Читать книгу Beyond Desire - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 9

Ten days after he’d stopped himself from kissing Amanda, Marcus made another trip down to earth and had another hard battle with his feelings. Having just arrived home, jolted by the sound of what seemed like thunder, he raced up the stairs four at a time, feeling as if his heart had fallen into his stomach. What on earth was that noise? He had walked into the front door and gone to the kitchen for some thirst-quenching iced tea. The doctors had told him that Amy was progressing even more rapidly than they had anticipated, and that her therapy would start in a week, so he had come home feeling more relieved and more lighthearted than he had in more than a year. And now this. Where had the noise come from? Something had literally shaken the house, or at least it had sounded that way.

“Amanda! Amanda!” Where was she? He knew she was at home; she hadn’t even put her car in the garage. He ran into her bedroom and found it empty. He listened, heard the water and momentarily froze. If she was in that bathroom with the door locked…He tried the door, pushing it with full force as he did so. “Amanda? Amanda, my God. Are you all right?” He took in the incredulous scene. She lay on her back in the tub, the shower rod, curtain and part of the wall were in the tub with her, and water from the shower sprayed her face. Quickly, he turned off the tap, cleared the debris away from her, lifted her naked body into his arms and stumbled into her bedroom, where he lay her gently on the bed. Then he raised the edge of the bedspread and threw it across her body.

“What happened, Amanda?” He leaned over her. “Amanda, answer me!” His gaze roamed from her head to her feet. “I’m taking you to the hospital. You may have done some damage. What were you doing? Amanda, talk to me!” She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. He dried her body, got a pair of slacks and a robe from her closet and dressed her as best he could, but by the time he got her in the car, her continued silence had alarmed him. He was thankful that the trip to the hospital was a short one. What if she lost it? He paced the floor in front of the emergency room for what seemed like hours, until the resident opened the door and beckoned him.

“Mr. Hickson, your wife is mildly in shock, but otherwise all right. We’ve given her some medication, and here’s a prescription for some more. Give this to her at bedtime, as instructed. Nothing is broken, but she’ll probably be sore tomorrow. And I’d see that she stays off her feet for a few days.”

Marcus fought to make himself ask that most important of questions. In the end, he didn’t ask it. He just said, “She’s three months pregnant, doctor.”

The doctor smiled, seeming to understand his reticence. “Yes, I know. That’s why she reacted this way. Going into shock, I mean. She was afraid that she had injured the baby or that she might lose it. But she’s healthy and strong so, as I said, she won’t have more than a little soreness. Just keep her in bed for a few days.”

Marcus nodded. “May I see her?” He wanted to see for himself that she was all right. Since he’d met Amanda, he had never known her to be speechless, and he didn’t think that was a good sign. He stood looking down at her, so small in that ridiculously ungainly, utilitarian hospital gown. She opened her eyes and lifted her hand to touch him.

“Thanks for helping me and bringing me to the hospital, Marcus. I was so scared. I slipped while I was taking a shower. Then when I grabbed the shower curtain rod for support, it came out of the wall, and I lost my balance and fell. I was scared to death that I was going to lose the baby.”

“I’m glad I was there. Actually, I had been in the house less than a minute when I heard that noise. The doctor’s going to let me take you home, but only if you promise to stay in bed for three or four days. Will you?” He contemplated the strangeness of the situation. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, but that wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. Unable to resist at least a minimum display of tenderness, he caressed her cheek and had the pleasure of seeing her turn her face fully into his palm, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Marcus combed her still damp hair with his fingers, and put her robe on her while they waited for the wheelchair, as the hospital regulations required. And he was very much aware that, within the past hour or so, his relationship with his wife had undergone a subtle change. He wheeled her out to the car, lifted her to put her in the backseat and stared down at her in wonder. He’d had her naked in his arms and had been so alarmed that he’d barely looked at her. That thought brought a half smile from him. Must be getting slack in testosterone, he told himself derisively.

Marcus laid Amanda on her bed, realized it was still damp from his having placed her there earlier, and took her into his room instead. He noted with considerable amusement that she offered no objection. Didn’t even seem concerned. Where was the feisty, independent woman who had turned his life around?

He fluffed the pillow, propped it against the headboard and let her rest there. “Your bed’s wet. Stay here while I get some fresh sheets and try to make it presentable.” When she didn’t answer, merely nodded, Marcus straightened up and looked down at her. There she was in his bed, completely agreeable to his every suggestion, soft and submissive. A woman who could tie him into knots with her big black eyes or her come-here-tome smile. Who said he didn’t have a sense of humor? Marcus threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“What’s set you off?” she asked him testily. He ignored her peevishness and grinned.

“‘Never trust a husband too far, nor a bachelor too near.’ I’m about as close as you can get to a combination of the two.”

She glared at him, trying to ignore the mischievous dance of his luscious eyes. That quote was not only to the point, he could hardly have found one more fitting.

