My Sister, Myself

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Five minutes later, she settled on a couch in a deserted alcove at the back of the library, Gone with the Wind in her hand. Maybe not quite the studying she’d had in mind, but it was American.

  And it suited her mood. Scarlet hadn’t let anything stop her.

  Tory’s choice had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it was a romance. Tory didn’t believe in romance. Magic between a man and a woman was a tragic fantasy designed for the sole purpose of disillusioning young women. A rite of passage from carefree childhood into adult misery.

  She turned the pages, hardly even aware that she was doing so. She was completely engrossed. Scarlet was fiery and beautiful and gloriously sure of herself. And Rhett—

  “Mind if I share?”

  Her mind filled with the breathtaking maleness that was Rhett Butler, Tory looked up from her book as someone sat next to her.

  Her heart kicked up—in response to Rhett, she swore to herself, and for no other reason.

  “No, I…” Her voice trailed off and she stared at Ben.

  It wasn’t as though his looks had changed in the two weeks since she’d seen him. Although minus the backpack she’d grown used to seeing slung over one broad shoulder, he was wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt—brown this time. For some reason, the sight of Ben, relaxed and fit and tanned, was particularly attractive today.

  Christmas might have come to Shelter Valley, but winter had not. They were still enjoying seventy-degree weather.

  “You look good,” he told her, seeming to approve of the belted overalls and knitted top she wore with her tennis shoes.

  “Thanks.” She stared back at her book, waiting for Rhett to sweep her away from Ben Sanders. Hard as she searched, Rhett was nowhere to be found.

  “You enjoying your vacation?”

  Tory nodded, leaning on the arm of the couch, as far from Ben as possible. Other than an elderly librarian way up at the front desk, they were alone.

  “Have you heard anything from Alex?”

  “No.”

  “Is she out of school for the holidays yet?” Is there still someone keeping an eye on her?

  “Not until next week.”

  Tory glanced over at him—and then away from the warmth in his eyes.

  “You still in contact with them?”

  “Every day.”

  “Everything still all right?”

  “Looks like it.”

  Tory sighed with relief, surprised by how much the burden of worry had been building during her time apart from Ben. She’d had no way to assure herself that little Alex was fine, that there was no reason to suffer for her.

  Ben shifted on the couch and rested one ankle on the other knee. Tory’s stomach fluttered when she realized he’d sat down without a book. Without even a magazine or the day’s paper. As though he was sitting there solely because of her.

  “Will you get to talk to her on Christmas Day?” she asked nervously.

  “I doubt it.”

  Tory thought of all the packages she’d wrapped that week, the dolls and little-girl clothes, the games. Would Alex’s parents make sure she had packages under the tree?

  “Did you get her anything?”

  “Yeah, I got her a stuffed version of Buddy.” Ben grinned, though the expression faded quickly.

  “I picked up some clothes and a few other things, too, shipped it all off at the beginning of the week….” His gaze was unfocused.

  “Your ex-wife will give her your gifts, won’t she?”

  “Sure,” Ben said, glancing quickly at Tory.

  “Mary would never turn away something she didn’t have to pay for. She just probably won’t tell her they’re from me.”

  “Who, then?” Tory asked, frowning as she looked at him. “Surely she wouldn’t pass them off as her own gifts.”

  “Of course she would,” Ben said. And it wouldn’t be one of the worst things she’d done, either. “But I don’t really care as long as Al gets them.”

  “You don’t want Alex to think you forgot her at Christmas, though.”

  Ben’s brows were drawn together. “Unless it helps her adjust to her new life. Stop thinking about me and concentrate on her new father.”

  “Thinking that someone she’s loved her whole life has forgotten her won’t help, no matter how many new fathers she has.”

  “Maybe not.”

  Tory felt for him. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do about the situation. To call Alex would displease her parents; there was a chance that displeasure would be directed her way, and if there was abuse in that home…

  Face grim, Ben looked as though his thoughts might be traveling along the same path as hers.

