by Nora Roberts
time she thought of the child.
Misinterpreting her silence, Ty reached over to take her hand. “Asher, you still haven’t spoken to your father?”
“What?” Disoriented, she stared at him a moment. “No, no, not since . . . Not since I retired.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“I can’t.”
“That’s ridiculous. He’s your father.”
She sighed, wishing it were so simple. “Ty, you know him. He’s a very stringent man, very certain of what’s right and what’s wrong. When I left tennis I did more than disappoint him, I . . . wasted what he’d given me.”
Ty answered with a short, explicit word that made her smile. “From his viewpoint that’s the way it was,” she went on. “As Jim Wolfe’s daughter I had certain responsibilities. In marrying Eric and giving up my career I shirked them. He hasn’t forgiven me.”
“How do you know that?” he demanded. His voice was low under the insistent music, but rich with annoyance. “If you haven’t spoken to him, how can you be sure how he feels now?”
“Ty, if his feelings had changed, wouldn’t he be here?” She shrugged, wishing they could have avoided the subject for a while longer. “I thought, at first, that when I started playing again it might make the difference. It hasn’t.”
“But you miss him.”
Even that wasn’t so simple. To Ty, family meant something warm and loving and eternal. He’d never understand that Asher looked not so much now for her father’s presence or even his love, but simply his forgiveness. “I’d like him to be here,” she said finally. “But I understand his reasons for not coming.” Her brow clouded for a moment with a realization that had just come to her. “Before, I played for him, to please him, to justify the time and effort he put into my career. Now I play for myself.”
“And you play better,” Ty put in. “Perhaps that’s one of the reasons.”
With a smile she lifted his hand to her lips. “Perhaps that’s one of them.”
“Here’s your pizza.” The waitress plopped the steaming pan between them.
They ate amid noise and their own casual chatter. Even the pressure of the upcoming matches had no effect on Asher’s mood. The cheese was hot and stringy, making Ty laugh as she struggled against it. The contents of the squat bottle of Chianti decreased as they drank leisurely, content to let the meal drag on. Tennis was forgotten while they spoke of everything and nothing at all. A group of teenagers poured in, laughing and rowdy, to feed another succession of quarters into the jukebox.
Why am I so happy to be in this loud, crowded room? she wondered. The cooling pizza and lukewarm wine were as appealing as the champagne and caviar they had shared in Paris. It was Ty. The place never mattered when she was with him. Abruptly it occurred to Asher that it was herself as well. She was being herself. There weren’t any guards, or the need for any. Ty was the only man she’d ever been close to who required none from her.
Her father had wanted her to be perfect—his glass princess. All through her youth she had done everything in her power to please him. With Eric, she had been expected to be the cool, well-mannered Lady Wickerton, a woman who could discuss art and politics intelligently. She was to be like crystal, many-faceted, elegant and cold.
All Ty had ever expected her to be was Asher. He accepted her flaws, even admired them. Because he had wanted her to be herself, she’d been able to be just that. Not once in all the time she had known him had he ever demanded that she fit a pattern or requested that she conform to any standards but her own. Impulsively she reached over to take his hand, then pressed it to her cheek. There was warmth against warmth, flesh against flesh.
“What’s this for?” he asked, allowing his fingers to spread.
“For not wanting glass.”
His brows drew together in confusion. “Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“No.” Laughing, Asher leaned closer. “Have you drunk enough wine that your resistance is down and you’ll be easily seduced?”
A slow smile spread. “More than enough.”
“Then come with me,” Asher ordered.
***
It was late when Ty lay sleepless beside Asher. Curled close, her hand caught loosely in his, she slept deeply, drugged with loving and fatigue. Her scent hung in the air so that even in the dark Ty could visualize her. A small alarm clock ticked monotonously at his left, its luminous dial glowing. Twelve twenty-seven.
His mind was far too active for sleep. He sensed, as he knew Asher did, that the idyll was nearly over. They were back where they had once ended, and questions would not be put off too much longer. Impatience gnawed at him. Unlike Asher, Ty looked for the end of the season. Only then would the time be right for answers and explanations. He was not used to biding his time, and the strain was beginning to tell. Even tonight under the laughter he had understood her wordless request that he not probe.
The question of her father, Ty mused, shifting the pillow to brace his back. She was more unhappy about the estrangement than she admitted. It showed in her eyes. It was incomprehensible to him that members of a family could turn away from one another. His thoughts drifted to his mother, to Jess. There was nothing either of them could do he wouldn’t forgive. He’d never be able to bear the thought of being responsible for their unhappiness. Could a father feel any different about a daughter? An only daughter, a much-loved daughter, Ty reflected.
He could remember Jim Wolfe’s pride in Asher. Ty had often sat beside him during Asher’s matches in her early days as a pro, then consistently during her last year. Even in such a private man the adoration had showed. It wasn’t possible to believe it had been only for the athlete and not for the woman.
