by Jeanne Allan
Her bedroom door closed quietly. So she wouldn’t wake up her son. Did she ever think of her own needs?
One mystery had been solved. This was Elizabeth’s secret. The one which had sent her into a panicky denial of having any secret when he’d asked about her fear of horses. He’d never have guessed this.
She wouldn’t have let the secret slip if she hadn’t been so weary, her spirits so depressed. He couldn’t begin to imagine the thoughts going through her head as she witnessed everyone else’s happiness during her visit.
He had no idea why her late husband had walked out on her. A coward who left a letter instead of facing the woman he’d married was beyond contempt.
Elizabeth blamed herself. She hadn’t said so, but Worth never doubted for a second that she’d been second-guessing every word she’d ever said to her husband, every action she’d ever taken. The man didn’t deserve a second thought.
No sound came from her bedroom. He pictured her lying in the dark crying.
His hand was on the doorknob before he knew what he was going to do. Enough light from the hall leaked into the room to show him the dark mound of her body. No sound of weeping came from her pillow. Her ragged breathing told him she was awake.
Worth walked quietly to the side of the bed. He could see her eyes, wide, owl eyes, staring up at him. Giant shudders racked her body. He brought a finger to his lips, then folded aside her covers and picked her up. She weighed nothing. Other than one quick gasp when he bent over the bed, she made no sound.
In his room, he laid her on his unmade bed and pulled the covers over her. Without removing his jeans, he crawled in beside her and drew her into his arms, holding her tight against him. He felt the chill of her body through her thin pajamas, and methodically he massaged her, much as he rubbed a newborn colt. Gradually her shudders slowed, finally stopping, and her breathing leveled out.
“My stepfather talked a lot about his son,” Elizabeth said, as if there had been no break in their conversation. “I could hardly wait to meet him. When I was little, I used to pretend he was my real brother instead of a stepbrother. Later, I was glad he wasn’t my real brother. Because then I could fall in love with him.”
Worth altered the rhythm of his strokes, slowing, gentling. As he’d comforted Jamie earlier. “You didn’t meet as children?”
Her head shook against his chest, her hair tickling his skin. “He didn’t come to Mother’s wedding. His mother called and said he was sick. We all felt bad. Mother sent him a piece of wedding cake. I know now he didn’t want to come. His mother didn’t want him to come either, so she lied for him. Apparently she believed my stepfather would one day come to his senses and come begging back to her. She was a sick, bitter woman.”
Who’d infected her son, Worth guessed. “Didn’t he ever visit his father?”
“Children of divorced parents travel a lot between parents. When I got shipped out to stay with Russ, Lawrence got shipped in to stay with his father. Once we moved to Europe, Lawrence stopped coming. Camp, jobs. Like me, so I didn’t think anything of it. My stepfather would fly back to the States and visit Lawrence.”
She fell silent, and Worth patiently waited.
“I thought I knew everything there was to know about Lawrence. My stepfather spoke proudly and often of Lawrence’s grades, his accomplishments, articles published in school journals. He was editor of his college yearbook. My stepfather took pictures whenever he saw Lawrence, so I knew what he looked like.”
Her hands moved restlessly. Worth captured one and massaged her fingers. Her wrist felt thin and fragile.
“Lawrence looked like a younger version of my stepfather. He had the same voice, some of the same mannerisms. I love my stepfather, so it was easy for me to fall in love with Lawrence. My mother is so happy with John. I expected to be happy with Lawrence. I felt as if I knew him.”
She spoke in a vague, disconnected voice, as if reciting something by rote. “I didn’t know how much he resented his father divorcing his mother, how much he resented my mother. Mother didn’t even meet my stepfather until three years after his divorce.”
Worth smoothed down her hair, reluctant to interrupt her flow of words.
“My stepfather’s in the military, and we normally lived in housing on the base, adequate, but not always spacious. When Lawrence came to visit, he usually had to stay in my room, a room my mother designed for a little girl, a room filled with little girlish things Lawrence was told not to touch. Lawrence believed his father preferred me to his own son.”
