Lifeline Echoes (38 page)

He brushed his fingertips against her lips.
"You're here now. We're here now. We've come in a circle, back to
each other. We're where we're supposed to be."

With a shudder, Sandy pulled one of his
fingers into her mouth and sucked, teasing with her tongue. It was
such a sensual move, he felt himself stirring rapidly in
response.

He needed to touch her. Cupping her shoulder
with one hand, Ryan rubbed his thumb in a gentle back and forth
rhythm. He couldn't resist her. Leaning close, he replaced his
fingers with his lips, pushing her backward and following her down
until he cradled her beneath him. He prolonged the kiss, feeling
all the love and longing he'd held onto for seven years, blending
with the fire he'd felt since his first sight of her on the
mountain road.

When Sandy would have deepened their
connection, Ryan pulled back, smiling at the confusion in her eyes.
He sat up, pulling her with him. "Much as I'd like to continue
this, we have someplace we need to be and you're gonna want to get
dressed for the occasion."

"What occasion?"

"Our dinner reservations. You wanted
Italian."

He pushed her toward the bathroom, trying
not to enjoy too much the thought of having her off balance.

****

Sandy stared at the blue dress Mel had
packed for her. Simply cut, with a rounded neckline and long
flaring sleeves, it lovingly embraced her upper chest and then
flowed in a swirl of diaphanous fabric to mid-thigh. How had her
best friend known this would be the perfect dress?

As Sandy shook the dress out, a slip of
paper fell to the floor. A note from Mel.

This was in the back of your closet. The
only time I ever saw you wear it was also the only time I ever saw
you drunk and crying, just about six years ago. Now I know your
story, I understand. I hope this dress works for your first date
with your fireman.

Love, M.

"Oh, Mel, you did good."

Sandy held the dress against her and looked
in the mirror. She'd seen it in a store in Jackson, its intense
blue reminding her of Mick's love for the mountain sky. She'd
bought it, knowing he could never see her in it, for the same
reason she'd come to Wyoming, to feel close to him.

She was halfway down the stairs when he
entered the foyer from his father's study. Her mouth went dry, then
watered at the sight of him. Dressed in a dark, Western-cut suit,
white shirt and string tie, he wasn't an L.A. firefighter. But he
wasn't her cowboy straight off the range, either.

He was devastating her. His gaze was like a
physical sensation, a whispery soft caress on her skin. And even
better, his long indrawn breath and the gleam in his eyes told her
he liked what he saw.

He held out a hand. Feeling like royalty,
she finished descending the elegant old staircase, and slipped her
hand into his. Pulling her close, he bent and took her lips in a
gentle toe-curling kiss, lingering just long enough for her to want
more.

****

He loved the soft look of her, the gentle
curve of her lips when she smiled for him alone. The blue of her
dress intensified the blue of the incredible eyes fixed on him as
she walked into his arms. And he loved the way the filmy material
of her dress swirled around her legs stroking her hips with each
step.

Ryan swallowed hard. He'd thought about
doing this for seven years. Her voice, her spirit, had kept him
hanging on, clinging to life when hope of life was gone. It was
some kind of fairy tale ending to a seven-year search for the voice
of an angel. At least he hoped tonight would give him the fairy
tale ending.

"Time to go," he murmured, almost, but not
quite, wishing they could stay in after all. "We're running
late."

"I'm sorry. I tried to hurry."

His eyes twinkled. "Angel, we're about seven
years late for our first date. Catch up, will ya?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment.

He tilted his head to look in her eyes.
Good, still just a little off balance. Then that slow predatory
smile crept over her features. Apparently, he'd awakened the
sleeping cat. They almost didn’t leave the house.

****

"Where are we going?" Sandy looked out at
the miles the little sports car was eating up.

"You said you wanted Italian on our first
date. Again, catch up."

"But we're going away from Jackson."

She literally felt his smile. "We're not
going to Jackson. Just taking a short ride into Orson's Folly."

"But there aren't any Italian restaurants
in—"

"Chicory, if you don't stop fretting, I'm
going to have to stop the car and kiss you quiet." He glanced at
her before returning his attention to the road. "And you already
know what DC thinks about making out in public. Besides, we're
here."

Sandy looked out at the over-crowded parking
lot of her own bar. "Oh, you're really funny, Ace. Reservations?
Italian? Valentine's has neither."

"Oh, didn't you hear? I know the boss. All I
had to do was drop her name and the staff was quite accommodating."
Ryan winked as he held the car door open for her. "Even if she does
have a reputation as a ball buster."

She swung her legs out but just sat there,
staring at him in disbelief.

He quirked an eyebrow, mischief glinting in
his eyes. "Still catching up?" But he smiled when she accepted his
hand. Tucking it into the crook of his elbow, he walked her to the
door.

Sandy didn't know what she'd expected. But
it wasn't for her normal weekend crowd to fall into a hushed
silence at her entrance on Ryan's arm. The band on stage abruptly
stopped playing.

From somewhere in the center of the crowd,
one person began clapping. Slowly, others joined in. Then people
stood and the applause rose to deafening levels as Sandy found
herself in the center of a standing ovation.

Out of nowhere, Mel was at her side, a wide
smile lighting her face. "Welcome to Valentino's. I have your usual
table ready."

Sandy raised an eyebrow. "Valentino's?"

Mel giggled. "Just for tonight." She led
Sandy and Ryan to the secluded table in the corner where they had
shared dinner not so long ago.

Around them, the band went back to playing,
the crowd went back to drinking and conversing. But Sandy was
acutely aware she and Ryan were the center attraction.

