Then he turned away, and disappeared inside the house. Filled with misgivings, Allie backed from the garage and set out for Reno.
The instant he stepped inside the house, Lucas strode to the living-room window and watched the Volvo’s taillights retreat into the darkness. A red-hot poker in his gut wouldn’t have been as painful as seeing her leave. And although his rational mind told him she would be back, he couldn’t seem to hold back the fear that swamped him in waves.
It was ridiculous to compare Allie to his mother. There was no logic to it.
Even so, all his childhood insecurities seemed to close in, wrapping ropes of pain around his heart. As a boy, he’d never been able to banish the uneasy certainty that something he’d done or some vital quality he’d lacked had driven his mother away. As an adult, he could refute that childish conviction with an adult’s reasoning. But all it took was Allie’s leaving to bring it all back.
Agitated, he crossed the room to the sofa and sank onto it, dropping his head into his hands. How many times had he driven Allie away, with words, with actions? Too many to count. And yet she still professed to love him, still made her way back to him again and again.
What if this was her breaking point? She’d left to see to her father, her family. Surely her commitment to family was a stronger hold for her than the short-lived love she said she felt for him. You keep your heart under lock and key, she’d said. How could any woman persevere with a man who couldn’t love her?
Dear God, what if she left him for good? What if by being away from him a few days, she saw more clearly he wasn’t worth the trouble? His mother had certainly said it enough times… Lucas, I swear you’re more trouble than you’re worth. More often than not, she’d made the pronouncement between one drink and the next. But he’d always wondered, if he’d tried harder, could he have kept her from taking that drink?
He shook his head, trying to drive away the doubts. That was his past talking. This was Allie, not his ruined, weak-willed mother. If Allie said she loved him, surely there would be enough strength to that emotion to bring her back.
Moving slowly, feeling a hundred years old, Lucas slipped off his shoes, stretched out on the sofa. He considered going upstairs to his room. But what if he fell asleep, missed her call? He craved hearing her voice again.
At the thought of sleeping alone in his bed, despair bloomed inside him. He would stay here and a part of him would pretend Allie was on her way back to him, on her way home.
He shut his eyes against the pain, then opened them again when sleep lapped at him, threatening to pull him under. He had to stay awake, had to wait for her. But the turmoil of emotions had exhausted him, dragging him into unconsciousness. He descended immediately into nightmare, horrifying dreams of Allie moving faster and further from him, always out of reach. It wasn’t until the last ring of the telephone before the answering machine picked up that he woke.
He lay there, dazed, as the beep sounded and Allie’s voice came on. “Lucas? Are you there?”
A pause while she waited for him to answer. He remained on the sofa, immobilized by fear. If he lifted up the phone, if he talked to her, she might say goodbye. But she wouldn’t leave a message like that on the answering machine.
A long sigh, then she continued, “We’re at the Best Western in Reno. The number is…”
Another hesitation as she searched for the phone number, then she read the digits to him. “Lucas, I…”
He could hear the tears in her voice, could hear her need for him. He scrambled up off the sofa, hurried for the phone.
“I’ll talk to you later,” she said breathlessly, just as he laid his hand on the receiver.
“Allie?”
A click and the dial tone as she hung up. Trembling, Lucas rewound the message, scribbled the phone number on a scrap of paper. His hand poised over the buttons of the phone, he hesitated.
Was he calling her back because she needed him? Or because he needed her? How could he add to her worry for her father with his selfishness? She had to focus on her family now, not him.
But he did need her, desperately. He set aside the phone, let the silence of the empty house close in on him. He needed her here to tell him again she loved him, to reassure him there was something in him worth loving.
Rewinding the message, he listened to it again, absorbing every nuance of her voice, focusing on each word. Yet as much as he searched for her love in the short message, somehow he only heard goodbye.
Chapter Fourteen
Slumped in her chair next to her father’s hospital bed, Allie tried to gather enough energy to go into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her hair. But she felt so weary, even the few steps to the bathroom seemed too far to walk.
She’d urged her sister and brother to return to the hotel sometime around three in the morning to get some sleep and call their spouses back home. Allie had managed a fitful night’s rest in the unwelcoming plastic hospital chair and greeted the day feeling stiff and sore.
Even as the steady rise and fall of her father’s chest reassured her, her heart ached with loneliness and an unrelenting yearning to see her own husband. In the week since her father had wandered away from the care home until now, his fourth day in the hospital since being found, she had spoken to Lucas only a handful of times. Each time Lucas had barely said a word, letting her do all the talking.
She supposed she should be grateful; she’d needed the chance to pour out her fears, the guilt she couldn’t seem to put aside. But something about Lucas’s brittle silence nagged at her.
Even his anger would have been more welcome. With anger, she at least knew how he felt. By withdrawing, he left her to guess at the emotions inside him. She feared he’d locked himself up tight again as if he no longer trusted himself to feel.
God, she wished he was here. Fighting back tears, Allie shifted in her chair, fixed her gaze on her father’s frail form under the neat hospital sheet. Maybe she should have had him come with her. She could have leaned on him, let him help her through the long, terrifying nights worrying about her father.