“Why on earth would you read Helen Rowland? She wasn’t exactly enamored of the human male.”

So he had thought that this time he’d outwitted her, had he? He shrugged in the manner of a man caught loafing on the job. “Helena was always quoting her to me, so I read the stuff in order to defend myself. Phooey was my judgment.”

That was the opening she wanted. “‘The average man’s judgment is so poor, he runs a risk every time he uses it.’”

Marcus spread both hands, palms out, in surrender. “Okay, you’ve got me. What pseudo genius wrote that?”

“Ed Howe. And I don’t know whether or not he was a genius.” Her interest in their fun game waned, and she had begun to favor her left shoulder. He remade her bed quickly, carried her to it, lay her there carefully and gently tucked the covers around her.

“I’m going to the drugstore for your medicine.”

“Could you help me into my gown before you go, please?” It worried him that she favored both her left shoulder and her lower back and that she seemed reluctant to move. And the silent plea in her eyes…Was she praying for her baby’s safety? He couldn’t think of anything but that the woman whom he had loved and who had taken his name in a solemn vow had not wanted either one of the children he gave her.

Marcus looked down at Amanda, rooted in his tracks, as the picture of her completely nude in his arms floated back to him. In his mind’s eye, he could see her beautiful and generous breasts with the glistening beige tips, the soft brown flesh of her body, her slightly rounded belly and, below it, the thick, curly black patch that guarded the seat of her passion. He turned quickly, hoping that she hadn’t seen the sudden and unmistakable evidence of his desire for her, and tried to deal with the wild sensation that had him suddenly shackled.

“I’ll be right back” was all he could manage, as he moved away from her bed. He found the peach gown, choosing that one because it was so feminine, and managed to help her into it without looking at her. Perspiration beaded his forehead. He patted her in a self-conscious gesture of comfort, but he wasn’t looking at her and was unprepared for the feel of her erected nipple under his palm. Shocked, he looked over at her to apologize and swallowed it when he saw that she was as disconcerted as he. Best to pretend that nothing had happened.

The medicine she took in the emergency room had begun to make Amanda sleepy, but that light touch of Marcus’ big hand on her breast brought her fully awake. It was accidental, she knew, but that made it all the more erotic. She didn’t like being vulnerable to a man who didn’t want her close to him or to his motherless child. And she certainly didn’t want to feel the raw attraction for him that had begun to suffuse her with increasing frequency. Thank God, he didn’t seem to know it.

There was much about her that Marcus didn’t know and that she didn’t want him to learn. Her almost total lack of experience with men wouldn’t gain her any kudos with him, she reasoned, and might even place her at a disadvantage. And it wouldn’t help if he knew how low her self-esteem had sunk when she learned of her pregnancy. Only that would explain her willingness to bargain marriage with a stranger. She rubbed her tingling breast, wanting his hand back there. “Slow down, Amanda,” she admonished herself. “Only the man responsible finds a pregnant woman attractive, and even for some of them, it’s a turnoff.”

She looked up at the ceiling. Lord, was it too much to ask that a man care deeply for her just once in her life? Forever was too much to hope for. But couldn’t she know what it was like, how it felt, just once? She almost wished that Marcus—when he was tender and caring—hadn’t taught her what was missing in her life.

Marcus returned from the drugstore and found her asleep, her body curled into a fetal position. He stood over her for all of ten minutes, wanting her. Then, in a fit of disgust with himself, he put the medicine on her night table and went to the kitchen, where he dumped the chocolates he’d bought for her safely into the garbage pail. Then he wandered around the kitchen trying to find something to cook for dinner. He hadn’t prepared dinner since coming to live with Amanda, and he had gotten used to her mouthwatering meals. He got busy preparing the food, but his mind was on Amanda. An unusually interesting woman; he hadn’t counted on that.

He let his mind wander over the day’s events. His dangerous attraction to Amanda gave him reason for concern, though he could handle that, but what he’d felt for her when he’d carried her in his arms, dressed and undressed her, was more than lust. He had to watch his step with her. And she was more vulnerable than she knew, he suspected. When he had stopped by the school to report Amanda’s illness, the female colleague who had taken the message had been vicious.

He suspected the woman of jealousy. But why? Unless the two had competed for the principal’s post—and from the look of her he doubted that—what reason could she have for such blatant animosity toward a person with Amanda’s gentle manners? He’d been astonished both at the woman’s words and at her willingness to reveal her dislike to her boss’s husband. He hated seeing black women with their hair dyed red, and this one looked as though her head was on fire. He shook his head as though to rid his vision of her image.

