Journey's End

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Dawn was brighter for the snow. The red-gold hues of the sky glinting over it painted the world in a fiery rainbow of color. The chill of night lingered, lightly frosting the windows. But with the advent of the sun the temperatures would rise, and the day promised to be pleasing. Later there might be snow so deep he would have to dig through it to clear a path from the house to the barns and storage buildings. But for now, for today, this small part of Montana was a fairyland dusted with glittering, sun spangled white.

Merrill couldn’t have chosen better for the next step of her return to the world. Nor, in his judgment, a better world.

“Good morning.” He kept his voice quiet. As quiet as his step as he joined her by the window.

“Mr. O’Hara.” Surprise showed only in her eyes as she tilted her head toward him. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No problem.” Dragging a chair from the table, he spun it around and sat across it as if it were a saddle. Folding his arms over the back, he grinned at her. “It’s an easy thing to lose oneself in a Montana morning. Though there is a problem.”

“I’m sorry,” Merrill rushed in. “I saw the coffee was ready and I didn’t think you’d mind.” She started to rise. “I can make a fresh pot, if you like.”

“No, Miss Santiago.” He stopped her with a hand on her forearm. “I don’t mind and I don’t need a fresh pot.” He grinned again. “You can’t corrupt my kitchen or my coffee any more than you can Shadow. You’re welcome to anything, anytime. So sit.”

“I could pour you a cup, at least.” She sat on the edge of her chair, waiting to jump up the minute he released her.

“Sit. Stay,” he said firmly as he swung out of his seat. “I can do that as well. I wouldn’t know how to behave with someone serving me.”

Merrill waited until he returned to the table before she spoke her concern. “You said there was a problem.”

“There is.” His sobering gaze met hers over the rim of his cup. He drank deeply, savoring the first cup of the day. The best cup of the day. Setting it aside, he refolded his hands over the chair. “A most serious problem.”

“If you’ve changed your mind... If you’d like for me to leave...” Her hands curled tensely on the table. “I know I haven’t been a model guest. It can’t have been comfortable for you to have a strange woman intruding on your solitude.” A week ago she would have been eager to go. Now she realized to her own amazement that she wanted to stay. For a while longer.

“Hey.” Stroking a finger along the line of her jaw, Ty turned her face to his. A frisson of emotion he didn’t stop to identify fluttered in his chest as he saw her disappointment. “I haven’t changed my mind. I haven’t been uncomfortable. And I don’t want you to leave.”

“But I’ve been...”

“You’ve been fine. Healing as you came here to do, in your own way. In your own time, Miss Santiago. Miss Santiago.” With the repetition of the name he sighed heavily and moved his hand down her throat and away. “That’s the problem.”

She looked at him blankly, not understanding. But he had her complete attention.

“The formality,” he explained gently. “This mister and miss stuff is going be a waste of effort and breath if we’re to be housemates for the winter.”

“You want me to call you Tynan?”

“If you like. Tynan is fine, but Ty would be better. It’s what my family and friends call me, and I’d like to think that considering the time we’ll be together, we’ll be friends.”

“A nickname,” Merrill said thoughtfully. “I’ve never had a nickname.”

“You’re joking.” The smile that had begun to curl again beneath his mustache faded when he read his mistake in her expression. “You aren’t joking.”

“There were never nicknames in our family. At least not the sort that were called to our faces, nor that one would want repeated.”

“A formal family, I take it.” With no show of the affection pet names often revealed? he wondered.

“Military and male, for nearly a century. An attitude, a way of life at home, as much as a profession.” She could have added an almost brutal adhering to the military formality that spilled over to childhood friendships. Affecting them, keeping them distant and virtually impossible.

“Military and male?” He asked to encourage her to continue. Last night she’d listened. Today he hoped she would speak and grow comfortable with him, establishing stronger lines of communication.

“Very military. Very male. I was the first girl child born in a long line of male progeny. Before the fact, my birth was heralded as cause for great celebration. I was to be that special child, the son who would mark a century for the Santiagos at West Point. For the space of a bitter and disappointed week, no one knew what to do with me.

“A female! Females were hand picked and accepted into the family by marriage, never born to it.” Merrill bowed her head as if imagining that shocking day. “Yet there I was, born and bred, a Santiago.”

“A beautiful disaster,” Ty observed, with pity for the unexpected child fervent in his heart.

