Every Time I Love You

by Graham, Heather

  They were alone then. Alone for the first time since the ceremony, for the first time since Gayle had fallen to the floor in a pool of ethereal white.

  “Hello, Mr. McCauley,” Gayle said softly, leaning against him.

  But he didn't smile in return. His eyes were serious again, his jaw set and somber. He stroked her chin with his thumb, staring down into her face. “What happened, Gayle?”

  She frowned, pulling away from him. “Brent, I don't understand you. I'm sorry, I certainly didn't mean to pass out in the aisle—I mean it isn't like 'something borrowed and something blue,' or anything like that. I told you that I was sorry—”

  “That's not what I mean.” He caught her hand, nearly grinding it between his own. “Why were you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “As if you hated me. As if you were terrified of me.”

  She shook her head, staring at him incredulously. “Brent, I swear, I don't know what you're talking about.”

  “You don't remember?”

  She felt like bursting into tears. Here was this beautiful Cinderella wedding; here lay her “happily ever after”—here lay their futures and their lives. Why was he doing this?

  “Brent, there is nothing to remember. I swear to you, I did not look at you in any peculiar way. I love you with all of my heart and we were married today because—I thought—you feel the same way about me. Because we want to grow old together, share our lives. Because we can't stand being away from each other. Because—”

  He laughed. He swept an arm around her and pulled her tight against him, and when his dark, striking eyes fell on her again they were full of tenderness and love and amusement, and she felt deliciously secure in their love again and awed that such a man as he could love her as he did.

  “I'm sorry,” he murmured, and he delicately touched her chin, thumbing her lower lip, stroking her flesh. “I'm sorry. I married you today, Mrs. Brent McCauley, because I do want to share my life with you. I want you to have my children—”

  “How many of them?”

  “A dozen? No? Well, that point is entirely debatable, completely up to you, I should say. I love you. I was just very, very—worried.”

  She shook her head, searching out his eyes, entranced, her eyes brimming with tears again, of total happiness.

  “Oh, Brent, I do love you so much.”

  “I adore you.”

  He bent and kissed her. She kissed him back, heedless of her gown, heedless of the car, heedless of anything but the feel and heat and scent of him and the way his heart beat beneath her fingertips.

  The limousine came to a halt. Brent heard the driver coming around. He grinned at Gayle sheepishly. “I ordered champagne for back here. I forgot all about it. I even thought about sipping it out of your shoe.”

  She wrinkled up her nose. “Very unhygienic.”

  “Well, I'm not going to forget to sip it out of a few other things.”

  She arched a brow. “Really?”

  He winked. “I'll do it hygienically, of course. An alcohol scrub on your navel.”

  “That's unromantic,” she charged him.

  “All right—I'll head straight for the raw flesh.”

  She laughed. “Now you sound like a cannibal.”

  “I can't seem to win. Come on, Mrs. McCauley. The reception is awaiting us. And when it's over, we're on our way—”

  He broke off because, as the door had opened, another shower of rice came flying at them. “Hey!” Brent protested with a laugh. “We're not leaving yet—we just got here.”

  They discovered that Chad and Gary had been behind the rice incident as they were ushered through the hotel to the ballroom. Ria and Jonathan were already there, ready to form the reception line. Brent and Gayle slipped into place. For forty-five minutes she received handshakes and kisses, welcomed friends, and quickly met strangers. Gayle was just a little bit nervous. Every once in a while one of Brent's old friends came through the line, and another teasing comment would be made. “She's a beauty, Brent. Nice to meet you, Mrs. McCauley, are you really all right? Passed out 'cause you realized you really married the old bugger, huh?”

