True Colors

“I am.”

He slipped off Renegade, took the time to rub the horse’s ears and stroke his muzzle, and then slowly he moved toward Vivi, ducked underneath the fence’s lower slats, and came up in front of her.

For the first time in years, there was no one beside them watching their movements, and no dirty glass between them. He looked older and sadder; the lines on his face were deeply etched, as if drawn on by Magic Marker. The ache inside her was so deep it opened up and she fell in. “I left you alone in there. I know you can’t forgive me. I can’t forgive myself, but . . .”

He moved closer, slipped his hand down her cheek and along her throat and around to the back of her neck. With that one steady hand, he drew her closer.

She felt herself come alive in his arms. She clung to him, afraid to let him go, terrified she’d blink and discover she’d imagined it all.

She touched his face, let her fingertips wipe away his tears. “Dallas,” she said. “Don’t cry . . .”

He swept her into his arms and carried her up the slippery hillside and across the porch and into the cottage that had once been their secret rendezvous location, and then their home, and now was foreign to him. But their bedroom was still in the same place and he carried her there, kicking the door open.

He lay her down on the bed and knelt beside her. Moonlight filtered through the window and puddled on the white sheets. She came up to meet him more than halfway, desperate suddenly to undress him. Her hands moved furiously to peel off his shirt and unbutton his pants; he untied her robe and pushed the worn terrycloth off her shoulders and away until it became a layer of softness beneath them.

They touched with the kind of desperation that can only come from more than a decade of waiting. Their breathing became ragged and torn, their cheeks were damp with each other’s tears as they remembered how easily their bodies had always come together. And when at last he filled her, she cried out the name she’d been holding back for so many long and empty years.

Winona, Aurora, and Noah were gathered around the game table in Winona’s family room, playing a lackluster game of Hearts. Mostly they were talking about Vivi Ann and Dallas, of course, but the cards helped to keep them grounded. They were all so amped up on adrenaline it was difficult to stay focused. Winona had just tried—and failed—to shoot the moon when her cell phone rang.

They all threw down their cards and Winona jumped up to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Winona. I’m sorry to call so late.”

She heard her Realtor’s voice and sighed. “Hi, Candace.”

Noah and Aurora both sat back down.

“What can I do for you?” Winona asked, trying to conceal her disappointment. She didn’t actually expect Vivi Ann to call tonight, but still . . .

“I just got a call from a doctor who wants to rent your beach house. He’s out there right now and wants to see it. Normally I’d drop everything and go, but the kids are in bed. And since we’ve had so few calls on it . . .”

“I’ll go,” Winona said. It was just what she needed: something to occupy her thoughts. “Thanks.” She put down the phone, made a quick excuse to Noah and Aurora, and went out to her car.

The long, dark drive out there was perfect. As she wound along the familiar streets, seeing the landscape beneath the beautiful glow of a silvery blue full moon, she replayed the day in her mind. It had been unquestionably the best day of her entire life. Never would she forget a moment of it, from Dallas’s bear hug, to his quietly spoken Thank you, to the way Noah’s face had changed when he met his father for the first time in years.

She pulled into her ratty driveway and parked beside a big blue pickup truck. She was still thinking about Dallas when the shadows beside her shifted, broke up, and moved toward her.

Luke.

Suddenly he was there, coming toward her.

“What are you doing here?” she said. “You don’t need to rent my house.”

“No. I just wanted to see you alone. I drove all day.”

She didn’t understand. “I told you I’d call you tomorrow, after—”

“When you told me what you’d done for Vivi Ann and Dallas, all I could think about was what it would be like, having you on my side.”

She took a step back, frowning. She didn’t want to misread what was happening, pour meaning into his words, his look. “I’ve always been on your side, Luke. Even when I shouldn’t have been.”

“But I wasn’t on your side, was I?”

“No.” And there it was: everything that had always been wrong between them. It surprised her that he had been the one to see it.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply.

She didn’t know how to respond to that. She’d forgiven Luke—and herself—a long time ago. “That’s old news, Luke.”