Swearing inaudibly, Michael rose from his seat and again crossed to the window as he let loose and aggravated sigh. He gaze locked on Sabine steadily, his heart pounding heavily in his chest.
Only two days. Two more days to listen to her laughter and bright conversation when he returned to her arms each evening. Two more days to feel her soft body stretched next to his as he awoke in the morning.
It just wasn’t enough time.
“How long has she been sharing your bed?” Enrique asked, breaking the tense stillness.
“Just over two weeks,” he replied flatly, his gaze still fixed on Sabine as she and Marta rose and walked toward the house. “Why?”
“You will be gentle with her about breaking the news, I hope?”
“What the hell kind of question is that?” Michael snapped angrily, turning away from the window. “What do you expect me to do? Throw her out onto the street?”
Enrique leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece and met Michael’s gaze levelly.
“I do not wish to pass judgment on you. I am only concerned about the approach you might take with her,” he said, his manner reserved as he smoothed his dark hair back with his hand. “But it is possible she may now be carrying your child. Two weeks is enough time for her to do so. Have you, perchance, given any thought to this matter?”
No, dammit, Michael thought angrily, he hadn’t; and pushing her away was now going to be even harder than ever.
XXX
Michael replaced the frilled edge of the curtain slowly, his heart pounding wildly with apprehension and expectation while waves of fear and anger crashed alternately over him.
They were out there somewhere, hidden under the cloak of darkness, watching with keen eyes, waiting for the opportunity to seize everything he had worked for – this home, this life. A handful of men who had relentlessly tracked him for two years, seeking vengeance for a crime that wasn’t truly a crime, demanding Michael’s life in exchange for the one George Morrison had thrown so carelessly away in the dust of a back alley.
All because of one man’s insistence that a woman’s body was not truly her own.
It could easily have been Sabine in that alley, her frightened eyes pleading with him to come to her aid. And she had done that once in a smoky backroom of a casino in Havana, her beautiful emerald eyes capturing his heart the moment he saw her.
He wouldn’t let it happen again- not the abuse, not the fear. He had vowed once to make her forget that period in her life – those weeks with Colón, the pain he had put her through because of his thickheadedness. No more. Not for her. Not for his Sabine.
He wanted her, instead, to remember the good times they’d had – the laughter, the dances across the kitchen floor…the way she told him he made her feel so secure and needed.
Shifting in the straight-backed chair, Michael turned to watch her as she stood over the dishpan, her hands busily scrubbing a plate as her feet tapped out the rhythm of a tune that played in her head.
He smiled sadly to himself. He hoped she’d feel the same way after he broke the news to her.
Rising, his heart softened as he leaned casually in the doorjamb, and his gaze dropped to her slender waist, recalling Enrique’s words. She might be carrying his child right now- harboring a tiny life that was a part of them both; something that could bind them together forever.
He would’ve like the idea a whole lot more if the timing had been a little more opportune.
Michael sidled behind her, slipping an arm around her as he rested his hand on the flatness of her stomach; and Sabine leaned into him, rubbing her cheek against the curve of his shoulder as his fingers gently massaged the area just below her navel.
I won’t ask you to stay away forever, he told her silently, tightening his hold around her waist. I’ll bring you home as soon as I can. I promise.
“Are you almost finished with those?” he asked as he lowered his lips to meet the base of her neck, and she snuggled closer to him.
“Michael,” she said, her laugh low and throaty as his mouth grazed the soft spot behind her ear and she attempted to squirm from his grasp. “My hands are wet.”
“I need to talk to you,” he said, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Can it wait?”
He wished it could.
“No,” Michael said instead as the sour churning in his stomach started again with fierce intensity.
He closed his eyes, imprinting the warmth of her body on his memory as he held her. Damn. How long would it be until he felt her like this again? A month? Two?
Forever?
“Michael, you’re crushing me.”
Startled, he released her immediately as her faint voice reached his ears, and he muttered and awkward apology under his breath.
“What was it that you needed to tell me?”
She faced him, her sweet smile melting the cold dread in his heart as she dried her hands on a towel, and suddenly he couldn’t confront her, couldn’t tell her she had to leave him and return to the States.
“Well?”
Michael recited a quick prayer and reached for her hand, squeezing it to reassure no one but himself.
“Sabine, how long would you say you’ve been here?”
“Where? In this country, do you mean?”
“No, in this house. With me.”
“A couple months, I suppose,” she said with a shrug. “Why?”
“And in all that time, what do you know about me?”
“You’re American,” she said after a pause. “You work for Luís. You were married once. She’s dead. You’re not.” She counted off each point pertly on her fingers and looked to him. “So, what is it exactly you’re trying to ask?”
Damn her for being so direct. Why couldn’t she just let him handle this his way?
“And that’s it?”
“Oh, no,” she told him, smiling again as she walked past him and into the sitting room. “You also have had, in the past, a tendency to try to hard in gaining my trust. Also, to be very bullheaded, short-tempered, occasionally inconsistent, and – do you want me to continue?” came her query as she turned to face him.
