Maternal Instinct (34 page)

Look casual,
she decided.
Don't let him know you were worried.

A key scraped in the back door lock, and the door opened. Nell bent her head over her book, looking up at the sound of his footstep with an expression of faint surprise.

But when she saw his face, the book dropped unheeded to the floor and she rose to her feet. "Hugh? What's wrong?"

He looked … haggard. Shell-shocked. New lines were carved in his lean face, some blurred by the stubble on his jaw. He stood there in the opening to the living room with his hands dangling at his side, swaying slightly on his feet as if he might crash to the floor.

He gave a short, gruff laugh. "Why do people keep asking me that?"

She approached him warily. "People?"

"You and my mother."

Of course he had gone to see her first. He'd pursued Jerome Ryman's killer to give his mother peace of mind.

Nell sucked in a breath on a sudden thought. What had Mrs. McLean said when Hugh brought his triumph to her? If she'd belittled it or him, Nell decided fiercely, she was going to have things to say to the other woman.

"Why don't you sit down?" she suggested tentatively, reaching for his arm but chickening out so that her fingertips just grazed his shirtsleeve.

He rubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Yeah. Sit down. That's a good idea."

Nell frowned. "You haven't been drinking, have you?"

Sinking onto the couch, he laughed with a hint of wildness that narrowed her eyes. "Drinking? Look where that got me the last time."

Married to me.
A huge, sickening lump lodged in Nell's throat. That was what he meant.

"Then you should know better," she said evenly.

"Or do it every day." This obscure answer seemed to amuse him.

What did he mean by that? Did she want to know?

Losing patience, Nell demanded, "So tell me. Did you arrest Margaret? What happened?"

This smile smoothed some of the haggardness from his face. "Damn straight we arrested her! Of course, she's claiming Irene Macy is a nitwit who flubbed everything they asked her to do and can't possibly tell a reliable story about who was where and when."

"Unless being on the witness stand scares her spit-less, that won't work. She's sharp."

His grin widened. "Yup. Sharp enough to get us a warrant. And get this." Hugh leaned forward. "Ms. Bissell kept the gun."

Nell's mouth fell opened. "No!"

He shook his head. "Can you believe it?"

Remembering the cool, calculating, collected woman she'd interviewed, Nell actually could. "She never dreamed we'd touch her," she said slowly.

He grunted. "She's an arrogant, cold-blooded bitch."

"Out on bail yet?"

"Nah." He shrugged. "She will be by morning. But she's not the kind to run. She thinks she can beat it. She'll come up with a story about the gun. It was kicked into her office and she saw it lying there, figured it was hers, that maybe in the panic she'd gotten it out of her purse and then dropped it. She'll think of some reason she's taken to carrying it in her purse sometimes. Can't you picture her claiming she was so scared, she didn't know what she did?"

"Juries aren't that gullible. Where was the gun?"

"Bedside table."

He told her about the events she'd missed, and Nell listened avidly.

"I am so glad," she said at last. "You made everybody eat crow."

"John did it so damn graciously, I couldn't even enjoy the experience," Hugh said wryly.

Nell was very aware of her husband, slouched so near to her. She wanted to scoot closer and wrap her arms around him, kiss his rough cheek, rest her head on his shoulder. But intimacy that came so easily in bed eluded her the rest of the time. He felt … not like a stranger, not any more, but an enigma to her.

His own sardonic words built a wall.
Drinking? Look where that got me last time.

And his mother:
We feared Hugh would never settle down. He showed no interest in marriage or having a family of his own.

He'd insisted on marrying her, Nell reminded herself. She had never asked for till death do us part. Once the baby was born, she'd offer him his freedom. He'd be a better father if he wasn't longing for escape.

In fact, she'd offer the next time he hinted.

But for now, she wanted to know what had produced that stunned expression.

"You went to see your mother," Nell prodded.

"Yeah." Slumped deep in the soft cushions of the couch, he mocked himself. "This was my quest, you know. I had to carry the enemy's bloodied flag home on the tip of my lance."

Fiercely protective, Nell asked, "What did she say?"

"That I didn't have to do it. That I'd never had to. She said she was proud of me and always had been." His voice sounded hoarse. "She said she loved me."

"But you knew that," Nell said softly. When he didn't respond, she asked, with faint shock, "Didn't you?"

After too long a pause, during which a muscle jerked in his cheek, he said, "Yeah. Of course I did. On one level."

"But not deep down in your heart."

His mouth twisted. "I guess not."

"How do you feel now?"

His eyes closed, giving his hard face an oddly defenseless look. "I don't know," he said at last, roughly. "Like the earth has shifted under my feet."

The lump in her throat was now pity, or perhaps love. Without letting herself have second thoughts, Nell did scoot closer, close enough that she could take his big hand in both hers. For a moment it lay lax, then he gripped one of her hands hard and turned his head, opening his eyes.

They burned fiercely blue, honing in on hers.

"I think," Nell whispered, "it must be scary to have that happen."

He didn't move, just slouched there, seemingly boneless and relaxed but for the hand holding hers and for his eyes, so turbulently alive. "You know what shook me most?" he asked, his tone oddly mild, almost reflective.

