One From The Heart (14 page)

“Ernie, this doesn’t mean anything if you don’t want it to,” she said in a rush. “I mean, it’s not like you seduced me—”

“Hannah, hush!” he said, hugging her to him. “Hush!” he repeated in a rough whisper against her ear. “I’ve been seducing you ever since I laid eyes on you.”

She couldn’t keep from smiling. He could say the most tender things sometimes. “Have you?”

“You know I have. I hung around you all the time. I made you an omelet, didn’t I? I took you to the rodeo. I bought you a Starlight Café hamburger—what did you think that was all about? The Starlight even has a neon sign, Hannah. A woman as crazy about neon as you are? That should have made you suspicious right there.” He kissed her soundly, making her laugh.

Lord, she’d meant it when she said she felt as though she belonged to him! She wanted to lie in his arms like this forever. She wanted to hold him and touch him and make love with him. She wanted to live with him, for God’s sake, somehow, somehow …

She abruptly hugged him in return, then gave him a burst of small kisses over his face and chin, then hugged him again. “I love you, Ernie,” she whispered fiercely and without embarrassment.

He caught her by both shoulders to make her look at him. “Whoa! What did you say?”

She looked into his dark eyes. He’d heard her this time, too. “I said I love you. I don’t
think
I love you. I don’t just
possibly
love you. I love you. I … wanted you to know. In case I get busy and don’t get the chance to tell you,” she said, giving his earlier excuse back to him. “So there you are.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft patter of the rain on the roof. She knew he wasn’t ready for commitments, and he didn’t say anything. Not a word.

“You didn’t just go to bed with me because you’re mad at Libby or anything like that, did you?” he suggested finally.

She turned her head to look at him, wondering why that question didn’t make her angry. “No,” she said evenly. “Did you?”

Unfortunately, it didn’t strike him in the same way. “Is that what you think!”

“I didn’t until you brought it up.”

“I’m crazy about you, Hannah. Don’t you know that?”

“Not if you don’t tell me, I don’t.” She propped herself up on her elbow, and she stared down at him, feeling the need to cry again. She had finally found a man she cared about, one who was scared to death of the word
love
. She bit down on her lower lip. This was no time for emotionalism. “Why?” she challenged him. “Why are you—crazy about me?”

Because I’m as close to Elizabeth as you’re ever going to get?

He rolled toward her, taking her into the circle of his strong arms and legs, positioning her leg over his thigh so she wouldn’t bump his knee. They lay with their heads close on the pillow, staring into each other’s eyes, his big hands stroking her back. The wind had changed directions again, making the window at the head of the bed rattle.

“Because you make me feel good about myself. Because you make me feel good about being
me
—John Ernest Watson. That’s something I haven’t had in a long time. You know about my drinking and what I do for a living and you still make me feel like I’m somebody worth knowing. You did that right from the first, Hannah. In front of Archer—when we were standing under the umbrella that afternoon. There he was in his little executive raincoat and his little fedora and his talk-show dimples … but you didn’t mind being seen with a rodeo clown—with me.”

“Ernie, why would you think I’d mind?”

He smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re pretty … uptown, Hannah Rose.”

She looked into his eyes, thinking he had her confused with Elizabeth again. “Don’t let the Perry Mason suits fool you, Watson,” she whispered, and he laughed. “You know what I am, Ernie? A road vagabond who never lived in a place without a flashing neon sign.”

He kissed her deeply, and her desire for him was out of hand in an instant. She clung to him, fighting down the desperation she was feeling. She shouldn’t have told him she loved him, dammit! But no matter what happened, she wanted him to know she was playing for keeps.

“Hannah, Hannah,” he said, against her ear. “You make me so happy. Just being with you. I don’t want you to ever be sorry you let me into your life. I … want to tell you about Libby.”

“I don’t think I want to know about you and Elizabeth,” she said quietly.