  “What, besides shopping, have you been doing with your vacation?” she asked in an attempt to distract him.

  “Taking Buddy to obedience classes at the vet’s.” His grin was slow in coming, it was small, but it was there. “He hasn’t quite figured out that he’s supposed to be learning something—that it’s not a social occasion.”

  “Is your friend Zack running the class?”

  “No.” Ben shook his head. A trace of the grin still tilted one corner of his mouth. Tory stared at that uplifted corner, finding it somehow endearing.

  And then wondered what was the matter with her. Endearing was not a word that fit in Tory’s life.

  “Zack arranged the class,” Ben was saying, “but if he taught it, the dogs would never learn obedience. He’s too much of a softie. Lets them do anything they want.”

  Tory half smiled at the image of the big athletic man Ben had described being led around by a passel of puppies. Holding her place in the book with one finger, she said, “So, is Buddy a good student?”

  Grinning fully now, Ben spent the next ten minutes regaling her with episodes from his week at dog school. She laughed as he described how Buddy sat when he was supposed to heel, lay down when he was supposed to sit. And lifted his leg on one of his fellow classmates. All in all, Ben thought his latest offspring showed potential. “Give him time,” he said. “He’s just new to being a Sanders. We’ll retake the course in the spring. He’ll get it eventually.”

  “I think you’re nuts,” Tory told him dryly, nervous again.

  He’d made her laugh out loud.

  Pulling her finger out of the book, Tory allowed it to close.

  She supposed he’d leave now.

  Looking down, she felt the cushion shift. Would he wish her a merry Christmas as he walked away? Would he say goodbye? Would she ever see him again?

  She sat there stiffly, expecting him to go, knowing she shouldn’t want to see him again.

  And knowing that she did.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE CUSHION had shifted, but Ben was still on the couch.

  What was he waiting for?

  Tory looked over quickly and, surprised to see his arm along the back of the couch, almost touching her, she jumped. Her book fell onto the floor with a loud clap.

  Embarrassed, uncomfortable, Tory bent to pick it up, but Ben got there before her. As she straightened, he held out the book, not releasing it immediately when she tried to take it. Unable to help herself, Tory met his eyes, the book a connection between them, her hand on one end, his on the other.

  “You’re not my teacher anymore,” Ben whispered, holding her captive with the intensity of his gaze.

  She never was his teacher.

  He was going to touch her. Tory sat suspended, waiting. His hand was so close to her shoulder it would only take one slight movement. A split second. And then he’d be touching her.

  Poised to run, filled with dread, yet unable to move, she felt trapped.

  “I missed you this week.” The words were soft, almost comforting.

  Tory nodded, swallowed.

  As though hypnotized, she let him continue to hold her gaze. His face came closer and still she stared into his eyes. He leaned so slowly toward her she could have escaped. If she’d been able
to break that powerful eye contact. If her brain had told her legs to carry her away.

  “Don’t jump.” The words were barely audible, but Tory heard them.

  She didn’t jump. She didn’t move. She just sat there and let him crowd her, his face coming dangerously closer.

  Until—frighteningly—she felt the softness of his lips on hers, hardly touching hers as he kissed her lightly. Nowhere else were their bodies touching. Just their lips. Eyes wide open, Tory sat very still, distantly aware that his lips were touching hers.

  He pulled back just enough to break the contact, and then kissed her again, a little more fully, moving his lips on her startled mouth. She wasn’t going to allow this. Tory hated to be kissed, hated what she saw as the male dominance inherent in the act, the suffocation.

  “So sweet,” Ben whispered, then bent to kiss her a third time. Not a hard demand, but a soft coaxing that confused Tory, until she closed her eyes, the better to think about it all.

  He kissed her again, still touching her nowhere but her lips, and when his mouth left hers, Tory felt a little sad, a little cold. An instant later, he was kissing her again, and she was so relieved she kissed him back, her lips moving with his of their own accord, opening, tasting him.