Mel had outdone herself with the table. A
white linen tablecloth lay beneath white tapered candles set in
crystal. Sandy raised her eyebrows at the linen napkins and fine
silverware set up for two. A bottle of blush white zinfandel was
waiting on the table next to a gold florist box tied with a dark
blue ribbon.

"Your meal will be here shortly," Mel said
as Ryan held Sandy's chair. Then she was off.

"I'm almost afraid to ask if we're about to
add Italian cuisine to our menu." Sandy looked up at Ryan, knowing
he'd orchestrated this all for her. Not for any reason other than
seven years ago, she'd told him she wanted Italian on their first
date. "Thank you."

Ryan slid the slim gold box toward her. "I
recall a promise of daisies."

With hands that weren’t at all steady, Sandy
lifted the lid, her breath catching when she saw the bouquet of
white daisies and blue chicory. Raising them to her nose, her eyes
widened. In the center of the wildflowers, tied with a pale blue
cord to a single, dark red rose, was the crystal angel. Her eyes
flashed to his. "Oh, Ryan. . ."

He touched the tips of her fingers and
gently shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "She's you.
She's always been you."

****

Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs,
excellently prepared by Charlie, who obviously deserved a
raise.

As Sandy sipped her wine, she watched Ryan
over the rim of the glass, enjoying the easy way he moved and
smiled. They talked of little things. How she'd grown up in the
Blue Ridge Mountains and lost her parents in a car accident. How
she'd moved out west with friends and worked as a dispatcher for
the L.A. Fire Department. They spoke of Ryan finding himself in a
world he hadn't wanted but had made the best of. They talked about
his dream of returning home to the family ranch, and how beautiful
Wyoming was in all seasons.

Then Mel was clearing away their dinner
dishes, and a waiter in dark pants, white shirt and tie was
hesitantly delivering their dessert.

"Ricky." Sandy smiled, happy to see him,
relieved his injuries had apparently not been serious. "I hope this
means you still want to work for me."

Ricky nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am." The
teen's awkward hesitancy faded. "I brought your dessert." He set a
plate in the center of their table then disappeared.

"Canolli!" Sandy laughed. "I can't believe
how much you remembered."

"I remember it all," Ryan said. "I've
remembered it over and over for seven years. You're everything to
me, Sandy. Just everything."

Sandy smiled. Feeling suddenly shy, she
concentrated on the cannoli.

"'Such is my love, to thee I so belong. .
.'"

"You do know, when you quote Shakespeare
I'll do anything for you. Even share some of this cannoli." She
swept her gaze up to look at him.

In his hand, extended toward her, was an
antique engagement ring, the rose-colored gold gleaming beneath the
sharp sparkle of the modest diamond.

The room fell into absolute silence.

"Oh, my." Sandy's hand hovered about her
lips. She met his gaze and her heart fluttered as he bared his soul
to her.

"This belonged to my mother. And before her,
it was my grandmother's." Ryan picked up her left hand and held it
gently. "I sure would like it if you would wear this and be my wife
. . . my Angel . . . my Chicory."

"Ryan," she whispered.

An unsteady grin flashed. "Still catching
up, sweetheart?"

She shook her head. "No."

Surprise etched his features. His face
registered disappointment. "No?"

"Yes."

Surprised morphed into confusion. "Yes,
you're saying no?"

Sandy shook her head, realizing she wasn't
making any sense. "No, I'm not still catching up. And yes, I want
very much to marry you."

The huge grin sliding across his face made
her think of kids in candy stores. Ryan slipped the ring onto her
finger. It fit perfectly.

A cheer rose from the crowd. Sandy looked
around, seeing all the regulars and a few who rarely showed up.
Seated at his normal spot at the bar where Mel worked was Sean, and
next to him, Justin, who smiled and winked when he caught Sandy's
eye.

She didn't think she could feel any
happier.

Ryan stood, tugging Sandy to her feet. On
stage, Ray Dan led Cowboy Blue into a slow number about finding
perfect love. After a very sweet kiss, Ryan led Sandy to the dance
floor. No one joined them.

Emotions wound through Sandy, her love for
Mick fusing with the passion she felt for Ryan. Tilting her head
up, she smiled into his eyes. "You're my everything, too, Ryan
Mick. I love you."

At the end of their dance, Ray began talking
to the crowd. "What do you say, folks? Don't you think she owes us
a song?"

Sandy groaned and hid her face as shyness
washed over her. She smiled and shook her head. But the crowd was
roaring their agreement and a chant began. "Sandy, Sandy,
Sandy."

Helplessly, she looked up at Ryan to find
him smiling broadly. He wasn't going to be any help. He released
her and gave her a little push toward the stage. And suddenly she
knew exactly what she would sing, and to whom she would sing
it.

****

Ryan watched his new fiancée speak to the
bandleader, who nodded. Then she was standing by the microphone.
She smiled, her gaze settling on Ryan, and he was the only person
in the crowded room. A single note began to play on the piano.

As her chicory eyes eased themselves into
his soul, Sandy sang the song she'd begun seven years earlier, "The
Rose."

****

About the Author

Kay Springsteen grew up in
Michigan but transplanted to the south about 10 years ago and now
resides in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia with
her five small dogs. Two of her four children live nearby, a
married son who has a daughter of his own, and one of her twins.
The other twin lives just outside of USMC Camp Lejeune in North
Carolina. Her oldest daughter still resides in Michigan. When she's
not writing, she is transcribing and editing medical reports.
Besides being an avid reader, hobbies include photography,
gardening, hiking and camping, and of course spending time with her
terrific G-baby. She is a firm believer in happily ever after
endings and believes there is one out there for everyone; it just
may not be exactly what you expect or think you want.

****

Astraea Press, LLC

Where Fiction Meets Virtue

www.astraeapress.com