He wondered what Hannah was thinking as they crossed Coldwater Creek and headed up still higher. She used to prattle on about every plant and flower as they’d ride together side by side when the trail allowed. But her back was straight in the saddle, and she hadn’t slowed Orion once to look over to a patch of pink and purple mountain lupines or those tiny yellow cinquefoil flowers.
He’d learned to live with the land and tend to it.
She’d learned to use it to heal, tending it to her own purposes.
They’d once found a shared purpose in that harmony, but now he wondered if it would be the only thing between them—if she stayed to help Will.
If they could heal what festered between them…
She wasn’t wrong to use the lancing-a-boil metaphor, although he would have said losing her was like losing a limb. Something more vital, something more permanent, something everyone could see when they looked at you.
Because he knew the people around him could see that he walked around with half a heart since she’d left.
And Cooper deserved more from him… So did Will. The thought of his promise gave him renewed strength to face what he must.
He followed her up the hill to where the ridge leveled out. A cliff rose to the right before opening to a field of wildflowers. They headed to the end, to the lookout, as a golden eagle flew high overhead, calling for its mate.
The sight caused his heart to tremble.
Hannah had dismounted and was tying Orion’s reins to the single pine growing out of well-worn rock when he pulled up and swung off Flame. Securing her a fair distance away, he turned and let his eyes follow Hannah.
There was a great and powerful silence on this ridge. He’d looked for weeks to find it after Sarah died when Hannah had sobbed on his shoulder, telling him brokenly how she’d hated her sister being buried in the dark, shadowed cemetery in town. They’d brought her hope box here, the one with her treasures and wishes, and they’d buried it under the great pine.
When Hannah knelt beside the tree and put her hand on the ground where her sister’s memories rested, he took his hat off and held a moment of silence.
Sarah had been special to him growing up too, like an older sister he would have wished for. Losing her had been hard for him to understand. Still was, he realized. Whether he was twelve or twenty-nine, he didn’t understand why a sweet little girl had to be taken away like that. Taken from thepeople who loved her, especially when she had her whole life ahead of her.
Seeing Hannah wipe hard-fought tears from her eyes while shielding her face from view had pretty much done him in. Her tears usually meant the end of the world, and his defenses against her were thin enough. Seeing her pain—knowing he’d caused plenty—had him closing the distance and pulling her upright. “She wouldn’t want you to keep crying like this,” he whispered, aching at the sight of her tearstained cheeks.
“I still miss her.” Her hoarse voice tore a hole in him. “When I saw Mom yesterday, she said she sees me and wonders what Sarah would have grown up looking like. I look in the mirror and wonder too.”
He fought the urge to bring her to his chest and hold her. God, maybe coming here had been a mistake.
She gave a shaky breath and pulled away. “I’m all right. It’s an old pain, you know, and a familiar one at that.”
“Doesn’t make it hurt less.” He stared at her. “It’s been seven years since you left, and it still hurts to think about you, least of all see you.”
Her throat moved before she stalked off. Swinging around, she planted her feet and put her hands on her hips. He braced himself. He’d always thought a man had to measure himself against the land. Now he had to measure himself against his own mettle.
“Then how could you turn to Amber? Barely a month after I’d left.”
His legs turned downright rubbery, so he went over and sat on the edge of a boulder. “It was one night. I was drunk. She was probably too. God knows she was aggressive. You know how much she’d always hated you. Well, she went at me, over and over again, about how you’d up and left me. She was in tune with all the whispers in my head.”
Hannah didn’t say anything, her tortured eyes reading his soul.
Now for the toughest part. He gripped his knees, holding her gaze. “It was over in moments. I didn’t have a rubber on me, and she didn’t care. I’m not proud of any of it. I didn’t see her again until she told me she was pregnant, and even then, I didn’t believe her.”
She sank down with her back against the pine tree like her legs had given out on her too.
“When Amber brought proof—and believe me, I asked—it was clear she was and that the baby was mine. I couldn’t turn away then. He was my son.”
She hiked up her knees and set her chin on top. “I’ve spent many nights wondering why she wanted to keep the baby, especially while people knew all she wanted was to land you and beat me.”
He laughed darkly. “When I said I’d marry her, she thought she’d have an in. That was her mistake. I never touched her again, Hannah. I swear to you. Hand to heart. Not even on our sham of a wedding night, with all her kicking, screaming, and pleading. When she realized it wasn’t going to be a real marriage, things got worse. A lot worse. I’ve paid in ways you’ll never imagine.”
Silent tears were falling down her cheeks, tearing him in two.
God, he was still paying.