“Beautiful? Maybe, as all babies are. Disaster? Beyond a doubt. Then, recovering from his shock, if never his bitter disappointment, my father took charge. He decided, that with some minor adjustments, the family would go on as before. Tradition would be upheld. From that moment, on the strength of that decision, I was groomed for the day I would fulfill his dream.”

“Another Santiago fed like fodder to the military.” Ty very carefully kept his escalating distaste for a man he’d never met from his voice.

Her stare was distant, looking into the past. Softly, her words more than a breath, less than a whisper, Merrill said, “My father never forgave me for refusing to go to The Point.”

“You chose Duke University and languages instead.” This he knew from the little Valentina had told him when she’d called to make certain Merrill had arrived safely, and to wheedle herself back into his good graces. “I’ve been told you have an astonishing gift for languages.”

“I suppose you could call it that, or simply an affinity that came with exposure. My father moved around quite a lot, from base to base and country to country. Because not even he could bully the all male boarding school Santiagos have attended from time immemorial to ease the regulations and accept me, I stayed and traveled with the family. And, yes, I discovered first that languages were fascinating, then that they came easily for me, almost instinctively.”

Shadow sighed and lay down at Merrill’s feet Ty knew the wolf had been hoping for a romp in the snow before it disappeared. But he knew, as well, that now that the furry protector had taken Merrill to his untamed heart, the loyal creature wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your mother was supportive?”

Her hands were folded now in her lap. She looked down at them. “As much as she could be. It was difficult for her because she shared my fathers view as strongly.”

“Ahh, yes,” Ty drawled drolly. “Of course she would. Because she’d been one of the chosen, no doubt.” A woman as suited to the military as her man. No doubt there either. Ty had crossed paths with such men and women, and such famlies before. He was as well traveled as Merrill, but there the similarity stopped. Though he had little difficulty imagining the discipline, the unreasonable expectations of a martial martinet, nothing could have been more disparate than his own sprawling, comfortable family. As far as nicknames went, he’d had more than he could remember, ranging from professor to jughead. And finally settling in adulthood to Ty. “I can see that you must have been a shock to your family.”

“A shock and a disappointment,” she repeated. “From the day of my birth, and now.”

She said it lightly, too lightly. Ty saw through the nonchalance to the little girl who first and last had been a failure. Damn them! he raged in heated silence, and wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her—the little girl and the woman—for past and present hurts. Instead he caught a rippling curl and wrapped it briefly around his finger, then watched it drift back to her shoulder.

“And no one ever called you Merry?” he murmured in a voice that had suddenly grown husky.

“Nicknames, loving names, should fit. Merry wouldn’t have suited me as a child.” she said with unconscious gravity. “It wouldn’t now.”

Ty let his look wander over her. Her hair was a tumble of rivulets in scintillating hues. Her eyes reminded of the darkened sand of a storm swept beach. Just now, with her solemn gaze on him, in the light of dawn, he could think of any number of endearing names that would describe her.

“Hey.” Sliding from the chair he wheeled it about and put it back in place. “Are you hungry?”

Taken by surprise at the sudden switch, Merrill thought for a moment and discovered that she was. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

“Famished?” He waggled his hand, his thumb and little finger tilting up and down. “Or only moderately?”

This time her answer came promptly. “Moderately.”

“Good. How about a ride, then breakfast by a stream?”

“Breakfast by a stream?” She glanced out the window as if she might have missed something in the course of their conversation. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is Montana and there’s snow out there.”

“For now,” he agreed. “But it will be gone by the time we reach the stream.” When her expression turned skeptical, he laughed and couldn’t keep himself from touching her cheek with the back of his hand. “Trust me in this. I know Montana.”

“Maybe you know Montana, but you don’t know if I ride.”

Ty gazed down at her through narrowed eyes. He would almost swear he saw the beginnings of laughter on her face. “Do you?”

“Not well enough for the rodeo, but enough to know the front of a horse from the rear. I can manage to stay in the saddle on a sedate ride.”

“Sedate, and you manage, huh?” She was leading him down the garden path, he was sure of it. A subtle tease, hinting at a wealth of humor temporarily weighted down by her troubles. Another step. Another beginning. “We ship most of the horses to lower pastures once the season’s over, but I think I can find you a mount that fits the bill.

“You brought boots, I hope.” He gave his approval of the full, comfortable shirt she wore, as well as the jeans belted snugly at her waist. With a jacket, both would do nicely. The delicate footwear, some sort of house slippers he deduced, left much to be desired.

“I have something that will suffice,” she returned casually.

