The Enchantment (23 page)

Until now. Until Larence. In his silent strength and understanding, he was offering her something she'd never even dreamed of: a safe harbor. A place to be weak and afraid.

Okay to be afraid.

Tears burned behind her eyes. A single drop slid down her face and burrowed into the corner of her mouth. The salty moisture slid along her tongue, and the taste of her own tears brought an image so strong, so unexpected, she almost buckled.

She was standing by her father's dead body. It was Christmas morning; just two days after her eleventh birthday. He was slumped facedown on the splintery, lopsided kitchen table. Even now she could hear the plop, plop, plop of his still warm blood splattering the hardwood floor. Terrified, she'd reached out, her fingers pale and shaking in the room's insufficient light. Daddy—

"Emma?"

Larence's voice ripped her out of the past. She yanked

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her hand out of his grasp and wiped the humiliating tears off her face. But another tear fell, and another.

Faster than she could wipe, tears squeezed past her lashes and coursed down her face. She was crying, for God's sake. Crying.

Cold, dark panic swirled at the edges of her mind. She wrenched the crumpled, dirty handkerchief out of her pocket and raised it to her face.

He grabbed her hand. "Let them fall, Em. I'll take care of you."

The simple sentence made Emma's breath catch. It was one she'd never heard before, and long since despaired of ever hearing. She thought about Larence for the first time, really thought about him. About the way he'd let her use his arm at the train station and let her keep her pride by pretending he needed the support; about the way he smiled at her, as if he liked her; about the thousand tiny things he'd done to make the trip easier on her.

Okay to be afraid. Slowly the words took on a new meaning; gave her new hope. Maybe, she thought for the first time in her life. Just maybe, with Larence beside her, they were true. . . .

Larence gathered her into his arms.

She closed her eyes and leaned forward, letting her forehead rest on his chin. His day's growth of beard prickled her flesh, reminding her of times long gone. A father long gone.

At the memory, her last remnant of control shattered. She gave a great, heaving sigh and let the tears come.

One after another they fell. She began crying for herself, for the fear and uncertainty and pain of this expedition, for her new poverty.

Then, inexplicably, she was crying for all of it: for the mother who'd died too young, for the dream-laden father who'd been too weak to live without his much-loved wife, for the child who'd wandered the dark slums in search of food when she should have been curled in her mother's arms.

Emma shivered. Larence's arms wrapped more tightly around her trembling body, held her close.

Warmth seeped from his body to hers, taking the edge off the chill in her soul and reminding her forcibly that she was in New Mexico. Far, far away from the apple vendor and his fat, greasy hands.

"It's okay ..." He whispered the words above her head. Over and over. She knew they should make her 211

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feel stupid and childish, but they didn't. Coming from Larence, they made her feel safe and cared for. For the first time in years she felt . . . protected.

She burrowed closer to his chest. The scent of damp cotton and salty tears clung to the fabric of his shirt, filled her nostrils.

Gradually the terrible trembling in her limbs melted away. The torrent turned into a halting, sniffling drizzle, then trailed off altogether. She felt warm and cozy and . . . and what? Something elusive, something she'd never felt before.

At peace, she realized. She felt at peace.

She tried to remember a time she hadn't been afraid, hadn't felt alone and lonely and one step ahead of something dark and terrible. She thought perhaps that once, long ago, before poverty killed her mother and weakness her father, she'd felt this way all the time.

She couldn't be sure, of course. It had all been so long ago. . . .

"Em?"

She stiffened, afraid suddenly to look at him. Uncertainty filled her. No one had ever seen her like this, weak and afraid and needy. How should she act? What should she say?

His forefinger slid beneath her chin and forced her gaze up. At the sight of his green eyes, so clear and uncondemning, something wonderful unfurled in her soul.

She tried to smile. The effort resulted in a trembling, hesitant tightening of her lips. "Thanks." The knot in her throat made it impossible to say more—even if she had been able to think of something else worth saying.

