Paper Rose

by Diana Palmer

  His black eyes searched over her one last time before they met hers. “Goodbye, Cecily,” he said curtly.

  She kept smiling. “Goodbye, Tate.”

  He closed the door behind him. The artificial smile went away, leaving her drained of energy and emotion. She sat down wearily behind her desk and caught her breath. The skirt was so tight that she couldn’t fasten the button, so she let the zipper down under her overblouse and breathed in fresh air. She put a hand on her slightly swollen belly and smiled tenderly. It didn’t take much imagination to understand why her waistline had increased. Here was another secret that Tate didn’t know. But this was her own precious secret. She wouldn’t share it. Even if he never forgave her, she had a tiny part of him that would last her all her life. She had his child.

  “It’s okay,” she thought to the tiny creature under her heart. “I want you and I’ll love you. We’ll be fine…just the two of us.”

  Chapter Ten

  Cecily bought two new skirts and some sweaters that were oversize to wear with them. She couldn’t afford to let Leta find out what she suspected about the cause of her widening waistline. This was one secret she didn’t dare share.

  Leta was subdued when she arrived. “My son hates me,” she said sadly when they were in the kitchen fixing a light supper in Cecily’s apartment. It was Tuesday, and Cecily was going in late the next morning to work. “He was furious when he called me on the phone.”

  “He hates all of us,” Cecily reminded her with a warm smile. “He’ll get over it.”

  “I’ve done nothing right in my life,” came the grim reply.

  “There are erasers on pencils because people aren’t perfect,” Cecily commented.

  “Yes, well, you haven’t messed up your family the way I have.”

  Cecily could have argued that point. She sliced onion and tomato and radishes into the lettuce in the salad she was making and prayed that the queasiness she’d felt lately wouldn’t reappear at an inopportune time. People who called it “morning sickness” must be normal, she mused, because hers came more often at night and in the evenings. She was tired a lot, too. She’d bought one of those home-pregnancy tests and was trying to work up enough nerve to use it. She wanted a child so badly…

  “Cecily!” Leta exclaimed suddenly, gaping at her. “Cecily, you’ve cut your beautiful long hair off!”

  She’d wondered when Leta would notice. She’d had her long locks snipped the day after Tate walked out of her life. It was like a new beginning. She felt the pixie haircut with a rueful smile. Actually the beautician had said that it suited her, and it did. It gave her oval face a new maturity and the makeup she’d learned to use had highlighted the attractive features in her face. She’d made one last concession: a new kind of contact lenses that she could actually wear without getting eye infections. She was so different that Leta had to have been really devastated and withdrawn not to have noticed it before now.

  “I’ve made some minor improvements,” Cecily said with a grin. She took the fettuccine Alfredo out of the oven, along with some apple pastries she’d made. “By the way, I didn’t mention that we’re having another dinner guest. You don’t mind?”

  Leta shook her head. “I like Colby.”

  That was a nice assumption, and it was going to save Cecily’s life for the time being. She glanced at Leta in her pretty autumn-leaf patterned skirt with the cream sweater over it. Her hair was done in a complicated topknot. She did look her age, but she had traces of beauty in her high-cheekboned face and her dark eyes were full of life, even when she was sad.

  “Do I look okay?” Leta asked worriedly.

  “You look lovely.”

  The doorbell rang. Cecily turned back to the stove deliberately. “Could you let him in?” she asked innocently. “I can’t leave the Alfredo.”

  “Sure.”

  Leta walked to the door and opened it with a ready smile for Colby Lane. And found herself looking straight into the eyes of a man she hadn’t seen face-to-face in thirty-six years.

  Matt Holden matched her face against his memories of a young, slight, beautiful woman whose eyes loved him every time they looked at him. His heart spun like a cartwheel in his chest.

  “Cecily said it was Colby,” Leta said unsteadily.

  “Strange. She phoned me and asked if I was free this evening.” His broad shoulders shrugged and he smiled faintly. “I’m free every evening.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the life of a playboy widower,” Leta said caustically.

