by Sandra Brown
She was checking the latch at the front door to make sure it was bolted when she heard Drake's voice coming from the classroom. It reached her even over the roar of the wind and the ping of sleet against the windows.
"Mom-my," Drake said distinctly and with stress on the syllables. "Feel here, Jennifer," she heard him say. "Put your fingers here on my throat. Mom-my. Mommy. See? Can you do it?"
"Mau-my," Lauri heard Jennifer say with an effort.
"Yes!" she heard Drake say as he patted the child on the back "That's close," he said. "Here's what it looks like written. M-O-M-M-Y. Mom-my. Try it again," he urged.
Lauri covered her mouth to stifle the cry of anguish that burst from her throat. The pictures! He had asked if Susan's things were still upstairs. He must have got some of the things to help explain to Jennifer her relationship to the woman in the photographs.
"I can't bear it," Lauri gasped, and ran upstairs. The moment she opened the bedroom door, she saw that the closet doors containing the boxes were open. He had looked through them and taken out what he wanted to show his daughter.
Oh, God, Lauri sobbed. He still loves her. He always will. Subconsciously she had been entertaining the hope that his return meant he had reconsidered their relationship. Perhaps he wanted their fake marriage to be made legally binding. Now she knew better.
She also knew what she had to do.
Without thinking further, she took a suitcase from underneath the bed and began to pack. She took only what was necessary. She would ask Betty to send the rest of her things to her later. Right now she didn't even have an address.
When she was finished, she snapped the suitcase shut and slid it once again under the bed. She didn't want to alert Drake to her plans.
Lauri Parrish was a fighter. Surrendering to anything was a loathsome offense to her character. Only once before in her lifetime had she had been forced to retreat – when her marriage had reached a point where remedy was impossible.
She was a fighter, but when defeat was inevitable, when victory was beyond her grasp, she knew how to surrender gracefully no matter how much it hurt her pride. She accepted the hopelessness of Drake's ever returning her love. She was leaving – now. While she still retained a modicum of dignity.
She was waving the white flag.
* * *
Chapter 14
«^
It seemed to take forever to get Jennifer ready for bed. She was excited over Drake's presence in the house and pulled stunts that Lauri would never have countenanced at any other time.
Finally she was bathed, kissed, and tucked in. When she said the prayer Lauri had taught her in sign language, Lauri blinked back stinging tears. She knelt down and hugged the child closer, reveling in her clean, fresh smell and the petal softness of her skin. I love you, Jennifer, she signed before she fled the room, leaving Drake to turn out the light.
She went into the master bedroom and shut the door, but within seconds, Drake was knocking on it. "Yes?"
"Room service," he said cheekily before opening the door himself. "Why don't you come down and drink a glass of wine with me in front of the fireplace. It's a perfect night for it." His sly insinuation was that it was a perfect night for other things as well.
His words filled her with rage, and it was a taxing effort to contain it. He still thought that he could use her at his convenience. Well, he'd soon know that she was made of finer stuff than that!
"I have a headache," she said tritely. "I think it was caused by the wind blowing all day or something. Anyway, I don't feel well. I think I'll go to bed. What I need more than a glass of wine is a good night's sleep."
"The lady doth protest too much methinks."
"I'm sorry, Drake. I just don't feel like going downstairs again," she said curtly.
He stared at her a moment then said, "All right. I'll see you in the morning."
She had listened to the muffled sounds of the television set as she paced in her room. Finally it was turned off, and she heard Drake go into the room adjoining the kitchen. Water splashed in the bathroom as he got ready for bed.
At last the house was quiet. Lauri crept to the top of the stairs and listened. No lights were on. Returning to her room, she waited another twenty minutes before she slipped on her coat and hood, retrieved her suitcase from beneath the bed, and crept stealthily down the stairs.
