Magnolia Dawn (14 page)

She shook her head. “You can't have it both ways, Rush. You can't dismiss me on the one hand and act like the jealous lover on the other. Either you care or you don't. This may not be permanent, but it's either exclusive or it's nothing. Now excuse me, I'm going in.”

* * *

Ashland had never been so quiet. It had never seemed so empty. Anna laid her novel on the floor next to her and turned her gaze to the parlor windows and the black night beyond. How had Rush changed her life so quickly? One short month ago, she would have found the quiet peaceful. Relaxing.

Now it just felt…lonely.

Had she changed his life at all? she wondered, leaning her head against the back of the settee. A lump formed in her throat. Probably not. He was much more important to her than she'd ever been to him.

She drew in a deep breath, even though it hurt. Since their fight that afternoon, she'd asked herself those same questions dozens of times. She'd also asked herself if she'd made the right decision.

And every time, she'd answered herself yes. No matter how badly she hurt or how much she missed him, she couldn't compromise her integrity. She had to have honesty from him. She had to have trust. Even when it hurt like the devil.

Beside her, Blue whined and thumped his tail against the oak flooring. She smiled at him and scratched his chest. “You miss him, too, don't you, boy?”

The big dog rolled his eyes and laid his head back, whining again. She smoothed her hand over his massive rib cage, then tickled his underbelly. “So, Baby Blue, what are we going to do with our time?”

As if in answer to her question, a knock sounded at the door, echoing through the empty house. Anna sucked in a quick breath, hope surging through her. Could it be Rush? Her heart told her it was, told her he'd made a decision about their relationship. The one she hoped he'd made.

But her head told her not to get her hopes up, not to set herself up for an even bigger hurt.

Blue jumped up and raced for the door. When he reached it he began pawing at it and whimpering.

She had her answer. Blue was as crazy about Rush as she was.

Standing, she wiped her damp palms on the seat of her jeans and told herself to get a grip. If he'd made a decision, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Drawing in a deep breath, she crossed to the door and swung it open.

Rush stood on the other side of the door, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his expression tense. Anna eyed the bag, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

He'd made his decision, all right. He'd decided to leave.

“May I come in?”

She stared at him for a moment, then swung the door open and stepped aside so he could enter. Without speaking, she led him to the front parlor.

Rush set his duffel bag carefully on the settee, then met her eyes. “I'm not the best at apologies, but I'll give it a try. I behaved like a bastard this afternoon. I'm sorry.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she nodded. “Apology accepted.”

Turning, he crossed to a window and stared out at the darkness. “And you were right,” he continued after a moment, “I demanded honesty from you, but refused you the same courtesy.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “I don't share myself easily. When you open yourself up, you invite a knife. It's a matter of survival, Annabelle.”

Anna lifted her chin, fighting tears. “But I trusted you, Rush.
I
opened myself up. In a way I never had before.”

He looked away again. “I know. That meant a lot to me.”

It had meant a lot to him, all right, she thought bitterly, eyeing the duffel bag once more. That's why he was getting the hell out of Dodge in such a hurry.

Rush began to pace. He moved to the bookcase, from there to the fireplace, and then to another of her mother's drawings. This one depicted her and Lowell picnicking under the magnolias.

Rush stared at it for long moments, then faced her once more. “I told you about being dumped at St. Catherine's Orphanage when I was five. What I didn't tell you was, the woman who brought me there wasn't my mother. At least the nuns felt certain she wasn't. She was dirty and practically illiterate. She stank of sweat and old booze.”

Rush's expression tightened, and he flexed his fingers as if controlling a great emotion. “And, they tell me,” he went on, “that I was frightened of her. I didn't cry when she left me, only clung, terrified, to one of the Sisters. They speculated that she'd either found me on the street or…that one of my parents had paid her to deliver me to St Catherine's. To avoid questions or paperwork. Or even the possibility of being turned away. St. Catherine's contacted the police and Children's Services, but nothing ever came of it.”

Tears formed a lump in Anna's throat. How awful for him. How painful. “So…you don't know anything about your family or birth?”

“Not even the day or year.” His lips twisted. “The only clue to my lineage was my Southern accent.”

“But
you were five. Surely you had some—”

“Memory?” He shook his head. “None. But I suffered from terrible nightmares. Night after night my screams awakened everyone.”

Anna clasped her hands in front of her, battling tears. Tears for a terrified little boy. A little boy with no memory and no one to love him. “Oh, Rush. I'm so sorry.”

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. “To this day, I don't remember the first five years of my life. It's a giant, dark void. Sometimes the memories visit in my dreams, but they're shadows only. Impressions.”

“Last night, when I awoke and you were gone—”

“Yes.” He moved restlessly around the room, touching this and that, less interested, Anna thought, in the things than in the movement. “I wasn't a charming child, not the type who attracted parents. I
was withdrawn and sullen, haunted by nightmares. I went through foster families fast.”

He smiled, but the curving of his lips was devoid of humor. “I found that people take children in for a lot of different reasons. To be playmates for their own children or little helpers for them. Some do it for the additional income. Never, in my experience, because they want to love and help a child grow.”

Anna heard the hurt in his voice, although he would have denied it was there. She heard the longing. She imagined him as a boy, longing to be loved and accepted, being disappointed again and again.

She wanted to touch him, to try to comfort him. She took a step toward him, hand out. “Rush, I'm…”

He shook his head. “Don't, Anna. I need to finish. After you know everything, if you still want…” He left the thought unsaid, and returned to the window and the blackness beyond. “By the time I was ten,
I'd become a brawler. A troublemaker. I instigated a lot of fights. Luckily I was big for my age. I didn't get hurt badly too many times. My aggression was a form of self-defense, I realize now. A survival technique. When you don't have an adult to look out for your interests, you're an easy mark. For other children. Adults. The bad guys.”

