She swayed, her face white. "No. I've done nothing. You—you've been healing me…"
He nodded, his thumbs caressing her jaw. "After all you'd been through because of me, I owed it to you to heal you of your hurts, thinking I'd never have healing for myself—but I forgot the power of your unspoken magic. In a single night, with a few words, you took my pain and threw it to the sky. With a single touch you took the filth in my soul and washed it clean. With your quiet faith and unflinching support of what I've been doing against your own family, you gave me back a belief in unselfish giving. You think I healed you—but you remade me. My bitterness is gone, my anger a thing of the past. Because of you."
"I'm glad I could help." Her voice wobbled. "I'm glad I gave something back. We both have good memories of our time together."
"I don't want just memories. I want you," he rasped. "I want you in my home, my life, my bed, for the rest of my life. I never want to spend another day without you in it."
She broke out of his hold. "Please—don't ask me again. I can't be with you. I can't," she cried desperately.
"Don't you think I deserve to know why?"
Her head fell against the curtain. Then she slowly turned around to face him, her face as white as it had been before. "We can't be together if you want those kids. There's nine years between Duncan and me because my mother had problems conceiving, and I've inherited the problem. Cameron had me tested while I was in hospital after he hit me. The doctors said I have only a small chance of conceiving another child, or carrying to full term. If I have one more child it will be a miracle. My body could never carry even two more children, let alone five."
Though he'd been prepared for something bad, he'd never dreamed of this. The harsh breath he dragged in felt like it was ripping his chest open.
If there was anything he knew about himself, it was that he wanted to be a dad, six or seven times over. A house filled with love, with the joy of kids…
Like it had been with Belinda? An inner voice mocked him.
Tess took a few shaking steps, laying her cheek against the cool, whitewashed wall beside the window. "So now you know why this week is all we can have." He could see her sad smile, her face half-vanished in the shadow of the wail. That smile said it all. "Don't say anything. I always knew this week would be all I'd have with you."
Soft knocking on the door startled them both. "Your dinner," a feminine voice said, muffled through the wood.
"Please put it down outside," he replied. If he ate anything now he'd be physically ill. Oh, God help me! Was it so much to ask for? All I ever wanted was those kids…
But with Tess as their mother, the voice whispered again.
She moved to the door. "I'll go to Mrs. Savage's tonight."
"No!" Words tumbled from his mouth, words of love and despair, words of a man who only knew one thing right now: the woman he loved beyond life was leaving him. "Tess, stay with me. We can work it out—"
She shook her head. "For a day, a week, a month, maybe, but not for life. You deserve more than I can give you." She sighed, still half-turned from him. "Losing you almost broke me last time. Living with you, seeing you hiding the growing anger every time I get my period … seeing you looking at pregnant women, wishing she was your wife instead of me…" She gave a helpless shrug; but her words had been eloquent enough. "I don't think either of us could stand to live that way."
Was she right? He wanted to scream, to rage and curse, put his fist through a wall. Damn it, was having a few kids with the woman he loved too much to ask from life?
After a long silence, he said the only thing that came to mind. "I love you, Tess."
She reached out and touched his cheek, and he ached with love and anguish. "When I was at my worst, going mad with his touch, I wondered if I was conjuring another you up. A dream man, to give me something to live for, even if it was only a memory. But this week with you showed me reality can be far better than dreams." She bit her lip. "For a little while."
"Don't talk as if we're over," he pleaded.
She turned to look right at him. "Aren't we?"
She didn't believe they could work this out … and oh, how she knew him. The thought of not having those kids … not doing childbirth classes, standing beside his woman as she gave birth…
But it's always Tess I see with those kids. She took my heart seven years ago and I'll never have it back.
He looked in her eyes, trying to read her soul. "You say it's about having kids—but is it about the fact that you don't trust me? You think love is manipulation and degradation—treating you like a pawn. But that's their kind of love, not mine. I gave up my revenge. I didn't prosecute your family. I did it for you, because I love you. But you don't trust me to be different from them. You can't even ask me to stay. You just assume I'd rather live without you than those kids!"
