Someday Soon

by Debbie Macomber

  Tim muttered something under his breath and then said, “I suspect Greg’s half in love with you himself.”

  “Greg?” Francine didn’t believe it for a moment.

  “So you’re not hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Me either,” he confessed. He closed the atlas, but Francine noticed the way his gaze lingered over the volume cover.

  They sat in silence, and it seemed neither one of them knew what to say next.

  “I suppose we should get at it, then.”

  Get at it certainly didn’t leave a lot of room for romance.

  “I suppose we should,” she answered, stiffening. Tim wasn’t teasing her the way he had before, taking delight in making her blush. Nor did he appear to be overly eager to make love when the suggestion had dominated every word and action for weeks.

  “Why don’t you go in the bedroom and get undressed,” he suggested.

  Francine expanded her lungs with a giant breath. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Not a good idea?” His eyes shot to hers. “Why not?”

  “This isn’t working,” she whispered, more to herself than to Tim, amazed that she’d managed to come this far.

  Tim leaned back on his chair and studied the ceiling tile. “All right,” he said, and released his breath forcefully. “I apologize. My mind’s been on other things. Cain’s gone.”

  Francine didn’t understand. “It was my understanding that you were going to ask him to leave.”

  “I mean gone as in he’s been called away on a mission,” he explained.

  “A mission.” It made perfect sense to Francine now. Tim longed to be with his friend on some field of death rather than stuck in San Francisco with her. If she’d ever needed a reminder that he would dally with her, use her, and then callously leave her, she had it now.

  Tim glanced at his watch. “He’ll land in Florida in a couple of hours. Murphy’s there, and Jack and Bailey are flying in this evening. My guess is they’ll land in Tehuantepec by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Francine had never heard of the place, but if the atlas was any indication, it was situated somewhere in Central America.

  “Timing is everything in these cases. For all we know, that poor bastard could already be dead.” Agitated, Tim flexed and unflexed his hands.

  Francine scooted back the seat, stood, and reached for her bag.

  Tim looked over at her. “Where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  He frowned. “Why? Listen, I know our night hasn’t gotten off to a good start, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun together.”

  Francine held up her hand while she waited for her thoughts to sort themselves out. “On second thought, I don’t think our making love is such a good idea after all.”

  Tim reached for his walker and pulled himself upright. “What do you mean?” he asked. His eyes were grave and dark. Disappointed.

  “I meant exactly what I said. You’re looking for a good-time girl. Someone to take your mind off your boredom for the next couple of weeks before you head back to your friends.”

  Tim’s frown darkened to a glower. “What you’re really saying is you’ve changed your mind.”

  Francine wasn’t going to argue the point with him. “Yes.”

  “Come on, sweetheart, we got off to a bad start, but that doesn’t mean we have to call the whole thing off. You want me as much as I want you.”

  He brought up another point she couldn’t argue. “The only thing you have to offer me is a few weeks of casual sex. I thought that would be enough, but I see now that it isn’t. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I need more than you’re willing to offer.”

  He closed his eyes as if calling upon a nameless god for patience. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to pretty it up with a few flowery words? Fine. I can do that. You’ll get what you need, and I’ll get what I need. It isn’t such a bad deal.”

  “I’d be a fool to turn you down.”

  He smiled for the first time. “Exactly.”

  “No thanks.” She felt considerably foolish. It might have worked if he hadn’t been drooling over some atlas. It was a vivid reminder of exactly who and what he was. A vivid reminder of what she was willing to become.

  “No thanks,” he repeated sarcastically. “Listen, sweetheart, you’ve apparently got some hair up your butt about sex all of a sudden. It’s a perfectly natural human function. There’s no need to mess it up with a bunch of other emotions. I’ve always called a spade a spade and admired you for doing the same. Don’t disappoint me now.”

  “I don’t want you to leave,” she said in a rush. “You don’t need to be a soldier. You could do anything, be anything at all. You don’t have to—”

  “So that’s it,” Tim said, his face tightening with irritation. “You seem to think you can use that body of yours for leverage to wrap me around your little finger. I got news for you. It ain’t going to work. Go ahead and walk out that door,” he challenged, and pointed the way out to her.

  Francine’s hand tightened around the handle of the overnight bag before she turned away from him.

  “But before you leave, you’d best think about the real reasons you’re going.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me why,” she snapped.

  “That’s not the way I see it. You’re backing down because you’re chicken. You’re afraid, so own up to it. Because this bull about me insulting you is a crock of shit.”

  “All right,” she said, turning back to face him. “You hit the nail on the head. I’m afraid.” And she was. She was scared spitless that she was giving her heart to a man who would love her one night and forget her name the next. Afraid he would forever mark her life and then calmly walk out of it.

  “There’s no need to be afraid.” His words were soft and full of inducement. “Let me love you, Francine. Let me show you what it can be like between us. If you still want to leave afterward, then fine, you can go. Just don’t walk out now. We’ve only just begun, sweetheart.”

  Francine battled back a flood of tears.