“You don’t mean that Amanda Ross married a number twelve like you. What did you do, make her pregnant?” the woman had asked him. His acerbic reply had definitely not gained Amanda a friend. Sensing that he’d seen her somewhere before, he’d asked her where that might have been. After assuring him that, if she’d ever seen him, she’d never have forgotten it, she replied, “If you’re in on Portsmouth’s social life, you might have noticed me at the Lamont estate. They’re friends of mine.” It was clearly something of which she was proud. He had been careful not to react visibly, because he had learned not to show his hand to an adversary. The woman was a potential source of trouble for Amanda, an unsuccessful competitor and a friend of her unborn child’s ruthless grandfather. He’d have to find out what she knew. She had wanted to prolong their conversation, but he’d finished it, probably more curtly than was wise given the woman’s antagonism toward Amanda.

Odor and smoke from the frying chicken legs warned him that his dinner was in jeopardy, and he brought his mind to the present. He arranged trays of the chicken, baked potatoes, string beans and sliced tomatoes, got iced tea from the refrigerator and hesitated. What the heck? It never hurt to be nice. He’d eat his dinner upstairs with Amanda, he decided, adding glasses of water to their trays. But the minute he saw the glow on her face as he set out their food, he wondered if he was sending her the wrong signal.

Marcus had stayed away from his factory while Amanda was recovering, and he had a backlog of work. “I intend to spend all of Saturday and Sunday in Portsmouth at the factory,” he told her as they cleared away the remains of Friday night’s supper, “but I’ll be here as usual Saturday night.”

“Want me to drive you to the station tomorrow morning?” His answer was going to disappoint her, but he couldn’t help it. She wanted him to accept their relationship and was looking for a sign of his willingness to do that. But he didn’t see how he could accept it, when he couldn’t feel like a man so long as she footed the bills.

“That won’t be necessary. I need the exercise.” It was a pitiable excuse, and he knew it, but he didn’t want to encourage her by letting her do things for him. Afraid that he’d hurt her, he looked up from the pan he was scrubbing, ready to gloss it over, and was surprised that her slacks had gotten so tight, showing her pregnancy, and that her breasts were getting larger. But what shook him was the open plea in her eyes. A wordless appeal to his decency and, God help him, to his masculinity. He dropped the brush and didn’t bother to dry his wet hands; getting to her was an all-powerful urge, and he gave in to it. He’d barely touched her shoulder, and she was in his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes ablaze with passion, and his defences disintegrated. He lowered his head and brushed her voluptuous lips with his own, then raised up slightly to look into her eyes. To check her submission. Females had craved him ever since his voice had changed. But not like this. He squeezed her to him, one hand at the back of her head and the other spread across her buttocks, and kissed her with all of the yearning and hunger that he’d stored in five weeks of want and deprivation. He ran his tongue around her lips and, when she didn’t respond to suit him, he nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. Her lips parted, and he found a place for his foraging tongue within her sweet mouth and let it roam until, as if aching for more, she caught it between her lips and sucked it as if it were the essence of life. He felt her fingers weaving through his thick curly hair, caressing his shoulders and neck, testing his biceps, learning him.

Her response almost brought him to his knees, a position with which he was unfamiliar, and his heart was a pounding drum, beating furiously in his chest, as he gloried in the warmth, the feel, the taste of her. He told himself to pull back, to stop before it got out of hand. But instead, he increased the pressure, deepened the kiss, relishing the fact that she was with him all the way. He told himself to let it go, before it was too late. But he didn’t want to stop, and she didn’t appear to want him to. She seemed to want and to need exactly what he was giving her. And she clung to him. He kissed her eyes, her ears, her neck and her throat as he murmured unintelligible things to her. She trembled from head to foot, enthralled in his sweet loving and consuming passion, released, as if he were catapulting her into the stratosphere. Learning what a man’s tenderness could do to a woman. She craved him in every molecule of her body, and could not have withheld her feelings if her life had depended on it. I should stop him, she thought, because he’ll make me suffer for this. But I don’t care; I need him. I need this. She burrowed into him, holding him. His arousal stunned her, but she accepted him without reservation and tightened her grip on his waist.

As if shaken, she swayed unsteadily and he set her away from him. “Don’t you know how to say stop?” he asked her, his voice a gravelly whisper. She reached for him as she reeled backward, and he caught her, holding her just a little too long.

“Amanda, the way things were going, I would have been inside of you in minutes. I don’t think that’s what you want, and I know it isn’t what I want. We’re both tired and strung out. I’ll see you tomorrow night.” He headed down the hallway.

She ran after him, amazed that he could turn his feelings off at will, while she still staggered under the impact of the first genuine loving she’d ever had. “What’s with you? You may be tired and unstrung, mister, but I’m not.”

He paused, his expression bland, as though his energy had been sapped. “Unless angels come down here, Amanda, we’re going to separate on April eleventh. You know it, and I know it and, if we ignore that fact, we will both regret it. So let’s not fool ourselves. We could easily step across that line and then find the consequences intolerable.” His voice softened. “I won’t risk it, and neither should you.”

“You’re not willing to try?”

“Amanda, a sensible man won’t stick his bare hand in the fire twice, no matter that the flame is a different color. I can’t risk it. I thought I could, but then I remember what is was like…I’m sorry.”

