Hasty Wedding

by Debbie Macomber

  “Let’s sit down,” he suggested, hoping that once she was out of his arms, his judgment wouldn’t be clouded by the pleasure he received holding her.

  Clare sat on the sofa and Reed joined her. They twisted to look into the fire, and before Reed quite understood how it happened, Clare was leaning back against him and his arms were around her. He couldn’t remember either of them moving; it was as though they had gravitated naturally to each other. His hands stroked the length of her arms.

  “Tell me about your parents?” she asked after several contented moments.

  “My father was born and raised on the reservation,” Reed explained. “He enlisted in the army and, from what I understand, did quite well. He died in a plane crash. I never knew him.”

  “And your mother?”

  His memories of her were fleeting. Try as he might, he wasn’t able to form a clear picture of her in his mind. From photographs he knew she was blond and delicate. And beautiful.

  “She fell in love with my father when he was stationed back East. Her family disapproved of my father and wanted nothing to do with either of them when she married him.”

  “How sad.”

  “Apparently when my father died, she tried to contact them, but they refused to see her. I don’t know what the death certificate says, but my grandfather told me she died of a broken heart. I came to live with him here on the reservation when I was four.”

  “Do you remember much about her?”

  “Very little.”

  “She must have loved you very much.”

  Reed was silent. He’d learned a valuable lesson from his mother’s life, the lesson of not crossing from one world to another, of the costly price of love.

  In his heart, Reed was certain his father had carefully weighed the decision to marry an Anglo, but he’d miscalculated. His death had left Reed and his mother outcasts. No object lesson could be more potent than what had happened to his parents. Yes, times had changed. Prejudice wasn’t as prevalent now as when his parents married. Nevertheless it existed and he refused to subject Clare to such discrimination because of their marriage. Nor was he willing to risk bringing another child into a hostile environment.

  The rain started then, in heavy sheets that slapped against the window. A clap of thunder was so loud, it sounded as though a tree had split wide open directly beside them.

  Clare’s startled gaze shot outside.

  “It’ll pass soon,” Reed assured her. “You’ll stay for dinner?”

  She nodded. “The stew smells wonderful. I didn’t realize you were an accomplished cook, but then there’s a lot I don’t know about you, isn’t there?”

  The question was open-ended, and Reed chose to ignore it. The more Clare knew about his life, the more vulnerable he became to her. He wished he knew what it was about her that affected him so deeply. When they were together, he felt intensely alive, profoundly calm, as though she brought him full circle, back to the love that had surrounded him while his parents had been alive.

  “I’ll check the stew,” he said, needing to break away from her. Each moment she was in his arms increased the ache in his heart. He’d always possessed an active imagination, and sitting there with Clare in his arms, so content and peaceful, was slowly but surely driving him insane. The memory of their wedding night played back in his mind, tormenting him.

  He wasn’t a saint in the best of circumstances. Anyone reading his mind now would recognize he’d never be a candidate for canonization.

  “I’ll set the table,” Clare offered, following him into the other room.

  Reed stood in front of the stove, willing his body to relax, willing the graphic images of them together to leave his mind. Clare was either too busy to notice his predicament, or too innocent to realize what she was doing to him.

  They sat at the table, across from each other, and it was all Reed could do to eat. The savory aroma from the stew should have appealed to him since he hadn’t eaten much during the day. But his mind wasn’t on dinner. He discovered Clare occupied his thoughts as keenly as she did when he was holding her.

  “Tell me about your family,” Reed requested, not because he was curious, but because he felt he should know more about her than he did. The attorney might need information Reed couldn’t give him.

  “I’m the youngest of three children. My brothers both live and work in Seattle. Danny’s the oldest, and is an accountant. Ken’s a salesman for a pharmaceutical company. He does a lot of traveling.”

  “They’re both married?”

  Clare nodded. “I have six nieces and nephews. Dad was in the logging business, but he’s retired now.”

  “You were born and raised in Tullue?”

  She nodded, tearing off a piece of bread.

  “What about college?”

  “I went to the University of Washington. It couldn’t have worked out better. Mrs. Gordon was looking to retire as head librarian and waited until after I’d graduated.”

  “Why haven’t you married?” He realized as he spoke that everything he’d asked her had been leading up to this one question. It was what he really wanted to know, needed to know about Clare.

  She carefully set her fork beside her bowl. Reed had trouble reading her expression, but it seemed she stiffened defensively. “Do you want the long, involved story or the shorter version?”

  Reed shrugged, leaving the choice to her. She looked very much the proper librarian now, her chin tilted at an angle that suggested a hint of arrogance. Her eyes were clear and her mouth, her kissable, lovable mouth was pinched closed.

  “I’ll give you the shorter version. No one asked.” She placed one hand in her lap and reached for her fork.

  “Are Anglo men always such fools?” he asked, amazed they had been blind to her beauty.

  “White men are no more foolish than Native American men. Might I remind you, Reed, you seem mighty eager to be rid of me yourself. Don’t be so willing to judge others harshly when you…when you’re…” She left the rest unfinished.

