Wedding at King’s Convenience (11 page)

Instinctively, he reached for her, but she scooted off the opposite side of the bed, avoiding his touch. Moving quickly, she gathered up her clothes and started pulling them on.

“Maura,” he said, giving himself points for the calm restraint he heard in his own voice, “if you’ll just be reasonable about this…”

“Reason,” she muttered, buttoning up the front of her shirt with shaking fingers. “The man wants reason when what he’s speaking is nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” He came around the edge of the bed and took her upper arm in a hard grip. “I’m trying to be honest with you. To tell you exactly who and what I am so that there’ll be no more misunderstandings. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Maura. Can’t you see that?”

She yanked herself free of him, stepped into her boots and shook her hair back from her face. “You’re not being honest, Jefferson. Not with me or yourself, come to that. You’re hiding from the future by staying in your past. And that’s cheating not just me, but yourself of what you might find if you’d open your eyes.”

“I’m not hiding,” he said in a snarl, insulted that she would take what he’d offered and throw it back at him. “I don’t hide from anything.”

“And the truly sad part?” she asked quietly. “It’s that you actually believe that.”

She pulled her sweater over her head, scooped up her hair and drew it free to lie on her shoulders. Jefferson’s hands itched to touch it. His whole body yearned to have her back in that bed. Back to where they’d been together just a few short minutes ago.

She stalked from the bedroom into the living area and Jefferson was just a step or two behind her. “Where are you going?”

She sighed. “I’m going home, Jefferson. As you should.”

“What?”

Maura turned to look at him and she knew her aching heart had to be shining in her eyes, for the pain was staggering. She’d had hope, until tonight, that he might wake up and see that love was staring him in the face. She’d hoped he might let himself take the tumble. See what they could have together if only he’d allow himself to love.

Now, that hope was ground into dust. The man was just thickheaded enough to cling to a promise made by a heartsick boy so long ago. And if she couldn’t have all of him, she’ll not have him at all.

“Do you think this is what your Anna would have wanted for you?”

“We’ll never know that, will we? Because she’s
dead.”
His voice was tight and hard.

“And so are you, inside, dead as your lost love,” Maura told him. “The difference is, I believe if she were given the choice, your Anna would choose
life.
You’ve chosen to stay in the shadows and there’s nothing anyone but you can do about it.”

His features were as remote as if his face had been carved from granite. “You wanted honesty. I gave it to you.”

“So you did. I thank you for your offer, Jefferson King, but I won’t marry without love. Or at least the hope of it.”

“Maura, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so,” she told him, keeping her voice even and steady despite her urge to shout the roof down and howl out her misery. “I’m sorry for you, Jefferson. I truly am.”

“I don’t want your pity,” he snapped.

“That’s a shame, for you have it.” She picked up her coat, slung her purse over one shoulder and said, “If you won’t let go of your past, what chance do we have of making a future? No, Jefferson, ’tis better this way, you’ll see.”

“How is this better?”

She walked to the front door, put her hand on the knob and paused for one last look at him. Instead of answering his question, she said, “You can come and see our child anytime you’re able. You’ll always be welcome, though you won’t have me.”

“Maura, think about what you’re doing.”

“I have. And I also think you should go home now, Jefferson. Back to Los Angeles and the empty life you’re clinging to with such steadfastness.”

“My life’s not empty,” he countered as she opened the door and stepped through. “But you’re right about one thing, Maura. It’s time for me to go home.”

She watched him walk toward her, his features a study in blank isolation. Maura curled her fingers into fists to keep from holding out a hand to him. It would change nothing, only prolong this wretched ending to all of their possibilities.

Maura wanted to brace herself for the pain that was building within but all she could do was wait for it.
Impossible to prepare for a crippling misery that she knew would be with her for the rest of her life. But damned if she’d let him see that he had so much power over her heart, her mind, her very soul.

He wouldn’t learn from her that she loved him and always would. No, she’d send him back to his life, his world, as cleanly as she had before. And as before, she would take comfort in knowing that he would think of her—and their child—often.

His eyes were cool as glass as he looked down at her. “I’ll be by in the morning to see you before I leave.”

How businesslike he sounded. As if they were no more than acquaintances who’d happened upon each other. Already he was stepping away from her, closing the door on all they’d found, all they might have shared. And she wondered how it was she could love a man so bone-deep foolish.

“That’ll be fine,” she told him smoothly. “I’ll expect you then.”

“Good night, Maura,” he said and shut the door as she stood there.

“Goodbye, Jefferson,” she murmured as the first tears fell.

The pain lasted a week.

