Even to her the words sounded rehearsed and false.
"Have you told them about us?" he asked. "About our marriage?"
"No, I haven't. And I'm not planning to."
He raised his eyebrows. "Ever?"
"Not ever," she confirmed.
"Why not?"
She looked away so he couldn't read in her eyes what the sight of him was doing to her. And so that she could concentrate on framing her answer. Tilting her face toward the ceiling, she studied a crack she saw there. How exactly could she explain the conundrum that was her relationship with her parents? It would be far easier to explain the theory of relativity.
"My parents and I…" she began, then lapsed off as she searched for the right words. "We're not exactly close. A long time ago we made the decision to live independently of each other. They go their way, and I go mine. I only share with them the things they need to know. Since our marriage is temporary, I didn't feel it was something they needed to know. Believe me, it's better this way."
"So," Brady said, "you're not telling them in order to spare them a lot of unnecessary grief?"
She had to smile at the absurd notion that anything she did would cause her parents grief on anything other than a superficial level. "No. I'm not telling them in order to spare me a lot of unnecessary grief."
He smiled back at her, and her heart flip-flopped.
"What happens when they find out anyway?" he said. "People do talk, you know."
She grimaced, imagining the discussion that would result if they were to learn of her marriage. She'd endured similar "discussions" many times over the years. Her parents hadn't supported her when she'd minored in education. To their way of thinking, it served only to steal time from what was truly important, which was her chemistry studies. They hadn't supported her decision to act as Anna's guardian after Melinda's death. They most certainly hadn't supported her decision to open the day care center. Though they were brilliant scientists, emotionally they were as stunted in their growth as the bound feet of the Chinese women whose tradition had kept them in servitude for thousands of years. Haven's marrying Brady for Anna's sake was something they would never understand. To them, it would represent just one more failure on her part.
Haven had accepted long ago that she was a disappointment to them. It had been only in the last year or two that she'd stopped trying to curry their favor.
"I'll deal with that when the time comes," she said. "Can we change the subject please?"
"Okay. Why don't you tell me about you and Melinda?"
What Haven wanted to know was about Brady and Melinda. From the letter her friend had written, she knew they had met in a bar and had been together just that one night. But the knowing raised more questions than it answered. At this point, the only thing she was sure of was that Melinda had been certain Brady wouldn't be bothering Haven because he hadn't replied to the letter. Melinda had had no way of knowing he never received it.
"What do you want to know?" she asked quietly.
"For starters, how did you two meet?"
Haven struggled up on her elbows, the better to see his reaction to her words. "We met in boarding school, when we were six years old. One of the older, bigger girls was picking on me, and Melinda told her to stop. When she wouldn't, Melinda punched her in the nose. We were inseparable after that."
"Sounds like she was quite a character."
Memories washed over her, and Haven smiled. "She was an original. She was so rebellious she made James Dean look like a conformist. She liked to say that she never met a rule she didn't break."
"That must have landed her in trouble."
"Constantly."
"Funny," he said, "I don't see you with a person who flouts authority just for the hell of it."
"Melinda wasn't like that," Haven defended. "When she broke a rule, she had a reason for doing so. She was the most moral person I ever knew."
"Morality and rebellion don't normally go hand in hand."
"They did with her. You see, her rebellion had more to do with a sense of injustice than with the notion of just making trouble. When she saw something wrong, she felt it her duty to fix it."
"Like the way she evened the score with the girl who picked on you," he murmured.
Haven nodded. "Exactly. I think it was because of her guardians. Douglas and Pamela Zieglar are about as amoral as you can get, and she hated the thought that people might think she was like them. Whatever the reason, Melinda always owned up to everything she did, even when she didn't get caught. She was scrupulously honest and always faced up to her responsibilities."
"Now that," Brady drawled in a sarcastic voice, "is a rarity. Someone actually wanting to take responsibility for her actions."
Haven knew he was thinking of his childhood, of the way his parents had abandoned him and the way the foster care system had failed him.
"Not everybody walks away from responsibility," she said softly. "I don't. You don't. Melinda didn't. That makes at least three of us. I bet out of all the billions of people in the world, if we looked hard enough, we'd find a few more."
He ignored her comment. "What about you? Were you a rebel like Melinda?"
"Me?" She had to laugh, although to her ears the sound held a tinge of bitterness. "No, I wasn't a rebel. I was the ever-dutiful daughter. I was so boring people yawned just looking at me."
He raked his gaze over her from head to toe, and her skin heated up about ten degrees. "'Boring' is not a word I would use to describe you," he said.
She felt warmth crawl up her neck and into her cheeks. "Thanks … I think."
"So," he said, "what does an ever-dutiful daughter do?"
Haven sat up and crossed her legs Indian-style. "She lets herself be shipped off to boarding school without a word of complaint and without shedding a tear, although her heart is breaking and she's so scared her knees knock. She works hard and gets good grades. She doesn't break any rules."
