by Val Daniels
She watched as his doubt reared its ugly head. "Why me?" he demanded skeptically, taking a long stride toward her.
"It's a terrible job," she muttered sarcastically, "but someone has to do it."
"Damn it, Jillian—"
"Why shouldn't I choose you to take my virginity? You were willing. If you aren't now, why don't you just leave? I don't see any chains holding you here. No strings. See?" She raised her hands, spreading them to show there was nothing attached. "I knew what to expect. You warned me at the cabin. Remember?"
"But I didn't know… I assumed Harrison…" He stopped and raked a weary hand through his thick hair.
"He didn't." Jillian's knees felt weak. She slumped down onto the bed. "Please, just go, Matt." She didn't want him to see her cry, and if he didn't get out of there soon, he was going to.
"I guess I should be glad I found out in time."
Jillian looked at him blankly.
"It could have been after it was too late, when the wronged virgin showed up pregnant. I'd be expected to 'do the right thing.' Isn't that how it works? It has for centuries."
For the first time in their brief acquaintance Jillian hated Matthew Carson, hated him as passionately as she loved him. "You surely weren't planning to go through with this without protection?" she asked angrily.
"You probably would have told me you were on the pill and I didn't need to worry about it."
Jillian's face turned a pasty, sickly pale and Matt groaned.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He stared blindly down at his hands. "I know you wouldn't do that."
He didn't move even when Jillian came closer. He stared at her, his own brand of self-torture reflected in his face.
"I don't understand any of this," she whispered. "You said that two consenting adults don't have to say 'I love you' to make love. I accepted that. I haven't asked for a human sacrifice. What did I do wrong?"
He groaned again and buried his head in his hands. "You're giving and warm, more than I dreamed anyone could be," he said softly.
"Then what—?"
He touched her for the first time since he'd left the bed, gripping her shoulders between his palms. "I'm not a giver, I'm a taker. But for all my selfish ways, I do feel guilt."
"That's your own fault."
"Do you think I want to feel this way?" Matt let his hands wander idly up and down her arms, as if he needed the contact. "Why do you think I've always limited my extracurricular activities to women who're playing the same game I am? No expectations. No excess emotion. Just pure and simple selfishness. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours." He dropped his hands as if she was burning him. "That's not what was about to happen here. You don't fit the category, Jake. I feel responsible for you and you deserve more than I can give."
"Shouldn't that—"
He interrupted, berating himself. "With Harrison out of the picture there was nothing to stop me from having you. I convinced myself you were playing the same game because I wanted to believe it."
He threaded his fingers through the ends of her tumbled hair, watching the movement, avoiding her eyes.
Surely there was something she could do. Something she could say. She loved him. Anything was worth a try. "I can play your game," she offered.
He groaned as if she'd wounded him. Her fingers itched to erase the sad lines from his face, to turn the pain in his eyes back into delight.
"I don't want you to. We'd both come out losers. And it's already starting. I'm feeling guilty and trying to convince myself that maybe I wouldn't hurt you." His jaw clenched. "You're hurting, and offering to change your expectations so that I won't feel guilty. I don't want you to become hard and cynical. I don't want that for you."
"But I still want you. More than I've ever wanted anything in my life," she added, laying a conciliatory hand against the warmth of his bare chest.
"Don't do this, Jake," he begged helplessly.
Her inhibitions crashed down around her frozen feet. She curled her toes into the carpet and leaned into him. "I want you, Matt."
He studied her eyes, then seemed to become fascinated with her lips. His drew closer as if pulled by a magnet.
"Please?" she sighed, and his mouth met hers in a bittersweet kiss that felt like goodbye.
She clung to him, loving him with every bit of strength she possessed, willing him to feel her love.
Then she said the dreaded "l" word. She had to tell him how she felt. How could she not say it? He needed to know.
She wasn't surprised when he gently disengaged himself from their tangle. A few minutes later she heard him let himself out her front door.
