"Have you?" she challenged.
"Yes." How could she ask him something like that? Didn't she see the changes in him? The difference she and the baby had made? "I have a lover again. I have you."
"You won't take your clothes off in front of me. You won't reveal who you are."
With a vile curse, he got to his feet, fighting the urge to punch a wall, the way he used to do when he was a kid. "This is about my leg? About your morbid curiosity to see it?"
Her voice quavered. "There's nothing morbid about my interest in you."
He flexed his fingers, letting the anger go. "You're getting emotional over me, I understand that. I'm getting emotional over you, too. But we're better off leaving things as they are. For God's sake, just let me keep my clothes on."
"Why?"
"Because I need to feel whole around you." He'd treated her badly at his door last night, but her unexpected visit had startled him, embarrassed him, made him feel like a cripple.
And he hated that feeling more than anything.
"You are a whole man, Bobby."
Nice words, he thought. Easy sentiment for someone who wasn't attaching a prosthetic limb to a stump every morning. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not. Damn it, I'm not." A defensive light flashed in her eyes, as bright as a diamond, as powerful as flawless stone. "But you never talk about yourself. You never share anything with me."
What was he supposed to confide in her about? The accident? The crushed metal and shattered bones? The blood? The mutilated skin? "If I was in the market for a support group, I'd go to one."
"So that's it? That's all I get? A man who'll sleep with me, but won't open his heart?"
"My heart?" The damned thing was pounding now, beating a painful rhythm. "I thought the issue was my leg. And my ring." He held up his hand, wished he could remove the gold circle from his finger, forget the shame connected to it.
"You don't get it, do you?"
He dropped his hand. "Get what? What is it that I'm not getting, Julianne?"
"That I'm in love with you."
The moment her words hit the air, silence ricocheted.
Fear blasted Bobby like a fist, a set of brass knuckles to the belly. "That wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to change the rules."
"I didn't do it on purpose." She gripped the handle on her cup. "I swear, I didn't."
Were the rules changing for him, too? Was the need inside him love? The desperation to touch her? To hold her?
God help him, but he wanted to hold her now. Right now, in the midst of the chaos between them.
Bobby looked at her, saw her looking back at him.
"I can't marry you," he said suddenly. He couldn't handle the complication, the ache, the confusion that came with being a husband, with having to protect a wife. "But I would if I could."
Because he loved her. The way she loved him. What point was there in denying it? In pretending that he didn't know the difference between lust and love?
He'd started living again because of her, enjoying simple pleasures, laughing with true mirth, looking forward to waking up each day.
But he still couldn't marry her.
"I love you, too," he said quickly, playing it down, letting her know love wasn't the key to happiness. If anything, it made matters worse, more complicated for both of them. "But the way I feel about you doesn't change anything. I still need my privacy."
"What kind of love is that? Keeping your partner from getting too close?"
"The only kind I have to offer."
Her eyes watered, but she blinked away the obvious emotion. He blinked his away, too.
Stalemate, he thought, remaining true to his convictions, his need to protect himself, to keep his shame and discomfort hidden.
Julianne rose to refill her cup, to give herself a moment to think, a moment to stay strong.
How could she remain in Texas? How could she face each day knowing that she would never be Bobby's wife? That his idea of love conflicted with hers?
On the other hand, how could she leave? Tackle each day without seeing him? Touching him? Holding him?
"I don't know what to do," she blurted, almost spilling her milk.
Bobby remained near the desk, his expression guarded. "What do you mean?"
She turned. "I have to make a decision. Come to terms with all of this."
Panic flashed in his eyes. "You're thinking about going back to Pennsylvania, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Now? After we both just admitted that we love each other? What kind of logic is that?"
The love he'd offered wasn't enough. Those words meant nothing without compromise, without sacrifice, without commitment. "This is my life we're taking about. My future."
"It's my life, too."
She came forward, placed her cup on the desk. "Yes, but you're expecting me to live by your rules. Rules that don't work for me."
"Damn it." Frustration edged his voice. "A week ago you said you could handle being my lover. I laid my cards on the table and you looked me right in the eye and said you could handle it."
"I know. But that was before I realized I was falling in love with you."
"Love is overrated," he countered, twisting the gold band on his finger. "Women make too damn much of it."
How could he say that? How could he shove her feelings aside? "Before I agreed to move here, I laid my cards on the table. I told you that if things didn't work out, I wanted the option to go home."
"And now you're cashing in on that option?"
"I don't know. Maybe." She lifted her milk, took a small sip, willed herself not to cry. He didn't understand how much she needed a commitment from him.
"What about the baby?"
"We'll work something out."
"From across the country?"
"No matter what happens, I won't shut you out of the baby's life. I'm not trying to punish you." But she couldn't punish herself, either. Stay in a situation that pained her.
"God, this hurts." He shoved his left hand into his pocket, as if hiding his ring. "How can you do this? How can you even consider it?"
"Because I love you. And I need for you to love me the same way."
