Chapter Thirty-Three
Miles wondered when he’d developed this urge to torture himself.
There was absolutely nothing to prevent him from getting away from here.
All he had to do was hop in the car and head back into town.
In less than an hour he could be safely in his condo in the city, without that damned painting on the wall, haunting him. Torturing him.
Yet he was still here.
And no matter how often he dragged himself away from the great room, it was as if that piece of canvas painted by a man now long dead somehow controlled him.
As if it had powerful, unbreakable tendrils that unfurled and grabbed him, so that all too often he snapped out of a haze to find himself standing in front of it.
Standing in front of it remembering in vivid detail when he and Riley had made love there.
Because for him that’s what it had been, although he’d been so overwhelmed by it he hadn’t named it out loud until it was too late.
Somewhere in the distance he heard music playing. The Mannheim Steamroller versions of Christmas carols, on full blast from somewhere down the beach. He’d always loved their take on the familiar old songs, making them feel new, fresh, and alive.
Right now it just made him sad. Because he felt old, tired, and numb.
And that was something he’d never really felt before.
He’d always had energy to spare, energy he poured into his work, and had been rewarded with success he’d never imagined.
And when he’d first realized he’d found the actual place in the painting, the place that had inspired his biggest success of all, he’d been flooded with the urge to relaunch it, in the way he’d always envisioned it.
He’d been ready to pour everything he had, financially and personally, into it.
And now none of it mattered. Because for the first time in his life he’d had something that mattered more to him than his work, more to him than the dream he’d been chasing.
Because Riley Garrett was the dream he’d never dared to dream, because he’d never really believed he’d find a woman who could make him feel the way she did.
And now he’d ruined it, ruined them, by thinking he could maybe, just maybe, have both.
It was why writing that letter had taken so long, why he’d tossed a ridiculous stack of discarded pages into the fireplace at the Baylor house.
Why he’d spent so much of that time weighing, pondering, and questioning himself deep down.
Just how much was he willing to give up, to have Riley in his life?
The honest answer, when he’d finally faced it, had been simple, yet shocking.
Everything.
And standing here looking at that place, so vividly captured by the American hero who had given up even his life, he knew gut deep that he meant it.
This woman he’d known a little over a month, had changed him in some deep, fundamental way he’d never known was possible.
And because he’d let his enthusiasm for an idea run away with him, he’d ruined it.
Ruined them. Because he didn’t hold out much hope that, no matter how much of his heart and soul he’d poured into that letter, it would change anything.
Maybe fate had decided all his luck would be professional, not personal.
Maybe this was the price he had to pay, for having a life free of the kind of agony Jackson had suffered with Leah’s death, that Jackson’s sister Trista had suffered with the death of her husband, that Tucker had borne nearly being crushed by that rodeo bull. Maybe—
The knock on the door was short, sharp, but definite.
It startled him out of his unpleasant reverie.
One of the neighbors, perhaps. Every once in a while somebody would get seized by the spirit of the season and trek up and down the beach handing out whatever struck their fancy that year.
He was in no mood, but there was no way to hide that he was here.
Or someone was, anyway. That was the problem with places that had walls of windows to take advantage of the view outside—it also opened you up to peepers looking in.
He went to the door, steeling himself to make at least a civil response to whatever neighbor this was.
Or maybe it was somebody collecting for some cause, counting on seasonal generosity.
He’d prefer that enough to hand over a nice chunk.
Better than having to make nice with someone he barely knew or knew only by sight.
He pulled the door open, a fake smile plastered on his face.
The smile vanished and his jaw dropped as he stared down into Riley’s gorgeous dark blue eyes.
He had to be dreaming. Maybe he’d somehow dropped off at last, although sleep had been beyond elusive into unattainable territory since he’d come back. Some part of his weary brain realized that’s how he thought of it now, as coming back. Not coming home.
He gave a single, sharp shake of his head. She was still there, looking at him, saying nothing, just…waiting.
He reached out, slowly, certain that there would be nothing really there. You couldn’t touch a dream, after all, and that’s what this had to be. The thought of Riley here, both in this town and at his door, was so beyond absurd it spoke only to his desperation.
He touched something solid. Real. Felt the collar of her jacket, the silken touch of her hair against the back of his fingers. Yanked his hand back. He stood staring at her. And then, his eyes wide in disbelief and his voice barely a whisper, he said, “You’re real.”
Something flickered across her face, something that if he’d been more with it he would have described as almost a smile.
“Hello, Miles.”
Her voice was soft, quiet, almost hesitant. But positively, undeniably hers. Nothing else could send that kind of shiver through him.
“Riley,” he said, still feeling stunned.
“May I come in?”
The simple, ordinary request jolted him out of his shock. He stood aside to let her in. She gave him a sideways look as she stepped across the threshold. And for the first time he thought he saw a bit of unease in her expression. Nervousness. Something.
But then she spotted the painting. He heard her breath catch.
She went forward a few steps, then turned to face it head-on.
For a long moment she just stared at the incredible rendition of the place she so loved, while he scrambled to try and kick his brain into gear.
It was an unfamiliar process for him, he who usually led the meeting or discussion or even the arguments.
