Page 65 of The Promise
She nodded, pushing aside memories of that night. She could remember later. When she was alone. "We need the pendant, Michael."
"So let's go get it." He was already turning back.
"No." The word came out harsher than she'd intended. He swung around to look at her, and she forced a smile. "It'll be faster if I go back for it on my own."
He pulled her to him and kissed her hard, his cobalt gaze meeting hers. "I'll wait for you at the tunnel."
Cara reachedthe porch that wrapped around her house in record time. Taking the three steps in one stride, she inserted her key and swung open the door, bursting through the little mud room almost before the door had closed behind her.
"Cara, darling, I was wondering when you'd show up."
She froze, her eyes riveted on the gun in Nick Vargas' lean hand.
17
Moonlight sifted through the gauzy curtain, spilling out across the bed. Patrick turned away from it, pounding his pillow into submission and wondering if sleep was ever going to come. His mind was a tangle of thoughts. Michael. His father. Amos. Loralee.
He closed his eyes concentrating on the oblivion of sleep. Nothing. With a sigh, he turned onto his back, linking his hands behind his head. Shadows on the ceiling made shifting lacy patterns of light and dark. He watched as they kaleidoscoped across the wooden planks, intricate lines leading into and away from each other.
He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow the events of the last few days were like the shadows. Overlapping, connecting. If only he could find the key. Michael had disappeared first. He still couldn't bring himself to think of his brother as dead. Was there something in his disappearance that had triggered the entire chain of events?
It just didn't make any sense. Michael hadn't known Loralee, and as far as Patrick knew, he'd never had a run-in with Amos Striker. His father had babbled on about some silver, but that, inand of itself, didn't really mean anything, despite what Pete said. Duncan was always certain he'd just struck it rich. No one really believed him. And even if they did, who the hell would kill a man for a strike? A producing claim maybe, but a strike? It just didn't make any sense.
And now to complicate things he'd gone and fallen for a crib whore. One who was still grieving for her dead husband. Oh yeah, things were just peachy.
In his mind's eye, he pictured Loralee's sweet face, her small pink tongue darting out to moisten her ripe, red lips. He smothered a groan and rolled over, pulling the pillow with him. Now, to top it all off, he'd gone and made himself hard. Great. Just what he needed to help him drift off to sleep.
Loralee sat up in bed,tired of fighting off dreams of Amos Striker's leering face. She pushed the hair out of her eyes, and got out of bed, crossing to the window, pulling the curtain back. Light flooded the room. Its presence calming. She was safe. Outside, a slight breeze ruffled the silver-washed grass, bending the blades in unison almost as if they were dancing a reel, following the commands of an unseen caller.
She wondered what it would feel like to dance with Patrick, his strong hands guiding her through the intricate steps. She pushed the thought away. It was highly unlikely that they'd ever be attending a dance together. The Macpherson's were well thought of in these parts. She rubbed her arms, a sudden chill chasing down her spine. No, they'd never be able to dance together.
Her thoughts turned to Mary. She wondered if her baby even remembered her. She'd heard somewhere that babies hadno memory. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she wondered what her life might have been like if… She bit back the thought. No sense in wasting time on 'what ifs.'
She turned from the window, no nearer to sleep than she'd been ten minutes ago. Maybe some pie would help. She made her way to the door of Michael's room, relieved that she hadn't made any noise. The last thing she wanted to do was wake everyone up.
She moved cautiously into the darkened room, jumping when a wheezing snore erupted from a dark corner. The noise repeated itself, and she relaxed, smiling. Arless.
A slice of moonlight cut across the floor, and she realized the front door was open. Since the door locked from the inside, that meant someone had gone out. And since Pete was sleeping in his quarters and Arless was snoring in the corner, that meant Patrick.
Her heart fluttered at the thought, but she clamped down on the feelings. She'd had experience trying to cross over from her appointed place in life. It didn't work. And she wasn't about to go and set herself up for that kind of heartache again.
Still, it couldn't hurt to talk to the man. After all they were both awake. Without so much as a by your leave, her traitorous feet took steps toward the open door.
He was sitting on the steps, his head buried in his hands, the slump of his shoulders telling her his state of mind. So much had happened to him in such a short time. It would be hard for anyone to bear. But Duncan had always said Patrick was real sensitive.
He was a tall man, just past the bloom of boyhood really, and there was something compelling about him. Something that reached out to her. She shook her head. There was no sense in turning camaraderie into fantasy.
"Loralee? Is that you?"
Startled she stepped back a pace, stopping herself when she realized he'd turned to look at her. "I…I didn't mean to bother you. I was just…" She tried again. "I couldn't sleep." She shrugged helplessly, hoping she didn't sound as foolish as she felt.
"It's all right. I couldn't sleep either." He patted the space on the step next to him.
She frowned, telling herself the thing to do was head for high ground before she was in over her head. But the next thing she knew, she was settling in beside him like she'd been doing it all her life.
"You worried about Amos?" Patrick asked.
"Some. I can't help wondering if he's out there somewhere, waiting for me."