"I do. Damn it. I do."
"No, you don't." And she feared he never would. He dug his hand deeper into his pocket, burying the ring even farther. "You're judging me. You're assuming what I feel for you isn't real."
Real or not, he didn't covet the same dream as Julianne. He wasn't willing to sacrifice his pride for love, for the kind of intimacy that revealed his soul or unmasked his heart.
"What happens now?" he asked, stepping back, putting yet another distance between them.
"I need some time to think," she told him, already mourning the loss, the closeness they never really had.
* * *
Bobby gave her two days and the clock-ticking, hour-lagging time nearly killed him. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't eat; he couldn't work without thinking about her, without hoping and praying she would choose to stay.
At 9:00 p.m. he knocked on her door and Julianne answered right away. She looked tired, pale and vulnerable. But even so, she'd wrapped herself in flowers, in a nightgown with a soft, floral print.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
Julianne released an audible breath and he knew she'd decided to go back to Pennsylvania. To leave him. He could see it on her face, in the shadows beneath her eyes.
He stood tall, guarding his emotions; afraid the pain of losing her would unman him.
She gestured to the living room.
He entered her house and they remained silent.
Finally he lifted his hand. His finger bore a mark in the shape of his ring, where his skin had tanned around it. But regardless, the gold band was gone.
She blinked, did a double take. "You removed it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I love you. And it doesn't make any sense to wear a ring anothe
r woman gave me."
She took his hand, held it in hers. "Does this mean you'll talk about Sharon now? About the significance of the ring? About why you wore it all those years?"
"No. It just means that I love you." She released his hand. "You have too many secrets, Bobby. Too many issues you're not willing to share."
Hurt, he squared his shoulders, fought the emptiness in his chest. "This is easy for you, isn't it? Walking away when life get tough."
"Easy?" Her Irish temper flared. "This is the hardest thing I've ever done. But, damn it, I need more from you."
"More than me removing a ring?"
"Yes."
He cursed beneath his breath. Why couldn't it be enough?
"I want to get past Sharon," Julianne said. "I want to see her picture, to hear you say her name without making her seem like a ghost between us."
Sharon wasn't a ghost. She was his cross to bear, his shame, his remorse. "I wasn't a good husband. My wife deserved better than what she got from me."
Stunned, Julianne stared at him. "Oh, dear God. Did you cheat on her, Bobby? Did you?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He tried to say it, to admit that he'd killed Sharon, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. "Nothing. Never mind." He faced himself in the mirror every day. He couldn't bear to face Julianne, too. To have her look upon him with disgust.
She shook her head and he knew she was giving up, that she wouldn't push him.
"I booked my flight for next Monday," she said.
A shot of loneliness iced through his veins. "So soon?"
"It hurts too much to stay here." She sank onto the edge of the sofa, as if her legs had gone as weary as her heart.
Bobby wanted to hold her, to pretend this wasn't happening, but he asked about her plans instead. "What about your car?"
"I've arranged to have it transported home, along with the rest of my belongings." She paused, took a breath. "I'm sorry about not following through on the boutique. But I'll give you all of my files. I have a good start."
He didn't care about the store. He wanted his woman. His child.
"And what about our son or daughter?" he asked. "Are we going to shift the baby back and forth?"
"We'll do the best we can. Be the best parents possible."
"I know." But the knowledge that he wouldn't see Julianne and the baby every day was tearing him apart. "Have you worked out everything else? Lined up a job? A new apartment in Pennsylvania?"
"I'm going to stay with Kay and her husband until I rent a place. And I'm not worried about a job. I'll find one."
Of course she would. She was a capable lady. Strong. Independent. Beautiful. "I'll send you a check every month. Enough to—"
"Bobby—"
"Don't argue. Give me this much. Let me help you." Let me feel as if I matter, he thought. As if you can't live without me.
They looked at each other for a moment and then he said, "I'm going to miss you."
Her eyes watered and her voice broke. "I love you, Bobby. More than you could ever know."
Unable to stop himself, he sat next to her and held out his arms.
But she didn't fall into his embrace. She didn't cry in his arms. Instead she shook her head, refusing the shallow comfort he offered.
Loving each other wasn't enough, he thought.
He looked into her watery eyes and saw her strength, her beauty, the Irish temper that kept her from breaking down.
"I'm sorry," he told her. Sorry he couldn't be the man she needed him to be. That he couldn't marry her.
"You should go," she said, her voice cracking just a little.
Knowing he didn't have a choice, he left the cabin, then stood in the wind and asked the Creator to stop time before Monday.
To keep Julianne here.
* * *
Chapter 13
«^»
On Monday, Julianne waited on the porch. Bobby had offered to drive her to the airport and he was due to pick up her up at any moment.
She buttoned her jacket, warding off the moisture in the air. Could she actually go through with this? Could she leave him? Live so far away from the man she loved?
When she saw his truck coming toward the cabin, she hugged herself.
