by Anne Stuart
“What there is left of it,” Maddy said.
“And here’s to the return of the niño’s father,” she added, draining the glass.
“Amen,” Maddy said softly. “Here’s to Jake’s return.” And she finished her mineral water.
Soledad passed out on Maddy’s sofa. The fall of San Pablo to the rebels was an occasion worthy of note, even if that occasion brought the news of Carlos’s death. Maddy accepted it as inevitable, squashing down the sudden feeling of fright. If Carlos could die, so could Jake.
The long night passed. She could hear Soledad snoring gently on the comfortable sofa, and more than once Maddy wished she could have partaken of the soporific effects of the strong Jamaican rum her stepmother favored.
It was just after five when Maddy gave up, pulling on loose-fitting white pants, a heavy cotton sweater, and a jacket and heading out into the early-morning sunlight. There was a brisk wind from the ocean, strong enough to clear away the cobwebs and the headache of a sleepless night. Maddy headed down toward the beach, wrapping her arms around her slender body and taking deep breaths of the fresh salt air.
She walked swiftly, covering a great deal of ground with her long legs, trying to drive out the worry that kept creeping up on her as more and more time passed without word from him. Fate had been unkind enough, it wouldn’t have given her Jake just to take him away again.
The beach was quiet and deserted at that hour. It was too early for joggers and runners and dog-walkers to clog the strand. Maddy sank into the sand, her arms wrapped around her long legs, and stared at the ocean, remembering against her will the months when she thought Jake was dead, when the relentless strength of the ocean had brought her the only comfort she could find.
It was slowly getting lighter. As Maddy stared out into the blue-green waves she could feel the tight band around her heart ease and lift. She didn’t even turn her head when she heard him, felt him moving behind her.
“I thought I might find you here.” His voice was that well-remembered, rusty sound that played across her senses like a silver flute. He sank down in the sand beside her, and she allowed herself a brief, tentative peek at him. He was in one piece, weary, looking older than his forty years, and infinitely dear. His hair was growing again, trailing beyond the collar of the heavy sweater he wore. “Why was Soledad passed out on your sofa?”
“Too much celebrating,” she said.
“Celebrating the fall of San Pablo?”
“Soledad would call it the rise of San Pablo.”
“You heard about Carlos?”
“And Ortega. And Morosa escapes to Miami with most of the country’s treasury.” Maddy lifted her head, still not trusting herself to look at him fully, for fear he’d vanish in the early morning sea mist. “They’re going to have a hard time rebuilding the economy with all the money gone.”
“They can do it,” Jake said. “If anyone could do it, the people of San Pablo can. Your father had reason to love them.”
So it did still have the power to hurt her. She viewed that fact abstractly, poking at it a bit, like prodding a sore tooth. But the pain wasn’t searing, just the remembered ache of an old war wound. She breathed a small sigh of relief. “Reason to love them more than me, apparently,” she said, and saying it only hurt a tiny bit.
Jake was suddenly intense, the distant guise of politeness vanishing. “Maddy, listen to me. Just because your father was incapable of caring about anything more than an abstraction, just because your mother is a cold-hearted bitch, doesn’t mean that you aren’t worth loving,” he said in a rough voice. “God knows, you have every reason in the world to be bitter. You’re entitled to be screwed up, angry, incapable of love or trust. You’re entitled to a cold, miserable life. You have every reason in the world. And you’re entitled to hate me. I wouldn’t blame you for a moment. I lied to you, I left you, again and again and again.”
“Yes,” she said. “You did.”
“But I always loved you. You’re worth loving, Maddy. You’re worth far more than I can ever give you. I haven’t got the faintest idea what I’m going to be doing a year from now, I have no idea how I’ll live, where I’ll live, what kind of person I’ll be. I only know that I don’t want to be without you. I should be noble and leave you alone, let you find someone who can cherish you, someone who can take care of you—”
“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” she broke in ruthlessly, turning to look at him for the first time. It took all her resolve not to throw herself in his arms. “And I think I’ve had enough of nobility to last me a lifetime.”
“Then what do you want?”
She smiled then, a sure, joyous smile. “I want you, Jake Murphy. I always have, and I always will. And even though you left me, again and again and again, you came back. And damn it, next time you go, I’m going with you.” She reached out then, touching his weary face with gentle fingers. “Agreed?”
“Agreed.” He looked down at her, his eyes dark and clear and full of love.
“In the meantime I’ve got something for you,” she added. “Something you need very badly, whether you realize it or not.”
“What?” The wariness was second nature, Maddy thought. She’d teach him not to be wary; together they’d learn how to trust.
She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach, feeling quite pleased with herself. “You may not know what you’ll be doing a year from now, but I do. You’ll be changing diapers.”
His hand tensed beneath hers. His voice was hoarser than usual when he spoke. “You promise?”
She rose to her knees, cradling his face in her hands. “Oh, Jake, I promise,” she said fervently. “And you damned well better make an honest woman of me, and soon.”
He sat very still, suspicion an old companion. “Is that the only reason you want to marry me?”
Maddy laughed, and the sound of her amusement was liquid sunshine in the cool morning air. “Of course. Normally I can’t stand you, but I’m so conventional I’ll make that sacrifice for the baby’s sake,” she said blithely. She kissed him then, and her mouth trembled against his. “Soledad can give me away.”
He smiled at her slowly, and for the first time the smile reached the weary depths of his eyes. “It might be more accurate if she gave me away.”
“Don’t remind me! Maybe we’ll elope.”
“I haven’t asked you yet,” he pointed out politely.
“Well, hurry up. We only have seven and a half months.”
“That’s more than enough time,” he said, leaning back against the tufts of grass that poked through the fine white sand. “Let me think about it.”
“Jake!” Maddy shrieked, and suddenly found herself sprawled on top of him, held firmly in the warm, strong circle of his arms.
“I’ve thought about it,” he said with a grin. “Will you marry me, mi amor?”
She smiled down at him, at peace for the first time in her life. “With pleasure, Murphy. With pleasure.”
And as the first streaks of sunlight touched the stormy Pacific and the cool sea breeze blew around them, the war was over. And life had just begun.
Author Bio
I’ve been writing since the dawn of time. A child prodigy, I made my first professional sale to Jack and Jill Magazine at the age of 7, for which I received $25 (admittedly my father worked for the publisher). Since then I’ve written gothics, regencies, romantic suspense, historical romance, series romance—anything with sex and violence, love and redemption. I misbehave frequently, but somehow have managed to amass lots of glittering prizes, like NYT, PW and USA Today bestseller status, Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romance Writers of America, and a decent smattering of Romantic times and RITA awards.
I live on a lake in Northern Vermont with my incredibly fabulous husband. My two children have flown the coop, but the three cats do their best to keep us from being lonely.
In my spare time I quilt and play around with wearable art, and the rest of the time I
write write write. Apparently women of a certain age get a rush of creativity, and I’m currently enjoying it. Too many stories to write, not enough hours in the day.
