Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "We're married," Harden said curtly.

  "Yes, of course." She stood aside to let the bellboy bring the luggage in and waited while Harden tipped him and closed the door.

  She walked out onto the balcony and looked out over the Gulf of Mexico, all too aware of Harden behind her. She remembered the night at the bridge, and the way he'd rushed to save her. Presumably her action—rather, what he perceived to be a suicide attempt—had brought back unbearable memories for him. Suicide was something he knew all too much about, because the love of his life had died that way.

  Was it all because of Anita? Was he reliving the affair in his mind, and substituting Miranda? Except this time there was no suicide, there was a marriage and a happy ending. She could have cried.

  Harden misattributed her silent brooding to her own bitter memories, so he didn't say anything. He stood beside her, letting the sea air ruffle his hair while he watched people on the beach and sea gulls making dives out of the sky.

  He was still wearing the gray suit he'd been married in, and Miranda was wearing a dressy, oyster-colored suit of her own with a pale blue blouse. Her hair, in a chignon, was elegant and sleek. She looked much more like a businesswoman than a bride, a fact that struck Harden forcibly.

  "Want to change?" he asked. "We could go swimming or just lay on the beach."

  "Yes," she replied. Without looking at him, she opened her suitcase on its rack and drew out a conservative blue one-piece bathing suit and a simple white cover-up.

  "I'll change in the bathroom," he said tersely, carrying his white trunks in there and closing the door firmly behind him.

  It wasn't, Miranda thought wistfully, the most idyllic start for a honeymoon. She couldn't help remembering that Tim had been wild to get her into bed, though, and how unpleasant and embarrassing it had been for her, in broad daylight. Tim had been selfish and quick, and her memories of her wedding day were bitter.

  Harden came back in just as she was gathering up her suntan lotion and dark glasses. In swimming trunks, he was everything Tim hadn't been. She paused with her hand in her suitcase and just stared, taking in the powerful, hair-roughened length of his body, tapering from broad, bronzed shoulders down a heavily muscled chest and stomach to lean hips and long legs. A male model, she thought, should look half as good.

  He lifted an eyebrow, trying not to look as self-conscious as that appraisal made him feel. Not that he minded the pure pleasure on her face as she studied him, but it was beginning to have a noticeable effect on his body.

  He turned. "Ready to go?" He didn't dare look too long at her in that clingy suit.

  She picked up the sunglasses she'd been reaching for. "Yes. Should we take a towel?"

  "They'll have them on the beach. If they don't, we'll buy a couple in that drugstore next to the lobby."

  She followed him out to the beach. There was a buggy with fresh towels in it, being handed out to hotel patrons as they headed for the small palm umbrellas that dotted the white sand beach.

  "The water is the most gorgeous color," she sighed, stretching out on a convenient lounger with her towel under her.

  "Part of the attraction," he agreed. He stretched lazily and closed his eyes. "God, I'm tired. Are you?"

  "Just a little. Of course, I'm just a young thing myself. Old people like you probably feel the— oh!"

  She laughed as he tumbled her off the lounger onto the sand and pinned her there, his twinkling eyes just above her own. "Old, my foot," he murmured. His gaze fell to her mouth and lingered.

  "You can't," she whispered. "It's a public beach."

  "Yes, I can," he whispered back, and brought his mouth down over hers.

  It was a long, sweet kiss. He drew back finally, his pale eyes quiet and curious on her relaxed face. "You were disturbed when we left the house. Did Theodora say something to you?"

  She hesitated. Perhaps it would be as well to get it out into the open, she considered. "Harden," she began, her eyes hesitant as they met his, "Theodora told me about Anita."

  His face froze. His eyes seemed to go blank. He lifted himself away from Miranda, and his expression gave away nothing of what he was feeling. Damn Theodora! Damn her for doing that to him, for stabbing him in the back! She had no right to drag up that tragedy on his wedding day. He'd spent years trying to forget; now Miranda was going to remind him of it and bring the anguish back.

