The Gauntlet

by Lindsay McKenna

  * * *

  The phone rang, jerking Cam out of a deep, healing sleep. He sat up, disoriented. Molly came racing into the room, an apologetic look on her face as she reached for the phone, which he realized was on the lamp table at the other end of the couch.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I’d turned off the ringer.”

  Cam eased into a sitting position as Molly came around and sat down on the couch. “That’s okay,” he muttered, rubbing his face.

  “Hello?”

  “Molly?”

  Molly’s heart sank. It was her father. She slid a look in Cam’s direction. His hair was mussed, and his features sleep-ridden. He sat forward, his elbows resting on his long, powerful thighs, his eyes still drowsy.

  “Father.” How could she have forgotten that her family always called on Saturday evening? She should have scheduled the dinner with Cam on Sunday. She felt as if she were dying inside—she didn’t want him to hear the conversation. “Uhh…could I call you back later?”

  “I’m afraid not, Molly,” her father answered brusquely. “I’m scheduled to fly to L.A. shortly, and I want to hear about your week.”

  Cam lifted his head at the pain he heard in Molly’s contralto voice. He saw her hand clenched tightly in her lap, saw the anxiety in her beautiful green eyes. Not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable, he got up and went into the kitchen. But something told him to listen to her phone conversation, even if it was wrong. He stopped at the kitchen doorway, where he could see Molly sitting on the couch, her back to him. She wouldn’t know he was there unless she turned around.

  The phone call lasted twenty minutes. The first ten minutes she talked with her father, then she talked with her brother Scott, for another ten minutes. Cam scowled and wrapped his arms against his chest as he listened. Molly turned slightly, her profile visible. The serenity in her face had disappeared, and she was chewing distractedly on a fingernail, obviously nervous as she answered question after question. When she finally hung up Cam saw her bow her head and press a hand against her closed eyes.

  He approached her quietly in his stocking feet. The distraught sound of her voice toward the end of the conversation made him reach out and place his hand on her shoulder as he came up behind her.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said your family called and grilled you every week.”

  Molly felt Cam’s fingers gently massage her shoulders. His touch was at once relaxing and supportive. Miserable, she looked up into his shadowed features. She expected to find censure in his face, but instead, his eyes were turbulent with care.

  “I forgot all about Father’s and Scott’s call.” Molly got up suddenly. With a weak shrug, she turned and faced Cam. “I should have scheduled the dinner for Sunday instead.”

  Cam felt her pain. “No, I’m glad I was here today.”

  “You heard everything?”

  Cam couldn’t lie to her. “Yes.”

  “Oh, dear…”

  Molly looked like a doe caught in the glare of oncoming headlights. Cam couldn’t stand the despair in her voice or the haunted look in her eyes. He moved around the couch and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, Molly.”

  “Yes, there is. I would hate to subject anyone to my family’s phone calls.”

  His hands tightened on her shoulders. “We’ve got some serious talking to do, Molly. Come on, sit down.” He allowed his hands to slide down her arms, then captured one hand and led her back toward the sofa. Her fingers felt damp and cold.

  “I’m so ashamed.”

  “I’m angry.”

  She gave him a startled look as she sat down. Cam refused to let go of her hand. He sat right next to her, their thighs brushing. “Why?” Her voice sounded shaky.

  “Because no one has the right to grill you like that, Molly. Does your father call every Saturday wanting to know what the hell kind of grade you got at the end of the week?”

  Molly winced, refusing to meet his narrowed eyes. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  His hand fed her stability. Molly leaned forward, and pressed her hand against her eyes. “I disappointed my father so badly when I got washed out at Whiting. He’s afraid I’m going to fail here at TPS, too.”

  “For someone who supposedly is concerned,” Cam ground out, “he didn’t seem very happy over the fact that you got an eighty-two percent on your last test. He should be jumping for joy.”

  Lifting her head, Molly whispered, “You don’t understand, Cam.”

  “Try me.”

  “My average for the first month places me in the bottom third of the class.”

