Books by Maggie Shayne (30 page)

He knew there was a dark knight stalking her—Blackheart, if this mission was as important to humanity as Sir George had claimed. The dark side would send their fiercest warrior. But Ren had no way of knowing who the man might be or what form he might have taken to accomplish his evil mission. Like Ren, he’d likely come into this realm in disguise. So could he be posing as Annie’s Harry Hayes?

“Annie?”

She blinked and brushed the tears away from her eyes. “I shouldn’t be mad enough to strangle Harry,” she said softly.

“Probably not.”

“He really does care about me. He just doesn’t understand.”

“How could he?”

“And he has to look out for the kids. I mean, I wouldn’t respect him if he didn’t.”

“Of course,” Ren said.

She knuckled her cheeks dry, shook her head. “But it still infuriates me.” She took a deep breath, held it a few seconds, let it out slowly. When she lifted her head and looked off in the distance, her face cleared a little.

“Feel better?”

She nodded but didn’t look at him. Instead she lifted a tentative hand and waved. And in a second, she smiled very slightly.

“She’s an unusual girl. So beautiful and… and odd.”

“Who is?” Ren asked.

Annie pointed. “Sara. Right there, by the maple tree.” She looked at Ren as he sought, and didn’t find the girl she was pointing out. There was no one by the maple tree. “I’ve been trying to figure out why she’s here, where she came from. But I suppose I should just accept her presence and quit questioning it. She’s so supportive and kind of soothing to me. I like her.”

Ren squinted, shaded his eyes, stared into the distance. But there was no one in sight. He looked down at Annie and frowned in confusion. A cold chill slid up his spine, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders before he thought better of it. “Come on, Annie. Let’s go-“ She nodded, waved once more toward the girl only she could see, and leaned into his embrace as they walked.

And Ren felt a blade slowly slicing off a paper-thin portion of his heart.

She stopped walking, stepped away from him, and looked up into his face. “You didn’t see her, did you?”

Ren set his jaw, met her crystalline green eyes, and knew he couldn’t lie to her. He shook his head.

She bit her lower lip. “And now you’re wondering if maybe Harry’s right. If I’m slipping just a little bit.”

“Annie, I never said that.”

“You know me better than to think that way,” she told him. “I didn’t lose it when you died; I’m certainly not going to crack up now that you’ve come back.”

He studied her face. Calm, rational. Loving. “I’m not Richard,” he said.

“Right. I keep forgetting.” She reached down, plucked a bright yellow buttercup from the ground, and held it under his nose.

Ren frowned down at her, completely at a loss. And then he sneezed.

“Richard was allergic to buttercups,” Annie said, tossing the little blossom to the ground. “Quite a coincidence, isn’t it, Ren?”

“Don’t, Annie. Stop trying to see him in me. It will only cause you more pain.”

She shook her head, held up a hand to cut him off when he would have said more, and started walking again. She walked briskly. He wanted to tell her to slow down, to take it easy, but he was afraid to say anything just now. Afraid of making her more suspicious, more unhappy, than she was already.

She left the road, crossed through a grassy lot that served as a town park, and only stopped when she reached the edge of the river that bubbled and tumbled along. Sitting down in the grass, she stretched her legs out in front of her.

The place was familiar to Ren. For some reason he knew that the blackberry patch was off to the right on the far bank even before he looked up and saw it there. And the way the willow tree seemed to bend over the water, like an old man trying to get a sip—he’d seen it before.

Annie leaned back on her hands. “Sit beside me, Ren.”

He did, very close beside her. And he tried not to look at her. He told himself to study the water instead. But it didn’t stop the rush he felt coming in his mind. Something had happened here. He saw, in blindingly rapid flashes, a checkered tablecloth spread on the grass, a bottle of wine, Annie’s bare feet dangling in the water…

She sighed. “You have no idea what he meant to me,” she told him. “If you did, you wouldn’t keep telling me to stop trying to convince myself you are my Richard, come back to me. Because you’d know how impossible it is for me to give up.”

Ren closed his eyes, but still the flashes came. He saw the two of them, him and Annie, splashing each other with the river water, laughing out loud. But they were younger. Teenagers, perhaps.

“The closest thing I can liken it to is losing a limb,” she went on. “Only it’s worse. Almost as if I were sawed in half. He was part of me, you know. And when he left it was as if that part of me, the very best part of me, left with him.”

