Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10

by Linda Winfree

  “Rob, I mean it.” She stopped before him and rested her hands on his chest. Under his oft-washed shirt, his heart thudded against her palm, and his heat permeated her skin. “All you have to be is you.”

  He trailed the back of his index finger along her jaw, rested his fingertip at the corner of her mouth. “I want to be what you want. I want to be the man you deserve.”

  She slipped her hands up to his nape. “You are.”

  “Not yet.” He lowered his head, their lips almost touching. “But I will be.”

  She closed the imperceptible distance between them, taking his mouth in a kiss full of sweet longing for what they used to be, what they could be. He cupped her jaw in his hands, and she trailed her mouth along the line of his throat. Letting her lips rest at his clavicle, she inhaled his familiar smell. His arms came about her, holding her close, and she did the same, wrapping her arms around him, resting her palms on his back. They stood that way, for long silent seconds, simply holding on.

  *

  Amy closed the dishwasher door and started the wash cycle. Once more, she brushed a finger along the edge of a fragrant rose and bent to bury her nose in the smell. She smiled, shut off the kitchen lights and went in search of her husband.

  She found him in the living room, watching the local eleven o’clock news. She paused next to him and fiddled with the edges of his hair. “What are you doing? You never watch the news.”

  “Look.” Remote in hand, he gestured at the screen. The blonde anchor, young, polished and perfectly coiffed, reported on Brittany Jenkins’s ordeal. She ended with a description of their supposed suspect and the nondescript gray car. Rob slumped into the couch. “That little girl is lying about what happened, and this is going to bite us on the ass before it’s over.”

  “Stop worrying. All it does it steal today’s joy.” She removed the remote from his grip, turned off the television and dropped the remote on the coffee table. With an arm hooked around his neck, she settled sideways on his lap. “You are doing everything you can.”

  He looped both arms about her waist. “Yeah, well, it’s not enough.”

  “Quit.” She leaned in to punctuate her words with tiny kisses along his jaw. “Worrying.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His quiet chuckle stirred her hair. She relaxed into him and rubbed her palm across his shoulder, down to his pectoral. A slight turn of his head and their lips met, clung. She sighed into his open mouth and skimmed her nails along his nape. He shuddered under the light touch and sought her mouth again.

  The lazy kiss went on, the two of them relearning the feel and taste of one another. She’d forgotten how a soft nip to his lower lip wrung a growl from him and how the slow thrusting of his tongue between her lips made her hot all over, made her want to straddle him and take him deep inside her.

  His hand traveled from her waist to her hip, fingers digging into her flesh as need mounted between them. Beneath her other hip, he was hard and heavy, even through the denim of their jeans. She shaped the muscles of his chest, palm skimming a taut male nipple under soft cotton. She loved touching him, loved the tight planes of his body, the indentations of muscle, the warm roughness of his skin. How had she forgotten that too?

  Mouth still fused to his, she scrambled to straddle his thighs. She cupped her hands around his head, needing this sweetly carnal kiss to go on forever. His hands bracketed her hips, and he pulled her closer, belly to belly, chest to chest.

  This was how he had kissed her at the beginning, back when they’d been college kids, when they’d sought privacy in his pickup on a red dirt road. This was how he had kissed her the first night of their honeymoon, in a gorgeous room at a little B&B in Savannah, his hands running up her thighs under her ridiculously filmy nightgown, and before it was all over, she’d been screaming his name.

  She moaned, helpless under the memories and this kiss and the exquisite hurt of his hands holding her so tight.

  This was how he kissed her when she was sure he wanted her.

  He pulled back a scant distance, his chest rising and falling as though he’d been running. She rubbed at his hair, the light-brown strands tickling her fingertips. She stared into green eyes stormy and fierce with an emotion she’d not seen for months. With her body settled over his so intimately, she could feel how badly he wanted her, a match for the aching between her thighs. Eyes still locked with his, she traced his cheekbones with her thumbs then let her fingertips trail down to his neck, over the tight tendons, over the strength of his pulse, to rest at the base of his throat. His lashes fell.

