Colton's Folly (Native American contemporary romance) (19 page)

“We’ve got Cat to help you up and down.” She looked from one to the other and smiled. “He wouldn’t mind. Not a bit.”

For days after Abby’s return, the house was filled with visitors from midmorning until well after dark: a regular contingent from the H-M-R, complete with rollicking youngsters; Abby’s students, singly and in groups; their parents and the school board members, especially Emma. Abby was pleased that Dorrie and Slow took the time to visit and express their thanks for the help she had given their kids. Their gratitude pleased her, because she had never been sure that they’d understood her motives.

Martha was kept busy, and loved every minute. The bandages came off Abby’s hand and forehead within days, and she was becoming adept at the use of the crutches supplied by Dr. Courtney. Even the pain from her ribs seemed to subside more with each passing day.

One Sunday after lunch she moved to the sofa to enjoy a visit with Emma, Hank and Jacinta. At Abby’s insistence Martha joined them. Cat lounged against the door frame, observing the scene and smiling at Abby’s animation and renewed strength. He laughed along with the others as she gaily recounted her adventure in the storm and afterward, somehow managing to find humor in a near tragedy.

The hall phone rang and Cat answered it, then came into the room. “It’s long distance, Abby, for you.”

She looked startled. “Who is it?”

He shrugged. “They didn’t say.”

Abby reached for her crutches and went into the hallway. She put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Abby. It’s Brendan.”

Cat watched as her face went pale and she swayed on her crutches. She sensed his approach and waved him off. “How did you find me?”

“I asked around, kept digging till I got Mr. Koehler’s number. His secretary directed me to you.”

“I may have to get her fired.”

He laughed. “You haven’t lost your sense of humor.”

She snorted derisively. “Yes, I have. What do you want?”

“I want to see you.”

“No.”

“Please, Abby?”

“No!” She realized that she could be heard in the living room and lowered her voice. “No.”

“Don’t shut me out.”

“Why not? You did it to
me...
and to Sian.”

“How is she? I miss her so much, Abby.”

Over and over during the recent months Abby had rehearsed in her head exactly what she would say if she were able to confront Brendan. Now that the opportunity was there, she realized that exacting revenge had rather limited appeal. She looked at the receiver for a moment, picturing his face, then said softly, “She’s dead, Brendan. She died seven months ago of pneumonia.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line, then a long silence. Finally he spoke. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you? You left without telling anyone where you were going, so there was no way to find you. And the truth is, I didn’t think you’d care, so maybe I didn’t try very hard.”

He seemed to sense that she was about to break the connection. “Don’t hang up yet, please. Wait.”

“Well?” Her voice was hoarse and cold. “What?”

“Let me come out and talk to you. Let me try to straighten things out.”

“For the last time, no. And if you find your way out here, I won’t see you. So save yourself a trip.” She thought for a moment. “Brendan, listen to me. What you and I had, if we ever had anything at all, died long before Sian did. But her death put the seal on it more finally than any legal papers ever did. Do us both a favor and stay away from me. We’ll both be better off.” There was only silence in response. “Did you hear me, Brendan?”

His voice was lifeless when he answered. “Yeah, I heard you. I won’t bother you anymore. Goodbye.”

They hung up simultaneously. Abby moved over to the stairs and sat down on the second step, too weak to move, in too much pain to think clearly. Brendan’s voice echoed in her mind, and pictures of Sian burned behind her closed eyes. Together, the two forces churned within her, ripping at her insides. She wanted to cry out, to release some of the agony, but she couldn’t; the others were too close. Instead she sat with her arms wrapped around her middle, trying to hold on to her self-control and shaking with the effort.

The others were in the living room, waiting for Abby to return. When she failed to do so, Cat came after her.

“Abby? What happened? Who the hell was that guy?” She made no response. He touched her arm gently. “Abby?” She turned to him, hollow-eyed and tormented. “My God, what did he say to you?”

“Cat,” she whispered, “get me out of here. Take me home. Please?”

“Of course. C’mon.”

He helped her down the front steps and kept his arms around her for a moment or two. She clung to him, as if to draw his strength into herself. When she felt steady she took her crutches and smiled at him. “I’m okay now. Thanks.”

“Let me carry you.”

“I need to walk.”

“Stubborn, even now.”

She grimaced. “Times like this, it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

When they reached her house Cat opened the door, and they went inside. “You can help me open the windows,” she said. “The house smells musty.”

That chore done, they sat together in the window seat. “Who was the guy, Abby?”

She stared out the window. “My ex-husband.” At his silence, she turned to him. “No comment?”

“And that Sian you talked about?”

“Our daughter.”

He took her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Did you hear it all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you need to know any more?”

“Only if you need to tell me.”

She leaned back against the window and closed her eyes. Cat watched her silently. Her face was pale and gaunt; her body seemed drained of energy. Not even after her accident had he seen her so physically and mentally depleted. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, and he was furious with himself for the thought.

“I need something, but I don’t think that’s it.”

“Come here.”

She moved into his arms and nestled there with a grateful sigh. “Your arms are beginning to feel like home.”

“I know.”

They sat silently for a long time. As the tension gradually left her body other sensations took its place. Her heartbeat and pulse quickened. Faint color returned to her cheeks, and when she looked up at him, her eyes glowed with a new light. As her body came to life, he knew he was in danger. In another minute, he knew, he would be lost. He lifted her in his arms.