He saw them fall to the ground together and saw himself catching her in his arms, kissing her until their laughter died and an innocent, timid passion replaced it. He saw his own hands, trembling as they fumbled with her clothes, removing them piece by piece…

“I forget when I sleep, you know,” she said. Her voice was softer now than before. “I forget he’s gone, sometimes, in my dreams. So mat every morning when I wake it’s like losing him all over again. The experts told me it would get easier with time, but it only got worse. Hell, how could it not?

“Annie, you have to get past this.”

“Don’t.” She shook her head at him, blinking the tears from her eyes. “Don’t tell me to get over it. We didn’t love like other people love. What we had… it was bigger. It was deeper. It was like a living thing, the love we had.” She closed her eyes. “How could you forget that?”

He wanted to take her pain away. He wanted it more than he wanted to draw another breath. But he couldn’t tell her that memories were assaulting him even now. That maybe he hadn’t forgotten. That perhaps she was right, and their love had been as powerful as she claimed—more powerful than Sir George’s magic. So powerful, he’d been mourning its loss as much as she had, though he’d never known what exactly he’d been longing for.

This was the first place he’d made love to her. Ren knew it as surely as he knew that the man she was crying for was sitting beside her now. It was killing him not to tell her. But if she was in this much pain now, what would she feel when the time came for him to leave her again? God, it might destroy her utterly.

He lifted a hand to brush the tears from her eyes. “You can’t surrender to your grief, Annie. And you know the reason as well as I do.” He glanced down at her swollen belly, and she lowered her chin. “Your baby needs you.”
Our baby needs you.

“Our baby,” she told him. And those two words were like blades sinking into his heart. She squeezed her eyes tight and nodded. “You’re right. I know that. My grief, my need to get to the truth, can wait. Our baby’s safety comes first. But I’m not going to give up, Ren.” Her eyes opened, meeting his. “I can’t.”

“And you can’t afford to be distracted by your wishful thinking either. This battle is going to take all your concentration, Annie. All your will.”

She nodded, seemingly accepting that, and Ren felt he’d been given a reprieve. He had to convince her he wasn’t her husband. But it looked as if it would be difficult. Perhaps impossible.

“Tell me this,” she asked him. “Why do these… dark forces… want to hurt my baby?”

He wasn’t supposed to tell. It would be breaking one more of Sir George’s rules. Well, he’d already bent them. And he continued to bend them because he cared more about this fragile, strong, stubborn woman with every breath he drew. That was certainly a breach. A serious one. But dammit, he couldn’t lie to her more than he already had.

He took her hand in both of his. “Annie, your child is going to become a great leader. One who will bring about sweeping changes, good changes. Ends to war and disease and famine. Annie, this baby is special. Vital.“

She blinked and ran her hands over her belly. “
My
baby?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head slowly in wonder. Then she smiled. “Naturally. How could Richard’s child be any less?” She picked up a rock, tossed it, and watched it plop into the water. “Trust the universe to pick the perfect father for such an important little one.”

“But do you trust
me?”
Like her, he picked up a rock and flung it with a twist of his wrist. It skimmed the water’s surface, hopping four, five, six times before sinking out of sight. He hadn’t realized he could do that.

She hadn’t answered him. He turned to see her staring, wide-eyed, at the ripples his stone had left in the water.

“Annie?”

She blinked, shook herself, and finally looked at him. That wonder was in her eyes again. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I trust you.”

He became lost in those jewel-green eyes of hers for long moments. And then he blinked because he saw the way they softened, the yielding, the longing that blossomed in their glittering depths. And he knew what she wanted.

Her body seemed to sway toward him just a little, but he caught her shoulders and held her steady, keeping a bit of space between them. As his fingertips sank into the flesh of her shoulders, an urge to pull her closer rose up inside him. Inexplicable, but nearly irresistible. And he felt, like a shadow from the past, a distant memory. One so sensory and so vivid, it was as if it were happening again at this very moment. He felt the touch of her skin against his. The gentle friction, the heat. The taste of her came to life on his tongue, the feel of her mouth opening to his, the sensation of invading that damp satin paradise, of possessing it.

The sensations made him dizzy. His heart hammered against his chest, and he fought to keep his breathing regular. Trying to act perfectly normal was a difficult thing when he could almost feel his mind absorbing the memory and trying to reproduce it. How could he hope to hide his memories from her, to disguise the growing feelings in him? Especially when he couldn’t for the life of him look away from the plea in her crystalline eyes. Especially when he was suddenly yearning to taste her lips. To feel, for the first time in what seemed like centuries, the stirrings of physical desire.

Dammit, he wanted to feel again!

It was Annie who looked away.