  “You still want me,” she whispered, the discovery like a forbidden delight.

  He stilled, but didn’t open his eyes, a different tension invading his lean frame. “I’ve always wanted you.”

  And like that, he was gone from her again. She sensed him slipping away, as surely as his hands fell from her body, and she framed his face, trying to grab him back to her. Frustration brought desperation to her touch. “Rob, don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Weariness colored the words. Lids still lowered, he leaned his head against the couch.

  “Retreat from me. Hide from me.” She wanted to cry. Maybe scream or fuss or make him come back to her. “Rob, please.”

  He lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not hiding from you.”

  Screaming was a distinct possibility. She could feel it building in her throat, a raw, primal yell of frustration and hurt and longing. She wanted them back so fiercely, when she’d barely realized they’d slipped away. She wanted to fix them, but she couldn’t do that if she didn’t know what the hell was wrong. She fisted her hands in his shirt.

  “I’m not hiding from you.” He dropped his hand, and his lashes lifted to reveal eyes dull with hurt and confusion. “I’m not ready yet.”

  She didn’t release his shirt. “Ready for what?”

  “To take it out and look at it.” He shook his head. “To talk about it with you.”

  Which meant asking what it was would be fruitless. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “I…” He closed his eyes on a pained grimace. “I’m trying, Amy. I swear to God, I am.”

  She knew that. For the first time, the very real fear that they wouldn’t make it spread through her. She was fighting something huge, maybe something bigger than them, and she didn’t know what it was or where to start.

  “I know you are.” With shaky hands, she smoothed out his shirt and touched his jaw. “I don’t know how to help you. To help us.”

  “Don’t give up on me. Not yet.” He moved, and she found herself engulfed in a tight embrace. Tremors vibrated in him. “Please.”

  “No.” She pressed her lips to his temple. “Never.”

  She held him, his arms pressed around her, until the trembling faded away. His face against her throat, she rested her cheek on his hair and trailed a soothing caress down his nape. “Come to bed tonight. I want you to hold me.”

  He nodded, nose brushing her skin. “I want that too.”

  “Go take a shower.” She leaned back and stroked his ruffled hair back from his brow. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Yeah.” He tipped her off his lap and rose. Hand at her mouth, she watched him disappear down the hall. Feeling as shaky as he looked, she retrieved her cell from her bag and typed out a quick text.

  Meet me for breakfast tomorrow. Really need to talk to you.

  Chapter Six

  A bell pealed in the distance. Amy frowned and pulled the duvet higher to cover her ear. Rob’s arm lay over her waist, a warm weight, his thigh tucked between her knees. Her head rested in the curve of his throat, his bare chest along her back.

  The bell sounded again, and Rob shifted on a groan. “What time is it?”

  She opened one eye to peer at the clock. “A quarter to five.”

  Rob bit off a curse. “Why is he early?”

  “Who?” She rolled to her back as he levered up on the pillows and snatched his phon
e from the nightstand.

  “Troy Lee.” He tapped out a text and dropped the phone on the mattress. Elbows on his bent knees, he scrubbed both hands down his face. His hair stuck out in spiky disarray.

  “The question is why you’re going running with him this early.” She propped up on an elbow and trailed a finger across his toes. The man had the cutest feet she’d ever seen. “What happened to the gym every afternoon?”

  “This is different than the gym.” He pushed up from the bed and crossed to snag athletic shorts and a T-shirt from his dresser. He skimmed off the pajama pants, giving her a glimpse of the other part of him she’d always considered the cutest ever before he tugged the shorts into place and shrugged into the T-shirt. “It makes me feel better.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom, and she fell back, eyes closed. It made him feel better. Something about that simple statement scared her too, as much as his separation and weary desperation last night had. Short minutes later, he returned, the mattress beside her dipping as he sat down to pull on his shoes. She watched him, looking for clues to heaven-knew-what in his face and finding none.

