“Tell me more of this story that you just made up.” Josh could have listened to her soft voice all night.
Emma turned her head slightly and smiled.
“Her name was Rachel, and his was Jeremiah. She was a beautiful woman and he was a very handsome man, but he was just a poor man. They knew they could never be together, so after a very long winter, they decided to run away together. They traveled all the way to the shore and lived happily ever after,” she said.
“And it all started right here in this cave?” Josh asked.
“Yes, and it was raining the night they made plans to run away together, just like it is now,” Emma said. “The end.” She had moved closer to him and wrapped a part of the quilt around him.
“But I wanted a whole long family saga that brought the story right up to this century,” he protested, hoping that if she kept talking she would stay right beside him.
“Maybe you are a descendant of one of them—either the blacksmith or the princess. One of their spirits led you to this cave because they knew that someday, you would need protection.” Emma spun more of the story.
“I would rather share genes with the blacksmith. They were artists of a sort.” He stretched out his hands to warm them over the fire.
“Then that’s who you will get your DNA from in my story. He had a strong, square jaw and brown eyes,” she told him.
He blinked several times. “My eyes are hazel, which is pretty common.”
“Rachel had very light brown eyes, and down through the ages, there were some blue-eyed people in my story.” Emma smiled.
“Do you think I’ve saved a princess from getting wet?” he asked.
“No, you’ve saved a commoner from getting hit by lightning. I don’t want to be a princess. I just want to be a common woman who lives in a trailer, goes out into the desert on adventures, and paints pictures of horny toads with purple spikes on their ugly little heads,” she told him.
“You can be anything or anyone you want to be in this part of the world,” Josh said. “Did your mother or father tell you bedtime stories when you were little? Is that where you got your ability to make up fascinating tales?”
“Mother didn’t have time for that. Daddy used to read to me sometimes, and I looked forward to the evenings when he read to me, but after I learned to read for myself, that ended. Rebel used to make up tales for me and Sophie, though. She would entertain us girls when she took her lunch break, and I would sit almost in a trance listening to her.”
The wind blew a few hailstones the size of golf balls across the floor of the cave. The storm had settled right over them, and it was beginning to look more and more like they would be there the rest of the day and probably through the night.
Josh didn’t mind that idea one bit. He could have lived in the small cave for the rest of his life with Emma. “You really love Rebel, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah!” Emma nodded.
“Then why didn’t you call her when”—he stammered a little—“when that happened?”
“I didn’t want Rebel to think I was a complete idiot,” she answered. “Locking it away in a box and throwing away the key was easier than talking about it to anyone until now.”
“Well, I’m glad you can talk about it,” he said.
“Me too. Did your parents tell you bedtime stories?” she asked.
“My grandfather’s friend, Harry, kind of filled in with that role. He spent a lot of time with me, but his stories were more like fishing stories,” he said. “Mother and Dad were pretty wrapped up in their careers, and still are.”
“Well, I love stories,” Emma said as she looked around the tiny cave. “And I like this place. I’m glad you found it.”
Josh’s heart swelled. Emma liked his cave and had told stories that made him look like a warrior. He wouldn’t mind if they had to stay in the cave for the night—not one bit.
Chapter Seventeen
The story had been just a tale that Emma made up to pass the time when she and Josh were in the cave. The characters weren’t real, and she’d made up the names in her rendition of Romeo and Juliet. But when she awoke for the second morning with Josh spooned up against her back and his arm around her, she wished that it were real. As the characters, they would have already had a first kiss, and most likely even slept together—as in real sex. That terrified Emma more than she would like. What if when she finally did get past the kiss, maybe even the making out, she froze when it was time for sex? She had told her therapists in the counseling sessions that having a relationship terrified her, and they had assured her that when the right time came for that step, she would probably be comfortable with it.
“Yeah, right,” she murmured. I couldn’t even remember why I felt that way, so how could they know how I would feel?
“Did you say something?” Josh tightened his hold on her.
“I was just mumbling,” she whispered. “Oh. My. Gosh!”
“What?” He started to jump up but got tangled in the cocoon they’d made with the quilt tucked in around them.
“Shh . . .” She put her finger over his lips and pointed toward the cave entrance.
“Is that real or are we dreaming? Is that really bright sunshine I’m seeing?” He sat up and untangled the quilt.
“The storm is over.” Emma pointed to the firepit. “There’s nothing left but embers, and I’m starving. Think we could break out the last of those energy bars?”
“Or I could build a fire and warm up a can or two of beans,” he suggested.
“Then we’d have to make sure the fire was put out before we left. How far is it from here to home?” Emma asked. “If we have to walk, can we get there by noon? That’s when Sophie gets back. I’m dying to hear more about her trip. We’ve talked on the phone, but it’s just not the same.”
When they had packed everything into their backpacks and stepped out into the sunshine, Emma noticed that raindrops were still hanging on to the oak leaves, and she took her notebook out of her hip pocket.
“I want to paint that leaf,” she said.
“That would be a great picture for your Hope collection.” Josh carefully buckled the front of his backpack over his chest. “Ready to go forth and overcome the obstacles?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma asked.
“We came up the mountain on dry ground. Going down is going to be on a slippery slope, but we have lots of saplings to hang on to,” he explained. “I’ve only made this trip once after a hard rain, and I rolled most of the way to the bottom. Course, only my pride got hurt. I’ll lead the way, and we’ll go slow.”
“I can’t imagine life without art now that I’ve found it again. I love doing the small things.” Emma inhaled the clean morning air and felt happiness surge through her—real happiness. She took the first step and her boot sank down into at least an inch of mud, and even that didn’t spoil the joy in her heart.
A sucking sound came from Josh’s boots every time he moved forward. Emma grabbed a small tree trunk for support with each step. She slipped a couple of times, but she was able to get her balance before she took a tumble or sat down flat on her butt. But near the bottom of the slope, there were no more trees to hang on to, and the mud was even deeper. Josh went even slower at that point.