"Wouldn't you?"
"At least give me a chance to think," he snapped, feeling tom, wrung out and hacked to pieces. Nothing he'd endured in lockup had ripped at his soul like this night. "Give me a chance to grieve for those kids I might never have. Give me a day to say goodbye to my dream before you walk out of my life!"
Her eyes squeezed shut. "You think you know me so well—but maybe it's that I don't love you enough to stay."
Agony jackknifed through him. "I see," he said quietly.
She turned away. Her loosened hair spilled over her averted face and shoulder: a barrier of dark silk covering her eyes and heart as effectively as a shield. "Just leave it—please. I don't want to hurt you, but there's nothing left to say."
She was right. He'd said all he could. if he opened his mouth now, he'd only come out with something wrong—something stupid, needy and pathetic like, "if you change your mind—even in fifty years' time—I'll be waiting."
But she knew that; they both knew. What had he ever done but want her, love her, wait for her? She was all he'd ever wanted, all his heart had known, even when another woman carried his son.
He turned away, tired to his soul.
"I should leave now," she said quietly.
He couldn't stand it. "Don't go. Not tonight. If you have to go, go tomorrow. Just give me this last night. Let me love you one more time."
A little silence. "It probably isn't smart," she muttered huskily, with all the longing in his own heart.
"To hell with being smart. I need you." He wheeled back, taking her hand and placing it on his cheek, letting all the heartache inside him fill his eyes. "I'll be what you want me to be tomorrow. I'll smile for Tani. I'll follow your lead, agree with anything you say. If you want me to lie to her I'll try to do it. I'll say goodbye, let you find what you need." His voice cracked. "Just give me tonight. It might be the last time I touch you, hold you, love you. Please, Tess. Just one last night."
"Yes, oh, yes," she breathed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips seeking his with tenderness, beauty, trust—
But not forever. Not forever.
With that first touch, his heart cracked open.
He kissed her with all the desperation inside him, all the love he felt for her—the love she wished he didn't feel. He loosened her hair, held her close, sipping at the sweetness of her lips with unending hunger. He kissed her over and over, touching her skin with every part of him—breathing in the fresh-washed scent of rain-drenched spring flowers, drinking in the feel of her, the lithe grace, the softness, the textures, the light and shadow. The wildness and blazing fire hidden deep inside her that made her unique, unforgettable, Tessa.
This was their last night together. This could be the final time he ever made love to the woman he loved, would always love, with all his heart and soul.
And too late, he knew the truth: whether or not she could give him children made no difference. She was his wife, his life and heart, the fire in his soul. Having even one child with another woman now would be sacrilege to him.
Clothes shed, falling into a huddled heap at their feet. He bent to her small, tip-t
ilted breasts, worshipping at the beauty he found there, loving the little high-pitched gasps she gave, as if in never-ending surprise he could arouse her so.
"No, mulgu," he whispered, as she tugged him toward the bed. "If this is our last night, I want to take in all of you I can. Let me look at you, touch you."
"Ah, Jirrah," she cried, quivering. "I wish—I wish—"
He gazed up at her as he lowered to his knees. "Let's forget about tomorrow, except in seeing Tani. This night lasts forever."
Her hair fell over her face. "Yes, ngaya jirrah," she murmured, soft and husky. "Tonight is forever."
The anguish was savage, but he held it back. With gentle hands on her waist, he kissed her ribs, belly, the dimples inside her hipbones he'd always loved. He caressed her back, his lips drifting down, oh, so slowly, to kiss the soft skin inside her thighs; a tender trail to her knees, calves, ankles, feet. Laying her on the bed, he knelt beside her as one in worship, kissing her arch, instep and toes, caressing her legs, showing her with adoring touch the simple truth: no matter where she went, what she chose to do with her life, he'd always, always love her—till death did them part. He belonged to her, heart and soul: the love of his life. No other woman would ever be Tess, would ever be the mother of his children. If he couldn't have her, he'd live the rest of his life alone.
