by Lisa Gregory
He must not let himself get carried away. He hadn't caused her to lose the baby, true enough, but he sure as hell had caused the pregnancy. And that was the real issue. As long as Sarah didn't get pregnant, there would be no risk of the same thing happening, no pain of childbirth, no chance of her dying. It was up to him to make sure it didn't happen. However much James's words might relieve him of his guilt, he still couldn't make love to Sarah.
❧
Julia pushed the file into the folder and stood up, closing the drawer with her foot. She stretched her back, aching from a hill day of work, and glanced around the waiting room. It was empty; James was in one of the examination rooms with the last patient. As soon as the man came out, Julia would be able to collect his money, enter it in the ledger, and leave. She was ready. It had been a hot, hard day.
She moved around the room, straightening the furniture, plumping cushions back into shape, arranging her desk neatly. She stopped in front of the small mirror Wisps of hair had escaped her upswept hairdo and hung in damp strips around her neck. She smoothed them back up and tried to secure them with hairpins. It wasn't an entirely successful effort. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror and turned away.
Julia didn't know why she was always so concerned with looking good for James. It would be better if she didn't. Maybe then he would abandon this crazy idea of marrying her. It was becoming difficult to work with him, not because he pressured her, but because of the sexual tension between them. The air fairly sizzled with it. She couldn't stand beside him, handing him instruments, without being aware of how close their bodies were, of how little it would take to brush against him and what sparks it would set off if she did. James never touched her at work, but the passion and love were there in his eyes whenever he looked at her.
Julia sighed. She didn't know how much longer this could go on. She rolled down her sleeves and fastened the row of small round buttons along the narrow cuff. There was the sound of a wagon and team stopping in the street outside, and she went to the front window, hoping that it wasn't a late patient arriving.
There were three men in the back of the wagon and a fourth driving it. They all jumped down and went to the back of the wagon. They pulled out two wide wooden planks with a man's body stretched on them, moving slowly and carefully. Julia flung open the door and hurried out onto the steps.
One of the men glanced up at her. "Fetch the doc. We got Bud O'Brien here, and he's busted up pretty bad. Fell off the gin."
Julia flew back into the office, leaving the door open for the men and their burden. "James! James!" She opened the door of the examining room. James was already reaching for the knob on the other side.
"What is it?"
"Some men from the cotton gin. They're carrying in Bud O'Brien; he fell off the gin."
"Good Lord." He glanced back at the man in the room. "Excuse me, Mr. Chandler." He strode toward the front door, calling back over his shoulder. "Julia, get the operating room ready."
Julia did as he requested. The men brought in O'Brien and laid him on the table, and James went to work on him. Both James and Julia knew as soon as they saw the man that it was hopeless, but they worked valiantly nonetheless to save him. Both of O'Brien's legs were broken, but far worse were the massive internal injuries. James did his best to stem the hemorrhaging, but he could not. Less than an hour after O'Brien was brought in, the breath shuddered out of him and he died.
"Damn!" James dropped his instruments into the metal bowl. "Goddamn it!"
"It wasn't your fault, James. No one could have saved him."
"I know." His voice was as weary as his face. "But that doesn't really help."
The undertaker was already there, waiting. The men who had brought O'Brien in had gone straight to him; they had known as well as James and Julia that there was no hope for their coworker. The undertaker removed the body, and Julia cleaned up the room. She washed up at the sink and left the room quickly. It smelled of death.
James was in his office, seated behind the desk. His coat and vest were off and his sleeves rolled up high on his arms.
There was an open bottle of whiskey and a half-full glass before him. His elbows were planted on the desk, and he held his head between his hands, staring down at the desk.
"James?"
He looked up, his dark eyes old and sad. He tried to summon up a smile for her. "Yes?"
"Are you all right?"
He nodded. "I always hate to lose them." He paused and sighed. "Buddy O'Brien and I went to grade school together."
"I'm sorry." Julia's heart ached for him. He was such a good man, so kind.
"He married Frances Brewster. They have some kids." He rubbed his hands across his face. "Christ, Julie, he was only thirty-one, same as me."
Julia came quickly across the room to him, and he reached out and pulled her close, burying his face against her breasts. She encircled him with her arms and laid her cheek against the top of his head. "Oh, James, I know. I know how hard it is for you."
He squeezed her to him tightly, and for a long time they remained like that, drawing comfort from each other. Tenderly Julia stroked James's hair and kissed the top of his head. James didn't want to let her go; she gave him such warmth and strength. Here, like this with her, nothing in the world seemed so bad.
When, at last, he released her, James pulled her down into his lap and sat with his arms around her. Julia cuddled up against him, and they talked while he sipped his whiskey. They talked about all kinds of things—it didn't matter what—until at last the adrenaline and the sadness began to slip away.
"Thank you, Julia."
"For what?"
"For staying here with me. For giving me your comfort." He closed his eyes as though in pain, and his arms tightened around her. "Oh, God, Julie, I love you so much."
"And I love you."
"Not enough."
"What do you mean?"
"You don't love me enough to marry me."
