Wade

by Jennifer Blake

  “I expect they can guess.” A wry grin curved his mouth.

  The word that slipped from her in Pashtu was expressive if inelegant.

  “Not to worry. The guys will think it’s perfectly natural, what they’d be doing in my place, and their women will probably wonder if it’s anything like what goes on between them and their men.”

  “No.”

  “No?” He tipped his head as he considered her.

  “It isn’t. Clay hugged me, remember, and it was nothing at all like…that is, well, you know.”

  He gathered her close, so their bodies were intimately connected once more. “Nothing like this?”

  “Not in any way.” She wished fervently that she’d kept her mouth shut.

  A smile twitched his lips. He pressed them together, but it did no good. The amusement spread until laugh lines cut deep into his cheeks. “Well,” he drawled, “that’s nice to know.”

  Heat rose to her cheekbones. She suddenly felt exposed, both physically and mentally. Putting her fingertips to his shoulder, she applied pressure. It was enough. He shifted, giving her the room to slide from under him, though his gaze was watchful. Refusing to meet it, she gathered up her clothes and padded into the bathroom.

  She turned on the tap, letting the cool water run over her hands and wrists for several seconds before splashing her hot face. Then she stood with her hands braced on the basin’s edge and her eyes closed, letting the water drip down her chin and neck onto her breasts.

  She was a fool.

  What she had just done could trap her, prevent her from doing the one thing that could give her life meaning. If unprotected sex left her pregnant, that baby would become a hostage binding her to this place and these people. She would have all the duties and obligations that left no time for other things. She could not work to save the women she’d left behind in the ignorance and near slavery of life behind the veil.

  She was also foolish because she’d come so close to forgetting that she had that mission. She had allowed herself to be seduced by the ancient and visceral appreciation of women for masculine strength. She had seen in Wade the opposite side of male power from that shown by the Islamic fundamentalists of the country from which she had come, the use of it to protect rather than to subjugate.

  Listening to him just now, as he spoke of himself and his family, she had heard his deep commitment to taking care of his own. She had seen the closeness between the men of his family and their women, the care and concern and easy, unrestrained affection between them. She had heard and she had seen, and the yearning to be a part of it, to belong naturally and completely to something or someone had crept in upon her so quietly that she’d not known it was there until she’d seen, abruptly, that she could never have it.

  The Benedicts didn’t want her here. She’d brought trouble and fear into their safe, easy lives, and for that she could never be forgiven. If a single man or woman was lost, a hair hurt on the head of even one child, then she would be hated forever.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  She lifted her head. She could see him in the mirror as he stood behind her, leaning with one shoulder on the door facing. His hair was tousled and the sleepy look of spent passion lingered in his eyes. He’d stepped into his jeans, but that was all. As she said nothing, he lifted a brow and tipped his toward the water tap that was still running.

  “Sorry,” she said, forcing a smile as she reached to turn it off. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Good. Marry me?”

  “What?”

  He moved away from the door and sauntered up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and spreading his fingers across her bare abdomen. “You heard me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “We hardly know each other.” The lazy circle he was making with his hand, barely brushing the small triangle of hair at the base of her belly, made it hard to think.

  “I know enough. And it would give me the right to take care of you, always.”

  His words said one thing, but his caress another. It didn’t matter. Wade had made no secret of the fact that he wanted her. What he meant, she thought, was that he desired her. It was only a physical craving, sex without permanence or meaning beyond the pleasure of the moment, Mother Nature’s great trick on humanity. That was all right. She didn’t want more from him, didn’t want love or promises or all the other things that made a prisoner of a woman.

  “I don’t want you to take care of me,” she said, not quite meeting his gaze in the mirror. “I have other things to do with my life. The women I left behind are my family, just as you have yours. I can’t run out on them any more than you could desert those you care about.”

  His movements stilled and his hold loosened. “You don’t want a family of your own.”

  “I’d be trapped in it as surely as I was ever trapped in Ahmad’s house.”

  “You see marriage as a threat.”

  “Is that so hard to understand? I thought most men looked at it that way.”

  “Not Benedict men. So you don’t want me?”

  She did want him. What she didn’t want was to love him. She didn’t want to, but she did, heaven help her.

  That was something he must never guess. The longer she was near him, the more he touched her, the worse it would get. The more time she spent here, the harder it would be to ever go. She needed to get away, but there was no one she could turn to, no place to run as long as death and danger waited beyond these walls.

  She could see only one way out.

  “No,” she said, and met his eyes, finally, with hard-held purpose. “No, I don’t want you, don’t want to marry you now or ever.”

  He opened his arms. His face was bleak as he stepped away, then backed slowly from the bathroom. “Forget I asked,” he said.

  “I intend to,” she answered, giving the words the low intensity of a vow.

  “Fine. I’ll do the same.”

  He turned then. Seconds later, the bedroom door closed behind him. The quiet click of the latch was unmistakably final.