"Does she also get a degree in chemistry to please her parents?"
Haven hesitated a moment before answering. He was too perceptive by far. If he could read her so easily, how long would it be before he discovered her growing feelings for him? She'd just have to work hard to see that he didn't.
"Yes," she admitted, "she does." She cleared her throat. "But we were talking about Melinda, not me. And I'm still more than a little confused. She wasn't into one-night stands. In fact, I'm surprised she was even in that bar. She didn't drink."
"Well, she was drinking that night," Brady said. "Heavily. So was I."
"Did you approach her, or did she approach you?"
He sat up and wearily ran a hand through his hair. "I don't remember who said hello first. Does it really matter? All I know is, I glanced across the bar and there she was. And she looked as desperately alone and torn apart as I felt."
"You were upset that night?" She kept her voice as neutral as possible, afraid to let him see how important his answer was to her, afraid that he might go back inside himself and not answer her at all.
He drew in a heavy breath and gazed deeply into her eyes, as if searching for something. "Yes, I was. You see," he said slowly, "I'd just gone to visit my birth mother. And she'd tossed me out on my ear."
Haven stilled. It was the first time he'd willingly offered anything personal about himself. It was just exhaustion, she cautioned against the hope blooming in her heart. No breakthrough had been achieved. He was just too tired to realize he'd let his guard down.
At least now she knew the key. Keep the man a victim of sleep deprivation and he'd tell her anything she wanted to know.
"I'm so sorry," she said when she could find her voice. "That must have hurt."
His lips twisted in that mocking half grin of his that held entirely too much appeal. "Don't be sorry. It was entirely my fault. I was old enough to know better."
"There's no shame in wanting to believe the best about people," she said softly. "No shame in hoping that maybe things could b
e different."
"Isn't there?" he challenged.
What could she say to him that wouldn't sound like a platitude? People are inherently good? If you expect the best out of people, they usually give it to you?
"So you went to the bar after seeing your mother."
He nodded. "As you've probably already guessed, my goal was to drink myself senseless."
"And that's where you met Melinda."
"Yes."
"And she was drinking," she murmured to herself. It still didn't make any sense, until she remembered the date on the letter. Then everything clicked.
"I think I understand now," she told him. "That must have been the day Melinda found out she was sick. She was at the bar for the same reason you were, to forget. She told me she'd thought about ending it then, but that something had happened to make her change her mind. That something must have been you, Brady."
He shook his head in denial. "You give me too much credit. I was too absorbed in my own pain to be of much use to anyone else."
"But you spent the night together. You two made love. You conceived a child."
A dozen emotions flitted across his face, and she wished she could read them all. "We didn't make love. We barely spoke. All we knew was that we were both hurting. Instinctively, we reached out to each other in the only way we knew how. We … comforted each other. I don't even remember what she looks like."
"Don't move," Haven ordered, jumping up and crossing to the oak armoire that held her television set. She rummaged inside the cabinet until her fingers found the tape she sought Grabbing the remote control, she inserted the tape into the VCR before returning to the love seat.
"After Melinda died, I gathered up all the pictures I could find and took them to a photographer. He put this film together for Anna, so that she would have a way of knowing her mother." Haven bit her lip, then said, "I haven't watched it yet."
The look in his eyes told her he understood the reason for her hesitation. "Are you sure you're ready?"
She drew a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes. I want you to know her the way I do."
She pressed the play button. For a second, the television screen went black. Then music filled the room, soft and haunting, as a series of photographs slowly rolled across the screen. The first images were of an attractive young man and woman beaming in obvious pride as their newborn grew into a delightful toddler.
"That's Melinda and her parents," Haven said. "They died in a plane crash when she was two."
There was an obvious gap in time as the next picture to appear showed a group of school-age children.
"Let me guess," Brady said. "The Zieglars weren't into photography." The irony in his voice was plain.
"Not of Melinda anyway," she confirmed. "I'm sure they have plenty of pictures of their own children. This photo was taken at Willowhurst."
"The boarding school you both attended?"
Haven nodded. "It's our first-grade class picture. Melinda's the one on the far right, bottom row."
"Who's standing next to her?" Brady asked. "The little girl Melinda has her arm around. The one with the black eye and the skinned knees."
Haven remembered that day vividly, her first day at the school. "Me."
"I thought so. How'd you get the black eye?"
"Julie Hodgkiss hit me."
"And the skinned knees?"
"She tripped me."
"Is she the one Melinda punched?"
Haven nodded.
"Good," he said. "I'm glad she did. If I'd been there, I would have punched her, too."
His obvious concern filled her with warmth as Haven continued to narrate while the pictures rolled across the screen. Together, she and Brady watched Melinda grow up. There were prom pictures and graduation pictures, both high school and college. There were also pictures of Haven and Melinda that had been taken on their trip to the Grand Canyon two years before Melinda became ill.
Then came the footage Haven had been dreading. She'd filmed it the morning of Anna's birth. It was the only videotape on the cassette.