Amanda climbed the stairs with difficulty. She couldn’t say she was sorry that he’d kissed her that way, but she knew she would go through hell reliving it for the rest of her life. What a man he was, she mused. He had stood there in all his ebony male glory, a faultlessly crafted colossus, surrounding her with his consummate male magnetism, beguiling her senses. He had shown her the strong, but loving, gentle and tender man that he was so clever at hiding. Then he had gently, but firmly pushed her away. She didn’t think she could tolerate eleven more months of it.

Amanda got ready for bed and reached for the light to turn it out. Her gaze caught a reflection of herself in the mirror and she walked toward it. What did he see in her? Why had he kissed her and held her like that? She knew he hadn’t wanted to do it and had given in to it against his will. Maybe he just needed a woman, and she was there. That doesn’t make sense, she reasoned; a man who looked like Marcus Hickson didn’t have problems getting a woman. If he needed a woman, there was probably one waiting somewhere.

Agitated and, for the first time, uncertain that she could handle living with Marcus on their agreed-upon terms, she slipped on a cotton robe and walked out on the porch. She listened for the lapping and sloshing of the waves and heard it, but for once, the tune that had nourished her since birth failed to comfort her. Cool, salty air whipped in from the Albemarle Sound, bringing goose bumps to her arms, and the brisk wind that brought it trapped her long thick hair in the branches of a ficus tree that stood behind her in a corner. She looked out toward the Sound for a few minutes and turned to go back into the house, but she couldn’t free her hair. She looked over her shoulder at the tree. I’ll never be able to move it, she thought, declining to panic.

Amanda had been alone for so much of her life that her next thought was whether she could scream loud enough to attract attention. She relaxed when a light flickered on in Marcus’ room. Amused at herself that she could have forgotten his presence after what he’d done to her only minutes earlier, she took a deep breath and called him.

Marcus stepped out on the porch and looked around. “Amanda, did I hear you call me?”

“I’m over here.” She disliked the plaintive sound of her voice; after all, any husband could do what she was about to request of him. Any husband! “The wind blew my hair into this tree, and I can’t get it out.”

“Don’t you have a light out here somewhere. It would be a pity if you had to stand there until daylight.” She told him where to find the switch, and he turned on the light and walked over to her.

“I can’t get between you and the tree, so this will take a while.” Heat suffused her cheeks, and excitement raced through her when he reached over her and began to free her hair strand by strand. He must have noticed her unsteadiness, because he tried to put her at ease.

“Hold on to me, Amanda. If you lean back, you’ll be in a worse pickle than you are now.” Apparently searching for levity to abate the rising sexual tension, he added, “And don’t act so scared; I don’t usually bite.”

“I notice you said, ‘usually.’” She folded her arms across her middle in an effort to create a buffer between them. But he leaned over her to unthread some of her hair from around a branch, and she felt his chest against her face. She couldn’t stop herself from inhaling deeply the scent of his male body. Strength and power emanated from him, and she stifled a rising resentment that it should have such a heady effect on her even as she squelched an urge to wrap her arms around him and let herself soak up the sweetness and know again the torment of holding him close.

He stepped back and looked down at her, his mouth pursed in a rueful smile. “Are you getting the impression that something or somebody is playing tricks on us?” She didn’t answer at once and nearly stepped back, but he quickly prevented it, holding her head with his hand.

“You want to undo all this tedious work I’ve done? You didn’t answer my question.” Amanda couldn’t think of a reason for the dazzling grin that spread across his face, unless it was from a desire to bamboozle her more than the scent of him and the heat of his body had already done.

“How about you’re a human trip-hammer, and I’m standing over a trapdoor? Where’s the trick in that?” she asked him, unwilling to pretend. He let several recently freed strands of hair cascade over her shoulder.

“You wouldn’t be fooling, would you? If you aren’t, let me tell you, lady, that kind of joking is dangerous. And if you are…” He shook his head. “It’s still dangerous.” She wanted him to move away from her, but he didn’t give her an inch, just continued unravelling her hair from the ficus branch.

“Have you almost finished?” she asked him, embarrassed by the quake in her voice. “Maybe you ought to get a pair of scissors and whack it off.”

“Come on, now. Much as you love this thick wooly stuff, you’d cut if off just to get rid of me? That’s hardly flattering.” Let him think what he liked. She had learned that Marcus mastered his emotions with the ease of a glider. She didn’t know much about men, much less how to handle herself around them. But she figured that even if she’d been an expert on them, Marcus Hickson would still be an enigma to her. That is in the past, though, she assured herself. She had just begun to learn that he could have the kind of feelings he generated in her and she knew that, if he were a different kind of man, she’d be in his bed right then. In court, whose word would have the greater weight? Blood rushed to her face, neck and ears, and she lowered her head to prevent his seeing her telltale facial expression. He reached around her and began to untangle some strands from a branch below her waist.

