They moved to the bench, but from here Katie didn't have a clear view of the others. She was constantly shifting, leaning around Sarah, peeking over her shoulder. Soon her natural curiosity got the better of her, and she scooted to the ground.
"She's precious," Linda commented. "Of course, all kids are at that age. It's when they get to be the size of my boys there that they turn into little monsters. Are you going to be here long?"
At Sarah's wary look, Linda raised her hand in defense. "I'm not prying. It's just that the Baptist church sponsors a weekly play day for kids who aren't in school yet. We meet each Wednesday from nine until three. The mothers take turns helping out one day a month. Then you have one day free during the other three weeks to do your shopping or whatever. If you're interested, give me a call. We're the only Schmidts in the phone book."
"Thanks. I'll talk to Daniel about it." Sarah watched Katie, who was inching toward the other children, then turned her attention to Daniel. He was by far the biggest man in the group—stronger, more efficient, a better carpenter. With his help, the remaining booths went up in record time.
"Hello, Daniel," Linda said when he and Zachary joined them. "You all are coming to the festival Saturday, aren't you?"
He looked to Sarah for the answer and found it in the brightening of her soft brown eyes. She wouldn't say so now, but she wanted to come, wanted to bring Katie. "We'll be here," he replied gruffly. "Sarah, I've got to do a couple of things. Do you want to wait here with Katie?"
She checked on their daughter's progress and found her sitting next to Melinda, curiously studying her. "We'll wait. How long will you be?"
"Not more than half an hour. Then we'll have lunch before we go home." Then he would ask her what the sharp-tongued Betsy had said. Then they would be alone again, the way he liked it—just Katie, Sarah and him.
Zachary walked across the square with him, stopping when they were assured of privacy. "I haven't heard from the private detective yet, but he promised that we'd have the report a week from today. Do you want me to bring it out when I get it?"
"Yes—no." The truth was, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what would be in the report. What if it was worse than he'd suspected? What if she had lied to him? But the news could be better than he'd suspected, too. She could have had a reason for sending Katie away, a reason that he needed to know.
But either way, good news or bad, the report represented a breach of trust. Sarah talked about honor and trust; she considered him a good, decent man. Yet he had hired a private detective to snoop into her past, to tell him the secrets that she couldn't trust him with. What did that say about his honor, his decency?
"I'll come into town next week," he said uneasily.
"You do still want to go ahead and sue for custody."
Daniel nodded.
"It's not too late to change your mind. Sarah would never have to know anything about this."
How much did Zachary suspect? Daniel wondered. That he wanted Sarah with a fierceness that left him weak? That he was starting to care for her? That sometimes, when he was tired, when his defenses were down, he needed her?
"I haven't changed my mind, Zach," he said emotionlessly. "I'm not giving up Katie." If Sarah left, he would deal with that. But he would not lose his daughter, too.
The half hour passed quickly for Sarah. She enjoyed Linda Schmidt's company, but she was glad to see Daniel pull up at the corner. She called Katie, who was finally playing with Melinda, and hand in hand they walked out to the curb.
"We have a diner and a restaurant," Daniel said, watching Sarah fasten first Katie's seat belt, then her own. "Where do you want to have lunch?"
She sighed. "If you don't mind, Daniel, I'd just as soon go home."
Because that was what he preferred, too, he didn't argue but headed the truck out of town. They'd driven nearly ten miles before he broke the silence. "What did that woman say to you?"
"What woman?"
"Betsy." He gave the name a dark inflection.
"Oh. Nothing worth repeating." She saw the doubt in his expression and shrugged. "She wanted to know why I gave Katie up."
"Did you tell her it's none of her damn business?" he growled. Even though he had often asked the same question, he was offended that someone else had asked it too.
"It's not worth getting annoyed over. She's not worth it. She's just a petty woman who needs to feel superior to everyone else. The other woman, Linda, was nice. I liked her." She told him about the day-care program Linda had mentioned, then went on to describe Katie's reaction to the boisterous kids. As they neared her house, she broke off. "Can we stop here and get my laundry? While you're working this afternoon, I can take care of that."
