'Don't!' But his voice held more desperation than anger. 'Don't let me.'
'Let you?' Libby wasn't sure what he meant.
He gave a harsh laugh. 'Ah, innocence. See, I told you.' He lifted his head and looked at her. 'Would you really have given yourself to me, summer girl? Would you do that to help me forget?'
Would she?
Libby's face burned at the thought, and even more at the very real possibility that she might.
She'd never felt this way before, had never been so caught up in a man, in a given moment, that all else seemed to fade away. No man had ever touched her this way before. She'd never felt such desire, such hunger. She'd certainly never responded like this. It hadn't been comfort at all, not when she stepped back to look at it.
She felt the merest child, foolish, naive—everything he'd said she was.
'I…' She shook her head, looking down, unable to face him, drowning in emotions she hadn't even known she was capable of.
And Alec's hand came up and stroked through her long flyaway hair. His fingers were gentle now; trembling, she thought. They touched her chin, lifting it so that she looked up at him. And then, against the moonlight, she saw his cheek curve as he smiled at her. It was a warm smile, a tender, loving one.
Libby smiled back, and it was as if the world had shrunk until it contained nothing but the two of them.
'What's your name?'
'Libby.'
'Mom! I'm freezin'!' Sam, teeth chattering and goose-pimpled, appeared suddenly in the falling darkness. Libby blinked.
'Oh, Sam. Oh, good heavens!' She got quickly to her feet, feeling guilty and not a little foolish at the warm flush that still tingled on her cheeks.
She wrapped her towel around Sam's shivering shoulders and rubbed him briskly. 'Come on.' She began to walk along the beach towards the path that led to town. Abruptly she stopped.
Far off near the point, in the very direction they were heading, she saw a dark-haired man and a small blonde girl heading their way.
'Who's that?' Sam asked, following her gaze.
But Libby didn't answer. There was a limit to how much she could take of Alec, past and present, in one night. She turned abruptly and made for the path near the hotel instead.
'Come along, Sam,' she said. 'It's getting late.'
* * *
The clear light of day restored her equilibrium. Life went on, just as Evelyn Braden had said it did all those years ago.'
And even though she'd tossed and turned most of the night, Libby knew with certainty that nothing had changed.
She had seen Alec again. She had relived, for the first time in years, the night of their first meeting. But after the meeting, after the reminiscences, she was still twenty-sue years old, still the mother of a seven-year-old boy, still a graduate student with a job to do and only seven and a half weeks now to do it in.
She got to work.
School, which had ended in their small Iowa city the last week in May, was still in session on Harbour Island. Libby considered the alternatives, allowed Sam a taste of three days without playmates, then, bright and early the morning after she'd seen Alec again, she enrolled him in school.
Sam didn't complain. 'Arthur will be there,' he said, eyes shining with anticipation.
And when Libby went off to do her interviews, she walked with him as far as the school.
Libby found herself glancing around, half expecting to see Alec lurking about somewhere. She was pleased that he wasn't.
'I'll meet you after,' she promised and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. 'We'll walk home together.'
"K. See you. There's Arthur.' And Sam took off, running into the dusty schoolyard.
Libby watched him go, glad now that she hadn't answered his question last night about who that man was, glad that Sam knew little and cared less about his father.
In the course of seven years he'd only asked a few questions about the man who'd sired him. When he was three, Sam had looked up from his trucks and said, 'Toby has a dad, and Jeremy has a dad. Where's my dad?'
And Libby had said, 'Your dad lives far away.'
'Can I see him?' Sam asked.
'No.'
Sam had waited to see if she might elaborate, but when she didn't, he'd shrugged with a three-year-old's equanimity and had gone back to driving his trucks.
Partly, Libby supposed, it was because his life wasn't really lacking in adult men. Her own father was around all the time. Once he'd got over his shock at Libby's pregnancy, Samuel Portman has been wonderfully supportive. Now 'Pop' doted on young Sam.
