* * *
Brand stood in front of the telephone and stared at the numbers for a long while. He’d had a couple of drinks, and although his mind was crystal-clear, he wasn’t sure contacting Erin was the thing to do, especially now.
Damn it all, the woman had him tied up in knots a sailor couldn’t undo. He was due to ship out in a few days, but if he didn’t clear up this matter with Erin, it would hang over his head for the entire six months. He couldn’t go to sea with matters unsettled between them the way they were.
More than likely she’d slam the phone down in his ear.
What the hell? It was either phone her or regret the fact he hadn’t. Brand had learned early in his career that it wasn’t the things he’d done that he regretted, it was the things he hadn’t done.
“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked himself aloud, amused that he’d picked up Erin’s habit of talking to herself.
He answered himself. “She can say no.”
“She’s as good as turned you down before,” his other self argued.
“Quit talking and just do it.”
Following his own advice, Brand punched out the numbers that would connect him with his beautiful Irish rose. The phone rang seven times before she answered.
“Hello.” She sounded groggy, as if he’d gotten her out of bed. The picture of her standing there in her kitchen, her hair mussed and her body warm and supple, was enough to tighten his loins.
“Erin? It’s Brand.”
“Brand?” She elevated her voice with what Brand felt certain must be happiness. She loved him. She might try to convince herself otherwise, but she was crazy about him.
“Hello, darling.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she demanded.
“Nope. Is it late?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
Now that sounded like an accusation, one he didn’t take kindly to. “I’ve had a couple of drinks. I was celebrating.”
“Why’d you call me? You sound three sheets to the wind, Lieutenant.”
Brand closed his eyes and leaned his shoulder against the wall. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to pretend Erin was in the same room with him. He needed her. He loved her, and, damn it all, he wanted her with him, especially when he wasn’t going to be able to hold or kiss her for six long months.
“Brand,” she repeated. “I’m standing here in my stocking feet, shivering. I’d bet cold cash you didn’t phone because you were looking for a way to waste your hard-earned money, now did you?”
“I love you, darling.”
His words were met with silence.
“Come on, Erin, don’t be so cruel. Tell me what you feel. I need to hear it.”
“I think we should both go back to bed and forget we ever had this conversation.”
Brand groaned. “Come on, sweetheart. I never realized how stingy you are with your affections.”
“Brand…”
“All right, all right, if you insist, I’ll tell you why I phoned. Only—Hold on a minute, will you?” He set the phone down on the table, then climbed down on one knee. It took some doing, because the floor insisted upon buckling under his feet. He didn’t drink often, and a few shots of good Irish whiskey had affected him far more than he’d realized.
“Brand, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m ready now,” he whispered. Drawing in a deep breath, he started speaking once more. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you.”
“Good.” Now that it had come time, Brand discovered he was shaking like a leaf caught in a whirlwind. His heart was pounding like an automatic hammer. “Erin MacNamera, I love you, and I’m asking you on bended knee to become my wife.”
Chapter Eight
Standing on the bridge, a pair of binoculars clenched tightly in his hands, Brand stared at mile upon mile of open sea. The horizon was marked by an endless expanse of blue, cloudless sky. The wind was brisk, carrying with it the scent of salt and sea. Taking in deep breaths, Brand dragged several lungfuls of the fresh air through his chest.
This was his second week sailing the waters of the Pacific. Generally Brand relished sea duty. There was a special part of his soul that found solace while at sea. He felt removed from the frantic activity of life on the land, set apart in a time and place for reconciliation with himself and his world.
Brand was grateful for sea duty, especially now, with the way matters had worked out with Erin. These next few months would give him the necessary time to heal.
Erin was out of his life. But he still loved her. He probably always would feel something very special for her. He’d analyzed his feelings a thousand times, hoping to gain perspective. He’d discovered that the depth, the strength, of his love wasn’t logical or even reasonable. She’d made her views plain from the day they met, yet he’d egotistically disregarded everything she’d claimed and fallen for her anyway. Now he had to work like hell to get her out of his mind.
She’d flatly turned down his proposal of marriage. At first, after he’d asked her on bended knee, she’d tried to make light of it, claiming it was the liquor talking. Brand had assured her otherwise. He loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her. He wanted her to be the mother of his children and to grow old with him. She’d gotten serious then and started to weep softly. At least Brand chose to believe those were tears, although Erin had tried hard to make him believe she was actually laughing at the implausibility of them ever finding happiness together.
She claimed his proposal was a last-ditch effort on his part, and on that account Erin might have been right. The fear of losing her had consumed him from the moment he’d received his orders. Rightly so, as it had worked out.
So Erin was out of his life. He’d given it his best shot, been willing to do almost anything to keep her, but it hadn’t worked. In retrospect, he could be pragmatic about their relationship. It was time to move on. Heal. Grow. Internalize what he’d learned from loving her.
One thing was sure. Brand wasn’t going to fall in love again any time soon. It hurt too damn much.
The breeze picked up, and the wind whipped around his face. He squinted into the sun, more determined than ever to set Erin from his mind.
