A Minute to Smile Page 20

  Alexander didn’t move as it dampened his shirt and hair. It was a warm rain and he closed his eyes, lifting his face to the life-giving water, feeling it pool and spill over his cheeks. It trickled over his scalp and wet his neck and still he stood there, head thrown back.

  Feeling it.

  What if nothing happened to any of them? What if Esther and Daniel and Jeremy all lived to be ninety?

  He straightened abruptly. And as if Susan was a ghost, he saw her clearly in the gray rain, laughing at his foolishness. In memory, he heard her voice: You’ll be sorry at the end of your days, Alexander.

  And with incredible, blinding clarity, he realized Susan had had no regrets. She had gone to her grave much too soon, but on that grim, cold winter day four years before, she had bid farewell to a life that had been worth bidding farewell to.

  He thought of Esther in her kitchen after their day in the mountains, fingering her purple coleus with an air of wonder, tears rolling out of her eyes. He’d asked her if there was anything wrong.

  She’d raised her fabulous brown eyes and said, “I’m just too full.”

  As he had been these past months with joy and humor and love. All he wanted was to return to that circle, to the brilliance of her, to her giggling children and their bustling noise and breathtaking insights.

  He looked back at the grave and smiled.

  * * *

  Jeremy was napping upstairs. Abe and Melissa had taken Daniel to a movie. The store was empty. A soft blues ballad played on the alternative radio station. A pattering rain fell against the windows.

  Esther wandered out onto the protected porch, crossing her arms over her chest. The world was beautiful when it rained, she thought wistfully. Leaves nodded and shimmered, and the harsh edges of everything were softened.

  A figure emerged from the gray: a man, heedless of the rain that had soaked him. Esther’s heart squeezed. It was Alexander.

  He stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring at her, his face unreadable. His wild curls defied even the rain’s attempts to subdue them and sprang up in disarray over his proud, well-shaped head. The sodden shirt clung to his leanly muscular body and rain trailed in streams from the silvered beard.

  Her breath caught. And he started forward, purpose in his step.

  At the foot of the stairs, he looked up at her. “I’ve been to the graveyard,” he said.

  “Have you?” It was impossible to tell from his expression what he had come to tell her. “And?”

  He climbed the steps to the porch and looked down at her for a long moment. Beyond the porch, rain splashed against the spirea bushes and a wind blew fine mist over her face. Esther waited.

  “I found myself wondering what I’d be feeling if it were you in that grave.”

  She nodded slowly, her arms folded protectively over her chest.

  His eyes were anything but opaque now—the kaleidoscope irises gleamed with a hundred colors, a thousand. “All I could think about,” he continued softly, “was how I’d feel if you lived instead and I let you spend all your days with someone else.”

  A wild hope fluttered alive in her heart and she looked at him. “And?”

  He cocked one eyebrow. “I’ve been a coward and a fool, Esther.” He took her hand. “But I love you and if you think you’d be willing to tutor me, I’d really like to learn to live again.”

  She looked at him, in wonder and lingering fear. “I’m not the fix-it lady,” she said. “I can’t heal you of the past, Alexander. I can’t even promise you that nothing terrible will happen if you love me—us.”

  Gravely he smiled. “I know.”

  Tears, always ready for any emotional moment in her life, sprang to her eyes and Esther relented, throwing her arms around his neck, feeling his wet lips upon her temple, his wet clothes cold against her body. “Oh, Alexander, I’ve missed you so much.”

  His hug was rib-cracking. “I’ve been miserable without you, my love,” he growled against her hair. “I want to grow old with you, and watch the children grow and eat strange things and laugh.” He lifted his head and took her face in his hands. “No matter how many days it is that we have, I want the rest of mine to be spent with you.”

  She kissed him. “I love you,” she whispered over her tears. “And see what you’ve done, you made me cry silly tears again.”