Maura had cried until she’d no more tears left in her body. She’d wallowed in her despair until even her sister, Cara, had lost all patience with her. She’d watched the last of the film crew pack up and leave when their work was done, severing that final thread connecting her to Jefferson.

Every night she dreamed of him and every day she missed him. Finally though, anger jostled her out of her self-pitying stupor. She hadn’t actually believed he would
leave.
Maura had left the hotel convinced that when he came to say goodbye, they would instead have a good clearing-the-air fight, followed by spectacular sex and pledges of eternal love.

Instead, the tricky man had come to her home cool, detached, handed her a bloody sheaf of papers, then walked away, as calm as you please. He hadn’t even looked back at her, the low skunk of a man, she thought with a hearty stomp in the mud.

The fury that had been growing inside her for the last couple of days seemed to explode all at once. Blast Jefferson King, she saw him everywhere she went. His voice haunted her home. His smile chased her across fields and even driving into town was no escape, as she was sitting in the bright red lorry he’d purchased for her.

He’d invaded her life, upset the balance and then disappeared. “What kind of man does that?” she asked aloud of no one.

Automatically, she checked the latch on the barn door where the ewes and their lambs were safe from wind and rain. Then continuing on toward the house, she asked King, “Am I that forgettable, then? Is it so easy to make love with me, then say ‘thanks very much, bye now’?”

The dog whined in response and she appreciated the support. “No, you’re right. I bloody well am not forgettable. The man’s crazy for me and doesn’t even know it.”

She remembered everything about that last night with Jefferson and hoped to Heaven he was remembering,
too. And hoped it was tearing him apart. But even if she were sure that he was being tortured by the memories of what he’d tossed away, it wouldn’t be enough to ease the emptiness inside.

“How does he dare turn his back on me? On
us?”
She muttered dark and vile curses, all aimed at his handsome head, as she stomped through the farmyard, King dancing at her heels. “What gives him the right to say ’tis over? Am I to listen to him and go away quietly, like some schoolgirl afraid of punishment?”

The dog barked and Maura nodded as if the beast had agreed with her. She crossed the yard, ran up the short flight of steps to the back porch and kicked off her Wellington boots. As if in sympathy with her dark emotions, it had been raining steadily for the last few days and the farm was hardly more than a river of mud. King loved it, of course, which was why she also kept an old towel and a tub of water by the back door.

“In you go,” she ordered and the big dog daintily stepped through the water and out the other side. Maura dried his paws, tossed the towel over the porch railing, then opened the door, letting them both into the warmth of the kitchen.

“Thinks I’ll just sit with my mouth shut, does he? Accept what he says as a declaration from the mount and go on with my life?”

She took the teakettle to the sink, filled it with water and set it on to boil. As the flames licked at the base of the copper pot, she tapped her fingers impatiently against the stove top. “And why shouldn’t he think that, Maura, you great idiot? Didn’t you walk away, as well?
Didn’t you let him slip through your fingers without ever once telling him that you love him?”

Lowering to admit as it was, Maura had to concede that she’d allowed her own pain and disappointment to color her responses to Jefferson on that last night. If she hadn’t been so stunned by his announcing that as he’d loved once he couldn’t love again, she might have stood her ground. She might have told him exactly what she thought of a man too afraid to love. She might have—

“And this is doing no good at all. Not for either of us. What good is it to shout the ceiling down when he’s not here to listen?”

He had to listen, she thought. She had to
make
him listen. Her thoughts slammed to a stop and she whirled around, staring at the yellow phone on the counter.

Before she could think better of it, she walked directly to the drawer by the telephone and pulled out the four sheets of paper Jefferson had left with her.

Phone numbers and addresses of everyone he could think of, all neatly typed and printed out. He was nothing if not efficient, her Jefferson—and he
was
her Jefferson—the stubborn mule of a man.

She looked at the list. His cell-phone number, numbers for his brothers, his cousins, his office, his home, his vacation home in the mountains and even for the places he kept in London and Paris. He’d said that last morning that he didn’t want her to have trouble contacting him again.

The man was a font of information when he wanted to be, she mused, running the tip of one finger down the list.

She wouldn’t be calling Jefferson directly though,
she told herself. No. What she had to say to him could only be said in person so that she could knock some sense into his head if need be. So that left her with at least three choices. She picked the one whose name seemed the most familiar and dialed his number.

When a gruff voice answered, she said, “Hello. Is this Justice King, brother to Jefferson?”

A long pause, then, “It is. I’m guessing from your accent that you must be Maura.”

“I am,” she said, grateful to know that at least the dunderheaded man she loved had spoken of her to his brothers. “I’ve something to say to that great lout of a man, personally. I was wondering if you could help me.”

