Lifeline Echoes by Kay Springsteen

Street ticker. He didn’t like the
thought of another man in her life any more than he liked finding
mustangs on his open range. Any more than she'd liked thinking of
him with another woman. What did that say about them?
    "Ryan, have you ever wished for just one
more day with someone?" She hesitated, frowning. When had she
started needing him to understand who she had become seven years
ago? "Have you ever wished you had a day when you could tell that
person exactly how you feel and have him know without a doubt that
you mean it?"
    A spasm of pain flickered in Ryan's eyes
until she saw him forcefully push it away. "Yeah." He nodded.
"Yeah, I have."
    "But all we have is now," she said softly.
"We can't go back and change things to make them come out better,
and we don't even know for sure we'll have tomorrow, so we need to
live today. That's what loving him taught me. To live in the
moment. If something makes us happy, and it doesn't hurt anyone
else, we should embrace it."
    "For as long as it lasts," he qualified for
her.
    Sandy shrugged. "For as long as it
lasts."
    He looked at her with nearly unbearable
kindness. "What happened, Sandy? What happened to break your
heart?"
    Sandy raised her eyes and met the
uncertainty she saw in Ryan's. "He died," she said calmly.
     
    ****
     
    The breath left his lungs like he'd been
sucker punched with her emotionless disclosure. She spoke of it
like she was announcing she'd been to the market, but the pain
rolled off her, tangible waves slamming into him.
    He wanted to hold her and soothe her. He
wanted to bear her pain for her. All he could do was close his eyes
and absorb the agony that flowed around her like a tangible entity.
"Sandy, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
    "Don't!" She sat up. This time he let her
go. "It was a while ago. I'm glad you know about it, because it's
part of who I am now. But Ryan," she said, her gaze showing no
emotion. "I don't sing the blues about it. And I'm not looking for
you to sing them for me. Are you okay with that?"
    Would she run if he told her he wasn't? Very
slowly, Ryan nodded once, and Sandy settled comfortably back into
his arms.
    "I didn't expect it to be so hot up here,"
she observed suddenly, firmly closing the door on the subject of
her lost love. "I'm thinking of wading in that stream."
    With a lazy turn of his head, Ryan glanced
over at the bubbly stream meandering through the clearing. It was
running fast but not deep. "You could do that," he agreed. He
lifted his chin, indicating the mountains behind her. "But the
water's all runoff from the snow up there."
    She wrinkled her nose. "Never mind
then."
    This time the silence was comfortable,
broken only by the gurgling stream and the occasional call of a
blackbird. Ryan laced his fingers through her hair and combed down
to the ends, finally settling his hand at the nape of her neck. She
sighed softly. It was a contented sound. He watched her eyelids
flutter downward.
     
    ****
     
    "Hey, what kind of food do you like?" asked
Mick. "We'll go to dinner. Just tell me where you want to go."
    Sandy's breath caught as she heard the
sickening rumble before she felt it. Aftershock! A bad one. It
seemed to take forever, though it was probably less than a couple
of minutes before she heard the radio squawk in her earpiece, but
no voice came across the comm.
    "Mick! Are you there?"
    Another moment of silence, then, "I'm here,
Angel. Dropped—the radio. Few more chunks fell is all."
    He sounded so normal and casual.
    "So how about that dinner, Angel?"
    "Italian. With breadsticks and we can share
some cannoli. And . . . and when you pick me up, you can bring me
flowers. I like daisies. The white and yellow ones growing by the
side of the road near Big Bear Lake in the National Forest."
    His chuckle was laced with pain that she
felt along with him.
    "That's a deal. Angel?"
    "I'm right here."
    "You want to go to Vegas with me and get
married? I figure we've already spent most of the night together.
Sorry . . .