  He chuckled and brushed one away with his thumb. “Not many people remember to cry for joy anymore. It’s a wonderful gift.” He bent and reverently licked the rain from one bared shoulder, grabbing her closer when her knees weakened. His voice was rumblingly suggestive when he spoke again. “Where are the children?”

  She told him.

  He chuckled, then took her hand and pulled her inside. He locked the door and turned the sign to Closed and pulled her upstairs. Esther’s heart beat a frantic rhythm as she watched him. “What are we doing?” she breathed as he closed her bedroom door.

  He shucked his shirt, baring the magnificent chest, then reached for her, pushing the yellow blouse from her body. “Celebrating,” he said.

  And then, somehow, they were making love, half-dressed, joining once more in silvery light. It was exhilarating and rushed and no less sacred than any other time, but this time he breathed into her ear, over and over, “I love you, Esther.”

  Afterward, he cradled her close and told her that he’d thought of himself as a tree and how the various disasters of his life had affected him, including Jeremy.

  “So I thought, you see,” he said, leaning over her, “that I would die. But standing there in the graveyard, I realized I’m old oak now, weathered and wounded, but very strong.”

  Esther smiled, thinking of her lion and king images of him. Whichever metaphor one used, she thought, it didn’t matter. The wounded lion was roaring, the king was safely on his throne, the tree would weather the storms of life.

  “I’m sorry, Esther, for having put you through this.”

  She leaned on his chest, kissing the tangle of hair. “I told you before, I’m a patient woman.”

  “Well, I’m not a patient man. How quickly can you settle your affairs and marry me?”

  “Marry you?”

  He grinned, his eyes flashing. “Yes, marry. I’m rather old-fashioned about these things, you see. I don’t think it provides a good example for the children if we simply live in sin.” He sobered. “Because I don’t want to waste another single minute of whatever life we have together, Esther. I want you with me.”

  Another single minute.

  “How about the end of the week, then?” she said.

  “Done.” He kissed her soundly.

  “Mommy!” came a voice from down the hall.

  Esther looked at him. “Are you sure that you’re ready for this?”

  “Yes.” His eyes blazed turquoise and blue—but at last the bleak gray was gone.

  She grinned. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Two weeks later, Esther stood in the middle of the room that had belonged to Susan. It had been a hot day and the breeze billowing the curtains outward was cool and welcome.

  All the boxes had been gathered and sorted, the closet cleaned out. Esther had scrubbed the hardwood floor to a glowing sheen, washed and rehung the curtains and dusted off the sewing machine. Wryly she glanced at it, wondering if she’d ever use it—domestic talents had never come easily to her. Still, it might come in handy.

  The children had been in bed for an hour, and in his study, Alexander was savoring the quiet of boys abed as he did every evening. A creature of habit, her lion, but as long as the routines left time for Esther, she didn’t mind. In a little while, she would go downstairs and they would sip tea or cognac, play chess or watch an old movie—then end up, as always, tangled together in his big bed. The thought made her smile.

  Piwacket jumped into the room through an open window, landing with an ungraceful thud. She whirled, then frowned at him. “How do you get up here?”
she asked him.

  He rubbed her ankles, bumping his head against her knees. She smiled and reached down to pat his haunches as she would a dog, then straightened and picked up the last box, intending to carry it downstairs with her when she left.

  At the door, she paused, looking back to see if she’d forgotten anything. The room glowed peach and white, emanating the sort of tranquility she’d imagined so often when she’d seen it from outside. And for just an instant, she was struck with the series of lucky coincidences that had placed her in this room.

  A sudden gust of wind tossed the curtain by the sewing machine up and over the table. Esther spied the stack of papers sitting there, which she’d left for Alexander to go through. The hem of the curtain had caught on the corners of the pile and a wind ruffled them, tossing several into the center of the room.

  Esther dropped the box and hurried across the room. She could see the photo of Susan on top, the curtain caught on its edge. As she reached out to rescue it, the wind sucked out, dragging the curtain back with it. Esther bumped her hip in an effort to grab the curtain and swore mildly, then rounded the table, seeing the photo floating alone at the end of the curtain. Relieved, she grabbed a handful of fabric to draw it back inside.

