My Dearest Cal

by Sherryl Woods

  After that, fantasy and reality became a glorious blur. Sensations she’d only read about soared through her, leaving her body trembling and her heart filled with joy. Cal was gentle and passionate and demanding, branding her as his own forever. No matter what happened from this moment on, she would be his, body and soul. She had given him an emotional part of herself that she could never reclaim, and she had given it without regret.

  As ecstasy faded, though, and Cal lay by her side, she was less certain whether he had shared himself as fully with her as it had seemed. Though he had withheld nothing in terms of tenderness or explosive passion, he had distanced himself almost at once. Even though he continued to hold her close, his expression was shuttered now, his mood increasingly withdrawn, his silence almost palpable. It was as if a chill had crept into the room, a chill that no amount of body heat could warm. To her dismay, Marilou felt far lonelier than she had before they’d made love. Instead of binding them together as she’d hoped, the act of love seemed to have set them adrift.

  * * *

  Cal felt as if he’d been poleaxed.

  No woman had ever affected him as deeply, had ever loved him as unselfishly as Marilou had. Her willingness to give scared the dickens out of him. He should have known better. His life was complicated enough without getting entangled with an inexperienced woman who was bound to make more of this than she should. How the hell could he explain that to her, though? Just about anything honest he could think of to say would devastate her. He couldn’t bring himself to lie.

  So he stayed silent, holding her, knowing that with each passing minute she was getting more confused, more hurt.

  Finally she shivered and sat up, pulling the blankets around her.

  “Cold?” Cal asked. “Want me to turn up the heat?”

  Marilou shook her head. “I’d rather you told me what’s wrong.”

  He felt ice, where only moments ago there had been fire. He searched for glib words and found only evasions. “Wrong?” he said, feeling like a damned fool. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  His hand continued to caress her thigh in an attempt to reassure her in some way. She brushed it aside and slid away from him. The movement put inches between them. It might as well have been a mile.

  “Cal, less than five minutes ago you and I were as close as two people can possibly be. Now I feel as if we’re on different planets.”

  “It was great sex,” he blurted. The crude words were out before he could censor them, the damage done.

  She stared at him in shock for no longer than a heartbeat. Then her temper kicked in. “Great sex!” she repeated furiously, getting out of bed and dragging the blankets with her. She kicked the surplus out of the way as if it were the train of an elegant gown. It was an impressive performance. If it hadn’t been for the welling of tears in her eyes, she might have convinced him that she was more angry than hurt, more furious than confused. She did try, though. Oh, how she tried!

  “Great sex! You have one helluva nerve.”

  Cal knew that his cheeks had turned a dull red. He used her anger to increase the distance until he felt safer. It didn’t seem to matter that he also felt like slime. “What were you expecting?” he mocked, deliberately undercutting the very real ties he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. “Undying commitment? You know how I feel about commitment. I’ve never lied to you about that.”

  “No. I’ll give you that. You’ve been honest. You’ve always made it plain that you don’t ever intend to think about anybody other than yourself. I guess I just fooled myself into thinking that you might be changing. This trip…” She waved her hand at the bed. “This…I thought it meant something.”

  “It does,” he said in a voice that had gone whisper soft, desperate.

  “What?” When he remained stoically silent, she said, “Answer me, dammit. What does this mean? Maybe ‘great sex’ says it all. If so, just say it.”

  “I don’t know,” he exploded. “Okay? I don’t know what it means. You’ve taken me by surprise.” She stared at him, clearly stunned. “I’ve taken you by surprise? Cal, as naive as I may be, even I have seen this coming for weeks.”

  “I’m not just talking about the sex. I’m talking about all of it, whatever all of it is. Don’t push, Marilou. Too much is happening right now and I need time to think about it.”

  She drew herself up proudly. He gave her credit for withstanding his cruel assault with dignity. She’d never looked more beautiful than she did as she wrapped the blanket more tightly around her and grabbed a pillow from the bed. “Well, when you figure it out,” she said softly, “I’ll be in the other room.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  * * *

  But it wasn’t fine, Marilou thought miserably as she tried to find a comfortable position on the hard, cramped Victorian-style sofa. Cal had betrayed her trust in the most devastating way possible. He’d lured her out here under false pretenses: he’d only come to pacify her. For all she knew he didn’t have any intention of going to see his grandmother in the morning. The sex had probably just been a delaying tactic. He was such a skilled and imaginative lover, he’d probably figured he could keep her occupied until she forgot all about the reason for the trip.

  Well, the delays were over. It was time to fish or cut bait. This wasn’t something he needed to do for her. It was something he had to do for himself. If only she could make him see that. She spent the rest of the night trying to come up with some way to get through that impenetrable defensive shield of his. Not one single bright idea occurred to her. Not even one lousy idea presented itself. The only thing she got for her sleepless night on the sofa was a stiff neck.

  She had already ordered coffee and toast from room service by the time he ventured out of the bedroom in the morning. She felt some satisfaction when she noted that he looked just about as rotten as she felt.

  “Sleep well?” he inquired, regarding her warily as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Well enough. You?”

  “Terrific. Like a baby, in fact.”

