by Linda Turner
No! What about the kisses they’d shared? she wanted to cry, and knew she was in trouble. She had no right to ask him to explain himself, no right to expect him to feel anything for her but possibly lust and a whole lot of distrust. She was the one who had left him. She was the one who’d returned pregnant, with no idea of who the father of her baby was. And she was the one who’d buried a dead man, a man she still wasn’t convinced she hadn’t killed. Considering all that, she was lucky that he even spoke to her, let alone went out of his way to see to her welfare.
But, God, she hated this! She hated not knowing who she was, what she was capable of. Thinking that she might have killed a man was bad enough, but not being able to recall the circumstances of her baby’s conception tore her up. What kind of woman was she? Why couldn’t she remember? She wanted to believe that it was because her mind had chosen to forget everything rather than remember whatever violence she’d faced in the Transit Tower parking garage. But what if that was just wishful thinking on her part? What if it was the truth about herself and the choices she’d made in her life that she really couldn’t face?
“Well, that’s it,” Joe said as he unloaded the contents of the ice chest into the refrigerator. “I’ll get the luggage after we eat. Since it’s so late, how about soup and sandwiches for supper?”
Thankful for the distraction, Annie pushed back her troubled thoughts and forced a smile. “That sounds great. I’ll set the table.”
By nine-thirty, they had finished eating, done the dishes, and brought in their luggage from the car. There was no television, no paperwork to catch up on, nothing to do but go to bed. And though they’d both managed to look anywhere but at the sleeping alcove while they were eating, there was no avoiding it now.
Annie told herself there was nothing to be concerned about. It was a bed just like any other bed—nothing was going to happen in it that she didn’t want to. And it wasn’t as if this was the first time they’d slept together. Whenever she’d cried out in the night, he’d been there to hold her until she fell back asleep, and most mornings, he was still there when she woke up. Another man might have already pushed for his husbandly rights by now, but if she’d learned anything about Joe in the last week, it was that he would never insist on any kind of intimacy between them that she wasn’t ready for. Even if they shared a bed, he wouldn’t lay a finger on her if she didn’t want him to.
She knew that, accepted that, was thankful that he was such a patient, caring man. So why was her heart pounding like a hammer? They’d chatted like old friends all through supper, but suddenly the cabin was filled with a silence that seemed to throb with expectation. Her gaze clashed with his, then quickly skittered away. Swallowing, she snatched up her overnight bag and hugged it to her breast like a shield. She knew she was acting like a nervous virgin, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.
“I’ll take the bathroom first, if you don’t mind,” she said huskily, and swept past him with a speed that was embarrassingly close to a run.
“Smooth, Annie,” she muttered under her breath as she shut the bathroom door and leaned back against it. “Real smooth. What do you think you accomplished by running in here? Unless you plan on sleeping in the tub, you’re going to have to face him eventually. Why don’t you just do it now and get it over with?”
She should have, but she couldn’t. So she hastily pulled off her clothes and eased down into a tub of warm water. Twenty minutes later, her skin pink and clean, her hair a riot of dark curls, she pulled on her flannel gown and robe and knee socks. The coward in her hoped that Joe had already gone to bed, but the chances of that were slim. Left with no choice but to deal with the situation, she drew in a fortifying breath and pulled open the bathroom door.
The first thing she saw was the bed. Joe had pulled back the patchwork quilt that covered it and turned on the bedside lamp, leaving the rest of the cabin bathed in shadows. The pillows were plumped, and even from halfway across the room, she could see that the sheets were fresh and clean. In spite of the ruggedness of its surroundings, with nothing more than the addition of a rose on the pillow and a bottle of champagne on the nightstand, it could have been as elegant as the honeymoon suite at the Hilton.
All it needed to be complete was the bridegroom.
Automatically, her eyes went looking for him. She found him on the couch. He sat slouched low on his spine, his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, watching her with dark, enigmatic eyes. A pillow and a neatly folded blanket sat on the cushions next to him.