The wind had died down, but it was still snowing hard when Lauri stepped out onto the front porch. After quietly putting down her suitcase, she pulled the door closed behind her. Cautiously she crept down the icy steps and half slid, half walked to the parked Mercedes.
The door to the car was frozen shut. After several frustrated attempts to open it with one hand, she had to place her shoulder bag and suitcase on the snow and pull with both hands before the door swung open, nearly knocking her down.
She stowed her bags in the backseat and slid behind the wheel. Through her leather gloves, she could feel that the steering wheel was ice cold, and she shivered under her heavy coat. What if the car wouldn't start?
She pumped the accelerator several times, then tried the ignition. The engine made a grating sound, chugged, and stopped.
"Damn!" she muttered under her breath as she tried again. When she was about to give up, the engine jumped to life and the purr of the motor was a blessed sound. All the time she was trying to start the car, she kept a nervous eye on the front door, fearful that Drake would hear the motor. Apparently the whistling wind muffled any other sound. With one final, regretful look toward the house, she engaged the gears, and the wheels of the car fought for traction on the slippery ground.
Her thoughts had been so jumbled that she hadn't really given any thought to driving during a blizzard. She was accustomed to driving on snowy streets in Nebraska. But these mountains in New Mexico were different from the flat plains of her home state.
Panic engulfed her as the wheels lost their traction and swerved to one side of the lane. She managed to right the car's course, but she gnawed her bottom lip nervously. Taking a firmer grip on the steering wheel, she was determined not to go back. Drake had driven from Albuquerque in this storm. If he bad made the trip' so could she. If she waited until morning, everything would be frozen even harder.
It took her almost ten minutes to negotiate the lane that led to the house. When she reached the bottom of the hill where the lane intersected with the road going into the village proper, she applied the brakes, but the car refused to stop. Thinking she could ease out into the street without coming to a complete stop, she turned the steering wheel no more than a fraction of an inch.
But it was sufficient.
Before she could regain control, the car was lost to her and under its own guidance. It careened crazily, its rear wheels fishtailing first to one side of the lane, then the other. Instinctively Lauri slammed on the brakes. The wheels locked, and the rear of the car plunged down into the soft bank of snow in the ditch. She lay reclined in the seat as if she were in a dental chair. She was unhurt. There couldn't have been much damage to the car, for its descent into the ditch had been easy and She had heard no crunching of metal. It was, however, hopelessly sunk in the deep snow. She cut the engine.
Before she had a chance to ponder her dilemma, the door on the driver's side was tipped open, and she stifled a scream before she saw Drake's face. It didn't resemble his usual physiognomy, but instead was contorted with anger.
"Are you hurt?" he barked.
She shook her head dumbly, not knowing whether to be glad she had survived the accident or not. She was more afraid of Drake now than she was of the possibility of an automobile crash.
He grabbed her by the upper arm and dragged her from behind the wheel. When she resisted and tried to reach for her bags in the backseat he yelled, "Leave them." He had put on his shearling coat, but had left it unbuttoned, and it flapped around him as he struggled up the side of the ditch in the knee-deep snow. The blowing snow and Stygian darkness hindered their progress even m
ore. He pulled her along behind him, caring little that the snow was midthigh on her.
She called out to him once when she thought her ankle was going to snap in the heel of her boot, but he didn't hear her. Or he was ignoring her.
When at last they had climbed out of the ditch, she was grateful for the chance to rest, but Drake had other ideas. Taking a firmer grip on her arm, he began to march up the lane, stumbling, sliding, and cursing with each step. She never remembered seeing him this angry. His head was bare, yet he seemed impervious to the bitter cold wind and the snow that was capping his windblown hair.
She was soon exhausted and lagged behind. He jerked her upright and hissed close to her ear, "If you don't get your ass in gear, my footprints are going to be covered up with more snow. Then we'll be lost out here. Is that what you want?" He shook her slightly and she looked up at him fearfully. She shook her head no, and they continued on their way up the hill.