  “There’s toast if you want it.”

  “I’ll go down for breakfast as soon as I’ve showered.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re welcome to come along.”

  “That’s all right. The toast is plenty.”

  “Fine.”

  “Cal…”

  “Marilou…”

  “You first.”

  “I’m sorry about last night,” he said roughly. “I suppose I managed to make the whole thing sound cheap, and that’s not the way I felt about it at all.”

  “I’m sorry if I assumed too much.” She had to force the words out. It hurt to admit she’d been wrong. It hurt to accept that they would never be more deeply involved than they had been last night. Casual lovers. The phrase, about as contradictory as any two words she could imagine, made her want to throw up.

  “I guess we’re just going to have to slow down,” Cal said, looking nervous as a teenager trying to explain his way out of a first sexual encounter. “We don’t seem to operate on the same wavelength when it comes to this. I thought you were ready, but obviously I was wrong.”

  “After today it won’t really matter,” she said stiffly. “Once you’ve seen your grandmother, I’ll be going back to Atlanta. I’ll be out of your hair and you can go on with your life any way that suits you.”

  His expression hardened at her matter-of-fact tone. “Right.”

  For one fleeting second, she thought she detected a chink in his armor, a hint of longing. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

  He hid whatever he was really feeling behind a wall of stubborn pride. “That’s exactly what I want. And you can’t wait to get back to Atlanta, right?”

  She sighed in resignation and said what he wanted to hear. “Right.”

  Wrong, Marilou thought dejectedly as he slammed out of the room. It was all turning out wrong.

  Except for the visit to Cal’s gra
ndmother. At least that would be a happy ending. He hadn’t backed out of it. She found him downstairs in the coffee shop, sipping black coffee and puffing on a cigarette. It was the first time she’d caught him smoking since she’d first arrived at his house in Florida. She scowled at the number of half-smoked butts he had already ground out in the ashtray. When he spotted her, he put out the one he’d been holding and regarded her balefully.

  “No comment?”

  She shook her head. “You’re a grown man. If you want to ruin your lungs, it’s up to you.”

  “It’s hard to believe there’s something about my life about which you don’t hold a strong opinion.”

  “Don’t kid yourself. I have an opinion. I just see no point in sharing it.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, crumpling up the remainder of the pack and tossing it on the table. He scowled at her fiercely. “I knew you were trouble the day I met you.”

  She swallowed hard at the anger she heard in his voice. “I never meant to be, Cal. I came because of the letter. I thought it was the right thing to do. Now I just want what’s best for you.”

  “And you’ve got it all figured out what that is? It must be nice to go through life being so sure of things.”

  “This morning I’m not sure about much.”

  “See, there you go again.”

  “All I said…”

  “I know what you said, and I know what you meant,” he snapped irritably. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down.”

  “What a pleasant invitation,” she retorted, but she sat. “What time are you planning to drive out to your grandmother’s?”

  “We might as well go now,” he said with such sullen indifference that she wanted to pour his steaming hot coffee straight into his miserable lap.

  “I thought you wanted breakfast,” she said instead.

  “I’d rather get this over with.”

  “You make it sound like some sort of torture.”

  “That’s exactly what it feels like.”

  Cal’s black mood didn’t lift on the long drive to his grandmother’s ranch, despite the fact that the sky was a brilliant blue and the scenery was spectacular. Even though Marilou longed once more for her camera so she could record the uncommonly desolate beauty, she found that the setting was only a minor distraction from the tension in the air. Cal made no attempt at small talk, and Marilou’s own feeble tries were greeted with stony silence.

  How could he be like this, when he was about to meet his grandmother? she wondered. She would have been on pins and needles with excitement instead of wallowing in this miserable attitude of dread. This difference between them was something so basic she should have accepted long ago how unsuited they were. It was possible for two people in love to overcome differences in life-styles, but not conflicting values that went to the very core of their personalities. How could she have been blind enough to fall in love with a man who didn’t treasure family the way she did?

  It was nearly noon when Cal turned onto the long road leading from the highway to his grandmother’s ranch. Despite his glowering expression, she was almost certain she saw a glimmer of interest in his eyes as he scanned the property. Though the holdings seemed to be vast, there were signs of disrepair. His frown deepened as they passed a crumbling fence post.

  “I suppose it’s difficult for her to stay on top of everything if she’s been ill,” Marilou ventured.

  “I suppose.”

  “How big do you think the ranch is?”

  “How would I know?”

  She shrugged. “The house looks like it’s been taken care of,” she said as the long, low structure finally came into view. It had fresh white paint and black trim. Huge planters of pink and purple flowers bordered the front steps. The lawn had been recently cut, and the air was filled with the scent of just-mown grass.

  Cal stopped the car about fifty yards from the house, even though there was room in the driveway right behind the fifteen-year-old Cadillac that had been polished to a glossy, almost-new finish. It was several minutes before he finally released his death grip on the steering wheel and turned off the engine.

  “I guess she’s home,” he said, glancing at the huge black car.

  “Do you want to see her alone?”

  For just an instant, she caught the hint of panic in his eyes. “I think you have a right to be in on it.”

