Can't Stop Loving You

by Janelle Taylor

  She nodded silently, unable to speak.

  It would have been easier if he had taken her bait. If he had lashed out at her so that she could release the emotion that choked her throat. Now there was nothing to do but force it back, swallow it, and, like he said, go forward.

  They were silent all the way back to the inn, where they picked up his car. He followed her to the nearest car rental drop-off place and waited, parked out front, while she returned the keys and filled out the paperwork. Then they silently rode together back to the inn again.

  The first raindrops splashed onto the windshield as they pulled into a diagonal parking spot in front of the inn again.

  “Should we go get dinner now?” Noah asked, motioning at the row of restaurants and cafes on Main Street.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. “I think I’ll just go to my room.”

  “No, don’t,” Noah said, turning off the engine. “I’m sorry, Mariel.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. Whatever she had been expecting from him, it hadn’t been this.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about…what happened. Everything that happened. I’m just upset, that’s all. You chose the people you thought would give her a wonderful life. They looked great on paper. And I backed your choice.”

  She had shown him the file on the Steadmans only after she had made up her mind. It was hard enough to choose the future parents of their unborn child, let alone struggle with Noah over the decision of whom they should select. Luckily, he hadn’t argued with that. Nor, as he said, had he argued with her verdict. She remembered the day she had handed him the file, remembered how thoroughly he had gone through the background information before he finally looked up at her and said simply, “They look fine.”

  “Neither of us could have predicted that the Steadmans’ marriage wouldn’t last,” he went on now. “And for all we know, they have absolutely nothing to do with what’s happened to Amber.”

  She nodded. She couldn’t look at him.

  “Forgive me, Mariel.” He cleared his throat, his voice smoky. “I didn’t mean to hurt you more.”

  Tears stung her eyes, but she couldn’t cry. Not in front of him.

  “Have dinner with me,” he said softly. “Please. We can eat right here in the dining room of the inn. You have to eat, and so do I. It would be ridiculous not to eat together.”

  “Okay,” she heard herself say.

  He nodded, satisfied. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t turn her head toward him. She was afraid of what she would see if her gaze met his.

  She hadn’t expected this. She hadn’t wanted this; she had wanted an argument. She had wanted to clear her head and clear the air, once and for all.

  She had wanted a strong, solid reason to believe that Noah Lyons could never be the man for her, a reason to turn her back on him and walk away for the second—and final—time in her life.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The dining room of the inn was all but deserted when Noah and Mariel descended the stairs to the lobby again. They had both gone to their rooms to change, and Noah had heard Mariel go into the bathroom across the hall for a long time.

  Now she once again smelled of that captivating, clean herbal scent, and she looked refreshed. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail again, tied with a pink ribbon. Her face was obviously scrubbed, though he noticed that her eyes were red and slightly swollen. So she had been crying. He couldn’t decide whether he was surprised about that or not. He still didn’t know how to read her, after all this time.

  Then again, was it surprising? Their relationship hadn’t encompassed the past fifteen years; they had actually known each other for a brief interlude—if they had ever really known each other at all. Sometimes he wondered.

  He glanced at her as they stood in the wide doorway leading to the dining room. Without make-up, she looked younger and more vulnerable than she had this afternoon. She wore a pale pink, sleeveless blouse tucked into a full floral print skirt, and her feet were clad in pale pink flats. She looked as though she had popped out of a 1950s teen fashion magazine. For some reason he found that more appealing than if she were clad head to toe in sexy, slinky black.

  “Two for dinner?” asked the hostess, coming to the lamp-lit podium.

  “Yes,” Noah replied.

  “It’s quiet tonight. Most of the weekend guests have checked out, and nobody wants to come out in this weather.” Her words were punctuated by a deafening boom of thunder.

  “Guess you can’t blame them,” Mariel said.

  “No, you certainly can’t. Anyway, you have your choice of tables, as you can see.” The hostess was middle-aged and overweight but attractive, with shoulder-length dark hair and round cheeks. She wore a wedding band and engagement ring, and a charm bracelet jangled on her wrist—the kind of gift a husband would get a wife for Mother’s Day, and then add to each year as their lives grew richer.

  She looked comfortable and motherly, Noah thought. Motherly in a way that his own mother would never look. Mariel either, he thought automatically, and then glanced at her and reconsidered. If he really concentrated, he could almost imagine her face softened by time and excess padding. He almost could see her in glasses and sweatpants, curled up on a couch with a toddler on her lap or a baby nursing in her arms.

  Almost.

  “So where would you like to sit?” the hostess asked, gesturing at the dining room. A family was just rising from a large round table near the row of windows overlooking the porch. Only one other table was occupied, by two couples, one in their fifties or sixties and the other in their twenties or thirties. All but the younger woman were sipping from champagne flutes.

  “We can sit over there,” Mariel said, gesturing at a table for two not far from the other group, and directly in front of a brick fireplace. A large dried flower arrangement occupied the hearth.

  “That’s fine,” Noah agreed, and the hostess led the way.

