Shades of Twilight

She drew a deep breath, shuddering with the effort. On her other side, Roanna held tightly to her hand.

"I told her … no. Told her she had to … get rid of it. Abortion. She laughed … and I slapped her. She went wild … knocked me down … kicked me. I think … trying to kill me. I got away … picked up the andiron … She came at me again. I hit her," she said, tears rolling down her face.

"I … loved her," she said weakly, closing her eyes. "But I couldn’t … let her have that baby."

There was a soft scraping sound at the sliding glass doors. Webb turned his head to see Booley standing there, his expression weary. He gave Booley a hard stare and turned back to Lucinda.

"I know," he murmured as he bent over her.

"I understand. You just get well now. You have to be at our wedding, or I’ll be mighty disappointed, and I won’t forgive you for that. " He glanced at Roanna. She too was staring at Booley, a cool look in those brown eyes that dared him to do or say anything that would upset Lucinda.

Booley jerked his head at Webb, indicating that he wanted to talk to him outside. Webb patted Lucinda’s hand, carefully placed it on the bed, and joined the former sheriff.

Silently they walked out of the CICU and down the long hall, past the waiting room where relatives kept endless vigils. Booley glanced into the crowded room and continued strolling.

"Guess it all makes sense now," he finally said. Webb remained silent.

"No point in it going any further," Booley mused.

"Neeley’s dead, and there wouldn’t be any use in pressing any sort of charges against Lucinda. No evidence anyway, just the ramblings of a dying old woman. No point in stirring up a lot of talk, all for nothing."

"I appreciate it, Booley," said Webb.

The old man clapped him on the back and gave him a level, knowing look.

"It’s over, son," he said.

"Get on with your life." Then he turned and walked slowly to the elevator, and Webb retraced his steps to the CICU. He knew what Booley had been telling him. Beshears hadn’t asked too many questions about Neeley’s death, had in fact skirted around some things that were fairly obvious.

Beshears had been around. He knew an execution when he saw one.

Webb quietly reentered the cubicle, where Roanna was once again talking softly to Lucinda, who seemed to be dozing. She looked up, and he felt his breath catch in his chest as he stared at her. He wanted to grab her in his arms and never let her go, because he had come so close to losing her. When she had explained about her confrontation with Neeley over his treatment of his horse, Webb’s blood had run cold. It had been just after that when Neeley had broken into the house for the first time, and when Roanna walked up on him, he had to have thought she would recognize him. He would have killed her then, Webb was certain, if Roanna hadn’t awakened enough to scream when Neeley hit her. His idea of putting it about that the concussion had caused her to lose her memory about that night, just as a precaution, had undoubtedly saved her life, because otherwise Neeley would have tried to get to her sooner, before Webb managed to have the alarm installed.

As it was, Neeley had been within a hair’s breadth of settling that pistol sight on her, and that had signed his death warrant.

Webb went to her, gently touching her chestnut hair, stroking one finger down her cheek. She rested her head on him, sighing as she rubbed her cheek against his shirt. She knew. She had been watching. And as she had knelt beside Lucinda, when he had turned back to her after pulling the trigger, she had given him a tiny nod.

"She’s asleep," Roanna said now, keeping her voice to a whisper.

"But she’s going to come home again. I know it." She paused.

"I told her about the baby."

Webb knelt on the floor and put his arms around her, and she bent her head down to him, and he knew that he held his entire world there in his arms.

Their wedding was very quiet, very small, and took place over a month later than they had originally planned.

It was held in the garden, just after sunset. The gentle shades of twilight lay softly over the land. Peach lights glowed in the arbor where Webb waited beside the minister.

A few rows of white chairs had been set up on each side of

the aisle, and every face was turned toward Roanna as she walked down the carpet laid out on the grass. Every face was beaming.

Greg and Lanette sat in the first row; Greg was in a wheelchair, but his prognosis was good. With physical therapy, the doctors said, he would likely regain most of the use of his left leg, though he would always limp. Lanette had cared for her husband with a fierce devotion that refused to let him give up, even when his grief over Corliss had almost defeated him.

Gloria and Harlan were also in the first row, both of them looking much older as they held hands, but they too were smiling.

Brock pushed Lucinda’s wheelchair to keep pace with Roanna’s stately stride. Lucinda was dressed in her favorite peach, and she wore her pearls and makeup. She smiled at everyone as they passed. Her frail, gnarled fingers were linked with the slender ones of her granddaughter, and they went together up the aisle, just as Roanna had wanted.

They reached the arbor and Webb reached out for Roanna’s hand, drawing her to his side. Brock positioned Lucinda’s wheelchair so that she was in the traditional place as matron of honor, then took up his own position as best man.

Webb’s gaze briefly met Lucinda’s. There was a serene, almost translucent quality to her. The doctors had said she wouldn’t have long, but she had confounded them once again, and it was beginning to look as if she might make it through the winter after all. She was saying now that she wanted to wait until she knew if her great-grandchild was a boy or a girl. Roanna had immediately stated that she had no intention of letting the doctor or ultrasound technician tell her the baby’s sex before its birth, and Lucinda had laughed.