She didn’t appear very happy to see her father, which jived with her statement that he’d deserted his family when she was about, what? Eleven? So, what the hell brought him here now? And how did he find her after all these years?
He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. This should be good.
Marjorie glanced at him and took a slow breath. “Lance, could you give my father and I some privacy, please?” Her eyes begged him to understand.
But understanding would be a long time coming. He thought they’d gotten to the point where they could face anything as long as they were together. Guess he was wrong. Again. He straightened and went to the door. “You know where to find me.”
The walk across the yard and up the stairs to his apartment took only a minute, but the gulf that now separated him from Marjorie was miles across. He had some thinking of his own to do.
Marjorie hated the look of betrayal Lance shot her as he left. The shock of finding out her real name seemed to throw him, and she was surprised by that. She hadn’t kept it from him deliberately. After her meltdown when she’d told him about her flight from her boss and the resulting tragedy, she’d fallen asleep in his arms, intending to tell him the rest when the time allowed. There was no chance over the busy weekend to start a conversation like that, and what was the big deal anyway? Marjorie or Sarah Beth, she was still the same person inside.
She pushed those thoughts aside. She had bigger problems now.
Marjorie sat across the table and scrutinized the man she’d loved as a child. She could truly say there was no love in her heart for him today. If he expected a warm reception from his long-lost daughter, he was in for a rude awakening.
Marjorie didn’t care why he’d finally found her, but she had to know how. The answers to that question could make a tremendous difference in her life. The fairytale family she dreamed of with Lance—gone. Her business here in Blue Point Cove—gone. The friends she’d made—gone, as well. She’d have to leave to keep them safe if there was any suspicion Bryan might be right on dear old Dad’s tail.
She’d be alone and on the run.
Again.
“I don’t suppose you could spare a cup of coffee for your old man, could you, Sarah Beth?”
Marjorie kept her expression neutral as she rose and put coffee on to brew. Hearing her name from his mouth jolted her composure, bringing back old images of him and her mother at the kitchen table. Mom’s mouth compressed in an angry line, her father’s eyes heavy-lidded from the beer, but still annoyed enough to make Sarah Beth shrink back in her seat and concentrate on her dinner.
She stood with her back to him while the coffee brewed and stared across the yard at Lance’s place. The thought of losing him was tearing her apart inside, but she wouldn’t do anything to endanger him, or trigger a relapse into his PTSD.
Until she found out how her father had found her, Lance couldn’t know she would vanish without a word if Bryan might be right behind him.
Marjorie set the mug in front of her father. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Nah, I take it black.” He settled his hands around it as if he needed the warmth. “How have you been, Sarah?” He glanced around the tidy kitchen with its dark wood cabinets and lace-trimmed curtains at the window. “Place looks real good. Not that I’d expect anything less. You always were a hard worker.”
“Something I didn’t get from you.” She couldn’t keep the resentment from her voice. She settled back at the table. “So, tell me. Why are you here? No. First, tell me how you found me.”
He nodded. “After I, uh, left your momma, I moved around a lot. Had lots of jobs, but none ever panned out for me. The alcohol always got in my way. Eventually I, uh, was broke and desperate . . .”
He avoided her eyes and concentrated on the mug in front of him. “I robbed a convenience store. I just wanted to get some beer and something to eat, but I took the money in the cash register too. I fooled the guy behind the counter with a gun that didn’t have no bullets in it. Didn’t matter that it wasn’t loaded, though. They had a camera which I was too stupid to notice at the time, shaky as I was from the DTs.”
He stopped to take a mouthful of coffee and winced at the heat of it. “Anyway, it didn’t take the cops long to catch me. After that, I spent a few years as a guest of the state. Empty gun or not, I went away for armed robbery.”
Marjorie merely shook her head slowly at this tale, not surprised but saddened. Knowing intellectually that alcoholism was a disease didn’t make it easier to accept the things her father had done that had bruised her heart, torn her family apart and sent them down the slippery slope into poverty.
Yet her innate compassion forced her to feel sorry for any person driven to extremes from the love of booze.
“While I was in jail, I dried out and finally got myself straightened up with the help of one of the chaplains there. I started going to AA meetings inside, and I began to write your momma letters.”
Marjorie’s brows shot up. “She never told me.”
“No, I don’t s’pose she did. She wasn’t real happy to hear from me. But over the years she relented and wrote me back a few times. She told me you got a real good job with some bigwig lawyer who was going to be a politician. That you might even marry the fella.”
His head down, he squinted up from under shaggy brows liberally sprinkled with gray. “Guess that didn’t work out.”
She shook her head. “No. It didn’t.” Talk about an understatement.
“Anyways, she told me you were doing real good at making jewelry and entered something you done in the art and craft show out there. It was beautiful, Sarah. And you were too. She sent me one picture of you and I keep it with me all the time.” He reached into his shirt pocket and laid a dog-eared photo on the table.
