Читать книгу Sheltered in His Arms - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

MARIAH DIDN’T WANT to go back to that house. Sam was driving up the hill, so she knew they were going back there. She didn’t want to. She didn’t belong there.

Sam’s house was for happy kids who didn’t know bad stuff. And grandmas were for happy kids, too. Mariah wasn’t like that anymore. She’d cried, made too much noise when the bad men came. That was why they’d killed her mommy.

Sam’s mouth was all tight, except when he seemed to remember that Mariah was looking at him. Then he smiled a good Sam smile.

She used to think Sam’s smiles made her feel happy. Now she didn’t care whether he smiled or not. Smiles couldn’t really do anything. They couldn’t stop bad stuff. They couldn’t save you from the horrible men.

Sam didn’t have to smile. He just had to stay breathing. Mostly that was what she watched. To make sure he was always breathing.

Mommy had been still holding Mariah’s hand but she hadn’t been breathing—and the men had made Mariah let go of her. That was when they said Mommy wasn’t coming back. But Mommy hadn’t gone anywhere, she’d been right there with Mariah the whole time—so how could she come back, anyway?

Daddy had gone away with them after they hit him so many times and made his face bleed. When Mariah cried out for him, they yelled back at her and told her to shut up. If she made a sound, they were going to hurt Mommy. They said Daddy wasn’t ever coming back, either. Sam said he’d stopped breathing, too. She hadn’t known that about breathing before.

Daddy was put into a hole in the ground—

“You hungry, honey?”

Sam smiled at her now. Mariah didn’t get hungry anymore. She just got tired from watching Sam’s breathing.

Breathing stopped, and then some men shoved you into a hole in the ground. But first, sometimes, they cut you and made you bleed so much that a Band-Aid didn’t work.

They scared you and did other things Mariah couldn’t think about.

So she just thought about breathing. If she stopped breathing, they’d shove her in a hole, too.

SAM’S PENCIL SLID EASILY around the page, making a mark here, another there, until the familiar figures began to take shape. After so many years of drawing this cartoon strip, he was seeing it differently tonight. He was on overload with the past four days of memory and stimulation.

Borough Bantam. Sam’s imaginary world was filled with non-human life, of the animal variety, mostly—each creature representative to Sam of the people he’d known all his life in Shelter Valley. There was the king—a grizzly bear—his father. His mother, the queen, a gentle brown bear. Will Parsons was a lion. His wife, Becca, Sam’s readers knew as a book-reading lioness. There was Nancy Garland, a girl they’d known in high school; she was a gopher. Sam’s parents had told him she was still in town, hostessing at the Valley Diner. Jim Weber, owner of Weber’s Department Store, was a penguin. Hank Harmon was the big friendly skunk everyone in the Borough loved, in spite of his smell. Chuck Taylor was a leopard. And on and on…

Cassie was the gazelle. Graceful. Lovely. And unattainable.

He still hadn’t found a moment away from Mariah—a chance to see Cassie alone. Although the more he thought about the whole damn mess, the more he wondered whether it would make a difference to her whether or not Mariah was his biological daughter. She was still his daughter. He had a child to raise, while Cassie did not.

And yet he couldn’t understand why Cassie had made that choice—to remain unmarried and childless. Nor could he stomach the irrational fear that he was at least partially to blame.

Mariah was finally asleep; Sam had put her in the bed across from the desk at which he sat. His parents had given him a guest suite, as it had two beds and plenty of room for him and Mariah.

Sam hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before Mariah hankered after the princess room down the hall. Its lacy white canopy, yellow walls, and pictures of tea parties were enough to tempt any little girl. Weren’t they? As a teenager, Cassie had always loved his mother’s fanciful guest room. The couple of times her family had been out of town and she’d stayed with them, she’d chosen that room. It had been updated since he left town—with new paint, different pictures, some fancy ladies’ hats on a rack—but his impression was the same. He still felt like a clumsy oaf in ten-pound mountain boots whenever he walked in the door.

Characters appeared on the page in front of Sam, seemingly of their own accord. The pencil moved swiftly, filling in thought bubbles almost faster then he could think them….

The castle was in chaos. There was a stranger in their midst, a wild stallion. He claimed to know them. The king and queen had offered their usual warm-hearted welcome. Always trusting. Seeing good in the visitor although his heart might harbor unclean things.

The half-witted magistrate, so full of his own importance, didn’t know that Borough Bantam had been invaded yet. Sam grinned as the rotund little worm slithered around his circle, certain that he was circling the world. That he controlled the entire globe. His bubble was easiest of all to fill. I am. I am. I am.

It was rumored that the newcomer—the stallion—posed a threat to the magistrate. The worm— Sam’s version of Shelter Valley’s mayor, Junior Smith.