She had to admit now it wasn’t just her desire to protect French’s privacy that led her to reject Lucas’s offer to help. She’d feared turning her problem over to her autocratic husband, afraid he’d want to run things, run her. Lucas had reached out to her in that moment, and her own misgivings had caused her to push him away.
She’d have to find a way to make it right. Just as soon as she knew her father would make it through this crisis.
When they’d finally located French in a homeless shelter, pneumonia had raged in his lungs and he was nearly unconscious with fever. Until last night, French had hovered on the edge of death, threatening to slip away at any moment. She could never have lived with herself if he had died and she hadn’t been at his side.
Now the worst was past and French would soon be moved back to the care home. Once she and Sherril and Stephen were certain he was stable, they’d all head home.
Enervated to the bone, Allie pushed herself to her feet and crossed to the window. The cloud-filled skies of an ugly gray January day did nothing to lift her spirits. Reno’s backdrop of sere brown hillsides, so different from the familiar snowcapped Sierras east of Sacramento, only added to her alienation.
What was Lucas feeling right now? Anger? Hurt? She couldn’t blame him—she’d kept secret French’s ravaging debility, closed Lucas out of that circle of adults who shared the tragedy of a strong, vigorous man ruined by Alzheimer’s. But he was her husband now. She should have told him. He deserved to share the griefs of her family as well as the joys.
She would tell him now, find a phone and call him. She needed his support as much as Sherril and Stephen needed the understanding of Pete and Anne. She would give anything right now to have him beside her, his hand gripping hers, shoring her up.
Lord, what a mess she’d made of things. She’d been too used to handling this pain herself. Sharing it with Lucas would have made the lo
ad lighter.
Striding back across the room, Allie grabbed up her purse and stepped out into the hall to find a pay phone. Her hand trembled as she dialed Lucas’s number at TaylorMade.
Helen’s cheerful voice answered, “TaylorMade.”
“It’s Allie. Is he there?”
“I’m afraid he’s down in Modesto today. Another crisis. I can page him,” Helen offered.
“No, don’t.” He had enough on his mind, she didn’t need to add to it. She’d be heading home soon; she could tell him then.
“Allie…” The sympathy in Helen’s voice brought Allie to the edge of tears again. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he looks terrible and he’s acting worse.” She continued in a no-nonsense tone, “He needs you, Allie. The sooner you can get back, the better.”
Allie hung up, leaned against the wall, tried to order her thoughts. As she struggled with what to do, Sherril and Stephen exited the elevator and walked toward her.
“How is he?” Sherril asked, worry lining her face.
“Fine,” Allie assured her. “Seems to be breathing a little easier this morning.”
Stephen gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You should head back to the hotel, get some rest.”
“Yes.” Then clarity suddenly hit and Allie pushed away from the wall. “No. I need to get home. Would you two mind supervising getting Dad back to the care facility?”
Smiling, Sherril gave her a hug. “No problem. I keep forgetting you’re a newlywed.”
Was she? Sometimes it was hard to think of herself as married at all. But she loved Lucas, and right now, that was what mattered.
Ducking back into her father’s room, she pressed a kiss on his weathered cheek. “Keep me updated, okay?” she said to her siblings as she left the room again.
Energized by her decision, Allie hurried to the elevator, then out to her car. At the hotel, she quickly packed, getting back on the road in less than thirty minutes.
Not even the scattered flakes of snow brushing the Volvo’s windshield discouraged her as she headed west on Interstate 80. She was going home, back to Lucas. Nothing short of a blizzard would hold her back. One way or another, she was going to explain about her father to Lucas. No more secrets.
Of course, as much as she might hope her willingness to reveal the truth about French’s illness would encourage Lucas to do the same about his past, she knew that was unlikely to happen. She could only continue to love him, and pray that someday her devotion would peel away the layers Lucas wore around his heart. She would keep battering at his walls, beating down those doors he kept closed to her. Damned if she’d let him isolate himself from her love.
Her gaze fixed on the highway, Allie followed the curves of Interstate 80, her mind whirling with what she would say to Lucas. Somehow, she would convince her husband it was time to let her in.
Allie pulled out of the TaylorMade parking lot and headed for home. She’d barely stepped from the elevator before Helen informed her Lucas had gone home directly from the Modesto plant. Once the shock wore off that Lucas had put in less than a half day of work, Allie’s worries kicked into overdrive. Was he sick? she demanded of Helen. Was something wrong with him?
Helen had given her a tolerant smile. “The only thing wrong is that you’re not with him.”
Standing before Helen’s desk, she’d waffled—should she call Lucas to let him know she was on her way? Or would it be better if she surprised him?
She’d suspected Lucas didn’t like surprises. But her thoughts were so scattered she wasn’t sure she could speak to him coherently.
“Would you call him, please?” she asked Helen. “Let him know I’m coming?”
So now she covered the short distance from the office to home, doing her best not to speed down Douglas Boulevard. As she slowed to turn into the driveway, a nest of snakes seemed to take up residence in her stomach, writhing and tangling as she approached the house.
