My Sister, Myself

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Other things weren’t going quite as he’d planned, either. He’d expected that he’d never want to touch his lying wife again. But night after night, as he lay in bed beside her, smelled her fresh, feminine scent, he found it harder and harder not to reach for her. Not to lean over and kiss that vulnerable spot at the back of her neck. Not to accidentally let his foot slide over and rub against her leg.

  He sure as hell couldn’t blame his reaction on any encouragement or teasing on her part. She wore sweats and a T-shirt to sleep in and hung half out of bed in an attempt to keep to her side.

  “What are you going to do when the semester starts?” he asked her as they were preparing dinner a few days after they were married.

  With new understanding, he thought back to the times she’d lacked self-confidence, in spite of her thorough mastery of the material she’d been teaching.

  She looked up from the macaroni-and-cheese she was stirring. “Teach.”

  “But—”

  “Christine’s a teacher. I have to teach,” she said in the same tone she’d used in the classroom when she’d been absolutely certain of something.

  Ben let it go, but he wasn’t satisfied.

  He’d never been so confused in his life. The woman he’d known these past months, the woman he’d grown to care so much about, was now living in his house, sleeping in his bed. He could no longer deny that.

  He just didn’t know who she was.

  Or why she’d engaged in such a massive deception.

  He also didn’t know how she’d come to know so much when she had no formal education.

  But he wanted answers to all these questions.

  Two days before the year ended, Ben entered his apartment after taking Alex over to play with Martha Moore’s youngest daughter. He found Tory sitting on the edge of the living-room couch, her face ashen, tears streaming down her cheeks, an unfolded piece of paper clasped between her fingers.

  “Tory?” he asked. He’d gotten used to the name. He actually thought it suited her better than the more conventional Christine, but honoring her request, he only used it when they were alone.

  She looked up at him, helpless as a child, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

  “What is it?” he asked. Alarm filled his heart, propelling him over to her. If someone had hurt her, he’d—

  “He’s dead,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, in spite of the tears.

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Bruce,” she said, as though they’d just been talking about him, as though they’d frequently spoken about him. “Bruce is dead.”

  Who was Bruce? What did he mean to Tory?

  “He killed himself. One of his servants, who’d been a bit of a friend to me, wrote to Christine, telling her about Bruce’s death.”

  She sounded dazed, as though she still couldn’t comprehend that this man—whoever he was—had died.

  Confused, Ben sat down next to her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Oh, no!” She swung her head toward him, her teary eyes earnest. “Don’t be sorry, please don’t be sorry. This is the best news I’ve ever had!”

  Even more worried now, Ben watched her. Had she completely flipped out? Should he call Phyllis? Get her to a hospital?

  Before he could reach for the phone, Tory grabbed his hand. “I’m free, Ben! Really and truly free!”

  He was missing something vitally important here. Something he desperately needed to know.

  Something he was about to find out.

  “All the years of running, the fear, the beatings. It’s all over!” She stared at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and innocence. “I can’t believe it. It’s f-finally over.”

  She burst into tears, falling against Ben’s chest, clutching his shoulders much like Alex had done when he’d brought her home from Child Welfare. Ben’s body shook with the force of Tory’s sobs. His heart ached with the force of her pain.

  Careful not to confine her in his embrace, he nonetheless held her, one hand on her thigh, the other gently rubbing her arm. Held her and rode out the storm with her. He had no idea what she was seeing in the shadows he couldn’t see, what pain she was releasing. He knew only that this was the woman he loved.

  No matter what she called herself.

  When she was breathing more regularly, he started to talk.

  “Tell me about him,” he said, bracing himself for whatever might come next. He knew that whoever Bruce might be, he wasn’t the stepfather who’d abused her. That despicable excuse for a human being had died several years ago.

  “He wouldn’t let me go to college,” she said. “I wanted so badly to follow in Christine’s footsteps, to make something of myself, to get out…”

  She began to shudder, to weep silently, and she was lost to him again.

  “Why wouldn’t he let you go?” Ben asked, calling her back. And what right did he have to stop you?

  “He was jealous, thought I’d fool around with the college boys.” She was quiet for a moment, then added, “And I think he was afraid to let me get an education in case it made me too independent.”

  Nausea hit Ben’s stomach. “Who was he, Tory?”

  “My ex-husband.”

  Emotions attacked Ben from all angles during the next hour as he sat and listened to the horror of Tory’s marriage, the more than two years of running since. Compassion, protectiveness, overwhelming love mingled with rage, despair, helplessness.

  And gratitude. He was so thankful that she’d found Phyllis. And that because of their daring plan, he’d found Tory.

  “I don’t know why it is that girls who’ve been abused as children often pick abusive men for husbands, but Phyllis says it’s a common pattern,” she said at one point. “It’s almost like I expected him to hurt me. And Bruce, of course, obliged.”

  Right then, if Bruce hadn’t already been dead, Ben could cheerfully have murdered the man with his own bare hands.

  “It’s a pattern you’ve broken this time,” he assured her instead.

  She nodded, her head moving against his chest. “I know that.”

  Her hand dropped to his, where it rested on her thigh. His breath caught as she slipped her fingers beneath his. He’d watched her hold Alex’s hand many times over the past few days. This was the first time she’d ever held his.

  “I wanted so badly to tell you—”

  “Shh.” He placed the fingers of his free hand against her lips. “I understand that now. One slip, and Bruce could have been on to you. On to all of us. And there’s no guarantee I wouldn’t have gone after him, either.”