Suspecting where her story was headed, Worth clamped his jaws shut, holding in words and emotions which if loosed might frighten her back into her self-imposed silence.
“In the letter he told me he hated me. Said he’d hated me from the time he was ten. He married me and coldly, deliberately impregnated me. Those are the words he used to describe his son’s conception. ‘Coldly and deliberately impregnated’ me. The act had nothing to do with love. Not even with lust. Only with revenge.”
She made an odd sound. “It’s funny when you think about it. You thought I came to Colorado for revenge, when I’m the last person who’d do anything for revenge. Not now. Not after what Lawrence’s sick and twisted thinking led him to do. I thought Jamie was our hope for the future. I was so happy, but I was wrong. Jamie was Lawrence’s revenge on the past. From the beginning he intended to leave me as soon as I had ‘the child.’”
Worth was glad her husband was beyond earthly retribution. He’d never believed physical violence solved anything, but coldheartedly beating Lawrence to a pulp might have proved a temptation impossible to overcome.
“Lawrence rejoiced that Jamie was male. He said my stepfather and I would find out what Lawrence’s life had been like, growing up without a father. His mother died of cancer while he was in college. He blamed that on us, too. Said he wanted me to know how his mother had suffered, raising a son by herself.”
Amazement colored her words as she added, “He actually believed raising Jamie would be a punishment to me.” She paused. “He never held Jamie. I thought he was nervous. Some men are nervous with newborns.” She fell silent again.
Worth had no words to console her. A dictionary full of words wouldn’t have helped him. Her husband’s cruelty could not be erased with sympathy or indignation.
The utter stupidity and waste were beyond Worth’s comprehension. How could Elizabeth possibly have fallen in love with the kind of man who would desecrate that love?
She turned into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Her breath warmed his skin. Her heart beat against his bare chest. He listened to her breathing and smelled baby powder mingling with the perfume she’d worn to dinner.
He hadn’t realized it was possible to despise anyone as much as he despised her dead husband.
“I told everyone Lawrence was going to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. He was killed only a few blocks from our house,” she said dully. “I never told my stepfather about the letter. If he ever found out, he would be devastated and blame himself.” After a long pause, she added, “Mother could never keep it secret from him.” She spoke again after an even longer pause. “And Russ would tell Mother.”
The haunting, eerie howl of a distant coyote came through the open window. Another coyote answered the first. Male coyotes bonded with their mates and helped with their young. Calling a man like Lawrence Randall a low-down, dirty coyote insulted coyotes.
Elizabeth stiffened against him and made a funny little sound. “I can’t believe I told you my pathetic tale. You must think I’m pitiful.”
The humiliation and self-loathing in her voice angered him. He couldn’t imagine how she’d borne her solitary burden for so long. “I’m glad you told me.”
“It’s too easy to talk in the dark. Late at night, tired, a person lets her defenses down. I must have had too much wine with dinner. You listen too well. It’s seductive.” She hesitated. “I hope you’ll forget all this.”
“Already forgotten,” Worth lied.
Horses neighed in the pasture. They’d scented the coyotes.
“I should go back to my bed and let you sleep.”
“If you want to. Or you can stay here for a while longer.”
“I haven’t been held for so long.”
Rage swept through him at the mixture of apology and shame in her voice. When he’d brought his emotions under firm control, he said, “I like holding you. You smell like Jimbo.”
“It makes a person question everything. Finding out how wrong I was. I truly believed he loved me and wanted his child. I’ve asked myself over and over again how he could have fooled me so completely. How I could have been so blind and stupid. How he could have done it. I could almost understand if there was another woman. But to plan so coldly to have a son in order to abandon him. I’ll never understand that.”
Worth thought it defied understanding.
“I should feel sorry for him, that his hate outweighed what Jamie and I could give him. I think how joyless and barren his life was. He was brilliant, you know. He could have had so much.”
