dressing gown and smiled up at him. “Who are you?”
Neal sighed. So much for having it all together. “My name is Neal Bryant,” he began slowly.
“You don't look like a Bryant to me.”
“Well, I am.”
A faint frown creased her brow. “My cousin Sarah married a Bryant from Junction City in seventy-nine. The whole lot of them were blond as could be.”
Neal had to smile as he knelt in front of her and placed her feet on the chrome footrests. “You're rightâthat side of my family is blond. I take after my mother's side.”
She pointed past him. “Now, he looks like a Bryant.”
Neal turned to see Chance standing in the doorway. Was it obvious that Chance was his son? Did she know? Had she guessed the truth?
“That's your grandson, Mrs. Morgan,” he said gently.
She scowled at Neal and then beckoned to Chance. He darted to her side. “I know who he is. I'm not crazy, you know.”
Neal stood beside the chair. As far as he was concerned, the jury was still out on that one.
Chance tugged on Neal's pant leg and signed. Neal shook his head. “I'm sorry. I don't understand.”
“He says he's hungry, and so am I,” Clara declared. “What's for breakfast?”
“I have no idea.” He could manage to grill a steak, but other than that, he rarely cooked. Most of his meals were ordered at fast-food drive-throughs and eaten on the road.
Clara held out her arms, and Chance climbed onto her lap. “This child is hungry. Aren't you going to feed him?”
He tried to explain. “Ma'am, I don't cook.”
“Well, I do! Take me to the kitchen.”
“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” He raked a hand through his hair. Where the hell was Robyn?
“What nonsense,” she said with indignation. “I've been cooking since before you were born, young man.”
She began to push her chair toward the door. “If you won't help, we'll manage by ourselves.”
“All right, I'll help.” She couldn't burn the house down if he was there with her, could she? Stepping behind her chair, he wheeled her into the kitchen and up to the table. Robyn had better have a real good excuse for taking so long.
“I believe I would like some pancakes.” She patted the chair beside her. Chance slid off her lap and sat on it.
“That sounds fine. I guess you can just tell me what you need,” Neal said.
She looked around the kitchen. “Where is Edward?”
Neal said slowly and distinctly, “Edward has gone into town.”
Chance reached over and patted his grandmother's hands. She looked at him as he signed. She nodded and smiled. “How silly of me. I was going to make pancakes, wasn't I? I'm so forgetful these days. See if there is pancake mix anywhere, young man,” she instructed Neal in a firm voice.
“Yes, ma'am.” He opened the cupboard doors one after another until he located a red box with a smiling Aunt Jemima on the front. He set it on the table in front of her. “Found some.”
“Good. Now, I'll need a large bowl, milk and some eggs. Fresh ones, mind you.”
He found a gallon of milk and a carton of eggs in the refrigerator. He opened it to stare at the identical white shells. How could a body tell if they were fresh or not?
With a shrug, he carried them to the table along with a large blue plastic bowl. He set them in front of Clara and watched her with a wary eye. The trouble was, one minute she seemed fine, and the next minute she was lost in space. Could she manage pancakes? His glance flew to the yard beyond the screen door. Still no sign of Robyn. She was going to owe him big-time for this.
Clara cracked an egg and dropped its contents into the bowl. “Now, you need to find a griddle and heat it.”
“A griddle.” He glanced around the kitchen. Where was Martha likely to keep a griddle? He had already opened all the upper cabinets, so he started on the bottom ones. He found a griddle in the last one beside the stove. As he straightened, he realized he'd heard the sound of more than a few eggs being cracked.
He turned around to see Clara dropping the last of a dozen eggs into the bowl, shells and all. Chance stood at the table beside her, tipping the bowl precariously as he tried to fish out the shells.
“No!” Neal made a lunge for the bowl, but Chance tipped it too far. It flipped over and landed on the kid's head as the contents splattered across the floor.
Neal's boots hit the slimy stuff, and his feet flew out from under him. Momentum carried him sliding into the boy. He mowed Chance down like a weed.
Neal came to rest flat on his back with Chance clutched to his chest, both of them lying half-under the kitchen table.