Her brothers, Jeff and Greg, were in high-school when Sam was born and for years had been more like older brothers than uncles to the little boy.
Not until this spring, when the Cub Scouts had a father-son banquet, had the question come up again.
'Pop will go with you,' Libby had said when Sam came home with the announcement.
'Couldn't you maybe call my father and ask him?' Sam had suggested.
For a split second Libby had wondered what would happen if she did. A tiny part of her would have loved to rock Alec Blanchard's boat.
But the momentary satisfaction she'd get would scarcely balance the chaos that would inevitably follow. Even if she could have got hold of Alec, she would never have done it. Not to herself nor to him. Nor especially to Sam.
'Sorry, love,' she'd said. 'Can't. Anyway, you know Pop loves Kentucky Fried Chicken. He'd be crushed if you didn't take him.'
Sam giggled because it was true.
That day was the last time either of them had mentioned Sam's father.
No one else spoke of him, either. Not even when Libby had told her family where she and Sam were spending the summer.
But after Sam had gone to bed that night, her mother had looked up from the mending. 'Do you think it's wise, Libby? Going back? Dredging it up again? After all, you have Michael now.'
But her father had said, 'Best thing she could do, get it out of her system. Good for you, Lib,' he'd said to her. 'Be done with it once and for all.'
And Libby, meeting his gaze, knew that all those years of careful silence hadn't fooled Samuel Portman.
They were alike in that way—needing to finish things, needing to get matters settled. He knew she'd never forgotten, knew she never would—unless she went back and made peace with herself.
Until last night she'd thought she was convinced she had.
Now she didn't know.
She had hoped her feelings for Alec would be dead and buried. They weren't. He angered her, which was only to be expected. But he made her heart beat faster, too.
'Passion,' she mocked herself. 'Worthless, foolish passion. That and nothing more.'
But she wished desperately that that urge for passion weren't there.
She hated herself for spending so much time thinking about him. Chances were he wasn't thinking about her.
Finally she had to force herself to concentrate on something else and as soon as she took Sam to school she went off in search of the fishermen she intended to interview.
She spent the morning talking to three old fishermen, taking notes frantically and using up three whole tapes. She got absorbed in her work, felt the satisfaction of accomplishing something, and went home for lunch well pleased.
After lunch she headed out of Dunmore Street towards the Memorial Library to check their holdings. She had gone there first on the day she'd arrived, found it locked, read the hours, gone back then, found it locked again, and asked Maddy.
'They be open afternoons,' Maddy told her. 'Up to you to figure out which.'
So far Libby hadn't. But she went daily in the hope that one day she might. It was therefore with considerable satisfaction that she found the doors open when she got there that afternoon.
Feeling that the gods were smiling on her, she gathered the material she needed, sat down at one of the tables and began to read. She worked steadily through the afternoon, stopping only when
it was time to meet Sam.
He came flying out of the school seconds after the bell rang, a grin splitting his gap-toothed face and Arthur close on his heels.
'Have a good day?' Libby asked.
'Uh-huh,' Sam said.
And Arthur asked, 'Can Sam come swimmin' with me down the dock?'
'Please?' Sam implored.
'Come home first and have a snack.'
Sam sighed. "K. See you later,' he said to Arthur and fell into step beside his mother.
The day was hot and uncomfortably muggy. Rain during the night had only succeeded in making the humidity worse. Their house had fans but no air-conditioning, but the library had had neither so Libby was looking forward to getting home.
Until she opened the gate and saw Alec sitting on the doorstep.
CHAPTER THREE
SLOWLY he got to his feet.
Sam, who hadn't noticed him yet, kept right on talking, telling Libby about their game of four square and what Sister had said when Arthur threw a spit wad at Mary Catherine. Libby didn't hear a word. She was watching Alec.
He was looking at Sam. And the expressions that crossed his face then were so many and varied that Libby couldn't even count them.
She wondered which one he would give voice to and prayed that, whichever it was, he would be discreet. She hadn't said that he shouldn't tell Sam, and she hoped to goodness now that he wouldn't blurt out anything that would hurt her son.