There she was, the way she used to look, her red hair in a short, straight bob, her green eyes glowing with pride at winning third place at the festival.
“When I got out, I went to see her. I was working on the twelve steps and wanted to make amends, as much as I could, for all the pain I’d caused her.”
His eyes misted up and he took another swallow of coffee, his hands shaking a bit as he set it down. “I was too late, though. The neighbors told me about the fire and that Shirley and you died in it.”
Marjorie held her breath at this point, waiting to hear him say what she feared.
“But I knew, when they told me the firemen only found the remains of two people, that you must still be alive. It was your sister, Mary Jo, who died in that fire along with your momma.”
Marjorie’s own eyes filled with tears at the memory of that terrible night. She’d prayed to God that neither of them had suffered. That the initial explosion had killed them, rather than the flames that followed. “Then how did you find me?” she asked again.
“It was just luck, Sarah Beth. I went to Salem to see if I could find that lawyer fella, but hell, they’re all lawyers in the state capital and your momma never did tell me his name.”
“No need to know his name, Poppa.” The childhood appellation slipped out without her thinking about it. “Because we . . .” How much should I tell him? How much can I trust him? Not at all. Yet. It would take more than one conversation over a cup of coffee for anything close to trust to develop. “We had a big argument over something too important to reconcile. There’s no way I could ever marry him, Poppa. And no way I’d want him to find me here. So don’t even think about talking to him, okay?”
He hesitated at this point and fiddled with the photo, tracing his finger along the edges over and over. Eventually he nodded and put it back in his pocket.
“So, I got a job and concentrated on finding the other folks I’d done wrong along the way. Doing my best to make things right. Then a month or so ago I was back at that same art f
air and an old lady I didn’t recognize showed me an article in some high-falutin’ art magazine about the gallery in town here. She must have known you pretty well, because she thought one of the things in the picture was a lot like the stuff you used to make. And there it was, a bracelet that looked just like the one you’re holdin’ in that photograph. Your picture was there, too, but it was awful little, so I couldn’t tell for sure if it was you. Anyways, I couldn’t sleep for wondering if it might really be you, so I drove out here to see.”
He sat back in the chair visibly exhausted from telling his story, and Marjorie felt another twinge of guilt. He’d quit his job to try to find her. She couldn’t bring herself to love this man, but maybe, given what he’d been through, she could find it in her heart to forgive him. Just a little.
She glanced at the clock. “Have you eaten? I can make you a sandwich or . . .”
“Don’t you worry none about me, Sarah. I came to tell you I’m sorry. For everything. I didn’t expect you to greet me with open arms. I wouldn’t blame you if you had that fella—” He nodded in the direction of the door— “throw me out on my ear. I’ve got a room out at the old motel on the edge of town. I didn’t expect to stay here, and now that I’ve said what I came here to say, I’ll be leaving town in a day or so.” He wrung his hands, wrinkled with age and years of dissolution. “I wouldn’t blame you for whatever you feel about me, but if you could find it in your heart to write to me from time to time, I’d be real grateful.”
Marjorie sighed. “I guess I can do that.” She got up and went to her desk in the corner and brought back a pad and pencil. “Write your address down for me.”
He did as she asked, then rose. “I’ll be going now, Sarah Beth. You take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will. You do the same, all right?” Marjorie felt that there should be more to this strange intersection between them, but she didn’t know what to say. The whole past hour had been surreal.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry none about me.” He shuffled to the door, tugged the ball cap down over his eyes, and left without another word.
Chapter 17
Lance paced. He scrubbed his hands over his head in frustration. His hair, grown longer after Marjorie mentioned wanting to slide her fingers through it, now stood on end. There wasn’t a lot of room to pace in, and every time he passed the window facing Marjorie’s kitchen, he stopped to look out.
It wasn’t the return of Marjorie’s—Sarah’s?—father that had him upset. And it wasn’t finding out her real name, either. She’d always be Marjorie to him, but if she wanted to go back to her old name, that was fine, too. Marjorie, Red, Sarah. What difference did the name make? It was her heart and soul that made her the person he adored.
Lance loved this woman with everything he had in him, with everything he was. He’d thought those feelings were mutual. So why did she ask him to leave when a piece of her past dropped out of the sky and crash-landed in her backyard?
Was there still something she didn’t want him to know? Something she still couldn’t trust him with?
He didn’t like leaving her alone with the guy, father or not, although given his obvious age and fragility, he doubted the man could do her any harm. Especially since he’d left Daisy in the kitchen with them, and she would rip the old man to pieces if he made one aggressive move.
They had to talk. If her father wasn’t gone by the time he had to leave for work, he might call Johnny Miller and ask him to cover tonight. Lance had picked up an extra shift a few weeks back when Johnny was sick, so he knew the guy would return the favor.
He stopped at his desk and fingered the blue velvet box, then flipped open the lid. The diamond wasn’t very large, but it was perfect. Like Marjorie. He wanted desperately to get it on her finger, a symbol to bind her to him, to show the world she was his. If she’d already worn it, her request that he leave she and her father alone together wouldn’t have rocked him so. Without it, there seemed to be no guarantee of a future together.