  His smile only slipped once though, Gayle noticed, and she was glad. She felt at a complete loss. She couldn't remember anything at all; she knew that their fingers had been entwined; she knew that they had been hurrying down the aisle, breathless and elated and smiling at each other in that sheepish, silly way that only newlyweds could. Yes, we've done it. We're man and wife. We've been living together for six weeks now, but this is it, this is different. We're man and wife. And for the magical beginning of it all, it was almost like being children again. Little kids. We've done this thing; we've played doctor, so now we can play house. Father Knows Best and Donna Reed. They were united; they were a family. Times had changed; she wouldn't be doing housework in a dress, and she wouldn't be saying good-bye to him with a kiss each morning at the door. He was an artist and he worked at home and she imagined that in the near future, on the days when she did not go to the gallery, she would work with Brent. He still had to do the finishing touches on his first oil of her; he had said that he wanted to do others. He was rich, but he liked to spend money, and so he had to keep making it. He wanted to keep that first oil for himself, for them, for their children. He wanted to do others, perhaps a series, to sell.

  And she wanted whatever he did. She would sit for him from now until doomsday—she had that much trust in him.

  At last it seemed that the final guest had passed by them. Ria McCauley turned to her new daughter-in-law and gave her a big hug. “Did I get a chance to tell you just how very happy we are to have you in the family?” She stepped back, still holding Gayle's arms, and grinning warmly.

  Gayle smiled. “Thank you. You've been wonderful.” Ria had a way of smiling with just a touch of mischief that reminded Gayle of Brent. Actually, of course, Brent had inherited the smile from his mother. It was a wonderful smile. It promised a hint of devilment, with lots of laughter and tenderness.

  Ria looked past Gayle's shoulder. “Brent, may I steal your bride for a moment? She didn't get a chance to meet Uncle Hick. He's over in the corner.”

  Brent nodded. Someone was pulling at his arm and people were already milling between them. “Tell Uncle Hick I'll be over myself in a moment, huh?”

  “Will do,” his mother promised.

  It took them a while to reach Uncle Hick; it was one heck of a reception, with free-flowing champagne and an open bar, so by now, most of the congratulations Gayle kept receiving were on the sloppy side. Happy—but sloppy. She received lots of hugs, when handshakes would have done just as well, and a few stories about I-knew-Brent-when, but she kept smiling through it all because everyone really meant to be very kind.

  “Who is Uncle Hick?” Gayle asked. Ria was holding on to her hand to lead her through the crowd and save her when she was stopped too long.

  “Brent hasn't mentioned him? Funny. He adores him.” Ria grinned. “He's Jonathan's great-uncle on his father's side—he's over one hundred years old, though nobody knows by how much. He's a wonderful old man. As I said, Brent adores him. I'm sure you'll like him yourself.”

  Ria stopped suddenly; Gayle nearly crashed into her back. “Uncle Hick! I brought you the bride.” Ria pulled Gayle around.

  He was a small man, although he had once been a very tall man. Perhaps it was the way he had been sitting, hunched and shriveled over, leaning on a cane. When Gayle appeared, he stood. She started to protest, but he gave her a grin and kept standing anyway.

  His face was like leather, brown and crisscrossed by dozens and dozens of wrinkles. His eyes were nearly colorless, a blue so light that it was almost translucent. But he had a mouthful of fine looking teeth—all false, he would tell her later—and a head full of fine white hair—all quite honestly his, as he would also tell her later.

  “Welcome, Gayle McCauley! May I kiss your cheek?”

  “Of course!” she promised
, stepping forward. She was afraid to embrace him, but he proved to be very sturdy. He patted the chair beside him then and asked if she would mind sitting for a moment, which she did. He asked her about how they had met, and she told him about Brent's show at the gallery, and by the way he listened and smiled, it seemed that he had heard a fair amount about the quick progression of the affair. She decided to change the subject, asking him about himself. “Do you live near here?”

  “Born and bred Virginian,” he told her, and the way that he said it reminded her of Brent. These people were going to resemble him, she told herself with silent humor. They were his relatives. “Yep. I've got an old home out in the Tidewater area. Not too far from Williamsburg. Closer to Yorktown. Real old home. Older than the country.”

  “How wonderful!” Gayle told him enthusiastically. She mentioned her own house, circa 1850, on Monument Avenue. He described his home, telling her about the big deep porch, where summers were more beautiful than one could imagine, and the tall, beautiful Georgian columns.