There was a low, deep chuckle that rumbled through the phone line and then Justice answered, “You planning a trip to L.A.?”

“I am, yes,” she said, plans forming in her mind even as she spoke. “As soon as I can get a plane ticket.”

“No need for that,” Justice told her. “When can you be ready to leave?”

Steam shot from the spout of the teakettle and Maura walked to turn off the stove. While she did, she decided on whom she would ask to take care of the farm for a few days and when she had it set in her mind, she said, “I can have things arranged by tomorrow night.”

“Then pack a bag, Maura,” Justice said. “I’ll have a King jet waiting at the airport for you. All you’ll need is a passport.”

She gasped, surprised at the generosity of the offer. “’Tisn’t necessary,” she told him, “I was only calling
you to see if you could arrange to have Jefferson somewhere we can talk.”

Justice laughed and she enjoyed the sound, feeling as though she had an ally in this oh-so-personal battle.

“Maura, trust me. Sending the jet is a selfish move. My brother’s been in a black mood since he got back from Ireland. My wife tells me there’s a reason for it and she thinks it’s you.”

She grinned now, knowing that Jefferson was as miserable as her. “Isn’t that a lovely thing to say,” she murmured.

Justice laughed again. “Oh yeah, you and my Maggie are going to be great friends. I can see it already.” There was a pause and then he said, “So, once we get you here, what’s your plan?”

Maura leaned back against the counter and told Jefferson’s brother exactly what she had in mind. Between the two of them, they refined their strategies. By the time she hung up, Maura felt her self-assurance slide back into place, for the first time in days.

“Jefferson King, you’ve no idea what’s in store for you.”

“
W
hat was so damned important I had to come all the way out to the ranch?” Jefferson slammed his car door and faced down his brother.

“Just a few things we need to discuss,” Justice told him. “But first, I’ve got to get that yearling back in his stall.”

He followed Justice out to the paddock and watched as his brother hopped the rail fence and loped across the dirt enclosure without so much as a limp. Months after the accident that had brought Justice and Maggie back together again, his brother’s leg was as good as new.

“Hey, you’re here!”

Jefferson turned around to spot his youngest brother, Jesse, headed toward him. A former professional surfer, Jesse was a successful businessman now, running King
Beach, surf and sportswear. And by rights, he should have been in Morgan Beach. So what was he doing at the ranch? Suspicion flitted through Jefferson’s mind, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what the trouble might be, so he let it go. For now.

“What are you doing here?” Jefferson asked, shifting a glance to Justice, who was taking a young horse by the bridle and leading him off to the barn.

“Bella wanted to visit with Maggie, so I tagged along. What are you doing here?” Jesse grinned as he said it. “Who’s making movies if you’re out wandering the ranch?”

“I’m not wandering. Justice said he needed to talk to me about something. And where are Maggie and Bella?”

Jesse shrugged. “Shopping?”

Wariness had him turning for the barn. Something was definitely up. The wives were gone. Both of his brothers here. Grinding his back teeth together, Jefferson headed for the barn. Stepping into the shadowy interior, with Jesse right on his heels, Jefferson called out, “Justice, are you going to tell me what you wanted to see me about?”

Justice ignored him as he led the horse into a stall. Once the task was finished, though, he faced him and smiled. “Jesse and I thought it was time we got you out here to talk about what the hell is wrong with you.”

“I knew you were up to something the minute I saw Jesse here.” He looked from one brother to the other in disgust. “This I wasn’t expecting. You’re trying to tell me this is an intervention?”

“Call it whatever you want,” Jesse told him, slapping
his back. “The time has come, big brother, to stop acting like a bastard and tell us what’s going on.”

“Screw this,” Jefferson said, turning on his heel to walk to his car. “I’m going back to the office. You two can sit around and psychoanalyze each other.”

“No one at the office wants you there,” Justice told him in his slow, patient voice.

That stopped him. Jefferson glared at each of his brothers in turn. “You’re telling me they were in on this setup?”

“Joan thanked me,” Jesse said on a laugh. “Seems you’ve been miserable to deal with since you got home.”

He couldn’t argue with that, Jefferson thought, pushing one hand through his hair in a gesture fraught with frustration.

Back a week now and nothing was the same. He’d expected to come home, slide into work as if he’d never been gone and pick up the threads of his life. But that hadn’t happened. He was restless. Dissatisfied. He felt it and couldn’t find a way to combat it.

His mind continued to drift toward Ireland. The green hills, the farmhouse.

Maura.

