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Suddenly Reunited
Loree Lough
FOR BETTER…Drew Cunningham had always been a man of strong faith. When he married Gabrielle, he knew he would love her forever–and she him.FOR WORSE…Now Drew's faith was being challenged. After less than a year of marriage, his beloved Gabrielle had left him, and he felt powerless to change things.AS LONG AS THEY BOTH SHALL LIVE?Who could have predicted the fateful accident that would wash away Gabrielle's memory? Suddenly Gabrielle believed they were still married, and Drew vowed not to waste this precious second chance. He would find the strenght to become the man his wife needed…and win back the woman who held his heart.
“Drew? Honey? You love me, don’t you?” Gabrielle asked.
“’Course I do,” he said, a little rougher than he’d intended.
“When you proposed to me, you said you wanted us to have a family. A big one. You meant it, didn’t you?” she persisted.
Drew had nothing to go on now but blind faith, because she’d already left him, and if not for the concussion, Gabrielle wouldn’t be here now, in his arms, asking him to help her make a baby.
Blind faith.
Lord, he prayed silently, You’ve got to help me out here, ’cause I’m skatin’ on thin ice.
LOREE LOUGH
In thirteen years as a writer, Loree Lough has published over thirty inspirational novels for adults and kids, nonfiction books for juveniles, more than two thousand articles and dozens of short stories. She teaches writing and, even off duty, rarely stops talking about it. Loree lives in Maryland with her husband, Larry (who wears earplugs), and a twelve-year-old cat named Mouser (who can’t tell a mouse from a kibble).
Suddenly Reunited
Loree Lough
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted,
forgiving one another even as God, for Christ’s
sake, hath forgiven you.
—Ephesians 4:32
To Elice and Valerie:
beloved daughters, dear friends.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
Gabrielle leaned in close to the horse’s neck, her hair rippling behind her like a cinnamony cape. “C’mon, Triumph,” she said, snapping the reins, “give me all you’ve got.” The animal’s response told her he’d missed their morning runs every bit as much as she had.
Since leaving Drew just over nine months ago, her visits to the Walking C had been rare. If not for love of Triumph—and riding—Gabrielle didn’t think she’d have come back to the ranch.
Ever.
Pounding hooves drummed in harmony to her fast-beating heart. It reminded her of the perfectly syncopated rhythm of parade drums, and she relished each rib-thumping pulsation. The more rigorous and rapid the ride, the more free she felt. If only she could find this kind of freedom on her own two feet.
True to his nature, Drew had not used Triumph to punish her for filing the separation papers. “You’re welcome to come back and ride him any time,” he’d said in his quiet, controlled way. “I promise to make myself scarce when you do.”
Thankfully, he’d usually kept his word. Whether the dust cloud raised when her compact car chugged up the drive was his signal to disappear, or whether one of the hired hands had warned him of her arrival, Gabrielle didn’t know.
But he’d received no such notice of her approach today; if he had, they both would have been spared that awkward, cheek-reddening scene in the barn.
Gabrielle tightened her hold on the reins. “You’d think he would’ve adjusted to the separation by now,” she said into the wind. Triumph’s caramel-colored ears swiveled back at the sound of her voice, but she barely noticed. Gabrielle was far too busy remembering the expressions that flitted across her soon-to-be ex-husband’s face when he looked up from his work and saw her standing in the doorway, bit in one hand, bridle in the other. His whole face lit up with a smile, exactly the way it used to when she carried a glass of lemonade or a sandwich into the barn and insisted he take a much-deserved break. “You’d work straight through from dawn ’til dark if I didn’t insist you stop now and then.” If she had a dollar for every time she’d said that…
That bewildered, little-boy-lost expression had replaced his happy-to-see-her smile. Who’s seeing to it he gets enough rest now that you’re gone? she wondered.
Guilt coursed through her. Without her, it was a sure bet no one was making sure that Drew ate well, that his shirts were pressed, that he rested enough. And even if someone tried, Gabrielle acknowledged, it wasn’t likely that mule-headed man would listen. If he worked himself into an early grave, it was none of her concern. But…who was going to stop him from doing just that, now that she was gone? She’d felt partly to blame for that, just as she felt responsible for the dark stare that replaced his bright smile once his memory kicked in and he realized she was there to ride his horse—not to see him.
