Setting J.J. between cushions on the couch, she hurried upstairs and grabbed an armful of blankets and pillows. Once she had a pallet made before the fireplace, she would have to go out and bring in more wood, she thought, returning downstairs. It could be a long time before the electricity came back on, and John had left in such a hurry, he hadn’t had time to think about restocking the barrel inside.
Thinking about John only brought her more anguish. As concerned as she was in here, things had to be frightening outside. How far had John and his men gone? What if something happened to one of them…to him?
The more things she found to do, the more her imagination churned out nightmares, and the more concerned she became. By the time she had enough wood and was checking on J.J. again she’d worked herself into a nervous wreck.
The thought of trying to get some sleep was impossible, so she went to the kitchen and made more coffee on the gas stove. Then she made sandwiches from the roast and turkey Durango had stocked in the refrigerator in case they returned hungry.
Then she waited some more.
With only candles for illumination and without any TV to distract her, the house seemed larger, emptier. She adored watching J.J. as he slept, but her thoughts were so intense, she knew she was unsettling him.
Wandering from room to room to kill time seemed a reasonable solution. It allowed her to check out every window for a glimpse of anyone coming back, and it forced her to look at John’s home—really look at it—and see the man she’d been pushing away and holding at arm’s length for so long.
Why hadn’t she noticed before that there were no photographs? The aerial one of the Long J didn’t count, pretty though it was. She wanted to see people—his mother, father…him. How odd to think that apparently neither John nor his father had picked up a camera during their years together.
Her father had enjoyed having family photos. They were all staged, all lies, of course, but he’d taken great pleasure in displaying his family in his office, as well as seeing his own smiling countenance in the newspapers.
A box on the bookcase in the library made her backtrack. She’d never noticed it before—probably because she’d always repressed all curiosity about this place and had simply forced herself to do her job, and leave. How pretty, she thought, eyeing the inlay of silver clovers and the head of a unicorn. She couldn’t resist crouching and holding her candle closer to inspect it. That’s when she saw a lock on the front, but no key. Unable to resist, she lifted the lid and found it opened without difficulty.
Inside she discovered a handful of papers. Newspaper clippings and one photograph, she realized, only to feel her heart skip a beat.
They were all of her.
The photo was one of her getting her high school diploma. She hadn’t even realized John had been at the ceremony. It was mind-boggling to think he might have felt that deeply about her even back then. Oh, she knew what he’d said, all right, but to hold the proof in her hand…
The first clipping was also from her graduation—the announcement of her being chosen as class valedictorian, and it included her formal photo. Was he aware she’d intentionally strained her voice and given herself laryngitis to avoid making the obligatory speech? Her father had been so angry with her.
Another clipping was from her college graduation—this one containing no photo. The third was the story about her father’s death, and the photo caught her and her mother at the graveside service. God. They’d both actually looked…relieved.
“Oh, John,” she whispered. She wished she could cry. For both of them. But the only thing that happened was that her hands began to shake and her legs grew weak. She hastily replaced the papers in the box and shut it. Was that J.J. she heard?
Her heart still pounding frantically, she returned to the living room. J.J.’s angelic face was illuminated by the firelight and she could see his eyes were slightly open. Spotting her, he made a soft mewing sound.
“I’m here,” she crooned, settling down beside him. “I’m here.” It felt so good to wrap her arms around him. She needed to hold life close right now. She needed just to stop thinking at all for a moment and get her bearings.
She needed to shut her eyes for a moment and rest.
Chapter Nine
J ohn finally dragged his weary bones into the kitchen around ten o’clock. Soaking wet, he’d begun to strip off his jacket and boots when he found the coffee and sandwiches. Basking in a wave of pleasure and gratitude, he took a moment to run them over to the bunkhouse.
Back at the house he finished undressing and headed upstairs for some dry things. He turned off most of the lights as he went along, and that’s when he came upon Dana and his son. From the look of things the electricity had gone off, and out of concern for his boy’s welfare, Dana had carried him down to the fireplace where she could keep him warm. It had been smart thinking, considering that he’d forgotten to tell her how to operate the generator, and just another reason he found it difficult to take his eyes off her as he mounted the steps.
The weather danger was past now, the wind had shifted and the sleet had become rain again. It was melting the ice already on the ground. By morning, if the westerly breeze continued, there would be virtually no danger in driving. That’s when he would send Dana home for the last time.
In his room he toweled his dripping hair and changed into a dry flannel shirt and jeans. After returning downstairs, he poured himself a brandy and finally eased into his recliner to study the picture she made curled protectively around his son. So peaceful in sleep. He wanted to sit until she woke, to watch and memorize. Because he’d come to a decision tonight.
He couldn’t take any more.
He couldn’t bear having her so close and not being able to touch her, to show her how much he cared, to tell her what he wanted, dreamed for them. The idea he’d had to try to give her space, to give her time, had been sincere. The most noble effort in his life, perhaps. It simply hadn’t worked. It hadn’t been enough.