  “Come on,” he coaxed once more. “Let’s sit down and have dinner. That’s all I’m asking. It’s a shame for all this food to go to waste.” He gestured to the table behind him. “We’ve come this far. Let’s not turn back now.”

  Francine wavered. Dear sweet heaven, what was the matter with her? Never once in all her life had she thought of herself as weak. Tim made her that way, and she hated it. She’d suffer more than a few regrets if she gave in to him now. On the other hand, she’d be left wondering the rest of her life what it would have been like with him. God help her, she loved him.

  Francine walked over to him and stood in front of the walker. She crouched down and set her small suitcase on the floor, then wrapped her arms around Tim’s torso. His eyes brightened with anticipation as she kissed him.

  His mouth opened to hers, taking advantage of her generosity. With his one free hand, he wove his fingers into her hair and kissed her with a hunger and need that left her clinging and weak in the knees.

  “This is more like it,” he said, and brought her lips back to his. He kissed her twice more, each kiss more potent than the previous one. They were both left trembling with desire.

  “You’ve got far too many clothes on,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Now go to my room, strip, and wait for me. We’ve got all night for me to appease those fears. But you never know, it might take longer.” He released her slowly, as if it demanded every ounce of will he possessed to do so. “I only hope one case of condoms is enough.”

  Francine stepped back, took a moment to catch her breath, and then pressed her hand to his cheek. “Good-bye, Tim Mallory, and thank you.”

  His eyes widened as if she’d slapped him. “Good-bye?”

  She reached for her bag and literally ran for the door. She feared if he said one word more, she wouldn’t have the strength to leave him. And leave him she must, for her own pea
ce of mind.

  Two days later Greg phoned Francine at home.

  “Hello, Greg,” she said, immediately regretting not contacting him herself. She owed Greg more than the brief letter of resignation she’d had delivered to the house.

  “How are you?”

  “Great.” A lie, but the truth would only depress him.

  “The beastmaster got your letter.”

  “I should have stopped in and said good-bye to you. I’m sorry, Greg.”

  “No problem. Listen, this isn’t any of my business, but I want to make sure that Mr. Mallory…I want to be sure he didn’t hurt you.”

  Francine braced her forehead against the kitchen wall. “Of course not, what makes you ask that?”

  Greg hesitated. “No reason. It’s just that…well, never mind. It isn’t important. He’s gone, you know.”

  “Tim’s left San Francisco?” She straightened in shock.

  “Yeah, he had me book the first available flight to Miami as soon as he read your letter.”

  “I see.”

  “I hope that list of instructions you gave him wasn’t important. He crushed it up into a ball and threw it across the room.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Francine assured Tim’s assistant. She would be, too, in time.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this last month,” Charles Garner told Linette. He’d unexpectedly stopped off at the shop and stayed until closing time.

  He was a striking-looking man, Linette thought, kind and good-natured. But he didn’t make her heart zing the way Cain did. She didn’t spend time with him and then wonder how long it would be before she saw him again. But none of that mattered, she reminded herself.

  Linette had made the painful decision not to see Cain again. He’d been in Central America five weeks now. These silent days without him had been some of the most agonizing of her life.

  It would have helped if he’d contacted her in some way. She hadn’t heard so much as a word from him. Not even a postcard. For all she knew, he could be dead. Each day of not knowing was hell. The fears ate her alive. The interminable waiting. Was he hurt? Dying? Had he forgotten her completely?

  Linette tried not to worry about Cain. Tried not to think of him in some foreign jungle, hurting, perhaps dying. Tried not to think of standing over the grave of another man she’d loved and buried.

  The first week after he’d left had been the worst. She rarely slept, and when she did, her dreams were filled with horror scenes involving Cain. She lost five pounds in eight days, weight she couldn’t afford to shed.

  Bonnie was the one who sat her down and talked some sense into her. It seemed crystal clear when her friend said it. Cain was a mercenary. Fighting and killing was his profession. Either accept him as he was or break off the relationship. It was one or the other.

  Afterward Linette knew what she had to do. As painful as it was, she realized Cain wasn’t going to change. She also realized she couldn’t accept living with the risks he took. She wanted to tell him, only there hadn’t been any word from him.

  He wouldn’t catch her off guard this time, she vowed. If he showed up unexpectedly the way he had before, she’d be prepared. What she intended to tell him was all planned out.

  She wouldn’t allow her heart to take control next time. No matter how glad she was to see him. No matter how light-headed and dizzy the sight of him made her.

  “How are the boys?” she asked Charles, determined to keep her mind off Cain.

  “Great,” the attorney answered. They were standing outside her yarn shop, and he took the key out of her hand and locked up for her. “They loved it that we went roller-skating with them. They like you, Linette.”

  “I like them, too.”

  Charles smiled as he handed her back her key chain. “I thought we might get together next weekend. The boys have been hounding me to take them kite flying. No better month than March for that. I thought we’d go down to Golden Gate Park and give it a shot. Are you game?”

  “Sure, that sounds like fun.”

