Books by Maggie Shayne (38 page)

He bent over her and scooped her into his arms, lifting her easily. She must weigh very little in her normal state, as light as she was now. He knew her body. He’d felt her, touched her intimately in his dreams and tangled memories. What a strain on her small frame it must be to carry the baby inside her. How tired she must be by now of bearing the extra load.

Her head lolled against his shoulder as he started back toward the house. She stirred a little, only enough to slip her arms around his neck, though, and then she was out again. Ren couldn’t stop himself from bending down and rubbing his cheek over the top of her head. Her soft, fragrant hair on his skin made him suck air through his teeth. Bad idea, that impulse. But he did it again.

He opened the cabin door with his foot and took her inside. He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her very carefully to the bed. Then he stood there, staring at her, longing for her.

He ought to wake her up. She should eat something. But she seemed so tired, and she was sleeping so soundly, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Besides, if she got hungry, she’d wake on her own, wouldn’t she? Right now she obviously needed the rest. He brought a towel out of the small bathroom and dried her wet feet. She’d fallen asleep with them still dangling in the water, and the bottoms of her toes had wrinkled like pink raisins.

He grinned at the image.

Then he sat on the bed’s edge and began to unbutton the blouse she wore. But when it spilled open, his hands stilled and his smile slowly died. Her breasts swelled like luscious fruits, ripe to bursting. Her bra hooked in the front and barely contained her. She hadn’t been like this before. His dim memories had painted a false picture. Or maybe she’d changed.

Of course she’d changed. She carried his child.

Hands trembling for no reason he cared to identify, Ren lifted them to the front of the bra and released its clasp. Then he pulled it open, freeing her, and feasting his hungry eyes on her.

He told himself he’d done it only because the thing had looked so uncomfortable. And that now he would pull the covers over her and let her rest.

But he didn’t move. He only stared. If ever there was the perfect vision of woman in all her glory, he was seeing it now. He couldn’t force his gaze away from her. He wanted to hold her swelling breasts in his hands, to feel the weight of them pressing into his palms. He wanted to stroke her dark nipples and see them stiffen in response. He ached to touch her, to kiss her.

Her gasp and sudden movement took him by surprise. She jerked the blankets to her chin and rolled away from him. “Ren, what are you doing!”

“I…” He blinked, searched for words. “I was just… making you comfortable. So you could sleep. I wasn’t…”

She lifted the covers, peeked underneath, then lowered them and closed her eyes.

“Annie, it’s all right. I… we were married once. Don’t be embarrassed.”

She shook her head, but her eyes didn’t open. “How did you get me up here from the lake, Ren? A wheelbarrow?”

His jaw dropped. He expected her to laugh and look at him with a twinkle in her eye, but she didn’t. “I carried you.”

“Did you check yourself for damage? Could be a hernia lurking—”

“Stop it, Annie,” he said softly. “You’re no burden, even now with the baby.”

She turned her face into the pillows, a deep muffled groan escaping her. When she spoke, her words were not only garbled but muffled as well.

He touched her shoulder, then rubbed it, helpless to think of anything to ease her apparent embarrassment. He still wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong.

“Annie, come on. Don’t cry. I was only trying… I mean, I didn’t
mean
anything. I wasn’t—”

“You think I don’t
know
that?” She lifted her head to ask that question. Then she dropped back onto the pillows again. “Ugh.”

Ren gave his head a shake. He’d thought himself equal to anything. A warrior, skilled in many forms of battle, including the kind where minds warred rather than bodies. He’d considered himself a champion at outwitting or outfighting any enemy, anywhere. But he was out of his league with her.

Aloud he searched for logic.

“It’s a difficult time for you, Annie,” he said softly. “Coming back here. The memories must be hard to deal with. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe we ought to go back.”

“I love it here, you big dummy.” But there was a threat of tears in her voice.

Of course she loved it here, he thought. Wasn’t it obvious the way she was getting ready to cry her heart out?

“The pregnancy is probably getting to you, then. Is that it, Annie?” Of course it was. Hadn’t he just been thinking how tough this whole thing must be on her physically? Hell, the emotional strain must be just as bad. “I’ve heard that the final weeks are always the hardest on the mother. Is that it, Annie? Are you worn out and tired of carrying the burden?”