Ten years older than Sam, Junior had just become mayor when Sam’s father retired. That was the year before Sam left town. James Montford had suffered a bout of Crohn’s Disease and needed to lower his stress level; as a result he’d stepped down from the mayoralty. That was when Sam really started to feel the pressure to run for mayor. The fact that he would win was a foregone conclusion. The office of mayor was of course an elected position, but politics in Shelter Valley had more to do with tradition than democracy. The town’s mayor had almost always been a Montford—although, occasionally, a member of the less-reputable Smith branch of the family held office.

The newcomer sat off by himself, watching the confusion, detached. He couldn’t care less about the worm. He was waiting. Though he didn’t know for what. The plan would be made known to him in due time. He just had to be patient.

Sighing, Sam scribbled the finishing touch, the signature of Bantam’s creator, S.N.C., and dropped his pencil. Then he tore off the piece of drawing paper, folding it carefully and sealing it in an envelope for mailing in the morning—on time to meet his deadline. He methodically put all evidence of the work he’d been doing in the battered satchel, which he placed back on the closet shelf. Patience was the lesson of the week—for the comic strip’s new character and for him.

Sam needed to find a truckload of it somewhere.

ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Cassie was getting ready for bed with the eleven o’clock news playing in the background—from the console television in her bedroom, the little portable in her luxurious ensuite bathroom and the nineteen-inch set out in her kitchen—when the doorbell rang.

Assuming the caller was a patient with an emergency, she quickly spit out her toothpaste, wiped her mouth and pulled a pair of jeans on over her nightgown. Grabbing from the hamper the black, short-sleeved cotton shirt she’d worn to work that day, she drew it over her head while she made her way to the front of the house. It never occurred to her to be alarmed, to think anything dangerous might be waiting on her porch. This was Shelter Valley. A lot of people didn’t even lock their doors at night.

She opened the door, and when she saw who was standing there with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, her heart started to pound so hard she actually felt sick.

“Why are you here?” she asked. It was too late to go back, to return to the lives they’d once lived. And for her and Sam, there was no going forward.

He shrugged, the dark strands of his hair almost touching the shoulders of his white shirt. His eyes glistened beneath the porch light. “I’m a little lost here, Cass,” he said, giving her a glimpse of the past—a glimpse of who they used to be. Two people who told each other everything.

She couldn’t do that anymore, could no longer be that person. Her hold on happiness was too fragile. Too tenuous.

“Perhaps you should go back where you came from, then,” she said, trying not to cry as she rejected the intimacy he was offering.

“I belong here.”

“Since when?”

He looked down at his tennis shoes and then back up at her. “Can I come in?” he asked softly.

“No!” There was nothing for them. No point. She’d built a life for herself inside this house—a house in which there was not one bit of evidence that Sam Montford had ever existed.

“Please, Cass,” he said, his eyes begging her. “You know if we keep standing out here, everyone’ll have us married again by morning.”

“Which is why you need to leave. Now.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“I find myself needing a friend tonight, Cass. And you’re the best friend I ever had in this town.”

Why tonight in particular? Why did he need a friend now?

“Then why don’t you go back where you and Mariah came from? You obviously have friends there.” God, she hated what he was doing to her. How she was acting around him. But if she didn’t get defensive, she’d crumble into little pieces at his feet.

She’d needed him so badly for so many years. And had broken down when she’d lost him. She’d learned that breakdown was not an exaggerated or metaphorical description. It was exactly what had happened. And it had taken a lot of years to rebuild herself, to repair all the damage. She just couldn’t afford to allow Sam Montford to enter her life again.

“There’s nobody back there. I’m all Mariah’s got. Her family was killed six months ago,” he said, and then rushed on as though he knew his time with her was limited. “Mariah saw the whole thing, Cassie, and I’m losing her.”

Sagging against the big oak door, Cassie slowly pulled it back, gesturing Sam inside.

Not for him. Never again for him. But for that sweet child with the haunted eyes.

“Where is she now?” Cassie asked, leading Sam from the homey comfort of her living room in to the library she’d decorated with impeccable formality and never used. She took one of the leather chairs; Sam slouched down in the other.

“She’s asleep,” Sam said. “Thankfully, once I get her to give in and go to sleep, she usually stays that way. She used to have a lot of nightmares, but they’ve decreased in the past month or so. My mother’s sitting with her.”

Cassie sat forward, already preparing to kick him out. “Carol knows you’re here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I told her I was going out for some air. She encouraged me to take an hour or two for myself.” That sounded like Carol Montford. Tending to her family made her happy. And she’d had so few opportunities in the past ten years. There’d only been her husband, James, who needed little—and Cassie.