Surprisingly Jim had accepted Ty’s relationship with his daughter. No, Ty corrected, approved. He’d seemed to enjoy seeing them together. Once, Ty recalled, he had gone as far as outlining his expectations to Ty for their future. At the time Ty had been both amused and annoyed at the fatherly interference. What plans he had had for a future with Asher had still been vague. Then, when they had crystalized in his mind, it had been too late. Frowning, Ty glanced down at her.
In the pale shaft of moonlight her face seemed very fragile. Her hair was a silvery, insubstantial cloud around it. A wave of longing swamped him so that he had to fight the need to wake her and satisfy himself that she was there for him. His feelings for her had always been mixed—wild desire, unbearable tenderness, traces of fear. There had been no other woman who had ever brought him such sharp and conflicting emotions. Watching her sleep, he felt the need to protect. There should be no shadow of unhappiness in her eyes when they opened.
How many obstacles would they have to overcome before they were really together? he wondered. There was one he might remove himself. Perhaps the time had come to take the first step. On impulse, Ty slipped from the bed and into the sitting room.
It took only moments by phone to travel from coast to coast. Dropping into a chair, Ty listened to the faint crackling on the wire before it began to ring.
“Wolfe residence.”
In the two words, Ty recognized the trained voice of a servant. “Jim Wolfe please. It’s Ty Starbuck.”
“One moment please.”
Ty sat back, keeping one ear trained on the adjoining bedroom. He heard two distinct clicks as one extension was lifted and the other replaced.
“Starbuck.”
The quiet, cautious voice was instantly recognizable. “Jim. How are you?”
“Well.” A bit surprised by the late night call, Jim Wolfe settled behind his desk. “I’ve been reading quite a bit about you.”
“It’s been a good year. You were missed at Wimbledon.”
“That makes five for you there.”
“And three for Asher,” he returned pointedly.
There was a moment of complete silence. “Your slice volley’s cleaner than it once was.”
“Jim, I called to talk about Asher.”
/> “Then we have nothing to say.”
For a moment the cool, calm statement left Ty speechless. In a flood, fury took over. “Just a damn minute. I have plenty to say. Your daughter’s battled her way back to the top. She’s done it without you.”
“I’m aware of that. Do you have a point?”
“Yes, I have a point,” Ty retorted. “I’ve never seen anyone work as hard as she has these past few months. And it hasn’t been easy, dealing with the pressure, the press, the constant questions on why her father isn’t in the stands while she wins championship after championship.”
“Asher knows my feelings,” Jim said flatly. “They’re no concern of yours.”
“Whatever concerns Asher concerns me.”
“So . . .” Jim picked up a slim gold pen from the desk and carefully examined it. “We’re back to that.”
“Yes, we are.”
“If you’ve decided to resume your relationship with Asher, it’s your business, Ty.” He flung the pen back onto the desk. “And it’s my business if I don’t.”
“For God’s sake, Jim,” Ty began heatedly, “she’s your daughter. You can’t turn your back on your own child.”
“Like father, like daughter,” Jim murmured.
“What the hell does that mean?” Frustrated, Ty rose to pace, dragging the phone with him.
“Asher wiped her child out of existence. I’ve done the same.”
All movement stopped. Ty felt something freeze in him as his knuckles turned white on the receiver. “What child?”
“She turned her back on everything I taught her,” Jim went on, not hearing Ty’s harshly whispered question. “The daughter I knew couldn’t have done it.” The words, and the anger that accompanied them, had been held in for years. Now they came bursting out. “I tried to understand why she married that pale excuse for a man, even tried to resign myself to her throwing away her career. But some things I won’t forgive. If the life she chose to live was worth the price of my grandchild, she’s welcome to it.”
Enraged at letting his feelings pour out so openly, Jim slammed down the receiver.
Three thousand miles away Ty stood, staring at nothing. With infinite care he placed the phone back on the table. Too many thoughts were whirling in his head, too many questions and half answers. He had to think, to take his time. Silently he walked back into the bedroom and dressed.
He wanted to shake her awake and demand an explanation; he wanted to wait until he had a grip on himself. Torn, Ty sat on a chair and stared at the still form in the bed. Asher slept so peacefully, her quiet breathing hardly stirred the air.
A child? Asher’s child? But there was no child, Ty reasoned. If Lord and Lady Wickerton had produced an offspring, there would have been some mention of it in the press. An heir was never kept secret. Dragging a hand through his hair, Ty shifted. Besides, he reasoned, if Asher had had a child, where was it? Struggling to overcome the jealousy at imagining Asher bearing another man’s child, Ty went over his conversation with Jim Wolfe again.
Asher wiped her child out of existence. . . .
