Winter's Edge (15 page)

“Are you satisfied now?” he demanded.

“You’ve managed to come between me and one of my oldest friends.” He started walking, and it was with difficulty that she managed to keep up with his long strides.

“I came between you?” she echoed angrily.

“There was absolutely no call for you to speak that way to him. I think that whatever differences you two have are your own problem and none of my doing. And why aren’t I allowed out riding with one of your oldest friends? Do you think he’s going to throw me down and have his wicked way with me?”

He stopped and gave her a look of withering contempt.

“I would say, judging from your behavior over the past ten months, that he’d be in more danger from you than vice versa.” And he walked on.

Once more she had to run to keep up with him.

“Then if you hate me so much why don’t you let me go?” she demanded.

“As long as I give the police. my address I can go anywhere I please. I haven’t been accused of any crime—I’m just a witness. If I happened to remember anything I saw, that is. So why don’t you let me go somewhere and get a quickie divorce and finish this thing once and for all?”

“No.” He kept on walking.

“You put me through hell for over ten months. I think I owe you six months of hell in return, and I mean to see that you get it.”

“WHERE’S TOBY?” Mrs. Morse asked cheerily as Molly entered the kitchen alone.

“Gone home,” she said morosely, sitting down by the fireplace.

“Mrs.

Morse, why does Patrick hate me? “

“Oh, now, dearie, he doesn’t hate you,” she said earnestly, coming to sit beside her with one of her everpresent cups of coffee.

“He just doesn’t know his own mind, that’s all.”

“He does hate me,” she insisted.

“And I can’t remember what it is I’ve done to him to deserve it.”

“Well, I’ve always said what’s past is over and done with and should be forgiven and forgotten. Unfortunately Patrick’s always had a hard time with the forgiving and the forgetting.”

“But what makes him so full of hate all the time?” she demanded.

“Isn’t he ever happy?”

“Well, now, of course he is. But life’s never been easy for him. His mother ran off when he was just a kid—died in a car accident a few years later without ever writing or calling. It’s not good for a child to feel abandoned, and his father, bless his heart, wasn’t the most nurturing soul. He was just as strong-minded as his son, and the two of them fought like cats and dogs, Jared trying to make Patrick do what he wanted, Patrick refusing. It was a real battleground. Finally Patrick just took off in his early twenties, and no one heard from him for years.”

“What happened? What brought him back?”

“He never did say, and I doubt he ever will. He went through some bad times, and when he came back he was a changed man. He and his father worked out a kind of truce, and then a couple of years later you showed up. It wasn’t until then that he began to be more like his old self, and I thought … well, never mind.” She sighed, taking a deep drink of her coffee.

“Why did he marry me?” she asked, unable to keep the forlorn note out of her voice.

“I don’t know, sweetie. He treated you like a little sister—took you with him, teased you, talked with you. As for you, it was as clear as day that you were crazy in love with him. Had been since you first came here, sixteen years old and pretty as a picture.”

“He told me it was his father’s idea.”

“It was. He left the estate all tied up to try to get his own way, but then, Jared was that kind of man. But there would have been ways around it. Patrick didn’t have to marry you. And I never did figure out why he did.”

“It’s pretty easy to guess why I did. I was willing to take him on any terms, wasn’t I?” she said bitterly, and Mrs. Morse nodded.

“I guess that was so. But it seemed like you changed your mind once the knot was tied. You weren’t even friends with Patrick anymore. You became wild and spiteful and selfish, and it was just too much for Patrick to deal with. That, and all the other men.”

“Other men?” she repeated, numb.

She shook her head sadly.

“Just like his mother. You used to go out and stay all night long with anyone you could find.”

It didn’t feel right. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part, but Molly couldn’t rid herself of

the notion that someone, somehow, was lying.

“How do you know that?”

she demanded.

“Honey, you told us! It was no secret—you made darn sure everybody knew exactly what you were doing.

