by Carol Grace
"I appreciate your coming on such short notice," he said. As if she were the plumber come to repair the leaky sink. His gaze was cool and steady. It was as if that interlude in the city had made a permanent rift between them. Either he was still angry with her or it didn't mean that much to him. But her heart was pounding like a jungle drum. She was surprised he couldn't hear it.
He'd changed back into a cowboy. Without the city clothes, his shoulders were broader, his legs longer, his face more suntanned, and the lines that gave his face character etched deeper than before. Had they really almost made love last night? And if they had, would he still greet her with the relief he'd feel if she were the vet come to save a sick sheep or the plumber to fix a leaky faucet? She reminded herself that she was the one who called it off. Who threw a wet blanket over their heated passion.
After Sarah lugged her two bags to the porch, Parker took them and led the way inside the house. "I've put you upstairs," he explained over his shoulder. "Pop's taking the den since he can't do stairs."
She nodded and followed him up the wide staircase. The men dispersed and Sarah and her grandfather stayed on the porch. Christine had never been upstairs, never knew whose bedroom was where. She found out. Parker turned right. The first bedroom was filled with medals and awards pinned to a bulletin board that almost covered one wall. On the bed was a pink-and-white flowered bedspread and in the middle of the floor Sarah's books and boxes and suitcases.
At the end of the hall was the bathroom, and flanking it two large bedrooms, one Parker's and one hers. "It was my mother's sewing room," he said, "and the guest room. I hope it's okay."
She looked at the fluffy white down quilt on the double bed, at the white lace curtains fluttering in the spring breeze and the old-fashioned bureau with a silver brush and comb on top. "It's lovely," she said simply.
He set her suitcases on the floor. Then he stood in the middle of the room and looked at her. The look in his eyes had the effect of shortening her breath and making her knees feel like putty. Oh, Lord, as much as she needed to be needed, she was never going to keep her cool while under the same roof as Parker. Especially on the same floor. She wrapped her arms around her waist. And braced herself for the speech about what he wanted and what he didn't want.
"Before you say anything," she said, holding up one hand, palm toward him, "I already know the rules... unless they've changed in my absence."
He matched her palm with his and twined his fingers with hers. With eyes the color of the vast Colorado sky, he caught her gaze. "As a matter of fact, they have changed." He released her hand and gestured toward the bed. "Sit down."
She sank onto the firm mattress, into the folds of the soft quilt and stared at him, waiting.
Parker's gaze shifted to the open window and he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about what you said," he said.
"I'm afraid I lost my temper," she said quickly. Why couldn't they just leave well enough alone? Forget their last encounter and pretend it didn't happen. She didn't have the stomach to rehash it now. He said it would be all business. That was fine with her.
"You were concerned about where our relationship was going," he began. "And I said this would be a business relationship," he continued, still staring out the window as if he hadn't seen the valley before.
She nodded vigorously. "And that's fine with me." It was, it really was, she assured herself. She knew one thing, she couldn't take any more ups and downs. No more hopes that would just be dashed.
"Is it?" he asked, suddenly turning his head and meeting her gaze. "I was hoping, wondering... if you might give it a chance," he said, "Us a chance."
She blinked. She squeezed the folds of the down quilt in her fingers. "What?" she said stupidly.
"What you said last night shocked me. Made me angry. Furious. But you were right. I don't know anything about you."
She opened her mouth to respond, but he shook his head. "You don't owe me an explanation. You don't owe me anything. Your debt to me is paid in full. But for some reason I can't leave it at that. As you said, I've been so caught up in what happened to me, I couldn't see what was happening to the people around me, you... Sarah."
Christine couldn't speak and wouldn't even if she could. She was held spellbound by the earnest look in his eyes, by the sincerity of his words.
"It's been a long time since my wife left. For the past twelve years people have been telling me to put it behind me. But I'm slow to catch on sometimes." He gave Christine a lopsided smile that made her heart turn over. "And then I never met anyone I thought I could care about, who was worth forgetting for... until you came along."
"Yes, but, Parker..."
"I don't know how you feel," he continued as if she hadn't interrupted, as if if he stopped now he'd never get it all out, "but I know there's something going on between us. Maybe it's just lust, maybe not. But I want to find out. I thought while you were here you might be willing to think about it."
"You mean think about how it would be..." As if she hadn't thought about it nonstop the whole time she'd spent at this place. How it would be if they were married, if this was their ranch, if Sarah were their child. The longing that filled her heart threatened to bring tears to her eyes. But this was no time for emotion. This was a time to keep a clear mind, a cool head, to be sure she understood.
"Yes," he said as if he'd read her mind. "How it would be if we lived here together. I won't say forever, because I realize after what I've been through..."
Christine nodded mutely. How could she say forever, either? What she should say was that she couldn't have children. Every man wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. Even a man who already had a daughter. And even if he got used to the idea of leaving the ranch to Sarah, he still wanted a son. He might deny it, but it had been ingrained in him forever by his father. A son to leave the ranch to. A son to inherit the land. And Christine could give him no son. No son or daughter. All she had to give was herself. And that wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for Michael and it wouldn't be enough for Parker, either.
