Stone had a sudden, intense memory of dancing in the rose garden with Dahlia on summer nights. Dancing in the moonlight, with only the stars for company and a CD player for the soft music she loved.
And when she’d touched him, the world had spun and split and lightning had flashed.
He sighed heavily, his thoughts stumbling reluctantly back to the present. Stone knew Dahlia couldn’t help what she felt—or what she believed. One of the doctors thought it could be a combination of her head injury and the trauma of Brooke’s death. That believing she was an angel was Dahlia’s own way of dealing with her grief.
And it was about time she did deal with it, Stone knew. For the past year, Dahlia had been in a major state of denial, behaving as though nothing had changed. When everything had.
Brooke was gone and there was nothing any of them could do about it.
Stone continued to stand there on the terrace, the relentless music stirring his blood and making him think about days, and nights, that weren’t all that long ago. And he had the urgent need to escape from all this family fun and togetherness.
Before he forgot this wasn’t real life.
Real life was hard work.
And if Stone hung around having fun and feeling relaxed and mellow, he would want more—and he’d want it to last.
And that wasn’t going to happen.
Because what was life without Brooke in it? What did it mean to live a normal life without his daughter here, too?
Stone’s thoughts strayed back to that August summer night, a year ago. They’d had a barbecue that evening, too. A big one, to celebrate Stone and Dahlia finally building a house of their own.
To celebrate...life.
It had felt so damned good to be alive that night, he remembered painfully. He had felt incredibly lucky. And incredibly blessed.
Blessed with good health and work he enjoyed. With men who were more than ranch hands, they were his friends. And with three brothers he wouldn’t trade a ton of gold for, no matter how irritating and meddlesome they could be.
But most of all he’d felt blessed to have Dahlia in his life—and to have fathered the two children he loved more than anything on this earth.
Field had been the only good thing that had come out of his disastrous first marriage. And Brooke had been the icing on the cake when he’d thought life couldn’t get any better after he’d married Dahlia.
He remembered that night a year ago this month, and how he’d been looking forward to having at least one more child. But that was back when he’d believed his kids would live to grow up.
When he’d believed he could keep his children safe and whole to grow up to live a full life.
Stone took a slow, deliberate swallow of the cold beer.
That next morning, Brooke had taken her horse out alone, without permission, the high-spirited, beautiful little mare he’d given her on her birthday just six weeks earlier. Firelight had been spooked by something—and had thrown Brooke headfirst into the river.
So okay, damn it, maybe he hadn’t been the most spontaneous and open-hearted of fathers this past year. That was still no reason for Dahlia to have accused him of neglecting his own child.
He didn’t want his little boy hurt. Did that make him hard? Or controlling?
Not in his mind, it didn’t.
He was a father trying to protect his son the best way he knew how.
Stone took another deep swallow of his beer. He didn’t have it in him to act as though nothing had happened to his little girl. He couldn’t go on living as though Brooke hadn’t died. He couldn’t pretend everything was just like before, that life could, and should, go on without her.
Because it couldn’t.
Because to go on without her was to leave Brooke behind.
“Hey—” his older brother, Blade, slapped a hand on his shoulder “—why so anti-social tonight?”
Stone glanced at him. And he felt raw suddenly, twelve months’ worth of healing ripped away to expose the fragility of what lay within. It was always like this as soon as he started to remember. As if Brooke had been killed only yesterday.
“You okay?” Concern was plainly written on Blade’s thin, angular face.
Stone shrugged, his gaze wandering across the terrace until he located Dahlia. She was wearing a stone-washed denim dress and red sandals, and she looked fantastic. Her blond hair was hanging loose, just brushing her shoulders, the moonlight and lantern light playing with the different shades of gold and wheat and tan.
A sharp blast of old-fashioned desire heated his thoughts. She was gently beautiful, and that beauty captivated him.
“You’d never know she just got out of the hospital this morning,” Blade quietly remarked, following his gaze.
Stone nodded absently, hearing the music of Vivaldi pulsate through the summer night—and him. Stirring memories of making love with Dahlia and holding on and being there for each other, no matter what.
Stirring memories of all the things they’d lost.
They had separate bedrooms now, and they’d had them for quite some time. Because Stone hadn’t known how to go about getting his wife back into their room. He flashed on waking up with her in a tumble of pastel cotton sheets, her silky blond hair and sleep-warm flesh resting gently against his body. Snuggling and talking with her early in the morning, before the ranch was awake and the workday kicked into high gear, had been some of the best times in their marriage.
Because he could always talk to Dahlia. There was nothing he couldn’t say to her without knowing she’d understand.
Until Brooke was killed.
Then, to talk about it made it seem too real to him.
Blade spoke quietly beside him. “Brooke...was like Dahlia in a lot of ways. Impulsive.”
Stone was startled at the way his older brother stumbled over Brooke’s name, as though Blade didn’t know whether or not to say his niece’s name out loud. Is this what grief did to people? Stone wondered. Robbed them of the freedom to speak their minds? Or had he done this to his family by dismissing them whenever they dared to speak his daughter’s name?
But Stone already knew the answer.
Stone and his three brothers had been raised by their father after their mother died. The one thing they all had in common was saying what was on their minds. No matter what.
So Stone found this careful, almost gentle treatment from his older brother to be nearly too much for him to handle.
Impulsive? Stone thought bitterly. Is that what his daughter had been? To get on a horse alone, without permission—something she’d been told a dozen times not to do?
Did that make him any less responsible for her death?
He’d given her the horse.
Blade continued as though Stone was taking part in the conversation. “Dahlia’s also sensitive and emotional,” he said slowly. “And I have to admit I didn’t think she’d make it as a rancher’s wife. But she’s a tough one when the chips are down. That is one determined lady when she thinks she’s right.”
“What are you getting at?” Stone didn’t have a clue. His three brothers had been keeping their collective mouths shut lately, for some unfathomable reason.
Blade’s voice became very quiet. “I think Dahlia’s right about