Page 26 of Restored By the Mountain Man
I watch Francisco leave as the sun sets and paints the field a deep golden. Flatter land, unlike at home where the mountains cut into the horizon, show endless skies that look ethereal. My body grows heavier from unrest and heavy emotions. I climb inside the RV, get to the bed, and in my clothes, lie down. Sleep finds me instantly.
“Ezra,”Elizabeth’s voice whispers.
My eyes shoot open and there she is. Young. Shoulder-length blonde waves, cornflower blue eyes, and her crooked smile I always loved.
“Liz?” I rasp.
Her hand brushes hair off my forehead. “My big dumb dumb,” she softly chuckles. Her heavy sigh that follows speaks volumes.
“I’m sorry,” my voice cracks.
“Shh, shh, shh,” she keeps her voice low. “Enough of that.”
My eyes pan down to her slightly swollen belly. My hand cautiously reaches forward, hesitating. Feeling undeserving.
Liz’s hand takes mine and settles it firmly on her stomach. In her eyes, lights swirl. No other words are spoken. Deep sadness aches in my bones but also, a strange calm also hums over my skin. Goosebumps flare as a quiet wind surrounds us.
“Rest, my love,” Elizabeth’s voice says before my body shakes awake.
“Elizabeth,” I call, my throat dry.
Disorientated, I blink and find Zoe sitting up in bed with the small reading light on her side on. Confusion has me trying to remember what day it is, where we are, and what time it is? I ask the last one.
She sets her tablet aside. “It’s ten thirty.” I squint toward the windows in the front, by the door. “At night,” she clarifies.
Grunting, I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my palms.
“Nightmare?” she asks.
I sit, staring at my lap, still feeling the goosebumps slowly reside.
“No, actually. Not really,” I answer.
I finally look at her. Her face is fresh from makeup again, her long hair is resting over her opposite shoulder. Her sleep tank is perfectly appropriate but still, so much warm skin. Staring at that bare shoulder, I confess.
“My wife,” I whisper.
“Elizabeth,” she states gently.
I nod. “For the first time. This dream felt different.”
“Good different or bad different?” she asks, turning her body toward me.
Keeping my gaze on that shoulder that’s my lifeline, I think about it. “Good, I guess. And yet…”
“The first four months after Tom died…my fiancé.” That has my eyes meeting hers in surprise. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“How long?”
“A year next week,” she answers and I feel like shit. “Stop,” she firmly says, reading my mind. “You didn’t know.”
I move so that my body angles closer to hers. Leaning my shoulder against the headboard, I study the golden flecks in her brown eyes that the faint light catches. The space is intimate but feels sacred at the same time.
“Car accident. Three months before the wedding.” She lifts her right hand, showing the ring that clearly looks like an engagement ring and I’ve had questions about. But it’s on her right hand. No man has been around her life. I concluded it was just fancy jewelry.
“Shit, Zoe. I’m so sorry.”
She twists the ring around before looking up. “Laurel told me. Not all the details. But, enough.” She waits for my reaction. “About what happened.”