* * *
Erin’s philosophy in life was relatively simple. Take one day at a time and treat others as she expected to be treated herself. The part about not dating anyone in the military and not overcharging her credit cards was an uncomplicated down-to-earth approach to knowing herself.
Then why had she bought a grand piano?
Erin had asked herself that question ten times over the past several days. She’d been innocently walking through the mall one Saturday afternoon, browsing. She certainly hadn’t intended to make a major purchase. Innocently she’d happened into a music store, looking for a cassette tape by one of her favorite artists, and paused in front of the polished mahogany piano.
There must have been something about her that caught the salesman’s attention, because he’d sauntered over and casually asked her if she played.
Erin didn’t, but she’d always wanted to learn. From that point until the moment the piano was scheduled to be delivered to the house, Erin had repeatedly asked herself what she was doing purchasing an ultraexpensive grand piano.
“How many credit cards did it take?” Aimee had asked her, aghast, when she heard what Erin had done.
“Three. I’d purposely kept the amount I could borrow low on all my cards. I never dreamed I’d spend that much money at one time.”
Running her hand over the keyboard, Aimee slowly shook her head. “It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.”
“The salesman gave me the name of a lady who teaches piano lessons, and before you know it I’ll be another Van Cliburn.” Erin forced a note of enthusiasm into her voice, but it fell short of any real excitement.
“That sounds great.” Aimee’s own level of zeal was decidedly low.
In retrospect, Erin understood why she’d done something so crazy as to buy an expensive musical instrument on her credit cards. The two men who’d delivered the piano had explained it to her without even knowing her psychological makeup.
“I hope you don’t intend to move for a long time, lady,” the short, round-faced man had said once they’d maneuvered the piano up her front steps.
Getting the piano into the house had been even more of a problem. Her living room was compact as it was, and the deliverymen had been forced to remove the desk and rearrange the furniture before they found space enough for the overly large piano.
“If you do decide to move, I’d include the piano in the sale of the house,” the second man had said to her as he used his kerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. His face had been red, and his face had glistened with perspiration.
“I don’t plan on moving,” she’d been quick to assure them both.
“It’s a damn good thing,” the first had muttered on his way out the door.
“If you do plan on moving out of the area, don’t call us,” the second had joked.
Brand had been gone one month, and Erin had maxed out three credit cards with the purchase of one grand piano. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t have located middle C on the keyboard to save her soul. Nor did it concern her that she’d be making payments for three years at interest rates that made the local banks giddy with glee. What did matter, Erin discovered, was that she was making a statement to herself and to Brand.
She had no intention of ever leaving Seattle. And she certainly wasn’t going to allow a little thing like the United States Navy stand in the way of finding happiness. Not if it meant leaving the only roots she’d ever planted!
If Erin was actually in love with Brand—and that if was as tall as the Empire State Building—then she was going to force herself to fall out of love with him.
The piano was symbolic of that. Her first move had been to reject his marriage proposal. Her second had been to purchase the piano.
* * *
Friday night Erin and Aimee met at a Mexican restaurant and ordered nachos. They’d decided earlier in the day to make an effort to have fun, drown their sorrows in good Mexican beer, and if they happened to stumble across a couple of decent-looking men, then it wouldn’t hurt anyone if they were to flirt a little. For fun, Aimee had promised to give Erin lessons in attracting the opposite sex.
“We can have a good time without Steve and Brand,” she insisted.
“You’re absolutely right,” Erin agreed. But the two of them had looked and acted so forlorn that they’d had trouble attracting a waiter’s attention, let alone any good-looking, eligible men.
“You know what our problem is?” Aimee asked before stuffing a nacho in her mouth.
Erin couldn’t help being flippant. “Too many jalapeños and not enough cheese?”
Aimee was quick to reply. “No. We’re not trying hard enough. Then again, maybe we’re trying too hard. I’m out of touch…I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.”
For her part, if Erin tried any harder, the bank was going to confiscate her credit cards. As it was, she was in debt up to her eyebrows for a piano she couldn’t play.
“We’re trying,” Erin insisted. She scanned the restaurant and frowned. It seemed every man there was sitting with a woman. Aimee was the one who claimed this place was great for meeting men, but then, her friend had been out of the singles’ world for over a decade. Apparently everyone who’d met there had married and returned as couples.
“Oh, my—” Aimee gave a small cry and scooted down so far in the crescent-shaped booth that she nearly slid under the table.
“What is it?”
“Steve’s here.”
“Where?” Erin demanded, frantically looking around. She didn’t see him in any of the booths.
“He just walked in, and…he’s with a woman.”
Erin had never met Aimee’s husband, but she’d seen several pictures of him. She picked him out immediately. He was standing against the white stucco wall with a tall, thin blonde at his side. Tall and thin. Every woman’s nightmare.
“You can’t stay under the table the rest of the night,” Erin insisted in a low whisper. “Why should you? You don’t have anything to hide.”
A tense moment passed before Aimee righted herself. “You’re absolutely right. I’m not the one out with a floozy.” Riffling her fingers through her hair, Aimee squared her shoulders and nonchalantly reached for a nacho. She did a good job of masquerading her pain, but it was apparent, at least to Erin, that her friend was far more ruffled than she let on.
