by Diana Palmer
She knew that it would do no good to conduct a postmortem. He was uncommunicative, and all her efforts weren’t going to dent his reserve. She turned and went to the door, unlocking it with cold hands. Even when she went through it, he never looked her way or said a single word. Nor did she expect him to. He’d frozen over.
* * *
She took a bath and changed her clothes. Her shame was so sweeping that she couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror. There was another fact that she might have to face. He hadn’t even tried to protect her, and she’d been so hopelessly naive as to welcome the risk of a child. If she’d had any sense at all, she’d have let him writhe with his insecurities about being a man. If she’d had any sense at all, she’d have run like the wind. Which was, of course, what she was about to do.
It only took her a few minutes to pack. She put everything into her suitcase and garment bag and carried the lot down the staircase by herself. Rodge and Corlie were busy with their respective chores, so they didn’t see or hear her go out the front door. Neither did Dawson, who was still cursing himself for his lack of restraint and pride.
He didn’t realize she’d gone until he heard the car engine start up. He got to the front door in time to see her turning from the driveway onto the main highway that led to Sheridan.
For a few seconds, he watched in anguish, his first thought to go after her and bring her right back. But what would that accomplish? What could he say? That he’d made a mistake? That giving in to his passion for her had been folly and he hoped they wouldn’t both live to regret it?
He closed the front door and rested his forehead against it. He’d wanted to know that he was still a whole man, and now he knew that he was. But only with Barrie. He didn’t want any other woman. The desire he felt for Barrie was sweeping and devouring, it made him helpless, it made him vulnerable. If she knew how desperately he wanted her, she could use him, wound him, destroy him.
He couldn’t give anyone the sort of power over him that Barrie’s mother had held over George Rutherford. He’d actually seen her tease George into a frenzy, into begging for her body. Barrie didn’t know. She’d never known that her mother had used George’s desire for her to make him do anything she liked. But Dawson knew. A woman with that kind of power over a man would abuse it. She couldn’t help herself. And Barrie had years of Dawson’s own cruelty to avenge. How could he blame her if she wanted to make him pay for the way he’d treated her?
He didn’t dare let Barrie stay. She’d seen him totally at the mercy of his desire, but she didn’t, thank God, know how complete her victory was. He could let her leave thinking he’d turned his back on her, and that was for the best. It would save his pride.
From his childhood, he’d known that women liked to find a weakness and exploit it. Hadn’t his own mother called him a weakling when he’d begged to be held and loved as a toddler? She’d made him pay for being born. And then George had married Barrie’s mother, and he’d seen the destructive pattern of lust used as a bargaining tool, he’d seen again the contempt women had for a man’s weaknesses. He’d seen how his father had been victimized by his own desire and love. Well, that wasn’t going to happen to him. He wasn’t going to be vulnerable!
Barrie thought he’d only wanted to prove his manhood; she’d think he’d used her. Let her. She wouldn’t get the chance to gloat over his weakness, as her mother had gloated over his father’s. She wouldn’t ever know that his possession of her today had been the most wondrous thing that had ever happened to him in his life, that her body had given him a kind of ecstasy that he’d never dreamed he was capable of experiencing. All the barriers had come down, all the reserve, all the holding back.
He’d…given himself to her.
His hands clenched violently. Yes, he could admit that, but only to himself. He’d gone the whole way, dropped all the pretense, in those few seconds of glorious oblivion in her arms. He hated that she’d seen his emotions naked in his eyes while he was helpless, but that couldn’t be helped now. It was the first time in his life that he’d ever been able to give himself to pure physical pleasure, and it was probably only due to the enforced abstinence of sex. Yes. Surely that was the only reason he’d had such pleasure from her.
Of course, she’d had pleasure from him, too. It touched something in him to realize how completely he’d satisfied her in spite of her earlier fear. He felt pride that he’d been able to hold back at least that far, that he’d healed the scars he’d given her during their first intimacy.
But wouldn’t it be worse for her, now that she knew what kind of pleasure lay past the pain? And wouldn’t she be hurt and wounded even more now by his rejection, after she’d given in to him so completely? His only thought had been for his pride, but now he had to consider the new scars she was going to have. Why hadn’t he let her go while there was still time? He groaned aloud.
“Dawson?” Corlie called from the kitchen doorway. “Don’t you and Barrie want any lunch?”
“Barrie’s gone,” he said stiffly, straightening, with his back to her.
“Gone? Without saying goodbye?”
“It was…an emergency.” He invented an excuse. “A call from a friend in Tucson who needed her to help with some summer school project. She said she’d phone you later.”
She hadn’t said that at all, but he knew she would phone. She loved Corlie and Rodge. She wouldn’t want to hurt their feelings, even if she was furious with Dawson.
“Oh,” Corlie said vaguely. “I must not have heard the phone ring.” She was curious about his rigid stance and the scowl between his eyes when he glanced at her, but Dawson in a temper wasn’t someone she wanted to antagonize. “All right, then. Do you want some salad and sandwiches?”