And Patrick just shut himself up in that office of his or went off and met Lisa Canning somewhere. I tried to tell you that wasn’t the way to win him but you wouldn’t listen. “

Molly stared into the fireplace, trying to reconcile this image with what she had come to know about herself in the few short days since her. her rebirth. But it wouldn’t come into focus, and she wondered what was the truth about her past. Her own instincts? Or other people’s sharp memories?

Or neither of them.

MOLLY DIDN’T HAVE much appetite that night. She toyed with the fried chicken and creamed spinach Mrs.

Morse brought up to her and barely touched the cheesecake. Uncle Willy brought up a small pitcherful of cranberry juice when he heard she was ill, and it took her most determined efforts to evict him and an oversolicitous Aunt Ermy.

She looked about her in lonely gloom. Even her new surroundings seemed to have palled, and part of her longed to be downstairs, sparring with Patrick over the dinner table, while the rest of her was happy to hide out, away from everyone.

There was something wrong, something very wrong, with this place, and the people, and the stories they were telling her. Something with their image of the past, but there was no way she could refute it.

She could only hold on, one day at a time, and hope she’d have the answer to at least one of her questions by tomorrow.

If she was pregnant there was no way she could leave. Not unless Patrick threw her out.

But if she wasn’t, then she’d stayed long enough. She had money, she wasn’t charged with any crime. If she got a clean bill of health the next day she was out of here. The answers weren’t coming, and whether anyone believed her or not, she was in danger. She was getting out.

And she had no intention of looking back.

STUPID BUNGLER! Of course it had been miserable bad luck, Patrick showing up like that. Just a few minutes would have made all the difference. Ah, but that was too often the difference between triumph and disaster.

A moment, a whim of fate, and life shifted, defeat beckoned.

But a true visionary never accepted defeat. Not when so much had been accomplished. There was too much at stake, and a whey-faced little thing like Molly Winters wasn’t going to get in the way.

The subtle efforts weren’t working; neither were the more flagrant attempts. It was time for more drastic measures. There was only a limited amount of time before she remembered.

And when she did, it might be too late for all of them.

It took her over an hour to drag herself out of bed. She was so horribly sick the next morning her entire body felt numb with it, and she alternated between chills and fever, shivering and sweating, until she almost called out for help.

But any cry for help would more likely bring her husband from next door than any one else. She shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and suffered until the sickness decided to pass.

When she finally got up it was with immense relief that she remembered the doctor’s appointment. At least she could diagnose and stop this awful thing. Molly was almost afraid to go to sleep at night, thinking of the pain that awaited her upon waking. She’d have an answer today, even if it might not be the most convenient one.

It all seemed so distant and unlikely. And worst of all, Patrick made it clear there was no way he’d take responsibility for the child. She should have guessed their relationship wouldn’t have included sex for a long time. And yet, she could practically feel the heat when he looked at her.

Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part. Maybe she was the tramp everyone said she was. If she was, then there’d be no way of telling what sort of person had lathered her baby. It didn’t matter—she still wouldn’t want to give it up, she thought stubbornly as she stepped into the shower.

She stood there in the steaming blast of water until she could stand it no longer, then toweled herself off, staring at her body in the mirror. Still the same long legs and flat stomach. Her waist hadn’t thickened, her smallish breasts hadn’t become tender and swollen. As for missing her period, the surest way of knowing something’s wrong, her memory had only been alive for five days. Her body was as mute to her questions as her mind.

She dressed warmly and femininely, in one of the long rayon skirts she had bought and a thick knit sweater. She supposed it was some hidden maternal instinct that made her change from pants to dresses as she contemplated motherhood. She looked at the clock, and noticed with surprise that it was almost noon. She must have needed the extra sleep.

“Well, well, aren’t you charming-looking this morning,” Lisa Canning’s voice greeted Molly as she walked into the kitchen. Molly turned around without a word and headed out, but Patrick appeared out of nowhere, halting her escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

She deliberately misunderstood him.

“To the doctor’s,” she said defiantly.