  She lifted a hand to trace his triceps. He shifted sideways to plant a fist on either side of her hips and leaned down to touch his lips to hers. “I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day.”

  “You too.” She hooked a hand around his nape and kept him close for one more kiss. She fought down the fear and desperation and forced a smile. “I love you.”

  “You too.” A brief smile, an even briefer kiss, and he was gone. Fisting the duvet and holding it to her chest, she listened to his footfalls in the hall and the door closing behind him. She lay for several minutes, afraid to get up and start facing what might be before them. She wanted to stay forever in that kiss last night, to linger in waking to find herself in his arms. Finally, she shoved the covers aside and headed for the shower. Look where not facing their problems had already gotten her.

  An hour later, she was dressed and ready for the day when the knock sounded at the side door. She hurried to answer it and wrapped her sister in a tight hug. “Thanks for coming.”

  Dressed casually in jeans and a Loop-the-Lake T-shirt, Savannah faked a grimace and held the McDonald’s bag in her left hand aloft. “You want to tell me why I drove an hour this early on my day off to have breakfast?”

  “I really need to talk to you. Come on. I made coffee.”

  “It couldn’t wait for a Saturday-afternoon pedicure?” Savannah followed her, already pulling a breakfast sandwich and hash browns from the sack.

  “No.” Amy poured coffee in the two waiting mugs. Savannah tossed her purse on the bar and slipped onto a stool. Amy set a mug before her and took the other stool. “I’m worried about Rob.”

  “I would be too.” Savannah spoke around a bite of sausage biscuit. “He’s depressed as hell.”

  “What? No.” Amy set her mug down with a thud. Her sister shoved a biscuit toward her, and Amy slid it back. “What are you talking about?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Savannah dropped her sandwich. “You don’t see it?”

  “He’s not depressed. Stressed out? Sure. But…” She trailed off under her sister’s knowing, sarcastic gaze. “You really think he’s depressed?”

  “Amy, if he showed up in the ER looking the way he does some days, we’d probably put him on a seventy-two-hour hold.” Savannah held up her fingers and began ticking off points. “He’s lost at least ten pounds since his dad died, he doesn’t look like he’s slept in a month, and I have never seen him as apathetic as he was a couple of weekends ago at Mom and Dad’s.”

  “He…” Amy pushed her mug away and rested her face in her hands. “Oh, Lord. I’m the worst wife in the world.”

  “No, you’re just you.” Savannah’s mild tone held rueful affection. “A little spoiled and self-centered, so you miss stuff with the people around you.”

  Amy lifted her head to glare at her sibling. “Thanks.”

  “Well, it’s true.” Savannah took another bite of biscuit. “Let me guess. You’ve been busy with work and the move and stressing over his job situation and the whole baby thing, and somehow you never noticed that the great, good-looking-as-hell guy you’re married to had stopped treating you like a princess because it’s a freaking miracle he can get out of bed every day?”

  Amy opened her mouth and snapped it shut. She wanted to vomit.

  Savannah licked a crumb off her finger. “Thought so.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she covered her mouth with one hand to hold back a sob.

  “Don’t you dare start crying.” Her sister smacked a stern hand on the countertop. “I’m pretty sure he hasn’t, although God knows he deserves it if anyone does. Your job right now is to figure out how to get him to get help.”

  Obediently, Amy gulped back the tears and the knot in her throat. “He said he wasn’t ready to take it out and look at it, to talk about it with me. I didn’t know what he was talking about.”

  Savannah nodded and looked about. “Where is he, anyway? Still asleep? I know he’s not a morning person.”

  “Running with his new partner at the sheriff’s department.” Amy rested an elbow on the counter and pushed rough fingers against her forehead. Was she really that blind and selfish, that she’d missed it all and left him to suffer alone? And he thought he wasn’t the man she deserved. “He started this week. They go out insanely early and do five miles along the river.”

  “That’s awesome. Nature and exercise? He probably needs both.”

  “He said it made him feel better,” Amy whispered.