'Hello, Alec,' she said as coolly as she could manage.
He smiled. It was a faint smile, just the slightest lift of one corner of his mouth, and it made him look exactly the way Sam sometimes did in moments of stress and uncertainty. She swallowed hard.
'Hi,' Alec said.
Sam stopped talking, noting for the first time the man standing on the porch. He looked at his mother, expecting a response. Then, when she didn't speak, he smiled up at Alec. "Lo. I'm Sam. Who're you?'
A look of pain flickered in Alec's eyes. He cleared his throat and looked at Libby. 'Aren't you going to introduce us?'
She drew a shaky breath. 'This is my son Sam.' She emphasised the 'my'. 'Sam, this is Alec Blanchard.'
'Hi,' Sam said again.
'Hi, Sam.' Alec said the boy's name softly as if he were tasting it, savouring it. 'Nice name. I like it. Suits you. Are you named after your father?'
Startled, Libby glared at him, but Sam just shook his head.
'My grandpa,' Sam replied.
'I named him after the man who stood by me when he was born,' Libby said bluntly, and felt considerable satisfaction at the spasm of anguish she saw on Alec's face. She unlocked the door and opened it.
'You go to school here?' Alec asked Sam curiously, noticing the book bag.
'Not usually. I live in Iowa. But it's sorta boring here when everybody else does, so I did, too.'
'You ought to come out and play with my little girl.'
Libby opened her mouth to protest, but Sam said first, 'A girl?' He looked doubtful.
Alec grinned. 'She's OK.'
Sam shrugged. 'Maybe.'
Libby almost said there was no way Sam was going to play with Alec's daughter, then thought better of it. If she objected, Sam would want to know why. It wasn't an explanation she wanted to make. Seeing father and son together made her vitally aware of a lifetime of complications she wasn't sure how to approach. She set her notebook and tape-recorder on the table and went into the kitchen. Sam and Alec followed.
'What do you want, Alec?' she asked him.
He met her gaze. 'You know that.'
She felt suddenly cold even in the mid-afternoon heat. 'I…'
'We'll discuss it,' he said, almost too pleasantly. Then, as if dismissing her, he turned to Sam.
'So, what do you usually do in the summer?' Alec asked him.
Sam shrugged. 'Play ball. Me 'n' Jeff and Greg go fishin' a lot.'
Alec looked at him closely. 'Jeff and Greg?'
'My uncles.'
Alec's eyes went to Libby. They were hard and questioning. 'Uncles?' His tone was sceptical, mocking.
'My brothers,' she said acidly.
'I see.' But she didn't think he believed her. Did he think she slept with a different man every night just because she'd been fool enough to sleep with him? She ground her teeth.
'And I go with my grandpa,' Sam went on, oblivious to the undercurrents in the room.
'What about your dad?' Alec persisted.
'Alec!' Libby said sharply.
Sam shrugged. 'I don't see him.'
'He doesn't need to,' Libby said, irritated beyond measure now. She whacked a slice off the coconut bread and handed it to Sam with a glass of milk. 'He's got plenty of men around just in my family.'
Sam looked from his mother to the man who was standing there staring at them both as if he'd suddenly caught wind of trouble. He hesitated a moment, then said stoutly, 'Mom's right. I don't need nobody else. I'm fine.'
Libby gave Alec a smug, satisfied look.
He didn't move an inch, not even to acknowledge that he'd heard.
The boy went on. 'An' here I go fishing with Arthur and his dad. We caught a shark day before yesterday,' he added. 'it was huge!' He threw his arms wide.
'That big?' Alec's voice was ragged.
'Bigger. Lyman says you can catch hu-mon-gous fish 'round here. We're goin' tomorrow.' He paused and considered the grim-faced man in front of him. 'You wanta come?'
'Alec is a very busy man, Sam,' Libby said quickly.
'I think I could manage it,' Alec said.
She gave him a hard stare.
