Brant's Return

I shook my head in surprise, not knowing what the hell to make of that. Was he lying? Paige is a fucking pathological liar, he’d said, sounding so angry, almost unhinged. Deciding I had enough of my own problems at the moment to worry about theirs, and feeling frustrated and antsy as all hell, I left the house and jogged to the stable. I prayed Aaron would send the address I needed quickly. I could look up the location of the Amish community in Ohio and drive in that direction, but how likely would it be that once I got there, anyone would give me the specific location of Isabelle’s parents’ house? I wasn’t sure, but waiting for Aaron seemed like the more logical course of action. I needed to get rid of some pent-up energy before I got in the car and drove to Isabelle. I needed to think, to come up with the words I’d say to her, how I’d put voice to the things in my heart. And I knew from experience the best place to do that was on the back of a horse.

It only took me ten minutes to saddle one of the mares, and then I was leaned over the powerful animal as she galloped across the pasture.

Peace. Freedom. Clarity.

As I rode swiftly over the rolling hills, it felt as if the movement allowed the coat of armor I’d outfitted myself in to slip free and fall behind. Out here I was just me; a man now, but also the wild boy I’d once been. Uninhibited by anything. Unafraid. Willing to take on the world. Willing to risk it all. I’d been so scared to allow that part of myself to surface. That’s why I’d been so deathly afraid of the way Isabelle made me feel—out of control, practically obsessed . . . crazy at times, truth be told. But that’s what love was.

Love.

I was a fool.

I hadn’t asked Isabelle to marry me because it made sense. Hell, if anything, it made little sense. I’d wanted to marry her because I was head over ass in love with her. I’d asked her to marry me because from the moment she’d entered the room that first day, I’d been infatuated, my feelings so immediate and so strong that the damn earth had moved. And I’d only fallen deeper and deeper with every moment we spent together. It was irrational, practically inexplicable and the truest, most honest thing I’d ever experienced.

Fuck. I’d been so terrified of the intensity of my feelings for her that I was ready to give her up rather than acknowledge what they were.

I’d been ready to give her up rather than give in to the delirium of love.

Isabelle. Brave, strong Isabelle. My Isabelle.

I hadn’t wanted to be with her for Caspian Skye, or anything else. I’d give it up in a heartbeat for her. Hell, I’d give up my entire empire for her. Anything. She was the love of my life. I didn’t need the fulfillment of opening another bar or getting the best deal on a new property. Not anymore. I needed her.

I pulled up on the reins, slowing the mare so she came to a trot, then to a stop. I hopped off, tying her reins loosely to a tree and leaving her to graze on what was left of the dying fall grass.

Had I meant to come to this spot? To the copse of trees I’d found refuge in as a boy? Or was it coincidence I’d ended up here, the place where I’d first begun to love Isabelle Farris? I entered the circle of trees and memories flowed in. In this place, which still felt holy to me in some way that was difficult to define. It was here where Isabelle had first shared a piece of her soul with me and seemed to look into mine. Ah, God, Belle. Belle. My heart thumped with love for her, every beat echoing her name.

Please don’t tell me it’s too late.

How can I make this right?

I looked at the break in the trees above, shimmery golden rays filtering in.

If only this really was a portal and in the next heartbeat, I could be with Belle, wrapping my arms around her, inhaling her sweet scent.

I fell to my knees under the pale stream of light and stayed there for a long time, my decision taking form, settling. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and nothing had ever felt more right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Isabelle

The house was just as I remembered it, the barn’s red siding glinting in the afternoon light. The clothesline was filled with clothing flapping in the breeze: Mamm’s solid-colored dresses and white aprons, Dad’s broadfall trousers and button-up shirts. Soon it would be too cold to hang the washing on the line lest it freeze. My heartbeat quickened, and my breath hitched. Lord, I was nervous.

A bird called out in the sky as if offering encouragement, and I looked up, watching as it flew out of sight. The absence of power lines was strange to me now. I’d been away a long time. Long enough that the outside world was the norm, and this way of living was not.

My hand shook as I knocked on the door and then stood back, holding my breath. I let it out in a long gust when I heard soft footsteps approaching from the other side. The door opened and my mom’s face sent a spear of emotion ripping through my chest. “Mamm,” I croaked. I meant to go on. To say hello, something, but my words were gone, stolen by the very sight of her.

My mother brought her hand to her mouth, sucking in a breath of shock. For a moment we simply stared at each other and then she stepped forward and pulled me into her arms. That was enough. The dam broke and a keening cry came up my throat as I gripped her, burying my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of security. The scent of the mother’s love I’d missed so desperately for so many years, years filled with both almost unendurable grief, but also moments of profound joy.

/> We gripped each other for long minutes, shaking in each other’s arms until she finally pulled away, glancing behind her. There my father stood, watching us, his face older, filled with the same desperate sorrow that filled my mom’s.

“Come in, Isabelle,” my mother said. I didn’t miss the fact that she checked beyond me, likely making sure no one in the community had seen me, their ex-communicated daughter. I didn’t care. They had welcomed me, at least for now, and my heart calmed. I entered the house where I’d grown up, placing the bag I’d carried from the car by the front door.

My dad and I sat at the kitchen table as my mom went about making garden tea. It was cold in their house and I put my hands between my knees, keeping my wool coat on. I watched my mom move around the kitchen and was grateful for the few minutes in which to gather myself. She placed a steaming mug in front of Dad and me, and then sat with one of her own. Wrapping my cold hands around the warm mug, I looked at them. I’d have liked to catch up, to reminisce and tell them all that had happened to me since I left, but I needed answers. I’d driven here to put my heart at ease, at least on this matter. Looking at them now, their rigid though kind expressions, the way their own hands shook, I knew they hadn’t done anything to purposefully hurt me. I knew it in my heart and soul. “Did Ethan steal from you?”

My dad glanced at my mom and then pressed his lips together, looking away, seeming to come to a decision. “Yes. Not just us, but thirty other families in the community.”

I exhaled a sharp breath, sadness, anger, devastation piercing my heart. “And yet you let me go with him anyway.”

My mom reached across the table, laying her hand on mine and then removing it just as quickly, as if she hadn’t planned on the gesture and immediately reconsidered it. She sat back, clasping her hands in her lap. “Isabelle, you were pregnant, daughter. You married him before you told us. What were we to do?”