His fingers tightened on the arms of the chair as he stared at her sleeping form. Abortion? Without warning, a storm of emotion took over that he had to systematically fight back until his pulse leveled. All attempts to think of the word with an open mind were futile. He couldn’t rationalize it, not when it was Asher, not when the child was part of her. Could the woman he thought he knew have made that kind of choice? For what purpose? Was it possible that the social life she had sought had been more important than . . .
As bitterness filled him, Ty shook his head. He wouldn’t believe it of her. Controlled, yes. There were times Asher could be infuriatingly controlled. But never calculating. Jim had been talking in riddles, he decided. There’d never been a child. There couldn’t have been.
He watched Asher stir. With a soft murmur she shifted toward the emptiness beside her where Ty should have been. He sensed the moment she woke.
The moonlight gleamed on her arm as she lifted it, brushing her fingers at the hair that curled around her face. She placed her hand on his pillow, as if testing it for warmth.
“Ty?”
Not trusting himself, he said nothing. If only she would go back to sleep until he had resolved his feelings. He could still taste the bitterness at the back of his throat.
But she wouldn’t sleep. Although groggy, Asher sensed tension in the air. Ty’s emotions were always volatile enough to be felt tangibly. Something’s wrong, something’s wrong, hammered in her brain.
“Ty?” she called again, and a hint of fear touched the word. Asher had struggled to a sitting position before she saw him. The moonlight was enough to allow her to see that his eyes were dark and fixed on her face. It was also enough to let her see that they were cold. Her pulse began to race. “Couldn’t you sleep?” she asked, struggling to convince herself it was all her imagination.
“No.”
Asher laced her fingers together as she swallowed. “You should have woke me.”
“Why?”
“We—we could have talked.”
“Could we?” Cold anger filled him. “We can talk as long as I don’t ask any questions you don’t want to answer.”
She’d been expecting the showdown, but not like this. His resentment was already wrapping around her. Still, he had a right, and she’d put him off too long. “Ty, if it’s answers you want, I’ll give them to you.”
“Just like that?” he snapped, rising. “Just ask and you’ll answer. Nothing more to hide, Asher?”
Stung by his tone, she stared up at him. “It wasn’t a matter of hiding, Ty, not really. I needed time—we needed time.”
“Why was that, Asher?” he asked in a tone that was uncharacteristically cool. She felt a shudder zip down her spine. “Why was time so important?”
“There were things I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”
“Like the baby?”
If he had slapped her, Asher couldn’t have been more stunned. Even in the moonlight he could see her face go white. Her eyes grew huge and dark and desperate. “How . . .” The words wouldn’t form. Though they raced around in her mind, Asher seemed incapable of forcing any through her lips. How had he found out? Who had told him? How long had he known?
“Eric,” she managed, though the name threatened to strangle her. “Eric told you.”
Sharp disappointment cut through him. Somehow he had hoped it hadn’t been true that she had conceived and rejected another man’s child. “So it’s true,” he exclaimed. Turning from her, Ty stared through the window at the darkness. He found he couldn’t be logical or objective. It was one thing to understand the concept of freedom of choice, and another to apply it to Asher.
“Ty, I . . .” She tried to speak. All of her worst fears were hurtling down on her. The gulf between them was already tangible and threatening to widen. If only she had been able to tell him in her own way, in her own time. “Ty, I wanted to tell you myself. There were reasons why I didn’t at first, and then . . .” Asher shut her eyes. “Then I made excuses.”
“I suppose you thought it was none of my business.”
Her eyes flew open again. “How can you say that?”
“What you do with your life when you’re married to one man isn’t the concern of another, even when he loves you.”
Simultaneous flashes of pain and joy rushed through her. “You didn’t,” she whispered.
“Didn’t what?”
“You didn’t love me.”
He gave a brief laugh, but didn’t turn back to her. “No, of course I didn’t. That’s why I couldn’t stay away from you. That’s why I thought of you every moment.”
Asher pressed the heel of her hand between her eyes. Why now? she thought wildly. Why is it all happening now? “You never told me.”
This time he turned. “Yes, I did.”
Furiously she shook her head. “You never said it. Not once. Even once would have been en
ough.”
In concentration, his brows drew together. She was right, he decided. He’d never said the words. He’d shown her in every way he knew how, but he’d never said the words. “Neither did you,” he blurted, speaking his thoughts.
She let out a breath that was perilously close to a sob. “I was afraid to.”
“Damn it, Asher, so was I.”
For a long, tense moment they stared at each other. Had she been that blind? Had she needed words so badly that she hadn’t seen what he’d been giving her? The words would never have come easily to him because they meant everything. For Ty, a declaration of love wasn’t a casual phrase but a declaration of self.
Asher swallowed a tremor, wanting her voice to be strong. “I love you, Ty. I’ve always loved you. And I’m still afraid.” As she held out a hand he glanced down at it, but made no move to accept