It took her only a few minutes to stuff her dirty clothes into a cloth bag. While he waited outside, Daniel checked the stack of firewood. He would bring more this weekend, he promised himself. Then she returned, and they continued up the mountain.
After lunch, Katie took a nap, and Daniel went to work. Sarah gathered their dirty clothes from the hampers upstairs and sorted them in the hallway outside the small laundry room. It seemed such a wifely thing to do—washing the laundry while the baby slept and the husband worked. But she wasn't Daniel's wife, and he didn't want to be any woman's husband. Some of her pleasure in the task disappeared at that thought.
…today I saw the way he looks at you.
Was there any merit to whatever change Zachary thought he was seeing in Daniel? She wanted to believe that there was, but hoped that her desperate longing wasn't blinding her to the truth. Because there was no doubt that she was falling in love with Daniel. Every day that she spent with him, every night that she spent without him, she fell a little bit deeper, a little bit more hopelessly, in love.
She carried the first pile of clothes into the laundry room, dropped it on the floor, then reached to the shelf above her for the detergent. Standing on her toes, she stretched, but the shelf was still a good six inches above her head. It was built for someone much taller, she acknowledged as she carefully hauled herself onto the dryer. Her fingers were closing around the cardboard box when there was a sound behind her, followed by Daniel's voice, mildly curious. "What are you doing?"
She turned around and slid into a sitting position. "I didn't hear you come in," she said with a guilty grin.
"I see." He didn't ask the question again. One quick glance confirmed that the supply shelf was far too high for her. He made a mental note to correct that as he moved closer.
It occurred to Sarah that he might not appreciate her using the dryer as a chair, and she started to slide to the floor, but Daniel was there—big, close, solid. He leaned forward, close enough for her to feel the heat from his body, and lifted the detergent from the shelf. He set it on top of the washer, then added the fabric softener and bleach. His task done, though, he didn't move away. He simply stood there and looked at her.
He had come to take a package of meat from the freezer for dinner, to ask her to stay and eat with them, to tell her that he and Katie would take her home later. But now his purpose was forgotten. Now all he could do was look at her.
She was so pretty. Every time he saw her, he was struck anew by her beauty. What could such a delicately pretty woman see in a man like him, except the fact that he was her key to their daughter? Was that what drew her to him? Maybe, he conceded. Probably. But he didn't want to think about that now. Didn't want to believe that this sweet, innocent-looking woman was capable of using him that way.
Didn't want to question her motives or her reasons. Didn't want to consider anything at all except how he wanted her.
It had been easier in Nashville. There had been no child, no shared past, no emotional ties, no distrust or anger or hurt. Then it had simply been a lonely man with an instant attraction for a beautiful lonely woman. An instant attraction that he'd tried to convince himself was no more than lust. But mere lust couldn't survive two years apart. Not like this. Not this strong.
He touched her slowly. If she wanted to move away, if she wanted to avoid his hand, she could—that was her right. But he knew she wouldn't. She would accept his touch … his kiss … his caress. Would she accept him?
His hand was big. Warm. Callused. And gentle. Sarah was surprised anew by how gentle this big man could be. She needed that gentleness, needed it to heal long months of pain and sorrow. Needed it the way she needed him.
His fingers moved to her cheek, his palm hard and rough against her jaw. He savored the sensations, from the heel of his hand to the tips of his fingers, before moving his hand lower, sliding over her jaw, down her throat, where her pulse beat visibly. Was it arousal, nervousness or fear that caused her heart to race so? he wondered. Surely not fear. Surely she knew that he could never hurt her, could never take anything she didn't offer willingly.
Arousal? His head found it hard to believe he could arouse a woman like Sarah with no more than a touch, but his heart wanted to believe it. He didn't want to believe that she was nervous because she had to endure this intimacy.