This time, she knew he wouldn't be back.
CHAPTER TEN
"Come with me, Jillian." Karen's voice took on an uncharacteristic whine. "It's only one day. And we're just starting spring break so I refuse to believe you have homework that won't wait."
Jillian attempted to think of yet another way to tell Karen no. Maybe she should try the truth this time; she'd tried everything else. But having finally convinced Karen to leave the subject of Matt alone, Jillian hated to bring him up.
Karen played on her friend's sympathy relentlessly. "Don't make me drive down there by myself."
"What's the matter? If I don't go along with you, you won't be able to practice your verbal arm-twisting, and you'll flunk Badgering the Witness 101?"
Karen lifted one shoulder and said airily, "Something like that."
"You forgot to mention that you want someone to do your dirty work when we get to the other end."
"It's only fair. You were the last one to use the cabin."
Jillian winced. "Matt was," she corrected.
"Which finally brings us to the point. You need to go back and deal with the whole affair."
"It wasn't an affair." She inhaled deeply. "I can't go back, Karen. I can't afford to start that whole miserable merry-go-round again with a trip to memory lane."
"Going back is just what you need," Karen crowed triumphantly. "Get Matt out of your system once and for all. Put the past behind, face your fears and all that jazz. Why do you think I'm so set on you going? I care about you, Jilly."
"You've amazed me, starting classes at Washburn, refusing to mope around. But you're determined to stay detached from everything except your books. Everything you do is so emotionless. It's not healthy. You need to do something so we can have the old Jilly back. I really miss her, kiddo."
Jillian shifted uncomfortably.
"A good place to start would be back at the lake. It'll be different there now. The trees will be sprouting tiny buds, the lake is thawed out, there's no snow. You won't even recognize the place." Sensing Jillian's hesitation, Karen continued her coaxing. "All right. How 'bout if I promise not to make you help me? Just keep me company. If it's too painful, cross my heart—" she made the motions "—I'll turn right around and bring you back."
Jillian looked at her friend's determined expression and gave up her futile attempt to win an argument with a law student—especially this one. She bowed to the inevitable, but not gracefully. "Oh, all right, but don't think you have me fooled. You just want slave labor."
"You won't be sorry," Karen promised and set off on one of her tangents. "I want you to come to the lake with us this summer. Jim and I have big plans for every weekend, since I have to get out into the real world this fall. I can't stand the thought of you missing all the fun because of some silly hang-up."
So, that was the legacy from her brief acquaintance with Matt, Jillian mused, Karen's chatter becoming background buzz. A silly hang-up? Funny, it didn't seem so silly.
Could she ever think of her feelings for Matt as silly? Was hurting like crazy silly? At least, thanks to the passage of time, she now felt merely numb.
Karen was right about one thing: it was silly to keep thinking about him. Perhaps Karen was also right about the way to stop.
Jillian glanced over at her friend, who was still talking a mile a minu
te. What would Karen think if she knew Matt had tried calling her last month? she wondered.
He would have reached her if she hadn't been at one of her classes. Instead, he got the answering machine. She'd trembled when she heard his voice. But since he walked out of her life on New Year's morning, she couldn't think of any sensible reason to renew "auld acquaintance" for "auld lang syne"—and "auld" torture. She didn't return the call, she just wondered about it continually. Maybe he wanted to reclaim the small box he'd placed on her kitchen table the night he left.
Or worse! He was probably still feeling guilty and wanted to make sure she hadn't slashed her wrists. The last thing she needed from him was brotherly concern.
If it was important, he would call back. She checked on the safety of John's butterfly earrings obsessively and developed a case of the jitters every time the phone rang.
Somehow, she'd managed to rationalize her inability to throw his number away. One day, in the far, far distant future, she'd call him up and talk happily about her husband and family. And wasn't it a pleasant Christmas they'd shared? And how was he doing now?