Groaning inwardly, Michael stared at her, his hands jammed awkwardly in his pockets. She wasn’t making this easy, her clipped and flippant replies to his questions. But it wasn’t her fault, he supposed miserably as he rubbed at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. He might just as well come out with it. Get to the point. No more beating around the bush.
“Sabine, I’m sending you home.”
The look of blank confusion on her features was almost enough to make him wish he had never said a word to her, that he had never gotten himself messed up in this ridiculous fiasco in the first place.
“What?”
Her stunned words were laced with disbelief as her body visibly stiffened.
“Now, listen to me,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “It won’t be for – “
“I’m not going back,” she stated, her voice raising an octave as she backed away, her eyes wild, searching the room in preparation for escape.
He knew that look.
“Maybe on for a month or two.”
“I don’t care.” Her voice became more shrill as she wrapped her arms around herself, cautiously making her way to the door while she watched his every gesture, every move. “I’m not going back.”
All Michael could do was stand and watch as she ran past him, her boot heels clattering loudly in his ears.
“Sabine – “
He reached out for her, but her terrified scream caused him to pull back suddenly, burned by the panic in her voice.
“I’ll run, Michael,” she threatened as she backed against the door, her hand groping blindly for the handle so she might flee. “I swear to God, if you try to send me back, I’ll run.”
His hand caught hers, and it was as though it were a stranger he held, her tiny form struggling in his grasp until she wrenched violently from him.
> “Will you at least listen to the reason why?”
“Get your hands off me,” she shrieked, beating at him with tight fists. “I won’t go back! I won’t!”
She flung open the door and disappeared into the darkness, taking with her any semblance of hope Michael had, and leaving in its place a tangle of confusion and doubt that filled the emptiness that once was his heart.
There was a lot more going on here than he had ever anticipated. Whatever it was, she was terrified beyond reason to face it. Something at that place she called home – wherever that was.
Well, he wasn’t going to just stand here like an idiot; and he wasn’t about to let her run out on him without some sort of explanation. The time had come for them to lay their cards out on the table – all of them; not just the ones they carefully chose to offer.
It was something he should have done a long time ago. Hopefully, now, it wasn’t too late
XXX
“I can’t go back to New Orleans,” Sabine sobbed uncontrollably as Marta draped a woolen lap robe across her shoulders. “I can’t.”
“What is there so wrong with home,” Marta asked in soothing tones. “Were you not taken from there forcibly? Would you not like to return for just a little while at least? So your family is confident that you are well? It is only right they should know.”
Sabine shook her head fervently as she frantically attempted to quell the tears that refused to cease their flow. Why? Why did this all have to happen just when she thought she might finally have a place she belonged?
But this was no time to let foolhardy weaknesses and ridiculous dreams get in the way. Shouldn’t she have known better? Shouldn’t she have known that happily-ever-afters were for other people, not for her?
Dashing away the tracks of her tears, she rocked back on her heels, looking to Marta as she drew an unsteady breath.
“He’ll be waiting for me,” she said as firmly as the wild pounding of her heart would allow, and she clambered to her feet to restlessly pace the floor. “I know he will.”
Sabine stopped at the window, scanning the darkened landscape as she hugged herself, warming her body against the bitter chill of dread that crept through her. She couldn’t possibly go back; not with the positive notion that she would have to reckon with Troy Markham’s claim on her.
“Who is this man awaiting you, querida?”
“Troy Markham. After believing my entire life that I’m free, I find out I’m his property,” she said bitterly, a cynical laugh escaping her as she turned to face Marta. “And he’s decided he wants me back, now that his father’s dead.”
“All this I do not understand,” Marta said, furrowing her brow. “What does his father’s death have to do with his possession?”
Sabine released a heavy sigh and smoothed her topskirts nervously as she approached Marta, looking to her for the support she would desperately need. The time had finally come to tell the truth of the hurt she had buried so deep in her soul. The truth of who she really was.
“I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone,” she prefaced as she sat down, “only because I don’t think I could bear their looks of pity.”
Sabine paused, examining her hands thoughtfully before squaring her shoulders and meeting Marta’s gaze unmovingly.
“It began, of all things, with the silly, romantic ideas of a young girl who lived in a fantasy world. A world where things like the color of one’s skin or their position in society didn’t matter. Unfortunately, this girl lived in New Orleans…”
XXX
“Where is she?”
Gruffly, Enrique dragged Michael into the library, his dark eyes blazing with fury s he slammed the door behind him.
“After what I have seen this evening, I should have a mind to tell you I do not know.”
“God dammit, Enrique,” Michael swore as he jerked from his grasp. “This is no time to piss me off. Sabine ran off and I haven’t the faintest idea where she went. I’ve looked just about everywhere I would think she’d go.”
Enrique snorted in disgust, and Michael felt the pressure in his veins increase as he fought back the urge to knock him senseless.