  “That’s what he was hammering you about?” Anger spiraled quickly through Cam.

  “Yes.”

  He bit back an expletive. “So what? Every week your grade percentile is improving. You’ve got a long way to go before school ends. He ought to be looking at that, not the average. What’s wrong with him?”

  Molly shrugged. “You heard me on the phone. I tried to explain it to him.”

  Absently Cam rubbed the back of her hand. “Is he always this kind to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Doesn’t he ever compliment you on what you do right?”

  “Father is one of those people who see the glass as half empty, instead of half full the way I do.”

  Cam shook his head. “And he pulled this same crap on you at Whiting?”

  “And at Annapolis,” she said timidly.

  “Jesus!” Cam got up, unable to sit still any longer. He paced the living room, wrestling with his anger, saying nothing for several minutes. He knew any words that came out of his mouth would be ugly, probably upsetting Molly even more. Finally he stopped pacing and came to crouch in front of her. Taking her hands in his, he held her gaze, seeing shame clearly written in her eyes.

  “Do you realize what he’s doing to you?” Cam demanded.

  “Father just wants me to be successful, that’s all.”

  “No,” he whispered harshly. “No, Molly, he doesn’t. He’s controlling you through negativity and fear of failure. In my book, he’s manipulating your emotions, keeping your back pinned to the wall.”

  Stunned by Cam’s intense emotional reaction, Molly whispered, “My father cares about me, Cam. It’s just that he had all his hopes pinned on Scott, and now Scott’s crippled for life. He has a dream—”

  “Dammit, Molly! It’s his dream and Scott’s dream, not necessarily yours!” Cam released her hands and stood, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, I’m way out of line for saying that.”

  Molly continued to sit, her hands clasped in her lap. “My father cares for me,” she repeated.

  Cam bit back a reply. He saw the desperation in her eyes. “Controlling another person isn’t expressing love, Molly,” he said in a low, vibrating tone. “He’s controlling you. Can’t you see that?”

  “No.”

  “Then why is he cutting you down instead of building you up?”

  Molly stared up at Cam. He was angry and upset. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  “From what I heard of the two wonderful family chats you just had, they were emphasizing what you weren’t doing right—not taking a look at what you are doing correctly. Is that a fair analysis?”

  Molly gave a jerky nod of her head, her throat constricting.

  Cam crouched down again, this time not touching Molly for fear that he’d sweep her into his arms and hold her. He so badly wanted to give her a place of safety and protection. How had she stood four years of abusive tirades? It suddenly dawned upon Cam that Molly was desperate for love from her father, negative or not. He was all she had, and she clung to him. Sickened, Cam fought his anger.

  “Anytime one person has to control another is bad news, Molly,” he said softly. “It means the controlling person is insecure—afraid he’s going to lose something he wants. A controlling person doesn’t allow other people to live their own lives.
Instead, they have to live within the parameters the controller has set up for them. It’s like being a puppet on a string, your entire life a dance to someone else’s steps.”

  “And you’re saying my father’s that way?” Her voice had gone off-key with tension.

  Cam nodded, holding her frightened gaze. “In a healthy relationship, Molly, one partner doesn’t control the other. I don’t care whether it’s a parent and child or a husband and wife, the same rule applies.”

  Almost angrily, Molly rose and circled the couch, stopping behind it, her arms crossed defensively on her chest. “You act like you know so much about this,” she hurled back at him bitterly. “Why should I believe you? My father loves me! He’s not doing this to hurt me.”

  “Listen to me, Molly,” Cam rasped. “I was married to the most wonderful woman on earth and we had a son. I loved her with my life for seven years. She taught me what a healthy, loving relationship was all about. I know the difference.” Cam looked away. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about Jeanne or Sean since their deaths. His voice cracked. “Dammit, you’ve got to believe me when I tell you, a loving parent wouldn’t do what your father’s doing to you!” He forced himself to look at her, misery flooding him as never before. “My wife and son taught me what love was all about, Molly. They died a year ago in a plane crash, but I still carry that knowledge with me. Love doesn’t control someone else. Love gives you the ability to allow the other person to be herself, not what you want her to be.”

