Can't Stop Believing (HARMONY) (5 page)

“But . . .”

Cord put on his hat. “Thank you for the help, but we need to be getting home.”

To her surprise, Cord offered his arm to her. When she took it, he walked out of the bank as if he didn’t notice everyone staring. Half the people in the bank must have figured out that they were married, and they couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d hitched up with one of her daddy’s prize longhorns.

As before, when they were outside, he let go of her hand. “Is that all we have to do?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve had enough of town.”

“Me too.” They agreed on something.

“I’ll follow you back to your place,” he said, pulling off his suit jacket as they walked toward the parking lot.

“Is that your trailer with a horse inside?” The old blue pickup she’d seen on their road was now hooked to the oldest horse trailer she’d ever seen.

“Yeah. I had to bring him along. I couldn’t leave him behind, not knowing when I’d get back to feed him, and the pasture fences wouldn’t hold him.”

She ran to the trailer and looked inside. A powerful gray stallion stomped and pushed against the trailer wall. “Cord, he’s beautiful.” She hadn’t expected that he’d bring more than a suitcase to her land and certainly not a fine horse.

Cord stood beside her and smiled. “His mother was my horse when I was a kid. Only horse we ever had on the farm. My dad wasn’t fond of them, but my mother thought I should have a horse, so my dad found a gentle mare. When I went to prison, my dad just turned her to pasture. He wrote me a year later and said she’d had a colt. By the time I got out he was grown and wild.”

“But who was . . .”

“They say mustangs run deep in the canyon, but I’ve never seen them. More than likely, one of your stallions jumped the fence and found my mare.”

“My horses would never have come over uninvited. They’re all thoroughbreds.” She laughed. “What do you call him?”

“Devil. My grandfather told me once that his father said the finest horse he’d ever seen was named Devil, so I thought I’d call him that.”

“Well, he’s welcome to come over to stay, but I’ll not have him mixing with my mares. I’ll bet he doesn’t even have papers.”

Cord shrugged. “Nope, neither do I. You sure you want to take us in?”

“I’m sure about the horse. The jury’s still out on you.” A man who loved his horse couldn’t be all bad, she decided. “I only ask one favor: If you come home with me, you’ve got to let me buy the right clothes for your life as a rancher. That suit looks like Bailey Brothers pulled it off a rack they had in the basement from the 1980s.”

“I don’t care much about clothes, and picking this suit out was pure torture. Knock yourself out. I’ll wear whatever you want me to as long as it’s not orange. I hate that color. Mr. Bailey, back in the store, insisted on taking my measurements, so he should know the sizes. I don’t plan on going in for a fitting again in this lifetime. Most clothes I’ve ever bought, I just held them up to see if they’d fit.”

She stepped away from the trailer and hurried to her car. They’d just settled their first agreement in marriage. Maybe things would go smoothly for a change. She had a world of problems lurking like spiders in the shadows, and Cord might just take one of them off her hands.

Her last husband, rich with his family’s oil money, wanted her ranch and thought she came with it. With the ranch crumbling from neglect and poor management, he might have had a chance to buy it, but if Cord could turn the Boxed B around, it would remain hers. She’d bought her brother’s share when their father died and she planned to keep it, only Bryce Galloway had fought the divorce and kept her in court long enough to drain her reserves. She knew she had only one summer’s stake left to make the ranch pay.

Driving onto her land, Nevada smiled. This was her home, and she’d never give it up without a fight. This land was not something her ex-husband could have just because he wanted it. It wasn’t for sale, and neither was she. Bryce Galloway would just have to get used to the fact that there were some things no amount of money would buy.

She remembered Cord gripping her hand when the banker went over the accounts. It must have looked like a great deal of money for running a ranch, but it would be needed to make a profit this year.

Five hours later, she was frustrated and Cord was furious. They’d gone over the books, and even she could see that a ranch with the best equipment and finest stock around was losing money. It didn’t appear that any of the three bookkeepers she’d had in the past year had embezzled, but all the part-time foremen were obviously wasting money and showing little profit.

“I’ll go put on some coffee.” She headed toward the kitchen. To her surprise, he followed her.

Without asking, he began opening cabinets.

“Looking for something?”

