“I was lonesome without you,” Dan said slowly, running his hand over her hair. “Nothing felt right with you gone.”
Rorie knew it had taken a lot for him to admit that, and it made what she had to tell him all the more difficult.
“Dan, please,” she said, breaking away from him and standing. “I...I don’t love you.”
“But we’re friends.”
“Of course.”
He seemed both pleased and relieved by that. “Good friends?” he coaxed.
Rorie nodded, wondering where this was leading.
“Then there’s really no problem, is there?” he asked, his voice gaining enthusiasm. “You went away, and I realized how much I love you, and you came back deciding you value my friendship. That, at least, is a beginning.”
“Dan, honestly!”
“Well, isn’t it?”
“Our relationship isn’t going anywhere,” she told him, desperate to clarify the issue. Dan was a good person and he deserved someone who was crazy in love with him. The way she was with Clay.
To Rorie’s surprise, Dan drew her forward and kissed her. Startled, she stood placidly in his arms, feeling his warm mouth move over hers. She experienced no feeling, no excitement, nothing. Kissing Dan held all the appeal of drinking flat soda.
Frustrated, he tried to deepen the kiss.
Rorie braced her hands against his chest and tried to pull herself free. He released her immediately, then stepped back, frowning. “Okay, okay, we’ve got our work cut out for us. But the electricity will come, in time.”
Somehow Rorie doubted that.
Dan dropped her off in front of her apartment. “Can I see you soon?” he asked, his hands clenching the steering wheel. He didn’t look at her but stared straight ahead as though he feared her answer.
Rorie hesitated. “I’m not going to fall in love with you, Dan, and I don’t want to take advantage of your feelings. I think it’d be best if you started seeing someone else.”
He appeared to consider that for an awkward moment. “But the decision should be mine, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then leave everything to me, and stop worrying. If I choose to waste my time on you, that’s my problem, not yours. I think you’re going to change your mind, Rorie. Because I love you enough for both of us.”
“Oh, Dan.” Her shoulders sagged with defeat. He hadn’t believed a single word she’d said.
“Now don’t look so depressed. How about a movie on Sunday? It’s been a while since we’ve done that.”
Exhausted, she shook her head. “Dan, no.”
“I insist, so stop arguing.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue. “All right,” she murmured. He’d soon learn she meant what she’d said. “All right.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at six.”
Rorie climbed out of the MG and closed the door, turning to give Dan a limp wave. She paused in the foyer of her apartment building to unlock her mailbox.
There was a handful of envelopes. Absently, she shuffled through a leaflet from a prominent department store, an envelope with a Kentucky postmark and an electric bill. It wasn’t until she was inside her apartment that Rorie noticed the letter postmarked Nightingale, Oregon.
Thirteen
Rorie set the letter on her kitchen counter and stared at it for a moment. Her chest felt as if a dead weight were pressing against it. Her heart was pounding and her stomach churned. The post-office box number for the return address didn’t tell her much. The letter could as easily be from Kate as Clay. It could even be from Mary.
Taking a deep, calming breath, Rorie reached for the envelope from Kentucky first. The return address told her nothing—she didn’t know anyone who lived in that state.
The slip of paper inside confused her, too. She read it several times, not understanding. It appeared to be registration papers for Nightsong, from the National Show Horse Association. Rorie Campbell was listed as owner, with Clay’s name as breeder. The date of Nightsong’s birth was also recorded. Rorie slumped into a kitchen chair and battled an attack of memories and tears.
Clay was giving her Nightsong.
It was Nightsong who’d brought them together and it was through Nightsong that they’d remain linked. Life would go on; the loss of one couple’s love wouldn’t alter the course of history. But now there was something—a single piece of paper—that would connect her to Clay, something that gave testimony to their sacrifice.
Rorie had needed that and Clay had apparently known it.
They’d made the right decision, Rorie told herself for the hundredth time. Clay’s action confirmed it.
Clay was wide-open spaces and sleek, well-trained horses, while she thrived in the crowded city.
His strength came from his devotion to the land; hers came from the love of children and literature and the desire to create her own stories.