Second Chance - 05 - Never Again Good-Bye

by Terri Blackstock

  Her hand trembled when he slipped the gold band on her finger. His trembled when she slipped his on. Their eyes held a million fears as they faced each other to exchange vows. And when Alan said, “You may kiss the bride,” Laney felt her heart fall to her feet.

  Wes lowered his head and touched her lips with his, so softly that she felt a surge of disappointment at first. But he didn’t withdraw when she expected. Instead he stepped closer and slid his arms around her and breathed in a sigh that stole her breath. And then he gave that breath back to her. His lips moved softly against hers, gently welcoming her to his world despite the conditions. She felt herself running headfirst toward the biggest heartbreak of her life, yet she responded to the kiss with a fervor that equaled his. They looked into each other’s eyes with a note of surprise when they broke the kiss, then let each other go too quickly.

  They had scarcely separated when Sherry threw her arms around Laney, welcoming her to the family, and thrust a wrapped package into her arms. “It’s a wedding gift,” she said quickly. “I made it for you. I admit it was kind of rushed, so if it falls apart or anything, I’m sorry. Don’t open it till you get home.” Sherry winked at her brother. “It’s for you, too, Wes.”

  Wes dropped a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Thanks.” He turned back to Laney, his smile hesitant. “Is it moving?”

  She shook the box. “No.”

  “Good,” he said. “Then it isn’t some exotic animal she got from a mail-order catalog. Sherry’s taste in gifts has always been questionable. But it’s the thought that counts.” Sherry grinned conspiratorially at Clint, who rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and a little thought can lead you a long way,” she said.

  Clint finally broke into a laugh and told her to quit while she was ahead, and Laney couldn’t wait to see what was in the box. It was a day for special gifts. A daughter, a husband, a home. What more could anyone ask for?

  Laney thought of a hundred things she’d like to ask for that evening when they had put Amy to bed. Tranquilizers, a cot in the living room, a hole to hide her head in.

  What had been a busy day of moving in had now come to a complete halt, and she found herself in the most awkward situation of her life. What did he expect of her? What did she expect of him? Where would she sleep in this two-bedroom house? Where would he expect her to sleep?

  She looked around the small living room at the family portrait on the wall, at the knickknacks she was sure Patrice had bought, at the color scheme that belonged to another woman. They mocked her now, chiding her for inserting herself into a family where she didn’t belong. She wanted to cry, but she was too afraid. She wanted to run, but she was too determined. She wanted to be sick, but she was too embarrassed.

  She looked up and saw Wes standing in the doorway, looking at her with his own apparent reservations. If only he looked like an ogre, she thought, hugging her knees to her chest, maybe she could make this cut and dried. If only he didn’t have those soft green eyes that made her heart melt, she might not be so afraid. If only she weren’t so tragically attracted to him …

  “I was think—”

  “You never ope—”

  The words came out simultaneously, and they both stopped. Laney felt her cheeks coloring. She swallowed. “You go ahead,” she said. “What were you going to say?”

  He walked into the room and sat down next to her. “You never opened Sherry’s gift.”

  She looked at the wrapped package on the coffee table. “Well, I could do it now.”

  He handed it to her. “Brace yourself. My sister’s a real character.”

  “I like her,” Laney said. Her hands trembled as she peeled up the tape, careful not to tear the paper. “I wonder what it is. She said she made it herself.”

  Wes helped her with one side of the paper then propped his elbow on the back of the sofa and rested his head against his hand, watching her.

  She opened the box, pulled back the tissue covering, and found the contents. Her face stung with crimson heat.

  “What is it?” Wes asked when she set the top back on too quickly.

  “Nothing, it’s just …”

  “Just what?” He smiled and reached for the box. She had no choice but to surrender it to him. “What did my crazy sister do this time?”

  He pulled off the top and reached for the black pile of lace. Taking one strap, he held it up. “A negligee,” he said, his own face reddening. “That Sherry.”

  Slowly he folded it back up, set it in the box, and closed it. “Well,” he said after what seemed an eternity. “She meant well. She’s an aspiring fashion designer, you know. Goes to school part-time. She’s always experimenting …” His voice trailed off as he realized he was babbling.

  Laney swallowed the tears gathering in her throat. “I …” She cleared her throat and tried again. “I was thinking. This couch is pretty comfortable. I could sleep here. I mean, I know you’ve given up a lot already, marrying me and all, and I don’t want you to have to give up your bed too. And I don’t want you to think that I think that this is a real marriage, because we both know it’s for Amy’s sake. We don’t have to pretend we’re attracted to each other or that we have to go through with anything that isn’t right for us. I mean, since we hardly know each other …”

  Wes sat listening, his face expressionless as her words tumbled out. Had he expected it to be any different? Had he really hoped that they would consummate this charade of a marriage tonight?

  When her arguments ran down, he looked into her liquid, frightened eyes and hated himself for anything he’d ever done to make her fear him so. “Laney, we got married for Amy. And we want very much for her to think of it as a real marriage. This house has two bedrooms. Mine and Amy’s. If either one of us sleeps anywhere but in that bedroom, she’ll know. She wakes up early, and sometimes she gets up in the night. If it’s going to look like a real marriage, we have to sleep in the same room.”