As luck would have it, Steve and his blonde strolled directly past their booth. Aimee stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge her husband. Erin, however, glared at him with eyes hot enough to form glass figurines.
Steve, tall and muscular, glanced over his shoulder and nearly faltered when he saw Aimee. His gaze quickly moved to Erin, and although she could have been imagining it, Erin thought he looked relieved to discover that his wife wasn’t with a man.
His mouth opened, and he hesitated, apparently at a loss for words. After whispering something to his companion, he returned to Aimee and Erin’s table.
“Hello, Aimee.”
“Hello,” she answered calmly, smiling serenely in his direction. Erin nearly did a double take. Her co-worker had been hiding under the table only a few seconds earlier.
“I…You look well.”
“So do you. You remember me mentioning Erin MacNamera, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Steve briefly nodded in Erin’s direction, but it was clear he was far more interested in talking to his wife than in exchanging pleasantries with Erin. “I…thought I should explain about Danielle,” he said, rushing the words. “This isn’t actually a date, and—”
“Steve, please, you don’t owe me an explanation. Remember, you’re divorcing me. It doesn’t matter if you’re seeing someone else. Truly it doesn’t.”
“I thought you were the one divorcing me.”
“Are we going to squabble over every single detail? It seems a bit ridiculous, don’t you think? But technically I suppose you’re right. I am the one filing, so that does mean I am the one divorcing you.”
“I don’t want you to have the wrong impression about me and Danielle. We—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m dating again myself.”
“You are?” Steve asked the question before Erin could. He straightened and frowned before continuing. “I didn’t know…I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“It was no trouble.” Once more she leveled a serene smile at him, and then she intentionally looked away, casually dismissing him. Steve returned to the blond bombshell, and Erin stared curiously at Aimee.
“You’re dating yourself?” Erin muttered under her breath. “I never expected you’d lie.”
“I fully intend to date again,” Aimee countered sharply. “Someday. I’m just not ready for it yet, but I will be soon enough and—” Her voice faltered, and she bit mercilessly into her lower lip. “Actually, I’ve lost my appetite. Would you mind terribly if we called it an evening?”
“Of course I don’t mind,” Erin said, glaring heatedly at Steve, who was sitting several booths down from them. But when it came right down to it, Erin didn’t know who she was angriest with—Aimee, for pretending Steve didn’t have the power to hurt her any longer, or Steve, who appeared equally afraid to let his wife know how much he cared. As a casual observer, Erin had to resist the urge to slap the pair of them.
* * *
The dreams returned that night. The ones where Brand climbed into bed with Erin, slipping his arms around her and nestling close to her side. There was little that was sexual about these romantic encounters, although he kissed her several times and promised to make love to her soon.
Erin woke with tears in her eyes. She didn’t understand how a man who was several thousand miles away could make
her feel so cherished and appreciated. Especially when she’d let it be known she didn’t want anything more to do with him.
It got so that Erin welcomed the nights, praying as she drifted off to sleep that Brand would come to her as he often did.
Reality returned each morning, but it didn’t seem to matter, because there were always the nights, and they were filled with such wonderful fantasies.
The letter from her father arrived a couple of weeks later.
“I received word from Brand,” her father wrote in his sharply slanted scrawl. “He claims there’s nothing between the two of you any longer and that’s the way you want it. He was frank enough to admit he loves you, but must abide by your wishes. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Brand Davis is more man than you’re likely to find in five lifetimes, and you refused his proposal? I feel I’m the one to blame for all this. I should have kept my nose out of your business. Your mother would have my hide if she knew I’d asked Brand to check up on you when he was in Seattle. To be honest, I was hoping the two of you would hit it off. If I were to handpick a husband for you, Erin, I couldn’t find a better man than Brand Davis. All right, I’m a meddling old man. Your mother’s right, who you date isn’t any of my damn business.
“You’re my daughter, Erin,” he continued, “and I’ll love you no matter what you decide to do in this life, but I’m telling you right now, lass, I’m downright disappointed in you.”
“I’ve disappointed you before, Dad, and I’m likely to do so again,” Erin said aloud when she’d finished the letter.
Tears smarted her eyes, but she managed to blink them back. Her father rarely spoke harshly to her, but it was apparent he’d thought long and hard about writing her this letter. It wasn’t what he’d said, Erin realized, but what he’d left unsaid, that cut so deep.
Feeling restless and melancholy, Erin went for a drive that afternoon. Before she knew it, she was halfway to Oregon. Taking a side route, she drove on a twisting, narrow road that led down the Washington coast.
For a long time she sat on the beach, facing the roaring sea. The breeze whipped her hair around her face and chilled her to the bone, yet she stayed, conscious every second that somewhere out in the vast stretch of water sailed Brand, the man she was dangerously close to loving. She could pretend otherwise, buy out every store in Seattle and act as foolish as Aimee and her husband, and it wouldn’t alter the fact that she loved Brand Davis.
Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set Page 50