Now it was time to face up to that defeat. He’d known it after the way she’d stepped back from him this afternoon. That episode continued to rankle, particularly when he considered that she’d just shared one of the most important days of his life with him. It had been beyond painful.
There was only one thing to do, one chance left to make her see what she was missing, that hiding wasn’t the answer. But if it didn’t work, he would be finished, too. And there was no good reason to hold out any great hope.
He already felt the grief, the loss. His pain was already real and deep. He knew it was a waste of time to try to go to bed and let them both have a few hours of rest. There was no way he would be able to sleep. Not now. Maybe not for a long time.
J.J. woke first. As the flames hungrily reached for the new logs he’d added to the fire, the lively crackling and popping sounds filtered into his baby’s mind, and he opened his eyes. He focused on Dana first. John’s heart wrenched with love and understanding as his son broke into a soft smile, waved his tiny fists in the air, and erupted into a drooly squeal of delight.
I know exactly how you feel, pal.
Not wanting him to wake her yet, he scooped up his boy and carried him to the recliner. They considered one another in the flickering amber light, familiar with each other…friends. They’d come far, and it felt good, thanks to Dana.
Still, it terrified him to think of what lay ahead.
Christmas was only weeks away. Gazing down into his son’s innocent, cherubic face made him want to do so much to make it special. Everything that he’d been missing out on for years. He lifted his baby’s hand to his mouth and, mindful that he was badly in need of a shave, kissed each delicate finger with care. “I’ll do my best for you. Always. I just don’t think I can keep my word about her,” he whispered gruffly.
They sat there for another few minutes before Dana opened her eyes. John watched her grow increasingly restless, as though even in her sleep the bonding that had taken place over the pa
st several weeks between her and J.J. was at work, and she could sense the baby wasn’t beside her. At last she jerked awake, rose on her elbow, and gasped when she saw the empty spot beside her.
“It’s all right. I have him.”
Whirling around, she whispered, “Oh, God!” when she realized what was what. “You’re…back.”
He could sense her self-consciousness returning, and see it in the subtle tension in her body. His heart sank like a rock. “For a while now,” he managed, suddenly feeling almost too exhausted to get the words out.
“Really? I’m sorry. What time is it?”
“Getting close to eleven, I imagine. The electricity’s back on. The ice has turned back into rain.”
“That’s wonderful. Did you—” she couldn’t stop a yawn and quickly covered her mouth with her hand “—’scuse me. Did you get the last of the cattle moved in?”
“Most.”
He watched her sit up and stretch. The blanket slipped, revealing that she’d changed, too—into a pair of his thermal underwear.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, realizing that he had noticed. “When I lay down, I realized I could ruin my suit, and these were in the basket of whites you hadn’t folded and put away yet and I thought—”
“It’s fine.” The fact was, she looked adorable in the several-sizes-too-large outfit. With her bangs mussed and her lipstick worn away, she looked more like a girl than a woman.
“How’s J.J.?” she asked, shifting to her knees and inching closer in an effort to see the baby’s face. “He didn’t get cranky again, did he?”
John dragged his gaze from her to consider his son, too, and saw that he was drifting off to sleep again. “No. He seems okay now. He must have just been overtired before. If you want to go on upstairs to bed,” he added, already feeling a strain in his throat, “I’ll tuck him into his.”
“That’s okay. No sense messing up another room. He can sleep with me down here. I don’t mind. I’ll just check his diaper—”
“I’ll do it after I get him upstairs. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t get too used to having an around-the-clock companion. Besides, I’ve taken enough of your time. Everything’s under control now. The boys can locate the last of the strays tomorrow without my help. I can stay here with him.”
The lack of emotion in his voice, or maybe it was his expression, which felt stiff and unnatural even to him, must have been transmitted to her. She sat back on her heels and dropped her hands. He could see her analyzing his words and trying to find her own.
She swallowed and began, “You’ve been— It sounds as if you’ve been doing a lot of thinking while you were moving those cattle.”
He struggled to remain unresponsive to her nervous smile. “Actually I’ve been doing that for a while now.”
“I see. And so what you said actually means…Correct me if I’m wrong, but you almost sound as though you’re saying goodbye.”
“Of course not,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “You’re J.J.’s godmother. You’re part of his life, no matter what.” Better, he thought. Easy does it. You can do this. “It’s simply time that I remember you have a life of your own.”
“Don’t make yourself sound unduly selfish.”
“I’m only trying to make a point.”
“So am I. I’ve been glad to help where I could.”
“And I appreciate it. I do. But there’s my own future to consider, as well.”
“Oh.”
“I have to let you go, Dana. For all of our sakes.”
“I see,” she murmured again, looking increasingly vague and beginning to breathe rather shallowly.
“Do you?” He wondered. He’d run out of energy to keep fighting for her. He had no doubt she cared for his son, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted his own place in her heart, in her life. He wanted everything, or he would take nothing.
Say something, he willed her. Say anything.
