Page 155 of Beat of Love
Her heart rate sped up, and her blood thrummed though her veins. And just for a moment, she wished with everything in her for the otherwise.
Tsk-tsk-ing, Maebh took the ring and held out her other hand, flicking her fingers in a “gimme” gesture.
“Maebh …” Brandy protested.
The woman merely raised a single eyebrow, her vivid gaze daring her.
Brandy gave a rueful sigh, realizing the futility of arguing with the strong-willed woman, and placed her left hand in Maebh’s. But the surge of disappointment that it wasn’t Rafferty pushing the ring over her knuckle and to the base of her finger unsettled her tremendously.
“Ah. A perfect fit,” Maebh said.
She viewed her hand.
Dammit.
The ring looked like it was made for her.
Like it belonged.
A solid and warm weight.
But then her heart spasmed, the sharp pang jerking her back to reality.
It was fake.
Fake, fake. Fake.
The word echoed in her mind, mocking her.
“Mo stóirin,” Maebh murmured and moved closer, placing her hand on Brandy’s chest. It was as if the old woman’s eyes — so like her grandson’s — could see right into her soul and discern her deepest secret. “Be strong and let your heart fill with courage. And hope.” A grin tugged at Maebh’s lips. “Never lose hope.”
And even now, a day later, heat spread across Brandy-Lyn’s chest and flooded her face. She had never been the focus of Maebh’s preternatural ability. And it annoyed her that someone had discerned her closely held secret. She viewed her ringless finger, determined not to wear the ring unless necessary.
It made her hope.
She shifted in her seat, trying to alleviate the stiffness of her back. She’d only stopped to gas up and use the bathroom, and her stomach protested the lack of food. Maybe, deep down, she knew if she spent time dawdling over a meal, she would give in to her doubts and turn back to Texas.
A green road sign drew her eye. Bold arrows pointing east and west.
Brandy slowed and pulled off the road, her heart thumping.
This was it.
Her symbolic line — the border between Kansas and Nebraska.
Tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, she peered through the windshield.
Continue, you’re committing.
She let out a half-manic laugh. “Committing to what, exactly, Brandy?”
A chance to draw closer to the man you love. The man determined to not let you in, yet when he needed help, you were the one he turned to.
Or do a U-turn, drive back to Texas, and continue life as is. Forever wondering what if?
“You’re foolish for dropping everything and haring off to Nebraska,” she muttered, slammed the truck into drive, and pulled off with a spray of gravel.
Eighty odd miles to go. Just over an hour.