“He was a genius,” she finally whispered.
“Yes.”
“What a horrible thing for us, for the world, to lose that talent.”
“Yes.”
That’s the best you got, Flint? One-syllable responses?
He tried, but his brain was apparently still stunned because all he could manage was a string of one syllables. “How did you get here?”
She turned to face him then, giving him a wry smile.
“I know. Christmas Eve isn’t the best time to make a last-minute travel decision.
But there’s a charter flight service out of Devil’s Rock airport in Whiskey River.
That got me here, and I actually found an agency with a car left to rent.
” She paused as he mechanically closed the door, without thought because all he was focused on was her.
Then she added with an odd note of caution in her voice, “And Jackson told me how to get here.”
Jackson was in on this? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Hell, he wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this.
Except…a tiny kernel of something warm and bright had formed deep in his chest. He tried to quash it, not wanting the pain all over again if this really was some sort of dream, or not what he was trying not to hope it was.
Which told him how muddled he was when even that made sense to him.
“He said he had a feeling you would be here, and not in the city.”
“Have a nice discussion, did you?” He regretted the edge in his voice, knew it stemmed from his fear that his rising hopes were wrong, but she didn’t seem to react. Instead when she spoke, it was quietly, almost humbly.
“He told me because I begged him to. Because I had made a very big and very unfair assumption.”
He knew instantly what she was referring to. “So did I. I didn’t know, Riley. I really thought it might help you out.” He grimaced. “But that was kind of an insult too, wasn’t it?”
She waved that off. “Nic told me you didn’t know. About my little gimmicky invention, or its success. At least, not until…after.”
He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “I did not know.” He stiffened his spine and faced her. “But most important is this. I started to fall for you the moment I first saw you. Before I even knew your name. That day you brought the pony for Jeremy.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You felt it too? That…jolt?”
“More like an earthquake.”
She let out an audible breath. “I somehow lost everything I thought was true about you. Everything that made me decide to trust you in the first place. I felt…betrayed. As I was betrayed once before. And I felt stupid, for trusting someone from this world.”
Miles felt a churning in his gut. She looked back at the painting. She didn’t say anything more, and Miles felt the pressure building inside him. And finally the dam broke.
“I meant what I wrote, Riley. I’ll quit. If it’s what you need to be sure, I’ll quit. Sell this place, leave L.A. in the dust. I like Last Stand a lot better anyway.”
She turned back around. “You’d give this up? A life most can only dream of?”
“It’s not worth losing you.” He caught himself. “Unless…I already have.”
She didn’t answer that directly. And yet, in a way, she did. “I did read your letter.”
He went very still. And waited. Silently.
“You mean it? All of it?”
“Every word. With all my heart.”
“You want…forever?”
“I do,” he said firmly, choosing the words used under other circumstances purposefully. And for the first time he let hope rise. “I want you to marry me, Riley.”
She sucked in an audible breath, as if steeling herself.
“There’s something you should know. When I told you…
before the first time…that I wouldn’t get pregnant…
” Another deep breath, which made him realize he was holding his own.
“What I didn’t tell you is that I never will.
I can’t have children.” Her mouth twisted.
“Surgically guaranteed, when I had issues, years ago.”
“But you’re all right, otherwise?” he asked urgently, fearing whatever the cause had been was something that might come back and he’d lose her all over again.
“Yes.”
“All right, then.”
She looked up at him. “Just like that? All right, to never having kids?”
She looked as if she were in great pain, yet she was talking about never, and it’s corollary, forever.
Something hot and fierce welled up in him, entwined with the hope he’d allowed, until he thought he’d burst under the pressure.
He steadied himself. Because he’d realized there was something he could tell her to maybe ease that pain.
“Just as well,” he said. “My son…who died shortly after he was born…they told me it was genetic. I wouldn’t want to go through that again.”
“So…no kids?”
“If we get the urge, we’ll adopt. And we can hang out with some from Jackson’s operation in the meantime.”
“You’re sure?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that.”
She looked a little overwhelmed, and gave a slow, wondering shake of her head. “I made a decision long ago, that my life on the ranch was enough. That it was the one thing I could never give up.”
“I know. And you shouldn’t. Ever.”
She stared up at him, and what he saw in those eyes blasted away the last of his worry.
She meant it.
“So was that a yes?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. A definite yes. I just never thought it would be possible to have…everything,” she whispered.
“Get used to it,” he said, his voice rather gruff with emotion. And for the first time since he’d opened the door to a vision he’d never dared hope for, he pulled her into his arms. He kissed her, deeply, fiercely, realizing with a fiery sort of joy that she was just as fierce in kissing him back.
In the distance he heard the music start up again. A familiar, joyous carol of celebration. And when he finally broke the kiss to take a breath, he looked down at her and said, putting everything he could of what he was feeling into his voice, “Merry Christmas, Riley.”
She looked up at him and he saw so many things, an echo of his own happiness, the elation of mending what had been damaged, and above all the certainty of what they’d found together.
“Best Christmas ever,” she whispered.
And for a long time they simply stood there, holding each other, the music swelling their hearts, with the painting that had begun it all on the wall beside them.