He shook his head. “Just black coffee. I’ll come and get it.”
“You’ve quarreled, haven’t you?” she asked gently.
He sighed heavily as he walked toward the kitchen. “Don’t ask questions, Corlie.”
She didn’t, but it took every last ounce of her willpower. Something had gone terribly wrong. She wondered what.
Barrie, meanwhile, was well on her way back to Arizona. She stopped at the first café she came to, certain that she wouldn’t have to worry about Dawson following her. The very set of his head had told her that he wouldn’t.
She ordered coffee and soup and then sat barely touching it while she relived her stupidity. Would she never learn that Dawson might want her body, but never her heart? This was the second time she’d given in to him. She’d gotten pregnant the very first. Would she, from something so insanely pleasurable? It seemed almost fated that such an experience would produce a child, even if he didn’t love her…
Her hand touched her flat stomach and she let herself dream for a space of precious seconds, her eyes closed. Dawson’s child, in her body. It would be wonderful to be pregnant again. Somehow she’d carry the child to term. Even if she had to stay in bed forever, she wouldn’t lose it…!
She opened her eyes and came back to her senses. No. She removed her hand. She was being fanciful. It wouldn’t happen, and even if it did, how would she cope? Dawson didn’t want her. She repeated that, refusing to recall his anguish at her loss of their first child, his hunger for a baby. She couldn’t let herself dream about Dawson’s reaction if he knew she was pregnant. Besides, she thought, lightning rarely struck twice.
She’d simply go back to Tucson and forget Dawson. She’d done it once before. She could do it again!
Eight
BUT it wasn’t that easy to forget him. Barrie had started losing her breakfast the day she got back to Tucson, just as she had after that disastrous night in France. She, who never had nausea a day in her life! She’d been home for two weeks now, and it hadn’t stopped. It was the absolute end, she thought as she bathed her face at the sink, the absolute end that she could get pregnant so easily with him.
Now that lightning did appear to strike twice, what in the world was she going to do?<
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She hadn’t let any of her lukewarm suitors know she was back in town, so there were no phone calls. She didn’t have to worry about a part-time job because, apparently, Dawson had settled the deal with Leslie Holton over her tract of land. He’d have those water rights and he could keep his cattle on the Bighorn land that Barrie owned with him.
Her eyes went to the emerald engagement ring he’d given her such a short time ago. She hadn’t meant to take it with her, she’d meant to leave it, but she’d been upset at the time, and she’d forgotten about it. She would have to send it back. Her fingers touched the beautiful ring and she sighed as she thought about what might have been. How wonderful if Dawson had bought her a set of rings years ago, knowing that she loved emeralds, if he’d bought them with love and asked her to marry him and told her that he loved her. Oh, what lovely dreams. But it was reality she had to face now.
She curled up in an armchair, still a little nauseous, and began to make decisions. She could go on teaching, presumably, although it was going to be tricky, under the circumstances. She would be an unwed mother and that wouldn’t sit well considering the profession she followed. What if she lost her job? The money she got from her share of George Rutherford’s estate, while it helped make her life comfortable, was hardly enough to completely support her. She couldn’t risk losing her job. She’d have to move somewhere else, invent a fictitious husband who’d deserted her, died…!
Her stomach churned and she swallowed a rush of nausea. How shocking to be able to tell that she was pregnant so soon after conception, she thought. But it had happened just that way after she’d returned from France. In fact, in some mysterious way, she’d known even while Dawson was taking her. Her eyes closed. Taking her. Taking her. She could feel the harsh thrust of his muscular body, feel all over again the insane pleasure that had spread into her very blood.
She made a sound deep in her throat and opened starkly wounded eyes as the knock on the door coincided with her groan.
She blinked away the memories and got up, swaying a little as she made her way to the door. She didn’t want company. She didn’t want to talk at all. She leaned her forehead against the cold wood and looked through the peephole. Her heart froze in her chest.
“Go away!” she cried hoarsely, wounded to the heart that Dawson should be standing there.
He looked toward the door, his face pale and set. “I can’t.”
That was all he said, and not very loudly, but she heard him. Surely he wouldn’t know, couldn’t know. She smiled at that naive imagining. Of course, he knew, she thought fatally as she sighed and unlocked the door. There was some mysterious mental alchemy that had always allowed them to share their thoughts.
She didn’t look up as he entered the apartment, bareheaded, reserved. She closed the door and turned away, to sit back down in the armchair.
He stood over her, his hands in the pockets of his gray suit and looked at her pale, pinched face. Her lack of makeup and the dark circles under her eyes told their own story.
“I know,” he said uncomfortably. “God only knows how, but I do.”
She looked up, her wounded eyes searching his pale, glittery ones. She shrugged and stared at her clenched hands instead. She was barefoot, wearing a loose dress instead of jeans, because of the nausea. He probably knew that, too.
He let out a long, rough sigh and sat down on the sofa opposite her, leaning toward her with his hands clasped over his knees.
“We have to make some quick decisions,” he said after a minute.
“I’ll manage,” she said tightly.