  “Amy, I swear to God, if you don’t get it together and stop looking like you’re going to bawl any minute, I’m going to slap you.”

  “I thought it was just stress.”

  “At the beginning, when it was only the infertility, it probably was.” Savannah lifted a shoulder in an easy shrug. “Then he’s out of a job and Dad’s an ass about it, then he loses his dad and a guy can only take so many blows before he’s on his knees.”

  “Daddy wasn’t an ass about it.”

  Savannah snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Amy. Focus.” Savannah snapped her fingers in front of Amy’s face. “When was the last time he had a physical or talked to his doctor?”

  “He had to have one as part of the hiring process here, but that wasn’t with his regular physician.”

  “And he’s smart enough and been in law enforcement long enough to know what not to admit to on a questionnaire.” Savannah took the last bite of flaky sandwich. “Make him an appointment with his doctor and make him keep it. Or find one here, make an appointment and make him keep it.”

  “Have you ever tried to make Rob do anything?”

  “Tell him no sex until he keeps the appointment.”

  Amy’s face burned, and Savannah stared, mouth open. This time, she was the one who snapped her mouth shut.

  “Oh my God, you’re not sleeping together, are you?”

  Arms crossed over her chest, Amy scowled. She did not want to explain this to her sister, who was already giving her the how-stupid-can-you-be look. “The whole trying-to-have-a-baby thing can take the fun out of things. Then there was his job and his dad. I work hard, and we moved and then—”

  “When was the last time, Amy?”

  She tried to remember. The time after the testing didn’t count because they’d been so miserable that nothing had actually happened. She’d cried, and Rob had retreated, tense and silent. “Probably the month before the fertility testing.”

  Savannah gaped. “That was months ago.”

  “I know, okay? I know.”

  “You’re lucky he’s not divorcing you. Except he’s crazy in love with you.” Savannah leaned back, arms linked around one denim-clad updrawn knee. “Well, I guess sex as leverage is out. Maybe try making the appointment and asking him to keep it because you’re concerned about him.”
<
br />   “I can do that.”

  “Great. It would probably do him good to think someone’s concerned about him.”

  “Savannah, would you stop with the guilt already? I know I messed up. I am concerned about him, and I am trying to make things better. You don’t know how hard I’m trying.”

  “Good. Because focusing on him means you’re focusing on someone other than yourself. Maybe this is the thing that will finally make you grow the rest of the fuck up. Don’t look at me like that.” Savannah leaned in, long dark ponytail falling forward over one shoulder. “You were all ready to be some kid’s mother when you don’t really have an idea of what it means to be a full adult yet. It’s time to finally stop being Mom and Dad’s little girl and step up to actually being his wife and helping him get better instead of playing house.”

  And she had nothing to say to that. She couldn’t even drum up enough anger to drown out the shame because, damn it, her sister was right. She’d known Savannah wouldn’t mince words, the same way she knew Savannah would do everything in her power to help.

  She wrapped her hands around her now-cool coffee mug. “I hate you.”

  “I hate you more.” Savannah laid her hand over Amy’s. “He’ll be okay, I think. He has some purpose, probably, with the new job and—”

  The side door thudded open, and two sets of running shoes squeaked through the laundry room.

  “Forgot my wallet. Got to have it.” His voice hoarse and breathless, Rob jogged through the kitchen. Sweat soaked his T-shirt, and his hair stood out in damp disarray. “Hey, Savannah, what are you doing here?”

  “Having breakfast with my bratty little sister,” Savannah called after him. She glanced back at Troy Lee, equally sweaty but not out of breath at all, who’d paused at the kitchen door, and laughed. “Hot damn, the two of you in one room should be illegal. Tell me you’re single.”

  He smiled, a flash of white teeth against tan skin. “Sorry.”

  “Tell me you have a brother.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head, his watchful gaze tracking between Savannah and Amy. Something about that look made her intensely uncomfortable. An itch crawled up her spine and spread over her whole body, ending in what she hoped was an invisible shudder.