“Marcus…Marcus, would you…please…”

“Would I please what?” He released her hair, grasped her shoulders and took a step back. She looked up into eyes that burned with want and struggled not to let her gaze drift down to his beguiling lips. His rugged breathing tempted her to test her feminine power, and excitement sent shivers through her, as he seemed to weigh her in some way, to anticipate her next move. His hands tightened on her shoulders.

“You’re new at this, Amanda, so listen. Whatever you’re feeling, I’m feeling it at least twice as strongly. That’s because I know what there could be between us, and you don’t. If I get into trouble, Amanda, it’s on my own terms. Nobody leads me astray. So don’t be tempted to see how far you can go with me.” He put a hand behind her head, pulled her hair over her right shoulder and pinched her playfully on her nose. Then he turned and went to his room.

Marcus caught the first morning train to Portsmouth. He’d spent the previous night wrestling with the feelings of tenderness and possessiveness he’d had for Amanda while he picked the strands of her hair from that tree. He wondered where their relationship was headed, but the thought left him when he arrived at the factory and noticed that Jerzy Heiner was already at work.

“I’m planning to ask for an hour off this afternoon,” Jerzy explained. “Oh, yeah,” he said, as though in afterthought, “you aren’t planning to sell the factory, are you?” Marcus stopped raising the window, and turned toward his trusted small-strings expert.

“Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“A man came here just after you left yesterday asking about inventory, profit, outstanding debt and a lot of other things that I told him were none of his business. If you aren’t planning to sell, how’d he get the nerve?”

“Beats me. But I’ll check on it. Let me know if you see him around.” Marcus could hardly wait for his bank to open. He called Allen Baldridge, the president, and learned that it was the bank’s policy to list large mortgages on commercial property in the hope of unloading them if the debtor defaulted. The bank had already had several offers for Marcus’ mortgage, but had refused in view of its long relationship with the Hickson family. However, in the event of a default, the bank would sell to the highest bidder.

Marcus reflected on that news for a while after hanging up. His father and the man with whom he’d just spoken had been roommates at Morehouse College and as tight as peas in a pod. When you had your hand out, he recalled, you didn’t have friends in high places, only some big shots you’d once known who now considered themselves your superior. He’d show them; he’d work that much harder to repay that bank loan. It wouldn’t be without a struggle, and he hadn’t thought it would. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars of debt plus what he considered exorbitant interest was an enormous short-term load for any small business. His stomach tightened with uneasiness. He had mortgaged his house and his business, sold his car, Steinway and Stradivarius, given up his credit cards and left himself with nothing but his clothes and his tools. In the end, he’d given up his freedom. But if Amy walked again, he’d have no regrets. He realized for the first time that he could easily lose the fruits of twelve years’ hard work. Everything he had.

Three hours later, emotionally drained from grappling with the problems he faced, he put the felt on the last hammer of a concert grand and looked over at an employee working near him. “Let’s go out for coffee,” he said to the man. “If you feel as old as I do right now, you can use a pick-me-up, too.” Surprised that his boss would take a mid-morning break, the man raised both eyebrows and started for the door.

Amanda awoke early the next morning to discover that Marcus had already left. She decided that he’d probably done that to prevent her from giving him breakfast, and that was just as well. When he was untangling her hair, he had suggested that she might have tried to seduce him, and she couldn’t help laughing at the idea, wishing she knew how. He had been the seducer, and she figured that if he were as clever as he seemed, he’d know that. She dressed in a navy, ruffled skirt and pink peasant blouse and went to the hospital. Anyone who knew her situation would consider her reckless, but she was beyond caring. After reading the second chapter of a novel to a patient with impaired vision, she made her way to the children’s ward, where she identified herself as a volunteer—which she was—and asked directions to Amy’s room. She found the child looking listlessly out of the window, ignoring the other children in the four-bed room. She gave Amy a cone of vanilla ice cream that she’d gotten from the vending machine and asked her whether she’d like to read some stories. To her surprise, the child’s eyes sparkled excitedly at the prospect of reading stories. Amanda read Winnie the Pooh to her, talked with her for a bit and promised a return visit. She had liked Amy, an attractive, bright child, and wanted to see more of her, but she decided not to tell Marcus that she had met his daughter.

Walking down State Street later, after having bought her first maternity clothes, she passed a toy store and couldn’t resist the yellow floppy-eared bunny that gazed beady-eyed at her from the window. Amy hadn’t had a single toy, so she bought it for her, ignoring the warning that sounded from both her conscience and her common sense. She walked briskly up State Street, humming an old tune, feeling happy and even lighthearted, in anticipation of her Sunday visit with Amy while Marcus worked at his factory in Portsmouth.