  Passion wasn’t completely foreign to her, but it was so far in the past the force of it now completely surprised her. And possessed her. She forgot who she was, where she was. She knew only what she felt—and that the sweet power of it was stronger than she was.

  He tasted like a man, yet not any kind of man she’d ever known. As she responded to him, the intensity of his kisses changed, full of mastery but still gentle.

  She felt his tongue slowly travel the length of her lips before he slipped it between them. Tory moaned, pulling her tongue away, then slowly letting him find it, letting him pull her into the vortex of the sensations he was arousing.

  Without warning, Ben’s arm was wrapped around her. Exerting a slight pressure, he drew her toward him, sending a jolt through Tory that tore the air from her lungs and shot pure terror through her body.

  “No!” she cried, shoving him away as she struggled to her feet.

  She wasn’t going to be trapped, held. She wasn’t going to be confined by his greater male strength. She had to be free.

  Free.

  With only that thought in mind, Tory dropped her book and fled. Through the empty aisles, her tennis shoes making plodding sounds on the marble tiles, past the astonished librarian and out the door.

  If he tried to come after her, tried to catch her, she’d fight him. Elbow him, knee him, slap his face, stomp on his instep.

  Tearing up Main Street, pulling her keys out of her pocket, Tory couldn’t look behind her, couldn’t give him the advantage of that small pause. Gasping and out of breath, she finally got close enough to her car to open the door, throw herself inside, lock the car. She’d kept herself safe from him.

  She needn’t have bothered.

  He hadn’t followed her.

  WITH BETHANY SLEEPING at her breast, Becca Parsons stood in her kitchen, holding the phone to her ear with one shoulder as she dialed. She rocked slowly back and forth on her feet, the way Bethany had taught her. Becca had sent out more than fifty invitations to their annual Christmas party the week before, but had just that morning convinced Will to let her invite the two people she wanted there most of all. She had someone for Christine to meet. A bachelor brother-in-law of one of her friends. And someone for Ben to meet, as well.

  Neither of them was home.

  Afraid to take the chance that one or both of them might plan something else—though she was pretty sure Christine wouldn’t, since Becca had it on good authority that Christine had no social life at all—she left messages on their answering machines.

  “Ben, this is Becca Parsons. Will and I would love to have you come to our annual Christmas open house next Friday night. It’s at seven at our home. Dress is festively casual—or casually festive. The Montfords are going to be here, and I’d be delighted to introduce you.”

  Hanging up the phone, she grabbed her folder with the specs for the new mine permit Shelter Valley Town Council would consider that evening and, baby still sleeping, stood at the counter riffling through the pages of figures. Although commerce was always important, Becca had a bad feeling about that mine. Given the land’s history, it was very possible there was some gold to be found, but not enough to warrant the frenzy such a find would cause. No amount of money would be enough to justify that.

  The issue wasn’t a new one. Shelter Valley had been fighting the gold-rush craze since the discovery of the first mine, shortly after Samuel Montford had settled the area.

  That first gold mine had brought the Smith family to town, and while they’d been influential in the town’s history, they hadn’t—not one of them—contributed anything out of the goodness of their hearts. Needless to say, Mayor Smith was the force behind this newest mining venture. But butting heads with their illustrious mayor was nothing new to Becca.

  Neither was beating him.

  The phone rang and Becca grabbed it quickly before the noise could disturb Bethany.

  “Bec? Jamie just smiled at me!”

  Becca grinned when she heard the joy in her younger sister’s voice. She’d almost lost Sari to grief a couple of years before, when Sari’s teenage daughter was killed by a drunk driver.

  “She’s only a few weeks old, Sar. It was just gas.”

  “No!” Sari insisted, and Becca could hear her pleasure, her unalloyed delight. “I know it was a real smile. I can tell.”

  “Bethany discovered her toes today.” Becca had to do her own bit of sharing. “You should’ve seen her, lying on her back, staring at them, sort of surprised and trying to figure out what they were doing there. I told her, and I think she listened.”