  “Not really.”

  “I want you there,” he said gruffly, his tone partway between order and desperation.

  Marilou reached over and squeezed his hand. “Cal, you’re going to make an old woman very happy. Can that be so terrible?”

  “If only it were that simple.”

  “It’s only as complicated as you make it.”

  “Then it’s damned complicated.” He regarded the house warily before finally sighing heavily. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

  He clung to her hand as they crossed the yard. It was impossible to tell if he was holding on for moral support or simply because he feared she’d turn tail at the last minute and leave him alone to face his grandmother. His footsteps slowed as they neared the porch. At the steps, though, he squared his shoulders, gave her a smile that was sheer bravado and crossed the porch. When he rang the bell, they could hear the chimes sounding throughout the house.

  It seemed to take forever before they heard any movement from within. The curtain over the leaded glass in the door was pushed aside, then fluttered back into place and the door swung open.

  Marilou had expected some tiny, frail woman only barely able to leave her deathbed, but the woman who faced them was anything but tiny or frail. Stern-faced, her hair still thick and black and laced with threads of gray, she carried herself with incredible dignity. There was no way of telling from her expression what emotions were raging inside. Only her hand, curved around a carved, ivory-handled walking stick, gave away any hint of infirmity or distress. It trembled visibly as her gaze swept swiftly and indifferently over Marilou and settled avidly on her grandson.

  “Cal,” she said at once, without the slightest evidence of surprise or doubt. “You’ve come home.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cal faced the tall, reed-thin woman in the doorway and felt years of his life slide away. There was no doubt at all that this was his grandmother. From the almost coal-black hair and exotic features to the snapping blue eyes and imperious bearing, she looked exactly like his mother. For one lightning-swift instant, she’d appeared taken aback to find two strangers on her doorstep, but she recovered quickly.

  When she spoke his name, he couldn’t mistake the note of certainty and triumph in her voice. It was as if she’d been expecting him. The tension that had been coiled inside him wound tighter. Every finely honed instinct told him this had been a setup. She had stacked the deck, dealt the cards, then waited to come out a winner.

  “Come in, boy,” she ordered, still ignoring Marilou as if she were no more than a pesky nuisance. Her attitude annoyed the dickens out of him, but Marilou was apparently far too caught up in observing the byplay to be insulted.

  “Don’t just stand there,” his grandmother badgered. “We’re wasting heat.”

  Cal felt caught between furious indignation and admiration for her audacity. He wasn’t sure exactly what sort of reception he’d expected, but this definitely wasn’t it. He had been fooled by the frail handwriting and conciliatory tone, just as she’d expected him to be. Caroline Whitfield McDonald was obviously still very much in command, not only of all her faculties, but apparently—to her mind, anyway—of all she surveyed.

  Something continued to puzzle him, though. How had she recognized him so readily? Had those detectives she’d hired sent her pictures? The possibility of such an invasion of his privacy unnerved him. Only a woman whose heart was made of steel would resort to such tactics. Now, as she stood aside, proud and dignified, waiting for them to enter, he remained rooted to the spot on the porch, leery of taking another step until he had some answers.

&n
bsp; “What is it, boy?” she demanded.

  “How did you know?” he said finally.

  As his cool, curious gaze raked over her, a glimmer of a smile touched her thin lips. “There’s nothing uncanny about it, boy. Come. I’ll show you.”

  She ushered them into a parlor, where a fire blazed. She waved Marilou toward a chair. Then, after crossing to the grand piano that filled an incredibly large bay window, she picked up a silver-framed photograph and wordlessly handed it to him.

  Cal’s fingers trembled as he touched the cool metal frame. Aware of his grandmother and Marilou watching him expectantly, it took everything in him to actually look at the picture. When he did, he realized at once what she had seen in his face: his grandfather’s features, the same dusky complexion, black hair and unexpectedly clear blue eyes. In the wedding picture in which his grandmother wore pristine satin and lace that flowed to the ground in luxurious folds, his grandfather looked uncomfortable in a tuxedo, the stern angles of his face softened as he stared lovingly at his beautiful bride.

  Despite his wariness, Cal couldn’t help smiling as he carefully placed the picture back among the dozens that were arranged haphazardly on the piano. “Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, beginning to relax his guard ever so slightly. “I see what you mean.”

  “Look at the others, if you like.”

  He shook his head, deliberately not lingering on the snapshots and portraits of his mother. He couldn’t help noticing, though, that there was no picture from his parents’ wedding. Had they been forced to elope? How odd that he’d never known that, that he’d apparently never asked the questions most children did about how their parents met, about family ties and wedding albums.

  “Sit, then,” his grandmother insisted, grabbing a bell and ringing it as she settled herself in an antique rocker beside the fire. An old Mexican woman, her face a road map of wrinkles, appeared at once. Her sharp, brown-eyed gaze studied Cal and Marilou, and her face at once broke into a delighted smile.

  “Porfin,” she murmured fervently. “At last.”

  “Indeed,” his grandmother said. Then, “Tea, Elena.” She looked Marilou up and down. “And cake. She looks as though she could do with a little meat on her bones.”