The Year of Luminous Love Read online

  By the time she arrived at the ranch, Ciana was tied in knots. What could she say? What words did she have to help him? She got out of the truck and walked to the bunkhouse, where each hired hand had a small private room. Jon was in unit six—Arie had told her and Ciana hadn’t forgotten the number. She rapped on the wood door.

  From inside, a gruff voice shouted, “Go away!”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s me, Jon. It’s Ciana.”

  No response. She tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked. She opened the door and stepped inside to a room lit by a small lamp on a bedside table. Jon sat propped on the bed, wearing jeans but bare-chested and barefoot. A fan circulated warm, stuffy air from the foot of the bed. He held a jelly jar of amber liquid. A half-filled whiskey bottle rested on the floor. Pain, unmasked and raw, shadowed his face.

  Her heart ached for him. “Hey, cowboy.”

  He tipped his head to one side, raised his glass to her. “Well, well, looks like Bill’s called in the cavalry. Have you come to save me?”

  She walked to the bed and stood looking down at him. “I’m right sorry about your horse—”

  “Bonanza,” Jon interrupted. “He had a name.”

  She felt stupid for not being more sensitive. “Will you tell me about it?”

  “What’s a man say when he’s killed his best friend?”

  “He recognizes that it was an act of mercy.”

  Jon took a gulp from his jelly jar. “I raised that horse from a colt. His dam rejected him, and I hand-fed him until he could make it on his own. He followed me everywhere if I didn’t tie him up. He was a great horse.”

  Pity for Jon, for Bonanza and for the loss swarmed Ciana’s heart. She stood woodenly by the bed, still looking for words to comfort him but not finding them.

  Jon cocked his head. “Sit down. Have a drink.” He scooted over, patted the rumpled sheets next to him, and poured more liquor into the jar. She hesitated. He said, “Can’t give comfort looking down on someone, Ciana.”

  She sat, facing him sideways, watching beads of his sweat trickle downward, where they got caught in his chest hair. Heat rose to her cheeks. He had been wearing more clothes on the summer night they’d first met. Now, in spite of the circumstances, their proximity, his bare skin and hardened abdomen, felt more intimate than when she’d lain in his arms.

  He held out the jar to her. “I’m sharing.”

  “No thanks.” She felt the fan ruffle her hair from behind. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “We were chasing a spooked cow. Bonanza hit a hole, went down. He was in a world of hurt, thrashing on the ground and screaming. Ever hear a horse scream, Ciana? Bad sound.” He paused, sipped from the jar.

  “You couldn’t let him suffer.” She glanced across him to the far side of the slim mattress. She saw a long-nosed revolver, a Colt .45. Her stomach clenched. Deep down she knew this was the gun he’d used to put down his horse. Just how depressed was he? Could he be trusted with the gun tonight? He was in pain and drunk too. Drunk people did stupid things. She braced her arm on the far side of the bed, leaning across his hips as casually as possibly when he raised the jar to his mouth. Her palm inched over the sheet until her fingers closed over the cold metal.

  With a quickness that stunned her, Jon’s hand clamped around his wrist. “What are you doing?”

  She startled. “Um … thought I’d move your gun.”

  “You thinking I might shoot myself?”

  She felt color drain from her face. “Thought I’d just move it out of harm’s way.”

  “Let go of it.”

  She didn’t. “Just a precaution.”

  Her words stopped when he flipped her over as if she were a calf he’d roped. His agility amazed her, and in one fluid motion she found herself stretched out on the bed, with Jon straddling her and holding her wrists over her head with one hand. The gun was lost with the movement. She bucked her body but couldn’t budge him. “Let go! I’m not your enemy.”

  “You were stealing my gun.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m just going to take it with me. I’ll return it in the clear light of day.” She attempted to scoot from under him but couldn’t.

  The bedside lamp threw light on his features, etching his anger in clear, clean lines. “Know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

  Her heart hammered, alarmed at the way he was staring down at her. “That you’d like to shoot me?”

  A half smile turned up one side of his mouth. He leaned lower, hunger filling his green eyes. “I’m thinking I’d like to finish what we started at the beginning of the summer.”