As much as she wanted to park at the front door and race up the stairs to be with him that much quicker, Allie forced herself to open the garage, pull the Volvo in and close the garage behind her. Lucas would have had to hear the hum of the automatic door opening, had to know it was her.
She left her purse, left her suitcase, left the key in the ignition. With shaking hands, she climbed from the car and strode purposefully for the interior door, her legs trembling in time with her hands.
He was waiting for her just inside. He stepped back as she came through the door and shut it carefully behind her. As she lifted her gaze to his, her heart stuttered at the sight of him.
He’d tossed off his jacket; it hung by one shoulder on a kitchen chair, its hem dragging on the floor. His shirt looked slept-in, his tie was knotted wrong. She guessed if he’d combed his hair that morning, he’d sent it into disorder long since by dragging his fingers through it.
But it was the beard shadow on his jaw that stunned her. Lucas’s grooming had been impeccable for as long as she’d worked for him. Bad enough his clothes were awry; she couldn’t fathom him going into the office with what looked like two-days’ growth of beard.
The house, too, seemed in as much disarray as the man. Dirty dishes lay out on the kitchen counter and the wilted flowers on the breakfast table drooped from their vase.
“Hasn’t Mrs. Vasquez been here?” Allie knew the housekeeper would never leave the house in this state.
He shook his head. “Gave her some time off.”
Another puzzle piece that didn’t fit. “Why?” she asked him.
His jaw worked, then he rasped out, “She asked me about you. I couldn’t forget—” He bit the words off.
His gray eyes burned with a frightening intensity as he fixed his gaze on her. She tried to interpret what she saw there. Rage? Self-righteous arrogance? His chest heaved and his fingers curled at his sides as if he struggled between dark and light.
Just as she thought he would explode with anger, he took a step toward her. Smoothing the harsh lines of his face, a tenderness, a yearning flickered in his eyes. One step, another, then he flung his arms around her, holding her so tight at first he squeezed the breath from her lungs. Then he eased off and Allie couldn’t hold back her laughter, her joy.
He buried his face in her hair. “You’re back,” he said hoarsely. “Thank God, you’re back.”
“Of course I am.” She stroked along the tense muscles of his back, running her palms up and down.
“I was so afraid….” He pressed his lips to her throat. “When you called, I didn’t want to talk. I thought I’d say the wrong thing, drive you away from me.”
“You can’t, Lucas. You won’t ever drive me away.” She leaned back, fixed her gaze with his. “I love you, Lucas.”
Surely that was adoration in his soft gray eyes. For a heartbeat, she thought he would finally unlock the stronghold of his heart and tell her he loved her. But he remained silent until she had to put aside her hope.
It was time, she realized, time to tell him the truth. “Lucas, about my father—”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.” Allie pushed herself to continue. “My father’s illness…it’s Alzheimer’s. He’s in the final stages. I should have told you a long time ago, but he’s always been such a proud man, I knew he would hate anyone outside the family knowing.”
“I thought we were a family,” he said softly.
“We are, Lucas.” She stroked his jaw, his beard rough against her fingertips. “I should have realized that before now.”
His hand covered hers, pressed it against his face. “I haven’t made it easy for you. It kills me that you’ve dealt with this alone when I should have shared the burden with you.”
“We’ll share it now, Lucas.” A lightness filled her when she realized she would have Lucas’s strength to buttress her own. “I promise I won’t keep anything else from you.”
“Everything I am now, everything I will be is yours.” A troubled look clouded his in
tent gray gaze. “But my past…”
His past might be forever closed to her. But what did that matter when she had the man he was now? “We look forward, Lucas, from now on.”
Quickly, she told him the rest of it, how her father’s condition had deteriorated over the last several months, his near-fatal pneumonia that had kept her at his bedside for so long.
“The money I borrowed from you was for him,” she told Lucas. “Even after moving him to a cheaper care home in Nevada, the costs ate up his pension, then my savings. I didn’t know where else to turn. I couldn’t burden my sister and brother.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, then put a finger to her lips to forestall an answer. “You have as much stubborn pride as I do.”
“Then you forgive me?” she asked, the feel of his finger against her mouth tantalizing.
“I’m the one who should ask forgiveness, for all I’ve put you through.” He leaned down to claim her lips with his. His kiss was rough with passion and pent-up need. She responded instantly, heat burning along her veins.
His tongue thrust inside, again and again, teasing hers, dueling, then pulling back. She curved her hand around the back of his head, wanting to hold him there, bring him even closer. His coarse beard abraded her face, an intimate reminder of his agony without her.
He kissed along her jaw, grazed her earlobe with his teeth. “Is it safe?” he whispered. “Safe for the baby if we make love?”
“Yes,” she murmured in response, the word broken when the tip of his tongue traced the shell of her ear. “The doctor said we can’t hurt the baby.”
He bent then, lifting her in his arms, at the same time covering her mouth with his again. One long, breath-stealing kiss, then he carried her to the stairs. Three steps then another kiss, all the way to the top, until she thought she would die with wanting him.
He headed for his own room, nudging the door open then kicking it shut again. As he set her down beside the neatly made bed, his hands cradled her denim-covered hips. Edging up her thick cotton sweater, he splayed his hands around her belly, his eyes closing.
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