Page 106 of Truly, Madly Viking

"Jorund, I thought I had to go back to complete our father's mission... a different one from yours, I concede, but his mission nonetheless. When I found out it was no longer necessary, I immediately returned to Merrydeath. You thought the same thing—that you had to complete our father's mission—but your work is done."

"I am not sure of that."

Rolf pulled at his hair, which he had left loose today, the dark blond strands lying like a swath of gold on his shoulders. "You are so damn stubborn."

Jorund raised his brows sardonically. "Like you, mayhap?"

Rolf laughed and put an arm around his brother's shoulders, hugging him close as they began to walk toward the car.

"I am not like you, Rolf," he tried one last time to explain. "I need to have things settled one way or another. I could not bear to stay here and know I had responsibilities elsewhere that I had neglected to satisfy my own whims. I could not bear to stay here knowing that at any minute that bloody whale might flip me back in time. I could not bear to stay and build strong bonds with Mag-he and her daughters, only to hurt them more by leaving later.'

"Do you love the wench, Jorund?"

"Of course."

"Then you already know the answer, lackbrain."

He looked at Mag-he standing near the open door of the car, snowflakes powdering her too short hair.

She glanced in his direction, as if sensing his thoughts.

There were tears in her misty blue eyes, and he knew the tears were for him... not for their departure from Rosestead.

Like a knife to his heart was Jorund's knowledge that he could hurt this woman so easily. Yes, he had his answer.

Better the small cut now than the open wound later.

It was New Year's Eve at the Boot Scootin' Cowboy.

Three whole tables of ten each were filled with friends of Natalie Blue, including her family, fellow group members, and some of the staff from Rainbow... even the new owner, Jerome Johnson and his lovely wife Freda, who loved country music. There was a festive air in the crowded club due to its being New Year's Eve, complete with glittery decorations, confetti, funny hats, and noisemakers.

But there was tension in the air, too, due to the talent show, which was about to start. Judges were already beginning to sit down at the long folding tables set up in the center of the now empty dance floor.

The judges were several radio and TV country-music program hosts, a Nashville record producer, a talent agent, and various other local celebrities.

Tension wasn't just in the air, either. Maggie looked at Joe, who was fidgeting in his chair. Every couple of minutes, he would glance at the doorway, as if he expected someone. In fact, he'd insisted that a couple of chairs be left empty at their table, on the other side of Steve, who sat next to him, spiffily attired in a herringbone sport coat with gray slacks, and a white golf shirt, open at the collar. He and Joe had taken up jogging the last few days, since their return from Maine, as part of Rainbows physical-fitness program. While Joe had always looked good to her, Steve's appearance had taken a decided turn for the better. His skin was no longer pale, but tan and healthy. He had always had an athlete's body, but something about the way he carried himself had changed.

In an instant she realized that he carded himself just like Joe... with self-confidence.

"You've been a good influence on Steve," Maggie commented to Joe.

"Do you think so?" His lips turned up with genuine pleasure. God, he was a handsome man. Tonight he wore his hair slicked back into its usual queue and he'd shaved, so his face was smooth. A trip to the mall yesterday had resulted in her red sequined sheath and black high heels— Joe's choice, accompanied by some hot looks and a few winks—and his navy blue suit, white shirt, and tie. He wore the latter under protest, deeming it a torture device. It had seemed particularly important to Joe that tonight he fit what he considered the image of a modern man. Of course, he wore his cowboy boots—another torture device, in his opinion—so she guessed it was the image of the modern Texas man.

"Yes, I do think so. Steve's whole demeanor has changed, largely due to his association with you."

"That and getting a prescription for Viagra from that new doctor." Joe grinned at her as he spoke. More than once Joe had expressed amazement that there was a little blue pellet in modern times that could create such magic. More seriously he remarked, "You know, in the Norse culture, a man's worth is often measured by how well he fights. Valhalla, hall of the gods, is open only to warriors who die in battle. But I've been thinking that mayhap the true measure of a man should be how he has touched other people afore his death."

Maggie's heart constricted at such sensitivity coming from what, at the core, was a primitive man.

"I mean, think about it, Mag-he. What good is a man though he be the greatest soldier of all time, if he trod over those who surrounded him in everyday life? Believe me, I know many such men, and they are considered heroes."

"To me, you're the real hero." She said the words teasingly, but she meant them sincerely.

He put a hand to her nape and pulled her close for a quick kiss on the head. "Thank you, sweetling."

Then he nuzzled her neck. "You smell so good. Years from now I do not think I will ever smell the scent of lilacs without thinking of you."

There was a drumroll then as the lights dimmed and a spotlight shone on the stage. The competition was about to begin. But Maggie's thoughts were centered on Joe's last, revealing words. He probably didn't realize what he had subconsciously let slip. The infuriating man was contemplating a future without her in it; she just knew it. They hadn't discussed the future since their return from Maine, though it loomed silently between them all the time. She hadn't pressed him for a decision, fearing what he would say. And he hadn't brought up the subject, she suspected, because he was still so confused.