  At that instant, another gust of wind tore the photo from the hem of the curtain. Esther watched it flutter away, borne high into the trees. She watched, leaning out the window into the night, until it danced out of view.

  “Lose something?” Alexander asked as he teasingly swatted her behind.

  Bemused, Esther turned. For a moment, she looked at him, frowning a little. If she were a different sort of woman—

  Then she smiled and reached up to touch her husband’s face. “No,” she said quietly. “I found something.”

  “So did I,” he said, his voice husky. He kissed her. Overflowing with love, Esther threw her arms around him and hugged him, closing her eyes as she thought of the picture fluttering away into the night.

  Thank you, she breathed silently. “I love you, Alexander,” she said aloud, her heart bursting with joy.

  “And I,” he said, lifting his head to smile down at her, “love you, Esther Stone.”

  ~~###~~

  For Ram, the fierce and tender lion who is my husband.

  BARBARA SAMUEL O'NEAL

  Barbara Samuel (also known as Barbara O’Neal) is the bestselling author of more than 40 books, and has won Romance Writers of America’s RITA award an astounding six times, and she has been a finalist 13 times. Her books have been published around the world, including France, Germany, Italy, and Australia/New Zealand, among others. One of her recent women’s fiction titles, The Lost Recipe for Happiness (written as Barbara O’Neal) went back to print eight times, and her book How to Bake a Perfect Life was a Target Club pick in 2011.

  Whether set in the turbulent past or the even more challenging present, Barbara’s books feature strong women, families, dogs, food, and adventure—whether on the road or toward the heart.

  Now living in her hometown of Colorado Springs, Barbara lives with her partner, Christopher Robin, an endurance athlete, along with her dog and cats. She is an avid gardner, hiker, photographer and traveler who loves to take off at dawn to hike a 14er or head to a faraway land. She loves to connect with readers and is very involved with them on the Internet.

  You may read more about Barbara’s books at her main website, find her at her A Writer Afoot blog and on Facebook.

  Visit Barbara on the Web!