  Thunderstruck, Molly stood very still. She stared across the living room at Cam. The terrible sadness that she’d seen in his eyes from the first day was there again, but magnified. His shadowy features were twisted with grief, and it cut through to her heart as nothing else ever could. Forgetting her own pain and defensiveness, Molly took a step forward, her arms dropping to her sides.

  “My God, you lost your family!” she breathed, and her eyes welled up with tears.

  Chapter Eight

  Molly’s cry shattered through Cam. He took in the devastation written across her face. What he saw was what she was feeling for him.

  “I’m so sorry, Cam,” Molly whispered, moving tentatively toward him. She saw the naked anguish carved in every line of his face. How could she ever have accused him of being an unfeeling machine? He’d lobbied so passionately on her behalf that he’d revealed his own wounded heart.

  She saw the indecision, the utter hopelessness and ravaged feelings that losing his family had inflicted upon Cam. He stood tensely at her approach. Halting before him, Molly tilted her head to keep contact with his narrowed eyes.

  “It makes my problems seem so inconsequential.”

  “No!” Cam rasped, snapping his head up. “It doesn’t.”

  Hesitantly, Molly reached out with her hand, her fingers barely touching his arm. Cam was trembling. What love this man must have had for his family. As she searched the darkness in his stormy blue eyes, Molly realized how much he must care for her to relive this agony. Her fingers tightened around his arm.

  “I’m going to try and understand what you’re saying,” Molly said, her own voice shaky.

  Molly’s fingers felt like fire on his arm, their warmth burning through his shirt to his flesh. Cam’s heart and shredded emotions screamed at him to sweep her into his arms, but he fought the need. God, sweet God, he needed Molly! He needed the warmth and compassion she was offering him. She stood serene and strong, when he felt neither. Wildly aware of her hand on him, Cam closed his eyes and dragged in a deep, shaky breath.

  “You’re special, Molly. You’ve got the brains to do this. Don’t let your father and brother continue to control you. You can’t fight two wars on two different fronts at the same time. I don’t know how you made it through Annapolis with them on your back like that.”

  “My friends, Dana and Maggie,” she answered simply.

  Cam swallowed hard, tears welling up within him, begging to be shed. He hadn’t cried at the funeral. He’d merely felt utterly gutted and numb throughout the entire service. And tears had come only twice in the year since. Now, with Molly standing so close, Cam intuitively knew she could be strong enough for him, if he wanted to sink into her arms and sob out the grief still trapped in his heart.

  “Cam?”

  He winced at her low, pleading tone. In a superhuman effort, because Cam realized this was the wrong time and place for them, he pulled from her grasp. “I’ve got to get going, Molly,” he muttered, blindly turning away.

  Bereft, Molly watched him move toward the door. Cam needed her. He needed to be held so he could cry. She could see it. But why was he leaving? Hurrying to catch up with him, she met him at the door.

  “Why don’t you stay for a while, Cam?” she asked gently. “You’re in no shape to drive right now.”

  “No.”

  Molly stood her ground. His voice had been harsh, grinding like a dog snapping a bone between powerful jaws. “Look at you. You’re trembling, Cam.”

  Cam stared down at Molly in disbelief. She was blocking the door! Her voice was calm and reasonable when he felt anything but. Feeling not anger but desperation, he reached for the doorknob.

  “No!” Molly whispered, gripping his hand and holding it. She stared up at him. “What’s going on here, Cam? It’s okay to help me, but you don’t let anyone help you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. I want you to turn around and go back to the couch. Let me pour us some brandy. We both need it. We need to talk.”

  For an instant, panic seized Cam. He wanted to push Molly aside and escape. Why? a part of his brain whispered to him. Molly was offering solace, a safe place when he’d had none in the past year. Surprisingly, the softness that was Molly had transformed her into a woman who was firmly in charge. He regarded her, too caught up in his own emotional reactions to figure out what had taken place.