But Christine didn't tell him. She told herself it was premature. He hadn't asked her to marry him. He might never ask her. He was only asking her to think about it. And while she was thinking, he might change his mind. He hadn't even said he loved her. He'd only mentioned lust. She ran her hands through her hair, perched on the edge of the bed, not certain whether she should jump for joy or burst into tears.
He walked to the bed and pulled her up to him, his hands on her arms. Two deep lines were carved between his dark eyebrows. "You haven't said yes," he said. "Are you angry that I brought you here under false pretenses?"
"You mean, Sarah doesn't need my help?"
He rested his broad hands on her hips and held her firmly in his grasp. "Oh, yes, she needs you. And I need you. We all need you. But do you need us?"
She nodded. Afraid to let him know just how much she needed, wanted, loved this place, this family, this man. The words were there waiting to be said. But not now. Maybe never. Not until he said them first. Not until she was sure of him.
Then he kissed her. A very different kind of kiss than the other ones, the frantic, explosive kisses they'd shared last night. This kiss started slow and gentle, a brush of his lips across hers, so tender it brought a sigh from deep down somewhere inside her. A sigh of longing, of hope reborn. Kiss followed kiss, as soft as the breezes that blew in from the window. As slow as the sheep that meandered across the meadow. As if they had all the time in the world.
Her hands crept around his neck, her fingers tangled in his thick hair and pulled him closer. She inhaled the scent of him, the leather and the grass and the sheer maleness that intoxicated her and made her want more. She wondered if she'd ever get enough of him. If they made love every night for one hundred years, would that be enough? She didn't think so. But she'd be willing to try. She reminded herself that for Parker this was just an experiment. That Parker was at a different place in this relationship than she w
as.
She broke the kiss and took a deep breath. "I suppose I ought to be getting to work. Cooking, I mean. After all, I am the cook here." It didn't hurt to remind him and herself that she was primarily there to cook and help Sarah.
He exhaled slowly, his eyes coming back into focus. He frowned and opened his mouth as if to protest, then he nodded. "Whatever you say."
Christine led the way downstairs. She gripped the banister hoping Parker wouldn't suspect just how much his kisses affected her, and how much she had riding on this "experiment." And how much she wished she could promise him a baby.
Sarah was standing at the foot of the stairs looking up at them. She was resting her chin on the railing as if she'd been waiting for them all this time. Christine pressed her lips together. She couldn't, she wouldn't, let Sarah get her hopes up about Parker and her.
"How'd you like your room?" Sarah asked.
"Wonderful. I love the view from up there."
"The location's good, too," Sarah said, her eyes brimming with fun.
Christine refused to play along. "Want to help me make dinner?" she asked, putting her arm around Sarah's narrow shoulders.
Sarah nodded with a glance at her father that said, "See? See how good I can be? How helpful?"
Christine smiled to herself and in the kitchen as they mixed up a batch of sourdough rolls for dinner Sarah told her why and how she was expelled. Christine talked it over with the girl, relieved to see that Sarah was subdued by the possible consequences of her misbehavior.
That night Parker came to the kitchen just as Christine was shaking freshly grated Parmesan cheese over the rigatoni before she carried the platter to the dining room. He stood in the doorway watching her before she noticed him. "I, uh, would you like... I mean, would you mind eating out there with us or..." He hesitated.
"With you?" she asked.
"Yeah. I mean we'd—I'd like it if you would."
"I guess I could." She studied him for a long moment, knowing it wasn't easy for him to ask, wouldn't be easy to have her sit with the men and his father and try to pretend she belonged there. But this was part of the plan, the "experiment" to see if she could fit in, to see if she could fit the role of ranch wife and mother. Mother. The word clogged her throat even though she hadn't said it. "Sure," she said with a quick smile. "Why not?"
He looked relieved, then helped her carry the food out to the bunkhouse. A hush fell over the dining room as she took the empty seat next to Sarah in the middle of the table. The men stole glances at her but didn't speak directly to her even once. As for Christine, she listened to their talk of sheep, sheep and more sheep and only picked at her food. And she couldn't help longing for the solitude of the kitchen where she could relax between courses, even peruse the cookbook or the evening newspaper while nibbling on her salad. But she'd promised Parker she'd give it a try. Give them a try, and she guessed this was part of it. Somehow they all got through the awkward dinner. Afterward Sarah helped her clear the table and load the dishwasher. Then before Parker could come by to see how she was doing, she said a hasty good-night to Sarah and tiptoed upstairs to her new room.
She didn't turn on the light though dusk was falling outside her window over the vast valley. She braced her hands on the windowsill and gazed out at the mountains in the distance, pondering the turn of events that had brought her back to the ranch. Wondering how long she'd stay this time. Wondering if anything in her life would ever be forever.
After breakfast the next morning Christine and Sarah went to the girl's room and did a survey of what she had to do to complete the school year. The math book overwhelmed Christine, but Sarah seemed to be good at the subject and wouldn't need much help. It didn't mean, however, that Sarah was prepared to spend the morning doing math or any other schoolwork. She gazed out the window with a dreamy look on her face when Christine was quizzing her on the causes of the Civil War.