  www.BarbaraSamuel.com

  www.AWriterAfoot.com

  www.BarbaraONeal.com

  ~~~

  BONUS MATERIAL

  Please enjoy excerpts of some of Barbara's other Books:

  Excerpt: The Last Chance Ranch

  Excerpt: Jezebel's Blues

  Excerpt: Rainsinger

  Excerpt: Light of Day

  Excerpt: Summer's Freedom

  Excerpt: In The Midnight Rain

  Excerpt: Breaking the Rules

  Excerpt: Walk in Beauty

  Additional titles, including those from other genre, are listed at the end of the excerpts or click HERE to jump there.

  Barbara is very active writing new books and converting her backlist into eBooks. To find the most up to date information, please visit her website.

  THE

  LAST

  CHANCE

  RANCH

  (Excerpt)

  by

  Barbara Samuel

  PROLOGUE

  On her twenty-second birthday, Tanya Bishop took her three-year-old son Antonio to see a Disney movie. They returned home late, and Antonio was asleep on her shoulder when she unlocked the door.

  She knew Victor had found her again the minute she stepped into the house. Something just didn’t feel right.

  Halting on the threshold with Antonio asleep in her arms, Tanya listened to the darkness. Her instincts prickled. From the kitchen came the predictable plop of water from the leaky faucet, and the warm hum of the refrigerator. Though she waited a full minute, holding her breath, she heard nothing else.

  Cautiously, she eased in far enough to flip on the lights in the living room. The lamp on the coffee table burst alive and illuminated a room that looked exactly as it had when she left. A little cluttered but basically clean.

  Still she held the slack body of her son against her and waited, listening for another moment. Nothing.

  Tanya walked to the kitchen, inky dark at the end of the hail. Her footsteps made the old floor creak. In her arms, Antonio stirred and lifted his head, then settled it again on her shoulder. She could feel his hot, moist breath on her neck.

  In the kitchen, she lost her nerve to be still and quiet, and flipped on the light in a rush. The fluorescent tubing spluttered as it always did, the gases heating slowly, dimly, then flaring to abrupt life.

  On the floor, in shattered, tiny pieces, was Tanya’s china. The exquisite saucers and one-of-a-kind dinner plates that she had collected for years were shattered all over the kitchen. He’d ground some below his boots, for the china was powdered in places, and the linoleum below it gouged with the ferocity of Victor’s rage.

  Tanya stared at the leavings of his violence and fought back tears. She had a restraining order against him, but he ignored it. Seven times she’d called the police and signed complaints. In desperation, she had gone into hiding, moving every three months so he would never know for sure where she was. He tracked her each time, once all the way to Santa Fe.

  A deep and painful ache of fear beat in her chest. This time, he would kill her. Two days ago, he’d accosted her at a supermarket, in front of witnesses, and the police had arrested him. Now he was out of jail, and he knew where to find her.

  Very slowly, she backed out of the kitchen.

  * * *

  It all counted against her later.

  Tanya settled Tonio on the couch and filled his day care bag with extra clothes, his teddy bear and the blanket he could not sleep without, plenty of underwear and his favorite toys. Then she sat down in her kitchen, brushing shards of china from the table and chair, and wrote her son a letter which she tucked in among his things.

  She took him to a day care home she trusted, then drove back to her house. It was just past eleven.

  In the ruins of her kitchen, she sat down to wait.

  And as she waited, she remembered… Victor, winking at her across the crowded school auditorium the first time she’d seen him. The gentle trembling of his hands as he kissed her the first time. The passionate avowals of love he’d pressed upon her. The flowers he brought in apology when his temper had got the better of him. The jealous rages that had become more and more frequent….

  At 2:37, she heard Victor at the back door, drunk and cursing as he jimmied the lock. She lifted the phone and dialed 911.

  Victor kicked the door. “I’m gonna kill you, Annie!” He kicked it again and the windows rattled under the impact.

  To the girl at the end of the emer
gency line, Tanya said, “I need the police at 132 Mariposa. A man is breaking into my house.” She knew if she said it was her ex-husband the police wouldn’t come as quickly.

  Victor roared an obscenity and kicked the door. Tanya winced. “Please hurry,” she begged and dropped the phone. She ran for her bedroom, hearing the threshold splinter as Victor barreled into the back room. He roared his name for her. Tanya scrambled in her drawer for the loaded revolver she’d put there, and rushed into the bathroom.

  In the bathroom, she locked the door and crouched in a corner, praying in the nonsensical words of the terrified, “Please, please, please.” The words meant please make him go away and please don’t let him find me and please don’t let him hurt me anymore. Last time, oh, last time—

  “Annie!” In the living room, she heard things breaking, and chairs being overturned, and a low growling roar that struck a panting, mindless terror through her. He didn’t even know he did it. But that animal sound meant his temper was beyond all mortal limits, that drink and rage had turned him into a beast.

  A beast that had mauled her in the past.

  Not again. She clasped the gun between her violently trembling, sweaty hands. In the distance, she heard sirens.

  Please, please, please.

  “Annie!” Something else was turned over. He kicked or hit the bathroom door and Tanya couldn’t halt the sob of terror that escaped her lips. She closed her eyes as he began to batter the door, lifted the gun as he yelled her name again. Tears came. Tears for everything—so many good things and so many bad—ran in great washes down her cheeks. She had to use a wrist to wipe them away.

  The sirens came closer. The door gave with a splintering sound. Victor, savage as a rabid bear, tumbled into the room.

  Not again! her heart cried. Not again.

  Sobbing, Tanya aimed the gun at his chest and pulled the trigger.

  It was the last thing she remembered.