He reached out and touched the drying red star.
Savannah turned to him with wide, eager eyes. Her hands were in her lap, twisted together in a pale, nervous ball. "Do you like it?"
He turned to his eldest daughter. "It's perfect."
Savannah's eyes glistened. "Th-Thanks, Daddy."
"What do you think of mine, Daddy?" Katie whispered.
Jack studied her painting very seriously, then gave his daughter a bright smile. "It's wonderful."
Katie looked as if she'd been given the most precious gift in the world.
Jack pushed to his feet. "Now you'd better clean this mess up."
Tess got to her feet beside him. Casually she pressed onto her toes and brushed a paint-globbed lock of hair from his eyes. Their gazes met, held. Something fluttered around Tess's heart and made her breathing quicken. She remembered their kiss, the butterfly-soft meeting of their lips and tongues.
A slow, seductive smile curved her lips. What she felt right now had nothing to do with families, or kids, or even belonging. It was a selfish need to touch this man, to hold him and kiss him and hear the richness of his laugh.
He grabbed her wrist. The smile slid off his face. An infinitely bleak expression filled his eyes. "Do you know what you're doing to me?"
The words were spoken so quietly, and with such despair, that Tess felt as if she'd been punched.
What has she done to you? Tess wanted to cry out.
What?
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Then the fingers encircling her wrist were gone. And so was he.
Jack lay on the couch, the woolen blanket pulled tight to his chin. It had been years since he had slept well; he'd always been so afraid of the nightmare that he lay awake as long as physically possible. Tonight was different. He longed to sleep, but his mind wouldn't stop working. He'd been lying here, wide-awake, for countless hours.
Restlessly he shifted from side to side. For the first time in years, the damn couch was acutely uncomfortable. And he knew it had nothing to do with the couch itself. It was Jack who was uncomfortable. He wanted to be in his bed. With his wife. "/ was going to kiss you, Jack." He groaned and rolled onto his back. The window glowed dully in the darkness of the room, its surface tarnished by the pale light of a slivered moon.
"She can't be changing," he whispered aloud, trying to take comfort from the sound of his own voice. "Could be you got yourself a new wife." Jack remembered Doc's words again, and this time they seemed edged in a certainty that had been missing before. She could be changing.
But could Jack? He'd mistrusted her for so long, lived in the shadow of her hatred and manipulation for so many years. How could he just let go of his armor and let himself believe in her? If he stripped away the sarcasm and anger, he'd be naked to her attack.
And what if it was all a lie? Or temporary? How would he and the kids survive if it was all just another deadly trap? If they became a family and then tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, she turned on all of them and smiled that cold, frightening smile of hers and told them it was all a game . ..
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He shivered and drew the blanket tighter against his body.
He'd never been so goddamn confused in all his life.
Sunday morning, Tess got up bright and early. She patted Caleb's shoulder, murmuring soft mommy-babble words to the tiny face resting on her shoulder.
"What do you think, big fella? Is oatmeal, eggs, and bacon enough?"
Caleb made a quiet gurgling sound that seemed affirmative.
Tess kissed his soft cheek. "That's what I thought." Moving toward the hot stove, she peered into the big cast-iron pot and frowned. The oatmeal didn't look too good. Fortunately the eggs and bacon showed definite promise. She glanced into the living room and saw that Jack was still asleep on the sofa. A soft, wistful smile touched her lips as she stared at him.
He had to be dog-tired. Last night she'd heard him muttering and pacing long after she'd closed her bedroom door. She smiled at the thought. Hopefully he'd been thinking about their kiss.
Moving quietly, she set the table. The tablecloth, silverware, and plates were in place, and she was just arranging the flowers as Savannah and Katie tiptoed into the room.
"Mornin', Mama," they whispered together. Savannah pointed a finger toward the living room. "Daddy's sleeping"
Tess smiled. "I know. Sorta strange, isn't it?" Both girls nodded.