  “You ever seen Mount Vernon, young lady?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Well, the house is just like that one. Built by a lad who was fond of the General and admired him greatly. Course, it's not just the same. Washington made all kind of changes during and after the war. And the lad died in the war.”

  “That's tragic.”

  “Lot of tragedy in warfare, young woman. Your husband could tell you that.”

  “Brent?”

  Uncle Hick nodded, his rheumy eyes on his great-great-nephew, who stood across the hall, pouring champagne. Gayle smiled briefly. Sylvia had her hooks on him. Poor Brent. But then, better Sylvia than some of his beautiful ex-models, a few of whom had been invited. Gayle wondered if they had come out of curiosity. Then she felt guilty because she had met a few who were very nice girls and seemed genuinely fond of Brent and happy for her.

  “Brent spent six months in 'Nam. He could tell you about war. It gets worse, so they say. I myself can remember what it was like being a kid, with the War between the States barely ended a decade or two before. And then there was the Great War—the war to end all wars—and then the war that came after it. You'd think we'd learn to get along, huh?”

  “Yes,” Gayle murmured, “you would think so.”

  She felt a little uncomfortable. She hadn't known that Brent had gone to Viet Nam. Maybe it wasn't such a big thing. There was probably a lot that she didn't know.

  No. 'Nam was a big thing. She should have known it.

  “It don't matter none, now.” Uncle Hick patted her knee and she looked at him, startled. He had read her mind. “What matters is that you're a fine young lady and that the two of you love each other very much. Anything else can come later. You just keep believing that, huh? You believe in love and in nothing else, and everything else can come good and right. You remember that now, all right?”

  Impulsively, Gayle kissed him.

  “You'll come to visit us?” She asked.

  “I'll be delighted to. Can't eat too much of anything, though. These teeth look good, but I'll be damned if I can chew with the things. Hair's mine, but the teeth went early. But you make up some chicken soup, and I'll be happy to come to dinner.”

  “It's a deal.”

  “And you get Brent to bring you out to the farm, you hear?”

  “It's a farm?”

  “Sure. Not much of one anymore. I've a few horses, some vegetables—that's about it these days. But it's private and pretty, and I'm sure you'll like it.”

  “I'm sure I'll love it.”

  She squeezed his hand and murmured that she needed to get back to her other guests. He told her that she must go ahead.

  She had barely gotten anywhere before Brent caught her, sweeping her into his arms and out onto the dance floor. They were alone, and the band had just begun to play. Brent smiled down at her.

  “Tradition. Well, the bride is supposed to dance with her dad. Since he's not here...”

  “He'd be so happy, Brent.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah. I know so.”

  He whirled her around and around. “We dance well together, don't you think?” He asked.

  “Beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

  She hadn't had a drop to drink yet, but she couldn't help smiling like a silly drunkard. It was so beautiful. The lights were falling down upon them like sunrays, and she was dizzy and flushed and it seemed that her feet barely touched the floor. She could vaguely hear people whispering, and she knew what they were saying—that she and Brent were beautiful together, that it was magical—

  “It will never last. It can't last.”

  At the head table with Liz, Chad, Geoff, Gary McCauley, and his girlfriend Trish, Tina sighed and made the comment. Liz swallowed another sip of champagne, and shook her head woefully at Tina.

  “What on earth are you talking about? They're gorgeous out there. I'm green with envy.” She sighed softly, resting her chin upon her hands and staring out at the floor. “Know what they remind me of? The end of Sleeping Beauty when Aurora and the Prince are just dancing and dancing and two of the good fairies keep zapping her gown from blue to pink. And she's just oblivious to it all because she's dancing with her prince...”

  Geoff laughed at Liz and Liz flushed and Tina admitted that they were beautiful. “But it's too soon! They barely know each other.”

  “I think they know each other very well,” Geoff stated firmly. “And Liz, you're either a great romantic or a complete nut case. Come on, let's dance.”

  The floor began to fill with people. Jonathan McCauley cut in on his son, and Brent danced with his mother. The band played waltzes and ballads at first, then it showed its versatility by switching to numbers by the Police and Crowded House, before settling down to a series of Beatles tunes. Brent and Gayle danced and ate roast filet of beef and sautéed asparagus tips and wild rice and sipped champagne and laughed and talked with friends.