  The dining room was decorated in shades of green and rose in a style similar to the guest rooms, with floral print wallpaper, white lace curtains, and a Victorianstyle patterned carpet. There were potted ferns everywhere, and whirling ceiling fans with frosted glass fixtures, and candles burned inside glass globes on every table.

  Tonight was one of the longest days of the year, Noah realized, and if the sun had been out it would have more than an hour left before setting. But gloomy mist and rain were all that was visible beyond the rainspattered glass on the two walls of the room that were lined with windows. He heard thunder rumbling ominously as he pulled out Mariel’s chair for her.

  The hostess cocked her head, listening to it, and commented, “We’re going to get one heck of a storm tonight, I hear.”

  “Sounds that way,” Noah said. “Glad we decided to dine in.”

  “You folks are staying here, then?” she asked. “I wish I didn’t have far to drive, but I’m almost a half hour away. My husband doesn’t like it when I’m on the roads in bad weather. I hope he doesn’t send one of our boys for me.”

  “How many boys do you have?” Mariel asked conversationally.

  “Three—two in college and one a senior in high school. And my older daughter’s grown and married with my first grandchild on the way in two months, and the youngest is a high school sophomore.”

  “Congratulations on the grandchild,” Noah said, thinking he had been right about her being motherly. He realized that he envied this stranger her big family and cozy life, driving to work at a small-town inn, the kind of job that didn’t come home with you when the day was over. Yes, she was worried about driving, but she had a husband and children to look out for her.

  Noah had no one. There was nobody he would even bother to call if he was going to be home late from work; nobody would be waiting, looking at the clock, hoping he was all right.

  Even when he had been married, he hadn’t lived that kind of life. Kelly had stayed more and m
ore frequently at her office long after he had left his, even when he worked overtime. And even in the old days, when she occasionally beat him home, she wasn’t waiting for him. There was no dinner in the oven warming the apartment with a mouth-watering aroma, no welcoming kiss at the door unless she was in the mood to make love, which hadn’t been often once they were past their newlywed stage.

  “We found out the other day that my daughter is expecting a little girl,” the hostess said proudly. She added hastily, “It wouldn’t have mattered either way, but I have all of Cindy’s baby dresses and her christening gown ready to hand down to her own daughter now.”

  Noah glanced at Mariel, who was murmuring something polite in response. Her smile was tight, and he knew that she was thinking about her own daughter, who had never worn her mother’s baby dresses.

  The hostess said, lowering her voice, “That other group right over there is here celebrating because the younger couple is expecting their first baby. The older couple are his parents. They just found out tonight, and they had a toast with champagne.”

  “That’s terrific,” Noah said, glancing at the other table, where an animated conversation was in progress.

  “Do you two have children?” the hostess asked then.

  Noah’s insides lurched. “No,” he said quickly, and glanced at Mariel, who looked stricken.

  “Honeymooners, then, right? I thought you—”

  “We’re not together,” Mariel blurted.

  The woman was immediately flustered. “I’m sorry, the Sweet Briar is popular with honeymooners so I just assumed—”

  “It’s okay,” Noah said quickly.

  “Here are your menus,” the woman said, thrusting two leather-bound folders at them before she hurried away.

  Noah looked at Mariel across the table with its dancing candlelight. “Boy is her face red,” he said, trying to break the ice.

  For a moment, Mariel didn’t respond. Then she said, “I guess I can’t cringe and shrink away every time somebody asks whether I have children. It’s just that it doesn’t happen to me often because everyone in Rockton knows me. It just caught me off guard, being here with you and having somebody assume that we—”

  “I know. But it’s a natural assumption. Like she said, this place is popular with honeymooners.”

  “Where did you go?” Mariel asked, picking up her cloth napkin, which had been folded in a fan shape, and placing it neatly in her lap.

  “Where did I…?” He didn’t get it, and waited for her to clarify.

  “For your honeymoon?” she asked. “Where did you go?”

  “On a European whirlwind tour,” he said, remembering how exhausting it had been. It had been Kelly’s idea, and completely her style—but not his. He would have been content to lie on a beach someplace.

  “That must have been amazing,” Mariel said wistfully.

  He remembered how she had once longed to travel abroad, how she had even talked of living in Paris or London.

  “Have you ever been to Europe?” Noah asked.

  She shook her head. “Someday, maybe.”

  “Well, here’s some advice for you. When you go, make sure it isn’t on your honeymoon,” he said, forcing back the little voice inside that protested that her honeymoon should be with him. Of course it wouldn’t be—and of course it was logical to presume that sooner or later she was going to find someone and settle down.

  “Why not on my honeymoon?” she asked, sounding amused.

  “Trust me, a wedding—especially the kind I had, with all the trimmings—is emotional and draining and stressful enough without following it up with a week overseas, traipsing all over Europe by boat, plane, train, rental car…”

  “So you didn’t enjoy your honeymoon?” she said, looking surprised.

  “Europe was just more my ex-wife’s idea than mine. I’d have preferred something more laid back. Like this place.”

  Mariel looked around the cozy dining room. “I guess it is romantic.”