Tess shot a glance at the mantel clock. "Unfortunately, we're going to have to wake him up or we'll be late for church."
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Savannah's eyes bulged. Her mouth dropped open.
Tess had already guessed that the Raffertys weren't a churchgoing family. Savannah's thunderstruck expression only confirmed it.
Tess smiled broadly. Change was good for a family? especially this family. "Is there a problem, Savannah?"
"Daddy won't go to church," she blurted out. "He says God's a hoax."
"I'm sure he meant host. As in heavenly."
Savannah looked skeptical. "I don't think so."
"Well, then it's best if I tell him the plan for today. Why don't you serve up breakfast?"
The girls looked at her as if she were out of her mind, but they didn't say a word. Biting back a smile, Tess headed toward the living room.
As she passed the girls, someone tugged on her sleeve. Pausing, she turned back around.
Savannah had her arms outstretched. "You better give me Caleb. It might get?" color suffused her cheeks "?loud."
Katie nodded solemnly. "Really loud."
This time Tess had to smile. She handed the baby to Savannah, then moved soundlessly toward the sofa. She perched on its hard edge and stared down at Jack's profile. Even in sleep he looked tired and drawn. The stubbly growth of hair that fringed his jawline was thick and black, a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin. Gray-blue shadows smudged his cheeks and discolored the flesh around his eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept well in years.
And now she would wake him. Regret nudged Tess and made her reevaluate her plan.
They could go to church next week. Perhaps?
Suddenly Caleb let out an ear-shattering cry. Tess
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gasped and spun toward the girls, plastering a finger to her lips.
Jack screamed and bolted upright. His knee came up and rammed into Tess's backside. She slid off the bed and plopped on the floor.
She looked up; he looked down. After a second of confused silence, Tess burst into laughter. Behind her, the girls began to giggle. Caleb drew a shuddering, surprised breath and stopped crying.
The wild, terrified look in Jack's eyes disappeared. He relaxed, unfurling from his board-straight sit, and glanced down at Tess. "Sorry."
She smiled. "Not yet, but you will be."
"What do you mean?"
"I cooked breakfast."
He groaned. "No, thanks, I'll just gnaw on the table leg for a while."
"Leather's closer. Try your shoe."
His mouth quivered in a quickly suppressed smile. Throwing back the thin wool cover, he swung his legs around and stood up, stretching his arms high above his head. His red long Johns pulled taut across his chest.
Tess popped to her feet beside him. "You'd better get dressed. We'll be late for church."
He froze midstretch and looked down at her. "I'm not going to church."
She grinned. "Yes you are."
"No I'm not."
She moved toward him, laid her hand on the warm cotton of his sleeve. The heat of his flesh crept through the flimsy fabric and warmed her fingertips. Tilting her face, she gazed into his sleep-puffy eyes. Tiny white lines crisscrossed his flushed cheeks. "Please?" * He swallowed hard. Beneath her fingers, Tess felt the
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muscles in his arm tense. "Okay." The word slipped from
his lips on a quiet sigh.
She smiled brightly. "You won't be sorry." He
snorted. "You're wrong. I already am."
Chapter Sixteen
The horses moved forward slowly, their hooves striking the hard-packed dirt road in a plodding, thudding gait. Overhead, birds chirped gaily, dipping and diving. The throbbing clang of the school bell filled the air.
At the fence, Jack reined the horses to a stop. Yanking his Stetson low on his forehead, he jumped down and tied the horses to the top rail.
Savannah and Katie climbed down quickly and waited. Tess was saddened to see that their earlier excitement had fled, leaving in its place a stoic silence.
She started to reach for Caleb, but Jack's voice stopped her cold.
"Get me that cider, will you, Lissa?" he asked.
Tess glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyebrow quirked upward in a silent question. She waited patiently for his explanation.
"I?I thought I'd drink some out here while I'm waiting," he said, yanking his collar away from his throat as if it were suddenly too tight.
"And what is it you'll be waiting for?"
