Dreams for Stones (33 page)

Still, his abrupt departure tempered her joy
with uneasiness. He had not made his intentions clear. What if he
were offering only what he had offered before?

She already knew that wouldn’t be
enough.

The only way to find out was to risk being
hurt even more than she already had been. A gamble she knew without
any debate she would willingly take.

When Alan arrived the next evening, Mrs. Costello let him in, and
he watched as Kathy came down the stairs, wearing an old-fashioned
burgundy-colored dress and looking so beautiful his heart felt like
an inflating balloon.

Seated across from her in the restaurant, he
had to clear his throat before he could speak. “You look wonderful.
Your dress. I like it. It’s old, isn’t it?”

“The term is vintage.” She smiled at him.
“Amanda insisted I buy it.”

“Amanda, huh. How’s she doing these
days?”

Kathy shook her head, looking solemn.
“Locked in a trunk.”

He gave her a questioning look.

“The story. . . it stopped working after
Delia got sick.”

Yeah. Lots of things had. “At least you
ended up with a nice dress. Possibly worn by one of the silver
baron’s wives.”

“More likely, one of their mistresses.”

He examined the dress. “The design. It’s not
exactly right.”

“For a mistress, or a wife?” Her eyes danced
with mischief.

“For the eighteen nineties.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m working on a novel set in that time.
I’ve looked at a lot of pictures.”

Slowly Kathy began to smile, a wide,
wonderful smile. “So, we’re writing something other than memos are
we, Professor Francini?”

“I never was very good at memos, to tell you
the truth.” He thought of all the pages of manuscript scattered
across both his table and desk at home with that note at the end
from Meg.

“What is it?” Kathy spoke softly, her hand
on his arm.

He met her gaze, forcing his thoughts back
to the present and trying to think how to begin. So many things he
needed to tell her, all of them difficult, but he needed to make a
start. “I was denied tenure.”

Kathy frowned. “I don’t understand.”

He shrugged. “Hilstrom said no tenure unless
I was writing fiction.”

“But you just said you are.”

“Too late.”

She took his hand between hers. “I’m sorry.
What are you going to do?”

“I have until next year to find something
else.” He liked her taking the initiative to touch him. Liked the
feeling of connection it gave him.

“I happen to have inside information that
you’re a wonderful teacher.”

He raised his brows in question.

“Remember how I almost had a riot on my
hands when the students discovered you weren’t teaching the seminar
last spring?”

“Doesn’t count.”

“And it’s too bad it doesn’t. Whoever hires
you is going to be really glad DSU didn’t keep you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.” He was sorry
when she let go of his hand in order to pick up her menu, but her
words continued to soothe the rough wound Hilstrom had inflicted
with her blinkered decision.

While they waited for the food to arrive,
Kathy filled him in on the sign language classes she was taking
with the Garibaldis. “Delia is learning so quickly, it’s
amazing.”

He agreed Delia was amazing. In fact, the
little girl had shown herself to be tougher and more resilient than
he was.

“I need to sign up for a class too.”

Kathy nodded, then she moved her hands and
lips, slowly and emphatically, but without sound.

“What’s that?” he said.

Kathy’s eyes gleamed with laughter. “That
was either, ‘Delia will be pleased’, or ‘Delia likes to eat
porridge.’”

It surprised a laugh from him.

“Not that I’m finding it difficult, you
understand,” she hastened to add.

Later, when he walked her onto the
Costellos’ porch, she pulled out her key and inserted it in the
lock, but she didn’t open the door. Instead, she turned to him and
raised her eyes to his. “I’m glad you came back. I missed you.”

He pulled her into his arms, and she leaned
against him, solid and warm. Real. He rubbed his cheek against her
hair. “I want to kiss you, but I don’t dare.”

“Because of what happened last time?” Her
voice sounded choked.

“Partly that, I suppose. It wasn’t what I
meant, though.” He thought of the barriers still between them. Meg.
And the knowledge Charles loved Kathy.