  “My wife was a vampire,” he said. “She sucked me dry of life and hope. Her drinking wore me down. Her death was a relief for both of us. Do I get to come in?” he added, glancing down the hall. “I’m going to collect dust if I stand out here much longer, and I’m hungry. A sack of McDonald’s hamburgers and fries doesn’t do a lot for me.”

  “I hear it’s a presidential favorite,” Cecily mused, joining them. “Come in, Senator Holden.”

  “It was Matt before,” he pointed out. “Or are you trying to butter me up for a bigger donation to the museum?”

  She shrugged. “Pick a reason.”

  He looked at Leta, who was uncomfortable. “Well, at least you can’t hang up on me here. You’ll be glad to know that our son isn’t speaking to me. He isn’t speaking to you, either, or so he said,” he added. “I suppose he won’t talk to you?” he added to Cecily.

  “He said goodbye very finally, after telling me that I was an idiot to think he’d change his mind and want to marry me just because he turned out to have mixed blood,” she said, not relating the shocking intimacy that had prefaced his remarks.

  “I’ll punch him for that,” Matt said darkly.

  “Ex-special forces,” Leta spoke up with a faint attempt at humor, nodding toward Matt. “He was in uniform when we went on our first date.”

  “You wore a white cotton dress with a tiered skirt,” he recalled, “and let your hair down. Hair…” He turned back to Cecily and grimaced. “Good God, what did you do that for?”

  “Tate likes long hair, that’s what I did it for,” she said, venom in her whole look. “I can’t wait for him to see it, even if I have to settle for sending him a photo!”

  “I hope you never get mad at me,” Matt said.

  “Fat chance. You two come on into the dining room. I’ve got supper on the table.”

  Matt was a little awkward. So was Leta. But after a few minutes, the food and the nice bottle of wine Cecily had bought to go with supper had loosened them up a little bit.

  “You aren’t drinking?” Matt asked.

  “Irritable stomach,” she said, which was the truth. “I can’t handle acids these days, whether they’re in wine or citrus fruits.”

  “Tough,” he said. He looked at Leta with soft, dark eyes. “Remember the oranges that Red Elk used to sell at the trading post? They were always the sweetest ones, especially around the holidays.”

  “I remember.”

  He sighed with sadness. “I’m sorry for the wasted years. I’m sorry that I cheated you—and myself.

  “I’d just come home from the war with medals and aspirations, and she had a rich daddy,” he said with bitter cynicism. “I married her in a small ceremony and started planning my senate campaign. Then I met you again and realized what a fool I’d been. I meant to tell you I was married, but I put it off too late. Like now.”

  “It’s history,” Leta said with genuine sorrow. “We can’t go back and change things.”

  “Will you believe me if I tell you I wish I could?” he asked gently.

  She smiled a little more warmly. “Yes, but it does no good.”

  He picked up her hand and saw the ring that he’d given her so long ago, still on her finger.

  “I never take it off,” she said self-consciously.

  He lifted it to his chiseled mouth and kissed it softly. “You gave mine to Tate.”

  “Yes. His hands are the same size yours are. He doesn’t know about the ring,�
�� she added. “Any more than he knew about you. I’m sorry. I was doing what I thought was best.”

  He let go of her hand. “I realize that. Funny, there was always a sort of pleasure in having Tate around, even when he irritated the hell out of me. We argued, but I always knew where I stood with him. And the one time he really needed help, he came to me,” he recalled. “He and Pierce Hutton and Brianne, the girl Hutton married, came to me with an Arab refugee who was able to blow the horn on a wicked little insurrection that could have dragged this country into a war. I called a friend at the television station and pulled their irons out of the fire.” He smiled a little with memory. “Imagine that. I’d never thought of it before. There were other avenues he could have taken. But he came to me.”

  “He may not like you,” Cecily murmured dryly, “but he’s always respected you. He thinks you’re arrogant and stubborn,” she added wickedly.