Maybe Karen was right. Maybe coming back here was the way to finally forget Matt, Jillian thought the following Saturday as Karen slowed her little sports car for the last turn. Soon the car was bumping over the deep ruts in the dirt road leading to the cabin. Jillian held her breath.
There was a bittersweet familiarity about everything. As they drove past the rear of the cabin, she picked out the path Matt had taken her along on Christmas Day. A sense of green hinted that spring might soon camouflage it with a wild covering of undergrowth.
The cabin itself looked warm and welcoming. But Jillian was disappointed to see it needed its gilding of icicles and snow to look like the gingerbread house she remembered.
Matt's Blazer, of course, had been perched half-on, half-off the boat ramp leading into the lake instead of on the coarsely graveled clearing. And the lake had glimmered with—
Jillian's head swung back to the dark Blazer. "Oh, no, Karen. Matt's here!"
She expected Karen's expression to reflect her own horror. Instead, Karen grimaced sheepishly.
"You didn't do this to me?"
Karen slid guiltily down in the seat.
Before Karen could defend herself, a sudden movement caught Jillian's eye. The door was open and Matt stood on the edge of the porch, gazing at her. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then started toward them.
Her heart beat furiously; her throat closed up. Matt smiled tentatively.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat and dismay replaced horror. No, she protested silently. I'm not ready. I can't see him now. I'm not nearly as numb as I need to be.
"Let's get out of here, Karen," she pleaded. Karen smiled like the traitor she was and spread her hands helplessly. Jillian had the insane desire to push her out of the way and make her own tire-squealing, gravel-spraying getaway. Then Matt neared the car and her mind went on hold.
His hair was lighter than she remembered, his complexion a deeper tan. His smile was still tentative, its usual tilt held to a minimum. He was obviously as unnerved as she was.
The door opened, his hand closed around hers and she was out and in his arms. His eyes locked on her mouth.
Jillian told herself to pull away, but something held her. Something other than his light grasp and her own longing to meet his lips. She had to know why he was here.
A real smile spread slowly across his face and his tiger's eyes seemed to dance.
"Thanks, Karen," he said without looking in her direction, without letting Jillian go. He leaned against the door, closing it with his hip, and Karen put the car in reverse.
"But—"
Matt stopped her protest by covering her mouth with his.
"I'll take you anywhere you want to go," he promised against her lips, and she was lost.
She gave herself up to the forgetfulness induced by his kiss until he swung her up into his arms and would have carried her to the cabin.
"I can't do this again, Matt," she sighed wearily against his neck.
"Do what?" He placed a butterfly kiss on the corner of her mouth, then set her down.
Jillian shook her head, unable to put her feelings into words. She couldn't start the whole healing process over again. She couldn't do it.
"I didn't want to hurt you."
She needed to strike back. "But you did," she whispered. "I can't go through it all again."
"I love you, Jillian. Does that make a difference?"
"You loved me then." He started to say something, so she rushed on. "Even if you didn't admit it, I felt it. And it didn't make a difference then."
Matt leaned back. "I don't have the strength to fight it anymore." He hugged her close again. "And it scares the hell out of me sometimes, Jake."
He tried to lead her toward the cabin, but she held back.
"I'll drive you to Topeka the minute you say the word," he promised. "I just want to talk. Hear me out. Please?"
She considered his request, then nodded. "But let's walk."
"All right."
He clasped her hand and they headed for the path.
"The initial construction is almost done on my little village," he said after they'd gone a short way. "I already have two craftsmen in residence and plan to open this summer."
"I'm glad," Jillian replied sincerely. He sounded so excited and happy.
"It's all coming together as if it were meant to be. The weather even cooperated during crucial times."
That's nice, she thought, but what does it have to do with me? They walked silently for a few minutes.
"I have an advertising firm working on a national campaign. They're putting out some initial publicity next week."
They had reached a small clearing where the lake lapped noisily at the muddy shoreline. "It looks a little different now, doesn't it?" he murmured.