"Jirrah!" she cried aloud.
She'd cried out his name, not in fulfillment, in need or yearning, but in wonder. In tenderness. In savage pain. As if she loved him … but she didn't. He'd asked for a lifetime together, but she'd only given him tonight.
He rose to his feet and straddled her, letting his palms and fingers taste her skin as he watched her face, entranced by her vivid, glowing crooked beauty.
Then her hand touched his chest. "Jirrah?" She sounded stunned—horrified. He closed his eyes. Damn. He'd forgotten the rings.
He looked at her shocked face as she held her wedding ring in her fingers, the simple, old-fashioned weaving of white and rose gold. "I was keeping it for you," he muttered defensively. "But if you don't want the lifetime of love and faith that comes with it, you can't have it back. I'm keeping it."
She dropped her hand, and the rings on their chain fell back to his chest. "Why?" she whispered still, as if she couldn't speak. "Why?"
"We promised forever, until we died. I suppose it's good one of us meant it." He held her gaze, his flat, defiant. "And one day I'm going to tell Tani that her dad loves her mother. That he always did, and always will."
She closed her eyes, but, before her lids closed, he saw the anguish in them—the searing regret. "How did you get it?"
"Beller sent it to me in lockup after Tani was born. He said it was all I'd have of you, since you didn't want it—or me—anymore."
"It disappeared when I was out of it, after they took Tani away. Cameron was so jealous that I still wanted to wear it. I figured he'd tossed it on the road. I hated him even more after that." Her eyes opened, searching his in amazement, wonder, humility. "And you kept it. Hating me, believing I'd betrayed you, you still kept it."
He smiled self-mockingly. "I never hated you, Tess. I hated what I thought you'd done to Tani, to me. I hated the power you still held over me. That I couldn't stop myself from wanting you to come back to me." He shrugged. "These rings were my reminder that, no matter what you'd done, once upon a time, you'd promised love and fidelity, trust and forever to me."
Watching her closely, he saw the struggle inside her, and willed her to speak, with all his heart. Trust me, Tess. Tell me you love me, and I can forget about having kids. Tell me you want us to be together for life, my wild swan, because there will never be another woman for me.
Slowly she opened her eyes … and the shutters come up, the barriers within her smile he'd fought so hard to break down. "Tomorrow will come too soon. I promised you tonight—all night. That's one promise I can keep."
The disappointment cut him like a knife. He wanted to run from the rejections she kept giving him every time he bared his soul. He wanted to pull the ragged shards of his pride together and get out of here. But Tess wouldn't follow him as Belinda had, begging him to come back. He'd given himself to her on a platter, and she'd thrown the gift away. So he'd take tonight, and damn her for the death of his heart. No more words. No more begging.
He removed the chain from around his neck. Yeah, one of his damn stupid symbolic gestures—but he couldn't stand their wedding rings, symbols of love and eternal union, becoming a barrier between them as they made love.
He lowered himself onto her and, with a hot, hungry kiss, entered her, touched her, caressed her, loved her. Felt her shudders of need, heard her nameless cries of release. He made love to her all night, over and over again, without a word.
As did she. No words. No promises. Only this. He'd gambled with his soul for her love, and lost. So he'd take all he could have of her. Just this night. One last time.
Until the dawn.
He fell into the sleep of total exhaustion near daybreak.
And then, only then, did Tessa let her guard down. She lay beside him, caressing his face, brushing his hair from his brow. When he mumbled her name, she lifted his head to her breast and held him close. "Goodbye, ngaya jirrah." Her tears wet his cheek as she whispered goodbye.
* * *
Chapter 19
« ^ »
Tessa unbuckled her seat belt, drew a shaking breath and said, "Well, we should go in."
He nodded, unbuckling his own belt.
She gulped. He'd barely spoken a word since last night. He wasn't rude or angry; he treated her with unfailing kindness and courtesy, putting her needs first.
He'd simply withdrawn from her—and it hurt.