  He sat down on his lounger and lit a cigarette, leaning back to smoke it and watch the sea. "I suppose it's just as well that you know," he said finally. "But I won't talk about it. You understand?"

  "Shutting me out again, Harden?"she asked sadly. "Is our marriage going to be like that, each of us with locked rooms in our hearts where the other can't come?"

  "I won't talk about Anita, or about Theodora," he replied evenly. "Make what you like of it." He put on his own sunglasses and closed his eyes, effectively cutting off any further efforts at conversation.

  Miranda was shattered. She knew then that she'd made another bad marriage, another big mistake, but it was too late to do anything about it. Now she had to live with it.

  They had a quiet supper in the hotel restaurant much later. Harden was quiet, so was she. Conversation had been held to a minimum ever since they'd been on the beach, and Miranda's sad face was revealing her innermost thoughts.

  When they got back to their room, Miranda turned and faced her husband with an expression that almost drove him to a furious outburst. It was so filled with bitter resignation, with determination to perform her wifely duties with stoic courage, that he could have turned the air blue.

  "I want a drink," he said icily. "By the time I get back, you should be asleep and safe from any lecherous intentions I might have left. Good night, Mrs. Tremayne," he added contemptuously.

  Miranda glared at him. "Thank you for a perfect day," she replied with equal contempt "If I ever had any doubts about making our marriage work, you've sure set them to rest."

  His eyes narrowed and glittered. "Is that a subtle hint that you want me, after all? In that case, let me oblige you."

  He moved forward and picked her up unexpectedly, tossing her into the center of the huge bed. He followed her down, covering her with his own body, and unerringly finding her soft mouth with his own.

  But she was too hurt to respond, too afraid of what he meant to do. It was like Tim...

  She said Tim's name with real fear and Harden's head jerked up, his eyes glazing.

  "You're just like him, really aren't you?" she choked, her eyes filled with bitter tears. "What you want, when you want it, always your way, no matter what the cost to anyone else."

  He scowled. She looked so wounded, so alone. He reached down and touched her face, lightly, tracing the hot tears.

  "I wouldn't hurt you," he said hesitantly. "Not that way."

  "Go ahead, if you want to," she said tiredly, closing her eyes. "I don't care. I know better than to expect love from a man who can't forgive his mother a twelve-year-old tragedy or even the circumstances of his birth. Your mother must have loved your father very much to have risked the shame and humiliation of being pregnant with another man's child at the same time she was married to your stepfather." She opened her eyes, staring up at him. "But you don't know how to love, do you, Harden? Not anymore. All you knew of love is buried with your Anita. There's nothing left in here." She put her hand against his broad chest, where his heart was beating hard and raggedly. "Nothing at all. Only hate."

  He jerked back from her hand and got to his feet, glaring down at her.

  "Why did you marry me?" she asked sadly, sitting up to stare at him. "Was it pity, or just desire?”

  He couldn't answer her. In the beginning, it had been pity. Desire came quickly after that, until she obsessed him. But since she'd been at the ranch, he'd had other feelings, feelings he'd never experienced even with Anita. His hand went to his chest where she'd touched it, absently rubbing the place her hand had rested, as if he could feel the warm imprint.
/>   "You love me, don't you?" he asked unexpectedly.

  She flushed, averting her eyes. "Think what you like."

  He didn't know what to say, what to do, anymore. It had all seemed so simple. They'd get married and he'd make love to her whenever he liked, and they'd have children. Now it was much more complicated. He remembered the day she'd gone riding, and how black his world had gone until she'd come back. He remembered the terror, the sick fear, and suddenly he knew why. Knew everything.

  "Listen," he began quietly. "This has all gone wrong. I think it might be a good idea—"

  "If we break it off now?" she concluded mistakenly, her gray eyes staring bravely into his. "Yes, I think you're right. Neither of us is really ready for this kind of commitment yet. You were right when you said it was too soon."

  "It isn't that," he said heavily. "And we can't get a divorce on our wedding day."

  She gnawed her lower lip. "No. I guess not."

