“You’re wearing maternity clothes,” he muttered when she forcefully returned his intense gaze.
He probably hadn’t recognized her. That was the only explanation she could think of why he’d agreed to this awkwardness.
A cheerful waitress swung by their table to take their order. Her good spirits must have rubbed off on Carl because he was smiling when the waitress left. His grin slowly faded as his eyes met Candy’s.
This was going to be difficult. Candy smoothed the napkin onto her lap.
“Perhaps we should agree to put aside our differences for this one dinner,” Carl suggested. “We got along well enough before.”
It would have been childish to disagree. “All right,” she said with obvious reluctance. To her way of thinking, the less they had to say to each other the better.
“You look real pretty, Candy.”
Her gaze shot back to his. She didn’t want to believe him because to do so would make her vulnerable again and she couldn’t allow that to happen. Not again. “Thank you.” She put as little feeling into the words as possible.
“How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful.”
An uneasy silence followed. Much more of this stilted awkwardness and her appetite would be ruined. Their waitress, delivering their salads and once she left they both seemed eager to pick up the conversation.
“How’s the ranch coming along?” she asked.
“Can you feel the baby move yet?” he asked at precisely the same moment.
Candy hesitated, not sure who should answer first. Carl gestured toward her.
“The baby kicks and stretches all the time. Generally he waits until I’m in bed and comfortable before he decides to twist and shout.”
“He?” His grin was wide and eager.
Leave it to Carl to pick up on that. “I never have been able to think of the baby as an it. He is a generic term. I could just as easily be having a girl.”
“Lesley says you’ve taken up knitting.”
Candy was uncomfortable with the thought of her friend talking about her with Carl. Lesley only mentioned Carl in passing, and that was just the way Candy preferred it.
“I didn’t know that Lesley discussed my business with anyone.” Candy knew she sounded priggish, but she was disappointed that the woman she considered her friend had shared this bit of information with Carl.
“I asked about you,” Carl admitted grudgingly. “I don’t want you to think Lesley spoke out of turn. There were several items I wanted her to relay to you, but she was quick to tell me she isn’t Western Union.” His grin was sheepish, and Candy was sure he’d rather she not know that. His willingness to admit this impressed her.
“What kind of things?” Human nature being what it is, Candy was curious.
“I wanted to be sure you had everything you needed.”
“I do,” she whispered. “Thank you for paying the doctor and the hospital bills in advance.” She had only learned that at her last doctor’s appointment.
He shrugged as though to say it was only fair that he do so.
Their waitress stopped at their table. “Is something wrong with the salad?”
“No,” Candy was quick to assure her.
“Take your time, but I thought you’d want to know your dinner’s almost up.”
For being hungry only moments earlier, Candy had nearly forgotten the dinner salad. She raised her right hand from her lap and reached for her fork.
Carl froze, his narrowed gaze appeared to be studying her hand. “You’re wearing the ring.”
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Candy’s stomach. She’d forgotten all about the diamond ring. The one Carl had literally tossed her on his way out the door.
“You’ll note it’s on my right hand.” This was said with authority as though it made a real difference.
“Your right hand,” Carl repeated.
“You did give it to me,” she added defensively.
“Yes,” he mumbled, “but I thought you’d take it back to the jeweler’s. I assumed you had.”
“No.” She dipped the fork into the salad with unnecessary force. “It’s a lovely diamond.” The minute she tasted the first bite, Candy realized she wasn’t going to be able to continue this charade. It had seemed like a simple matter at first, to join Carl for dinner. They were both civilized people, but this had proved to be so much more difficult than she would have thought.
“Why the right hand?” he quizzed.
She didn’t answer him until she had a chance to build up her bravado. She knew the defensiveness was back in her voice, but it was necessary. “I couldn’t very well put it on my left hand, could I?”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “No. But why wear it at all?”
“If you want it back, fine.” She started to slip it off her finger, but he stopped her.
“I said the ring was yours to do with as you like. I’m just surprised that you chose to wear it.”
She reached for her fork once more, determined to eat every last shred of lettuce on her plate even if she had to choke it down. “As I said earlier, it’s a beautiful ring.” Which was a gross understatement. The solitaire diamond was the most beautiful piece of jewelry she owned, but that wasn’t the reason she put it on her finger. He could have mounted a piece of rock salt and she would have worn it with pride had he truly loved her.
Carl seemed intent on downing his salad, as well.
“I…I…” She started and stopped, then purposely looked past him. Her voice was small when she was able to continue. “I know you proposed because I was pregnant, not because of any feelings for me. When you insisted I keep it, I tried putting it away, but I found myself slipping it on and off my finger and pretending we were engaged. One day I decided just to keep it on because I felt closer to you while wearing the ring.”
Carl leaned forward, his elbows braced against the table. “Say that first part again. You’re confusing me.
“What part?”
“The point about me proposing because you were pregnant.”
“Yes?” She didn’t understand what he questioned.
His patience seemed to be wearing thin. “Answer me this. Do you or do you not love me?” He was beginning to sound short tempered.
Candy didn’t so much as blink. “Only an idiot would think I didn’t love you, Carl Saks.”