“Morning, Sam. Lovely Saturday morning, isn’t it?” She hadn’t seen him for weeks and had wondered about him. She couldn’t imagine State Street without Sam with his archaic four-wheel trash cart, battered hat and highly polished, though worn shoes. She stopped, as always, to greet him, and his black, weathered face immediately became wreathed in smiles.

“Mighty glad to see you feeling better, Miss Amanda.” Sam always called her “Miss Amanda,” which was the Southern custom even if a woman was married. He leaned against his old trash cart and peered at her. “Last time I see’d you, you was a mite troubled. I said prayers for whatever it was that was bothering you.”

Deeply moved at his caring, Amanda reached out to touch his bony shoulder and then, on impulse, leaned over and brushed a kiss on his unshaven cheek. “Oh, Sam, I was troubled, but your prayers must have worked.” It was rare that anyone stopped to talk with Sam, and she realized what her brief greetings meant to him. She told the stunned, happy old man, “Since I last saw you I got married. My name’s Hickson now, and next year I’m going to be principal of the junior high school. Thanks for the prayers.” She waved him goodbye as he ducked his head, but not quickly enough to prevent her seeing the old man’s tears.

Amanda looked at her watch. Marcus wouldn’t be back in Caution Point for another four hours, so she could go back to the hospital and take Amy the bunny. She had enjoyed the little girl’s enthusiasm and warmth and couldn’t wait to see her expressions of delight when she gave her the stuffed animal. She went directly to the child’s room and found her in a deep discussion with Winnie the Pooh, lecturing the imaginary little bear about his bad habit of sticking his nose in honey. Amanda couldn’t resist a laugh, and she thought her heart would burst when Amy’s face blossomed in smiles at the sight of her.

“Lady! I thought you were coming tomorrow.” She walked over to the bed, and when Amy raised both arms to her, leaned over and hugged her.

“What’s in that package, Lady?” Precocious little thing, aren’t you, Amanda mused. She handed her the package, sat down in the nearby chair and watched in awe at the child’s patience; in all her years as a teacher, she’d never known a child to unwrap a package with such care. She supposed pain would do that to a child, but this one showed no ill effects of her ordeal; bright, happy and bubbling with energy, Amy had the personality of a child who had known deep love and caring and who expected to be loved. If anyone knew how much Marcus loved his child, she did. Excitement that dissolved into shivers coursed through her at the memory of his passion and, though she fought the image, in her mind’s eye, she saw him as a lover. Her lover. She forced her attention to the little girl, hoping to banish Marcus from her thoughts, but she could have saved herself the trouble. Amy was Marcus incarnate, with the same curly black hair and honey-brown eyes.

“Lady! Lady! Is it mine? I love him. I love him.” Her squeals brought a nurse running to the room. In answer to Amy’s question, the nurse assured the child that she could keep the bunny. Amanda didn’t doubt the difficulty the nurse would have had if she hadn’t allowed it.

“Thanks,” Amy said, wearing the famous Hickson smile. “I’m going to name him Peter.” Amanda left immediately, in spite of Amy’s pleading; she couldn’t risk Marcus’ arriving early and finding her there.

Marcus stared unseeing at the console in front of him. He had been working on that piano for hours, and he might as well have been in Caution Point; he hadn’t done anything right. Normally, he would have had those hammers positioned within an hour; he was, after all, a master craftsman. But not today. On that Sunday morning, his mind was not on his work; it was on Amanda Ross Hickson and their torrid kiss a few nights earlier. Why couldn’t he keep a level head around her? What was it about her, he mused, that made him lose sight of things that were so important to him? And why couldn’t he have found a way to call a halt to it without making her feel as though she might have done something wrong? He’d been gentle, but he suspected that she’d felt hurt nevertheless. She hadn’t been the one to start that…that heated kiss. He groaned. He didn’t want to think of it. He’d been married, and he had known other women, as well, but he couldn’t recall ever having a woman respond to him the way she had. She hadn’t cared about anything, except her need of him. Only him. He got up and walked around, trying to shake off the sensation, the feeling that her scent and warmth still surrounded him. He had never known a woman like Amanda, but he knew that if ever she was in his arms in his bed, she would give him everything and drive him wild in the process. He swore loudly as the telephone interrupted his woolgathering.

“Hickson. We’re closed today.”

“If you’re closed, what are you doing there?”

“What’s up, Luke?” Luke explained that he’d called Marcus at home and learned from Amanda that he was at the factory.

“How about meeting me for lunch? River Café all right with you?”

“Yeah. Twenty minutes.”

“Why so long? It’s only around the corner from you.”

“Yeah. Right.” He hung up. He loved his only brother, but he was not keen on seeing him right then. Luke was the most perceptive person he had ever been around and had been able to read him accurately even when they were growing up.

Marcus didn’t remember having seen River Café almost empty at noon, but this was the first time he’d been in the place on Sunday. The thought that he might be out of step with most of Portsmouth’s working men didn’t give him a feeling of virtuousness; instead, he suddenly felt tired. When would it end? They found their favorite table, sat down and ordered beer.