  He smiled. “And quiet. These days, I crave quiet. I guess I always have. And you crave action, right?”

  “Maybe crave isn’t the right word,” she said, “but a little action is nice from time to time. You don’t get much, living in Rockton. And I guess you get more than your share in New York.”

  Before he could answer, the waiter appeared and introduced himself, telling them about the specials. “Can I get you something to drink? Or are you ready to order?”

  They hadn’t even glanced at the menus yet.

  Still, Mariel looked at Noah. “I know what I’m having, if you do.”

  He shrugged. “The filet special sounds good. I’ll go with that.”

  She smiled. “That’s what I decided, too.”

  They placed their order, and the waiter brought them their goblets of red wine.

  As they sipped, he told her about Europe, carefully leaving out any details about Kelly. Why tell Mariel that even as soon as that first week, he had realized that he might have made a mistake marrying her? He still remembered the twinges of misgiving that had jarred him from time to time, and how he had tried to reassure himself that all newlyweds must feel that way. That it was a continuation of what he had, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, convinced himself was merely cold feet.

  Now, in retrospect, of course, he knew better. He knew that he should have listened to his instincts. But he would certainly never ignore them again.

  Their salads arrived, served on delicate Royal Albert bone china. Noah devoured the bed of mesclun greens flavored with a tangy balsamic vinaigrette and dotted with roasted eggplant, sun dried tomatoes and creamy white flecks of goat cheese.

  The rain had intensified outside, and the staff hurried around the dining room, closing the screened windows as the curtains blew wildly. From his position facing the lobby, Noah spotted the hostess hurrying toward the front door wearing a rain slicker, a set of keys clutched in her hand as she called a farewell over her shoulder to Susan, who was at the desk.

  “It’s really nasty out there,” Mariel said, casting worried eyes toward the window.

  He followed her gaze just in time to see the sky light up.

  “We’re safe and sound in here,” he pointed out. “Do you get storms like this back home in Missouri?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, nodding. “Worse, even. A twister went through Rockton a few years ago. Luckily, nobody was killed, but it took out a few trailers.”

  “We don’t have twisters in Manhattan,” Noah said, “but we have subways, which are kind of the same thing, depending on the motorman’s mood.”

  She chuckled.

  He was glad.

  He wanted—needed—her to be comfortable with him. It seemed that every time they reached a point where they could both relax, something happened to put the strain between them again.

  Outside, thunder rumbled.

  Inside, the lights flickered.

  Noah and Mariel looked at each other.

  “Think we’ll lose power?” she asked him.

  “Maybe.”

  The lights glimmered again.

  “We lose power a lot back home,” she said. “And the television cable goes out every time we have a storm. It used to drive Daddy crazy.”

  “Used to?” Noah echoed, wondering if she had lost her father as well as her mother. He recalled she had said her mother passed away two years ago from Alzheimer’s, but was certain she had told him her father was still alive.

  “Daddy lives in Florida now. He retired there after Mom died, and he got himself a big satellite dish. Now the cable never goes out.”

  Noah smiled. “It’s hard to imagine a minister with a satellite dish. I thought he was a real straight arrow, and for some reason I didn’t picture him watching much television.”

  “Daddy loves his TV,” she said. “But only game shows and sports. He’s a big Chiefs fan and an even bigger Royals fan, and he needs to follow his teams even though he lives on the other end of the coun
try now.”

  “I can relate to that,” Noah said. “I need my Yankees fix just about every night during the season. In fact, I’m going through withdrawal being up here. I’ve missed two games now.”

  “I didn’t know you were a Yankees fan.”

  You didn’t know a lot of things about me, he thought.

  Aloud, he said, “Yeah, I’ve always been loyal to the Yankees, even though I was raised in Queens, which is where the Mets play. The Yankees play in the Bronx,” he added, realizing she probably hadn’t understood the significance of his unexpected allegiance.

  But she nodded knowingly. “Daddy watches all teams, not just the Royals. I used to watch with him.”

  “You did?” He searched his memory. “That’s funny. I don’t remember us having any conversations about baseball back in the old days.”

  “Oh, that’s because I was too busy being an artiste back then,” she said, her tone and her expression selfmocking. Then her wry smile faded, and she added, “Actually, I never paid much attention to sports until I moved back home. I started watching with my father after my mother’s illness started to progress and she couldn’t follow the games anymore. It had always been something they did together—you know, sit down and watch a ball game. And after she got sick, he seemed so…I don’t know, so lonely, sitting there by himself. So I started watching with him, just to keep him company. And I realized I liked it.” She sipped her wine.

  “It must have been excruciating, watching your mother fade away like that,” he said gently.

  She looked up at him and nodded. “Excruciating is exactly the word I would choose to describe what it was like. Especially knowing that things were only going to get worse, never better. The day she didn’t recognize me was…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, and he saw tears in her eyes.

  “It must have been the hardest thing you’ve ever gone through,” he supplied.

  She considered that, then shrugged. “It was one of the hardest.”

  And he realized, seeing the look on her face, what the hardest thing had been. He had all but forgotten about their child, and why they were here.