Her response appeared to fuel his displeasure with her. “Then might I ask why you rejected my proposal?”
“Because you don’t love me.”
“Like hell I don’t.” He slammed his fist against the tabletop, causing what remained of their salad to leap halfway off the plate. Water sloshed onto the white linen tablecloth. The entire restaurant stopped talking and stared at them before resuming conversation.
She glared at him, leaned even farther toward him and whispered between clenched teeth, “Then why did you, with your own words, tell me that the only reason you were proposing was because I was pregnant?”
“Because you were—you are!”
“Did it ever occur to you that a woman needs to be wanted and loved for herself? I certainly don’t want to be accused of trapping you into marriage. If you’d asked me to be your wife and once, just once, so much as mentioned the word love, I would have leapt into your arms and wept for joy.”
He stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. The waitress hurried to their table, removed the salad plates and delivered their entrees.
Candy dug into her turkey and dressing as though she didn’t plan on eating for the next month. She damn near choked on every bite, but she’d do that rather than let Carl know how badly he’d hurt her.
Her mouth was full of mashed potatoes and giblet gravy when Carl carefully set his napkin on top of the table. He stood, walked around to her side and got down on one knee.
Candy was so shocked, she couldn’t swallow.
“I have never loved a woman as much as I do you, Candy Hoffman. You’re stubbo
rn, beautiful and about the most obstinate woman I’ve ever known. I made a mistake earlier, and I don’t intend to repeat it.”
Stunned, she stared at him.
“Will you marry me?” he asked softly, his love shining through his eyes.
Candy’s hand shook as she reached for the water glass. She managed to down half of it before she could speak. Even then she found the words wouldn’t make it past the huge lump in her throat.
“I love our baby, too, in case you have any doubt. I can’t help thinking he’s going to be hell on wheels.”
Candy started to laugh and cry at the same time. She wrapped her arms around Carl’s neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He loved her. He honestly loved her.
Carl kissed the side of her face. “I take it that was a yes. If not, it’s too bad. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”
With his arms wrapped around her waist, he stood and twirled around.
Candy threw back her head and laughed with joy. This had to be the happiest day of her life.
Chapter Thirteen
“HELLO, BOY.” LESLEY carefully approached Zane’s gelding, Arabesque. The Arabian’s sleek black neck appeared over the stall door, anticipating a treat. He tossed his mane and snorted when she hid an apple behind her back, telling her he was well aware of her games.
“Something tells me I’ve spoiled you,” she teased, holding out the apple in the palm of her hand. Like her, Arabesque missed Zane. His temper had been fierce in the first weeks after Zane’s death, almost as if he were aware of what had happened to his master.
Even now, after months of building a friendship, the exquisite Arabian barely tolerated Lesley’s presence and only then because she brought him a treat.
Even Eddie and Dennis hadn’t made much progress with Arabesque. Lady Jane, the filly, patiently stood still and allowed the two boys to groom her, but not Arabesque.
“You miss him, don’t you, boy?” Lesley asked as she stroked the gelding’s long, smooth neck. Arabesque nudged her shoulder and bobbed his head.
“Me, too,” she whispered brokenly. She didn’t know what was wrong with her lately. Perhaps it was the pregnancy that made her so weepy of late. Or the news of Candy and Carl’s engagement. The two had set their wedding for New Year’s Eve and Candy had asked that Lesley stand up as her maid of honor. She was both honored and delighted.
Lesley certainly didn’t begrudge the couple their happiness, but their joy seemed to magnify her loneliness, her loss, and her unhappiness.
The baby stirred, and without thinking, Lesley pressed her palm against her stomach, wondering at the sudden movement.
Arabesque jerked his head in an upward motion and whinnied loudly.
The softest of sounds drifted to her from the barn door. A ready smile touched her lips as she turned to greet the newcomer.
It was then that she saw Zane.
Her breath stopped and her heart quickened as she struggled to mentally deal with what her eyes were telling her.
It wasn’t him. The man who stood just inside the shadow-filled barn bore no scars. He was devoid of the ugly, red marks that scored her dead husband’s face. This man was thin. Terribly, terribly thin.
It was Zane. It had to be.
She must be dreaming, Lesley decided. Missing Zane as much as she did, her fertile mind had conjured up his image. But if this was a dream, Lesley never wanted to wake.
Neither spoke, but then Lesley wondered if words were possible between them. Although he seemed solid and real, it wouldn’t have surprised her had he vanished.
He took two steps toward her. The limp was there, and each measured footfall appeared to bring him pain. Still, he kept his gaze trained on her as if making the pain-filled trek to her was his goal. The love in his eyes all but blinded her.
“Zane,” she said in a soft, almost voiceless breath, afraid if she spoke he’d disappear, afraid words would drive him away. Slowly, her fingers trembling, she reached out and touched his cheek with the lightest of contact. His skin was warm and soft and his eyes drifted closed as if he had waited his entire life for this moment. As if her gentle touch had broken an evil spell that held him prisoner.
“Zane?” she repeated again.
He captured her hand and held it firmly against his face.