"That's not why—"
"No? Then what is?"
"Oh, James, can't you understand? I've told you. I'm not the kind of person you should marry."
He laid his finger across her lips. "Don't you dare say you aren't good enough. Because you're ten times better than anyone I know, including me."
"I don't know how to act. I'd be an embarrassment to you. You don't think it would matter, but it would. I'd be an embarrassment to your mother. Everyone would gossip about your marrying me. They'd pity you."
"They'd envy me."
"They would not, and you know it. They'd talk about you. They would say I didn't belong, and they would speculate on how I snared you."
"Then you don't love me enough to face the gossip of a few old biddies?"
"It's not that! You shouldn't have to face it."
"But don't you see? I don't care about the gossip. I doubt I'll even bear half of it, and the rest I won't pay any attention to. I don't care what other people think. So what if they gossip? Let them. As long as I have you, they can talk themselves hoarse, for all I care."
"You would care, someday."
"When? When I'm ninety? Don't you know me any better than that? Don't you know who I am?"
"Of course I know you. You're the kindest, best—'
He took her face between his hands and held it still, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Do you honestly think I will be hurt by some gossip? That I would be embarrassed because some old ladies don't approve of me or what I've done?"
She gazed at him for a moment. "No."
"Do you think I'm so stupid that I don't know my own mind? So slow that at thirty-one I don't know what I want?"
She wet her lips. She tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her. "No."
"Then let me say it one more time. I want you. I don't want a woman who can make polite conversation at the table or who knows how to give a proper party. I don't give a damn if she eats with the wrong spoon, or with a knife, if that's what she likes. I want a woman who k
nows me, who loves me, who understands what happened tonight and how I felt about it. I want a woman I can share my life with, work, fun, and everything in between. What I need is what you gave me tonight—your understanding and your generous comfort."
"Any woman could —"
"No. You don't realize how special you are. Not any woman could have done what you did today—stand by my side in that room and face the blood and the death and then have the strength to come in here and comfort me. You're one of a kind, sweetheart. You're the only woman I want. In all my life I've never found another woman to compare with you. I've been so lonely without you, Julie. Please don't tell me I have to spend the rest of my life lonely."
"Oh, James." Julia's hand went up to his cheek, warm and loving. She had never thought of it this way before, that by not marrying James she was condemning him to a life of loneliness, that perhaps no other woman would suit him as she did. She had been too wrapped up in her own inadequacies and fears to see that she was hurting James. Her hand trembled against his cheek as she realized how willfully she was throwing away their chance at happiness.
"Marry me, Julia. Say you'll marry me."
She gazed at his beloved face. Tears welled in her eyes. "Yes," she said finally. "Yes, I'll marry you."
Chapter 21
James and Julia were married the following Saturday, Both Julia and Anthea exclaimed in horror that it was not proper to have the wedding that soon, but James set his jaw and replied that he didn't intend to wait any longer. He'd waited for Julia far too long as it was. Secretly, he was afraid that if he waited she would somehow get away from him again.
They had the ceremony late in the afternoon in the minister's study, with only their families present. Sarah and Anthea cried, though both declared they were tears of happiness, and after the ceremony they each hugged Julia and all three of the women cried again. James glanced at them a little nervously, wondering what was wrong. Luke chuckled. "Better get used to it. Sarah cries at the strangest times."
"Honestly?" James shrugged, then laughed, too.
Luke shook his hand. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." James looked at him. They were brothers-in-law now. It seemed a strange idea. There was an openness to Luke's face that James had never encountered before. James wondered if they might actually come to like each other in time. Stranger things had happened.
He glanced over at the women. Julia was dabbing at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. She sensed his gaze and looked up at him, smiling. It warmed James all through. He reached out his hand, and she came to him and took it shyly. James raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it. The plain gold wedding band shone against her fair skin. His wife. It was a little hard to believe. He gripped her hand tightly.
They went back to the house, where Anthea and Lurleen had prepared an elegant wedding supper. The food was sumptuous, but James could hardly eat it. All he could think about was how long it would be before he could have his wife to himself. It was the worst of tortures to have to sit there, talking politely and pretending to enjoy the meal, when be wanted only to be alone with Julia.
Julia, too, had little appetite. In a matter of hours she and James would be on the train to Galveston, locked together in their private compartment, married. At long last they would make love with each other again. Her nerves thrummed with excitement and a hint of fear. What if it wasn't the same? What if James was disappointed, after he'd waited so long for her? She wasn't the young girl he had loved before—what if he found her body old when he saw her naked?
She glanced up at James. He was watching her, his gaze hot and dark, A quiver ran through Julia, and she realized that no matter what the fear in her, her desire for James was even stronger
He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. His hand was large around hers. Julia knew how strong that hand was, how sensitive and skilled. It was suddenly difficult for her to breathe. That hand would explore her body tonight. Julia could feel the blush rising in her cheeks, and she glanced down to conceal it. James's thumb caressed the back of her hand. It moved up to her wrist, tracing the small bony knob there. Her face grew even hotter, and she took a sip from her glass of water.