And Ren was left feeling as if he’d been on the verge of something wonderful, only to have it pulled just beyond his reach. And that gnawing emptiness, that ache that had haunted him for as long as he could remember, came back to him full force. And for the first time, Ren thought he knew what it was he’d been longing for so much. What it was he’d been missing.

It was Annie.

Annie, the woman who had been his wife. The love they must have shared. God, he’d been grieving for her as much as she still was for him. Only he’d been unable to identify the source of his intense sorrow.

But he’d felt it all the same. Even with his memory of her erased, his feelings for her— perhaps his love for her—had remained locked in his heart. And now that he understood that, he wanted more.

She got to her feet, and when she struggled, he was quick to grab her shoulders again, to help her. But she pulled away from his grasp, cleared her throat, straightened her hair, though there was no need. And then she averted her face, and he wondered if there were tears burning in her eyes, ones she didn’t want him to see. He kept his gaze averted, too, as they walked together back to the house she’d once shared with the man she’d loved. And he felt once again like an invader in a sacred place. Even though he knew, more than he’d known before, that he wasn’t.

“Mother, no. No, I’m fine,” Annie said into the telephone receiver, hoping to ease the worry in her mother’s tone. “I promise, you’d know if I wasn’t.”

“How can you say that?” Georgette asked. “Darling, you’ve been in the hospital, and you never even called us! You were nearly run down by a car, and now I learn you’ve got some stranger living with you! What on earth is going on?”

“It’s reassuring to know the town rumor mill is still in working order,” she muttered.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Annie. I’m concerned. Now, about this stranger—”

“He’s
not
a stranger.”
Far from it,
Annie thought.
I’m pretty sure he’s my dead husband.
She could just imagine her mother’s reaction if she blurted
that
tidbit out.

“Well, he’s not Richard’s cousin, as you and he are claiming, that’s for sure! Maria says—”

“You told
Maria
about this? Mom, how could you?”

“She’s your mother-in-law. She has a right to know. And she says there is no such person as this Ren fellow you claim is Richard’s long-lost cousin. So if he’s told you he is, he’s a con man. And if you aren’t being misled, then you’re deliberately lying.”

“Oh, for heaven’s—”

“We’re coming over there. And we want some answers, young lady. I’m not going to have my grandchild raised in such an… an
unstable
environment. Some drifter under the roof! It’s…”

She went on, but Annie rolled her eyes, shook her head, and tuned her mother out. She marveled that the small-town grapevine had reached her mother’s neck of the woods so fast. Georgette and Ira lived three hours north, at the base of the forest-coated hillside that was Mystic Lake’s home. Her horses usually kept her busy enough to leave Annie alone, but not this time.

Annie closed her eyes as her mother’s voice rang on and on. Then she felt a warm, big hand close over hers, and the receiver was gently taken away. She glanced up when Ren spoke.

“Georgette? Hello, this is Ren, the man who’s staying with your daughter.”

Annie groaned inwardly.

“Of course. I’m looking forward to it. But I’m not sure it’s such a good time for Annie. She’s exhausted, and the whole idea of my staying with her was to ease the burden. She needs her rest.”

She groaned out loud this time. Ren only smiled at her.

“Yes, I know Aunt Maria gets confused that way. She doesn’t remember me, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen her since I was a little boy. But it’s probably for the best. When we were small, she used to get Richard and me confused. It was right after she’d lost her eyesight, you see. And our voices were similar, so…”

Annie blinked in surprise. There were few people on the planet for whom her mother cared more deeply than Maria Nelson. She’d taken to Richard’s mother like a sister, and she’d do anything to keep from hurting her.

“Exactly, Georgette. That’s a good idea. I’m sure that would be the best way to handle it. Questioning her about me will only dredge up painful memories. She’s suffered so much already.” He paused. “You’re a kind woman. Okay, then. Good-bye for now.”

He hung up and turned to look at Annie. And his smug expression was so familiar, it hurt. “She’s reassured. She’s not coming over… yet. And you’re off the hook.”

At that moment there was little doubt in Annie’s mind that he was Richard. Richard, who’d always been able to sweet-talk his meddlesome, well-intentioned mother-in-law no matter what the circumstances. Exactly the way Ren had done, just now.

Dammit, she had to be nuts! But she also had to know more about him. He’d claimed he was not her husband, he’d told her he didn’t know her, but she found herself wanting to prove him a liar. She wanted to be right about this. Wanted it so badly that maybe she was imagining the signs she kept seeing. Like the way he skipped the stone on the water that morning. Just as Richard used to do. He’d tried teaching her the trick of it when they were kids, one summer day on Mystic Lake. And even then, there’d been… something special between them. Something neither of them recognized or understood, but both of them felt. Some tie that bound their souls together even before physical attraction had entered into their thought processes.