  “We all know who he gets that from, don’t we?” he asked, and there was a note of pride in his deep voice.

  Nobody argued with him. He stayed a long time, sitting on the sofa with Leta while they discussed people they’d known, places they’d seen together. They behaved as if the past thirty-odd years hadn’t even happened. Minutes later, they were holding hands. They talked about Tate, but sadly. Cecily, observing, could only imagine how hard it was for them to have had to tell their son their secret. She touched her abdomen lightly and worried about her own secret. History was likely to repeat itself with her.

  “He made her mad,” Leta ventured when Matt had tried and failed to get Cecily’s attention. “She’s in a snit.”

  “Nice choice of words,” he agreed, smiling at Cecily, who came out of her trance with a laugh.

  “I’m not mad at him,” she said. “Well, I’m not terribly mad. He’s had a blow. It will take time for him to get over it.”

  “More time than we may have left, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his Rolex, grimaced and got to his feet. “I’ve got to give a colleague hell about a stand he’s taking on the new budget. Sorry, but he’s a hard guy to reach except late at night.”

  Cecily shook hands. “I’m glad you came. We’ll have to do it again.”

  “You can both come to my place tomorrow night. I can’t cook, but I have a chef who’s wonderful with chicken. How about it? I’ll even send the car for you.”

  “Isn’t it risky right now?” Cecily asked worriedly.

  “It’s all out in the open,” he told her. “They can do what the hell they like with the information. I’ve got people working for Tom Black Knife and his thieving grandson is already behind bars. Tate knows the truth. Leta and I can take the heat. Can’t we?” he asked the older woman with a smile that wrapped her up in cotton.

  Years of taking all sorts of punishment were in the lines of her face, but she smiled back with her heart in her eyes. “I can take anything.”

  He nodded, the same pride in his eyes when he looked at her that he felt about his son. “Yes.”

  “We’ll come.”

  “Bring Colby if he shows up,” he added.

  “I don’t know where Colby is,” she said, frowning, because he’d been away a long time. “He said he was going to Arizona, but that was just before I left Wapiti. He wouldn’t have been there this long, surely.”

  “He’s probably out of the country,” came the reply, which was just a little too careless, but Cecily didn’t notice. “But if he shows up, he’s welcome.”

  “Thanks.” Cecily started clearing the table, a signal that Leta should see their guest out.

  Holden opened the door and impulsively pulled Leta out into the deserted hall with him, closing the door behind them.

  “Matt…” she protested.

  He jerked her into his arms and bent to kiss her with the pent-up hunger he’d felt for years. She felt just as she had all those years ago, she tasted like nectar. His arms enveloped her, his mouth demanded. She stiffened just for a minute and then sighed, and pushed closer, reaching around him to bring him near.

  Finally he lifted his head. His heartbeat was as audible as hers. He searched her misty eyes hungrily.

  “You gave me a child. You gave me a son.” He framed her face in his big, lean hands. “It wasn’t an affair, Leta. I loved you!”

  “I know that.” Tears stung her eyelids. “I loved you, too. But you were married. What could I say? She would have made you pay for Tate.”

  “And you. And Tate. But I’ve lost so much, honey, so many years.” He brushed away the tears. “Don’t cry. It’s all right. We lost each other for a little while, but we’re through being miserable. Neither of us will be alone now, and nothing will ever hurt you again, as long as there’s a breath in my body!”

  She couldn’t stop. It was funny, she hadn’t cried at all until now, bravely pressing back the pain of her son’s anger. But Matt was holding her and she wasn’t alone anymore. She laid her cheek against his jacket and gave in to the agony of all the lonely years without him, of Tate’s hostility.

  He dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. His own eyes were suspiciously bright. “You gave him my father’s name. Rene.”

  She smiled wetly. “Yes. I remember meeting him just once. I thought Tate should have his name.”

  “He moved back to Morocco after I got into the Senate. My mother was dead by then. He said he couldn’t stay in the house with Mavis when we moved to Maryland,” he said ruefully. “He hated her. He never really forgave me for letting you get away.”