"For you to get done with church."
"Oh, that." Tess swept Caleb into her arms and eased herself off the wagon without Jack's help.
Jack smiled. "I knew you'd see it my way. I don't want to go to?"
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"Hell. Of course you don't." Tess cut him off with a determined smile. In the stunned silence that followed, she turned to the girls. "Go on inside. I want to speak with
your father."
Savannah moved protectively toward her dad. "But?"
"Don't worry, I won't hurt him. Now, run along."
"But?"
'Wow," Tess repeated firmly.
The girls grabbed hands. Together they ran pell-mell across the school yard and up the sagging wooden steps, disappearing into the makeshift church without a backward
glance.
They know the makings of a good fight when they see one. Smiling, Tess set Caleb's basket down and crossed to Jack, stopping directly in front of him.
He started to back away but was pinned in place by the fence. A hunted, wary look narrowed his eyes. "What do
you want now?"
"I want you to go into that church with me and pray."
He gave a harsh, derisive laugh. "For what?"
She felt a wrenching wave of sadness. Never, not in all
the long, empty, soundless nights after her mother's death,
had Tess ever questioned her faith. It was the bedrock of
her soul, and she felt an almost overwhelming pity for this
man whose soul was anchored by nothing at all. "Well, for
starters, how about an honest-to-God laugh instead of that
pitiful, bitter bark?"
He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "Ah,
Christ, Lissa ..."
"Will you trust me?"
He started to shake his head, then stopped. At his hesitation, her heart soared with hope.
"I won't let you down," she added softly.
He turned to look at her, and there was a bleak hope-
ONCE Ihl EVERY LIFE
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lessness in his eyes that tore at her heart. "What do you want from me?"
She pressed up on her toes and laid her hand against his cheek. "You don't have to be so alone. God?" "Ha."
She moved her hand from his cheek to his heart, feeling the thudding beat beneath her palm. "You invoke His name all the time, Jack Rafferty. I know you believe. Or you did once."
He glanced down at the small white hand plastered so protectively atop the faded blue chambray of his shirt. Slowly he lifted his gaze and looked into her eyes. He tried to find a light, bantering response that proved how little he cared about her God, but his throat was dry and swollen with emotion. She was right. Once, long ago, he had believed in God. And in himself.
"You don't have to carry everything inside you, Jack," she said softly. "God will help you. / will help you."
God had better help him, he thought dully. Because he wanted to trust her. Christ, how he wanted to; it was like an ache in his soul. And still he couldn't speak. He could only stare down into her warm, loving brown eyes and nod dumbly.
She flashed him a smile that was like a knife in the gut. For a second his knees went weak.
"Come on, let's go," she said.
"Okay," Jack answered in a voice that was a husky shadow of itself.
At her buoyant grin, he felt himself begin to relax. A slow, hesitant smile pulled at his mouth.
"Why, Jack Rafferty, I do believe you're smiling."
He bit down hard and obliterated the smile. "Come on, Lissa, let's get this over with."
He walked over to the basket and picked it up. Forcibly
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he kept his gaze off the babe sleeping so quietly inside.
Then, together, they walked toward the schoolhouse.
Savannah heard the door open and she cringed. The townspeople had mistrusted her daddy ever since the July Fourth picnic last year when he'd gone crazy. Every head turned as Mama and Daddy walked through the open doorway.
Her parents stood close together?closer than she'd ever seen them. The congregation scrutinized them, eyeing Daddy suspiciously. Sunlight streamed all around them, making them look golden and beautiful.
Neither of them batted an eye, as if they didn't even notice the people studying them. Then Mama did the most amazing thing. She slipped her hand in his.
Daddy jumped at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he looked down at her. His eyes were wide with wonder. She smiled up at him.
At the front of the schoolroom, the reverend pounded hard on his makeshift pulpit. "Welcome, worshipers," he intoned in his nasal voice. "Today's sermon will be on forgiveness." One by one the townspeople turned away from the couple at the back of the schoolroom and gave their full attention to the sermon.