Sensing his mistress’s tension, Triumph snorted.
“Sorry, boy. It’s okay.” As though he understood her soft, soothing words, the horse ran a bit faster over the tattered trail, ran at a pace that reminded Gabrielle of the way things had started up between her and Drew….
A year ago May—three short months after meeting him—she’d agreed to become his wife. He’d seemed so sure of himself, saying he’d prayed on it, saying he felt the Lord wanted the two of them together, forever. Gabrielle hadn’t even thought to ask God’s opinion on the subject of marriage; she’d never asked His counsel before.
Gabrielle exhaled a sigh of agitation, and the horse’s ears rotated toward her again. “Don’t pay any attention to me, sweetie.”
“Attention,” she repeated, frowning. She’d studied dozens of women’s magazine articles that listed ways wives could encourage more attention from their husbands. Not one of those articles contained the advice Gabrielle sought: how to dissuade attention. Like when she’d make lasagna, and he’d sweeten the sauce with a teaspoon of sugar.
Life as Drew’s wife hadn’t been perfect, even before that dreadful night, but Gabrielle had never been a quitter. And though she’d never been a dyed-in-the-wool Christian, like Drew, she believed wholeheartedly in the “’til death us do part” vow they’d made at the altar. But since that awful night, whenever sleep eluded her, she’d gone to the window and stared up at the stars, wishing for a way to turn back the clock. Maybe if she could do everything over again, she’d anticipate that he’d go off half-cocked. Maybe then she could act faster…do something to keep Drew from—
Biting back bitter tears of regret, Gabrielle shook her head. There was no point in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and there’s no undoing it.
Triumph, reading her turbulent mood, increased his speed. She’d ridden the horse hundreds of times during her marriage to Drew, and had learned to read the animal’s moods well. Riding him was exhilarating, exciting, but he definitely was not a horse for beginners.
Mere days before she left the Walking C Ranch for good, Drew had said, “He’s as stubborn and single-minded as they come. I reckon that’s why you get on so well with him—you’re two of a kind.”
He’d been grinning when he said it, but the smile never quite made it to his eyes. He saw her as stubborn and single-minded, because she didn’t always agree with him. Jaws clamped with determination, she felt her heartbeat accelerate—in response to the wild ride, or because of the testy Wish I’d said this or that retorts pinging in her mind?
The wind whistled past her ears and the rocky trail whizzed by beneath Triumph’s galloping feet. Stubborn? Single-minded? You’re a fine one to talk, Drew Cunningham.
Her father used to call her stubborn, too, every time she disagreed with him. Which happened whenever he got it into his head to move to a new place.
“Can’t we stay here, at least long enough for me to finish the school year?” By the time Gabrielle graduated high school, she’d asked the question a dozen times. Without fail, her words fell on deaf ears, and no matter how sincere—or pathetic—her plea, her dad went ahead and loaded their suitcases into his cramped station wagon with a promise that one day they’d settle down. Then he would pull out his battered road atlas and, eyes shut, he’d choose a page, his forefinger pinpointing their next “home.”
Sulking alone in the back seat, she’d wondered why her mother never complained about the frequent moves. If she ever got married, Gabrielle had told herself—all twelve times—it would be to a man who’d stay in one place, forever.
Triumph’s head bobbed just as an age-old adage came to mind: Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it. Well, Gabrielle thought, laughing bitterly to herself, she had to admit, she got what she asked for. Drew was as rooted as a man could get. Rooted, and rigid, and controlling. A sob replaced the laughter. You promised me things, Drew. If only you’d kept your word—
She blamed the sharp scent of pine in the air for the tears stinging her eyes. She swiped them away with the back of a leather-gloved hand, then jammed her wide-brimmed black hat lower on her forehead. Few things riled Gabrielle more than her own tears. She saw them as a sign of weakness, proof that she was every bit the needy female her husband seemed so determined to protect and shelter. But shelter from what? In a few weeks, she’d be twenty-eight years old. Twenty-eight, married barely more than a year, and already about to be divorced.
Anger—at herself, for giving in to the tears; at Drew for not being the man she’d thought he was—prodded her to give the stallion yet another command: “Run, Triumph!”