Compared to what he’d left there what he’d returned to was lacking. That he hadn’t expected. He’d always liked his life, damn it. So why then did Los Angeles and the job he loved seem suddenly to be nothing more than plastic and illusion? Why did he feel alone surrounded by hundreds of people? Why was he waking in the middle of the night, reaching for Maura?

He knew why, of course. The simple truth was he
wasn’t the same man anymore. The bright sunlight and hot Santa Ana winds felt alien to him and his heart yearned for what he’d lost.

“So.” Justice stopped for a private word with his foreman before steering Jefferson to the ranch house. “You going to talk to us about this or what?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Justice’s study was a man’s room. Leather chairs, shelves lined with books and a massive desk against one wall. Of course, the toys strewn across the floor marked the fact that his son, Jonas, spent plenty of time in the room, too. The three brothers settled into chairs, each of them holding a cold beer from the bar refrigerator.

After a couple of long moments passed, Justice finally asked, “So what is it? What’s crawled into you and died?”

Jefferson smirked. “Very nice.”

“Not interested in being nice. We want to know what’s going on.”

Jefferson stood up, took a swallow of icy beer and then began to pace. Nervous energy pumped through him, feeding his steps, stoking a temper that seemed to be continually on the boil lately. “Damned if I know. I feel wrong, somehow. As if I made a bad turn on a highway and now I’m lost.”

“Easy enough to turn around again,” Jesse commented.

“Is it?” Jefferson stared at him. “When turning around changes everything, is it really so easy to do it?”

“Depends on what you gain and what you lose with the effort,” Justice mused, giving their youngest brother a hard look demanding patience. “So, where’d you make the wrong turn, Jeff? Was it Maura?”

“I’m starting to think that leaving her was the mistake I made. But what the hell else could I have done? She wouldn’t give an inch. A more stubborn woman I’ve never known.”

“She sounds perfect for you,” Jesse offered and received a glare for his trouble.

Jefferson looked at Justice. “I told you she’s pregnant.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I asked her to marry me.” He took a swig of the beer.

“So you screwed up the proposal?” Jesse asked. “That’s easily fixed.”

“That’s not it.” He took a breath, then studied the label on the beer bottle as if the printing there held the answers to every question he had. “She wants a real marriage.”

“Imagine that,” Jesse mused.

Jefferson’s gaze shot to their youngest brother and seared him to his chair. “If you can’t help, then be quiet.”

“You don’t need help,” Jesse countered. “You need therapy. Why the hell can’t you give her a real marriage?”

“Because I’ve already been in love. Anna.”

Instantly, both of his brothers went quiet. Not so full of answers now, were they?

“Don’t you get it? If I admit to loving Maura now,” he said, “I’m essentially saying that Anna didn’t count. That what we shared was replaceable.”

Justice shook his head, stretched out his legs in front of him and balanced his beer bottle on his flat abdomen. “That is the
dumbest
thing I’ve ever heard.” He shifted a look at Jesse. “How about you?”

“Oh yeah,” he agreed. “It’s right there with the top
three.” Then to Jefferson, he said, “What, you’re only allowed to love one person in your life?”

“No,” Jefferson muttered, realizing just how foolish that statement sounded when said aloud. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Justice asked. “Are you saying Anna would want you alone and lonely for the rest of your life to prove that you loved her?”

Jefferson thought about the young woman he’d loved and lost so long ago. “No,” he admitted, “she wouldn’t have.”

Odd, but for the first time, he realized that the mental images he had of Anna and their time together had grown hazy. To be expected, he guessed, since time had a way of dulling the edges of pain or grief. Leaving behind only the vaguest feeling of guilt for having to live on. To keep breathing while the one you loved was gone.

“Jefferson,” Jesse said softly, “if you had a child already, would you be able to love the one Maura’s carrying?”

“That’s a stupid question,” he shot back.

“Is it?” Jesse laughed at him. “You’re standing there telling us that you can’t love Maura because you already loved Anna. How does that make sense?”

It wasn’t just loving Maura that made him feel as though he were somehow betraying Anna, Jefferson thought with a glaring flash of insight. It was the fact that what he felt for Maura was so much more than what he’d once known. But he couldn’t tell his brothers that. They already thought he was crazy.

While it was hard, he realized that the love he’d had for Anna had been a young man’s love. Innocent in its
way and it had ended before it could be tested. But he could love more now, deeper now, because he’d lived longer, knew more, had experienced more. His life had made him more than he had been at the time, so he was capable of feeling more than he’d been able to at twenty. Was it really that simple? Had he missed this revelation somehow because he’d been so determined to give Anna the loyalty he’d thought she deserved?

Justice was right. Anna wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone and empty for the rest of his life in some bizarre tribute to her. A heavy load slid off his heart as he drew a deep, easy breath for the first time in weeks.