The preacher launched into a fevered lecture on the merits of forgiveness, but Savannah couldn't concentrate on his words. She kept thinking about her mama holding her daddy's hand. It gave her a warm, cozy feeling. Every last scrap of doubt about Mama disappeared. If Mama could change, then anything was possible.
Maybe they could even become a real, loving family. Smiling, she closed her eyes and prayed.
Jack stared at the open Bible lying in his lap. The small, yellowed pages should have looked old and dingy against
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the rough brown wool of his trousers, but somehow they didn't. Quite the opposite, in fact. As he studied the dogeared, worn pages, he felt a thin strand of hope wending through his thoughts, leaving in its wake the sparkling promise of maybe.
He squeezed his eyes shut. For years he'd been praying for help and guidance, but never once in all those times had he believed. The words he'd spoken were meaningless shells, devoid of emotion or hope or trust. Simply the vague, formless longings of a man who'd given up.
Now he wondered if it took more than empty words and end-of-the-line pleas to engage the Almighty. Maybe God, like human beings, demanded more of a man than desperate, soon forgotten prayers. Maybe belief, honest belief, made the difference.
He brought his work-callused hands together, threading his fingers tightly. Resting his clasped hands on the open Bible, he bowed his head.
But the prayer wouldn't come. There were so many things he wanted, so many mistakes to be rectified and sins to be forgiven. The magnitude of it all swallowed his feeble sense of hope and overwhelmed him. Frightened him.
His breathing quickened. Despair sucked him in, pulling his thoughts into the blackness that so often clouded his mind. A man like him, a cowardly, crazy shell, had no right to ask for forgiveness, no right to say, "I need."
At first he hardly felt a thing, but gradually he became aware of warmth seeping into his cold fingers. Then the pressure, gentle and yet firm.
He eased his eyes open and saw his wife's pale hand c
urled tightly around his own, touching him, protecting him. Wordlessly, without even a glance, she was telling him that she was there. Beside him.
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A calmness unlike any he'd ever known spilled through his body, cocooning him in warmth. His fear began to ebb away and was replaced by a quiet, firm belief that his wife had somehow changed. It was real, and he was ready to believe in her.
There's always a beginning, he thought suddenly. Always.
He closed his eyes again, and this time there was no jumble in his mind, no confusing morass of fear and desperation and despair. There was only the soul-deep, heartfelt desire of a man to begin again. A man who was ready to believe again in God, and in his wife.
Jack had no idea how long he sat there, head bowed, eyes closed, hands clasped in prayer, seeking help from God. Time dwindled and became unimportant.
It seemed like hours; it seemed like minutes.
"Jack?"
Lissa's quiet voice brought him out of his trancelike state. He lifted his head and opened his eyes. The unexpected light made him blink.
Her hand eased off of his. He immediately felt a sharp
stab of loss.
"The sermon's over," she said, standing.
Suddenly it was gone. The calm he'd fought so hard for disappeared, leaving him feeling betrayed and more alone than ever. He strove to find that thread of hope once again, to make himself believe.
He found it, buried deep but still intact. He sighed with relief. It hadn't all been a figment of his worthless mind. For once, he'd found something of value within him. All he had to do now was cling to the kernel of hope he'd found. Nurture it. It wouldn't be easy; he'd undoubtedly fail, but for once he wanted?wanted desperately?to try. Lissa sidled closer, touched his arm. He could smell her scent, wildflowers and promise. Turning, he looked down
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into her huge, earnest eyes and felt like a man who'd just been let out of jail. He smiled. "Thank you."
"I didn't do anything, Jack," she said quietly. "You did."
Hours later, Jack curled his fingers around the swing's thick, scratchy ropes and planted a booted foot on the plank seat. The wood creaked and groaned. In the falling darkness of night, he stared at the house. Pale light emanated from the open window, carrying with it the scent of roasting meat.