"Sarah?" His voice was thick with desire. With need. With unspoken pleas. Don't stop me. Don't turn away. And at the same time, Please stop me before it's too late. Before she became too important. Before he cared too much.
She swayed unsteadily toward him. It was the only invitation he needed. His left hand remained where it was, measuring her pulse, and the right one moved into her hair, sliding through the honey-colored silk to rest on her scalp. His mouth covered hers. There were no tentative gestures, no cautious sips, no gentle searches. There was hunger, quick and insatiable. Heat, simmering and dangerous. Need, heavy and hard and blunt edged.
He tasted… Sarah's eyes fluttered shut. Like air. Like water. Like everything she needed to live. He was making her ache with such sweet pain. Her breasts were tingling, her nipples growing erect, and lower…
She wriggled, trying to ease the ache between her thighs, and slid to the floor. The movement put her in intimate contact with the muscular strength of his body. With the masculine strength of his desire.
She had wanted before, but not like this. She had needed before, but never this kind of need—this swirling, dizzying, toe-curling need. She had hungered before, but not as if she were starving. Not until it hurt. Craving more, she reached for him, twined her arms around his neck and clung to him.
Her breasts were flat against his chest, her belly soft beneath his hardness. Daniel shuddered as she snuggled closer, as if trying to crawl inside his skin. Closer than any woman had ever been. Closer than he could bear without doing something they both might regret later. He tore his mouth from hers, dragged her arms from his neck and retreated to the doorway. "No, Sarah."
He sounded drugged—thick voiced, dazed. The way she felt, Sarah thought with a smile. "Why not?"
"It would be…"
"Fun?" Her smile grew wider. "Katie's asleep, the laundry can wait, and you can spare a few hours from your work."
He studied her for a long time, with that same solemn look that Katie had given the other kids. "It's that easy for you, isn't it? You get aroused, you go to bed. It doesn't matter who, or where, or when, or even why, does it?"
She looked as if he'd struck her. Her face drained of color, her lower lip trembled, and her eyes were round with hurt. How could he kiss her like that one minute and say something so cruel the next? Protectively folding her arms over her chest, she said softly, "If you think I'm a slut, Daniel, at least have the courage to say it. Don't hide behind inferences. Or is 'slut' too difficult a word for an old-fashioned man like you?"
There was derision in her last words. Knowing that he deserved it didn't make it any easier to bear. "I don't want to go to bed with you," he said coldly. It was a lie—a defensive one, but also a painfully obvious one, he admitted. She deserved better than that, better than him.
She let her gaze drop lower, pointedly, insolently, to his groin and the proof of his lie. "Well, you sure could have fooled me. But I guess good men don't go to bed with sluts, do they?" She started toward him. Her voice had lost its softness and was sharp and thick with pain. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back before Katie's up."
But Daniel blocked the door. He couldn't let her go, couldn't let her think he was such a bastard. Without a word, he threaded both hands into her hair, lowered his head and kissed her again.
So gentle. So sweet. Sarah was drowning in sensation. Her anger and wounded feelings vanished, overcome by the sudden breathtaking resurgence of desire.
A simple kiss of apology, that was all he'd intended. A kiss to say what he couldn't put into words. But he couldn't end it, couldn't let her go, couldn't stop his hand from gliding down her throat, down to her breast. He laid his hand flat, completely covering her small breast, and felt her nipple hard against his palm. Her T-shirt, like most of her clothes, was worn thin, allowing him to feel everything. To feel too much.
Sarah arched her back, pressing against him, and a whimper escaped her. At the soft, helpless sound, Daniel released her. He brushed his hand gently over her hair. "Wanting is easy Sarah," he murmured. "I imagine I've always wanted you … and I imagine I always will. But that doesn't make it right."
"But this is right, Daniel," she protested. "Can't you feel it?"
"No." It was another lie, but the end justified the means, he reminded himself. He had already betrayed her trust by hiring a private detective, by instructing Zachary to surprise her with the lawsuit, by breaking his word to her. But making love to her when he was doing those things—that would be the biggest betrayal, and the biggest lie, of all. "You're talking about sex, Sarah. About lust."