  Reed couldn’t bear it any longer. Heaven help him, he’d tried not to kiss her, but the pain he read in her made it impossible.

  He loomed over her, and she gazed up at him, her eyes wide and troubled.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He hunkered down so their gazes were level. He studied her, wondering anew how anyone could be so oblivious to such warmth and passion.

  Then Reed understood.

  Others didn’t see it because Clare hadn’t recognized it herself. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  Confused, she slowly shook her head.

  He tucked his arms around her waist and pulled her forward for a slow, deep kiss. Clare sighed, and her arms circled his neck as she melted against him. Reed went down on his knees, and Clare, who was perched on the edge of her chair, leaned into his embrace. He kissed her again, his mouth moving slowly, thoroughly over hers. Kissing Clare was the closest thing to heaven Reed had ever experienced, the closest he’d ever come to discovering peace within himself. Desire raged through him like wildfire, and he breathed in deeply, reaching blindly for something to hold on to that would give him the control he sought.

  It was either stop now or accept that he was going to make love to her right there on his kitchen floor. Reed recognized that fact as surely as he heard the soft cooing noises she made.

  When he hesitated, Clare kissed him, her mouth tentative at first, but slowly she gained confidence as she seduced him with her lips and soft murmurs of pleasure.

  “Clare…” He groaned her name, needing to break this off while a single shred of sanity remained.

  His breathing…her breathing went deep and shallow as she dealt with the pleasure his kisses brought her.

  “Reed…please.” She found his mouth with her own, and he felt in her the same painful longing he was experiencing. Only Clare, his beautiful, innocent wife, didn’t feel she could say what she wanted. The realization had a more powerful effect on
him than her kisses.

  Reed pulled her forward until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him. His hands stroked the gentle curve of her spine as his lips devoured hers.

  “We have to stop,” Reed groaned, tearing his mouth from hers. He was fast reaching the point where it would be impossible to control his needs.

  “Why?” She found his ear and nibbled softly at the lobe. Desire shot through him like a hot blade.

  “Because if we don’t, we’re going to end up making love,” he told her frankly.

  “We’re…married.”

  “Clare, no.” He reached for her wrists and pulled her arms free from his neck, breaking her physical hold on him. The emotional hold was far stronger and required more strength of will than he thought himself capable of mustering. His legs were trembling when he managed to stand and back away from her.

  “I’ll see to the fire,” he announced, surprised by how weak he sounded. He walked over to the fireplace and added a dry log. The flames licked at the bark and greedily accepted this latest sacrifice.

  Miserable, Clare sat back on her legs and waited until the trembling had stopped before she attempted to stand. Carrying their bowls over to the sink, she busied herself by rinsing their dirtied dishes.

  “Leave that,” Reed instructed.

  “It’ll only take me a moment,” she countered. Occupying her hands with the dishes offered her the necessary time to compose her shattered nerves.

  Once again she’d made a fool of herself over Reed. She’d practically begged him to make love to her. Not with words, she couldn’t do that, not again. Pride wouldn’t allow it, and so she’d used her lips and her heart to tell him what she wanted.

  Once more Reed had rejected her.

  How ironic that he could be telling her how foolish the men of Tullue were to have passed her over, while he was pushing her aside himself.

  Tears brimmed just below the surface, and it was fast becoming futile to hold them at bay. Pride was a powerful motivator, however, and when she’d finished with the dishes, she walked into the living room and reached for her purse.

  “I have to get back to town,” she said, with little more than a glance in Reed’s direction. He stood next to the fireplace, his back to her. “Thank you for dinner and for…the moral support with the test. Let me know what the attorney says.” In any other circumstances Clare would have been pleased by how unaffected she sounded, unruffled by their fiery exchange, as if she often passed a rainy afternoon making love.

  “You can’t go,” he said darkly. “The storm hasn’t passed.”

  “It will in a few minutes.”

  “Then wait that long.”

  She didn’t want to argue with him, but she wanted out before she made an ever bigger fool of herself. Despite superhuman efforts her bottom lip started trembling. If she uttered one more word, a sob was sure to escape with it. Clare couldn’t risk that.

  “Every time we touch we’re playing with fire,” Reed said angrily. “It doesn’t help any having you look at me like that.”

  “Look at you?”

  “One harsh word and you’ll dissolve into tears.”

  “I’m in full control of my emotions,” she shot back, furious that he could so accurately pinpoint her feelings. Her anger was what saved her from doing exactly as he claimed.

  His smile was slightly off center, as if it were all he could do not to laugh outright. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Reed said calmly. “If we’d continued we both know what would have happened. We can’t, Clare, not again.”

  His words hit her like a slap in the face. In one breath he was telling her the men in town were fools for not marrying her, and in the next he was quietly arranging to divorce her. She was married, but the opportunity to be a wife was being denied her. One night in bed together didn’t constitute a marriage, but apparently that was all Reed had wanted. One incredible night.

  She reached for the small hand-carved totem pole he’d given her and hurried outside. Pride urged her to leave it behind, but at the last second she took it, unwilling to forsake the gift.