  Laney hugged her knees tighter, and her lips trembled. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I know you’re right.”

  She was shaking all over, he thought miserably. She was scared to death.

  She stood up, finally, and looked down at him. “I … guess I’ll go get ready for bed, then.”

  Did she think he was going to force her to make love? Did she think he was that insensitive? He stood up to face her. “Laney.”

  She dropped her face and tried to blink back the incipient tears. “What?”

  He took her hand and drew her closer to him. “Laney, you don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m not going to take anything from you.”

  His voice was comforting, gentle, and she made herself look up at him. A tear seeped through her lashes, and his hand moved up to her face. With his thumb he brushed the tear away.

  His lips came down to her cheek, kissed the wet spot, melting all her fears and apprehensions, and then withdrew. “I won’t touch you again tonight,” he whispered.

  And when she didn’t answer, he dropped her hand and left the room.

  Laney’s spirits hovered between disappointment and relief when she heard him go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. She went into the bedroom and got ready for bed. The light from the room’s one small lamp slid across the long black gown Laney had brought for the occasion. It was not anything that could be considered alluring. It was simply attractive, pleasant to look at—nothing like the negligee Sherry had made her—and she’d justified it by telling herself that she couldn’t let her new husband see her in the football jersey she usually slept in.

  She slipped under the covers and turned on her side so she would appear to be asleep when Wes came in. But Patrice’s picture on the bedside table seemed too threatening. The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman smiling peacefully out from the frame added weight to Laney’s heart. The picture was a cold reminder that this would be a marriage in name only. Wes was still in love with his first wife. His real wife.

  She turned over and scooted to the opposite side of the bed. Wes
probably kept that picture there because that was his side. She had no right to come between him and his memories of his wife. Lying on her back, she laid her wrist over her eyes. Don’t cry, she ordered herself. Do not cry.

  She sensed Wes before she saw him in the doorway, clad in a maroon robe and a pair of pajama pants.

  “I … I didn’t know which side you slept on,” she said quietly.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  She sat up partially, keeping the covers pulled over her gown. “Yes, it does. I can sleep on either side.”

  “I’m gonna sleep here … on this couch.”

  She swallowed. “Oh.”

  She watched him get two blankets from the closet and lay them over the cushions.

  “Wes, I can sleep there. This is your bed. I never meant to drive you out.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he said. “This is real comfortable. We got it when Patrice was sick, and I slept here for months so she could be comfortable in the bed.”

  Several moments ticked by.

  “About the picture,” he whispered finally. “I put it away once, and Amy got upset. I had to put it back. It’s going to stay there.”

  Was it defiance in his voice? A reminder that she would not replace Patrice?

  “I understand,” she whispered without looking at him.

  She heard his steady, self-conscious breathing and the sound of his body shifting on the sofa. She tensed when she heard him get up, held her breath as he seemed to come closer, and opened her eyes in alarm when she felt him reaching over her.

  “The light,” he said.

  She looked up at him, about to say that she could do it, but she couldn’t speak. He was gazing down at her, an open struggle going on in his eyes, and for a moment she hoped he wouldn’t keep his word about not touching her again. Suddenly she needed very much to be touched.

  But after turning out the light, Wes withdrew to the couch, and she closed her eyes again. Laney tried not to think how appealing he looked with his hair damp from the shower. But there was no way to block out that fresh scent of soap that wafted over the air …

  Wes lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, willing his senses to ignore the apricot scent that teased him whenever she was near.

  Viciously, he turned over on his side and wadded his pillow under his head, wishing he’d never come up with the noble idea of sleeping on this couch.

  He ground his teeth and buried his face in the pillow. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time in many months, the smell of coffee woke Wes. Slowly he opened his eyes and stretched as much as he could on the narrow couch. He glanced across at the bed and saw that Laney had gotten up and made it up behind her. She had probably hurried out, he thought, to avoid the intimacy of morning.

  Sliding his feet to the floor, Wes sat on the edge of the couch, a little disappointed. He could hear her puttering in the kitchen, and he wondered if she’d slept at all. Had she been too nervous, too tense, too self-conscious to lie there until he woke?

  He got up and folded his blankets, hiding the evidence of where he’d slept from Amy. When he stepped into the bathroom, he breathed in the sweet scent of apricots drifting on the steam from Laney’s shower. The feminine fragrance reminded him how much he had missed having a woman in his house.

  Going back into the bedroom, he pulled open a drawer and grabbed a shirt. It was then that his eyes fell on the check lying on the dresser next to his wallet.

  He picked it up, every muscle in his body going rigid. Laney had written him a check for a phenomenal amount of money—enough to pay off Patrice’s hospital debts and bail out his home and business. It should have felt like an answered prayer, but instead, it reminded him that their marriage was a business arrangement. Cursing himself for having no choice but to use it, he crammed it into his billfold.