“Why are you working on Sunday?” Luke asked. Marcus told him of his conversation with his bank’s president, adding that he regretted having taken out all of his loans with one bank and paying them off would be a Herculean job.

“Don’t blame yourself, Marcus; our grandfather banked there. If that’s Baldridge’s policy, I’ll move my account. What kind of contingency plans do you have if you can’t make those payments?”

“I’ve got an order to repair a priceless seventeenth-century harpsichord. As soon as I get all the parts I need, I’ll start on it. I’ve placed orders with master craftsmen in London and Leipzig. When that job is finished and when my suit with the insurance company liable for Amy’s injuries pays up, I’ll be in the clear. Otherwise…” He threw up his hands. “It’s anybody’s guess.”

“When is the hearing on your claim or have you decided to settle out of court?”

“I’m going to court, but I’m having trouble getting my suit on the docket.” He added that his lawyer was working on it.

“Good. I may be able to call in some favors, if you have trouble with it.”

Marcus nodded his thanks. He looked around for a waitress, saw one who wore a short tight skirt and had streaks of yellow in her black hair, reminding him of Iris Elms. He told Luke of his conversation with her.

“She’s a source of trouble, Luke.”

Luke nodded. “I’ll say she is. Have you told Amanda?”

Marcus shook his head. “No. She almost panicked when I told her the old man might try to take the child. I hate to upset her with this.”

“I don’t agree with you. That’s a fox in the henhouse. Amanda is that woman’s boss. You have to warn her.”

“I’ll tell her to watch her back, and I’ll do what I can to protect her, but I’m not going to alarm her unnecessarily.”

“Yeah. Well, if you need me…” The waitress arrived. Luke ordered pan-fried Norfolk spots (a small sweet fish) with hush puppies, and Marcus settled for Cajun fried catfish, French fries and coleslaw. They each ordered another beer.

The waitress didn’t seem anxious to leave. Finally she asked, her tone flirtatious, “Anything else?”

Marcus groaned in disgust, but Luke seemed to think it funny. “Not at noon, honey,” he said, winked and dismissed her. Then he turned to his brother. “What’s eating you, Marcus? And don’t say that nothing is. You can’t even appreciate a little harmless flirtation.”

“I’m a married man.”

Luke snorted. “Really? You’ve consummated this marriage? Congratulations. That’s the best news I’ve heard since we got the result of Amy’s operation. By the way, how is Amy?”

“Amy’s doing great, and my marriage is still one of convenience. Don’t push me, Luke. I’m not in the mood for it.”

“How are Amanda and Amy getting along?” Marcus had low tolerance for Luke’s meddling, but he knew Luke didn’t care. Lately, his older brother seemed to regard their six-year age difference as a license to interfere in his affairs.

“They haven’t met.” There was no point in hedging.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t taken Amanda to meet her stepdaughter? Are you out of your mind?”

“I told you not to push. I’m not going to expose Amy to any unnecessary unhappiness. When this year is up, I’m coming back here, and Amanda will be staying in Caution Point. I don’t intend to have Amy’s heart broken. This marriage is a bargain, and I plan to treat it like one.”

“I’m astonished that you can live in the house with a woman like that one, talk to her, eat with her, joke and tease with her and keep your hands off of her. You are keeping your hands off her, aren’t you?” It wasn’t a fair question and it irritated Marcus, because Luke knew that he wouldn’t lie.

“Well, aren’t you?” Marcus knew that his silence was worth a thousand words. Not only had he had his hands on her, but he couldn’t swear that he would refrain from doing it again. He looked at his all-seeing brother and slowly shook his head.

“She gets to me, Luke, like no other woman I’ve ever known. I know I haven’t given her a fair shake. She gives, and I take. She offers everything, and I’m offering her nothing because I don’t have anything to offer. The only time I’ve felt in control, felt comfortable and at times even contented in this situation was when she fell in the bathtub and needed me. And I was there for her, because I wanted to be, because I needed to be. But I had to back off. She’s carrying another man’s child, and all of a sudden I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t intend for this to be a marriage, but the other night I came pretty close to making it one. I initiated it, but after I got myself in line, I might have made her feel bad. I don’t know. I hope not.”

Luke laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And it’s eating away at your conscience. Why are you so afraid to care for her? If you’d talk with her about the circumstances, as I did, you’d be more understanding and less wary. I promised myself that I wasn’t going to tell you this, Marcus, but she was a virgin, a thirty-nine-year-old virgin, and the guy showed so little regard for that fact that she had to be treated in the hospital emergency room. She told me that the night I spent with the two of you, and I checked her story. She got there in bad shape.”

Marcus brought his head up sharply, as he sucked in his breath, pulled air through his teeth and released a stinging profanity. “Too bad he’s not around. I would have loved to smash his face.”

