Betrayed

was back at Lance’s side.

“I don’t know if you miss her,” he said as he patted the goat on the neck, “but I sure do. I feel like half of me has been ripped away. You’ll have to be patient with me, girl. It might take me awhile to get back my stride.”

Gilbert nuzzled his pocket, looking for a treat, but Lance never noticed as he stared up at the sky above Mt.Hazel.

“I can’t believe I let her go, Gilbert.” He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Just drove her to town and let her get on that damn bus. I didn’t even try to stop her. I must have been out of my mind.”

Lance looked down into Gilbert’s uncomprehending gaze.

“Why am I telling you? You’re a goat.”

Lance took a deep breath and turned to his chores with heaviness in his soul while Gilbert followed him hoping only for a treat.

Chapter 58

Brook spent two weeks with her parents. While in Kansas, she made a trip to the pleasant little cemetery and poured her heart out to Lacey Joelle. Perhaps it was only in her mind, but she felt a connection to the spirit of her daughter, a link that brought comfort now rather than grief. The wounds of her loss would never heal completely; they would never go away, but she could think now of her baby without plunging immediately into the depths of despair.

Being with her family brought comfort as well. She decided to spare them the details of Clark’s involvement in her abduction, citing detachment and changes of heart as the reasons her marriage failed. If she told them everything, her father and mother would most certainly go to the police. They wouldn't be able to understand that this way was the best way.

Brook knew what they did not: Clark’s guilt would eat at him; he was a shell of his former self now. She didn't know how long his humble attitude would last. Clark had a way of springing back.

Brook did, however, tell her parents about Lance. Not everything, of course. But enough that they suspected her true feelings for the man. Enough that her parents were grateful to him for saving their daughter’s life. Enough that they wanted to meet him and thank him in person. She discouraged this line of thinking, protecting his privacy.

While Brook was ensconced in the protective arms of her family, she used the days to sort out all that had happened to her, and to ruminate on her feelings for Lance. From this perspective, and distance, she could question their affair. Was it really love they felt for each other? Love she felt for him? Or was it an illusion, the result of unusual circumstances that created a feeling that simply wasn’t real? She and Lance hadn’t had the luxury of a traditional courtship. They were forced together by a bizarre set of events. She had been in desperate need of tenderness. And Lance? Well, he'd been alone for a while and he was, after all, a man. So, was their bond merely situational? Was she wrong about her feelings for him?

Lance…even thinking his name made her go soft inside. And what about him? Had he, by now, cleared his head of her and settled happily back into his solitary life? She missed him. Instead of getting better over time, she found herself yearning for him more than ever. She tortured herself with memories of their Christmas together, his smiling face over the dinner table, the scent of his skin, her cheek against the soft hair of his chest, the touch of his hands. Dancing with him. Making love with him.

When she bid her parents goodbye, Brook held them close in a long farewell embrace. As wonderful as it had felt to see them again, there was still an ache in her heart. She boarded the plane and settled into her seat with a sigh. There would be no one to meet her plane in Denver. In fact, she wondered to what, exactly, she was returning. Or for.

Back in the city, Brook wandered like a lost soul through her days. Out of necessity, the criminal case and her divorce action shared center stage for a while, each creating its own special turmoil. Painful meetings with the district attorney, the difficult decision not to go to trial, to accept their guilty pleas and be done with it. Dull phone calls from Clark, his words leaving her empty, disinterested.

She moved in a daze through obligatory shopping trips, the plush but featureless hotel room, a temporary home at best. Lunching with friends who were not really her friends, those women whose phony interest in her wellbeing barely disguised their sick curiosity about her captivity and divorce. Long nights alone in a bed too big for one person.

Brook was going back to the mountain. She knew it. She had no direction for her life in Denver, and wanted none. She wanted Lance. Two months had passed and her longing for him had only grown. She hoped he felt the same.

Chapter 59

The little book of poems rested in Lance’s hands. He had read it a hundred times, lingered over the precious words, traced the writing with his fingertips. If he didn’t stop, he’d wear the book out, and he didn’t want that. Forcing himself to put it aside, he got to his feet and closed the shutters against the night.

He was trying to move forward in life, digging deep for the strength he needed. But, he missed Brook's company when he was in his workroom, the sight of her head bent over her journal, her smile at the dinner table, and the conversations they’d had while working together in the kitchen. And he missed her warm body pressed against his in the dark of night, her sweet lips, her tender sighs, her soft words of love. He groaned in agony. My Brooklyn!

Every space in his home held a memory of her. There was no escape from the longing, which came especially strong at night. He wondered how long he would yearn for her. He thought perhaps forever.

Chapter 60

Brook’s excitement grew as the bus finally pulled into Haylieville. She stared out the windows and drank in the sights of the small town. Wheezing to a stop, the bus rocked slightly before the driver locked the brakes and called out the name of the stop. Brook clutched the handle of her bag in a tight grip.

She moved down the narrow stairs and carried her valise into the cafe that served as Haylieville’s bus station. She had determined that one way or another she would find a ride to the path that led to Lance’s cabin, even if it meant prevailing upon Denise or Emily at The Outpost. Or a complete stranger, for that matter. She'd walk if she had to. She didn’t care. She had to see him, had to know. Did he love her as much as she did him?

Just inside the door, she stopped. At the counter, his backpack on the floor leaning against his leg, stood Lance. The sight of his familiar stance caused a soft pang in her chest. He was not looking at her; he had his eyes on the man who was handing him a ticket.

“Lance,” Brook called softly. Lance froze, hand reaching for the bus pass. Slowly, he turned his gaze to her and hope lit his features.

“Brooklyn?” In three long steps, he crossed the distance between them, took her face tenderly in his hands, and searched her eyes. She dropped her bag to the floor as a sob worked its way up from the pit of her stomach.

“Lance.” She choked around the unexpected tears. He pulled her to him, lifting her feet from the floor, and buried his face in her neck. She melted into his arms.

“Brooklyn,” he murmured, his melodic voice a balm washing over her. “You’re here!”

They embraced, clinging to each other as if they had been reunited after years instead of mere months. Heads turned to watch them, but they didn’t notice. They had eyes only for each other. The rest of the world had