He took a long breath, then moved away from her and lay on his back. “You’re going to hear it from somebody, Hannah. I’d rather it was me.”

She nearly said again that it didn’t matter. But it
did
matter. It was as much a part of John Ernest Watson as his being a bull-dodging clown, as his growing up in this place with the musical water wheel.

“I … know you’re in love with her, Ernie.”

He turned his head to look at her. “No,” he answered, looking into her eyes.

“You said you wanted to marry her.”

“No. Yes. I don’t know—”

“Ernie,” she protested. The subject was obviously a painful one for him, and she saw no reason to put the two of them through this.

“Hannah, it’s not easy to explain—”

“Fine,” she said, sitting up on the side of the bed. “Then let’s don’t explain it.”

He caught her by her arm. “Where are you going? Don’t, Hannah. I
need
to tell you. I know this bed is a little too … crowded for you. You think it’s got you and me and Libby in it. Hannah,” he said, gathering her to him again. She resisted for a moment, then pressed her body against his, needing his warmth, his love if he had it to give.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I want to tell you anyway. I want you to hear it, so you’ll understand why I left the way I did last night.” He was holding her close, his fingers gently trailing over her skin. “The night I brought Petey to you I knew how special it was going to be with us. We’ve got something, Hannah. You and Libby are sisters—even if the two of you did get a late start at it. I don’t want that to ever be a problem between us. Do you understand?”

Instead of answering, she lifted her head to quietly kiss the places she could reach—his shoulder, the side of his neck, his cheek, his lips. She gave a soft sigh. “I’m listening,” she said, because she had no viable alternative. And she was afraid again, afraid that hearing the details of his relationship with Elizabeth would convince her how futile her loving him was going to be.

He suddenly lifted her up so she lay on top of him. It was as if he wanted to be able to touch her freely for a moment, as if he wanted to feel her as close to him as possible before he told her about Elizabeth. His warm, rough hands stroked her body and held her tightly before moving her beside him again. He covered them both carefully with the Hudson Bay blanket, and he lay with her in his arms, one hand quietly caressing the top of her head. She closed her eyes, savoring this closeness with him. She loved him so!

“Mim calls Libby a … stray-away child, after some mountain song she heard when she went visiting the North Carolina Cherokee relatives years ago,” he said after a time. “Some children are born like that, she says, always into trouble.
Always
. They never stay where you put them, and God and all his angels can’t keep up with them. Somebody down here has to do that. Which is fine for the stray-away, but I can tell you it’s damn hard on the keeper.”

He gave a sharp sigh, and she could feel the tension in him.

“Go on,” she prompted. If she had to hear it, she wanted to hear it and be done with it.

“That’s what I am to Libby. Her keeper. I … always have been. Ever since I can remember. One thing after another. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve taken the blame for. She crippled one of Jake’s prize quarter horses one time. My old man and Uncle Michael knew I wouldn’t ride an animal into the ground like that. They both went to Jake about it, but I’d … ‘confessed,’ you see. Took all three of us five years to pay for that horse. The crazy thing was, I couldn’t stay mad at her—no matter how hard I tried. She was always so sorry afterward, and we both knew it was just a matter of time until she did something else just as crazy or worse. God, I hated it—hated her, too, a lot of the time. And I … loved her … the way a kid still loves a parent who beats him.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head for a moment. “The way you still love Jake.”

“I don’t even know him,” she protested.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t keep you from loving him. Trying to deal with him wouldn’t make you cry if you didn’t.”

She had nothing to say to that, and he took her hand in his, holding it to his chest. “After I moved to New Mexico, I’d go a long time without seeing Libby or hearing from her. And then out of the blue she’d call or she’d come on the bus. She was always in the middle of some crisis when she did that. One crisis was too bad even for Mim to know about, but Libby never seemed to mind if I knew her … secrets. I’d lend her money, let her hide out for a while, run interference with Mim—whatever it took. About five years ago, she came to see me again—in Chimayo. Mac’s mother had a little house there—she was a painter, and she used it as her studio. It’s a pretty place; it’s adobe, with an adobe wall around it. You’d like it, I think,” he added, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

I would if you were there
, she thought.

