Jesus, she loved you so much. "
Mariah felt the warmth of that touch all the way to her soul. "I know that. I just . . .
wish Id told her more often. "
He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "She didnt need to hear the words. She knew. "
"I needed to say them. " Marians fingers clenched the coarse fabric. Grief curled around her throat, made breathing almost impossible. The porch swing kept up its gentle rocking motion, creaking back and forth.
Mariah stared dully at the pants. Tears burned in her throat and behind her eyes. She knew that if she could turn now, in this instant, to her father and say / love you, it would all change. Or if he could move toward her and take her in his arms the way he used to . . .
But she couldnt and he didnt. There were too many years of quiet distance between them, too deep a layer of awkwardness. She didnt know how to reach out to anyone, least of all her own father. And so their silence grew heavy and uncomfortable, rang with ghostly reminders of the laughter that used to fill this porch at night.
She told herself it was all right, that someday shed make it right with her father. She was getting stronger every day. Soon shed be able to say the words that burned in her heart. Maybe even tomorrow . . .
"Ow, shit!" Mad Dogs yelp of pain rang through the silence.
Mariahs head snapped up. Mad Dog lay sprawled in the dirt, arms flung wide, legs spread. Jake was crouched beside him, shaking him.
She dropped the pants and lurched to her feet, screaming Mad Dogs name.
He sat up and gave her an infuriatingly cocky grin. "The kids gettin good," he said, rubbing his jaw. Then he smiled up at the boy. "Im proud of you, Jake. "
Jake beamed. The two of them bent their heads together and started talking. The unintelligible garble of their lowered voices drifted through the still, chilly air.
Shaking, Mariah slumped back onto the swings slatted seat. Tiredly she reached down and retrieved the pants.
"Hes a good man," Rass said softly.
Mariah didnt even pretend to misunderstand. "Yes, he is. "
"Do you love him?"
The question surprised Mariah. It was one that had knocked gently at the door of her mind a hundred times in the past few days, but shed never let it in. Every day it took more strength to ignore, though, and she was getting weaker by the hour. Every time she looked at him, she wondered if she loved him.
He didnt love her, of course; she knew and accepted that. But somehow, that seemed almost unimportant. She wanted—needed—to know if she loved him.
Sometimes, when she looked up into his smiling face, or felt the warmth of his touch, she felt . . . something more than sheer physical response.
She turned to her father. "How would I know, Rass?"
He smiled. A dreamy, faraway look crept into his eyes. "Youd know. "
Mariah sighed. "Well, it certainly wasnt love at first sight for Mad Dog and me. "
"I dont know," Rass said with a smile. "Cracking a mans jaw with a shotgun is a form of courting in some cultures. "
Mariah couldnt help smiling. "I guess I dont love him, but . . . " Her voice trailed off.
"But what?"
She licked her lips nervously and looked at her father. In his rheumy blue eyes she saw something she never remembered seeing there before. Unconditional love and acceptance. It stunned her. Fleetingly she wondered if it had always been there or if it was something new. She didnt know, didnt care. What matt
ered was the fact that now, for the first time ever, she didnt feel like a failure in her fathers eyes.
Her heart swelled with aching emotion. She felt suddenly younger and filled with hope for the future. "But I think I could love him . . . if I let myself. "
An infinite sadness crossed his eyes, and Mariah thought—crazily—that he took responsibility for her inability to love. "Dont be afraid of going out on that limb, Mariah. Its where the fruit is. "