“Where are we going?”

“You need some rest.” He carried her into the bedroom and lowered her gently to the bed. “You should sleep now, Abby.”

“Stay with me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please?”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled. “No. But stay anyway.”

He lay down beside her on the wide brass bed and held her until she fell asleep. They slept in each other’s arms until well past midnight, when Abby stirred, lifting herself up on one elbow to watch his face. Pictures of the last time she’d watched him this way flooded back with taunting accuracy, and once again she felt his lips and his hands and his velvety skin beneath her palm. By the light of the moon she examined his features, foreign and exotic and compelling, and wondered if he was really handsome, or only handsome in her eyes, because she loved him. And she did love him. There had been no fanfares, no lightning striking her, no sudden revelations, just the slowly growing knowledge deep inside her that though he fought her, opposed her at every possible turn, didn’t approve of her or trust her, he had come to occupy a very special place in her life and her heart.

She touched his mouth lightly with her own, and he opened his eyes. She lowered her lips to his again, but he put up a hand. “Don’t, Ab,” he pleaded. “Don’t start... anything. I’m not sure I’ve got the strength to resist.”

She nudged his hand aside, and her lips came down on his, caressing, playing, her tongue making darting moves, teasing him into joining her in the game.

“I like you best when you’re half-asleep,” she whispered against his mouth, “and too weak to fight me like you do when you’re awake and in control.” She pulled back and looked at his eyes, which were just beginning to focus. Then she brought her mouth down again, demanding a response.

He groaned deep in his throat, his eyes glaring hotly at her, his body rigid with resistance. Then his arms came around her, and his hands traveled up her back and raked through her hair to hold her head in a steely grip that kept her face no more than a breath away from his.

“Don’t look for trouble, Abby,” he whispered fiercely. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” He stared at her for a long time, but her gaze never wavered.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” she responded with equal ferocity. “And exactly what I’m doing.”

She lay down, her long, slender body a gentle weight on his, and felt him quiver as her warmth shrouded him. Her fingers twined in his hair, and her lips touched his eyelids and the bump at the bridge of his nose, and one wide cheekbone and then the other. By the time she reached the corner of his mouth his lips were searching hungrily for hers, and she knew he would fight her no longer.

Now his lips claimed hers, and his tongue sought entry to the warm, moist cavern of her mouth, roaming at will, searching and joining with its partner in a sensuous mating dance. His hands traveled down her back, kneading the muscles along her spine, working his magic as he had before, until every nerve ending vibrated and waves of heat radiated through her body, setting her skin on fire.

His hands at her hips pressed her tightly to him. Through the thick layers of their denims she felt the hard throbbing in his loins, and a wet heat sprang up in her in response. He reached between them and slipped his hand beneath her blouse to touch her warm, bare skin, and brushed a turgid nipple with one fingertip before cupping the full weight of her breast in his hand. This time she was the one who groaned deep in her throat, caught in an agony of wanting, tortured by a need so great that it expressed itself as physical pain.

Her left hand stole beneath his soft cotton shirt and gently explored the contours of his chest, passing finally down the long channel that ran from breastbone to navel. She slipped her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans to touch his flat, hard stomach and felt his flesh quivering beneath her questing palm. She trailed her fingers lightly over his skin, exploring, enjoying the feel of his rock-hard muscles as they contracted beneath her fingers, forming a tantalizing valley between the sharp, flesh-covered ridges of his pelvic bones. She would have tested further, but at the first tentative movement downward, he let out a gasp and grabbed at her arm.

“Damn it, woman,” he growled. “Enough!” He rolled her onto her back and claimed her lips in a hard kiss, then withdrew with a moan of impatience to lie back against the pillows. “You test my willpower, Abby. Why do you do that?”

She leaned over him and looked into his eyes. “Why can’t you take what I have to give? What I want to give?”

He turned away wordlessly and looked at the moon hanging in the sky, already moving toward morning. Finally he turned back to her, ignoring her questions, not yet ready to give her the answer that would tear them apart finally and absolutely. “When you were on the phone you mentioned legal papers. I guess that means you and he are divorced?”

Resigned to the fact that they’d lost the moment, Abby lay back with a sigh. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Sian was born with a lot of physical problems. He couldn’t handle that, and one day he just... left. It was pretty rough for a while until I got a good job and a super nurse to care for Sian. I really thought she and I would make it, but she got sick and developed pneumonia, and suddenly it was over.”

He touched her cheek gently. “You haven’t had much luck in your life, have you?”

She considered the question. “I guess not. I never thought much about it.”

But Cat thought about it, hard and long, as she lay beside him. There wasn’t a hope in hell for them. And it was unfair to draw her close when they had no future together. Better to pull back now, before she came to feel more than she already did. There were hurts in her past he could never undo; he could only see to it that he didn’t add to her pain. Gently, he pulled his arm from beneath her head.

“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly.

She was quiet for a long time, and he thought she might not have heard. Finally she spoke softly, saying only, “Okay.”

“Don’t...”

“Don’t what? There are no strings here. You don’t owe me a thing.”

“Then don’t be angry.”

She turned her head away, and he could no longer see her eyes. With a gentle finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look at him, and he ached at the tears that shimmered on her lashes.

“I’m not angry,” she insisted. “Just very tired.”

Cat left and walked to the door. Against his better judgment he turned to look at her once more. She was lying quietly, one arm flung across her eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.