“God knows I’m no expert,” Justice was saying. “Took long enough for me to realize what an ass I’d been in letting Maggie go. But I wised up in time. Are you gonna be able to say the same?”

Jefferson’s hand tightened around the beer bottle. He knew what he wanted now, but would he be able to make Maura believe him?

“Yeah, I am,” he said aloud, imagining the look on Maura’s face when he showed up on her front porch at the farmhouse. “I’m going back to Ireland.”

“For how long?”

He looked at Jesse. “Permanently.”

“What about the studio?” Justice asked.

“I can handle it by phone and fax,” Jefferson said, setting his beer down onto the closest table. “And I can be back here easily enough if I have to handle something in person.”

“You? On a farm?” Jesse asked with a broad smile.

“Me on a farm,” he repeated, already mentally arranging
his move to the country, the woman he loved. “Why’s that so hard to believe? Hell, we grew up on a ranch! Maura would never be happy anywhere else and I can work from anywhere. Besides,” he added with a wide smile, “I have to get back. Find out if Michael’s grandchild has been born. See if Cara’s moving back to London. And it’s lambing season, so Maura will be shorthanded…”

“Lambs?”

Jefferson laughed at Justice’s horrified expression. “I know. You’re a cattleman to the bone, but you’re going to have to come visit our sheep.”

God, he felt like he could climb mountains, run all the way to Ireland with his feet never even touching the water. He knew what he wanted. And he wouldn’t settle for less than all. If Maura didn’t agree right away, he’d just kidnap her, haul her in front of the village priest and marry her whether she liked it or not.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said, checking his watch and mentally calculating the time he would need to tie up some loose ends and then get to the airport.

Jesse and Justice exchanged a glance and ordinarily, Jefferson would have been curious. But at the moment, he was too busy planning his reunion with Maura. He left the house, his brothers right behind him. But when he got to his car, he stopped.

“What the hell happened?”

All four tires were flat. The small, sapphire-blue sports car was practically resting on its rims in the dirt of the drive. Jefferson looked at his brothers. “Do you know something about this?”

“Hey,” Jesse said, lifting both hands, “don’t look at me.”

Justice scrubbed one hand across his jaw and muttered, “I told the man
one
tire.”

Before Jefferson could say anything to that, the throaty purr of an expensive engine rolled toward them. He looked up to watch a King family limo, all shining black paint and chrome, glide up the drive. “What the…”

Justice clapped one hand to Jefferson’s shoulder. “This is why the flat tires. We had to keep you here. Although, Mike was a bit more thorough than I’d planned.”

“What are you talking about?” His gaze was still fixed on the limo as the driver hopped out, opened the rear door and Maura stepped from the car, looking straight at him.

“Don’t screw it up,” Jesse muttered.

Justice shoved him and said, “We’ll be in the barn. You two take your time.”

Jefferson never even saw them leave. His gaze was fixed on the woman he loved and he couldn’t have looked away if his life had depended on it. He wasn’t betraying Anna by moving on. He knew that now. The living had to live. And he had no interest in doing that without Maura.

From the moment she’d stepped foot onto the King family jet, Maura had felt as though she were walking into a fairy tale. Surrounded by luxury, she’d flown halfway across the world for this moment. She’d slept in a bed thirty thousand feet in the air. At her arrival in Los Angeles, she’d been swept into the private opulence of the limousine and driven off down freeways choking
with more traffic than she’d seen in her lifetime. And through it all, she’d had one thought in her mind. Getting to Jefferson. Making him see all that he was giving up when he turned his back on what they’d found.

When the limo turned into the long, winding drive of the King ranch, she had felt a slight stirring of nerves. Anxious, she had worried that going with her instincts might not have been the best idea. But she was committed to her plan and she wouldn’t back out now that the moment had arrived.

Yet when she stepped out of the car, all she could do was look at Jefferson. He looked wildly handsome in his white shirt and black slacks with the wind ruffling his hair across his forehead. Even the baby inside her jumped and kicked, feeling the excitement of being with its father again.

Maura felt the hot, dry wind tug at her hair and burn her eyes. Surely that was the reason her vision was blurring with unshed tears. The King family ranch was a lovely place, what she noticed of it, but her gaze locked unerringly on Jefferson.

“Maura,” he said, taking a step toward her.

“No. Stay there, if you please.” Instantly, she held up one hand to keep him at bay. If he came too close, she might give in to her urge to run into his arms, when what she needed to do was stand her ground and speak her heart. “I’ve come all this way to have my say, Jefferson King, and you’ll do me the courtesy of standing there to listen.”