  “Come on,” Molly insisted, dragging Cam away from the door. She kept a tight grip on his hand as she led him back into the living room. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him down on the sofa. “Now, sit there. And don’t you dare move while I get the brandy and snifters. Understand?”

  Cam nodded, hanging his head, the anxiety gone—replaced with such a sense of loss that he felt physically weakened.

  In the kitchen, Molly quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. Cam mustn’t see them. He needed her strength, not her tears right now. As she brought the snifters down from the cupboard and located the apricot brandy to pour a bit into each, Molly shook her head.

  “What’s going on?” she muttered to herself. There was no denying it any longer, Molly thought, capping the brandy and setting it back in the cupboard. Never had a man made her feel so much or want so much.

  As she carried the snifters into the living room, Molly realized she was seriously drawn to Cam. She’d had relationships before, but none had ever touched the deep chords of her heart or turned her dreams into torrid longing until now. Molly tabled that discovery, knowing she couldn’t allow it to interfere with Cam’s healing process. It was obvious he was still grieving—and perhaps venting it for the first time—for his lost family.

  Girding herself internally, she joined Cam on the couch. Slipping the snifter into his hands, she said, “Drink it. All of it.”

  He twisted his head and looked at Molly with curiosity. There was nothing soft about her now. She was very much in charge. Grateful, he lifted the snifter and gulped down the small bit of brandy. His lips pulled away from his teeth, sucking air between them as the apricot brandy hit his throat and then his stomach.

  “That’s powerful stuff….”

  Molly smiled tautly. “My grandmother’s recipe. She was a real healer. I remember her telling my mother that a good dose of brandy always helped in emergencies.”

  Cam studied the snifter as he slowly turned it around in his hands. “Yeah, this stuff will heal any crisis.”

  Molly curled her legs beneath her, a foot a
way from Cam. She’d purposely turned off the living-room lights, intuitively understanding that darkness was preferable under the circumstances. Cam’s face was harsh and alive with emotion, the interior shadows cutting cruelly across its planes, emphasizing the grief he’d allowed to surface.

  “There are many ways to heal,” Molly began in a low voice, watching him for reaction. “I want you to tell me about your family, Cam.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I care enough to listen.” I care for you. Molly bit back the real truth. “When I came to TPS and saw you for the first time, you scared the heck out of me. I’d never seen a man with such an emotionless face. I’ve never seen someone able to control their feelings to the degree you do. I kept wondering why you were that way. Now—” Molly sighed “—I know. You lost your family….”

  “I lost everything,” Cam whispered harshly, his control starting to unravel, “to that goddamn airliner crashing. The bastard of a pilot tried to land during a thunderstorm. Why didn’t he take the plane around? Why didn’t he have the guts to tell the tower it was too dangerous, too dicey, and have them wave him off the landing pattern? Why couldn’t the son of a bitch have the brains to get rerouted to another field?”

  Cam gripped the snifter hard between his hands as he stared out into the gathering darkness beyond the open windows. No longer was he in Molly’s apartment, nor did he feel her next to him as he talked. He heard the pain, the anger and utter hopelessness in his own voice. He thought he sounded like a wolf baying into the night, haunted and alone.

  Molly sat, unmoving, her snifter of untouched brandy resting on her thigh. Every line of Cam’s body was frozen with tension, his shoulders steeled beneath the load he’d carried so long by himself. She didn’t dare move or reach out to touch him, for fear of breaking the connection he’d established with his deeply suppressed feelings.

  “I dropped Sean and Jeanne off at the airport. Her parents lived in Dallas, Texas, and they hadn’t seen their grandson in two years. It was May, and a good time to go. I was stuck here at TPS with a new class and couldn’t get leave to go with them.” Bitterly, Cam rasped, “That was at three o’clock. I got off work a couple of hours later and went home. I already missed them. God, we’d been apart more than together in our seven-year marriage. I was aboard an aircraft carrier when Sean was born. Jeanne had to go through it alone. I wanted so damn badly to be there for her…to see my son born.