“And you think I’d take advantage of that, do you?”
“Not deliberately. Maggie can’t keep her eyes off you. I noticed you have trouble in that department yourself. There’s a ghost between you. For God’s sake, Rand, Sawyer is Maggie’s daughter! You understand that, don’t you?”
“Only too well. What would happen, Susan, if I told you I loved Maggie and she loved me? What would all you Colemans do then?”
Susan shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I suppose we’d have to wait and see. I know what Sawyer must be going through. She loved you, Rand. She thought you were going to marry her. Now, Sawyer is not a stupid woman. She must have gotten that impression somehow. You’ve hurt her terribly, Rand. Her Coleman pride prevents her from letting you know just how much.”
“Would you want me to marry Sawyer if I wasn’t in love with her?”
Susan’s puffy eyes were cold now, heartless. “You made the decision. You didn’t give her a chance. You just ripped out her guts and walked away.” She brushed past him, then turned abruptly, almost losing her balance. “Can I ask you something, Rand?” He nodded. “Did Sawyer ever say the age difference bothered her?”
“No.”
“Did she ever say she wanted children?”
“Not in so many words. All women want children.”
“Did she ever say she could be just as happy with you without children?”
“In words to that effect,” Rand said harshly. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you don’t have to bother. I feel terrible.”
“It wasn’t a mutual ending. She didn’t have anything to say about it. She didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.”
“You’re right; she didn’t. I’m not disagreeing with you. But I’m not apologizing, either.”
“Maybe you should,” Susan said softly, and turned away.
Up in his room, Rand flopped miserably on the bed. He lay for a long time with his hands laced behind his head, his thoughts racing. Right? Wrong? If he had it to do over again, would he do it any differently?
There had been a time in his life when people’s opinions hadn’t bothered him. Now that he was older, it was important to him what other people thought. Billie and Thad were at the top of the list. And Amelia. He didn’t want them thinking he was a bastard. If something wasn’t right, it wasn’t right. Did he have to be miserable to make someone else happy? But then again, did he have the right to make someone else miserable?
Poor Sawyer, what had he done to her? The answer was so terrible, he rolled over on the bed. One clenched fist pounded the pillow. He’d destroyed her. He knew it as sure as he knew he had to take another breath. Beautiful, wonderful Sawyer. And he was itching and lusting for Maggie. Jesus.
Rand rolled back over and stared at the ceiling. There was no way he could make things right. What was done was done. He, Sawyer, and Maggie were going to have to live with it.
Her scent arrived before she did. Rand opened his eyes in surprise to see Maggie in front of the closed door.
“Are you leaving?” she asked in a strange voice.
“I didn’t hear anyone asking me to stay. I’m some kind of bloody pariah now. Susan just laced into me coming up the stairs. Cole hates me and does his best to make it known. Riley can barely tolerate me. My own mother told me where to get off. You’ve pushed me away. And you want to know if I’m leaving? I’m sorry I came.”
“I’m not. I felt so happy with you here. It’s almost as though you belong.” .
“I don’t belong here. Sawyer’s ghost lives here.”
Maggie’s eyes spewed fire. Her lips trembled and she clenched her hands into white-knuckled fists. “It’s always Sawyer. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, she’s between me and whatever it is I want. I can’t get away from her. I’ve always been jealous of her. She was given what should have been mine. If it had been mine from the beginning, I never would have become a roadside whore at the age of fourteen and she never would’ve been born !”
“Maggie, Maggie, you don’t know what you’re saying .”
“Oh, don’t I? Don’t I?” She crossed the room and loomed over him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, alarmed at her sudden intrusion, overwhelmed by her fury. “She even had you, damn her, she even had you!” Enraged and provoked by his feeble attempt to soothe her, Maggie attacked, pummeling him with the heels of her hands, beating him in her madness; all the while, hot tears streamed down her face, heaving sobs erupted in her throat.
Rand caught her against him, throwing her onto the bed beside him, attempting to control her struggles with his weight. Bit by bit her fury passed, leaving her exhausted and miserable. He smoothed the silky dark hair back from her forehead, crooning to her, comforting her. “Cry, Maggie. Cry for the both of us.”
She looked up at him, a curious little expression in her eyes, as though she were seeing him there for the first time. “I don’t want to cry! I want to make love to you!” At the edge of her tone was a trace of desperation.
Rand covered her mouth with his own, pulling her body against his. Yes, yes, Maggie was thinking. Yes, make love to me now, while I’m still angry enough to go through with it, while I don’t give a damn about anyone or anything except what I want.
As Maggie surrendered herself to Rand’s loving, her wild thoughts scurried like mice in a maze. She told herself she wanted Rand; she even believed she loved him. She was Maggie; not Billie, who had made a career of self-sacrifice until her commitment to her family was completed. Life was too short to be so good and noble. Life was too empty and it was hard to be alone.
Alone. Alone. The word echoed in her brain. She focused on it, allowing all the rage, jealousy, and resentment to fall aside. Only the guilt remained. But it’s only for now, Maggie told herself, only for this little while. She’d come into Rand’s room blind with rage. She was maddened with herself that she was sending Rand away and out of her life, and yet, ridiculously, she was angry with him that he’d hurt Sawyer. Absurd, ludicrous, and even lunatic, but that’s the way it was.