He seemed only too happy to oblige, and raced over ditches carved by creeks feeding from the Great Fishtail River, around boulders that had rolled down from Granite Peak, through stands of spruce, to a barren plateau at the river’s edge.
Immediately, Gabrielle recognized the place, and her heart did a little flip.
It had been a glorious fall day, much like this one, when the crisp scent of pine filled the air. Now, however, dozens of trees lay flat, their broken stumps reaching like jagged fingertips toward the blue Montana sky. The thunderstorm that had blown through the county last week was responsible for this devastation, but in time, Gabrielle knew, nature would repair the storm’s destruction.
If only time could fix what Drew did to their marriage that terrible night.
Suddenly she realized that exasperation over her marital situation had made her careless, irresponsible, reckless. At this speed, one misstep could cause Triumph to break a leg, or worse.
“Easy, boy,” she called, yanking hard on the reins, “you’re not a racehorse, y’know.” She strained to slow him down, but as Drew had so astutely pointed out, Triumph had a mind of his own.
Miraculously, he thundered through the woods unscathed, and as they rounded the river’s bend, sunlight bleached the grassy knoll ahead, making the willowy weeds appear to have been dusted with snow. Anxiously, she guided the steed around gnarled trees that sprouted from the stony soil, providing patches of shade for livestock, and over clumps of wildflowers that brightened the land with surprising splashes of color. Finally, the beast slowed, came to a halt, and Gabrielle breathed a ragged gasp of relief—
Until she spotted the sidewinder, lazily sunning itself on a flat rock a few yards ahead. In an eyeblink, the snake reacted to the vibration of hammering hooves, and drew itself into a tight coil. Head raised and tongue flicking menacingly, it prepared to strike.
Gabrielle jerked at the reins—too late, for Triumph had seen the rattler at almost the same moment.
He reared up, front hooves alternately pawing the air and stomping the ground, back legs thrashing left, right, left. He threw his head back far enough for Gabrielle to see his flattened ears, curled lips, and panicky, wild-rolling eyes. He cut loose with a high-pitched trumpet, gave one mighty buck…and sent Gabrielle soaring.
Shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight, Gabrielle sat up and groaned softly. Every part of her, it seemed, had an ache of its own. Instinctively, she touched her throbbing temple. “Yee-ouch!” she whispered, wincing in response to the stinging pain. The lump was the size of a hen’s egg. “What in the world…?” The sight of blood on the fingertips of her leather glove silenced her, and Gabrielle’s frown deepened.
Dazed, she tried to get a fix what had happened, on where she was.
She recognized the river and the rocky terrain surrounding it, but couldn’t remember heading for the plateau. And how had she gotten all twisted up in the underbrush? she wondered, carefully peeling herself from the thorny shrubbery alongside the trail.
The last thing Gabrielle recalled was saddling Triumph for their morning run, and Drew waving goodbye. “I love you,” he’d called after her, raising his steaming mug of coffee in the air in a farewell salute, “so mind your Ps and Qs out there, y’hear?” She smiled now, and her heartbeat quickened as she pictured the handsome face of her brand-new husband.
But where was Triumph? Through narrowed eyes, she scanned the skyline, expecting to catch a glimpse of him grazing nearby. Instead, she spied the trampled remains of a rattlesnake. Wrinkling her nose, she gasped. “There’s one sidewinder that learned what happens when a snake spooks a horse,” she muttered, putting two and two together.
She’d fallen off a horse enough times to know that occasionally the landings could be rough. Real rough. On her sixteenth birthday, for example, afraid that she might hurt her father’s boss’s beautiful new mare, she hadn’t cinched the saddle tightly enough. Gabrielle’s “kindness” had cost her, and she’d zigzagged around the corral at a forty-five-degree tilt—until she hit the ground. That time, it was hours before the buzzing in her brain went away.
Now, brushing dirt and grit from the seat of her jeans and the elbows of her suede jacket, she told herself this had been one of those falls, nothing more. Unfortunately, she thought, grimacing as she peeked through one squinting eye at the horizon, without Triumph, it would be a long hike back to the Walking C.
A wave of dizziness nearly knocked her down again. Easing up to the riverbank, she belly-crawled toward the water, mindful to keep a careful distance from the dead rattler. She stripped off her gloves. It felt good, pressing a cold palm against the bump on her head. Filling cupped hands with icy, mountain-fed water, she drank her fill.