  His mouth came down on hers. She struggled, tried to twist away, but soon found herself as lost in his kiss as the first time. She stopped fighting and tasted the heady, smoky flavor of the whiskey on his tongue, felt his hard body as he stretched out along the length of her. She thrust herself upward, this time not to remove him but to mold into him. He released her wrist and she flung her arms around him, worked her fingers down his broad back, felt gooseflesh rise on his taut skin. His mouth traveled down the side of her neck, and his tongue darted into the rise of her cleavage. Ciana gasped.

  He broke off and rose up, his expression burning into her. She couldn’t control the pounding of her heart, the roughness of her breath. She didn’t want him to stop touching her. She let him unbutton her shirt, peel it away.

  In his soft Texas drawl, he whispered, “I want you, Ciana. I love you. God help me. I’ve never said those words to another woman, and that’s the truth.”

  Her heart believed him. “Not even your mama?”

  His half smile appeared, and he nuzzled her neck. “Not since I was ten.”

  “Long time passing.” She could hardly swallow.

  He searched her face like a man taking a long, slow drink of water, studying every feature as if memorizing each one. He tangled his fingers into her hair and drew his thumbs down her temples and onto her cheeks. He bent lower, whispered, “Close your eyes.”

  She did as he asked and seconds later felt his lips on her eyelids in a kiss as soft as a flower petal.

  His lips trailed downward to caress her mouth, draw in her tongue.

  An aching tenderness bled through her. Her chin trembled and tears gathered in her eyes. There was no firestorm now, only a slow, delicious sense of belonging. This time, when their kiss broke, he traced the path of her tears with his mouth, drinking in each drop. Her arms tightened around him. She loved him too. But when she gazed upward, a face formed in the shifting shadows of the ceiling—Arie’s face. Ciana sobbed aloud and pushed Jon away. Her voice broke as she whispered, “No.”

  Looking confused, he watched her weep as she tugged her unbuttoned shirt together and closed her arms across her chest. Jon flipped himself onto his back in the bed, taking long, ragged breaths.

  “I … I can’t. I’m sorry …,” she said, tears running freely.

  “Don’t say that, because I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.”

  She rose up on her elbow to peer down at him, wiping her cheeks, feeling coolness from the fan where only his warmth had covered her moments before.

  His arm was thrown across his face, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow. “Just go,” he said.

  Shakily, Ciana eased off the bed and stood on rubbery legs. “Jon—”

  “Go!”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I only came to … to help.”

  He said nothing.

  At the door, she looked over her shoulder to where he lay unmoving. He was beautiful to her, a temptation too strong for her to resist forever. “Why is it that we end up this way when one of us is drunk?”

  “I’m stone-cold sober now,” he mumbled.

  She had no comeback for him.

  Ciana slipped through the doorway and hurried to her truck. She drove home fast along dark country roads, without regard for traffic rules, pushing the old truck hard, ignoring the engine needle pointing hot on t
he temperature gauge. Her teeth chattered, not from cold, because the night air was sticky, but from what had almost happened between her and Jon Mercer. He’d said he loved her. She knew she loved him, but so did Arie, her friend, and friends didn’t betray friends. An impossible situation. Crying hard, she pressed her boot harder onto the gas pedal, racing temptation and memories that chased her like screaming banshees.

  “How’s Cory?” Arie asked at the nurses’ station, still breathless from the breakneck drive to Nashville and the footrace from the parking lot to the pediatric floor.

  “Arie! Thank heaven you’re here. He’s so scared and he keeps asking for his mother. And also you. Thank you for coming.”

  Arie nodded. “Where’s Lotty?”

  “She’s in Idaho on a concert tour, but she’s chartered a private jet and is flying home now. Cory became sick at home, and his au pair brought him into the ER this afternoon. His doctor checked him in a little while ago. He’s having a terrible reaction to his chemo.”

  “And his daddy?” Arie knew that Lotty and her movie-star husband had split two years before, but certainly he’d be wanting to be with his son.