He raised an eyebrow, and much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t avoid noticing the beauty of the man, a beauty that had the power to move her just as his usual contempt pushed her away.

“Well, you aren’t going immediately, are you? Come in and have some lunch.”

She looked up at him with suspicion of this new affability.

“I’m not hungry,” she said mutinously.

“Too bad.” One strong hand went under her arm and she was brought back into the kitchen feeling like a fish caught on a hook.

Lisa smiled at them both with that cool assurance she had in abundance.

“There you are, Patrick. I wondered how long it would take you to tear yourself away from your books. And your little wife too. Did I tell you, Molly dear, how charmingly girlish that little outfit is?

So country. ” She smiled sweetly, and Molly glowered at her in return, yanking her arm away from Patrick’s viselike grip.

“You’re-only young once,” she answered her pointedly, flopping down into the rocking chair by the cold fireplace.

“How nice of you to come for lunch, Lisa,” she said suddenly.

“Where are Aunt Ermy and Uncle Willy? I’m sure they’d be desolated to miss you. Especially since we haven’t seen that much of you reeently.”

Lisa flushed, and it was with surprise that Molly realized that she’d inadvertently scored a hit. So Patrick hadn’t been going to see her as often as it apo pea red Perhaps that situation wasn’t as much of a sure thing as she had supposed.

“They’ve gone off on a visit,” Patrick said glumly, and Molly’s eyes met his dark blue ones with a tiny shock. He didn’t want Lisa here either. He had forced her in here to protect him. She controlled her wry amusement.

“Really? For how long?”

“Tonight and part of tomorrow.” He shrugged.

“I’m not really sure.”

“But then you and Patrick will be all alone here tonight!” Lisa’s violet eyes were round as she put into words the thought that had been preying on Molly’s mind for the last few moments.

“And it’s Mrs.

Morse’s evening off. “

She seemed to know more about the domestic arrangements at than Molly did. But Molly could afford to be generous. She smiled sweetly.

“Oh, that’s all right, Lisa. We are married, you know.”

“I know,” she shot back in a low voice, quietly declaring her enmity.

She meant to have him, Molly knew, and Patrick just as definitely wanted to avoid her. Molly discovered her mood had improved substantially.

“Patrick, dear.” Lisa rose gracefully and put one slim, be ringed hand on Patrick’s arm.

“Do you think we could perhaps go for a ride this afternoon? I have so much I’ve been longing to talk with you about.”

Her violet eyes shone in her lovely face, and Molly wondered how any man could withstand her.

“Sorry, Lisa,” Patrick said.

“I’m taking Molly to the doctor’s this afternoon.”

“You’re what?” Molly said in horror.

“I told Mrs. Morse I’d take you. It’s her afternoon off and I might as well take on some of my marital responsibilities.”

If Lisa had looked sullen before it was nothing compared to her current expression. Molly would have almost found it entertaining if she weren’t so appalled at the thought of Patrick driving her to her pregnancy test.

“I’d rather have Mrs. Morse with me,” she said faintly. tics a female problem. “

If she hoped to embarrass him she failed.

“That’s all right, Molly,” he said with callous cheer.

“I’m a sensitive New Age kind of guy. I want to be there for you.”

And all she could do was swallow her snarl of disbelief.

THE RIDE TO Dr. Turner’s neat little clapboard house was short and uncomfortable. Neither of them said a word, and Molly tried to concentrate on the countryside. It was all just vaguely familiar. Things were coming back in tiny little bits and pieces and the feeling was oddly unsettling. Most of the faint traces of memory were brief and unhappy. She could begin to recall a tiny part of her wedding night, though it all came to her from a great distance. She could remember taking off the white dress and crying, crying. But.

she couldn’t remember Patrick by her side, taking her into his arms, drying her tears, comforting her. And when she tried to force remembrance it would vanish completely, like a wicked, willful child playing hide and-seek.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Patrick sounded impatient, and she realized it wasn’t the first time he’d asked the question. They had pulled up in front of the doctor’s office while Molly had been daydreaming.