He felt real. Alive. His chest rose and fell with each breath. His heart beat. She saw with her own eyes the way a vein hammered in his neck.
All at once Lesley started to shake. Tears choked her throat and she tried to take in what was happening. Confusion swamped her. After taking months to accept that her husband was dead, she discovered he was very much alive.
“Say something,” she pleaded, fighting back the sobs. “Let me know you’re real.”
He brought her into his arms then, his hold so powerful and tight, he nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. His hands were in her hair as he repeatedly whispered, “I’m alive. Until this moment. Until I touched you, I was dead. I love you, Lesley, with all my heart, with all my being.”
His words confused her even more, but his touch…his touch was familiar and intimate. And welcome, so very welcome.
He kissed her with a hunger that wouldn’t be satisfied with one kiss or a thousand. A hunger a lifetime couldn’t quench. Again and again his mouth claimed hers, cherished her, loved her, using his lips his breath, all that he was.
“How…? Not possible…” she pleaded as she inched her mouth from his. She needed answers. Needed to understand how it was possible for him to have stayed away from her all these months and allow her to believe he was dead.
Zane led her back into the house, his steps slow and measured. Mrs. Applegate stood in the kitchen, weeping with happiness.
“He took ten years off my life, he did, showing up this way,” she announced to Lesley.
Lesley’s own shock hadn’t been any less dramatic. But if that was the price, then Lesley gladly surrendered each one of those years for the opportunity to have her husband back.
“How is it possible?” she asked again, needing answers, afraid to believe until she had them.
Zane led her into the library and lowered her into the leather wingback chair. He sat on the ottoman in front of her and reached for her hands, gripping them in his own, his hold painfully tight. Lesley didn’t care; she needed the pain to reinforce that this was really happening.
“I arranged to meet Schuyler in the desert,” he began, his face grim and tight with the memory. “Schuyler was as intent on killing me as I was in making sure he went straight to hell.”
Lesley bit her lower lip, which trembled uncontrollably. “He’s—dead?”
“Yes. I shot him, and saw the hate fill his eyes before he died. I heard him curse me as he screamed in pain. I wasn’t the only one who wished him dead, and some of my friends have their own way of dealing with the bodies of their enemies.
“I made one mistake,” Zane whispered, and kissed her fingers. “Schuyler had made a contingency to kill me if I succeeded in killing him first. He planted a bomb.”
Lesley gasped. Not another explosion. Zane had barely survived the first one.
“The world caved in on me and that was all I knew until I woke in a French hospital.”
“French?”
“I have no recollection of how I got there, and had no clue who I was or where I was when I woke. It’s taken me six months to regain my memory.”
“But you died,” she insisted, remembering the night his spirit had come to her, had filled their bedroom and told her goodbye. “I felt it. I woke up and you were there.”
His clear dark eyes held hers, unable to conceal his shock. “That was real?” He shook his head as though he wasn’t sure this was possible. “When I first felt the blast I remember thinking that I wasn’t going to make it. That escape now would be impossible. All I could think about was you and the baby.”
“You came to me.”
“Yes. I don’t know how it is possible, but I rememb
er those few, precious moments with you. And I remember the pain, fighting it as best I could, choosing the physical agony over the summons of the intense white light.
“Week after week I lay in the hospital, more dead than alive. All I knew was that it was important that I live. Sometimes I would dream of a woman’s love, but those dreams were veiled and I woke frustrated with my inability to remember.”
“Your face?” She traced her fingertips down his smooth skin.
“The doctors seemed to think repairing my face would jolt my memory. It didn’t work.”
She kissed the edge of his mouth and braced her forehead against his. “You’re…beautiful.” She could find no other word to describe the difference. She’d always guessed that he’d been an attractive man, but nothing like this. He was the epitome of every woman’s dream.
“Not as beautiful as you are, pregnant with our child.” He planted his hands on her swollen abdomen, lifted her top and kissed her bare belly.
“Six months, Zane.” She wept with frustration. “You’ve been gone six months.”
“I know.” The bleak sadness in his eyes told her he begrudged every one of those days apart from her.
“It wasn’t only amnesia,” he told her, and she couldn’t doubt his desolate state. “I was in a coma for nearly a week. The doctors told me I suffered a stroke during that time, which isn’t uncommon. When I did wake, one side was briefly paralyzed. Not only was my memory gone, but my condition was complicated with other problems. It’s a miracle I’m here.” At her soft gasp, he kissed her fingertips. “I’ve recovered, and I’m here with you. That’s all that matters. Everything else is in the past.”
“Oh, Zane.”
“All the time I was in a mental haze, I felt this burning sense of urgency. A number of times, the pain and the frustration were more than I could bear and I wished for death, but I never entertained those thoughts long. Somehow I knew it was critical I live. Week after hopeless week I faced an empty future.”
“What triggered your memory?” Whatever it was, she would be forever grateful.
A hint of a smile touched his eyes. “An infant’s cry. I don’t know how many times I’d walked the hospital corridors. I’ll never know what prompted me to visit the maternity floor. Perhaps my inner spirit sensed my need to view life from the beginning.
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