Chance lifted the bowl from his head and grinned at Neal. Thick globs of egg whites and yellow yolks streaked his face and dripped from his hair. A large piece of shell slid off his shoulder and plunked onto Neal's shirt.
“What on earth are you doing?” Clara demanded, moving her chair back. She jarred the table and the box of pancake mix fell onto its side, pouring creamy white powder on the pair on the floor.
“Yes, Neal, what are you doing?”
He shook the powder from his face and tilted his head back. Robyn stood outside the screen door, her eyes wide with shock.
Neal lifted Chance and set him carefully on his feet, and then he crawled out from under the table and stood beside the grinning kid. Chance shook his head like a dog coming out of the water. Pancake powder and drops of egg flew everywhere.
Neal's boots slipped again, but he kept his balance by grabbing the table edge. He could feel the cold egg oozing down his chest. “We wereâ Ah, that is, I was helping Clara make pancakes.”
* * *
R
OBYN
OPENED
THE
screen door and stepped in. She couldn't believe her eyes. What a mess. “This is helping?”
Egg yolk dripped down the front of Neal's shirt. Wiping at it with one hand, he only succeeded in smearing it into a paste with the powder that dusted him. Chance looked like a slimy apparition from a horror movie as goo dripped from his hair and down his chin. He started toward her, but she held up one hand. “Oh, no you don'tâstop right there,” she signed. “Look at you. Look at my kitchen.”
“Don't worry. I'll have it cleaned up in a jiffy.” Neal obviously thought that would reassure her.
“Darn right you will.”
“What's for breakfast?” Clara piped up. “I'm hungry.”
“You had breakfast before I left this morning, Clara.”
“I did?”
“She did?” Neal squeaked.
“Yes, she did.” Suddenly, Robyn had to look away from his stunned expression to keep from laughing.
“Him, too?” He pointed at the boy beside him.
“Yes, Chance, too.”
Neal moved close enough to whisper, “She told me he was hungry and wanted pancakes.”
She whispered back, “She also wants her piano tuned.”
Robyn stepped behind Clara's chair and pulled her away from the table, being careful not to roll into any of the egg yolks on the floor. “Come and watch TV, Clara. Your favorite soap is on.”
“Where is Edward?”
Robyn looked to Neal for an explanation.
“Edward and Martha had to run into town for a little bit. They left me to look after these two.”
“And as usual, you couldn't even manage to do that.”
He flushed at the sarcasm in her voice.
“What was so important that my mother and Edward had to leave before I got back?”
“I'll explain later,” he said with a pointed glance toward Clara.
“All right. You two stand still until I get something to clean up this mess.” She pushed Clara's wheelchair quickly out of the room and returned in a few moments with two large white towels. Neal was trying to get Chance out of his pajamas without making more of a mess.
“I don't think a little more egg on either of your faces is going to matter now,” Robyn said, fighting back a smile.
“I guess you're right,” Neal conceded and pulled Chance's top off over his head.
After tossing Neal a towel, she wrapped the other one around her son, then picked him up and headed for the stairs. “You can use the shower in Edward and Clara's room. I'll bring you something to wear as soon as I'm done with Chance.”
Robyn sat Chance on the rim of the old claw-footed tub and turned on the water. His hands quickly shot out of the towel, and he began to sign. “I like Neal. He's lots of fun. Grandma put all the eggshells in the bowl, but I got them out. She poured flour on us. Didn't we look silly?”
A smile crept across her lips, and she nodded. “Yes, you looked very silly.”
And so much like your father.
She pulled a tiny piece of shell from his curls. “You like Neal, do you?”
He nodded and signed, “He likes me.”
She turned off the water and helped him into the tub. She picked up a large sponge and began to wash his face, but he took the sponge from her and began to do it himself. Leaning back, she marveled at how fast he was growing up. It seemed all the things she had once done for him he was now determined to do by himself.
He dropped his sponge and signed, “Why don't you like Neal?”
Startled, she replied, “I never said I didn't like him.”
“You frown at him a lot. Did he do something bad?” He stared at her, waiting for an answer, and Robyn found herself at a loss for words. How like a four-year-old to hit the nail on the head.