  18

  The smell of wonderful things to eat met Chloe in the upper hall and drew her down to the kitchen. She hadn’t left her room all day, hadn’t felt hungry and still didn’t, but the food spread out on the countertops was almost enough to make her reconsider. Platters of sliced meats, bowls of vegetables and salads of all kinds jostled huge casserole dishes holding what looked like dressing and dumplings and jambalaya. Tall pots were filled to their brims with soup and gumbo and fluffy white and brown rice. Then there were the desserts, an endless array of layer cakes and pound cakes, puddings and cobblers, meringue-topped pies, crusted pies, and pies coated with coconut and pecans. Plastic plates, glasses and utensils were stacked in one place, and crushed ice filled two large coolers. Everything sat ready, waiting for people to gather for the evening meal.

  As Chloe hesitated in the doorway, a woman with her long golden-brown hair in a knot on top of her head and a pen behind her ear turned from where she stood at the stove. She took one look at Chloe’s face and gave a low laugh before she continued ladling gumbo over rice. “I know, culinary overkill. But when the Benedict guys go hunting, Benedict women cook. It helps the stress level, for one thing, but it also feeds the horde on their return. This time, it’s also meant to keep us from starving in case of a siege.”

  “It should work,” Chloe said stiffly.

  “Help yourself. That’s what it’s for—though I say it who cooked not the first dish.”

  “I don’t think so, not just now.”

  “Whenever you’re ready. No need to wait until dinner. I’m certainly not going to, since I missed the fish fry, only had cheese and an apple at my desk for lunch.” The woman stepped forward and offered her free hand with friendly warmth in her gray eyes. “You’re Chloe, aren’t you? I’m April Benedict.”

  “The writer?”

  “Afraid so. I’d have been here to welcome you e
arlier, but deadlines go on, regardless.”

  “You had to cancel your tour, too, I think. I’d say I’m sorry, but Wade seems to think I’ve done that enough.”

  April gave a light shrug. “I can’t imagine you actually wanted to be followed back to the States. So what was the trouble in town this morning?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Chloe moved to a platter of smoked ham and took a slice, then peeled off a sliver. It had been years since she’d tasted such a thing. The hickory and honey flavors that met her tongue were laden with childhood memories of Sunday breakfasts and picnics.

  “It was discussed, though I wasn’t there at the time. Luke gave me the capsule version before he went back on watch, but you know how that goes.”

  “Not much detail?”

  “Exactly. Besides, I’d like to hear yours.”

  Chloe told her, also answering the quick and penetrating questions that April put in at intervals. When she was done, she was afraid she’d said more than she should, certainly more than she’d intended.

  “So Wade was upset, was he?” the writer asked. Her gaze was veiled as she dipped into her gumbo with appetite and precision.

  “You could say that.”

  “I thought he looked like a thundercloud for some reason.”

  Chloe made a noncommittal sound as she reached for another piece of ham. To change the subject, she asked, “Where is everyone?”

  “Here and there.” April watched her for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want a plate?”

  “Maybe I will.” Chloe picked up one from the stack nearby, and put a slice of roast on it that would be big enough to feed a family in Hazaristan. After a moment, she asked, “Wade ate earlier, I suppose?”

  “Probably.” April tipped her head as she watched her. “Would it bother you if he hadn’t?”

  The bite of roast she’d taken suddenly tasted like ashes, but Chloe swallowed it anyway. “Why should it?”

  “I thought you might be concerned about him.”

  “He can take care of himself.”

  “Of course he can.” April’s voice was dry.

  A silence fell in which the only sounds were the dull scrape of plastic against plastic and the distant noise of children playing outside in the gathering twilight. An idea occurred to Chloe as she sat beside the writer. Since she wasn’t sure how much time she might have before someone interrupted, she spoke at once. “Are you famous?”

  “I don’t know that I’d say that.”

  “But you were on tour, which must mean that you have radio or television interviews? You know people in the media?”

  “A few.” Caution was strong in April’s voice.

  “So if I had a videotape of atrocities against Hazaristan women, you’d have an idea of someone who might make use of it?”

  April watched her an instant, then moved her chair a little closer as she said, “Tell me more.”

  Chloe was glad to comply. Short minutes later, she knew a great deal about the news media across the country, and had April’s pledge to see that the RAWA tape was aired to the best advantage. The relief she felt at fulfilling that obligation was an indication of how much it had been weighing on her.

  The writer’s wide-ranging knowledge and ready compliance made Chloe curious about her, however. With a glance at the pen behind her ear and the ink stains on her fingers, she asked, “You don’t type your books?”

  “Honey, I use whatever it takes. Sometimes it’s a keyboard, sometimes voice recognition software or pen and ink. If one thing doesn’t work, another may.”

  “And nobody interferes with you going off by yourself to create your books?”

  “You mean does Luke interfere? Why should he? It’s my job, what I do.” She paused. “Now ask if he minds.”

  “Does he?” Chloe asked obligingly.