It was so difficult to reach for happiness
when it meant hurting a friend. “There’s something I need. . .
”

No, he couldn’t manage it. Not yet. He had
to do it soon, though. “I-I have to go out to the ranch tomorrow to
cover while the folks are away for a few days. I wonder if you. . .
if you’d come out Saturday.”

“I’d like that.”

“Come early.” He stepped back from her, his
hands on her shoulders. “I’ll show you how to muck a stall.”

“And I’m interested in that because?”

The sudden lightness between them was a huge
relief. He drew in a breath and smiled at her. “You have a skill
like that, you’ll never starve.”

“Maybe starving would be preferable. But
you’re on. I’ll be there.”

“I’ll feed you breakfast.” He closed his
eyes briefly and dropped his hands to his sides. “I’ll see you
then.”

Kathy watched Charles walk toward her. The courts had recessed for
lunch, and the restaurant was filling up quickly.

He sat down across from her. His eyes,
blue-gray behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses she’d never seen him
wear before, looked tired. She’d always thought his eyes were too
blue to be real, but these eyes were very real indeed, as was the
man.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “And thank
you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“Just wanted to set the record
straight.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to meet
his gaze. “The man I told you about. He came to see me.”

“Alan Francini.” His voice was flat. “I
know. He called. “

“You’re friends?”

“The best.”

It was a shock but not really a surprise
given the way Charles had acted that night in his apartment. “He
hasn’t been able to tell me about Meg.”

Charles looked surprised. “How do you know
then?”

“Elaine told me. Did you know her? Meg.”

He looked away, his throat working. “She was
his whole world. When he lost her. . . ” His voice sounded
raspy.

“Do you know how she died?” Kathy said the
words quickly, knowing if she thought about it she wouldn’t be able
to say them at all. But this could be her best, maybe her only
chance to understand Alan.

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose,
displacing the glasses. “You know you’re taking a huge chance.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Being second-best.”

Kathy felt like the breath had been knocked
out of her. If Charles were angry or speaking vindictively, she
could have shrugged it off. But he wasn’t. He sounded more sad than
anything.

Besides, it was what she herself feared
most. That for Alan she would be an unequal substitute for the
woman he’d lost.

“That’s one thing I can give you he can’t,”
Charles continued. “A free heart.”

“But I can’t give you one in return. I’m
sorry. I wish I could.”

‘“If wishes were horses. . . ’” He smiled a
crooked smile, then reached out and took her hand in his. “I don’t
believe I could eat to save my life. But thank you. For meeting
with me, for not leaving me hanging.”

“You’re a good man, Charles. Any girl in her
right mind would find it so easy to love you.”

“Just my luck you aren’t in your right
mind.” He rubbed his thumb gently across the palm of her hand.

“You and Alan.” She stopped, unable to say
more.

Charles closed his eyes briefly, then opened
them and gave her a rueful smile. “Might take a while, but we’ll be
fine.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “Just be
happy.” Then he pushed his chair back and stood up.

Her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t in
love with Charles, but she cared for him, and she wished with all
her heart she could alleviate his distress—but what would bring him
comfort was the one thing she couldn’t give.

He wended his way around tables to reach the
entrance, and then he was gone.

It wasn’t until he’d left that she realized.
He hadn’t answered her question about how Meg died.

Saturday morning, Kathy was up at six. Mrs. C already had coffee
made, and she insisted Kathy drink a cup and eat a cinnamon roll.
“To tide you over, dear.”

Kathy drank half a cup and ate a roll, then
she pulled on her jacket.

“Here you are.” Mrs. C handed her a wrapped
package. “Some rolls for that nice young man.”

Kathy took the rolls and kissed Mrs. C’s
cheek before hurrying out to her car.

Driving to the ranch, she felt the way she
had driving to Denver when she first moved there—that at the end of
the trip, for better or worse, her life would change forever.

She let her thoughts drift, not wanting to
lean on this new future too hard. It all seemed so unbearably
fragile and tentative.