  It was his fault her gesture had been so coldly impersonal, he told himself as he got dressed. After all, he was the one who had balked when she’d suggested a joint checking account. He couldn’t stand the idea of living off her inheritance when he had nothing of his own to put into the pot. As soon as his business was on its feet, he would pay her back, and he’d never live on her father’s money again.

  Quickly he dressed, then sat down on the edge of the bed, not ready to face her with the mixed feelings whirling through his heart. Should he thank her or pretend the check hadn’t been written?

  He looked down at the bed beneath him and ran his hand along the bedspread. She had lain here so still last night, almost as if she held her breath, waiting for him to fall asleep. Some part of him had longed to touch her … to reassure her … but he hadn’t dared. It had been one of the loneliest nights of his life. And this was probably the loneliest morning.

  He rubbed his hands roughly over his face then dropped them as his eyes fell on Patrice’s picture. He wondered how Laney had felt waking to it this morning. Did it make her feel out of place, in the way? He picked it up and once again tried to put it in the table drawer. But something about that act seemed like a betrayal. He couldn’t do it.

  He set the picture back, exactly where it had been before, and tried to remember Patrice as she had been at her best, laughing with him and exchanging wisecracks. The house had always been so full of laughter. But the memory was fading, just as Amy had said. Now, as he looked at Patrice’s picture, it was Laney’s scent he smelled. As he remembered how Patrice had cared for him, it was Laney’s work in the kitchen he heard. As he thought of how he’d loved Patrice, it was Laney he longed to touch.

  It was wrong, he told himself. All wrong.

  He heard the sound of a small knock on the door, and he said, “Come in.”

  The door opened, and Amy peered in. “Hi, Daddy.” Her cheeks were sleepy-red, her eyes were just-opened, and she stood in her baby-doll gown with her teddy crushed against her. “Something smells good.”

  “Laney’s cooking breakfast,” he said.

  She stood there for a moment, looking at him with as much confusion about this change in their family as he felt. “Wanna come?” she asked.

  Slapping on his smile, he said, “I sure do. I’m starved.”

  Taking hands, they both went into the kitchen with quiet apprehension.

  Laney had the table set and was putting a platter of French toast at the center of the table. “Good morning,” she said, her face lighting up at the sight of her daughter. “You hungry?”

  Amy nodded and pulled out a chair.

  “Let me just get the syrup, and we’ll be all set,” Laney said.

  “I’ll help,” Wes said, and followed her.

  Laney gave him a puzzled look. She reached for the syrup, then awkwardly handed it to him.

  It was sticky, but he didn’t notice. He looked down at it and seemed to study it as he tried to find the words. “Uh … I saw the check. It was too much.”

  “You’ll need extra until you get on your feet. Really, I want you to have it.”

  He looked up at her, at the bright, clear, dark eyes that were so stunning at this hour of morning. “Look, I’m going to pay you back. As soon as I get that contract for the amusement park … if I get it … I’ll pay back every penny. With interest.”

  “I don’t need it back. It was a gift. Amy’s inheritance. It meant the world to me to be able to do it. I’ve never had anything I could give before.”

  He stiffened. “I’m still paying it back.”

  She wilted and took the syrup from him, then handed him a wet towel for his hands. “Wes, how can I make you understand? I’ve never been able to do anything for her. Or for you, and all these years, you’ve taken care of my child. Besides, that was the deal. I got what I wanted, and you got what you needed.”

  “What I need is to provide for my family, Laney. It’s what I do. I also always try to pay my debts, if it’s at all in my power.”

  “But we’re married, Wes. If we get a joint account, it’ll all be yours,
anyway. What difference will it make?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “I told you, we’re not getting a joint account. I’m not ready for that.”

  He left the kitchen, and she stood there for a moment, trying hard not to cry. She had to go in there and face Amy like the happy little bride. If it killed her, she would do it. Wes hadn’t meant to hurt her, she told herself. But he had no idea how much it had meant to her to give what she had to the man who had raised her child. He couldn’t possibly understand that the gift had been from her heart—not something she would hold over his head.

  Only time could prove that to him, she thought. But she had time. Time to change his mind about the money … and time to change his feelings about her.

  Nothing changed in their relationship over the days that followed. Amy remained polite but quiet. Laney remained warm but distant. And Wes didn’t get much sleep.

  Sunday morning, they got up with every intention of going to church together, despite Laney’s fears that she wouldn’t be well received by the congregation who knew she was the woman who had sued for joint custody of Amy. She knew they’d all be suspicious of the quick wedding.

  But she determined to show them just what a nice family they all made. She had bought Amy a new dress for the occasion, and Amy, grouchier than usual, had fidgeted while Laney tried to French braid her hair. When Laney was halfway finished, Amy began to whine. “I don’t like it,” she said. “It hurts. It’s pulled too tight.”

  “I can loosen it,” Laney said. “Here, let me—”

  But Amy began to pull it loose herself, destroying the look. “I don’t want to wear it like this. I want to wear it down.”

  Looking a little disgruntled, Laney pulled out the braid and brushed Amy’s hair. “That better?” she asked.

  “No,” Amy pouted. “I want it pulled back. With a bow.”

  Laney gathered it at her neck to make a ponytail, but Amy jerked away. “Not like that!”