by Diana Palmer
Antonia answered the phone, her voice sounding very tired and listless.
Powell hesitated. Now that he had her on the phone, he didn’t know what to say. And while he hesitated, she assumed it was a crank call and hung up on him. He put the receiver down. Perhaps talking to her over the phone was a bad idea, anyway. He noted the address of the apartment, and decided that he’d just go over there in the morning. The element of surprise couldn’t be discounted. It would give him an edge, and he badly needed one. He got himself a small bottle of whiskey from the refrigerator in the room and poured it into a glass with some water. He didn’t drink as a rule, but he needed this. It had occurred to him that he could lose Antonia now to something other than his own pride. He was afraid, for the first time in his life.
He figured that Antonia wouldn’t be going immediately back to work, and he was right. When he rang the doorbell at midmorning the next day after a sleepless night, she came to answer it, Barrie having long since gone to work.
When she saw Powell standing there, her shock gave him the opportunity to ease her back into the apartment and close the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, recovering.
He looked at her, really seeing her, with eyes dark with pain and worry. She was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans and socks, and she looked pitifully thin and drawn. He hated the pain he and Maggie had caused her.
“I talked to Dr. Harris,” he said shortly, bypassing her father so that she wouldn’t suspect that Ben knew about her condition.
She went even paler. He knew everything. She could see it in his face. “He had no right…!”
“You have no right,” he snapped back, “to sit down and die!”
She took a sharp breath. “I can do what I like with my life!” she replied.
“No.”
“Go away!”
“I won’t do that, either. You’re going to the doctor. And you’ll start whatever damn treatment he tells you to get,” he said shortly. “I’m through asking. I’m telling!”
“You aren’t telling me anything! You have no control over me!”
“I have the right of a fellow human being to stop someone from committing suicide,” he said quietly, searching her eyes. “I’m going to take care of you. I’ll start today. Get dressed. We’re going to see Dr. Claridge. I made an appointment for you before I came here.”
Her mind was spinning. The shock was too sudden, too extreme. She simply stared at him.
His hands went to her shoulders and he searched her eyes slowly. “I’m going to take Maggie to see Mrs. Jameson. I know what happened. You’ll get your job back. You can come home.”
She pulled away from him. “I don’t have a home anymore,” she said, averting her face. “I can’t go back. My father would find out that I have leukemia. I can’t do that to him. Losing Mother almost killed him, and his sister died of cancer. It was terrible, and it took a long time for her to die.” She shuddered, remembering. “I can’t put him through any more. I must have been crazy to try to go back there in the first place. I don’t want him to know.”
He couldn’t tell her that her father already knew. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her straight back.
“You need to be with people who care about you,” he said.
“I am. Barrie is like family.”
He didn’t know what else to say, how to approach her. He jingled the loose change in his pocket while he tried to find ways to convince her.
She noticed his indecision and turned back to him. “If you’d made this decision, if it was your life, you wouldn’t thank anyone for interfering.”
“I’d fight,” he said, angry with her for giving up. “And you know it.”
“Of course you would,” she said heavily. “You have things to fight for—your daughter, your wealth, your businesses.”
He frowned.
She saw the look and laughed bitterly. “Don’t you understand? I’ve run out of things to fight for,” she told him. “I have nothing! Nothing! My father loves me, but he’s all I have. I get up in the morning, I go to work, I try to educate children who’d rather play than do homework. I come home and eat supper and read a book and go to bed. That’s my life. Except for Barrie, I don’t have a friend in the world.” She sounded as weary as she felt. She sat down on the edge of an easy chair with her face propped in her hands. It was almost a relief that someone knew, that she could finally admit how she felt. Powell wouldn’t mind talking about her condition because it didn’t matter to him. “I’m tired, Powell. It’s gaining on me. I’ve been so sick lately that I’m barely able to get around at all. I don’t care anymore. The treatment scares me more than the thought of dying does. Besides, there’s nothing left that I care enough about to want to live. I just want it to be over.”
The terror was working its way into his heart as he stared at her. He’d never heard anyone sound so defeated. With that attitude, all the treatment in the world wouldn’t do any good. She’d given up.
He stood there, staring down at her bent head, breathing erratically while he searched for something to say that would inspire her, that would give her the will to fight. What could he do?
“Isn’t there anything you want, Antonia?” he asked slowly. “Isn’t there something that would give you a reason to hold on?”
She shook her head. “I’m grateful to you for coming all this way. But you could have saved yourself the trip. My mind is made up. Leave me alone, Powell.”
“Leave you alone…!” He choked on the words. He wanted to rage. He wanted to throw things. She sounded so calm, so unmoved. And he was churning inside with the force of his emotions. “What else have I done for nine long, empty damn years?” he demanded.
She leaned forward, letting her long, loose blond hair drape over her face. “Don’t lose your temper. I can’t fight anymore. I’m too tired.”
She looked it. His eyes lingered on her stooped posture. She looked beaten. It was so out of character for her that it devastated him.
He knelt in front of her, taking her by the wrists and pulling her toward him so that she had to look up.