  Suddenly Brent swept her dramatically off her feet. She laughed, staring into his eyes. “What's this?” she whispered.

  “Your garter,” he said, shrugging with a lopsided smile. “We might as well do it up right.”

  She was still laughing when he sat her down on a chair in the center of the room. The drummer let out a roll, and all eyes turned to them. Geoffrey called out something; then a riot of ribald shouts and wolf whistles followed.

  Brent bowed and knelt down before her.

  She had been laughing, right until that moment.

  Then, as she stared down at his bowed head, it seemed that the room began to spin again.

  No! She cried in silent anguish. No, not again...

  Gayle gripped the rim of the chair. Behind her smile she clenched her teeth as tightly as she could.

  But something was wrong; something was very wrong. She could have sworn that they had done this before. That she had been frightened, terribly frightened. And he had touched her like this. There had been no drumroll and there had been no laughter. But he had touched her. She had felt his fingers moving up her leg; she had heard his heated whispers...

  The blackness was starting to surround her again. She closed her eyes briefly and prayed. No, please God, no, please don't let me pass out again. This is my wedding day. Please...

  “Gayle?”

  She opened her eyes, and she swallowed. People were laughing. It seemed that Geoffrey had caught the garter with absolutely no effort. It had landed around his champagne glass.

  “Gayle, are you all right?” Brent asked, holding both her hands.

  “I'm fine.” No one else had seen it this time. He had spoken her name and he had drawn her back.

  But Brent knew. Brent had seen her pallor, and he knew.

  Knew what? She wondered desperately. This was her wedding. This was the happiest day of her life.

  She jumped to her feet, pulling him with her. She tried a radiant smile. “I have to throw my bouquet.”

  Tina caug
ht her bouquet—naturally, Gayle had tried to throw it to her, but over-the-shoulder aiming had never been one of her talents. By the time it was all accomplished, the eerie feeling of deja vu had left Gayle, and she laughed easily with the others as they posed Geoff and Tina together for a picture and then another with Gayle and Brent.

  At last it was time to leave. Tears welled up inside of her all over again as she kissed Brent's family and then Tina and Liz and Geoff, but soon she was laughing through the tears because Brent had chosen to change into a pair of stone-washed jeans and a wild Maui T-shirt, and he just looked so very different!

  Another shower of rice swept over them, and they raced out to the limousine that would take them to the airport.

  Alone in the limo, they engaged in a long, leisurely kiss, until Brent pulled away from her.

  “Are you really all right?” he asked her huskily.

  “I am really all right,” she promised him softly, her eyes aglow as she studied the face she so adored. She stroked his cheek. “I have never been happier.”

  He slipped his arm around her. “I love you more than anything in this world, more than I had ever imagined it possible to love. More than life...”

  It was a special moment. One she would cherish all her life. It held at bay the strange fear that plagued her.

  Until they were aboard their plane. Then Gayle drifted into a doze, and again, gray, disjointed pieces of dream and nightmare returned to haunt her.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Lovers

  Williamsburg, Virginia July 1774

  Dusk had fallen. He waited for her by the corral, hidden in the dying light by the leaves of an old shade elm. Curiously he fingered the note again and again. He smiled and he brought the fine vellum paper to his face to inhale the violet fragrance that scented her stationery.

  Meet me at the corral. At dusk. Katrina.

  That simple a message. No kind or tender words, no hesitation. It was almost abrupt. It didn't matter. He didn't know her game, but he would play it. Since he had touched her, he had known that he would move heaven and earth to have her. And though she could run from him, she could never flee from that which simmered and sizzled and flamed between them. A man could not love so quickly, he told himself; but he did. Everything else in his life had been child's play. The dances, the reels, the flirtations, the lessons learned from whores and the chambermaids, and even a refined but lonely widow or two. A touch, a kiss, a flirtation, an affair; nothing compared with this. Nothing had so taken his heart and mind, so distracted him from thought and reason.