James watched her drink. Everything Julia did seemed sensual to him—the way her eyelids fluttered almost closed when he touched her hand, the movement of her smooth throat when she drank, the curve of her fingers around the ornately cut crystal. She finished drinking and set down the glass. There was a faint film of water clinging to her upper lip. He couldn't take his eyes from it. Julia's tongue crept out and wiped it away. Desire snaked through him,
Julia wore a dress of pale blue satin the color of her eyes, overlaid with champagne-colored lace, as delicate as cobwebs. The satin bodice was scoop necked and sleeveless, but over it the lace came up high around her throat and down her arms in long, tight sleeves, fastened at the wrist by a row of tiny pearlized buttons. The dress revealed nothing, yet the look of the gossamer lace over the bare skin of her chest, throat, and arms enticed James as the naked flesh of another woman would not have.
His hand slipped up onto her arm. He touched the lace, faintly scratchy against his fingers, and beneath it the softness of her skin. He heard the swift intake of Julia's breath, and that excited him more than anything else. He removed his hand; if he wasn't careful, he would embarrass them both with his obvious arousal.
At last the meal ended, and it was time to catch the train. They said good-bye to Anthea and the children at the house, and Luke and Sarah drove them to the train station. The train was only a few minutes late, but they waited for what seemed like hours before it arrived. James and Julia boarded and found their compartment. They waved a last good-bye out the window to Luke and Sarah, and the train pulled away from the small depot,
Julia had never been aboard a train before, and she looked around her in fascination at the cunning compartment where they would sleep, "It's just like a little room!"
James smiled, watching her. "Mm hmm."
Along one wall was a bed, which the Pullman porter had already made up for the night. Julia swallowed and turned away from it. She went to the window and looked out.
The land was rushing past. How fast it went! She looked back at James. He was still watching her. Julia blushed. "Is there something wrong?"
"No. I enjoy looking at you—especially knowing that I won't have to leave you tonight."
James reached out and pulled down the wide window shade. Julia's heart picked up its beat. He crossed the room and turned the lock on the door He shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it on the hook. His eyes never left her as he unfastened his cuff links and set them aside, then removed his vest.
Julia couldn't control her erratic breathing. She was certain that a flush had risen up her neck and face. She couldn't look away; she loved looking at him. Each move he made sent desire sizzling through her. Yet it scared her.
"I was beginning to think this time would never come," James said, undoing the first two buttons of his shirt.
Julia wondered if he would continue to undress before her, but then he stopped. He came across the narrow room to where she stood and stopped so close to her that she had to tilt back her head to see his face. His lids drooped down over eyes so dark they were almost black. His mouth was heavy and sensual. His hands came up to rest on her upper arms. His skin was searing.
"You looked so beautiful tonight. It was all I could do to keep my hands off you,"
His fingers slid slowly down her arms, exploring the texture of the lace over skin. When he reached her wrists, he raised her hand and pressed his lips to her palm. His lips were velvety and hot; his breath teased her skin. Julia's hand trembled in his. His mouth moved to the thin skin of her inner wrist, kissing her through the lace. His tongue crept out to trace the pattern of the lace.
"James!" Julia drew in her breath sharply.
"What?" He began to unfasten the row of tiny buttons that stretched halfway up to her elbow.
&n
bsp; "I—I don't know. I just—said your name."
He smiled faintly. "I like it when you say my name. I can still remember how you would call me 'Jimmy.' All the different ways."
Julia's breath caught in her throat. She remembered quite clearly how she had whispered his name in the throes of passion—and the low, melting way he had said her name. She saw the same memory in James's eyes. His fingers halted their work on the buttons of her cuff, and for a long moment they simply looked at each other.
James bent his head to hers. Their lips met and clung. His hand came up to cup her neck, sinking into the thick knot of her hair. He kissed her long and deeply, and her mouth opened up eagerly to him. She tasted sweeter than anything he had ever known. Her mouth was warm and welcoming, a hot, dark cave of pleasure. He groaned deep in his throat. It had been so hard the past few weeks to not kiss her or, even worse, to give her only a chaste peck on the cheek. He loved her mouth; he wanted to know every part of it. He wanted to claim it, possess it. He wanted to possess her.
The hunger ran deep in him, a passion unfulfilled for eleven years, so strong that it was both pain and joy. He kissed her again and again, changing the slant of their mouths, working his lips against hers, deepening their kiss. Their tongues tangled and stroked, playing with each other, first slow and languorous, then more and more feverish. James's arms curled around Julia, pressing her into his body, and she strained up against him. Her flesh was soft and yielding to his hardness, and just feeling her in his arms sent a rush of joy through James that was so intense it made him tremble. God, he wanted her. He had done no more than kiss her, both of them still fully clothed, but he felt ready to explode.
James slowly released her and stepped back. Julia gazed up at him questioningly, too awash in her passion to speak.
Her eyes were lambent, her skin glowing, and there was a soft, crushed look to her lips that came from their fierce kisses. She looked like a woman lost in love.
"I love you," he told her huskily. He wished there were better words to express the depth of his passion. "I love you so much."