It was the same something she felt stirring between her and Ren right now. She’d realized it when he’d looked into her eyes, when he’d almost kissed her.

It was too much to believe in, too much to hope for. But all day it had been niggling at her brain. And as she pondered the idea, the pain that had been with her for so very long seemed to ease a little bit. The depression that had made her feel her legs were made of lead and her mind was stuffed with wet cotton balls began to dissipate. And instead, her brain filled with ideas and plots and plans of how she could test him to prove or disprove her theory.

How the hell had he known Maria was blind?

The rest of the day passed quickly. The first one she remembered spending without battling constant depression and pain. She smiled more often than she had in eight long months, and she cooked a real dinner instead of grabbing a sandwich.

She found him in the nursery. He’d taken all the various crib parts up there and was sitting on the floor with them spread around him. It brought a lump to her throat to see him working so calmly in the very place where she would have expected to see her husband. And she hesitated in the doorway.

He looked up, met her gaze, and glanced down at the partially assembled mess in front of him. “I should have asked first. Do you mind?”

Her knees trembled. She wanted to cry, but she didn’t. “No. No, I don’t mind at all.”

He smiled, and as his eyes traveled over her face his smile became a grin that took her breath away. “You have sauce on your chin.”

Her stomach clenched into a knot. She ran the pad of her thumb over her chin, remembering the way Richard would kiss such spatters off her face and claim he was only tasting dinner.

“I made lasagna,” she managed. It had always been Richard’s favorite. “Do you like it?”

It seemed he had to think about his answer. He tilted his head to one side, frowning. “I think so. It’s… it’s hard to remember.”

“Why?” She watched him carefully as she awaited his reply. “Has it been such a long time?”

He nodded, that sad, haunted expression darkening his eyes. “Longer than you know. But it’s more than that.” His eyes narrowed as he searched for words. “I’m not like other men, Annie.”

“You never were,” she said softly.

He frowned at her, but apparently decided to let it slide. “White Knights don’t… feel things the way mortal men do.”

And it was Annie’s turn to frown. “Don’t they?”

“Carnal urges aren’t a part of our makeup. Hungers and cravings—”

“And desire?”

His eyes met hers, darkened slightly just before he averted them. “We eat because it keeps us strong. But I can’t remember the last time I actually took pleasure in a meal.”

There was more he wanted to say. Maybe that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken pleasure with a woman either. But he clamped his jaw and erased the look in his eyes. An act of will, a deliberate covering up of his feelings. She’d done it herself often enough to recognize it when she saw it. What was he trying to hide? Ren rose and brushed his hands together. “It certainly smells wonderful,” he said.

She stepped closer to him. “You used to say my lasagna was the next best thing to sex.”

His face reddened a bit. “Not me. Your husband. I keep telling you—”

“Right.” She smiled a little. “You’re not him. Funny how I can’t seem to get that through my head.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Richard was in ecstasy when he ate my lasagna. It’s just dripping with peppers and onions, imported cheeses, fresh spinach.” She sniffed the air. Saw him pretending not to do the same. “I make this garlic bread with it and serve it hot, so the butter just melts into it. Richard always loved to mop up the extra sauce with a slice of hot garlic bread.“

“It sounds… very nice.”

“It’s ready and waiting.” She stepped aside to let him pass. He searched her face, wary of her, suspecting a trick, no doubt. But then he gave his head a shake and left the room.

Annie followed him down the stairs. He paused only long enough to wash his hands, and when he came to the dining room, he sat at Richard’s usual spot at the table. She didn’t have to tell him, hadn’t given him a clue to go by, hadn’t so much as set a place for him yet. Just motioned for him to sit, and waited while he did.

She tried not to take that as yet another sign that he was lying when he said he wasn’t Richard. She had to be objective. She had to be
sure.

She put the food on and watched him again. Left-handed, just like her Richard. Everything…
everything…

The way he chewed, the amount of salt he sprinkled on his food, the frequent, overlong chugs of the milk they had with dinner. And he could deny it until hell froze over, but she knew damned well he was enjoying every bite.

He broke off a piece of garlic bread and swiped it through the sauce on his plate. Then he froze, blinking down at the bread in his hand as if surprised to see it there. He lifted his gaze, met her eyes.