“Food,” he answered, without stopping his search. “I’ve developed this habit. I like to eat at least a couple times a day.” He pulled out a dozen eggs and a skillet. “Hand me the butter and cheese.”

Before she knew it she was chopping up a salad while he scrambled eggs. She asked if he wanted her to open a bottle of wine, but he shook his head and poured two glasses of milk.

They ate in a comfortable silence, both calming down from the stress of the day. All afternoon Cord had asked her questions about the ranch, and her answer was always the same:
I don’t know.
She had all she could handle taking care of her prize horses and running the trust as well as the oil corporation. At the end of the day there was never any time to study ranch business. The place had been running itself for two years, and it hadn’t been running well. Since her longtime foreman had been fired by her last husband, the men who stepped into the job seemed to be progressing steadily into incompetence.

“Tell me how the house runs.” He finally broke the silence. “I don’t want to be in the way.”

She thought about saying that it was the staff’s job to stay out of his way, but she just stated the facts. “My cook usually comes about nine. I don’t eat breakfast. She does the light cleaning, the laundry, and the cooking. She leaves about five unless I have guests and need her to stay. When I entertain, the bunkhouse cook, who is also her husband, usually helps her. A couple comes in once a week for the heavy cleaning and the yard work in the courtyard, but Ora Mae, my cook, has an herb garden off the back porch.”

Cord listened as he ate.

“Ten years ago, before she ran off, my dad’s last wife insisted on a courtyard, and somehow we’ve managed to keep it up.”

“What time is breakfast at the bunkhouse?”

“Seven, I think.”

“Monday morning we’ll have breakfast in the bunkhouse with the men. After the hands settle into the fact that I’m running the ranch, you can sleep in if you like, but I’ll eat with them every morning. After Monday, breakfast will always be served at dawn in the bunkhouse until fall.”

He finished off her last bite of egg and added, “Ready to get back to the books? I thought when we’re finished I’d like to see maps. As you know, I’ve flown over your land a few times, but I need to know every inch of it.”

She groaned but followed him back to the massive old study she’d always thought of as her father’s even though he’d been dead for two years.

After answering a dozen more questions, she tugged off her shoes and curled into her father’s old leather chair. It still smelled of his pipe tobacco and the right arm had worn from years of balancing a whiskey glass. She didn’t miss her father or mother, but now and then she missed the parents they might have been. She missed having just one memory of her father reading to her in this chair. Just one simple memory would have been something to hold on to.

An hour later she fell asleep wondering if this strange man she’d just married would ever stop working.

D
UPLEX
NEAR
THE
TOWN
SQUARE

R
ONNY
L
OGAN
STOOD
IN
THE
DARK
SHADOWS
OF
THE
front yard of the duplex she’d rented for two years. As the lights of the old town square blinked a shadowy yellow, memories flowed around her in the cool breeze. She felt like she’d been asleep the first twenty-seven years of her life, a shy child dominated by an overbearing mother. Through childhood she’d believed she was loved and her mother was trying to mold her into the perfect little girl, but during her teens she realized she’d never pass Dallas Logan’s scrutiny. Her mother saw her as not just flawed, but damaged. By Ronny’s twentieth birthday, her mother had convinced her that she was worthless.

Her father had simply been Dallas’s first victim, and he hadn’t done much better than his daughter. When he died, however, he left his half of the house to his only child. Since she finished school, Ronny had worked at the post office, as silent and invisible as a midnight mouse. She’d believed nothing would ever change, and then one day while making a delivery, she met a handsome man in a wheelchair, and her world moved from gray to bright colors.

Within a few months she bloomed, and when Marty Winslow left Harmony one night without saying good-bye, she ran away from home and moved into his old apartment. Dallas disowned her ungrateful daughter of twenty-seven years, and Ronny decided she’d survive better on her own. Marty Winslow might not have stayed around, but he’d believed in her, and one person believing is a long way from none. He gave her hope.

Only now, standing with the moonlight breeze blowing her long brown hair as the gentle sounds of Harmony surrounded her, Ronny Logan knew her life was about to change again, and this time was far more frightening than leaving home.

“You all right out here?” Beau Yates, her neighbor, startled her as he rounded the corner. Like her, he always dressed in a black jacket and dark jeans to move through the streets after dark.