  “Of course she listened,” Sari said. “She’s one smart little girl. Look at the family she comes from.”

  “Are you getting enough sleep?” Becca asked, still feeling a bit of leftover protectiveness where her closest sister was concerned.

  “I’ve got the rest of my life to sleep,” Sari told her. “Bob keeps saying he’ll do the two-o’clock feeding, keeps nagging me to pump, but I can’t bear to miss even one chance…”

  “I know,” Becca said. “But you might want to do it, anyway. You should see the look on Will’s face when he’s feeding Bethany.”

  For another few minutes, Sari expostulated on the joys of breastfeeding, and as she listened, Becca was struck once again by her incredible good fortune. Amazing how life could turn around just when you thought it was hopeless.

  “You ready for the party?” Sari asked.

  “Almost. I wish I hadn’t let Will talk me into having it catered. I miss doing the shopping and cooking.”

  “Like you have time to cook when you’re taking care of a baby, tending to council business, running a toy drive. Something has to give.”

  “Okay, okay,” Becca said, staring down at the map of the area slated for mining.

  “I wonder what Mom’s going to wear.”

  Becca didn’t have to wonder. She ran her hand softly over her sleeping daughter’s downy head.

  “Something outrageous, for sure.”

  “She’ll probably hog the babies, too.”

  Probably. But Becca didn’t care. She was just thrilled to finally have a baby for her zany mother to hog.

  “DADDY?”

  Listening to his messages, Ben came fully alert, head cocked toward the machine on his kitchen counter.

  “I tried to call collect like you said, but you didn’t answer and say okay, so I just called like you used to teach me…”

  Alex’s voice was thin, sounded unhappy. What seven-year-old kid sounded that way on her Christmas vacation?

  “I got spanked on my back again, Daddy. You told me to tell when it happened, and I got no one to say it to now ’cause I can’t go to school. Anyway, no one’s there ’cause of Christmas
. Mommy won’t make a tree. Bye, Daddy.”

  The sound of tears in her voice tore Ben apart.

  “Ben, this is Becca Parsons….”

  Ben paid no attention to his next messages. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but making things right for Alex. One way or another, he was going to save his baby girl.

  With the tenacity of a crazy man, he ferreted out the home number of Alex’s school nurse, rang her house over and over until he finally got an answer, and wasted no time telling her the news.

  “Of course the bastard would do it now,” Ben said almost under his breath, not stopping long enough to give the nurse a chance to respond.

  “She’s not in school, not under anyone’s supervision. Beat her at Christmastime, and he figures he can’t get caught.”

  “Yes, Mr. Sanders, he can,” the nurse said quietly, with enough steel in her voice to get through even to Ben.

  “So what are we going to do next?” he asked her, willing to take direction as long as there was a plan.

  “We aren’t going to do anything at the moment,” she said just as firmly. “You’re leaving this up to me and Child Welfare.”

  “You can’t expect me to sit here and do nothing!”

  “For now, yes, I do,” she said. “We need you to be squeaky-clean, not cause trouble and interfere with the investigation. You have to be ready and waiting, Mr. Sanders. Alex will need somewhere to go if we do remove her from the home.”

  Pacing in his kitchen, Ben held the portable phone to his ear, hoping she’d say more.

  She didn’t.

  “How long will you need?” he asked. A man could only take so much before he had to do something to help himself.

  “I don’t have that answer, Mr. Sanders,” the nurse said. “I’ll call Child Protective Services as soon as we hang up. They’ll have to make a visit to the house, have Alex examined by a doctor, talk to her mother before we’ll know anything more.”

  “You have my number,” Ben said, and hung up the phone. Just a week before Christmas, and he’d never felt less like celebrating.

  Buddy poked his nose into Ben’s palm, asking for attention. As Ben squatted down automatically to pet the dog, his mind raced. He couldn’t just leave Alex’s call unacknowledged. Now more than ever, the child had to know she was loved. Desperately loved.