He ignored her. 'If Lyman has room, of course.'
'What about your daughter?' Libby reminded him.
'She might like to come. It'd be good for her. She…' he paused as if looking for the right way to say something '… she needs to lighten up a bit.'
Sam looked mystified. 'Lighten up?'
'She's had a hard time this past year,' Alec said. 'Her mother died.'
'Oh.' Sam looked up from his milk and darted a quick worried look at his own mother. 'I'll bet she's sad.'
'Yeah, well, she hadn't seen her mother in a while.'
Libby looked at him closely, curiously, wondering if Alec was over Margo's death now. Probably not. If Clive Gilbert's had crushed him, how much worse would be the death of the woman he loved.
She found herself wondering what sort of life Alec and Margo and their daughter had led.
Had Margo followed Alec around while they left the child with nannies? It was possible, she supposed. Margo had never looked the maternal sort. She felt a pang of compassion for the little girl.
'What's her name?' Sam was asking.
'Juliet.'
'There's a Julie in my class in school. She's a pig. How old is yours?'
Alec grinned. 'Almost eight. And she's not a pig.'
'Well, I guess you can bring her, then,' Sam said. 'I'm seven and a half,' he added, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
'I know.'
Sam looked at him curiously. 'How d'you know?'
'Your mother said.'
Sam looked at Libby as if wondering what else she might have said to this stranger.
'I really wish you would come see her some time,' Alec told him. 'She needs kids to play with.'
Libby had had enough. She didn't know what Alec was trying to pull, but she was protecting her son no matter what. 'Here comes Arthur,' she said to Sam. 'You'd better get changed if you're going swimming with him.'
'Yeah, right. See you,' Sam said to Alec, and, grabbing another piece of coconut bread, he disappeared into his room.
'What,' Libby asked Alec in the silence that followed, 'are you trying to do?'
He had been staring after Sam, but now he turned to her. 'Get to know my son,' he said.
'My son,' Libby corrected.
'Mine, too. You told me so.'
'A biological accident. They happen.'
'Indeed they do,' Alec said wit
h an edge to his voice. 'Indeed they do.'
Libby turned her back on him, staring out of the window, hating him, hating the way he made her feel.
He had no right to come here, no right to burst into her life again this way. And, especially, he had no right to Sam.
'When are you going to tell him? That I'm his father, I mean?'
Libby shrugged. 'Maybe I won't.'
'The hell you won't!'
Libby turned and stared at him. 'Why should I?'
'Because he has a right to know.'
She pressed her lips together in a tight line. That was true, of course. But it wasn't something you could spring on a child. It took handling, preparation. 'Some day,' she conceded finally. 'It isn't urgent.'
'I think it is.'
Wow. You didn't even know he existed until yesterday.'
Alec's jaw tightened. 'I know now. And I want to know him.'
'Bully for you.'
'Damn it, Libby. He's my son.'
'For how long? As long as it suits you? And then what?'
'It will always suit me.'
Libby shook her head. 'How do I know that?'
'You think I'd walk out on him?'
'You walked out on me.'
For a moment he just stared at her, a muscle working in his jaw, a fire flickering in his eyes. Then he raked savage fingers through his hair. 'I'm back.'
'Oh? That gives you rights?' She gave him a scornful look.
'Yes,' he bit out, 'it damned well does. I had a child with you and I have the right to be his father.'
'As far as I'm concerned you have no rights, Alec. You made your choice eight years ago.'
'Damn it, Libby, I couldn't—'
'You could. You did. Go away, Alec. Just go away.'
She prayed he would, that she would hear footsteps heading for the door, that it would shut behind him, that he would leave her now the way he'd left her all those years ago.
She heard silence. And then he came up softly behind her. She could feel the warmth of his body just inches from her. She stiffened. His hand touched her arm, and she jerked away. 'I said go.'
'Libby—'
'No, Alec. Leave me alone. You didn't want me. You don't want me. Just go!' She spun around now and glared at him.
Island Interlude Page 4