"Sarah, did you hear me?" Christine inquired.
"Huh? Yeah, I heard you, but I was thinking about Sugar and how she needs her exercise."
"And so do you, I suppose," Christine said, narrowing her eyes. What had she done, promising to discipline this headstrong child when she knew absolutely nothing about children? "We will have recess, but first you have to answer the questions at the end of this chapter," she said sternly.
Sarah's eyes widened. Her gaze shifted from the outdoors to Christine. She bit her lip thoughtfully, then dutifully opened her book.
"And while you're reading, I'm going downstairs to check the soup I left on the stove."
With a brief backward glance over her shoulder, Christine left the room. She had a sudden recollection of her own mother helping her do her homework when she was home from boarding school. And so it goes, she thought, the circle of life, mothers helping daughters. Only Sarah wasn't her daughter. She didn't have a daughter, and would never have one of her own.
She seasoned the soup with salt and pepper and a dash of Worcestershire sauce, then went back to Sarah and they worked on vocabulary until noon when Sarah helped her make a salad to go with the soup.
After a short horseback ride together, Christine and Sarah returned to tackle irregular French verbs and dinner preparations. Another awkward dinner in the dining room set the pattern for the rest of the week. A week during which Christine took pains to avoid Parker. Because if she saw him, she'd have to talk to him, and she didn't know what to say. They were past the point of small talk. And yet not ready to talk seriously about themselves. And Christine was afraid if he touched her she wouldn't hesitate to fall into his arms and make love. And then what?
As she walked quietly down the stairs, barely conscious of the loud music blaring from the stereo in Sarah's room, Christine was so wrapped up in her thoughts she almost didn't see Parker standing at the foot of the stairs. He was only a shadow in the dark hallway. She sucked in a short, quick breath and tripped on the stair tread. He reached up to steady her and she stopped where she was, on the third step from the bottom, with his hand on her left arm. She'd so successfully avoided him this past week she didn't know what to say now that they were face to face with no one else around.
"Got a minute?" he asked.
She nodded mutely. She had a minute, a hour, even a lifetime, if that's what he wanted.
"Come out on the porch." He pulled her down the stairs toward him until standing on the bottom step she was on a level with him and could look straight into his deep-set eyes. What she saw was intense longing, desire and confusion, all mixed together. The same emotions she felt.
Parker put one hand on Christine's shoulder and they walked out the front door onto the porch. It was a warm evening, the cicadas filling the air with the sounds of summer. He pulled two lounge chairs together and they sat down. And stared up into the starry sky. He didn't know what he was going to say. He just knew they couldn't continue the way they were, with her keeping him at a frosty distance.
"Is there something bothering you?" he asked finally.
She turned to him. "Me?"
"I thought we had an agreement. We were going to give it a try. Us a try. Instead you've been avoiding me like the bovine flu. Shutting me out. What happened?" He planned to stay calm, but the frustration that had been building threatened to explode. He gripped the edge of the wooden armrests, wanting to hear, but afraid to find out she was only interested in being his cook or a friend to Sarah. His stomach twisted in pain when he realized she might very well tell him she just wasn't interested in him.
"Maybe all you feel toward me is gratitude," he suggested. Might as well make it easy for her.
"There is that," she agreed.
"Is that all?" he demanded. "If it is, I want to know now. Before I..."
"What?'
"Before I lose any more sleep over it."
She sighed deeply, her eyes downcast. "It's a long story."
He stretched his legs out in front of him. "I've got all night."
"It might take that long."
She looked at him then and he was struck by the sadness lurking in her gray eyes. He wanted to take her hands in his, put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay, but he sensed she didn't want any easy reassurances. So he pressed his balled-up fist into the palm of his other hand and forced himself to stay where he was.
She stared off into space, somewhere beyond the mountains on the other side of the valley for such a long time he was afraid she'd changed her mind and wasn't going to tell him anything except what he already knew. Instead she dragged her gaze back to his and began a painful excursion into her past, pulling him with her as she went.
Chapter Ten
“My parents were divorced when I was young—five or six, I guess." Christine said with a faraway look in her eyes. "Maybe that's why I feel such sympathy for Sarah. Not only that, but I was sent to boarding school just like she was and I hated it, too. But my mother was going through a difficult time and maybe my father was, too. I don't know about that. He hasn't really been a part of my life for many years. He remarried and had more children and well..." She trailed off and Parker found himself watching her, on the edge of his seat, waiting for her to continue.
"Anyway, I went from boarding school to college..."
"Where you learned to love poetry," he said, remembering her and Sarah bent over the poetry book.
She nodded. "And art and music. But nothing useful. No way to earn a living."
"Did you have to?" he asked, noting her hands lying still and calm in her lap. Beautiful hands, long and slim with tapered fingers. Hands that mixed and kneaded and chopped. Hands that could bring him to the brink of ecstasy. He raised his gaze to look her in the eye.
"No, I guess I didn't. My grandfather had left me some money in a trust. The same money I live off now. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't. But that's beside the point. I arrived at college feeling like a refugee. Sent from place to place by my parents. Nobody wanted me, or so I thought.