She tried not to look smug. “Care for some more?” she asked.

He shook his head no, and dropped the bread on his plate. He looked confused. Maybe even a little bit scared.

Annie tried to tell herself not to get her hopes up too high, but her mind wasn’t listening. With every breath he drew, she was more convinced this man was her husband. And that might be dangerous. The practical part of her—the tiny part that clung stubbornly to the idea that believing that would be surrendering to an impossible fantasy—insisted that it was dangerous. Very dangerous. But the rest of her was relishing this time with him. Needing it, thriving on it, drawing strength and warmth and even life from it. She hadn’t felt this alive in a very long time.

“I’ll get the dishes,” he told her, rising from his chair and reaching for her empty plate.

“No, that’s—”

“Rest,” he said softly. “You look exhausted, Annie.”

It was more emotional exhaustion than physical. Annie knew that, but she nodded anyway. She stretched out on the sofa with her feet up, rubbed the small of her aching back, closed her eyes, and listened to the comforting clink of dishes and the gentle splashing of water coming from the kitchen.

Sometime during the night, she thought she heard footsteps. Her first thought was of Ren… Richard—the two blurred together in her mind. But then she stiffened a little. The steps were slow, calculated, creeping. As if the walker didn’t want to be heard.

Sit up. Open your eyes. Call Ren
.

The tourmaline pendant that rested on her chest seemed to vibrate and grow warm. It was nothing. It was only Ren, and if he was being quiet, it was simply because he didn’t want to wake her. Absently she lifted a hand to stroke the pulsing stone at her throat. Soft sleep spread its velvet cloak over her and she embraced it, burrowing deeper into its arms. She dreamed Ren
was
Richard. She dreamed he came to her and took her in his arms and swore never to leave her again. Never. No matter what. She was so happy, so very happy.

She didn’t
want
to wake because there was a part of her that knew this heaven was only a dream. To wake meant to lose him again. So she hugged sleep tighter and held her husband in her dreams.

She needed the rest. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb her. Besides, if he woke her, he’d have to face the growing knowledge in her eyes yet again.

He’d relished the meal she’d prepared. The flavors had come alive on his tongue as none ever had before—or none that he could remember. The spices. The gooey cheeses. The sauce. It had been so good, he’d nearly wept.

God, what was happening to him? Something inside him, some dormant part of him, seemed to be reawakening. Sensory memories were returning and becoming more than just memories. They were coming alive. In him. A White Knight! It was unheard of. And unacceptable.

And looking at Annie only made the sensations he had no business feeling all the stronger. So he wouldn’t move her to her own bed or wake her. He’d let her rest on the sofa where she’d fallen fast asleep.

He checked the locks and turned off the lights, and then he went to her, to tuck a blanket around her. As his hands smoothed the cover over her shoulders, she stirred, smiled a little in her sleep. Ren went still. Her dark lashes rested on her satin cheeks. Her hair spread out over the small throw pillows like a cloud. He battled an urge to bury his face in that fragrant mass of silk. Curiosity assailed him. Could he take as much pleasure in the scent of her hair as he had in the meal? Would it really damn him beyond redemption to find out? He bent closer, nuzzling locks of her hair with his face, inhaling that succulent fragrance that was hers alone. And a pleasure that was almost painful swirled in his mind. He didn’t know why this was happening, but it was.

His chest brushed hers as he leaned over her, and a jolt of liquid heat shot through him, so potent and shocking, it nearly knocked him to his knees.

This was unwise, what he was doing. He could lose his very life for it. He straightened away from the sleeping angel, forced his gaze away from her, and went upstairs to finish assembling the crib. Anything to distract him from the thoughts plaguing his mind.

But as it turned out, it took a good deal more to make him stop thinking about her, stop
feeling
for her.

He’d never intended to fall asleep in the nursery, on the undersize crib mattress he’d been using for a seat. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to doze at all, when he shook himself awake later. It was totally unlike him to doze unintentionally.

But when the sharp and acrid scent reached him, he knew with a surge of alarm exactly what had lulled him into unconsciousness.

There was an odor in the house. The odor of natural gas.

“Annie!”

Ren leaped to his feet, snatching up his sword and belting it around him with his heart pounding. He raced into the hall, down the curving stairs. In complete darkness he made his way to the bottom, not daring to so much as touch a light switch. Gas filled the room, the air so dense with it that he nearly collapsed before he reached Annie. And Ren knew that a single spark could send the entire place up in flames. So no lights. No telephone. No time to do anything other than scoop her into his arms and get out.