His black eyes bit into her gray ones from point-blank range. “I’ve known people who had leukemia. With treatment, you could keep going for years. They could find a cure in the meantime. It’s crazy to just let go, not to even take the chance of being able to live!”
She searched his black eyes quietly, with an ache deep inside her that had seemed to have been there forever. Daringly, her hand tugged free of his grasp and found his face. Such a beloved face, she thought brokenly. So dear to her. She traced over the thick hair that lay unruly against his broad forehead, down to the thick black eyebrows, down his nose to the crook where it had been broken, over one high cheekbone and down the indented space to his jutting chin. Beloved. She felt the muscles clench and saw the faint glitter in his eyes.
He was barely breathing now, watching her watch him. He caught her hand roughly and held it against his cheek. What he saw in her unguarded face tormented him.
“You still love me,” he accused gruffly. “Do you think I don’t know?”
She started to deny it, but there was really no reason to. Not anymore. She smiled sadly. “Oh, yes,” she said miserably. Her fingers touched his chiseled, thin mouth and felt it move warmly beneath them as he reacted with faint surprise to her easy admission. “I love you. I never stopped. I never could have.” She drew her fingers away. “But everything ends, Powell. Even life.”
He caught her hand, pulling it back to his face. “This doesn’t have to,” he said quietly. “I can get a license today. We can be married in three days.”
She had to fight the temptation to say yes. Her eyes fell to his collar, where a pulse hammered relentlessly. “Thank you,” she said with genuine feeling. “That means more to me than you can know, under the circumstances. But I won’t marry you. I have nothing to give you.”
“You have the rest of your
life,” he said shortly. “However long that is!”
“No.” Her voice was weaker. She was fighting tears. She turned her head away and tried to get up, but he held her there.
“You can live with me. I’ll take care of you,” he said heavily. “Whatever you need, you’ll get. The best doctors, the best treatment.”
“Money still can’t buy life,” she told him. “Cancer is…pretty final.”
“Stop saying that!” He gripped her arms, hard. “Stop being a defeatist! You can beat anything if you’re willing to try!”
“Oh, that sounds familiar,” she said, her eyes misting over with memory. “Remember when you were first starting to build your pedigree herd up? And they told you you’d never manage it with one young bull and five heifers. Remember what you said? You said that anything was possible.” Her eyes grew warm. “I believed you’d do it. I never doubted it for a minute. You were so proud, Powell, even when you had nothing, and you fought on when so many others would have dropped by the wayside. It was one of the things I admired most about you.”
He winced. His face clenched; his heart clenched. He felt as if he was being torn apart. He let her go and got to his feet, moving away with his hands tight in his pockets.
“I gave up on you, though, didn’t I?” he asked with his back to her. “A little gossip, a few lies and I destroyed your life.”
She studied her thin hands. It was good that they were finally discussing this, that he’d finally admitted that he knew the truth. Perhaps it would make it easier for him, and for her, to let go of the past.
“Sally loved you,” she said, making excuses for her friend for the first time. “Perhaps love makes people act out of character.”
His fists clenched in his pockets. “I hated her, God forgive me,” he said huskily. “I hated her every day we were together, even more when she announced that she was pregnant with Maggie.” He sighed wearily. “God, Annie, I resent my own child because I’m not even sure she’s mine. I’ll never be sure. Even if she is, every time I look at her, I remember what her mother did.”
“You did very well without me,” she said without malice. “You built up the ranch and made a fortune doing it. You have respect and influence….”
“And all it cost me was you.” His head bowed. He laughed dully. “What a price to pay.”
“Maggie is a bright child,” she said uncertainly. “She can’t be so bad. Julie likes her.”
“Not recently. Everybody’s mad at her for making you leave,” he said surprisingly. “Julie won’t speak to her.”
“That’s a shame,” she said. “She’s a child who needs love, so much.” Antonia had been thinking of what had happened the past few weeks, and Maggie’s role in it.
He turned, scowling. “What do you mean?”
She smiled. The reasons for Maggie’s bad behavior were beginning to be so clear. “Can’t you see it in her? She’s so alone, Powell, just like you used to be. She doesn’t mix with the other children. She’s always apart, separate. She’s belligerent because she’s lonely.”
His face hardened. “I’m a busy man…”
“Blame me. Blame Sally. But don’t blame Maggie for the past,” she pleaded. “If nothing else comes out of this, there should be something for Maggie.”
“Oh, God, St. Antonia speaks!” he said sarcastically, because her defense of his daughter made him ashamed of his lack of feeling for the child. “She got you fired, and you think she deserves kindness?”
“She does,” she replied simply. “I could have been kinder to her. She reminded me of Sally, too. I was holding grudges of my own. I wasn’t deliberately unkind, but I made no overtures toward her at all. A child like Julie is easy to love, because she gives love so generously. A child like Maggie is secretive and distrustful. She can’t give love because she doesn’t know how. She has to learn.”
He thought about that for a minute. “All right. If she needs it, you come home with me and teach me how to give it.”