Gradually, as the jitters subsided, she perched on the boulder, arms hugging her jeans-clad legs, and surveyed the territory. It had been a while since she’d taken the time to enjoy the view this way, what with keeping the ranch house clean and the ranch hands fed. The vista was like no other place on earth—and Gabrielle had seen her share of places, thanks to her dad’s nomadic spirit. Here was an explosion of color and scent, from the sunlit mountain peaks to the twisting river below, from the pale azure sky to the pillowy green of faraway treetops.
An eagle screeched overhead as a fuzzy white mountain goat skittered down a rocky slope, a kid close on its heels. Cottony clouds sailed silently by, so close, it seemed to Gabrielle that she could reach up and touch them. She stared with pride at the pink snow that dappled the mountaintop, knowing Montana was just one of a handful of places in the world where it existed.
Sapphires, garnets and smoky quartz hid deep beneath the rich soil. And down the road, abandoned mining towns. No matter which way she looked, Gabrielle felt life pulsing in this land.
Moose and bear, bison and pronghorn shared this place with geese and ptarmigan and saw-whet owls. In the springtime, nodding yellowbells and shooting stars made way for summer’s daisies. Now, fall’s wild mums were in full bloom.
Gabrielle remembered the first time she’d been here—when Drew had led the way. There had been snow in the foothills of Beartooth Plateau that day—not so remarkable for a Montana autumn. But he’d packed a picnic lunch, and that had been memorable. After spreading a red-checkered tablecloth on this very rock, he’d set out the food and utensils, then pulled her onto his lap. “There’s something in my shirt pocket for you,” he’d told her, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
It turned out “something” was a half-carat solitaire set in a plain gold band. She’d always been mesmerized by his deep, grating baritone, but never more than on that afternoon, when he cradled her chin in a work-calloused hand and said, “Will you marry me, Gabby, and change your last name from Lafayette to Cunningham?”
Had it been the love blazing in his dark eyes, or the whispery growl in his voice that prevented her from telling him how much she’d always hated that nickname? “Yes,” she’d said instead, kissing him so soundly that she knocked the Stetson from his head. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The sweet memory induced a deep sigh and a fond smile, and gave her the final resolve to get to her feet and head home.
Home, where her husband waited.
There wasn’t a minute to waste when she fell, she’d broken her wristwatch. Behind the cracked crystal, the unmoving hands said 11:35. She’d been a rancher’s wife long enough to know a thing or two about life on the range; the position of the sun, high in the sky, told her it was past noon. She tried not to think about the fact that she’d been unconscious for nearly thirty minutes, or the fact that she wasn’t exactly sure how far Triumph had carried her from the highway.
Better get a move-on, girl, ’cause you have a lot of ground to cover before sundown, and you promised to make Drew lasagna, to celebrate your two-month anniversary.
As she headed toward the highway, Gabrielle recited her favorite Robert Frost poems, memorized as an English assignment in junior high. She sang “The Star Spangled Banner” and hummed a few bars of “Swanee.” She picked a handful of the wildflowers growing along the trail, made a lei of them by linking stems. But nothing, not even recounting those wonderful moments at the altar when she’d become Mrs. Drew Cunningham, could distract her from the throbbing in her head.
A battered blue pickup truck rolled to a stop beside her, tires crunching on the gravel, brakes squealing in protest.
“Hey, Troy,” she said, sending him a halfhearted grin.
“What you doin’ all the way out here in the middle of nowhere?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. Strange, she thought, heart pounding as she struggled to remember, but she didn’t know what she was doing out here.
“You okay, Gabby?” Troy pressed. “You’re lookin’ a mite peaked.”
Shaking her head, Gabrielle frowned. “Pee-kid?”
He got out of the truck and walked around to her side. “Lemme have a look at you, girl.” Hands on her shoulders, he tilted his head up and peered down his long narrow nose to study her face. Bushy gray brows drew together in the center of his tanned forehead. “Got yourself a nice li’l goose egg there on your temple,” he observed. His blue-eyed gaze took in her attire, focused for a moment on the rip in the knee of her jeans. “How’d that happen?” he asked.
Blinking and frowning, Gabrielle could only muster the energy to shake her head.