She was silent so long Worth thought she’d fallen asleep.
“Mostly I’m angry at him,” she said. “For hurting Jamie. For deceiving me. Do you want to know something really sick? I think I’m mostly angry because he humiliated me.”
The self-condemnation in her voice ripped at Worth’s guts. She had nothing to condemn herself for. Nothing. “He didn’t humiliate you,” he said evenly. “There’s nothing wrong with loving.”
“How could I love him? Maybe I didn’t. I wonder now, but maybe that’s only because of what he did to me. I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted what my mother has. She’s so happy with my stepfather.” She paused. “I thought Lawrence loved me. I thought he loved his son. I trusted him and he betrayed me. He was right about one thing. Sometimes I think I can’t bear it that Jamie will grow up without a father. A boy needs a father.”
The last words were mere whispers against his chest as exhaustion won out and sleep claimed her. Unwilling to disturb her, Worth waited a long time before gingerly sliding a numb arm from beneath her head. With his other arm, he tucked her securely against him.
He’d heard people say their hearts ached for someone and assumed the words were merely a figure of speech. Not until now did he understand the crushing physical pain in one’s chest at witnessing another’s suffering. He wished she’d cried. Perhaps her pain had passed beyond the solace of tears.
Because she blamed herself for her husband’s contemptible behavior, maybe she punished herself by refusing to give in to the weakness of tears. No wonder she was too thin, too brittle.
Worth wanted to shoulder her pain, alleviate her suffering. He was big and strong.
He’d never felt so helpless.
Elizabeth slept soundly, her body a featherweight warmth curled into him, her arm wrapped around his middle.
His body stirred and tightened. He wanted her.
At that moment he hated himself almost as much as he hated her dead husband. She didn’t need another man using her to satisfy his base needs. She needed a friend. A brother.
His body refused to listen.
Setting his jaw, Worth folded one hand under his head and clenched the other at his side. Deliberately he forced himself to mentally compose a list of chores which needed to be done after the wedding.
From a distant hillside coyotes mocked his efforts.
As if they somehow knew about his body’s heavy arousal.
Worth doggedly continued with his list of chores. He fell asleep somewhere between mowing the alfalfa and inspecting the irrigation ditches.
Toes sliding up and down his lower leg woke him. Worth didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. A hand delicately explored his bare chest.
“I know you’re awake. Your breathing changed.” Inches from him, Elizabeth’s voice came softly out of the darkness.
He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see her face. His skin burned where she touched it. He sucked in air as she found one of his nipples. And wondered what she intended. Wondered if she could feel what her touch was doing to him. He cleared his throat. “Grandpa Yancy let me in on a secret when I was about ten.”
Her hand moved across his chest. “It’s a night for secrets.”
The sultry tone in her voice would have been more convincing without the underlying uncertainty. Seducing a man appeared to be a new experience for her. If that was what she was doing. “The trick with women is to remember how it is with horses.”
She went still, her hand and toes not moving, while she puzzled out his words. “What does that mean?” she finally asked.
Worth carefully refrained from touching her. “When a stallion approaches a mare, he does it cautiously. A lot of people think the stallion runs things, but the mare is the one who decides when and if she’s ready to mate. A stallion who ignores her signals to keep away risks a chestful of flying hooves.”
More time elapsed. “What if the stallion’s not interested?”
He smiled in the dark. “Trust me, he’s interested.”
Her fingers slowly came to life, tiptoeing down his chest. “He doesn’t find the mare embarrassingly aggressive?”
Worth found himself embarrassingly unprepared, but he feared she’d read rejection into his saying so. “As much as he likes green pajamas,” Worth found the buttons and toyed with them, “the only thing he finds her is overly dressed.”
“Oh.”
Before she could close her mouth, he joined their lips, kissing her slowly, deeply, thoroughly. She lay perfectly still as if focusing all her attention on what he was doing to her mouth. And what she almost shyly began doing to his.