She could feel the barrier around her heart cracking and melting like the ice on the lake, and she didn't like it. "If you had Karen bring me here to give me an update on your progress," she said wryly, "it wasn't necessary. Jim had felt obligated to keep me informed." She'd listened hungrily during those first few weeks of the new year. But with the blessed onslaught of numbness, she'd gradually trained herself to ignore Jim's commentaries. The longer she was with Matt now, the more she'd allow her hopes to rise—and that was all they were—hopes. Pipe dreams.
She sat down primly on a sun-warmed rock and looked at him impatiently. "What's the point of all this?"
Matt leaned against a tree, one knee bent sharply, his foot resting on the trunk. "I'm getting to that," he said.
Jillian read the uncertainty in his eyes and forced herself to wait.
"I've been slowly rebuilding my life. Till now, I've been content to wander from place to place, store to store."
"I don't see what that has to do with me."
"I didn't either, at first. I almost turned down the initial offer to sell without thinking about it, because every time I spent more than a couple of weeks in one place, I got restless. By the time you left here after Christmas, I knew I wanted out, but was hesitant to make a decision." He shrugged. "I didn't know what I would do if I went ahead."
"And then you remembered about the artists' colony."
He shook his head. "Not right away. I was too busy finding a reason to come to Topeka and see you. I decided—well, you know what I decided. I decided to sell so I'd have an excuse to ask you to help me celebrate."
Jillian's eyes widened in amazement.
"I was afraid you and Harrison might have made up your differences and I had to know. I told myself it was because I felt protective of you, like a brother. I figured I would disappear back into the woodwork once I was sure you were happy and that would be that. I didn't remember the colony until you questioned me at the restaurant." He shifted nervously. "I rattled the whole thing off the top of my head. Made up details, even. I didn't want you to suspect I didn
't have the slightest idea what I was going to do after I took you home that night."
Jillian didn't want to think about that night. And she didn't want Matt to see the pain in her eyes. She rose and wandered to the lake's muddy edge.
"When I left Topeka New Year's morning, I couldn't stop thinking I should take you with me to Colorado."
She felt him come to stand behind her.
"I knew you wouldn't just live with me," he went on. "That meant marriage, and I felt trapped."
"And angry at me for laying the trap," Jillian added.
"Angry at myself for even considering it," he corrected. His hands covered her shoulders and he turned her to face him. "I was afraid of what marriage to me would do to you. Afraid any changes it made in me wouldn't be good ones. I'm not good—"
"Good husband material," she finished for him and backed away into the mud. "Oh, damn," she choked out as her foot sank. Relieved at the diversion, she braced a hand on his shoulder and raised her leg. Her shoe stayed in the mucky silt.
"Let me." Matt lifted her and set her farther up the bank onto dry ground. She stood like a flamingo while he bent to pull her loafer free.
She kept her head down as he scraped the heavy mud from her shoe. "There," he said, glancing up.
"Please don't cry, Jake." He dropped the shoe and took her in his arms.
"I can't help it," she whispered. "Nothing's changed. I can't forget everything I was brought up to believe in and you aren't good husband material…"
She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand.
"Things have changed. That's what I'm trying to tell you." Matt picked her up. "You're going to have us both sprawled in the mud if you keep standing there on one foot, crying." He carried her over to the rock and sat down, cradling her on his lap.
"I don't see—"
"Just listen," he begged gently, hushing her with a kiss.
She peeped up at him warily.
"When I left Topeka New Year's morning, I headed for Colorado like a demon was after me. I didn't intend to ever set foot in this part of the country again, so I had to sell the stores. I kept my mind off you by thinking about the colony. I knew it was what I wanted to do the minute I told you about it. I suddenly wanted a permanent base. By the time I got home, it was just a matter of calling the right people and putting everything in motion." He looked at her sheepishly. "I thought I'd fixed everything and could put you out of my mind, but every step of the way, I caught myself thinking, 'Jillian would like this,' or 'I can hardly wait for Jake to see that.'"