“I’m fine,” she answered as he seemed to materialize from the shadows. He was younger than her and always kind, even though with his black hair and late hours she often thought him more vampire than human. “I thought you were playing at the bar tonight.”

“I am. I just ran home to pick up my new guitar. It seemed easier than driving the few blocks. My lungs could use the fresh air.” He opened the unlocked side of the duplex and grabbed a case that must have been waiting at the door for him. “I have to get back before the break is over. The thought of Border playing on his own scares me.” Beau laughed. “There’s only a dozen drunks still in there tonight, but they’d give their best try at murdering him if he played.”

Ronny didn’t laugh at his joke, so he slowed, trying to see her in the poor light. “You sure you’re all right, Ronny?”

“I’m all right, Beau.” She couldn’t think of a lie, and he didn’t seem to need one. When you’re twenty, nothing about life makes sense so you don’t bother questioning.

He leaned against the wall as if sensing she needed to not be alone for a moment. “I like the stillness of this time of night. One of these days I’m going to write a song. I think I’m going to call it ‘Between Heartbeats’ because that’s kind of what it feels like.”

When she didn’t say anything, he pushed away from the side of the house and headed toward the road with a wave and a flash of a smile.

As she listened to him jogging back toward the bar, she grinned at him even though he’d gone. Beau and his roommate, Border Biggs, made her life easier. Her neighbors reminded her of two pups, always getting into trouble, always hungry. They never went to bed before two and burned everything they cooked, but Beau could play and sing good enough to make you believe heaven was piped with country music, and Border was always there backing him up on stage and off.

Ronny closed her eyes and thought about what the kid had said about the night. She could almost feel the stillness, like daytime was for the heartbeats and the night seemed the silence in between.

A long black Lincoln turned onto her street and pulled up in front of her house, drawing Ronny’s attention back to the present.

She looked toward town, making sure no one else was on the street. Her mother had been known to drive by, but never this late.

No one moved in the night. Beau and Border would be at least another two hours practicing their music at the bar. When they came in, they’d see her dark quarters and assume she’d gone to bed. No one would miss her if she disappeared for a while.

She walked toward the car as the driver stepped out and opened the back door for her. He nodded politely but didn’t look up at her. Once she was inside, he climbed back into the driver’s seat, put on music she knew someone had selected for her to listen to, and silently drove away.

As they left the lights of Harmony, she pulled the blanket from the seat beside her and leaned her head back. She had a long drive with little hope of finding happiness at the end. She’d made it before only to be turned away, but maybe tonight would be different. Closing her eyes, she wished for what might have been.

Ronny had no idea how long she’d slept, but the bright parking lot lights of a huge hospital woke her. As she straightened, the car pulled to a side entrance where a tall man in black waited. He was rail thin and his hair looked silver in the harsh light. When she’d seen him once before, he hadn’t stepped closer; he’d only shaken his head as if to say
I’m sorry
and slipped back inside the hospital, closing the door so she couldn’t have followed.

This time the driver remained in place as the tall man moved forward and opened her door. “Good evening, Miss Logan. I’m glad you agreed to come.”

“I’ll always come. Mr. Carleon, right?” she said, wondering if anyone else visited at this time of night.

“Yes. I’m the one who sent you the note. I feel as if I know you, miss.”

They reached the hospital door and this time it stood open, waiting for her.

“If you’ll follow me.” Mr. Carleon moved swiftly. “He’s expecting you this time and we have no roadblocks.”

Ronny straightened and fought back tears. Two years without a word from Marty Winslow, and then a registered letter asking her to be ready an hour before midnight and to trust Carleon to make the plans.
I’ll be waiting. Marty
was all the personal note she’d gotten from a man who’d stolen her heart just by being kind to her. He’d never pretended to be more than a friend, but for a woman starved of all love, it had been enough for her to build a world of dreams on.

“I’m sorry about last time, miss.” Mr. Carleon kept his voice low as they walked the darkened back hallway. “There had been a shift change I hadn’t been aware of.”

She didn’t care about the wasted journey she’d made a month ago. All that mattered was that Marty Winslow had contacted her. “How is he?”

“Weak, miss. Very weak.”

Mr. Carleon moved from one hallway to another until they came to a freight elevator. When the man finally faced her, she saw kindness in his pale eyes and gray-salted hair that had once been black. He could have been anywhere between forty and seventy, but there was strength about him, a stillness that must have come with age.