  “In Poland shooting a movie. We haven’t been able to reach him yet.”

  Arie’s nerves tightened. “Is he aware of what’s going on?”

  “It’s touch and go.”

  Arie rubbed her eyes, weary to the bone. She didn’t want to be the person with Cory if he died. She didn’t have the strength, the fortitude to be his pillar if he slipped away in the night before his mama arrived. Still she knew she couldn’t abandon him either. No one should have to face death alone, least of all a child.

  The nurse walked Arie to Cory’s private room, where a woman in her midtwenties sat beside the hospital bed. The girl, looking panicked, jumped up when Arie entered the room. She turned out to be Maria, the au pair, a Columbian girl hired to watch Cory during Lotty’s short tour. Maria was not faring well under the circumstances. Arie took her hand. No one expected this to happen now. “If you want to go back to the house, I’ll stay here until Lotty arrives.”

  Maria looked conflicted. Her job was to stay with Cory. “I … I don’t know.”

  Just then, Cory opened his eyes. When he saw Arie, his pale face struggled to make a smile. “Arie, you’re here,” he said through cracked lips.

  She snapped on latex gloves from a nearby box, knowing that his immune system was compromised because of his chemo and the gloves guarded against germs. “I’m right here, sweetie.” She took the child’s hand.

  “Where’s Mama?”

  “She’s flying home right now.”

  “Will you stay with me?”

  “Of course I will.” Arie saw relief in Maria’s expression.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Arie grabbed a cup of ice chips from the bedside table and fished out a small wedge, placing it on Cory’s tongue. “You know these will make your mouth feel better.” Arie picked up a sterile cotton-tipped stick and rolled it in a jar of lemon-flavored petroleum jelly and smoothed it over his lips. “Don’t lick it off,” she said when his tongue darted out of his mouth.

  “Tastes yucky.” Cory screwed up his face.

  “Pretend it’s a greasy French fry,” she urged with a smile.

  Cory’s eyelids half closed and pain racked his little body. Arie pressed the button on his morphine drip to bring him relief. As a child, she’d learned to press the button for herself, and she knew the drip was set to ease pain quickly.

  Soon his face relaxed. His eyes opened but held the glaze of the drug. “You’ll hold my hand till Mama comes?”

  “Absolutely.” She looked to Maria, who turned over her bedside chair to Arie. Tears had flooded the girl’s eyes, and Arie gestured that she didn’t have to stay. Maria nodded and mimed that she’d be down the hall in the waiting room. Arie watched her go, wishing she could do the same.

  Cory asked, “You won’t let go?”

  “Course not.” She smoothed his damp hair off his forehead, curling tendrils with her fingers.

  “Even if the angels come for me?”

  A lump rose in Arie’s throat. Lotty must have told him as much, not realizing that he might be afraid of leaving this earth before he could say goodbye to her. “I’ll shoo them away,” Arie told him.

  She watched him drift into sleep and thought about how her family had sat diligently by her bed when she’d been younger. She’d never been alone. Someone was always beside her bed to pat her, talk to her, give her ice chips, calm her fears. Chemo had come a long way since those earlier days—she’d done well through the last round during her senior year. Mercifully she’d kept her hair, but now the murderous cancer had returned, this time so fast. At least previous treatments had allowed her a few years of normalcy in between.

  Dr. Austin had called her several times since her CT scan results, pushing her to come in and get into a treatment protocol. She still had not told anyone, not her friends, not her family. Jon knew because he’d caught her that day crying in the rain. She wasn’t sure why she was holding out. What difference did it make if another treatment program ruined her freshman year of college as it had her last year of high school? Maybe it was the sense of pity she’d invoke from everyone. The pity party had gotten old. Been there. Done that.

  Cory groaned and Arie patted his arm. “I’m right here, honey. You rest.” The child settled down and her thoughts drifted to Jon. She melted inside every time she saw him. She loved him so much! A one-sided love, she realized, but it hardly mattered. Just being near him made her heart sing. Yet in the beginning when she’d dared to hope he would want her, one-sided love hadn’t mattered to her. Now it was beginning to matter because he was kind to her, but there was no passion for her in his eyes. She knew it but lived with hope.