“Marcus, go home and look at what you have there. Amanda isn’t a shell of a person like Helena. I told you before you married Helena that she was too self-centered, that she wouldn’t be able to handle the demands of marriage. You loved her, and that was what she wanted—constant admiration. She enjoyed the glamour of being seen with you, of other women envying her. Good-looking woman with good-looking man. Amanda is different, very different, and you know it. There is great depth to her. Real substance. And you’re not going to forget her just because three hundred and sixty-five days have elapsed. You won’t ever forget her. Legally and for all practical purposes, it’s your child she’s carrying. It will bear your name and call you father, and you will always want to know how it’s getting along. Always. Like it or not; those are the facts. And don’t forget that she’s given your Amy a new life; you can’t do any less for her child.”

Marcus nodded as the bright light of knowledge penetrated his mind, and he mulled over words that found their mark and pitched him into distress. “I know all of that, and you know very well that I’ll do the right thing by her. What bothers me is that I don’t have any viable options. The chemistry between us is so strong. Most couples go through a process of getting to know each other, having the attraction between them grow, mature. We started backward with both of us at a disadvantage and with a powerful mutual attraction.” Luke nodded. Marcus knew that Luke had seen it for himself the night that he had slept at their home.

Marcus spoke reluctantly, unaccustomed to sharing such intimacies, even with his brother. “A man wants to protect and care for his woman but, from the outset, I couldn’t have that role. And I don’t want to be married again. I won’t risk it. Not ever. Amanda is a born mother hen and a special woman, but what she wants from a marriage is the whole nine yards. I don’t blame her. It’s her right. But not with me, and I’m going to get out as soon as I can. I’m just going to try not to hurt her anymore. She doesn’t deserve it.” His sigh must have exemplified all that he felt, his hurt and longing, for Luke stared at him. Then he added, “But she’s sweet, Luke. God, she’s so sweet.”

His thoughts of that conversation still plagued him the following afternoon when he went to the hospital, something that he no longer dreaded.

“Hi, Daddy. Do you know about Winnie the poop?”

Marcus beamed at the love of his life. He hadn’t thought that he would ever again see Amy smiling and cheerful and free of pain. He leaned over and kissed her. “You mean, Winnie the Pooh. Yes. But how did you learn about Winnie?”

“A nice lady came and read it to me, Daddy. And she brought me a bunny, too.” He’d noticed how she cuddled the stuffed toy that was almost as big as she. Her toys had been removed to prevent her moving around too much after the operations.

“So you can have toys now?”

“The nurse said I could have Peter.” She kissed the bunny. “Oh, Daddy, bring a book when you come. I already know about Mother Goose and Daddy Goose, too, and I like Daddy Goose the best.”

A tired Marcus looked at his precious little angel. She hadn’t shown any interest in anything for so long. His heart swelled with joy. “Daddy Goose? She read you a story about Daddy Goose?” he asked, disbelieving.

Amy laughed excitedly. “No, Daddy. She told me that story. I said I wanted a story about a daddy goose. She didn’t have the book, so she told me the story. And you know what? Daddy Goose sounded just like you. I liked him much better than Mother Goose. It’s my favorite story.” It had been a rough weekend. He hadn’t gotten much done at the factory and, last night, relations between him and Amanda had been strained. But as he gazed down at the one person who needed him, his mirror image, he felt some of the weight ease from him. His smile came easily, as he squeezed her tightly.

“What’s the lady’s name, honey?”

“I don’t know, Daddy. I just call her Lady.” He kissed her goodbye and left. Somehow, he didn’t want to go home. Amanda would confront him about his inconsistent behavior with her. He didn’t know when, but it was a certainty, and he was not ready for that tonight. Hardly thinking about it, he found himself at Jack and Myrna’s home and knew at once that going there was a mistake. He didn’t want to talk about himself and Amanda. So he drank a mug of coffee, and after an interminable hour of evading their questions, went home, wondering when he’d begun to think of the place as home.

Guilt shot through him when he found her note in a sealed envelope taped to the outside of the front door. She hadn’t told him that she would have an amniocentesis test nor that she had the results. And he hadn’t known, either, that the test could pose problems. Now, she threatened a miscarriage and had gone to the hospital. He went in the house and called a taxi, too drained for the long walk back. Marcus wondered what else was going on that he didn’t know about, and knew that their lack of communication was his fault. Worried and anxious for his wife, he leaned back in the taxi, strung out.

He caught himself rubbing his chin with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, a signal that he faced a moment of truth, and exhaled deeply in an attempt to shrug off his thoughts. But he couldn’t escape the fact that his feeling for Amanda was not the casual interest that one might have in a friend’s well-being, but a deep and personal desire, an increasingly intense concern for her health and happiness. A caring that had nothing to do with lust. When he’d read her note, he’d had a sensation of marbles rattling around in his belly. He didn’t want to care for her nor about her, but he had to admit that fate seemed to be refereeing their game with no consideration for his preferences. He leaned forward.