  The rain had stopped, although the sky remained dark and unfriendly, the air heavy and still. Fat drops fell from the trees and the roof as she bounded off the porch and headed toward her car.

  “Clare.” She heard the desperation in Reed’s voice as he followed her.

  “The storm’s over,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s no reason for me to stay.”

  “Listen to me,” he said, gripping her by the shoulders and turning her around to face him. His eyes were narrowed into hard slits, his control paper-thin.

  “You needn’t worry, Reed, I got your message loud and clear, although I have to admit I’m a little surprised by your double standard.”

  “What are you talking about?” he barked.

  “You don’t want me as a wife any more than Jack did,” she reminded him. The wind was whistling in the woods, a low humming sound, a groaning that seemed to come from the very depth of her spirit. “Don’t worry,” she continued, refusing to look at him, “you’ll get your divorce.”

  His jaw went granite hard as he clenched his teeth. He looked away from her. His eyes, dark and haunted, burned with frustration. “You don’t understand.”

  “But I do,” she countered. “I understand perfectly.”

  He released her then, or at least his hands did. He didn’t try to stop her when she opened her car door and climbed inside. He might not be clutching her physically, but his hold was as powerful as if he had been.

  He’d wanted her as badly as she’d wanted him, but something more powerful than physical need was holding him back. Intuitively Clare recognized that whatever it was had restrained him most of his life. He couldn’t allow any person to become important to him. He’d let her into his life as much as he’d dared, and now he was pushing her aside the way he had everyone else. She’d come as close as he would allow. He didn’t want her, and she had to accept that and get on with her life.

  By the time Clare pulled onto Oak Street, thirty minutes later, she’d managed to compose herself. The sky was clear and bright, sun splashing over the earth in vibrant renewal.

  The first thing Clare noticed as she approached her home was Jack’s truck parked outside. The frustration hit her in waves. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him now, but that option had been taken from her.

  She parked her car. Jack was sitting on her front porch, looking beleaguered and defeated.

  “Hello, Clare,” he said, looking to her with a round, pleading expression.

  “Jack.” She prayed for strength and patience.

  “Clare,” he said, standing. “You win, baby, you win.”

  “I didn’t know we were in a contest.”

  Jack didn’t comment. “I can’t go on like this. You want me to tell you how much I’ve missed you—all right, you deserve that much. I’ve missed you. You were right about so many things.”

  It wouldn’t be savvy to disagree with him. Clare had never felt less right in her life, about anything or anyone. She’d wasted three years of her life on Jack, then married a man who couldn’t wait to be rid of her.

  “I’m pleased you think I was right.”

  “I love you, Clare. I’ve been miserable ever since we split up. It’s made me realize I can’t live without you.” He got down on one knee in front of her, reached inside his pocket and took out a velvet ring case. “Will you marry me, Clare? Will you put me out of my misery and be my wife?”

  Chapter Eight

  Jack was serious, Clare realized. How often she’d dreamed of him coming to her, his eyes filled with gentle love, as he asked her to share his life. For three years she’d longed for this moment, and now she’d give anything if Jack could quietly disappear from her life.

  “Well, say something,” Jack said, holding open the jeweler’s case for her to examine the solitary diamond. “I know you’re surprised.”

  “
Jack…I don’t know what to say,” she whispered. Not once did she doubt her answer. It amazed her that only a few weeks earlier she would have been overwhelmed, delirious with joy that she would have burst into happy tears. Now she experienced a regretful, embarrassed sadness, knowing his proposal had come far too late, and being so grateful that it had.

  “That diamond’s big enough to take your breath away, isn’t it?” Jack reached for her hand, intending to place the engagement ring on her finger.

  Clare lamely allowed him to hold her hand.

  “What’s this?” he asked, gazing down at the large turquoise ring Reed had given her on their wedding day. Clare hadn’t removed it, not even to have it sized. Instead she’d wrapped tape around the thick band until it was snug enough to stay on her finger.

  “It looks like a man’s ring,” Jack commented.

  Clare closed her hand and removed it from his grasp. “Come inside, we need to talk.”

  “I’ll say. There’s a lot to do in the next few weeks. You might want to involve your mother and have her help you with the necessary arrangements. I imagine you’d like the wedding fairly soon, which is fine by me. You’d better snatch me up before I change my mind.” He laughed lightly, finding humor in his own weak joke.

  Clare led the way into her home, set her purse and the totem pole Reed had given her on the kitchen countertop. “Do you want something to drink?” she asked, standing in front of the open refrigerator. Her thoughts whirled like the giant blades of a helicopter, stirring up doubt and misgivings. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Jack. “I’ve got iced tea made.”

  “What I want,” Jack said, sneaking up behind her, “is a little appreciation.” He grabbed her about the waist and hauled her against him, kissing her neck.

  Finding his touch repugnant, Clare pushed away. “Not now,” she pleaded.

  For the first time Jack seemed to realize something was awry. “What do you mean ‘not now’? You’re beginning to sound like we’re already married. You know, Clare, that’s always been a problem with us. You’ve never liked me to touch you much, but sweetheart, that’s about to change, right?”