"No, Daniel," she disagreed. "I'm talking about a whole lot more. But if you don't understand that, then there is something wrong here."
He saw the dampness in her eyes, heard the quaver in her voice. He wanted to draw her close again, to hold her and kiss her and love her until all the sadness was gone. But he couldn't. In two more weeks she expected to get Katie back. Instead she was going to get served with notice of his lawsuit. If nothing more happened between them, she would simply hate him on that day. If more did happen, she would despise him until the day she died with every ounce of feeling she possessed. Worse, she would blame herself, too, for letting him use her that way. "I'm sorry, Sarah."
It was the first time he'd said those words to her, but they gave her no pleasure, brought her no healing. She wasn't sure anything could ease the pain of knowing that he didn't find her suitable to satisfy his baser desires. Maybe she had been right earlier, for he certainly hadn't denied it. Maybe good men didn't go to bed with sluts.
She turned back to the laundry, knowing he was watching her, trembling so badly that she spilled the cup of detergent across the washer. "Just for the record, Daniel," she said, her voice low and uneven, "I've been with only two men—my ex-husband, and you. I don't think it's very fair of you to condemn me on that basis."
Was it true? he wondered, at the same time knowing that it was. He had known two years ago that her experience with men had been limited. She had been awkward, shy, not used to undressing in front of a man, to sharing the intimacies between a man and a woman. She had never been the easy, shameless, immoral woman he'd made her in his bitter memories. Never.
"Sarah…" He sadly shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."
Keeping her back to him, she swept the spilled powder into the tub, then began loading the clothes. "There are a hundred different ways to hurt someone, Daniel. I have no doubt that you'll find every one of them."
"Sarah, please…" His voice was strained now. "I don't want to lose your friendship."
Friendship, she silently, tearfully scoffed. She wanted love, marriage, a lifetime together, and he was offering friendship—two weeks' worth. Until he got her out of his life. Taking a deep breath, she closed the washer and turned to face him. "I can't give that up. Except for Beth, you're the only friend I have." She tried to smile, but her mouth was trembling too much. "You'd b
etter get back to work now."
"Sarah—"
"Please?" She was going to break down and cry, and she didn't want to do it in front of him. He would worry and feel responsible and try to take care of her, and that would just make everything so much worse. She didn't want his caretaking anymore, not if that was all he was willing to give.
Because he could see that she was on the edge, he gave in and left the house. If he stayed, he would have to soothe her, and if he did that, he would end up making love to her. And in two weeks he would lose her, totally, completely, without a chance in hell of getting her back.
He'd forgotten the dinner invitation, his reason for searching her out, he realized as he walked across the hard ground. It was just as well. He didn't think the pain in his belly was going to go away in time for him to eat dinner, anyway.
October 19
It was cold on Friday night after the sun went down, but that didn't stop Daniel from going out to sit on the porch, his flannel-lined jacket buttoned up tightly, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. Katie was asleep upstairs, tucked beneath a baby-sized quilt, sharing her pillow with Teddy, and Sarah had gone home more than two hours ago.
She hadn't forgiven him for yesterday's scene in the laundry room. She had talked to him, had smiled and laughed and acted as if everything were normal, but something had been missing—some spark of life, of happiness. She was pretending, the same way he was pretending he didn't want an affair with her. He supposed it said something for their honesty that neither of them was very good at that kind of lie.
Honesty. Once it had meant everything to him. His father had taught him as a small child to always be honest, always tell the truth, and for the better part of thirty-four years, he'd done just that. And now, with the only person who mattered in his life besides Katie, practically everything he said or did was a lie.
In less than two weeks, it would be over. His sigh was heavily tinged with relief … and regret. Zachary would file the lawsuit, and Sarah would know how Daniel had deceived her, and whether or not he wanted her wouldn't matter anymore, because she would never have anything more to do with him.
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