  “Later, I’ll arrange for a sitter for the boys and take you out for a night on the town. I thought we’d start with dinner and then take in a play. I understand The Phantom of the Opera’s in town. Getting tickets shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

  “It might be. Why don’t I cook something up at your place, and we can rent a couple of videos? The boys can help with dinner. They did a great job cooking the spaghetti last week, remember?” Linette enjoyed her time with Charles’s young sons immensely. The two youngsters had helped ease the sting of missing Cain far more than her dates with their father.

  Charles hesitated. “You still think about Cain, don’t you?”

  Linette lowered her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry, Charles, really I am.”

  “I take it you haven’t heard from him?”

  “Not a word.” Nor did she have an address where she could write him.

  “Once he does contact you, then you can put the relationship to rest. It’s over. You know it, but he doesn’t.”

  Linette bit into her lower lip and nodded.

  “You’re sure this is what you want?” Charles asked, studying her. He was far more understanding about her relationship with Cain than she’d expected him to be. He’d talked to her about it on several occasions, and he’d helped her realize how futile linking her life with Cain’s would be.

  “This is what I want,” she said quickly—perhaps too quickly, because Charles frowned and reached for her hand, clasping it firmly in his own.

  “You can’t tie your life up in a dead-end relationship. There’s no future in loving a mercenary.”

  “I know all that.” She didn’t need Charles to tell her what she’d struggled so painfully to acknowledge herself. Loving Cain was like living in an earthquake zone. He was going to be killed. Sometime. Somewhere. Some day soon. Without notice. Kill or be killed.

  “We’ll have dinner out, then?” Charles coaxed. “And the play?”

  “All right,” she agreed, wishing she could dredge up more enthusiasm for the outing.

  Charles had a good heart. The problem was that Linette found him dull. She sincerely hoped Cain hadn’t ruined her for other men.

  He walked her to her car and kissed her cheek. “I’ll pick you up around ten Saturday morning.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  When she arrived back at her apartment, Linette forced herself to cook dinner. After dining on a frozen entree she’d cooked in her microwave, she took a long hot bath and climbed into bed. She read for a while, then turned off the light. To her surprise, she felt herself drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

  The sound of the phone caught her in the middle of a dream. She lifted her head from the pillow and glanced at the clock. Realizing it was the phone and not her alarm, she lifted the receiver and pressed it to her ear. She hadn’t a clue who would phone her at two in the morning.

  “Hello,” she said, still half asleep. Her eyes were closed and her voice sounded drugged.

  “Linette.”

  The connection wasn’t good. Static buzzed and hissed over the wires.

  “Linette, it’s Cain.”

  Her eyes flew open then, and her heart kicked into double time. “Cain?” she cried, and sitting upright, she grabbed hold of the telephone receiver with both hands. “Where are you?”

  “Some hellhole of a town in Central America. You’d think a country this size would know what a pay phone was. Never mind that. How are you?”

  His voice faded in and out. “Fine,” she said, louder this time. “What about you?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t sound so worried.”

  “Did you find…” She wanted to ask him about the American he’d told her about, the one who’d been kidnapped, but static erupted on the line.

  “We found him. He was dead.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Listen, I don’t know how much longer this line will last.”

  “Ca
in, please, I need to talk to you.” She was shouting, frantic for him to listen to her.

  More static, this time so loud and discordant, Linette was forced to hold the phone away from her ear.

  “Cain,” she cried, afraid the line had been disconnected.

  “Can you hear me?” His voice faded again.

  “Only a little.”

  “I’m flying directly from here to San Francisco. I should land—”

  “No,” she cried. This wasn’t how she intended to tell him, but she couldn’t have him rush to her, believing she’d be waiting for him with open arms. For the thousandth time she cursed herself for not having the strength to tell him face-to-face before he’d left.

  Static again.

  “Linette?”

  “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead,” she said, angry now.

  “I know, baby, I’m sorry. Dear Lord, I’ve missed you. I promise to make it up to you.”

  “Don’t come,” she shouted. “Stay away from me. Please, just stay away. I don’t want to see you again.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. I’m dating Charles now. It’s over between us, understand?”

  “Linette—”

  The phone went dead. Linette stared at the phone, not knowing if Cain had hung up on her or if the connection had been cut. It didn’t matter. She’d said all she wanted.

  Slowly she replaced the receiver. Her hands trembled as she brushed the hair out of her face. Lying back down, she gathered the blankets around her and hugged the spare pillow, burying her face in its softness.

  It was over.

  “Another beer?” Mallory asked Cain.

  “Sure. You buying?”

  “Yeah.” Mallory raised his hand to attract the bartender’s attention. It was a seedy place in a bad part of town, where the music was slow and the women fast. Frankly, Mallory didn’t care about either. As long as the beer was cold he didn’t give a damn.

  “You haven’t had much to say,” Mallory commented. He noticed Cain had been withdrawn ever since he’d returned from the last mission.

  “You don’t seem to be much of a conversationalist yourself.”

  “I’ve got an excuse.”