When her eyes widened at the sight of the bedding, he pushed to his feet and started toward her like a lion on the prowl. Caught in the trap of his heated gaze, she stood rooted to the spot, horribly afraid that the granny gown she’d been so sure only moments before was hardly appealing was now far too revealing.
She expected him to walk past her to the bathroom, but he stopped right in front of her instead, so close that when she drew in a sharp breath, the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. “I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he said in a low growl that stroked over her like a caress. “Because if I don’t, I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself. Unless, of course, you don’t want to sleep alone.”
He arched an eyebrow at her, time rolling to a stop while he waited for her answer. When she mutely shook her head, a wry smile twisted his mouth. “I had a feeling you’d say that. And you’re probably right. If you weren’t, [just might try to change your mind. But not tonight. You look tired, sweetheart. Go to bed. It’s been a long day.”
Leaning down, he pressed a fleeting kiss to her mouth, then stepped around her into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him. Dazed, her blood humming in her veins, it was a full two minutes before Annie moved to the bed.
When she slipped between the sheets and snapped off the bedside light, she was sure she’d never be able to sleep. But she’d been up before dawn, and the sound of the shower running in the bathroom was a steady, hypnotic lull. Settling against the pillows, she closed her eyes and sighed. Long before Joe stepped out of the bathroom, she was asleep.
Lost in her dreams, she never saw him move to the side of the bed and stand there in the dark, staring down at her. Her breathing slow and easy in sleep, she never saw his expression soften, never saw him lift his hand to her hair and caress a wayward curl. If she’d opened her eyes, just for a second, she would have seen him hesitate, would have seen the pain and regret that registered in every line of his body. But she didn’t, and when he turned away, she was none the wiser.
It was the steady thud of an ax hitting wood that woke her late the next morning. Stirring, she frowned, then jolted awake, startled, when something hit the side of the cabin, hard. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she was still trying to figure out what woke her when another loud thunk reverberated through the cabin. Frowning, she pushed her tangled hair from her eyes. “What the devil’s going on?”
She spoke to an empty cabin. In a single, all-encompassing glance, she saw that the couch where Joe had slept was just as it had been when she’d gone to bed last night. The blanket and sheets were neatly folded and piled in a stack, with the pillow on top. She might have thought he hadn’t slept there at all if she hadn’t gotten up during the night to go to the bathroom a zillion times. Every time she’d passed the couch, he’d been lying in exactly the same position, dead to the world.
So where was he? Throwing back the antique quilt that had kept her as warm as toast all night in the cool mountain air, she rushed over to the window and pulled back the curtain to find Joe chopping firewood right by the cabin’s back porch. He’d already worked up a sweat and pulled off his shirt, and in the morning light, his skin gleamed like bronze as he brought the well-sharpened ax down with gratifying force on the wood. Without breaking rhythm, he lifted the ax again and swung with all his might.
The wood split without so much as a groan, but Annie couldn’t take her eyes from Joe. Lord, the man was put together well! He wasn’t o
ne of those muscle-bound jocks who liked to work out and lift weights, but he managed to keep fit nevertheless. He had a lean, rangy body, with strength evident in every clean line of his broad shoulders and slim hips. With no effort whatsoever, he split the length of wood into kindling, then tossed the pieces into a pile at one end of the porch. One of them missed and hit the wall of the cabin instead, causing a thump like the one that woke her.
Leaning against the window frame, Annie felt something warm spill into her stomach. She could have stood there for hours, but then he turned unexpectedly toward the window where she stood, and her heart jumped in her throat. Hastily stepping back out of sight, she grinned at her own foolishness. He was her husband; they’d been married for over five years—she should be able to took at him without self-consciousness, she chided herself.
But she had no memory of the past, only of the last week and a half. She knew she could trust him with her life, but her heart was another matter. He made her weak at the knees with a touch, breathless with a fleeting kiss. She didn’t know what had driven her to leave him, but there was no doubt that there was still something between them. Something strong and exhilarating and scary in the kind of way that had her constantly fighting the need to smile.