He parked and climbed out of the vehicle. He wore a denim shirt, blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. His hair had been plaited into its usual braid. The brim of a felt cowboy hat shielded his eyes, but he still looked exhausted, as if he'd been battling sleep. She knew how much this was hurting him.
Suddenly she wanted to hold him, to never let go.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
He motioned to a leather satchel. "Is this it?"
She nodded. "Everything else is packed in boxes. Maria is going to make sure the moving company has access to them."
Bobby reached for the bag. "Maria doesn't want you to leave."
"I know." The Latina woman had become a dear friend. "I'll come back to visit with the baby. I won't stay away forever."
"I'll keep this house available for you. I won't rent it out again."
She glanced back at the cabin. "You don't have to do that, Bobby."
He started down the porch steps. "I can do whatever I want. I own this place. Besides, I'm going to finish decorating the nursery."
"Yes, of course." But knowing the house would be empty, waiting for her and the baby to return, made her homesick for Texas already. "I feel like I'm leaving a piece of my heart behind."
He stopped, turned to look at her. "Yeah, and you're taking a chunk of mine with you."
Julianne met his troubled gaze. Her decision had broken both of their hearts, leaving them aching for each other.
Then don't go, a voice in her head reasoned. Stay with him.
And do what? Remain his desperate lover? The lady he kept at a distance? The lady he refused to marry?
An arrangement like that would only enable Bobby to become more reclusive, to keep more secrets. And eventually it would destroy Julianne's self-worth, her confidence as a woman.
Why couldn't he see that? Why couldn't see how unhealthy it was?
She descended the stairs, clutching her purse strap a little too tightly.
Without speaking, he opened the passenger door for her. She thanked him and buckled her seat belt.
They drove in silence, down country roads, past farms and ranches. She stared out the window and watched the patchwork scenery go by, images of the Texas Hill Country she would never forget.
Finally, when they hit the main highway, the sky opened up, showering the earth with rain.
With tears from heaven, Julianne thought as an unspeakable loneliness crept into her soul.
The windshield wipers swept across the glass and Bobby did his best to remain strong, to tell himself he would survive.
But when he glanced at Julianne, his resolve shattered. She had her hand on her tummy, cradling their baby, the tiny life they'd created.
Tears filled his eyes, but he forced them away, refusing to let her see him cry.
Pride, he thought. His egotistical pride.
He'd killed Sharon with it. And now he was losing Julianne because of it.
He gripped the steering wheel, felt his palms sweat. He couldn't send her away without telling her the truth. Without admitting what he'd done.
He blinked and his gaze fogged. Was it the rain? Or was it his tears?
Suddenly he couldn't see. He couldn't—
Oh, God. What if he killed Julianne and the baby? What if he crashed the truck, rolled it the way he'd done that day?
"I can't do this," he said, releasing the panic. "I can't."
He guided the vehicle to the side of the road, put it in Park and cut the engine. Then he looked at Julianne, his heart pounding in time to the rain.
"What's going on?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"If anything ever happened to you, I'd die," he said. "I'd cease to exist."
She gazed at him with confused eyes. "What are you talking about? Nothing is going to happen to me."
"I killed Sharon, Julianne. The accident was my fault." He paused, his stomach clenching. "It was raining that day, too. We were driving back to Texas from Oklahoma, but we were only a few hours from home."
Julianne didn't respond, so he continued, purging his sins.
"When the weather took a turn for the worse, Sharon started to worry. She wanted me to find a motel, so we could wait out the storm."
"But you kept driving."
"Yes. I'd driven in storms much more dangerous than the one we were in. I convinced her everything would be okay. That I'd get her home safe and sound."
He glanced out the windshield, recalling how macho he'd been, how sure of himself. "About thirty minutes later a vehicle behind us lost control and in the chaos that followed, several cars swerved. Someone sideswiped us and I skidded across the wet highway and went off an embankment."
Bobby closed his eyes. Julianne remained quiet, listening to him describe the day he'd killed his wife. "Our truck rolled, pinning us inside." He could still feel the slow-motion effect of the crash, the mangled metal, the break of his own bones, the trauma of his leg being partially severed. "I didn't see what happened to Sharon. I passed out and when I regained consciousness, I was in the hospital." He sucked in a breath, forced it out of his lungs. "She didn't stand a chance. She died at the scene of the accident."
He opened his eyes, stared straight ahead. "We'd been visiting her family in Oklahoma. And I'd just promised her parents that I would take care of their daughter, that I would protect her."
"It was an accident. You didn't mean for her to die."
He turned toward Julianne, confused by her expression, by the tenderness and compassion. She wasn't looking at him at if he were some sort of monster. She didn't see the ugliness inside him.
"I still love you," she said, as if reading his mind. "This doesn't change how I feel about you."
"How can you say that?"
"Because you're a good man with a good heart. And now I understand what you've been going through. The guilt and pain you've had to bear."
Bobby squeezed her hand, held it like a lifeline. He wondered what he'd done to deserve her, to have such a beautiful woman believe in him.
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