She rolled to her back again, sitting up and tugging her blouse together. “Our baby is no burden, Ren.
I’m
not the one having a problem with it. Gosh,
I
know what I look like without this baby stretching me all out of proportion.”

He lifted his hands, feeling all but helpless. “Well, so do I. I don’t understand what’s—”

“You do?”

All of the sudden moisture evaporated from her eyes. She sat up straighter, brushing her damp cheeks dry, blinking her eyes clear, sweeping her hair away from her face, and staring at him as if she could see his very soul.

“How, Ren? If you don’t remember anything about our past together, then how do you know?”

“I…” Oh, great. He’d just about blown it. Think fast, he told himself. “The pictures!” Oops, he shouldn’t have yelled it out like that. Dead giveaway. “The pictures in your house, Annie, the ones of our… your wedding. I’ve seen them, and… and Annie, you’re beautiful in them.”

Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d dropped the ball.

“Not to say that you aren’t beautiful now. You are. Even more so.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “You know that, Annie. It’s not the first time I’ve told you.”

She grimaced at him as if he’d just told her she had a wart on the end of her nose. “You’re not going to say I’m glowing, are you? I often think that’s a polite mispronunciation of ”growing.“”

He allowed himself a cautious, tentative smile. So the problem was simply that she didn’t feel very attractive right now. Unless he’d guessed wrong yet again. And she didn’t want him or anyone looking at her. Why? Because she was afraid they’d confirm her suspicions? God, how little she knew.

“No, Annie. I’m not going to say you’re glowing, but only because I’m afraid you’ll hit me if I do.“

“Hmm, maybe you remember more than you’re admitting.” And now she smiled back at him.

“I’ll just say that you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever set eyes on. I believe if da Vinci were here right now, he’d beg to paint your portrait. And it would outshine the Mona Lisa as his greatest masterpiece.” He studied her reaction, seeing the skepticism in her eyes, then seeing it fade a little. Ren wondered then if there was anything in the world more beautiful to a man than a woman who carried his child. He doubted it. “You’re beautiful,” he said again to cement it in her mind. He didn’t want her to doubt it.

She shifted her eyes a little. “Yeah, well, so are forest fires, but that doesn’t make you want one.”

He frowned, tilting his head to one side.
Want
one? Ren suddenly had the distinct sensation of a light being turned on in a dark room.

“Forget I said that,” she rushed on. “Look, I’m sorry I fell apart on you. Let’s chalk it up to out-of-whack hormones and forget about it, okay?” She slid out of the bed on the opposite side and rubbed the small of her back. “Where’s our stuff?”

Ren shook himself, blinking away the flash of understanding that had nearly blinded him. “I unpacked for you. Everything’s in the dresser.”

She nodded, not looking him directly in the eye, and went to take a nightgown from the oak dresser beside the bed, still holding her blouse together with one hand. Then she frowned and sent him a glance. “This is the only dresser in the place, you know. You can put your stuff in here, too, if you want.”

“I took mine up to the loft.”

She actually winced, and he wanted to snatch his words back the second they were uttered. Idiot!

“Oh.” She blinked against the pain that showed so clearly in her eyes, and finally turned away in her effort to hide it from him. “I… thought you’d be using the couch. You knew it was a hideaway bed, didn’t you? Stupid question. Of course you knew. I told you on the way up. Well, take the loft, then.” She spoke rapidly, too rapidly, as if blurting things as they popped into her mind just to fill the silence. “Hell, Ren, if you get to feeling too crowded, try the damned shed. I’m sure the horses would welcome the company.”

“Annie—”

She slammed the bathroom door behind her, cutting off his explanation. And what the hell was he going to say, anyway? He’d actually thought about sleeping in the shed. But not for the reasons she apparently imagined.

When had this change in Annie’s attitude toward him begun? This morning, he realized slowly. In bed this morning, when she’d turned to him with desire shining from her gemstone eyes, and he’d turned away. He’d known his rejection had stung her then. But he hadn’t guessed at the interpretations she’d put on it.