Sam grinned suddenly, shocking her with the intensity of the effect that smile had on her. “She warned me not to drink and drive.”

In the grip of remembered companionship, Cassie said, “As if you ever would.” Sam had always been responsible about stuff like that.

About everything.

Except fidelity.

“Is Mariah deaf?” she blurted out, nervous, needing to get him out of her house.

Eyes clouded, Sam shook his head. “No.” And then, looking around, said, “You don’t have a dog?”

Cassie’s toes were cold. She pulled her feet up on the chair, covered them with her hands.

“I’ve been traveling more than I’ve been home during the past couple of years,” she said. “It wouldn’t have been fair to have a pet and then desert it so often, but I did recently acquire a collie puppy. I’m waiting for her to be weaned from her mother before I bring her home.”

Why did it matter that he know this? That he not think her lacking—cold and immune to the animals she’d dedicated her life to assisting?

“I can’t believe how fat Muffy is.”

“You need to convince your parents to put her on a diet, Sam. She almost died a few months ago.”

They shared a concerned look. Muffy was special to both of them. They’d picked her out together as a comfort to Sam’s mother, who’d been so sad after Sam moved out.

“Her food was cut in half as of yesterday.”

That reminded her of Sam, the old Sam. See a need, take charge, make it better.

Or at least try….

“Why doesn’t Mariah speak?” she asked, focusing somewhere just to the right of his chin. There could be no more meeting of the eyes. Sam’s looks touched her in ways she could no longer welcome. “Does she talk to you? Is it just strangers she’s so shy with?”

Frowning, Sam lifted his hands, then let them drop back to his knees. “She hasn’t said a word in six months. To me or anyone.”

“You said her family died. What happened? A car accident?” The tragedy sure explained some of the sadness she saw in Sam’s eyes. The sadness reached out to her in ways she wanted to resist.

“They didn’t just die—they were murdered by a band of terrorist thugs hijacking the airplane Moira and her husband, Brian, and Mariah were on.” He shook his head. “They were the only family Mariah had, and my closest friends.”

Cassie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Mariah’s mother had a husband. “Where were they?”

“It was a small jumper plane leaving Afghanistan. The Glorys were the only Americans on board. The terrorists were part of an extremist group fighting for recognition.”

Cassie remembered with horror the reports she’d seen on the news. “Out of forty people on the plane, only ten survived,” she continued slowly, her heart heavy as she watched the despair on Sam’s face. “Six women, three men—and an American child…” Her voice trailed off. Mariah. “At least those terrorists were caught,” she said, the thought bringing little comfort.

Sam clenched his jaw, and his hands tightened into fists. “It was all over the news—another terrorist incident. Mom and Dad heard about it in Germany, but they had no idea, of course, that the tragedy had anything to do with me.”

“You weren’t with them?”

Sam shook his head, eyes dulled and faraway. Cassie had all but forgotten that she wasn’t going to look into his face anymore.

“I was in New Jersey. I’d been there a couple of years, working with a guy who’s restoring old houses. I came home from work one day to a call from an attorney in Delaware—which is where the Glorys lived when they weren’t on assignment somewhere in the Third World. Their will named me Mariah’s legal guardian.”

“You didn’t know that?” Cassie was confused. Apparently, he hadn’t been able to make a go of marriage with this Moira, either. It must have complicated things when she’d married his good friend—not that Cassie wanted to hear anything about that. But wouldn’t he, as Mariah’s natural father, expect to have custody of her in the event her mother could no longer care for the child?

Sam nodded. “I knew,” he said hoarsely. “I just didn’t think there’d ever be a need….”

His voice broke off, and he lowered his chin as though holding back deep emotion. He’d loved the woman so much?

Another stab of pain left Cassie feeling weak and tired.

“When I got to Afghanistan to collect Mariah, she was this silent huddle with big frightened eyes.” He paused. “Immediately after the funeral, I moved into the Glorys’ home and began adoption proceedings. I tried to make her life as normal as possible, surrounding her with familiar things, but she hasn’t responded very much. She’s been in counseling since the beginning, but there’s only so much medical science can do. She’s suffering emotional pain, not some kind of chemical imbalance they can medicate. There is no diagnosis of a disease. There are always medications, of course, but some things you have to come out of naturally, on your own. Mariah has to want to return to us.”

“So she hasn’t spoken at all?”

“Not a word.”

“Not even when she saw you?”

Sam shook his head.

“It’s obvious she adores you.”

“We’ve always been close,” Sam said softly, almost apologetically, as his eyes met Cassie’s. “Without you, she was my only shot at having a child in my life.”

Cassie ignored the first part of that statement. “You and her mother split before she was born?”