Rand was reveling in the feel of Maggie’s arms clinging to him. This was what he’d been dreaming of for months. This was what had kept him awake and miserable all those long, lonely nights. To be with her, to hold her in his arms this way, to know she felt the same way about him. All the notes and letters, the telephone conversations, ways to get to know her. Seeing her here at Sunbridge, knowing her concern for family, all these things brought her closer to him. Even Cole, who never missed an opportunity to be difficult and unloving; Maggie loved the boy. Her devotion to Riley, her understanding with Susan, even the rage with which she’d first entered his room. All these things were a part of Maggie and he loved her.
In his arms he held a woman who had tested life and had come to know herself. She wasn’t a child who believed love could overcome any obstacle. Experience and maturity, those were a part of Maggie, too. And now he wanted to become a part of her, to share with her, be understood by her and, in turn, to understand her. This Maggie, his Maggie.
His lips seemed to devour her, nipping gently at her throat and falling lower between her breasts. Eager fingers, greedy for the feel of his skin, lifted the bottom of his sweater, exploring the expanse of his back, the solidness of his muscles, the width of his shoulders. Fury still pounded through her blood. She wanted Rand in spite of herself, in spite of Sawyer’s pain and what might be ahead of them.
Maggie became immersed in Rand’s kisses, allowing his gentle, unhurried touch to calm her roiling emotions. Again and again his mouth came down on hers, sometimes softly and at other times with a sense of desperation, as though he believed she might slip through his arms like a vaporous dream. He seemed to sense that she wanted him to take her quickly, because he murmured, “Slow, Maggie, slow. I want it to last. Make it last.”
His movements were unhurried and controlled, arousing her, allowing her to put everything behind her and to concentrate only on him. Her heart was beating
randomly; all her senses awakened, responding to him, becoming acutely aware of his touch on the fullness of her breasts and of the heat that was generating at her center. He undressed her—slowly—unwrapping her as though she were a long-awaited gift, discovering her inch by inch and always smoothing or kissing her newly exposed skin.
When she lay naked upon his bed, he undressed himself beneath her heated gaze. Her eyes were drawn to the masculine slope of his shoulders, the flat of his belly, and the firm globes of his buttocks. Fine golden hairs furred his chest, and when he stepped closer, the light from the window revealed the integration of silver among the gold.
He lay down beside her and she moved easily into his arms, pressing herself against him. She nuzzled the delicate skin at the base of his neck, tickled her lips against his crisp chest fur, inhaled the spicy clean scent of his shower soap, aware of the presence of his own male scent beneath.
Rand’s hands were in Maggie’s hair, lifting the glossy black strands to his lips, stroking the nape of her neck and tracing patterns along her jaw. It was as though he were committing her to memory, as if his lips and fingers were branding her image in his brain. The kisses he traced along the curve of her neck sent little shivers of delight up her spine. Anticipation throbbed through her veins and warmed her center. It seemed an eternity that she wanted to know him this way, but it had only been a matter of months. Months, weeks, a lifetime. She’d tried to rid him from her thoughts and, failing that, had attempted to place him within the confines of friendship. She’d failed. Only now could she admit to herself that during Cranston’s. visit and their most intimate moments together, it had been Rand she’d wanted and needed. She’d tried to substitute, but nothing she’d dreamed or fantasized could have prepared her for this moment.
His hands traveled her body, lightly skimming her tingling flesh from the hollows beneath her breasts to her smooth haunches. He explored the curve of her hips and the softness of her belly to the firmness of her bottom. She shuddered beneath his hand when he leaned up on one elbow to follow this newly discovered path with moist kisses and gentle teasings of his tongue. It was as though she were rediscovering herself through this journey of hand and mouth. She reveled in his delight and in the growing, hungry need that burned through her loins.
Maggie was unable to lie still beneath his touch. His caresses had inspired something in her, a need to share, a desire to give. In tender, sensuous patterns she stroked his flesh, beginning at the definition of his chest to the plane of his belly. She traced his hair patterns, following the lines that swirled upward over his breasts and downward over his middle to a darker, thicker patch surrounding his sex. He quivered when she kneaded the muscle of his inner thigh and moved upward to his groin. Her movements were teasing, enticing, affecting her as well as Rand until the throbbing in her veins became a roaring demand to have him for her own, to become a part of him and him a part of her. His mouth moved over her body with exquisite care, nipping, nibbling, heating her flesh.
“Now, Rand, now?” she whispered. It was a question; it was a demand.
“Now, Maggie, my Maggie.” His voice was husky, filled with emotion. He wanted her, had wanted her these many months, but the emotion was deeper than being with her this way. He didn’t merely want to couple with her; he wanted to fulfill her, to know her and become a part of her. When he placed himself between her open thighs, he looked down into her face, seeing there her kiss-bruised mouth, moist and pouting, the flush of passion staining her cheeks and spreading over her throat. But it was her eyes that held him, the color of a summer sky and glistening with tears. His heart reached out for hers as he kissed the crystal droplets that had fallen onto her cheeks. Her own heart, Maggie’s heart, was only a breath away. And when she cried his name, it seemed their souls broke through an eternity of desolation to reach out, to touch. Loneliness and emptiness were banished, and it was with a boundless joy that she drew him inside her, the passage hot and wet, stroking with long, slow undulations.