When she didn’t, he felt the room turn black and a constriction around his chest take an agonizing hold. He abruptly pushed himself to his feet. He had to before he found himself tempted to take it all back. “I’d better get him upstairs.” Feeling like a monster and thoroughly despicable, he carried J.J. toward the stairs. He didn’t allow himself any parting glances.
Dana had no idea how long she sat staring at the empty chair before her. She was having a difficult enough time doing the things that were natural, like breathing, let alone thinking.
It finally struck her that if she didn’t get outside soon, she was going to faint, or be ill. She could actually feel herself in the first stages of hyperventilation.
Rising on legs that seemed too shaky to bear her weight, she reached for the all-weather coat that she’d worn over her suit and had spread over the back of the other chair near the fire. She dragged it on and began tying the belt. No, no, she thought, remembering she wore John’s clothes.
With trembling fingers, she ripped off the underwear and hastily slipped on her skirt over her panties, then her jacket. She couldn’t deal with her bra and hose; instead she stuffed them into her purse. Shoving her bare feet into her heels, and snatching up her purse, she stumbled for the kitchen door as though in a drunken stupor.
The cold air helped clear her head somewhat. Gasping as it sliced into her, she tugged the ends of her coat more tightly together. Had John said it was warming up? Not by her definition of the word. Even the rain was frigid, and it quickly drenched her as she inched and skidded her way to her car. Within seconds she was shivering with cold and feeling practically naked.
At least the ice had melted off the windows and the door handle. She neither had to fight to get in, nor sit there while her windshield defrosted. As soon as the engine started, she shifted into reverse and began backing from the house. Escape seemed the only necessity at the moment.
Then she hit the brakes.
What are you doing?
This wasn’t escaping—what was she escaping from?—this was running. And it was the coward’s way out, not only to leave without saying goodbye, but to retreat at all. She’d been doing that for too long. Running away from her fears, away from her feelings…away from John.
If she went now, there would be no coming back a third time, regardless of what he’d said about her always being a part of J.J.’s life. There had been a look of resolve on John’s face that had told her much more than his words had. Yet even that wasn’t as jarring as knowing that if she did leave, she would never be able to look at herself in the mirror again without feeling disappointment. Disgust.
She’d deserved everything he’d said. The question was why hadn’t he thrown her out sooner? For years she’d been hiding behind the excuse of her father’s cruelty and forcing John to carry his guilt. Oh, sure, he’d been too overbearing, too dictatorial, too possessive himself. And, yes, he’d had, still had, a temper.
The point was, he’d been changing, too. A great deal more than what she’d first believed.
Think. Remember.
Would the old John Paladin have accepted the role of single father with such a determination toward reassuring, or with such a commitment to learning? Had she ever come to the house in the morning and noticed the baby’s schedule off, or his temperament less than sweet because he’d been denied a 2:00 a.m. feeding? Hadn’t she watched John bathe his boy and seen for herself how those big powerful hands had tempered their strength, had championed gentleness with heartwarming results?
No, he’d been wonderful with J.J.
“The best,” she whispered, staring at the marbled windshield.
And what about his behavior with his men, especially when he had every right to be short-tempered and moody due to the pressures with Celene and getting up at all hours with the baby? Had anyone quit? Looked at him with fear or dread?
No, they’d all stuck with him. Granted, maybe cowboy jobs were hard to come by these days, but no one would put up with a rotten work environment without indicating their displeasur
e somehow.
John’s men had all attended the Thanksgiving dinner as though they’d been looking forward to the gathering, and they’d joked with him. Teased him.
The only time he’d appeared a bit disgruntled had been when the men had looked at her too long.
It’s you.
Only when he’d been dealing with her did his passions edge toward any extremes. And mostly because she, caught up in her misery and, yes, her stubbornness, too, failed to see how she’d driven him there. But had things actually gotten out of hand at Thanksgiving? No. Even when they’d kissed later, he’d shown incredible restraint and control.
But what about that night he came in late?
Granted he’d wanted more from her, and if she would be completely honest, she’d been tempted, too. It had been his wording that had jarred old ghostly fears, and memories of being called a tramp and worse by her father just for asking if she could go to a chaperoned school dance. The point is that when she’d asked him to stop, he did. He’d had every right to be frustrated and abrupt with her; the miracle was that he’d given her another chance. And what had she done with that?
“What went wrong today? What did I do?” she cried, gripping the steering wheel as though it were a lifeline.
Admittedly she’d felt a bit shy in Kay and Bud’s company. They were wonderful people, but she’d felt as though her every gesture, her every word was being analyzed under a microscope, regardless of whether they’d been doing that or not. Unable to relax, she’d ended up withdrawing from—
“Oh, God.”
She’d backed away from John earlier this evening, literally avoided his touch. But not because she wasn’t feeling enough, but because she’d felt too much.
Had that been the last straw?
How much was a man expected to give before he ran out of understanding…generosity?
“No,” she whispered.
She didn’t bother driving back beside his truck; she simply jammed the shift stick into Park and killed the engine. Grappling with the door handle, she rushed from the car and back into the house.
A Father's Promise Page 13