“Libby was in another crisis, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was. She was … different, quieter. She kept looking at me like she’d just found out something she didn’t know before. She finally told me what it was. She suddenly realized how much she ‘needed’ me—‘loved’ me. We were never lovers,” he continued. “Until then,” he qualified, and Hannah’s spirits plummeted. She had known as much, of course, but it still hurt to hear it.

“She … stayed with me for a week in that little house in Chimayo. And then I woke up one morning and she was gone. She left me a letter, believe it or not. She even explained. She’d been living with a man named O’Day. She was pregnant. She wasn’t sure he’d want to marry her, and she’d needed some time just to forget. She thanked me for that—for helping her forget. That’s how I know Petey isn’t my kid. Libby married Petey’s father a week later.”

“Ernie—”

“There’s more, Hannah. I want you to hear it. I stood there and read that letter. Over and over, but it still said the same thing. I … couldn’t believe it. My pride was hurt, and I was furious with myself because I knew better. I
knew
better, and I still let her do that to me; and worse than that, I’d been dumb enough to tell people we were getting married. People were going to
know
what a damn fool John Ernest Watson was.

“But Libby didn’t make me start drinking. I was … humiliated, and drinking was the way I chose to deal with it. I wanted a hole to hide in and I found it. The funny thing is, I never was much of a social drinker before then. I could take it or leave it. But I started making the rounds, hitting all the honky-tonks and looking for women who’d make me feel better for a little while at least. It got to the point where I was staying more drunk than sober, and all of a sudden I couldn’t just take it or leave it anymore. I knew I couldn’t, but I lied to myself and to anybody who tried to talk to me about it. Two-thirds of what happened to me then I don’t even remember. You know your moment of truth? Well, I was doing everything I could to hide from mine. But … I had some good friends. Mac McDade and his old man.
My
old man. They got ahold of me one day, and they made me look at myself, made me see what they were seeing. They took me to a place where I could get some help—hell, they even went in with me. So now I go to AA, and I take life one day at a time, and I—” He didn’t go on, and she lifted her head to look at him. “Until she left Petey with me, I’d only seen her once since that time in Chimayo.”

“At Mim’s,” Hannah said.

He frowned. “How did you know that?”

“I saw the picture in Mim’s album.” The picture that showed so clearly that he’d once again forgiven Elizabeth.

The phone rang sharply, and because she was closest, Hannah moved to answer it, taking Ernie’s plaid shirt with her and slipping it on. She turned around to look at him as she picked up the receiver, smiling a bit at his overt appraisal of her lack of attire.

He cares about me. He’s crazy about me. He
thinks
he loves me
…

He folded his arms behind his head and gave her a playful wink. “You’re doing a lot for my shirt there, Hannah.”

“Hello?” she said into the phone, her smile broadening. Regardless of what he felt for her, he had a way of making her feel good about herself, too, for all his long history with Elizabeth.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” she said again, listening a moment for some clue as to whether anyone was there. She heard nothing, and she frowned at the receiver a moment, then hung up.

“Who knows we’re here besides Mim?” she asked.

“Half of Tahlequah, I imagine.” He sat up on the side of the bed and put on his jeans, then went to work on the wood stove. She watched him, brazenly admiring the ripple of muscles in his back and arms as he stoked the fire. “Come here,” he said when he had the fire burning again.

He didn’t have to coax her; she went to him, kissing him on the neck and cheek and pushing up the long sleeves of his plaid shirt before she wrapped her arms around him. He sat down on the chair where she’d hung her jacket and took her into his lap, sliding his hand up under the shirt to caress her bare hip. “I am never going to get enough of you,” he said gruffly, his mouth seeking hers.