“This afternoon you assured me that you will break the news gently, and what is it I find on the roadway tonight?” Enrique bit out. “Sabine in near hysteria. I am your friend, Michael, but I do question your tact in such a delicate matter as this. Perhaps it would be better to let Mamá tell her.”
He’d done a lot of stupid things in his time, but the least Enrique could do was give him a little credit.
“You never told her about the incident in Kansas, did you?”
Michael combed his fingers through his hair and sighed irritably as he sank into a chair.
“I never got the chance. The minute I mentioned the States, she went crazy.” He rubbed his hands vigorously against his face. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the one who drives her to this. When it comes to her, it seems I can’t do anything right.”
“She refused to talk to me as well,” Enrique conceded, crossing over to him. “But Mamá is with her now. Perhaps she will tell her what it is that troubles her.”
Michael shook his head. “Don’t count on it. She’s stubborn.”
“Much like somebody else I know,” Enrique mumbled under his breath.
Michael let the comment pass.
“I need to talk with her,” he said, rising abruptly.
“I think maybe it is best that the explanation come from someone else.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he snapped, opening the door. “If anything’s going to be said, it’s going to come from me. I’ve hedged on this long enough. Where are they?”
“Mamá’s drawing room,” Enrique sighed resignedly, and motioned vaguely down the hallway.
It was all he could do not to run down the hall and burst through the door, but Michael counted his steps carefully as he quickly rehearsed what it was he would tell her. How delicately could you tell a woman that you were wanted by a pack of bloodthirsty vigilantes who thought of nothing but revenge? And it was a killing in self-defense. Hell, to this day he wasn’t even sure who had pulled the trigger.
Well, he thought as he tentatively at the door, there was no other way to do it but come right out and tell her what had happened…and hope for the best.
“We are busy,” Marta’s voice came, muffled by the heavy mahogany of the door.
“I need to talk to Sabine.”
“I don’t want to see you.”
Sabine’s bitter voice cut through his gut like a knife, and he felt his fists tighten a frustration set in. He wasn’t going to get angry. He was going to approach this in a calm, rational manner.
“Will you please open the door,” Michael requested through gritted teeth, his pulse throbbing mercilessly at his temples.
“No!”
He closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. She’s overwrought, he reminded himself. Just give her a moment…
“Sabine – “
“Go away!”
“All right, dammit, I’ve had enough,” he shouted as his fist pounded repeatedly at the door. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for. And you’re not going to walk out on me like you did tonight.”
Michael breathed a sigh of relief when the door cracked open, his anger waning as hope pushed its way into his heart. Marta slipped out into the hallway, her dark eyes blazing as she turned to him.
“I should throw you out of my home for the disturbance you have caused,” she snapped.
Michael rolled his eyes in exasperation and gestured helplessly. Was the whole world against him tonight?
“I’m sorry,” he amended with forced patience. “I need to talk to her.”
Crossing her eyes, Marta eyed him critically.
“I am not so sure I want to risk you hurting her further,” she decided. “Sabine has been in there for the better part of an hour crying her heart out over this entire situation. I thought you would
have the good sense to give her the reason why she must leave. She thinks it is because you have tired of her. Because she has no money. Because she is not a white woman.”
Those last words slapped him hard in the face, and Michael gaped at Marta in disbelief.
“She said what?”
“I do not believe I have an impairment in my speech,” Marta replied in clipped tones as she moved from the door. “But if chooses to speak with you, you may go in.”
She walked away, leaving Michael to stare blankly at the door. How could Sabine even think those things? That he didn’t want her? Hadn’t he shown her, told her enough time for her to believe him?
But that she didn’t have money? That she wasn’t white? Where the hell had she come up with those ideas? Not once had he given her cause to believe any of those things?
He didn’t give a damn about money or color or any of the other rules society revolved around.
He wanted her, plain and simple.
The hinges opened without much protest, and Michael slid unobtrusively into the room, swallowing the lump in his throat as his gaze settled on her. She lay curled in the corner of one of the settees, her shoulders shaking from the muted sobs that barely reached his ears.
He stood there – paralyzed – watching her as guilt stabbed repeatedly at his insides. Would it always be this way? Would he be forever hurting her? Always crushing those hopes and dreams she refused to reveal for fear they’d be wrenched away and crushed to bits?
Would she be willing to give him one more chance to make it all up to her?
“Sabine, I – “
“Go away,” she said flatly, not bothering to look up at him. Michael sat down beside her, his hand resting between her shoulder blades, his thumb hesitantly smoothing an imaginary wrinkle in her red calico dress.
“I just thought you deserved to hear the explanation I tried to give you earlier,” he said quietly. “And I’d like to know why you’re so afraid to return to the States.”
“It’s none of your business,” she shot out, brushing his hand from her forcefully as she straightened. “And I don’t care what you have to say, Mr. Pierson, for I’m sure everything would be lies.”
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