  "We'll stay for a couple of days, at least. When we're home...we'll make decisions." He turned, picked up his clothes, and went into the bathroom to dress.

  She changed quickly into a simple long cotton gown and got under the covers. She closed her eyes, but she needn't have bothered, because he didn't even look at her as he went out the door.

  The rest of their stay in Cancun went by quickly, with the two of them being polite to each other and not much more. They went on a day trip to the ruins at Chichen Itza, wandering around the sprawling Maya ruins with scores of other tourists. The ruins covered four miles, with their widely spread buildings proving that it was a cult center and not just a conventional city. A huge plaza opened out to various religious buildings. The Mayan farmers would journey there for the year's great religious festivals; archaeologists also assumed that markets and council meetings drew the citizens to Chichen Itza.

  The two most interesting aspects of the ancient city to Miranda were the observatory and the Sacred Cenote—or sacrificial well.

  She stood at its edge and looked down past the underbrush into the murky water and shivered. It was nothing like the mental picture she had, of some small well-like structure. It was a cavernous opening that led down, down into the water, where over a period of many years, an estimated one hundred human beings were sacrificed to appease the gods in time of drought. The pool covered almost an acre, and it was sixty-five feet from its tree-lined edge down limestone cliffs to the water below.

  "It gives me the screaming willies," a man beside Miranda remarked. "Imagine all those thousands of virgins being pushed off the cliff into that yucky water. Sacrificing people because of religion. Is that primitive, or what?"

  "Ever hear of the Christians and the lions?" Harden drawled.

  The man gave him a look and disappeared into the crowd.

  If things had been less strained, Miranda might have corrected that assumption about the numbers, and sex, of the sacrificed Mayans and reminded the tourist that fact and fiction blended in this ancient place. But Harden had inhibited her too much. Sharing her long-standing education in the past of Chi-chen Itza probably wouldn't have endeared her to the tourist, either. Historical fact had been submerged in favor of Hollywood fiction in so many of the world's places of interest.

  Miranda wandered back onto the grassy plaza and stared at the observatory. She knew that despite their infrequent sacrificial urges, the Maya were an intelligent people who had an advanced concept of astronomy and mathematics, and a library that covered the entire history of Maya. Sadly Spanish missionaries in 1545 burned the books that contained the Maya history. Only three survived to the present day.

  Miranda wandered back to the bus. It was a sobering experience to look at the ruins and consider that in 500 B.C. this was a thriving city, where people lived and worshiped and probably never considered that their civilization would ever end. Just like us, she thought philosophically, and shivered. Just like my marriages, both in ruins, both like Chichen Itza.

  She was somber back to the hotel, and for the rest of their stay in Cancun. She did things mechanically, and without any real enjoyment. Not that Harden was any more jovial than she was. Probably, she considered, he'd decided that there wasn't much to salvage from their brief relationship. And maybe it was just as well.

  When they got back to Jacobsville, Theodora insisted that they stay with her until their own home was ready for occupancy—a matter of barely a week. Neither of them had the heart to announce that their honeymoon had resulted in a coming divorce.

  Evan, however, sensed that something was wrong. Their first evening back, he steered Miranda onto the front porch with a determined expression on his swarthy face.

  "Okay. What's wrong?" he asked abruptly.

  She was taken aback at the sudden question. "W-what?"

  "You heard me," he replied. "You both came home looking like death warmed over, and if anything except arguing took place during the whole trip, I'll eat my hat."

  "The one that could double as an umbrella?" she asked with a feeble attempt at humor.

  "Cut it out. I know Harden. What happened?"

  Miranda sighed, giving in. "He's still in love with Anita, that's all, so we decided that we made a mistake and we're going to get it annulled."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Annulled?" he emphasized.

  She colored. "Yes, well, for a man who seemed to be bristling with desire, he sure changed."

  "You do know that he's a virgin?" Evan asked.

  She knew her jaw was gaping. She closed her mouth. "He's a what?"