Haven caught her breath when Melinda's face filled the screen. She was in a hospital room after giving birth to Anna by cesarean section.
As weak and frail as she'd been, Melinda had still glowed with the delight of new motherhood. Emotion caused Haven's throat to close while she watched her friend unwrap the blanket from around Anna and exclaim over the perfection of her daughter's ten fingers and toes.
When the television screen went black, they sat for a long moment in silence. "That's all," Haven said thickly as she rose to turn the television off. "Melinda died a week later."
She didn't realize she was crying, or that Brady was by her side, until he reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek. Embarrassed, she looked away.
"Don't," he said roughly. "Don't turn away from me, Haven."
She tried to move out of his reach, but his arms went around her, stopping her. Blindly, she moved into them as she fought to hold back the tears.
"I miss her so much," she said against his chest.
"I know," he soothed, his lips brushing her forehead in the instant before his chin settled on top of her head. "But she's not gone. She's still with you. She'll always be with you. You see her every time you look at Anna."
Surprise made her pull back in his arms. If there was one person in the world who she would have sworn would not speak those words of hope, it was Brady Ross.
When she saw the compassionate understanding on his face, it was too much. The floodgates opened, and she sobbed her heart out. When her racking sobs had turned to intermittent hiccups, his shirt was wet from her tears, and she clung to him, weak and exhausted.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"For what?"
"For getting you all wet."
His voice held humor and a tenderness she'd never heard before. "I'll dry."
Haven had no strength left to protest when he gathered her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa. Stretching out beside her, he pulled her close once again.
"I'm glad you were there for Melinda," she murmured in a sleepy voice, feeling warm and cozy and safe in his embrace. "I think you saved her life that night."
"You're wrong, Haven." His voice was muffled in her hair. "She saved mine."
* * *
She was asleep.
Brady watched as Haven's chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. Soft and warm, her breath brushed across his throat like a feather. In repose, her face was serene. There was no visible evidence of the grief that had tormented her a short while ago.
The weight of her head was making his arm go numb, but he didn't want to move. Not just yet. A feeling of tenderness and a longing he couldn't identify swelled his heart as he gazed at her.
He liked the way she looked, snug in his arms. He liked the way she felt, curled trustingly against him. He liked the way she smelled, like roses and apples. For a forbidden moment he allowed himself to wonder how it would be to hold her this way every night.
Brady felt like a rope in a tug-of-war contest as his fear that he would always be alone warred with his fear of letting anyone close. He wanted to reach out to Haven with a fierceness that shook him. If he did, he knew she would reach back.
And he would be lost.
h the past, he'd risked life and limb—first, on the streets during his reckless youth, and later, while serving his country. But during all that time of risk taking, the one thing he'd always refused to endanger was his heart.
With the exception of his adoptive father, and of Pete and Eileen, he'd always been careful not to get close enough to another person to care. He'd learned at a young age that the fewer people you cared about, the less you could be hurt and disillusioned. Already, his daughter had blasted a chink in the armor surrounding his heart. And now Haven was close to doing the same thing. Dangerously close.
The choice was simple: stay and be hurt, or leave and feel the emptiness. Since he couldn't leave, at least not until Ann
a's future was assured, he'd have to be very careful.
His years in near-solitary confinement were easily worth ten years on an analyst's couch, he figured. Brady understood the way he was, and why. And though intellectually he'd accepted the arguments of those who claimed it was never too late to change, emotionally he knew he was a hopeless case. He was the way he was, and there was no changing him.
What he didn't understand was why he'd confided in Haven the way he had. Before tonight, he'd never told anyone about his meeting with his birth mother, not even Pete. The surprise he'd seen in Haven's blue eyes when he'd told her about the visit had equaled his own when the words had spilled out of his mouth.
Perhaps it was because she'd revealed so much about herself, and, in his exhausted state, he'd felt compelled to reciprocate. Or perhaps it was simply because she was more like him than he'd realized. Now that he thought about it, their similarities were striking. Neither one of them had close ties to their biological parents. They'd each had to rely on themselves to make their own way in the world.
There was one major difference, though. Haven was a hell of a lot braver than he'd ever be. There were those, Brady knew, who thought of him as a hero because of his exploits in the military. But Haven was the true hero. She allowed herself to believe in the goodness in people.
No matter how hard he tried, Brady couldn't make himself do the same.
What he could do, in the dark of night, was permit himself this one little weakness. In the dark of night, he could believe whatever he wanted, whatever he wished. He could believe she was his, and that what they felt for each other would last.
But after night came the day. And in the light of day, he knew better than to fool himself.
With a sigh, he shifted his numb arm. Then he lowered his head against hers and closed his eyes.
* * *
Chapter 9
« ^ »
Haven had a crick in her neck. But when she tried to move, something big and hard and very warm was in her way. She opened her eyes and saw stripes. Blue and white stripes. Brows furrowing in concentration, she tried to figure out what the stripes were.
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