  His job with Pickins would last until October. She’d asked him if he might stay on, as she knew about his father’s stroke and the old man’s refusal to leave his run-down trailer out in the boonies for an assisted-living facility. Jon had told her, “He’s a stubborn old cuss, but I can’t force him to move. So I’ll head to Texas when this job’s finished.”

  Crestfallen, she’d forced herself to smile all the while realizing that she wasn’t a strong enough attraction to keep him in Tennessee. And once she went back into treatment, she’d be less of one. Her first college classes started soon. Ciana’s too. Except Ciana would move to the Vanderbilt Nashville campus. And with Eden focused 100 percent on Tony—well, life as she’d known it was changing forever. And facing another round of radiation and chemo wasn’t something she wanted to do.

  Her eyelids grew heavy. Keeping hold of Cory’s hand, she laid her cheek across her outstretched arm on the bed. In minutes, she fell asleep.

  The bustle of activity awakened Arie.

  “Sorry to wake you,” Lotty said in a whispery voice.

  Arie bolted upright, stiff and groggy with her arm numb. She yawned, shook her arms as pinpricks of feeling returned. “You’re here … He’ll be so happy. He’s been asking for you.”

  “Got here as soon as I could. I never should have left him, but he’d seemed okay.” Lotty was wearing jeans and an oversized shirt but was still in stage makeup. Face glitter caught in the dim light and the hair piled on her head was studded with glimmers of sparkling jewels. She looked every bit the star that she was. “How can I ever thank you for staying with my son?”

  Arie stood on wobbly legs. “He wanted you. He substituted me.” She stretched. “What time is it?”

  “Four in the morning.” Lotty leaned over the bed to trail kisses down Cory’s cheeks. “Hey big boy, Mama’s here.”

  His eyes flickered open and he grinned. “Arie said you’d come.”

  “And so I have.”

  “She kept the angels away so I could hug you.” He lifted one arm; the other, laced with IV lines, was strapped to the bed. She leaned into his embrace. “Your hair’s all scratchy.”

  “Hairspray. I’ll wash it out
after we eat breakfast together.”

  Arie backed out of the room. Watching the tender reunion from the doorway, she saw the electronic lines on Cory’s monitor strengthen. Love could do that, bring someone back from the brink of the precipice.

  A nurse touched Arie’s elbow. “I’ve made up a cot for you in a private room. Get some sleep.”

  “I should go home—”

  “After you’ve slept awhile. No need to leave in the dark.”

  Arie agreed and followed the nurse to a small quiet room where she lay in the dark, still in a quandary about further treatment for a cancer that hunted her like a merciless enemy.

  Once she returned home, Ciana walked the floor, stretched out on her bed, stared at the ceiling, got up, paced the floor again, and trembled with memories of what she’d almost allowed to happen between her and Jon Mercer. She’d been on fire for him, was still on fire. But passion alone couldn’t explain away all the things she’d felt in his arms. The connection, the bond she’d experienced with him went much deeper than simple passion.

  She kept remembering her reaction to his gaze, to how his eyes had swept her face, to how his heat had soaked into her skin, and to his voice whispering, “I want you. I love you.” She wanted him too. All of him.

  Only the sudden shock of guilt had saved her from taking what she’d wanted. Hours later, guilt stalked her still. She’d come dangerously close to betraying her best friend. The code of honor stated that friends don’t betray friends. Arie loved Jon. How could Ciana take someone so precious from Arie? Hadn’t her friend been through medical hell most of her life? And now that Arie was finally healthy, what kind of a person took away another’s hope for happiness?

  Ciana would give anything to talk to her grandmother. Once during the long night, she’d closed her eyes and saw herself sitting at Olivia’s feet, resting her head in Olivia’s lap. “What can I do, Grandmother?” In the vision, Olivia stroked her tangled cinnamon-colored hair, making soothing sounds with her honeyed voice. “It will be all right, child. Don’t fret. Doing the right thing is always the best thing. It’s the Beauchamp way.”