  “He’d much rather I spent my time with him. I mean, he’s a man, isn’t he? But he understands that I have things I want to do, that I need something of my own.”

  “That’s very…reasonable.”

  April smiled. “Benedict men are pretty considerate, if you lay it on the line for them in a logical way. Well, and if you let them know that what you’re doing really isn’t as important to you as they are.”

  “You believe your husband will always be this way?”

  “Why not?”

  “Some do change. When the vows have been spoken and the dowry counted, even the most tender of bridegrooms can become a tyrant.” She’d numbered women among her friends who had learned that lesson the hard way.

  “Luke would never do that.”

  “You must trust him very much to say so.”

  “I trust him, yes. I truly don’t believe he has that kind of duplicity in him. But if he did, and allowed me to see it, then I’d have to realize he was never the man I thought him to be. In that case, I’d probably leave.”

  Chloe set her plate to one side. “It’s easy for a woman to do that here, just leave a marriage. But don’t you ever feel…confined?”

  “If I do, I have only to remember that Luke and I are in this together, that we’re both confined. And I’ll tell you a secret to go along with that.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice at the same time. “We like it that way.”

  “What about the other wives, Janna and Lara and…”

  “Regina and Tory?” April supplied. “I guess you could say we all do our own thing. Regina buys and sells antique jewelry, Tory deals with land and property she inherited in Florida, Janna designs specialty fabrics for textile manufacturers, and Lara has a quilt shop in her grandmother’s old house.”

  “And their husbands really don’t mind?”

  “If they do, they have the good sense not to mention it.” April smiled. “No, really, we all contribute to the family bottom line. We’re part of the team.”

  For the first time, Chloe allowed herself to question whether she might actually be able to do what she wanted and needed for her friends while remaining with Wade. She had assumed for so long that it was impossible for a married woman to carry on the work that the idea had become ingrained. But she wasn’t in Hazaristan anymore, and Wade wasn’t of that backward country. He was different, an American, a Benedict of Louisiana. Thinking back, she recognized that though he might have disagreed with her ideas and her aims, he had not challenged her right to have them, never failed to listen when she spoke of them.

  “How do you do it?” she asked, the words barely above a whisper. “How do you find the trust it takes to marry a man knowing that it may not turn out as you hope?”

  “It isn’t easy,” April answered with candor. “The basic requirement, I suppose, is courage.”

  “And where do you find this courage?”

  “The same place women have always found it, and also the trust it takes to allow a man into their bodies and their lives, the faith to risk bringing children into the world. If you love a man, these things are just there, a part of life.”

  “Yes,” Chloe said as she thought of the women she’d left behind and their consummate and unending bravery. “But how do you and the others make time for the things of your own? I mean, don’t you feel as if you’re shortchanging something or someone?”

  “Women make time for the things they really want to do, and those who care about them do their best to help out. In an ideal relationship these days everybody adjusts, men as well as women. It’s no good becoming a martyr to another person. You lose yourself in the process and, because of it, wind up hating the one you loved.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Chloe murmured, almost to herself.

  “Do you realize what you just said?” April spooned up the last bite of her gumbo then stepped over to put the bowl in the sink.

  “Oh, but I didn’t mean…”

  “I think you did. I’m so glad. We were afraid, the other wives and I, that you didn’t feel anything for Wade. We thought you might be a taker, or one of those needy, clinging types who would leave him
flat the instant you felt safe.”

  So that was the reason she’d been given such a lukewarm welcome. She had misjudged the Benedict women, or so it seemed. Their reaction to her had little to do with what or who she was but what she was doing to one of their own. Was it possible that she had also misjudged Wade? The idea made her feel sick inside, especially when she remembered his face in the instant before he had left her alone upstairs.

  It was possible, however, that the Benedict women had not misjudged her. She moistened her lips before she spoke. “I don’t know that I can stay.”

  “There’s someone else somewhere waiting for you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  April seemed to hesitate, then spoke anyway. “I don’t like prying into other people’s business, but it might be best not to make any major decisions until this is over. Wade obviously cares about you. Give him a chance.”

  “Do you think so? That he cares, I mean?” She looked away because she couldn’t bear to see the pity that might lie in the eyes of the woman beside her.

  “He could have done a lot of things, taken you a lot of places, to keep you safe. He chose to bring you home to Grand Point. That says something, believe me.”

  Chloe hadn’t thought of it that way. But even if it might be some kind of indicator, it was too late.

  The pain of desolation and regret rose inside her, not only for what she’d done, but also for how Wade may have felt and what that meant. Wade wouldn’t ask her again. He wasn’t the kind of man who needed to be told anything twice.

  The back door banged open from the direction of the living room. Chloe spun toward the sound with her nerves jangling. It was only the little girl called Lainey, however, giggling and looking back over her shoulder as she ran into the kitchen. Behind her was Jake, obviously chasing her though moving at a fast walk.

  “No running in the house,” April called out with the sound of an automatic warning.

  “We’re not,” Lainey said, decreasing her speed at once but still making excellent progress.