  "You didn't know," he murmured. "Well, he'd kill me for telling you, but it's been family gossip for years. He wanted to be a minister, and he's had nothing to do with women since Anita died. A ladies' man, he ain't."

  Miranda knew that, but she'd assumed he had some experience. He acted as if he had.

  "Are you sure?" she blurted out.

  "Of course I'm sure. Look, he's backward and full of hang-ups. It's going to be up to you to make the first move, or you'll end up in divorce court before you know it."

  "But, I can't," she groaned.

  "Yes, you can. You're a woman. Get some sexy clothes and drive him nuts. Wear perfume, drop handkerchiefs, vamp him. Then get him behind a locked door and let nature take its course. For God's sake, woman, you can't give up on him less than a week after the wedding!"

  "He doesn't love me!"

  "Make him," he said, his eyes steely and level. "And don't tell me you can't. I saw him when you were late getting back on that killer stallion. I've never seen him so shaken. A man who can feel that kind of fear for a woman can love her."

  She hesitated now, lured by the prospect of Harden falling in love with her. "Do you really think he could?"

  He smiled. "He isn't as cold as he likes people to think he is. There's a soft core in that man that's been stomped on too many times."

  "I guess I could try," she said slowly.

  "I guess you could."

  She smiled and went back inside, her mind whirling with possibilities.

  The next day, Miranda asked Theodora to take her shopping, and she bought the kind of clothes she'd never worn in her life. She had her hair trimmed and styled, and she bought underwear that made her blush.

  "Is this a campaign?" Theodora asked on the way home, her dark eyes twinkling.

  "I guess it is," she sighed. "Right now, it looks as if he's ready to toss me back into the lake."

  "I'm sorry that I mentioned Anita on your wedding day," the older woman said heavily. "I could see the light go out of you. Harden and I may never make our peace, Miranda, but I never meant to put you in the middle."

  "I know that." She turned in the seat, readjusting her seat belt. "Does Harden know anything about his real father?"

  Theodora smiled. "No. He's never wanted to."

  "Would you tell me?"

  The older woman's eyes grew misty with remembrance. "He was a captain in the Green Berets, actually," she said. "I met him at a Fourth of July parade, of all th
ings, in Houston while my husband and I were temporarily separated. He was a farm boy from Tennessee, but he had a big heart and he was full of fun. We went everywhere together. He spoiled me, pampered me, fell in love with me. Before I knew it, I was in love with him, desperately in love with him!"

  She turned onto the road that led to the ranch, frowning now while Miranda listened, entranced. "Neither of us wanted an affair, but what we felt was much too explosive to... Well, I guess you know about that," she added shyly.'"People in love have a hard time controlling their passions. We were no different. He gave me a ring, a beautiful emerald-and-diamond ring that had been his mother's, and I filed for divorce. We were going to be married as soon as the divorce was final. But he was sent to Vietnam and the first day there, the Viet Cong attacked and he was killed by mortar fire."

  "And you discovered you were pregnant," Miranda prompted when the other woman hesitated, her eyes anguished.

  "Yes." She shifted behind the wheel. "Abortion was out of the question. I loved Barry so much, more than my own life. I'd have risked anything to have his child. I didn't know what to do. I got sick and couldn't work, and I had nowhere to go when I was asked to leave my apartment for nonpayment of rent About that time, Jesse, my own husband, came and asked me to come back to the ranch, to end the separation. Evan was very young, and he had a governess for him, but he missed me."

  "Did your husband love you?" Miranda asked softly.

  "Yes. That made it so much worse, you see, because he was jealous and overpossessive and over-protective—that's why I left him in the first place. But perhaps the experience taught him something, because he never threw the affair up to me. He brought me back home and after the first few weeks, he became involved with my pregnancy. He loved children, you know. It didn't even matter to him that Harden wasn't his own. He never let it matter to anyone else, either. We had a good life. I did my grieving for Barry in secret, and then I fell in love with my husband all over again. But Harden has made sure since Anita's death that I paid for all my old sins. Interesting, that the instrument of my punishment for an illicit affair and an illegitimate child is the child himself."