She slipped on the steps leading to the front porch and fell forward, catching herself with her hands. Drake placed his hands under her arms and hauled her up without ceremony or gentleness. He shoved the front door open with his shoulder and pushed her inside.
Her feet were frozen and felt like wooden blocks as she tramped toward the stairs. Her intention was to escape Drake. He must have gleaned that, for he was right behind her, and, gripping her wrist in a fist made of iron, pulled her toward the fireplace.
"Don't you dare move," he ordered in a menacing voice. He knelt down and stirred the glowing coals with a poker before placing more logs on the grate. When they had ignited to his satisfaction, he turned to Lauri.
Had she not been chilled to the bone and shivering already, his look would have frozen her blood. The green eyes flashed with fury. His jaw was hard and indomitable.
She flinched when he raised his arms. Instead of striking her as she expected, he clenched her shoulders and drew her closer to him until she had to tilt her head back painfully on her neck to see him.
"If you ever pull another stunt like that, I'll blister your butt. Do you hear me?" He shook her again, and her head wobbled uselessly. "What were you trying to prove?" he demanded. "Huh?" he added when she didn't answer him.
The fire was gradually warming her and with the thaw came the anger. By what right did he cross-examine her? She was a free agent. She could leave if she wanted to, and without any explanation to him.
She yanked herself out of his grasp and backed away from him, her anger matching his. They were now squared off like boxers, each assessing the opponent's strength.
"If it's your car you're worried about, I left you a note upstairs informing you that it would be left in the airport parking lot to be picked up at your convenience." Her chin inclined slightly with belligerence.
"I wasn't worried about a goddamn car!" he roared. "Did you leave Jennifer a note, too, explaining your sneaking away? I'm sure she would have wondered where you were," he sneered.
That momentarily set her back and she mumbled something unintelligible.
"I didn't catch that," he said, crossing his arms over his chest in an arrogant stance that infuriated her.
"I said," she emphasized, "that I would leave the explanations to you."
"And what would I tell her?"
The fiery glow of her hair matched the anger building within her. It was her only defense against his insolence. "Tell her that I hold myself in higher esteem than to be the part-time mistress of an actor who expects every woman to grovel before him. Tell her that as much as I love her and care about her future, I couldn't stay and be insulted and degraded by a meaningless, shabby affair. I was being paid to teach her, not to provide bedroom services to her father."
Her breasts were heaving with agitation, and her body was pulled as taut as a violin string. "I'm leaving here if I have to walk! I don't care if I ever see you again, Drake Sloan." She whirled away from him.
"No," he said with a rasping hoarseness.
Lauri was so startled by the raw emotion in his voice that she halted. Curious about his swift change of mood, she faced him again. His eyes, which had been full of anger only moments before, now looked bleak, desperate, and pleading.
"I won't let you leave me, Lauri. Say you won't." While she watched with incredulity, he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist. His face was pressed against her softness and he nuzzled her gently. "I swore I'd never love another woman. But I do. God help me, I do. I won't let you leave," he repealed.
Her hands went of their own accord to the top of his head, and she brushed the remaining drops of moisture from the silver-tinted strands. Pushing away from him, she sank to her knees to face him.
"Drake? What are you saying?" She searched his face for signs of deceit. Was he role-playing? Was this the tender, tragic scene at the end of the play when the future of the lovers hangs in the balance? No. The pain and longing and despair she saw on his face were genuine. He wasn't acting.
He brushed away the snow-dampened tendrils of auburn hair beside her cheek and said softly, "You thought I waltzed in here today and expected to pick up where we left off, right?" She nodded. "And you thought that when I invited you to come down here and share a glass of wine with me that I was setting the big seduction scene, right?" She nodded, "Well, I was," he confessed abashedly. "But first I was going to ask you to make our marriage a real one. Or rather a legal one. I've always felt that the one your father performed was real."