  “Regrets,” she said, “do no good.”

  “I know. But you have to cauterize a wound before it will heal.” He smiled down at her. “I’ll expect you tomorrow night.”

  “Did you ever love her?” She had to know.

  “I grew fond of her, and I pitied her. She wasn’t lovable. Love was never the reason I married her. I made a huge mistake, Leta, and we’ve both suffered for it. Now our son is suffering, too. But I wouldn’t have known about him if this situation hadn’t arisen, would I?”

  She drew in a steadying breath. “I wanted to tell you. I was afraid. It had been too long. I thought you might hate me.”

  He shook his head. “I could never hate you. I have a pale idea of what you went through with your husband,” he returned. “Did you ever love him?”

  “I couldn’t,” she confessed. “He wasn’t lovable, either. He knew I was pregnant, although not who the father was, and he said he loved me enough to accept the child and me. He thought his love was strong enough to make up for Tate, but it wasn’t. And when he learned that he couldn’t father a child of his own, it made him cruel. He hated both of us in the end. Tate had a hard childhood.”

  Matt’s face had hardened. “I’m sorry for that. But it’s made him the man he is,” he said. “We’re all products of our hard times. Fire tempers steel.”

  “So they say.” She traced the lines of his face with her fingertips, relearning him by touch. “I thought of you while I lay alone in the darkness, with only Tate to console me when I felt lost and afraid.”

  “I thought of you,” he said. His eyes were blazing with feeling as they searched hers. “I’ve been alone, too. While she was alive. Since she died.”

  She nodded. “What a curse, to want only one person.”

  He drew her into his arms and kissed her again, hungrily. “What a glorious blessing, to want only one person and be wanted back, even after thirty-six long years,” he whispered.

  Eventually he left. Leta came back into the apartment with a swollen mouth and bright eyes.

  “So that’s how you knew,” Cecily said with pursed lips and twinkling eyes, remembering Leta’s knowing look after Cecily and Tate had been alone together in the living room that day at her house.

  “Huh?” Leta murmured, dazed.

  “Never mind. I’ll just finish up in the kitchen. We need an early night.”

  “Yes,” Leta said, her eyes full of dreams. “Tomorrow is going to be lovely.”

  It was. Leta and Ma
tt went over every inch of the house together while Cecily was given coffee on a silver tray in the living room. She begged off the tour, knowing that the two older people would enjoy having a little time together.

  What she didn’t know was that the first room they entered happened to be Matt’s, and that they barely had the presence of mind to lock the door before they fell across his big, king-size bed in a tangle of arms and legs and mouths.

  “In here…did you…with her?” she gasped as his mouth worked its way down her body.

  “Never in here,” he bit off. “Never with her. Never with…anyone!”

  While he was speaking, barely able to get words past his tight throat, he was stripping her. Her body was as soft and pretty and welcoming as it had been all those years ago. Her hands were working, too, moving fabric, tugging at fastenings.

  They kissed and touched and then laughed as stiff joints couldn’t quite cope with remembered positions. But he loved her as sweetly as he had in her teens, taking his time, coaxing her body into need, then hunger, then uninhibited passion.

  He kissed her as he possessed her, hearing her soft gasp as her body yielded to a man’s for the first time in years. He lifted his head and looked into her loving eyes and smiled.

  “Old people don’t make love, did you know?” he whispered as he began to move again, more gently. “I read it in a book.”

  Her fingers threaded through his thick, cool hair. “Stop reading books.”

  He had her hair down around her shoulders. He gathered it in one hand and brought it to his mouth as his body moved warmly, sensuously, on hers.

  She kissed his throat, letting her tongue slip against it. She felt his heartbeat stop and then accelerate. “I thought I remembered that you liked that,” she whispered. “And this…”

  He groaned.

  “Oh, yes.” She arched up to him, feeling his body surge down into hers in a fast, hard rhythm that very quickly lifted her right up off the bed. She gasped at the sensations that she’d forgotten she could feel.