“Terrific. I can have the supplies we need assembled and meet you in the barn in five minutes. Will you need more than that?”

“You’re sure about this?” Merrill cast another doubtful glance at the window. “We aren’t going to get lost in a blizzard and go snow blind, are we?”

“This is hardly a blizzard, as you’ll see later in the winter. We aren’t going to be lost. And I assure you, sweetheart, I won’t let anything happen to your enchanting eyes.” The endearment, one he’d imagined only moments before, had been a simple slip of the tongue. He wasn’t a man who normally went about calling virtual strangers familiar names, but it had seemed natural to think of her in those terms. It still seemed natural. Though, if she was as modern and as progressive in her thinking as her skills, she would very probably have his bloody scalp hanging from her belt for the diminution.

Yeah, maybe he should apologize. Should, he thought with little remorse, but wouldn’t.

Merrill was far less concerned with the slip than with her reaction to it. If this was a bar and he a stranger, he would be agonizing over his tenderest parts. But on a snowy morning at Fini Terre, and coming from Ty who looked at her through caring eyes, the casual endearment filled her with a warm, blushing glow.

Suddenly, it was wonderful to feel something more than the cold emptiness of guilt. And the wonder of it was there for Ty to see in the muted animation in her manner when she stepped away from the table. “Five minutes?” she considered. “That should be quite enough.”

When she would have gone to her room, his hand closing over her shoulder detained her. Her face was flushed and luminous, her mouth soft and dewy. For a mad moment he wondered if she would taste as delicious as he imagined.

A gold tipped brow arched in question as she stood motionless beneath his hand.

“I suppose this means you’ve decided to trust me after all.” His voice was hoarse from the sudden need to take her in his arms, to steal the kiss he wanted so badly.

Her smile was slow, and real, but with the ever present sadness lurking beneath it. She was conscious of the weight of his hand. The warmth, the strength, hers for the taking. For her to trust. For the winter.

“Yes, Ty,” she murmured, lingering a heartbeat over his name as she lifted her gaze to his. “I suppose it does.”

Three

He’d been snookered. Hoodwinked. Hustled and had.

Led down the garden path would be putting it mildly.

He knew it when he looked over the back of the horse he was saddling and found her watching him from the corral fence. Her jeans were the same, and the shirt. The jacket was of a matching denim. Not as faded, but enough that he knew it was a working jacket, not purely the decorative complement of a tenderfoot’s idea of ranch wear.

Sensible, practical, but the real giveaway was her boots. Or rather not boots. She wore moccasins, wrapped and laced, and tied at the knee. The same footwear favored by some of the Indians who worked with him as guides and wranglers through the short tourist season. Not as an affectation, nor for show, but comfortable, practical footwear for the skilled and intuitive nder.

His arms folded across the saddle, his hat tilted back a notch, he studied her from the Stetson that was far from new, to moccasins that were at least as old. A wry smile crinkled in fanning lines about his eyes. A flip of his finger moved the hat brim back another notch. “Sedate, huh?”

Merrill only nodded. The sun was at her shoulder, its muted fire casting provocative shadows beneath her cheekbones and turning her skin luminous. She’d taken a minute to braid her hair. But a minute was never enough to completely tame her curling mane. Tendrils escaped and drifted like mists about her face.

Ty wondered what it would be like to paint, to be able to capture on canvas the time, the place, this woman, forever.

The horse, a small, pretty mare, stamped a hoof and flicked an ear signaling an eagerness to be away. “Ho, girl.” Ty tapped her neck and stroked her, but kept his gaze on Merrill. A gaze that swept over her again, taking in every detail, the gear, the posture, the lithe, agile body. The mischief he couldn’t see, but knew was lurking there. He hoped was lurking there.

“You know one end of a horse from another, do you?” he asked soberly, picking up the threads of the conversation they’d had in the kitchen as if it had never been interrupted.

“The tall end is the front.” The reply was given just as soberly, without a ripple of change in her expression.

“And which side to mount from?” He continued the unnecessary catechism.

“Your side, if you’re a cowboy.”

“And if you’re not a cowboy or a cowgirl?”

“My side.” Merrill stayed by the fence. Her expression never altering.

“Indian fashion?”

“My first riding lesson was in Argentina.” A comment that might have been apropos of nothing, a digression, per chance a convoluted diversion. But not when it came from Merrill.

As she paused, his head angled and a brow lofted as he tried to make the connection. “Argentina.”