"Drake," she whispered, "why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
"Why?" he scoffed. "Would you have believed me? You're always so defensive, looking for ulterior motives, never trusting an honest emotion when you see it." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead.
"I understand you better than you understand yourself, Lauri Parrish Rivington," he said. "I told you on our second meeting that your face was too expressive for your own good." He outlined the bones of her face with loving, adoring fingers.
"Paul must have been a real bastard. From what little you've told me, I think I can fill in the gaps and see what kind of life you had with him. He was moody and temperamental, and you felt like you were walking on eggshells all the time in order not to damage his fragile self-image. Am I right?"
"Yes," she said. How had he known all that?
"Well, I can be as moody and temperamental as the next person. In fact, I can be as mean as hell. But you've certainly never hesitated to show me that fierce temper of yours when I get too far out of line. You knew, whether your mind thought on it consciously or not, that I'm not like Paul. I'm tougher. I'm not as fragile. I won't ever lean on a crutch like alcohol to keep from facing adversity.
"Living with anybody who is constantly in the public eye is tough. I realize that. But no matter what people say or what you read about me, don't believe it unless I say it's true. If things ever get too hard to handle, I'd get out and do something else. To me, acting is a profession, not a passion. You and Jennifer would always come first."
He drew a deep breath. "Now, if you can put up with a tiny bit of artistic temperament, I can put up with your fiery temper."
"Fiery temper!" she cried with an instant display of the subject. She had fallen for his trick, and he laughed. Embarrassed, she joined his laughter, then collapsed against him and said, "No, you're nothing like Paul. And I trust you now." Her heart was pounding with joy, but she had to clear away all the doubts and … ghosts.
"Drake, what about Susan?"
"Susan?" he asked, raising his head and looking down at her. "I thought you might ask me about her." He sighed.
Oh, God, no! Lauri screamed inside. "You still love her, don't you?" she asked, surprised at her own temerity.
He stared at her in shock. "Is that what you thought?" She nodded "The first time you kissed me, you told me you loved your wife."
"In the past tense, yes. I did. When we first met, I loved her deeply. We had fun together. Our sex life was more than satisfactory."
Lauri was suffocated with jealousy, and it must have showed. The corners of Drake's lips lifted in a grin before they relaxed and became serious again.
"She was beautiful and talented. But she didn't have a generous spirit; she had no soul. As much as I hate to admit it, she was spoiled, selfish, and shallow. Her ambition nearly drove me to distraction, because it included me as well as her." As he talked he shrugged out of his coat and helped Lauri with hers.
"She virtually forced me to take that soap opera job I didn't want. She wasn't willing to sacrifice and let me continue studying. She wanted to be married to a celebrity, as if that were worth anything," he said bitterly. "But she gloried in that celebrity life – and in dance. When she got pregnant, I thought she was going to castrate me. She hadn't wanted to take birth control pills because they made her gain weight, but it was all my fault when she got pregnant."
They were leaning against the hearth, his arm supporting her. He held her hand and traced each vein and bone with his finger. "Such lovely hands," he murmured and brought one to his mouth, kissing the palm before continuing his story.
"I was almost afraid that she'd have an abortion, but after nine months of griping temper tantrums and incessant bitching, she delivered Jennifer, and I was thrilled."
He paused again and stood up, facing the fire. The flickering shadows etched the features of his face sharply. "Jennifer was six months old when we discovered she was deaf. Can you imagine the mental anguish, Lauri? The soul-searching? Was I being punished for some secret sin? Stealing apples when I was ten years old? I realize how ridiculous that self-incrimination was now, but that was my first reaction. But it was nothing compared to Susan's. As if my own guilt weren't enough, Susan blamed me too. 'I didn't want the kid in the first place,' she'd scream at me. You see, Jennifer didn't meet Susan's standard, which was perfection. Susan's dancing had to be perfect; she wanted a perfect husband. She couldn't cope with having a less than perfect child."