She searched over his rigid expression with eyes that held equal parts of love and grief. “I’m already going downhill,” she said slowly. “I can’t do that to her, or to you and my father.” Her eyes skimmed over his broad shoulders lovingly. “I’ll stay with Barrie until I become a liability, then I’ll go into a hospice… Powell!”
He had her up in his arms, clear off the floor, his hot face buried in her throat. He didn’t speak, but his arms had a fine tremor and his breathing was ragged. He held her so close that she felt vaguely bruised, and he paced the floor with her while he tried to cope with the most incredible emotional pain he’d ever felt.
“I won’t let you die,” he said roughly. “Do you hear me? I won’t!”
She slid her arms around his neck and let him hold her. He did care, in his own way, and she was sorry for him. She’d had weeks to come to grips with her condition, but he’d only had a day or so. Denial was a very real part of it, as Dr. Claridge had already told her.
“It’s because of the night you took me to the bar, isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “There’s no need to feel guilty about what you said. I know it hasn’t been an easy nine years for you, either. I don’t hold any more grudges. I don’t have time for them now. I’ve put things into perspective in the past few weeks. Hatred, guilt, anger, revenge…they all become so insignificant when you realize your time is limited.”
His arms contracted. He stopped pacing and stood holding her, cold with fear.
“If you take the treatments, you have a chance,” he repeated.
“Yes. I can live, from day to day, with the fear of it coming back. I can have radiation sickness, my hair will fall out, the very quality of my life will be impaired. What there is left of it, that is.”
He drew in a sharp breath, rocking her against him. His eyes, if she could have seen them, were wide and bleak in a face gone rigid with grief.
“I’ll be there. I’ll help you through it! Life is too precious to throw away.” His mouth searched against her throat hungrily. “Marry me, Annie. If it’s only for a few weeks, we’ll make enough memories to carry us both into eternity!”
His voice was husky as he spoke. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever said to her. She clung, giving way to tears at last.
“Yes?” he whispered.
She didn’t speak. It was too much of a temptation to resist. She didn’t have the willpower to say no, despite her suspicion of his motives.
“I want you,” he said harshly. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, sick or well. Say yes,” he repeated insistently. “Say yes!”
If it was only physical, if he didn’t love her, was she doing the right thing to agree? She didn’t know. But it was more than she could do to walk away from him a second time. Her arms tightened around his neck. “If you’re sure…if you’re really sure.”
“I’m sure, all right.” His cheek slid against hers. He searched her wet eyes. His mouth closed them and then slid down to cover her soft, trembling, tear-wet mouth. He kissed her tenderly, slowly, feeling her immediate response.
The kisses quickly became passionate, intense, and he drew back, because this was a time for tenderness, not desire. “If you’ll have the treatments,” he said carefully, “if it’s even remotely possible afterward, I’ll give you a child.”
As bribery went, it was a master stroke. She looked as if she thought he was going insane. Her pale eyes searched his dark ones warily.
“Don’t you want a child, Antonia?” he asked curtly. “You used to. It was all you talked about while we were engaged. Surely you didn’t give up those dreams.”
She felt the heat rush into her cheeks. It was an intimate thing to be talking about. Her eyes escaped his, darting down to the white of his shirt.
“Don’t,” she said weakly.
“We’ll be married,” he said firmly. “It will all be legal and aboveboard.”
She sighed miserably. “Your daughter won’t like having me in the ho
use, for however long I have.”
“My daughter had better like it. Having you around her may be the best thing that ever happened to her. But you keep harping on my daughter—I told you before, I don’t even think Maggie’s mine!”
Her eyes came up sharply.
“Oh, you think you’re the only one who paid the price, is that it?” he asked bluntly. “I was married to an alcoholic, who hated me because I couldn’t bear to touch her. She told me that Maggie wasn’t mine, that she’d been with other men.”
She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. He put her back on her feet, but he held her there in front of him. His eyes were relentless, like his hold on her. “I told you that I believed Sally about George, but I didn’t. After that one, she told so many lies… so many…!” He let go of her abruptly and turned his back, ramming his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he went to look out the window that overlooked the city of Tucson with “A” Mountain in the distance. “I’ve lived in hell. Until she died, and afterward. You said you couldn’t bear Maggie in your class because of the memories, and I accused you of cruelty. But it’s that way with me, too.”
The child’s behavior made a terrible kind of sense. Her mother hadn’t wanted her, and neither did her father. She was unloved, unwanted. No wonder she was a behavioral problem.
“She looks like Sally,” she said.
“Oh, yes. Indeed she does. But she doesn’t look like me, does she?”
She couldn’t argue that point, as much as she might have liked to reassure him.
She joined him at the window. Her eyes searched his. The pain and the anguish of his life were carved into his lean face, in deep lines and an absence of happiness. He looked older than he was.
“What stupid mistakes we make, Antonia, when we’re young. I didn’t believe you, and that hurt you so much that you ran away. Then I spent years pretending that it wasn’t a lie, because I couldn’t bear to see the waste and know that I caused it. It’s hard to admit guilt, fault. I fought it tooth and nail. But in the end, there was no one else to blame.”