Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,61
food and drink were brought to him, and twice each day his hands were tied in front of him and he was led to the river to relieve himself or to bathe. He had tried to communicate with the young men who had been assigned the duty of escorting him, but though the walls of this prison and the strong vine ropes with which they tied him rendered him harmless, his captors seemed to fear him and refused to speak with him.
He prayed continually. Though he didn’t understand why God had allowed him to live this nightmare, he knew he was not alone. He had felt God’s touch many times, had often been filled with a quiet peace that only the presence of God could explain. On two separate occasions he had felt an actual physical presence—a benevolent entity that he believed to be an angel—inside the hut with him. He grasped tightly to the memories of those incidents, and they strengthened him when his faith faltered.
Yesterday morning, Nate had awakened to the sound of the engine of Juan Mocoa’s boat. The sound was music to Nate’s ears as it faded into silence downriver. But his beliefs that the man’s departure would end his confinement proved unfounded. If anything, his guards seemed to take their duty more seriously than ever now that Juan Mocoa was gone.
As another sun melted into the jungle, Nathan lay back on the hard-packed earth and let his mind drift, waiting for the blessing of nightfall when he would lie awake, as he did every night, fixing his eyes on the split in the roof. The foliage that grew above his hut was thick, but sometimes when the wind parted the palm fronds and the night sky was blackest, he would catch a glimpse of a single star. It was a split-second twinkle of light, but he told himself that it was Spica, the bright star of Virgo that was his and Daria’s. When that happened, hope would swell in his breast again. He would remember his last night with Daria, and he would dream that miles down the river, she was looking at the same star, sending her love to him on a whispered prayer.
Seventeen
Colson Hunter rose at five o’clock on Valentine’s Day to find the countryside buried in a thick blanket of snow. He dialed the Haydon’s number, where Daria was staying, while he measured coffee into the coffeemaker.
Daria answered with an uninterpretable mumble. “Hey, sleepyhead. Do you know what day this is?”
“Valentine’s Day,” she said archly, that impish grin of hers coming through the line as clearly as if she’d been in the room.
“So what do you want for Valentine’s Day?” he played along. But she turned serious. “I just want you. Oh, Cole, I just want you. I can’t wait.”
“Me neither. But, um, have you by any chance looked outside?”
“Why?” He heard her stumbling out of bed and raising the blinds at her window. He waited for her response, fully expecting her to moan in dismay. But she surprised him.
“Cole! It’s gorgeous! What a beautiful day for a wedding.”
“Yeah, if anyone can get there. The roads are pretty bad, Dar.”
“As long as you and the minister show up, I really don’t care if anyone else makes it.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No, just excited. I just want it to be tomorrow!” He laughed his pleasure at her comment. “Well, my love, you just snuggle under those warm blankets for a few more hours. I, on the other hand, have to get out in this white stuff and plow my way through to the clinic. The animals don’t really give two hoots that it’s my wedding day.”
“But Cole, can’t Travis do it?”
“I don’t mind. I’m too nervous to sleep anyway.”
“Are you? Nervous, I mean.”
“A little,” he admitted. “Now go back to sleep. The next time I see you, you’ll be just minutes away from being Mrs. Colson Hunter.”
“Mmm,” she sighed. “I like the sound of that.”
“I love you.”
“Not as much as I love you.” It was her standard response, but he never tired of hearing it.
Still smiling, he hung up the phone and poured himself a cup of coffee. He was almost afraid to think about how happy he was. Since Bridgette’s death he hadn’t dared to hope for this kind of happiness again. And now he’d been blessed not only with the most wonderful woman in the world to love and who’d loved him in return, but with a little girl who called him Daddy.