“Her mother and I were never together,” he said, his expression gentle. “At least, not in any child-making sense. Mariah’s not my biological daughter, Cass.”

The breath slowly left Cassie’s lungs. She felt dizzy, light-headed. But not relieved. Whether or not Sam had had sex with Mariah’s mother made no difference to her; he’d certainly had sex with other women.

At least one while he and Cassie were married.

Because she didn’t know what else to do, Cassie sat and listened while Sam told her about his best friends, the Glorys. All three of them—Brian, who was full-blooded Chippewa, Moira, a Peace Corps brat, and Sam—had met when they’d been leaving for a two-year stint overseas as Peace Corps volunteers.

Mariah’s name came from a song she’d always loved. It referred to the wind. Sam said Mariah blew into their lives unexpectedly, but that she was vital to the very air they breathed.

While Cassie had been mourning their lost child, fighting to recover her life, Sam had been overseas making friends and helping other people, instead of caring for the wife he’d promised to love, honor and cherish. He’d been taking part in raising another child.

She’d have to tell him about that someday. When she was ready. When she felt she could get through the telling without falling apart. Emily’s premature birth—and subsequent death a month later—wasn’t something she spoke about. Ever. Even after all this time, the wounds were too raw. And it wasn’t as though she owed Sam an explanation. He’d lost all rights to Emily when he’d deserted them.

Although she knew Sam wasn’t responsible for the death of their child, any more than she was, she couldn’t stop believing that if only he’d been there…

Yet, no matter how frozen her heart felt at this moment, Cassie was still glad to hear that he’d been doing something worthwhile during those years. Glad to know that, while he hadn’t been there for his own child, little Mariah had been able to count on him.

Cassie had always figured he’d been enjoying the beds of coeds, like the girl he’d been with the night he should have been home with Cassie. Despite everything, she felt somehow consoled that this wasn’t the case.

“We were pretty much the only family any of us had,” Sam said, obviously lost in time. Cassie hated the stab of jealousy she felt as she heard the affection in Sam’s voice for these unknown people.

She’d never been petty. Or possessive. She sure as hell wasn’t going to start now. Sam was nothing to her. Less than nothing.

He’d betrayed her trust. Nothing was going to change that. Ever.

She might someday be able to forgive him. Had been aiming toward that goal for the past several years. But even if the day came when she could be truly free of the pain he’d caused her, the trust was gone. Once trust was broken, it couldn’t be restored. It simply ceased to exist. How could you believe in someone you couldn’t believe?

“Moira’s parents were still alive back then, though they’re both gone now.” He shook his head grimly. “I’m glad they weren’t around to know what happened to their daughter. They died of a viral infection in Africa, within a week of each other. Even when they were alive, they were always in service somewhere obscure. She saw them once a year if she was lucky. And Brian was an orphan.”

Sam didn’t bother to explain about his own aloneness. Perhaps there wasn’t any point.

He gave a sudden laugh, and Cassie sensed sadness there as well as mirth. “I was the one who proposed,” he said.

“To Moira, you mean?” So he and Brian had both been in love with the woman?

“No.” He steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “They were such blind fools. Even after they were expecting Mariah, they couldn’t figure out that they were crazy about each other. I had to point out the obvious and then drag them off to Atlantic City to tie the knot before they could talk themselves out of it.”

Cassie had never had a friendship that close. Not since Sam. She envied him.

She had Zack, though. And Randi now, too. Zack had pulled her through some rough times in those first days after she’d made the decision to get on with her life and reenter college. At Arizona State, not Montford University. There was no way she could have gone back to Montford.

“When Mariah was born, I had to do most of the coaching because poor Brian was so scared seeing Moira in pain, it made him sick.”

Sam had witnessed a birth, had coached another woman through those hours of pain. Another woman… This was why she couldn’t be with him, why she couldn’t spend any more time with him. Everything he said hurt too much.

“Tell me about Mariah,” she said now, needing to get him back to the only thing that could matter.

Her life’s work involved helping emotionally devastated people. And she hadn’t been able to get that little girl out of her mind. Couldn’t bear to have the child living so close, to run the risk of running into her over and over, without finding out if there was something she could do to help.

She wasn’t interested for Sam’s sake. Never for Sam. But because this was what Cassie did. What made her feel good about herself. What gave her a reason to get up in the morning.

Sam sat forward, his hands hanging helplessly. “Only she could tell us what’s on her mind at this point. There were reports of the things that happened during the twelve hours the plane was held captive, but they varied depending on who was talking, where they were sitting. Every report was clouded by the witness’s own terror. Not a lot of people noticed the mother and little girl sitting in the back of the plane—”