She understood why. Last night had almost killed her. His incredible, giving love tested her resolve to the limit, wringing her heart's blood with its anguish. But she'd passed the test—thanks to a stark memory from her time with Cameron.
Sometimes love isn't enough.
She couldn't ask him to give up his dream. And one day Jirrah would understand what she'd done and why—when he was happy again, in his house with a new wife and his six or seven kids.
She walked down the dirt path to the old green house where the Jones family lived, feeling him right behind her, watching out for signs of Cameron's presence.
Even now, her sweet Galahad watched over her, cared for her, wore her ring around his neck. Eternal love and fidelity.
She had to pray it would be otherwise, for his sake.
She knocked on the door, her heart pounding a tattoo so strong it hurt her ribs. She waited, knowing that if Tani was out playing it would take Vincent or Esther a while to answer the door; neither of them were very mobile.
Then the door opened. "Tessa!" Esther Jones's round, honest brown face beamed as she opened the door. "Come on in! Tani will be so glad you came."
Tessa moistened her lips. "Esther, this is—a good friend of mine, Jirrah McLaren."
Esther held out her hand. "I knew a man by that name once—he was one of the Awabakal people, from near Newcastle. He was a first-class boxer and rodeo rider."
"And don't forget the quickest sheep shearer this side of the black stump." Jirrah grinned. "He was my grandfather."
"You look a lot like he did at your age." Esther's smile filled with the genuine pleasure of finding the Koori way of bonding with another Koori: family connection. "He was a good man. It's nice to meet you, Jirrah. Come on in."
After she and Jirrah shook hands, they all walked in to the simple, plain-furnished living room, and sat down.
They sat side by side on the sofa, but not touching; Jirrah made sure of it, sitting a good six inches from her. Aching for the unconditional support, the tender touches he'd given her just yesterday, she started. "Esther—"
"Would you like a cup of tea?"
"I would," Jirrah replied, smiling at the elderly, sick woman. "Thank you."
Tessa shook her head dumbly.
When Est
her returned with tea and a plate filled with cakes, Vincent was with her, huffing and puffing. "Sorry to not be here when you came," he said after shaking Jirrah's hand and speaking with affection and respect of the first Jirrah. "It's holidays, as you know, and our little girl's got me on the run, as usual."
"You sound out of breath," Tessa replied, smiling. "What's Tani up to today?"
"Making adjustments to her latest tree house." The chubby old man grinned, showing a gap in his teeth. "She's working out how thick the wood needs to be to take me on it as well as her."
Jirrah laughed. "She sounds kike a clever kid."
"A handful is what she is." Vincent beamed, the proud grandpa. "So, is this just a social visit, Tessa, or do you have plans for our little wildcat today?"
Tessa pressed her lips together for a moment. "Actually, I have something to tell you. Something I had no idea of until yesterday. You probably won't believe that once I tell you why I'm here, but—"
"You haven't been transferred?" Esther almost choked on her tea. "Tani will be heartbroken."
"No, no," she reassured them. "I'm here as long as they'll have me, I hope. If all goes well."
Vincent frowned. "Then what's wrong?"
She drew another calming breath, but her wits had deserted her. She couldn't recall a word of her rehearsed speech. All she could remember was plain, bald truth. "I discovered yesterday that I'm Tani's natural mother—and Jirrah is her father."
Esther dropped her cup and saucer with a gasp. The remains of the hot tea splashed on her legs. Jirrah ran to the kitchen, coming back in seconds with a cool cloth, which he pressed against the reddening patches.
Esther didn't even notice. She pointed at Tessa with a shaking finger. "Is—is this some kind of sick joke?"
"That's what I thought, when my father gave me the paper yesterday with Tani's name on it." Her hands clenched and unclenched on her lap. "I didn't believe it either at first." She handed them Tani's birth certificate and adoption papers. "But here's the proof. We're Tani's birth parents." She handed them her driver's license, proving she was Theresa Rachel Beller, mother of the child adopted by their son and his wife.
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