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Authors: Susan Wiggs
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wedding.
Moments passed. They both stood unmoving. Some part of Isabel yearned for him so fiercely that she nearly wept. Then, before she could decide whether or not to go to him, he turned on his heel and strode away.
She felt a deep, invisible agony rip through her, but she stood there mute and helpless. She wanted to be angry, wanted to blame him for her doubts, but he was ignoring her, stalking past dancing couples and groups of people chatting together.
She should not have been surprised when he stepped onto the low platform and picked up an acoustic guitar. But she was. Somehow, she had managed to forget that Dan was a musician, a performer. An artist.
The lights dropped even lower, and the other musicians tapered down the tune they were playing. The fiddler set a mike in front of Dan.
He was surrounded by shadow, alone in a pool of light as he had been when she had seen him for the first time. As perhaps he had always been. When he lifted an unseeing gaze to the listeners in the room, her heart lurched. How well she remembered that unfathomable look.
His long brown hands worked magic on the battered old guitar, drawing out chords of melancholic sweetness. It was the music of lonely places in the heart, of chances missed, of lost souls looking for a welcome somewhere.
Dan’s gift with music had not diminished since his retirement. Instead, Isabel knew instantly that his talent had intensified and deepened. He had come back to theplace where his soul had been made, and she heard a new awareness in his mesmerizing voice.
The words were simple, a refrain that rang true, that made women reach out and sidle closer to the men beside them, and made the men gently take the hands of their partners.
Through it all, Isabel stood alone, stricken, watching, knowing only one thing for certain.
She had never stopped loving Dan Black Horse.
There. She admitted it to herself. And it was the truest thought she’d had in years. She had let anger and fear eclipse her love and darken her heart, but the love had never gone away. It had just been obscured by a hundred other things. And she had allowed it. So had Dan.
But somehow, he had found a way to look back at what had happened and to learn from what he saw. That was what it was all about. His song, and his abduction of her, the whole crazy weekend.
The song ended with a smattering of applause. Dan grinned and chatted for a few minutes with the musicians. Then he walked straight to Isabel.
“Now what?” he asked, keeping his distance, watching her, waiting.
“Now—” Isabel’s mouth felt dry as dust. If she followed her heart, there would be no turning back. Yet she had never felt more certain of anything in her life. “Now we go home.”
Eight
D an wasn’t sure what she meant, but he knew what he wanted her to mean. He said, “I’ll get your coat,” and then nothing more as they rode back to the lodge.
After putting up the bike, he took her hand and started walking across the yard. The moon was up, and spidery shadows crept across the damp ground. The quiet was all pervasive, pierced only by the hollow hoot of an owl.
Dan stopped walking and looked down at her, at the fine, silvery light in her hair. Her breathing was quick and uncertain. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from her cheek. He wondered about that phone call she had made, but he didn’t ask. He’d find out soon enough.
“Now what?” she asked, echoing his own question to her. She gazed up at him, looking as lost and lonely as she had the first time he’d seen her.
He felt a surge of tenderness as he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“Now this,” he murmured, and settled his mouth onhers. He kissed her in a way that left no question as to his intent. The pressure of his lips urged her to open for him, and his tongue plunged inside, hungry, possessive. His body was so racked with desire that by the time he lifted his head, he could barely speak.
If she
Moments passed. They both stood unmoving. Some part of Isabel yearned for him so fiercely that she nearly wept. Then, before she could decide whether or not to go to him, he turned on his heel and strode away.
She felt a deep, invisible agony rip through her, but she stood there mute and helpless. She wanted to be angry, wanted to blame him for her doubts, but he was ignoring her, stalking past dancing couples and groups of people chatting together.
She should not have been surprised when he stepped onto the low platform and picked up an acoustic guitar. But she was. Somehow, she had managed to forget that Dan was a musician, a performer. An artist.
The lights dropped even lower, and the other musicians tapered down the tune they were playing. The fiddler set a mike in front of Dan.
He was surrounded by shadow, alone in a pool of light as he had been when she had seen him for the first time. As perhaps he had always been. When he lifted an unseeing gaze to the listeners in the room, her heart lurched. How well she remembered that unfathomable look.
His long brown hands worked magic on the battered old guitar, drawing out chords of melancholic sweetness. It was the music of lonely places in the heart, of chances missed, of lost souls looking for a welcome somewhere.
Dan’s gift with music had not diminished since his retirement. Instead, Isabel knew instantly that his talent had intensified and deepened. He had come back to theplace where his soul had been made, and she heard a new awareness in his mesmerizing voice.
The words were simple, a refrain that rang true, that made women reach out and sidle closer to the men beside them, and made the men gently take the hands of their partners.
Through it all, Isabel stood alone, stricken, watching, knowing only one thing for certain.
She had never stopped loving Dan Black Horse.
There. She admitted it to herself. And it was the truest thought she’d had in years. She had let anger and fear eclipse her love and darken her heart, but the love had never gone away. It had just been obscured by a hundred other things. And she had allowed it. So had Dan.
But somehow, he had found a way to look back at what had happened and to learn from what he saw. That was what it was all about. His song, and his abduction of her, the whole crazy weekend.
The song ended with a smattering of applause. Dan grinned and chatted for a few minutes with the musicians. Then he walked straight to Isabel.
“Now what?” he asked, keeping his distance, watching her, waiting.
“Now—” Isabel’s mouth felt dry as dust. If she followed her heart, there would be no turning back. Yet she had never felt more certain of anything in her life. “Now we go home.”
Eight
D an wasn’t sure what she meant, but he knew what he wanted her to mean. He said, “I’ll get your coat,” and then nothing more as they rode back to the lodge.
After putting up the bike, he took her hand and started walking across the yard. The moon was up, and spidery shadows crept across the damp ground. The quiet was all pervasive, pierced only by the hollow hoot of an owl.
Dan stopped walking and looked down at her, at the fine, silvery light in her hair. Her breathing was quick and uncertain. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair back from her cheek. He wondered about that phone call she had made, but he didn’t ask. He’d find out soon enough.
“Now what?” she asked, echoing his own question to her. She gazed up at him, looking as lost and lonely as she had the first time he’d seen her.
He felt a surge of tenderness as he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close.
“Now this,” he murmured, and settled his mouth onhers. He kissed her in a way that left no question as to his intent. The pressure of his lips urged her to open for him, and his tongue plunged inside, hungry, possessive. His body was so racked with desire that by the time he lifted his head, he could barely speak.
If she
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