“I’ve been with Mr. Winslow since he was ten. I was waiting at the base when the skiing accident paralyzed him almost four years ago.” The older man’s face wilted with sadness. “He’s very near death, miss. This last surgery took all he had, and now infection has set in. The doctors are doing all they can, pumping him with drugs, monitoring him constantly. His parents are dead, but his older brother has taken charge. Daniel insists Marty suffer no pain, but if he takes all the pills, he’ll sleep his last hours away.”

A vision of how Marty had looked the day she’d met him flashed into her mind. He was alone and angry but very much a man in his chair. With his dark hair and fiery eyes, she’d thought he was a devil, and he’d been angry enough at the world to almost make her believe it.

“How long?”

Mr. Carleon shook his head. “I can only allow you an hour. Maybe a few minutes more.”

“No.” She didn’t care how long the visit would be. “How long does he have left to live?”

“A few days. A week at the most, the doctors say. Even if the infection clears, his body is beginning to shut down. One of his doctors suggested flying him somewhere else for a therapy, but his brother was told he might not even survive the journey. So Daniel finally said no. Two years, five operations, and a dozen hospitals is enough. With Marty here, he’ll be home when the end comes. The brother and doctors decided that’s all they can do for him. He’s out of time, miss.”

Ronny fought back her scream. Marty had been there for her when she came alive, and if he asked her to, she’d be there for him when he died.

She had a hundred other questions, but Mr. Carleon opened a door and she stepped into a private room lined with machines.

For a moment she didn’t recognize him. Marty was thin and pale, as though he were fading away. She remembered how his strong arms had held her and how his laughter could fill a room.

It took all her strength to move to his bed and take his hand. Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “One heartbeat past forever. That’s how long I’ll love you.”

Marty didn’t open his eyes.

Mr. Carleon pulled up a chair and offered it to her, but Ronny couldn’t sit down. She stood like a soldier as one by one her memories of Marty faced the firing squad until the only reality left was the man in front of her barely breathing. His hand that had once set fire to her with a touch was now cold and limp. His lips that had taught her to kiss were almost white and thinned in pain. His laughter, his teasing, his loving words were all drowned out by the rattle of machines that played an out-of-tune death march through the night.

Minutes ticked by, but she refused to move. She stared, hungry for a sign from him. She took the pain of how little of him remained. A hundred things passed through her mind that she needed to tell him. She’d almost finished her degree in finance. She’d learned to cook. She’d bought a new car. She’d made friends in town. Like he told her to, she’d grown.

But she’d missed him every day that he’d been gone. It took her a while, but she finally figured it out. There was no forgetting Marty, no getting over him. She’d love him forever.

“Miss?” Mr. Carleon whispered beside her. “Miss, you have to go. The hour is up.”

“But he didn’t wake.” She tightened her grip on Marty’s hand, hoping he’d at least squeeze her fingers back.

“I was afraid he wouldn’t,” Carleon said, too calmly to betray any emotion. “I think he knows you’re here, though. His breathing has calmed since you took his hand. I’ve been watching. His heartbeat is steady.”

“Can I stay longer, please?”

“Miss, it would mean my job if Daniel knew I brought you here.”

“Then why did you?” Never seeing Marty again would have been less painful. “He won’t even know I’m here.”

“Every time he wakes, he waits until only the two of us are in the room, then motions me near. I lean close and he whispers your name.” Mr. Carleon stared at Marty. “I know you’re always in his thoughts. I know his brother thinks I work for him, but I work for Marty Winslow and I will until the day he dies.”

“Can I come back?” She kissed Marty’s hand as she pulled her fingers away.

“I’ll send the car every night I can an hour before midnight. It will wait ten minutes. If you can’t make the trip, I’ll understand. If I don’t meet you at the back door of the hospital, you’ll understand. There are very few people I can trust.”

“I’ll come if the car is there.” She walked to the door, not daring to look back. The only man who’d ever thought she was beautiful was dying, and she was allowed only an hour a night to see him, with nothing but a promise of a next time.

As she rode back toward Harmony, tears ran unchecked down her cheeks, and she knew that when Marty Winslow died, so would she.