He clicked the box closed.
And paced.
Less than an hour later, Marjorie’s father left through the back door. Daisy followed him to the fence. Marjorie stood in the doorway and watched as he shuffled through and closed the gate after himself.
Then she raised her eyes to his window.
He stared back for a minute, snatched up the blue box and stuffed it in his pocket, then went out the door and down the stairs, forcing himself to keep his pace slow and deliberate. He stopped at the foot of the staircase and waited. She’d have to invite him in this time. He wouldn’t take one damn thing for granted anymore.
She held out her hand. “I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. Will you come in? I need to talk to you.”
Lance took his first deep breath in an hour and went to her. Her face was taut with worry, and he folded her into his arms to simply hold her. She leaned against him, elbows bent, hands flattened on his chest, her head tucked under his chin. He stroked a hand up and down her back and kissed the top of her head until he felt the tension in her shoulders relax.
“I was afraid I’d lost you an hour ago,” she murmured.
“You can’t lose me. You can tell me to go, but unless you force me to leave, I’ll always be here for you.”
She raised her head and tears glistened in her eyes. “I love you, you know.”
He sighed. “That’s the first time you’ve said the words. You have no idea how badly I needed to hear them.”
She smiled up at him. “Come inside and I’ll let you make me tea, Sir Lance.”
He leaned down and kissed her sweet mouth. “You’re wish is my command, my lady.”
They settled at the table, he with coffee and she with tea.
“First, I want you to understand why I asked you to leave.” She sighed out a long breath. “Before I do, though, I want you to know that I’ve already changed my mind, so I don’t want you to go ballistic.”
Lance raised a brow. “Ballistic? Do I do that often enough to worry you?”
“Of course not. But I’m guessing that if my plan was to run away without telling you, that might—”
“Oh, yeah, that would do it. No argument there.”
“See? Anyway, my concern was that if my father had somehow figured out how to find me, his search might have included contacting my former boss. His name is Bryan Chesterton, by the way.”
The tight band around his heart relaxed a little more with every new piece of information she gave him. He might actually make it through this day without imploding.
“And if he went to see Bryan and told him he was convinced I was still alive . . . Well, that wouldn’t have been good.”
Lance could tell how just talking about that possibility unnerved her. Her hands trembled as she took another sip of tea.
“So if he had mentioned you to this asshole Bryan, you would have just run? Left me and the house and the town and . . . gone?”
She nodded. “That was my first thought, yes. I’d never take the chance that harm would come to you or the other people in this town that I’ve grown to love.”
“Did you give any thought at all to what your leaving would have done to me?” He put a leash on the pain, on the desperation—and anger—he felt at the mere thought of finding her gone. He wouldn’t go ballistic at her confession, but it would be damn close.
He picked up her hand and caressed her fingers with a gentle thumb. “It would have killed me, Red. I love you. Whether you’re Marjorie, or Sarah Beth, or, whatever. You would have taken my heart with you, and I would have spent the rest of my life tracking you down. Without you, my life wouldn’t be worth a damn.”
Marjorie reached across and cupped his cheek in her hand. “I realized that, as soon as I thought about how lost I’d be without you by my side. I wasn’t sure w
hat we should do, but I knew for sure that we would decide together. You’re my other half. My perfect match. You saw through my disguise no matter how hard I tried to keep you out. You are my rock when I panic, my shelter when the storms from my past threaten to overwhelm me. You make me feel safe, and strong, and . . . cherished. I simply can’t live without you, Lance.”
He dug in his pocket and placed the blue box on the table. “I’m glad to hear you feel that way, Red. I’d hate to have to take this back.” He flipped the lid. “Marry me, Marjorie. Make me the happiest man in the world.”
Her hands went to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. One long blink sent them down her cheeks. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, you wonderful man.”
She leaned toward him and he met her halfway—the way he always would—and they kissed to seal their promise.
One thing led to another and, although their plan to meet here in thirty minutes was long overdue, the result was the same.
Lots of kisses.
The rapid removal of clothing.
Breathless moans. Heated touches. Slick skin sliding together . . .
“Upstairs,” Marjorie urged.
“Not gonna last long enough for that,” Lance groaned. He backed her against the wall and lifted her against his rampant erection. She wrapped her legs around his hips and rubbed her most sensitive spot against him. Once. Twice.
“God, woman,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “I’ve got to get inside you.” He trailed kisses down her throat and caught a taut pink nipple between his teeth. One hand found her center and he slipped a finger inside her, his tongue sliding between her lips in sync with his strokes. A flood of moisture coated his finger, and Marjorie’s head fell back as she made wordless sounds deep in her throat. Her moans brought him to a boil, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. With one hand under her butt, he used the other to position his dick at the entrance to paradise and thumbed the swollen bud at its apex.
Theirs by Chance Page 17
