Fortune's Legacy. Maureen Child
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right?”
“Boy howdy.”
“Excellent.”
“Not excellent,” Kyra protested, though not quite as strongly as she should have.
An affair with Garrett Wolff would be disastrous—and fabulous. Terrifying—and exciting.
“It doesn’t have to be the end of the world, Kyra.”
“Yeah, but it could be,” she said, then added, “and I can’t risk it. Can’t take the chance of putting my career on the line. I can’t fail, Isa. I owe my family that.”
Isa had heard this before, so she leaned back in her chair and shook her head slowly. “You’re always thinking you owe something to somebody. So my question is, what do you owe yourself, Kyra? When do you get to do something just for you?”
Good question.
Kyra only wished she had an answer.
Ryan Fortune drew in a long, shuddering breath and wondered how much longer he’d be able to accomplish that simple task.
His body was shutting down. He felt it. The invader in his brain was winning the battle. He knew with a bone-deep certainty that there were only a handful of days left to him. If that.
Lying against a stack of plump pillows, he shifted slightly in his bed, pleased to feel muscles respond to thought. Such a simple thing, really. To stretch. To feel the play of muscle and bone.
To live.
He stared up at the ceiling and watched the dance of sunlight and shadow across the pale surface. He felt the soft breeze slipping through the partially opened window, and he could smell spring on the wind. Through the open curtains, he saw the trees outside his bedroom, budding now after a cold, hard winter.
He wished to hell he could be around to enjoy another spring. To curse another summer heat wave. Enjoy another Christmas. Hell, to do something as simple as walk the land, Lily’s hand firmly clasped in his.
Frustration bubbled inside. His whole damn life he’d been a doer. He’d never been one to sit when he could stand, walk when he could run. He liked being in the thick of things. Holding out a hand to help those behind, while always reaching forward.
He’d built a proud family. He’d increased the legacy left by his own father, and knew that his children would do the same.
And still it wasn’t enough.
He wasn’t ready to go. At sixty, he should have lots of years left. He should be able to sit on a damn rocking chair on the front porch of the Double Crown and watch his great-grandchildren playing in the sun.
Hell, only a year ago he’d had grand dreams and plans, and now…he only wished he and Lily could stop and watch a sunset together again. He wished he had the strength to run his fingers through her hair, to kiss her, to make love to her one more time.
Ryan’s eyes closed and a soft smile crossed his face as he remembered what his daddy used to say. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
“You’re right, Dad,” he whispered, as if Kingston Fortune were there in the room with him. Who knew, maybe his spirit was there, getting ready to escort Ryan’s soul on its trip to…wherever.
Funny. His mind kept drifting. Never used to be like that. Used to be able to concentrate. Focus. Now… “No more wishing,” he whispered into the silence of his room. “Instead, I’ll just remember what I’ve had.” More than most, that was for damn certain, he assured himself.
He’d loved and been loved by two women in his life. He’d raised children and known the love of family, which when you came right down to it, was all that meant anything.
He frowned and gave a short sigh—all he could spare. He’d made mistakes; all men did. He regretted some, but others had caused good things to happen in the end, so it was hard to be sorry about them. Still, he’d tried to do his best. Tried to make a difference—not only for his family, but for the world. He’d tried. Damn, he’d tried.
He only wished he knew if he’d succeeded.
“Ryan, honey?”
He opened his eyes and turned his head on the pillow, following the voice that he knew would be with him through eternity.
“Still beautiful,” he whispered, and watched his wife’s luscious mouth curve into a smile.
“Silly man,” she said, and unnecessarily straightened the sheet and light blanket covering him. Smoothing, running her fingertips across the fine linen, she avoided looking at him.
She did that so often these last few days.
Ryan knew why. There would be tears in her amazing dark eyes. There were always tears now, and oh, how he wanted to be able to stop those tears for her. He wanted to grab her up, tumble her onto this wide, now lonely bed and bury his body deep within hers.
Strange how the hunger for life didn’t ebb as death drew near.
In his mind, he was still the strong young man who’d seen a teenage Lily Redgrove and lost his heart. It didn’t matter who or what had come between that time and this. There’d always been that slender thread connecting their two hearts. It had taken a lifetime for them to finally come together—and when they had it had been well worth the wait. But oh God, they were being cheated out of all the years to come.
“Stop,” he whispered. “Sit.”
She did, perching on the edge of the mattress as if she were a bird gingerly landing on a live electrical wire. “Do you want anything, honey? Can I get you something?”
“Time,” he said, finding a smile for her. “Give me more time, Lily.”
“We’ll have time, honey. We will.” She picked up his hand and held it gently between her own, as if she could somehow transfer her health, her vitality, to him.
Sunlight splashed across the big room and backlit Lily until her dark hair looked gilded. A strong woman, Lily. She’d been through a lot in her life and she’d never been broken. She’d faced up to tough situations and stood her ground. Yet now she was deliberately trying to pretend that the end wasn’t staring them in the face.
And he’d gone along for the most part. He was tempted to continue to play the game they’d somehow slipped into. To keep pretending that this was nothing more than a bad case of flu. That he’d be back walking the land in a week or two.
God knew, pretense was more comforting than truth. But there were a few things he needed to say to her, while he still could.
“Lily, honey…”
As if she could read his mind, she shook her head. “No, don’t you start telling me goodbye, Ryan Fortune. Because I don’t want to hear it. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to leave me. I won’t allow it. You’ll stay right here until I say different. You understand me?”
He chuckled, and the sensation rippled through his aching body like a fever. “You always were a bossy woman.”
She sniffed, surreptitiously wiped her eyes with her fingertips, then smiled. “And you always were a smooth talker.”
God, he’d loved her most of his life. Those dark, exotic eyes of hers. That smooth, caramel-colored skin, the thick, heavy black hair. The smile that lit up something inside him as if it were New Year’s Eve in Times Square.
How hard it was to let her go.
“I want you to remember, always,” he said, keeping his gaze locked with hers, “how much I love you.”
She sucked in a gulp of air. “I know.”
He nodded briefly. “Emmett’s going to keep an eye on Linda, so don’t you worry there.”
“Yes, Ryan.”
He