"My pleasure," he said with a grin that sent warmth THE ENCHANTMENT

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sliding through her body. "God knows my shirt needed the washing."

Unexpected laughter crept up Emma's throat. She almost clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound, then thought: What the hell.

She was as surprised as he by the bright, musical sound of her own laughter. It had been so long since she'd heard it. Larence joined her, and their mingled laughter bounced off the mesa's tall stone walls and echoed through the night.

Emma stared up at him. A breeze wandered through the campsite, ruffling his hair. Moonlight cast him in a cameo of pale blue light. Her breath caught. The laughter died in her throat and was replaced by a quiet sigh of wonder. In that instant she realized how truly handsome he was, how his eyes weren't simply green, but rather the color of magnolia leaves after a rain.

The moment spun out, seemed to lengthen. Larence's laughter dwindled and died, and a thick, charged silence followed. A cloud drifted past the near-full moon. Velvet blackness wrapped around them, closed out the world beyond.

Before she even knew she was going to move, Emma had touched his face. She brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. Her hand strayed to the strong, straight line of his cheekbone and followed it in a single, brushing stroke.

Words, dozens and dozens of them, turned through her mind, but not a single one made it as far as her mouth. What could she say to this man who'd rescued her, not once, but twice? Who'd given her back her smile and made her laugh!

Silence stretched around them, broken only by the gentle duet of their breathing. Overhead, the wispy 214

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black cloud covering the moon moved on, and an undulating blue-white pall stole across the shadowy desert. A breeze picked up in the east and blew gently through the campsite, jiggling the dancing flames as it passed. Light throbbed in the darkness.

And still they stood there. Quiet. Content.

Finally Larence broke the spell. His hands slid down her arms and dropped to his sides. "I better go get Diablo and the mule. They'll be needing some water and grain."

He started to walk away, and Emma grabbed his hand. "Stop!" The minute the word was out of her mouth, Emma wished it back. What was wrong with her? Surely she could be alone a few minutes. She'd been alone all her life.

But it wasn't that she was afraid to be alone. She just didn't want to be. Something had happened between them tonight, something special, and she didn't want to let it go, not even for a moment. It might never come back.

He turned back to her, his left eyebrow lifted upward in a silent question. She wanted to answer him with a flip, sarcastic retort that showed how strong she was, how in control. But nothing came to mind. Not a single syllable.

"I'll be right back," he said, giving her hand a squeeze that said / understand.

She forced a shaky smile. Of course he'd be back, she told herself. What had happened between them wasn't a tangible thread that would drift away like a spider's web if tested. It was a thick rope, a lifeline.

Something strong and lasting.

Right then she made up her mind to change. No more

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Miss Selfish on this expedition. From now on they were partners. Share and share alike.

The decision lifted a huge load off her shoulders. For the first time since her parents had died, she felt hopeful. From now on, she was a new person. A better one.

"No," she said firmly. "I'll go. I know it's painful for you to walk."

He offered her his hand. "How 'bout we go together?"

Together. It was as if she were hearing the word for the first time. "Sure," she said, slipping her fingers between his. Strangely, it felt right to be holding his hand. "We'll go together."

She'd helped him feed and water the animals, and set up the tent. And she'd done it with a smile. A smile.

Larence shook his head, still amazed.

Now, replete from a satisfying dinner of canned beans and gooey rice, he stared across the fire at Emma, watching her stack the last clean pan in the box. The sight of her brought another smile to his face.

Orange-yellow flames snapped and hissed and filled the quiet darkness with staccato bursts of sound.

Sparks gilded the night air. Behind them, the animals stood quietly, their heads bowed low to the ground.

Moonlight filtered through the trees overhead and cast a thousand glasslike shards of blue-white light upon the shadowy earth.

Larence reached forward. Wrapping a dish towel around the pot's blackened handle, he eased the pot off the stove and carefully poured two cupfuls of steaming evaporated milk. After adding a dash of cinnamon and sugar in each, he handed one to Emma.