They both knew that it was just a matter of time before they did something about it. But not yet, she thought as she grabbed jeans and a blouse from her suitcase and stepped into the bathroom. She wanted time. Time to get to know him better. Time to remember not what had driven them apart two months ago, but what had brought them together five years ago. Because she had a feeling that when she did remember why she’d left him, she was going to need the memory of her love for him to hold on to and ease the hurt she wasn’t ready to remember.
Lost in her thoughts, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, then automatically tugged on her clothes, hardly paying any attention to what she was doing. Until she tried to snap her jeans and couldn’t. Surprised, she adjusted the fit and tried again, with the same results. Frowning, she glanced down to see what the problem was and found her stomach in the way.
Only then did it hit her. The baby. She was really starting to show and her jeans no longer fit.
Stunned, she felt a silly grin curl around her mouth and almost laughed out loud. Every time she’d had to deal with morning sickness, she was reminded of the changes taking place in her body, but up until then, she’d only associated her pregnancy with discomforts she had no control over. Nausea, backaches, tiredness that seemed to zap all her energy. But now she only had to look at her rounded stomach to see the baby safely cradled inside her.
A baby, she thought, smiling tenderly. She really was going to have a baby. A sweet tide of love flooded her, a rush of warmth that melted her bones and brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Turning, she pulled open the bathroom door. She had to tell Joe!
He was in the process of straightening the woodpile on the porch when Annie rushed outside with a funny look on her face and tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hair was wild, the smile that flirted with her mouth tremulous. Stopping short at the sight of him, she hesitated, a wealth of emotions he couldn’t begin to identify flickering in her eyes.
Straightening, he frowned. “You okay? What’s going on?”
She laughed, a shaky sound that he’d never heard from her before. “Nothing. I’m fine. I was just getting dressed…”
When she stopped and pressed a hand to the smile that kept turning up the corners of her mouth, he arched a brow. “And?”
“And I can’t snap my jeans,” she admitted, grinning.
Joe’s gaze automatically dropped to her belly, which was concealed by the loose-fitting gingham blouse she wore. From her happy expression, he was obviously missing something, but he couldn’t for the life of him say what it was. “So?”
“So they don’t fit,” she laughed. “Look.”
She held up her blouse, revealing her slim hips and barely zipped, unsnapped jeans. His gaze drawn like a magnet, Joe could no more have dragged his eyes away than he could have chopped wood with an ice pick. He told himself there was nothing the least bit seductive about the way she lifted her shirt. In fact, she was so damn pleased with her condition that it obviously hadn’t occurred to her that he might be affected by her pose one way or the other.
But he was. God, was he! He took one look and felt like all the air had been sucked from his lungs.
Her jeans didn’t gap open much, but through the narrow V, Joe could see pink panties trimmed in lace and the soft white skin of her rounding belly. Her still small, but blatantly pregnant, belly. Fascinated, he stared at her long and hard, his fingers itching to touch her, to skim across her bare skin and chart the changes occurring almost before his eyes in her body.
That was his baby she could be carrying, his child. He’d always known one day that they would have children, but he’d never given much thought to what pregnancy would do to Annie. Oh, he’d known she’d gain a hefty amount of weight and, like all expectant mothers, she’d walk around with her stomach leading the way. What he hadn’t expected was the beautiful glow of her skin or the way she seemed to grow softer, more vulnerable, with every passing day.
And then there were the changes in himself. She’d always been a woman who could take care of herself, and he’d loved that about her. But now, seeing the remains of her tears clinging to her cheeks, protectiveness raged like a storm inside him. All he could think of was wrapping her close in his arms so that nothing and no one could ever hurt her or the baby again. She was his. They were his….
Even as he tried to convince himself, his mind taunted him with images of Annie in the arms of another man. No! he wanted to roar. She wouldn’t have done that to him, to them. She couldn’t have.