Outside false dawn lighted the sky. Birds twittered awake. No one else would be stirring for a while.
Worth could take his time. Give her what pleasure he could. Leisurely he slipped one button after another through the buttonholes. Her breath caught about the third button, and he lifted his head, pausing until she made a tiny, impatient move. Nibbling her bottom lip, he undid the last two buttons.
Her breathing grew more ragged with each button, and she clutched his shoulders as he opened her pajama top. Not to push him away.
Two could play the nipple game. He’d been right. Her breasts were exactly the right size. Her skin was softer, warmer than he’d imagined. Her chest rose and fell and she moved restlessly against his hands. He lowered his mouth, finding the tip which had tantalized him those million years ago in the kitchen. Her fingernails dug tiny trenches in the flesh of his shoulders.
He thought she probably didn’t even notice when he removed her pajama bottoms. Her belly was soft, her legs warm and sleek. He slipped his hand between her thighs to a juncture of incredible heat. The explosion which followed didn’t surprise him at all.
Elizabeth lay bonelessly on the bed and marveled that a year of marriage had not taught her this. After Lawrence had left, she’d missed the closeness, missed having a solid bulk at her back, the warmth and smell of a man in her bed. A soft giggle slipped out.
“What’s so funny?”
She couldn’t tell him.
Why couldn’t she? She’d trusted him enough to be lying beside him stark naked. Not that the little joke was easy to put into words, especially when she didn’t want to discuss Lawrence while in bed with Worth. “If I’d known about that,” she said carefully, “I might have ignored my widow book and looked for comfort before.”
An incredulous silence met her remark, then Worth started to laugh, choking it off immediately, as if he’d remembered the sleeping baby down the hall.
She remembered something else and reached for the waistband of his jeans. “Isn’t the stallion supposed to take off his clothes, too?”
He grabbed her hand. “A stallion mates to breed the mare. I’m afraid you caught me unprepared.”
Elizabeth froze as the meaning of his words sank in. “When did you remember that? Just
now or before you…” She couldn’t finish the question.
He didn’t answer immediately. “Does it matter?”
His response told Elizabeth everything she needed to know. She snatched her hand away, her knuckles burning where they’d touched his jeans. The fact that his jeans bulged in front did nothing to lessen her humiliation. Her pajamas had disappeared, and she pulled the covers up to her neck. “You know it matters or you would have answered the question,” she said bitterly. “I thought we were making love, but you were making pity.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Did you feel sorry for the poor, abandoned widow, or were you afraid I’d pitch a fit if you rejected me?”
“I wanted to do it for you, Elizabeth. Can’t you accept the gift?”
“How many women have you given that gift to?” She put all the sarcasm she could muster into the word gift. He couldn’t answer the question, not in any way which would appease her, so she didn’t bother waiting for him to think up a lie. “I’m a charity case, like Rosie, aren’t I? The mare nobody wanted because she was bony and ugly and half-dead. Where are my pajamas?”
He handed them to her. “There’s a small drugstore not far from St. Chris’s. I can sneak away during the wedding reception and buy—”
“Brains? I doubt they sell them,” Elizabeth snapped, yanking up her pajama bottoms under the covers. She thrust her arms into the top. “Don’t buy anything on my account.”
“Maybe it would be on my account.”
“Oh sure. And maybe aliens from outer space are going to sing at the wedding today.” The buttons on her top fought her clumsy fingers. “You know what your trouble is, Worth Lassiter? You’re dishonest. You never tell anyone when you don’t want to do something. You smile, and you do it, even when a person doesn’t want you to do it, and then you whine about all you have to do for everyone else. Did you ever stop to think maybe a person would rather have honesty than char—”
She clamped her mouth shut at the sound of footsteps in the hall. A quick look at Worth’s window disclosed a fuchsia glow above the horizon. Elizabeth’s hands froze on the last button as a knock sounded at the door. Worth heard his mother call his name. Having little choice, he answered.