He arched his back, holding himself above her, his loins pressed hard against hers, forcing himself to be still, struggling for control as he had not since his first sexual experience. That same boyish impatience flooded through him, but the man he had become knew the wisdom of waiting and relishing each sensation and sharing it with his partner. But Maggie refused to be still beneath him. Her hands raked his chest, teasing his nipples and pulling at the hair. Her hips moved, rocking her body beneath his, locking him against her, her sheath stroking and rippling around him until he yielded to her passions and her driving needs.
He thrust himself into her, seeking to relieve this pulsing ache she had created in him, unable to go deep enough or hard enough, until the fire spread from his loins to touch every part of him, and he surrendered to the blinding rapture and joyful knowledge that Maggie was just behind him, following closely, sharing in this glory.
Maggie became a part of him, suffering the same agony, seeking the same release. She followed the route he charted, heard the cries from his throat and reveled in the deep thrusts that filled her completely. She held herself to him, matching his movements, feeling herself floating beyond these delicious physical sensations to a place that was quiet and still, a place where he waited for her to touch her soul with his own. Her fingers dug into his flanks as she penetrated the last barrier before finding her own satisfaction, giving herself over to the warm waves of pleasure ebbing and flowing with each beat of her heart.
They held each other for a very long time, like two children hiding in the dark while they waited for the danger to pass. He rested his chin on the top of her head, smoothing the round of her shoulder and stroking the tender skin near her temples. She was crying. There were tears in his own eyes and a lump in his throat. He didn’t need to ask why she was crying; words were unnecessary when two souls touched. They had done it, committed the very sin of which they were accused.
“Now, more than ever, I have to leave, Maggie.” His voice was deep, ragged.
She nodded. “Yes, you must leave.” She choked back the tears, swallowing hard, working her throat muscles until she could ask, “Will you come back, Rand? Will you?”
“That’s up to you, Maggie, my Maggie,” he said when he could speak. “Will you want me to come back? We’ve found something together, darling, something very, very precious. The question you must ask yourself is do we have any right to keep it?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The kaleidoscope of autumn’s colors gave way to the drab browns of encroaching winter. Halloween passed with a lone jack-o’-lantern dotting the portico of Sunbridge. The early weeks of November rushed past accompanied by, according to the weather forecasters, the most severe weather in years.
The last football game of the season was played and won by Crystal City High, thanks to Riley’s defending tackle and interception. The dance ended on a high note of frivolity. Maggie herself was one of the chaperones. Cole did not attend.
December found Maggie meeting herself coming and going. Texas, it seemed, went all out for Christmas. She was forever chasing from one meeting to another, freely lending her name and her expertise. She used her lunch hours to run to the Crystal City Post Office, where she rented a mailbox. At least every other day box 771 held an airmail letter from England. She sat in the parking lot, nibbling on crackers, while she read Rand’s latest offering. She herself wrote almost every day—light, chatty, newsy letters full of the happenings of her life. Always she ended each letter with the hope that he would join all of them for the holidays. She said she counted the days, the hours, and sometimes the minutes.
Today she had to Christmas shop. She’d put it off too long already. She wanted mountains of gifts for everyone, and the biggest Christmas tree in all of Texas. And she meant to have it. This was a special Christmas.
Another few days and the boys would be out of school for the holidays. She’d made no definite plans yet. She didn’t even know for sure who was coming for the holidays. Billie a
nd Thad had agreed to come, subject to last-minute events at the farm. She’d been unable to reach Sawyer for confirmation. Cole and Riley claimed to be uncertain of Sawyer’s plans. Rand hadn’t definitely committed, either, but she was certain he would come because she wished for it every night.
She was so busy planning parties, luncheons, and tree trimmings, not to mention a private church service, she hardly had time to remember that her divorce from Cranston would become final soon after the New Year. She would deal with that on the second day of January, she told herself.
Maggie sat for a few moments holding Rand’s letter to her breast, oblivious to the mink-clad woman who walked past the car. Amelia was tempted to tap on the window, but didn’t. There was something clandestine about the way Maggie was sitting in the parking lot of the post office holding a paper close to her breast. Obviously she had a secret. It didn’t surprise Amelia. And it didn’t take any brains at all to figure out who the secret was.
Amelia completed her business at the post office and was leaving the building when she saw Maggie pull out of the parking lot. It was probably a good thing Maggie hadn’t noticed her, she thought as she got into her car. She might have said something that could be taken wrong.
Amelia sighed as she pulled out of the parking lot. Life at Sunbridge was not what she’d thought it would be. There were so many undercurrents these days! Cole and Riley were at each other’s throats hourly. Susan wandered around the house with a vague, lost look in her eyes. Maggie was always flitting from this place to that. Even Cary seemed out of it. Business was consuming him; their lovemaking had dwindled to once a week on a Sunday morning—and even then only if she initiated it.
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