But then again, he’d never thought she’d leave him, either.
His blood running cold at the thought, he jerked his eyes back up to hers. “We’ll have to get you some maternity clothes the next time we go into town,” he said woodenly. “Until then, just leave your jeans unsnapped. There’s no one out here to see anything.”
That wasn’t the response she’d expected—he knew that the minute the words left his mouth. The light died in her eyes; her happy smile dropped from her mouth. Not a word of reproach passed her lips, but guilt still stabbed him in the heart. He felt like the lowest form of heel, but he couldn’t give her the enthusiasm she seemed to need from him. Not yet. Turning away before he said something he would regret, he picked up the ax and returned to the woodpile.
Letting him go, Annie stared after him, more encouraged than her common sense told her she had any right to be. Another woman might have been hurt by what appeared to be his total lack of interest in her pregnancy, but he hadn’t fooled her for a second. He wasn’t a cold or indifferent man, and she’d seen the flash of heated emotion that had flared in his eyes when she’d lifted her shirt and shown him her belly. He’d wanted to touch her as badly as she’d needed him to, and for a moment there, she’d half expected him to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to bed. When he hadn’t, she’d known to the second when he’d remembered the baby might not be his.
Oh, he’d hidden it well, but she hadn’t missed the clenching of his jaw or the green-eyed monster that had glared at her through his eyes when he thought that she might have betrayed him. He was jealous, and she was thrilled. Because a man who didn’t care wouldn’t have blinked an eye at the thought of her leaving him for another man.
After sitting empty for over a year, the cabin and yard were in desperate need of maintenance. The gutters were in terrible shape, sunlight peeked through some of the roof tiles on the porch, and the inside of the structure needed a thorough scrubbing and dusting. So, after breakfast, Joe attacked the porch roof and Annie went to work inside.
It was hot, dirty work. Annie couldn’t remember the last time she’d done any physical work around a house, and she thoroughly enjoyed herself in spite of the fact that there was no dishwasher or vacuum cleaner o
r even a radio to break the silence while she worked. Humming to herself, she washed not only the breakfast dishes by hand, but every dish and skillet in the cabinets.
While they were draining, she pulled the dusty curtains from the windows and tossed them in the washing machine, then made up a solution of water and vinegar to clean the windows. Outside, she could hear Joe hammering on the roof, then his muttered curse when he accidentally hit a finger. When the curtains finished washing and she stepped outside to hang them on the clothesline strung between two cedar posts just yards from the back porch, she couldn’t stop her eyes from lifting to the roof. There in the bright sun, Joe was down on his knees and bent over the leaky tiles of the roof, frowning with concentration as he hammered a crooked cedar tile back into place.
It was a sight that was to become very familiar to her over the course of the day. When he finished the roof, he turned his attention to the gutters, then the porch railing. He never seemed to run out of things to do, and every time Annie stepped outside, she found herself looking for him. A couple of times, he caught her watching, and the looks that passed between them all but sizzled. Then he turned his attention back to his work, and her breathing slowly returned to normal. Until she stepped outside again. And she found a lot of reasons to step outside.
Just a week ago, she hadn’t wanted him to come anywhere near her, but there was something about him that she couldn’t resist. And their situation didn’t help matters any. Only Drake, Phoebe, and Sam knew where they were, and for all practical purposes, they were completely alone in the world. He couldn’t make a move, a sound, without her being aware of it. And when they sat down at the table for lunch and supper, it was his dark, watchful eyes she found herself looking into, his deep, sexy voice that she silently sighed over.
But it was the nights, she was to discover, that were the worst. Her body was exhausted, but when she crawled into bed later that evening and he stretched out on the couch in the dark, sleep was a thousand miles away. Restless, she shifted, trying to get more comfortable, only to freeze as the darkness seemed to amplify every single sound. Could he hear the thunder of her heart? The way her breath hitched in her throat?