He turned the diamond horseshoe ring on his right hand. “You’re an educator. Not the most liberal of professions. You won’t get that promotion. You may not even be able to keep your job, despite the enlightenment of modern life.” He looked up, his pale green eyes lancing into her own. “I want this baby,” he said gruffly. “I want it very much. And so do you. That has to be our first concern.”
She couldn’t believe this was happening, that he was so certain, that she was pregnant. “You can’t tell until six weeks. It’s only been two,” she began, faintly embarrassed.
“We knew while we were making him,” he said through his teeth. “Both of us. I didn’t take precautions, and I knew without asking that you weren’t using anything, either. It wasn’t an accident.”
She’d known that, at some level. She didn’t try to deny it.
“We have to get married,” he said.
She laughed bitterly. “Thanks. As proposals go, that’s a honey.”
His face was tight and uncommunicative. “Think what you like. I’ve made the arrangements and applied for the license. We’ll both need blood tests. It can be done in Sheridan.”
She looked up at him, her eyes furious. “I don’t want to marry you,” she said flatly.
“I don’t want to marry you, either,” he snapped right back, his face mocking and angry. “But I want that baby you’re carrying enough to make any sort of sacrifice, even having to live with a woman like you!”
She jumped to her feet, her eyes flashing, her body shivering with rage, with hatred, with outrage. “If you think I’m going to…!” she shouted at him, when all at once, her face went white and she felt the nausea boiling up into her throat, into her mouth. “Oh, God!” She choked, running toward the bathroom.
She barely made it. There had been a grim satisfaction in seeing the guilt on Dawson’s lean, tanned face when he realized what he’d caused. Good, she thought through waves of nausea, she hoped he suffered for it.
She heard footsteps, and then water running. A wet cloth was held against her forehead until the nausea finally passed. She was vaguely aware of him coping with his normal cold efficiency, handling everything, helping her to bathe her face and wash the taste out of her mouth. He lifted her then and carried her into the bedroom, laying her gently on the covers. He propped two pillows behind her and went away long enough to fetch a cold glass of water and help her take a sip. The cool drink settled her stomach, but she glared at him just the same.
He was sitting on the side of the bed. His lean hand went to her damp, tangled hair. He smoothed it gently away from her face and studied her features with faint guilt. He’d tried so hard to stay away, to let go. But the past two weeks had been pure torment. He’d spent them going from ranch to ranch, checking stock and books, and it hadn’t helped divert him. He’d missed Barrie as never before. And in some mysterious way, he’d known there was going to be a child. That had brought him here. That, and the feelings he didn’t want to have for her.
“I’m sorry,” he said tersely. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Yes, you did,” she replied. “You don’t want to be here at all. And I’m not marrying any man who has the opinion of me that you do!” she added hotly.
He stared at his hands for a long moment. He didn’t speak. The skin of his face was pulled taut by clenched muscles.
She put her hands over her eyes with a shaky sigh.
“I feel horrible.”
“Were you sick like this…after France?” he asked.
“Yes. It started the very next morning, just like this time. That’s how I knew,” she said wearily. She didn’t open her eyes.
He turned and looked at her, wincing at the fatigue he could see in every line of her face, in the very posture of her body. Without conscious volition, his lean hand went to her belly and pressed lightly there, through the fabric, as if he could feel the child lying there in the soft comfort of her body.
She moved her hands, shocked by the touch of his hand, and saw his high cheekbones ruddy with color as he looked at her stomach.
He felt her gaze and met it with his own. There was no expression at all in his face, but his eyes glittered with feeling.
“Why?” she said heavily, her voice thick with tears. “Oh, why, why…?”
His arms slid under her. He lifted her across his powerful thighs and enveloped her against him, one hand press
ing her cheek to his chest in a rough gesture of comfort. She cried, and he held her, rocked her. Outside were the sounds of car horns and pulsing engines and brakes and muffled voices. Inside, closer, there was the sound of her choked sobs and her ragged breathing.
“Don’t,” he said huskily at her ear. “You’ll make yourself sicker.”
Her hand clenched against his broad chest. She couldn’t remember when she’d been so miserable. He’d made her pregnant and now he was going to marry her, so that their child would have the security of parents. But some part of him hated her, resented her. What sort of life would they have?
As she thought it, the words slipped out, muffled by tears.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his breath audible as it stirred her hair. “We haven’t many options,” he answered her quietly. His hand smoothed her disheveled hair. “Unless you want to stop this pregnancy before it begins,” he added, his voice as cold as winter.
She laughed bitterly. “I can’t step on an ant and you think I could…”
His thumb stopped the words. “I know you can’t, any more than I can,” he said shortly. “I didn’t mean it.”
“Then why say it?” she demanded.
He tilted her face back and looked into it pensively. “You and I are two of a kind,” he said absently. “I strike out and you strike back. You’ve never been really afraid of me, except in one way.” His eyes narrowed as she flushed. “And now you aren’t afraid of me that way anymore, either, are you?” he taunted softly. “Now you know what lies beyond the pain.”