He’d never known anyone as volatile. In deep mourning for her husband one day, furious with him the following dawn, feeling rejected and unattractive by nightfall. She was like the wind, unpredictable and impossible to hold. And God, how he wanted to hold her.

And what she was thinking right now was making her more tense and unsettled than ever. Because what she was thinking, Ren decided, was that he didn’t want her. And it didn’t matter that he’d explained that he couldn’t feel desire. She thought she should be able to get past that, to
make
him feel again. And she had. But he’d denied it, and she believed it was because of the child she carried. His child. God, didn’t she know that made him want her even more?

So he was left in a no-win situation. If he could show her how very wrong she was, it would ease her pain. He knew that. But if he let her go on thinking the way she was, it would be easier for her to let him go in the end. She was angry with him, likely thought him a shallow fool to reject her because of a belly swollen with his seed. His own flesh. His baby. If it were true, she’d be right. But it wasn’t true, and she was more wrong than she could possibly realize.

So what was he going to do?

He heard the shower running as he turned to pace the room. She’d take her time in the shower. That was another thing he knew about her. And he wondered if he knew it because of his experiences with her the last few days or because of the past they shared.

And did it matter? Probably not.

He shook his head. Impossible situation. Impossible decision. Tell her he was half out of his mind with wanting her, overflowing with feelings for her, and break her heart to bits when he had to leave? Or let her go on thinking him a shallow, vain idiot? Let her go on hurting over his rejection now, just to ease her pain later?

Damn, he didn’t know what the hell to do.

Instead he tried to focus on ways to make Annie feel better for the“ moment. Her back ached. That much was obvious. And she was tired of carrying the extra weight, whether she admitted to it or not. He could only imagine what other aches she might have. And she wasn’t looking well. Dark circles under her eyes, paler-than-normal skin.

She’d be damp and cold when she came out of the shower. Autumn’s chill was beginning to work its way into the cabin. Okay. He could see to her comfort, if nothing else.

He turned down the bed for her. Dug a fluffy comforter out of the cedar trunk at the bed’s foot, and laid it atop the blankets that were already there. He plumped her pillows. Then he turned off the light and lit the kerosene lamp beside her bed. Softer, more calming. The bed looked inviting with that amber glow spilling onto the white sheets.

He sternly told himself it was supposed to look inviting to her, not him. Then he moved out of the bedroom because telling himself the facts didn’t alter the way he felt when he pictured her lying there, her hair spread on the pillows, her skin painted by the lamplight.

Ren laid a fire in the fireplace, touched a match to the kindling, and watched the flames curl up to lick at the logs. Resin hissed and snapped. Warmth spread from the grate into the room, chasing the chill away, and the fragrance of burning wood tinged the air with something cozy and nostalgic.

Then, remembering she hadn’t eaten, he checked the cabin’s stores. Ira had said he’d stocked the place with supplies. The man hadn’t been lying. The refrigerator was barren, but myriad packages filled the small freezer, and still more were stacked in every cupboard. He settled on a can of “home-style” chicken vegetable soup with seasoned croutons, and a mason jar filled with peaches so bright yellow, they almost glowed. Mentally he ticked off food groups. Dairy. He was lacking dairy. Probably the most important thing for her right now.

He dived into the cupboards again and found some canned puddings—made with real milk, the label said—and he opened one for her, stuck a spoon in it, and felt a little better.

Then he stopped what he was doing and smiled to himself, and if he’d had a mirror handy, he figured he’d have seen a pretty goofy-looking grin. But it felt good taking care of her like this. She deserved it. He’d missed the chance to coddle her, treat her like the most delicate bit of china, the most precious diamond. This was a time when most men really began to appreciate what they had in their wives. Watching her blossom and expand as the child inside her did. Feeling an awed joy over the incredible gift she was about to give him. Wishing to take some of the stress and the discomfort onto himself.

He’d missed so much.

His smile only died when he thought about how much more he’d miss in the future. His baby’s first words, first steps, first day of school. His wife’s joy and wonder in every achievement. The warmth of a tiny hand, enfolded within his own.