  The way he felt, chances were actually pretty good that he’d have tried to play the superhero. And could easily have gotten them all killed.

  “I really was thinking of you and Alex when I agreed to marry you,” she told him, though she didn’t need to. He’d already figured that out himself.

  “And protecting you with my silence.”

  “It’s over, Tory.” At least, that part of it was. Much remained to be seen.

  “He used to force me to have sex with him, and the whole time he’d tell me how much I was liking it, how much I wanted it. But I hated it. I was certain I’d never want sex again—until I met you.”

  Sitting there so close to her, closer then she’d ever allowed, Ben was deeply touched by her admission. He had a legacy of hurt to overcome, but he was determined to do so—as long as she’d let him.

  He wasn’t sure how much damage he’d done over the past few days. Tory’s emotional trust was so fragile his rejection could have been enough to destroy it.

  “He used to make me throw these huge parties, and everything had to be perfect from my clothes to the music. And if any of the food wasn’t eaten or the wine wasn’t the best, I’d pay later. He’d say I didn’t really want to be his wife, didn’t really love him if I didn’t do better than that….”

  Holding his hand, Tory continued to talk. And Ben listened, all the while struggling to keep
his emotions in check. There was nothing he could do, no way to wipe away the memories haunting her, the pain she’d endured. Yet he felt an instinctive need to do something.

  “So what finally made the bastard snap?” Ben asked a little later, as her narrative slowed to a few random memories.

  “He’d been having me watched—me as Christine….”

  Ben’s heart turned to ice when she told him about the times she’d been certain she was being followed, right here in Shelter Valley, as recently as the Friday before she’d agreed to marry him. The day he’d first mentioned marriage to her.

  “When his men reported back that ‘Christine’ had spent an entire semester teaching college, told him about the life she was living, the man she was seeing, he finally became convinced I was dead,” Tory told him. “I would never have been openly seen with another man. He’d have killed me, and he knew that I knew it.” She held out the page she’d been reading. “According to this letter, he was so distraught, so unwilling to face life without me, he hanged himself so he could join me, instead.”

  Ben needed to hug her so badly, and knew she needed just as badly not to be hugged.

  Someday, he vowed. Someday.

  No matter how long it took.

  But first he had some making up to do.

  “I’m so sorry I’ve been such an idiot,” he told her, sparing himself nothing. “You’ve been so good to me, so great with Alex, and I couldn’t even say thank-you.”

  “I wasn’t doing it for gratitude.”

  “I know.”

  “And I think you were very gracious toward me, under the circumstances,” she added, pulling her head back enough to smile up at him. “I don’t think I’d have been that gracious if I’d just found I’d married a dead man…”

  “We’re going to have to take care of that.”

  “I know. I intend to call Will first thing in the morning. I could be in some real trouble there.”

  “Maybe.” Ben refused to think about that. Tory had had enough trouble in her life. Now was the time for her payoff. “But Will’s a good man. If we explain the circumstances, I’m pretty sure he won’t press charges against you.”

  “It’ll take a little longer with the authorities. I don’t even know how to go about proving they issued a death certificate for the wrong woman.”

  “I’m not sure of procedures, either, but whatever they are, we’ll get through them.”

  “We?”

  Ben took a deep breath, prayed he’d get this right. “I didn’t marry a teacher, Tory, or a thirty-year-old. I married the woman whose soul spoke to mine the first day I met her, whose presence can calm me even when my world in falling apart. One who’s intelligent, who has courage and strength and compassion. A woman who loves my little girl, who’s bringing the sparkle back to Alex’s eyes…”

  She was crying softly. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered. “Mostly, I can’t even believe you’re real.”

  “I’m very real, my darling,” he assured her.

  “Someday, when you’re ready, I’ll show you how real.”

  A small movement against him was her only reaction to his promise. “Does this mean you want to stay married to me?”

  “It means I intend to marry you again—and get the name right this time. That is, if you agree.”

  “I agree,” Tory said without hesitation. She smiled at him, leaning forward to place a small, provocatively innocent kiss on the corner of his mouth.

  “I’ll make the calls tomorrow morning,” he said. He wanted to be legally married to this woman as soon as he could possibly arrange it.

  Just as he mentioned the telephone, it rang on the table beside her. Picking up the receiver, she handed it to Ben and then watched, her eyes intent, as he heard the news he’d been waiting for.

  “We’ve got Alex!” he shouted a few minutes later when he hung up the phone.

  “It’s official?”

  “It’s official temporarily,” he said, so relieved he wanted to run a mile. “There’ll be a lot of paperwork, some visits from a social worker, a court hearing or two, depending on how difficult Mary tries to be.”

  “If she knows what’s good for her, she’s not going to fight. Or she and Pete could very well end up in jail.”

  “I’m certainly in favor of that, although the only thing I really care about is getting Alex.” He grinned and grabbed his wife’s hands. “In the meantime, I’m to enroll her in school here in Shelter Valley.”

  “Thank God.”

  “We’re going to be a family, Tory—you, me and Alex.”

  Tory sighed, a residual sob making her breath uneven. “I still can’t figure out why you’d want to saddle yourself with someone like me.”

  Ben kissed the top of her head. “Life isn’t really about creating our own fates or even choosing them. It’s about making of them what we can, to the best of our ability.” He kissed her lightly. “And we’re both examples of that.”

  “Ben?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I’d like to make love with you, to the best of my ability….”

  Fortunately, Alex was at Martha’s house for another couple of hours.

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6255-7

  MY SISTER, MYSELF

  Copyright © 2000 by Tara Lee Reames.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com