She couldn't imagine the Rush she knew as a street fighter or bully. She thought of the way he'd held and stroked her, the way he'd helped her through her fear. Where had he learned about tenderness? About empathy? Who had taught him to be gentle?

“Finally, I took off. I'd had it with the system. It was a joke. And I felt I was old enough to take care of myself.”

“How old were you?” she asked softly, unsure she wanted to know the answer.

“Fifteen. Almost.”

Almost? My God, he'd been hardly more than a baby.
She brought a hand to her mouth. “But where…did you live? What did you do to—”

“Survive?” He laughed without humor. “Whatever I had to. I took some odd jobs. Stole to eat, if I had to. Or ate garbage. You'd be surprised what some people throw out. I was one of the lucky ones. I wasn't on the streets that long. A guy caught me picking his pocket. Instead of calling the police, he gave me a job. He was a carpenter. He owned his own business.”

“And you got your start.”

“Yeah.” Rush's face softened. “Jack Madigan was the only truly kind man I had ever met. His only son had been killed in a car wreck. His wife had run off with another guy. I guess we needed each other. He took me under his wing.”

“What happened to him?”

“I left him behind.” Rush met her eyes. “I leave everyone behind, Anna.”

Tears swamped her eyes, and she fought them back. She'd been right from the outset—he'd come to say goodbye. But she'd hoped she was wrong; had hoped he'd decided he needed her.

“I learned a lot about kindness from him. I learned about trust. I learned about the way people were supposed to live.”

She clasped her hands together. She wanted this over with. If he was going to end it, she wanted him to do it now. Cleanly. Swiftly. And then leave her alone to mourn. “Why are you telling me this, Rush?
Why don't you just—”

“Because you deserve to know,” he interrupted, closing the distance between them. “Because I should have told you from the first.”

He cupped her face in his palms, and gazed at her with an intensity that made her knees weak. And had her almost believing that he cared for her. “What are you trying to tell me?” she asked softly.

“Today I went to see Dr. Garner. That's where I was this afternoon. He'd agreed to talk to me, and I couldn't pass on the opportunity.”

“Dr. Garner?” She drew her eyebrows together. “Are you sick?”

He shook his head and went to the duffel bag. He took out an object wrapped in towels and brought it to her. “This is for you, Anna.”

She looked in confusion from him to the object, then took it. Carefully, she peeled away the towels. Her heart stopped, then started again at a manic pace.

“My music box,” she whispered, stunned. “My beautiful music box.” She lifted her eyes to his. “But where did you… How did you…”

At his expression, her hands began to shake. “Rush? How long have you…had this?”

“It brought me here.”

“I don't understand.”

“I bought the box in Boston. The dealer knew where it was from. She must have bought it from Lowell.”

“But I…still don't understand why you…came here. Why did it bring you to Ashland?”

He drew a deep breath, and for the first time tonight, she saw excitement in his eyes. When he spoke, she heard it in his voice. “Anna, I put my hands on the music box and I remembered. I knew its tune before it began to play. You can't imagine what it felt like to touch a piece of my past. To finally…get a glimmer of what I'd lost. It was incredible, like a brilliant light penetrating darkness.”

He took the music box from her, curving his hands around it. “I didn't know when I'd touched it before, I only knew that I had. For the first time in my life the shadows were almost within my grasp.”

Anna went to the settee and sank onto it. “So…you came to Ashland looking for…” She lifted her gaze to his. “What, Rush? What did you hope to find here?”

“My past,” he said simply. “I came to find out who I am.”

“I see.”

“And the house I'm staying in, I recognized it, too.” He began pacing again, this time like a caged animal. “But nothing else. Not yet. It feels right being here—the heat, the smells—but nothing like what I felt with the box.”

Anna thought of his questions, his seemingly casual curiosity about her family, about the plantation. She remembered the night he'd looked at the drawing of her and the music box, remembered telling him about it, and a sob rose in her throat. “You lied to me.”

He stopped pacing and met her eyes. His were filled with regret. “I kept the truth from you. There's a difference.”

“A damn slim one.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “You're not a drifter, are you?”

“I own my own building-and-restoration firm. In Boston.”

“I see.” She lowered her eyes to her hands and drew in a shaky breath. “I thought the way you just showed up at Ashland, out of the blue, was some sort of small miracle. I couldn't believe my luck.”

“It was lucky. For both of us.” He crossed to her and she lifted her gaze to his. “It was almost as if…as if somebody was watching out for us, as if somebody put us together to—”

“Oh, please.”

She tried to stand; he caught her hands. “Think about it. Think about how desperate you were to find skilled help to repair Ashland. And me, I'd given up on finding my past. I'd told myself I didn't care.”

She searched his gaze, her heart breaking. Finding his past. That's all this had been for him, all they had been to him. But it had been so much more for her than having help to repair Ashland.

“I need your help, Anna. To find my connection to this place, to find out who I am.”

She made a sound filled with self-derision. All along, she'd wondered what he'd wanted with her. Annabelle Ames, the almost-forty, plain and prim spinster. She'd allowed herself to start believing in him, in herself, in miracles.

What a naive fool she'd been. What an idiot.

She lifted her chin. “Was that what…last night was all about? Helping you?” She could hardly form the words, it hurt so badly. They came out small and choked. “Is that why you…why we…”

“God, no.” He squatted down in front of her and gathered her hands in his. “Last night had nothing to do with anything but you and me and this thing we feel between us.”

She jerked her hands from his and stood, a sob rising and catching in her throat. “You expect me to believe that? After the way you lied? After the way you used me? All along, the only thing you cared about was finding out your past.”

“That's not true.”

“Then why didn't you tell me right away? Why weren't you up front with me about this?”