"What?" The single word came as a croak. She felt … frightened but exhilarated, as if she teetered on the edge of space, knowing she had a parachute strapped to her back but not entirely trusting it.

Warmth pooled in her belly in an automatic reaction to his nearness and to his intense focus on her. She had wanted him since the first time she saw him, laughing carelessly at something another officer said as he strode down the station hallway. Even then, she'd imagined him as a warrior of old, with that tousled dark hair and blazing blue eyes and lean, dark face, his shoulders broad enough to carry armor, his hand powerful enough to grip a sword.

She'd ridiculed herself then for a fantasy so idiotic. Obviously, she had failed to squelch it, or how else had she ended up pregnant with his child when he'd hardly spoken a civil word to her to that point?

"What seemed the strangest to me," Hugh continued in that same thoughtful tone, belied by his eyes, "was that I didn't want to talk to John or Connor about Mom. I wanted to come home and talk to you."

He said it so simply, as though "home" really did mean this house, and as though she were what made it so.

"I'm here," she said inadequately.

His faint smile didn't touch his eyes. "So I see."

Nell tried a tremulous smile of her own. "I'm listening."

"I've been like a little boy, haven't I?" he said abruptly. "Needing Mommy's approval."

"Where our parents are concerned, we never grow up," Nell said. "I really believe that. When my mother calls, I go tense instantly. I'm suddenly thirteen years old again, as ridiculously defiant as ever. With her, I can't convince myself I'm all grown-up."

His gaze became warmer. "Weirdly enough, today I think I grew up."

"Maybe you had to fulfill your quest," she suggested, her cheeks flushed from the look in his eyes.

"Maybe." Hugh shrugged as if it no longer mattered. "Then it's done. What you said earlier, about being scared because the ground had moved under my feet. My mother wasn't the one who moved it. And she wasn't the one who scared me."

He was playing with her hand now, the tip of his fingers shockingly sensitizing her palm.

"Who was it?" she managed.

"You." His fingers went still. "You've been regretting our marriage, haven't you?"

Oh God.
Nell froze inside. The moment had come. He was going to tell her he'd realized today he couldn't be married, not now, not to her.

Her instinct was to pretend. To protect herself by letting him believe she didn't care, that he could go with her blessing.

But a hint of something in his eyes made her wonder. And she heard her daughter, wise beyond her years:
What if he loves you and doesn't say so for the same reason?

What if neither of them had the courage to bare their hearts?

Terrified beyond belief, Nell whispered, "No. I've been sure
you
were regretting it."

His hand tightened. "Me? Why would you think that?"

"Your mother," Nell admitted. Why not tell the truth? So what if he pitied her because she loved him? "She stopped by a couple of weeks ago. I told you so, didn't I? And she implied that the whole family was celebrating because you'd been forced into marriage by my accidental pregnancy. She said you'd been so disinterested in marriage or fatherhood, they'd about given up hope." Her voice became ironic. "Your mother was sure, now that you were stuck, you'd end up blissfully happy. I figured you were metaphorically hearing the jail gates clanging shut."

He stared at her for the longest time. "Let me get this straight," Hugh said at last. "You've been … pulling back, just to let me know you didn't care if I bailed out?"

Feeling suddenly foolish, she nodded. "That sounds dumb, but … yes."

He made a hoarse sound. "I was afraid I was losing you. And I couldn't even blame you, considering you never promised anything but to carry my name along with my baby."

Her heart beat so hard it made her dizzy.
He was afraid of losing her.
He wouldn't say that if he wanted out, would he?

Tearing her gaze from his, focusing on their entwined hands, she offered tentatively, "I've liked being married better than I expected."

"Better how?"

She felt his gaze, though she didn't meet it. "I like waking with you there. Talking to you."
Touching you, looking at you, hearing the sound of your voice. Seeing your toothbrush next to mine, your dirty clothes in the hamper with mine.
Pitiful. "Making love with you," she admitted.

"I like that, too. All of it." He was silent for a moment, and when she stole a glance at his face it was to see that he, too, was looking at their hands as if the contrast of hers and his meant something. "Nell," Hugh said gruffly, "I think I lied to you when I asked you to marry me. By omission, if nothing else."

"Lied to me?" New panic grabbed her throat.

"I'm not here because of the baby. Not just because of the baby, anyway." He moved his shoulders in a way she had come to know that he did when he was unsure of himself. His eyes met hers. "This marriage can be more, Nell."

"More?" This time her voice squeaked.

"I didn't like it when you pulled back. I felt you go stiff when I touched you, or you'd look right through me and talk to me as if I were a total stranger."

Heat touched her cheeks. "I was … scared."

"Scared of what?" he asked, low and soft.

"Scared you'd know…" She swallowed, closed her eyes and finished, so fast the words tripped over each other. "Scared you'd know I loved you."

He went completely still, but his eyes held an expression that stopped her heart.

"You love me." Hugh sounded stupefied.

She tried to smile. "It … just happened. I don't want you to feel … obligated. Or uncomfortable." Wishing frantically she'd not made such a drastic confession, she took a breath and said carelessly, "Heck, I'm a woman. Maybe I just romanticized our relationship."