When she arrived at the ranch, she parked in
her usual spot, climbed out, and eased the car door closed. She
stood for a moment, looking at the barn, the pastures, and the
house on the hill, breathing in peace along with fresh air.

Then, ready at last to face whatever came
next, she walked to the barn and slipped inside. The warm smells of
hay and horse with its slight tang of ammonia wrapped around her.
Cormac came up to her, tail wagging. And there was Alan, pitching
hay. She watched him, feeling a tremulous mix of hope, joy, and
fear.

She spoke softly. “Good morning.”

He turned abruptly, his gaze shifting from
her to Cormac. “Some watchdog, you are.” He sounded stern, but
Cormac simply gave him a doggy grin and wagged his tail. Then Alan
smiled at her, “I’m almost done mucking out.”

“I hoped you would be.”

“Chicken.”

She smiled as she went down the line,
patting heads, rubbing ears and noses, getting reacquainted with
Siesta, Sonoro, Arriba and the rest. When Alan finished, they
walked up to the house.

They decided on omelets for breakfast. Kathy
sliced onions and mushrooms and sautéed them while Alan stirred the
eggs and put the cinnamon rolls in the oven to warm up. They worked
comfortably, as if they’d been cooking together in this kitchen for
years.

When their plates were ready, they took them
to the small table by a window that overlooked the valley.

There was contentment in the warm food and
their being together, but underneath tension trembled between
them.

“I thought we might go for a ride,” he said,
when they finished eating.

Kathy had already figured out the place Alan
would be most comfortable talking about Meg would be on the back of
a horse, and she’d dressed for it.

Alan had already passed on several opportunities to tell Kathy
about Meg. All it required was a few simple words—
You see, I was
married
. Then maybe he could say the other words.
She
died
.

He cleared his throat in preparation, but
the words clotted and refused to come out. The tension in him
squeezed at Sonoro, who moved abruptly into a
paso corto
leaving Kathy and Siesta to follow.

When he reached the lake, Alan dismounted
and turned to watch Kathy riding toward him—a woman with red hair
on a red horse, the sun catching fire in her hair. The light at the
end of his five-year tunnel of darkness.

Kathy swung off Siesta, and Alan held out
his hand to her. She placed her hand in his, and he led her to the
edge of the water that lay silken and still, mirroring sky, trees,
and mountains like an alternate reality.

Living with two realities. It was what he’d
been doing since Meg’s death. Letting the past overshadow the
present.

“When we were here before, you asked if the
lake had a name.”

Kathy stood quietly, her hand still in his,
and her calm gave him the strength to go on.

“
Lago de Lágrimas
. Lake of Tears. My.
. . my wife named it.” He gulped in some air. “She died.”

The only way he knew Kathy had heard was
from the slight tensing of her hand in his.

“It was. . . I lost my way. Stopped living.
Then I met you.” He stumbled to a stop.

“Someone essential,” Kathy said. “You meant
Meg, didn’t you?”

He glanced at her, shock coursing through
him. “You know about Meg?”

She nodded. “Elaine told me.”

He looked away, feeling a nerve jumping in
his cheek, wondering why he even felt surprised. “All of it?”

“Only that much. That you were married, and
she died.”

He swallowed, his mouth dry, knowing he
still needed to tell her the rest. Get it over with. Then they
could go on.

“Meg died in Alaska. A place called
Turnagain Arm. She was walking on the beach and got trapped.”

Kathy’s hand tightened in his.

He braced himself to say the next words.
“The tide. . . she drowned. I blamed myself.”
There.
Done
.

Only it wasn’t. Because what he’d managed to
hold back all these years, finally rose up to meet him. Those last
moments with Meg, when they’d both known she wasn’t going to be
freed in time and their only choice was how to face it.

Meg’s face had been drenched with tears, her
mouth quivering, but she had lifted her chin and looked right at
him. “Alan, please. Promise me you won’t look away. I can’t do this
without you.”

He’d met her gaze even though he felt as if
every cell in his body was being sliced and torn. “I’ll never get
over losing you.”