She took the cup silently, curling her fingers around

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the hot metal and lifting it to her face. A thin stream of steam caressed her mouth. She closed her eyes, as if savoring the feel of the wet warmth against her lips.

He took advantage of her closed eyes, and settled back to study her.

Tonight had changed her. It was as if, before the tears, she'd been as much a cripple as he, trapped in a cage wrought of fear instead of pain. Somehow, sometime, she'd gotten it in her head that it was weak to cry, and that it was bad to be weak. And so she'd been strong. Viciously, self-destructively strong.

Until tonight. Tonight she'd finally let go of that iron will and let herself be frail.

She opened her eyes suddenly and caught him looking at her. His breath hesitated. He waited for her to turn away, but she didn't. She just sat there, inches away and perfectly still, returning his gaze. He felt his heart slow to a snail's pace then speed up.

Her beauty struck him like a blow. He'd always thought she was flawlessly, coldly beautiful, like a marble statue. But now, with the pain gone from her eyes and a soft smile shaping her lips, she was a Madonna— a flesh-and-blood woman of incredible loveliness. And it was he—Larence Alexander Digby—who'd erased the pain from her eyes and made her smile.

The realization brought a quiet sense of wonder. For the first time in his life, he felt . . . important. Special.

A sigh of breeze swept through the camp, ruffled through her hair. Strands clung to her nose and mouth.

She eased the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her tongue glided along her lower lip, leaving a glistening trail.

Something deep inside Larence clenched. Sweat dampened his palms.

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Love. The word came out of nowhere, driving through his thoughts like a locomotive. He could fall in love with Emmaline.

Never had he believed that he would be given the gift of love. He'd told himself a thousand times that love didn't happen to men like him; men who were inexperienced and tongue-tied and . . . crippled.

And yet, here it was, fluttering around him like a butterfly. He could feel the petal-soft whirring of its wings even now, brushing against his heart.

It was dangerous, he knew, this business of falling in love. More dangerous even than their quest, because Emma would never return his love. Affection, yes. Respect, hopefully. But love? Never.

Women like her didn't fall in love with men like him.

No, if he fell in love, it would be alone. Unreturned. Unrequited.

So what?

Hadn't he waited all his life for the chance to feel what other men felt? Wasn't that the reason he'd embarked on this journey in the first place? To be like other men?

He wouldn't run from the opportunity to fall in love; not even if it meant he'd be in love alone. Even if it meant getting hurt. After all, he'd been alone all his life, and he'd learned long ago to deal with pain, both physical and emotional. He could certainly handle the pain of eventually losing her.

Better to have loved and lost. . .

He smiled. Yes, he could handle it.

And yet, even as he thought it, he knew there was another answer. . . .

"Larence? Do you know where we are?"

The sound of her voice was so unexpected, he almost

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jumped. Running a hand through his tangled hair, he shook his head. "Nope. But don't worry, I'll figure it out. I know you're in a hurry and I want to—"

"Not anymore."

She spoke so quietly, it took Larence a second to realize he'd been interrupted. He turned to her, and the look in her eyes made his throat go dry. He felt as if he'd just been given an extraordinary Christmas gift.

The desire, almost a need, to touch her swelled through his body, made his fingers tingle.

Dangerous, he thought again. Very dangerous . . .

That night Larence woke up with a start and sat bolt-upright in bed.

At first he thought a nightmare had wakened him. Groggily he rubbed his eyes.

Then he remembered: the marking. How had he forgotten it?

Fear made his heart hammer in his chest. His breathing accelerated, sounding loud and serrated in the tent's darkness.

Calm down. Calm down.

Slowly he lay back down. His head settled into the warm pillow of his folded jeans. Beside him, Emma slept peacefully on.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just go back to sleep and forget all about Ka-Neek and his dangerous message.