My Sister, Myself

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  After a lifetime of reinforcement, she wasn’t ready to believe in James Fenimore Cooper’s hero, but she was a lot closer to believing in the man who did.

  A man for whom she couldn’t not buy a Christmas present.

  But still, it meant nothing. It had to mean nothing. As long as Bruce wanted Tory, her life in Shelter Valley was nothing.

  “PLEASE, HEAR ME OUT.”

  Ben sat with Christine in his truck early Tuesday evening. He’d told her he had something important to discuss with her. Something that couldn’t wait. He’d left a message on her machine earlier in the afternoon and then waited by the phone, hoping she’d call him back.

  She had.

  He’d driven them out past the cactus jelly plant and into the desert, where there was nothing to interrupt them but the rattlesnakes and scorpions they couldn’t see, the coyote they could hear in the distance. Cactus brush cast shadows all around them.

  “I’m listening,” she told him. She was practically hugging the passenger door of the truck.

  I hugged the wall, Daddy. Alex’s voice came back to him.

  Ben turned, leaning against his door, facing her. As far from her as possible without actually getting out of the truck. “Relax. I promise I just want to talk.”

  “I know.” She grinned, although it was still a little shaky.

  She was such a contradiction. Strong and capable of fighting off whatever forces might haunt her, yet vulnerable as hell. Sitting there in her tight jeans and ribbed long-sleeved shirt that outlined her full breasts to the point of making him salivate, and yet sending don’t-touch-me signals that a deaf man could hear.

  He held up both wrists. “You can tie my hands to the steering wheel if you want.”

  He’d meant it as a joke. But her face was completely serious as she regarded him. “Do I need to?”

  “I hope you know the answer to that.”

  “You could be warning me that you’re thinking with your pants right now.”

  “I could be.” Lord, if she knew how much he could be. “But I’m not.”

  “Then we’ll forgo the idea of tying you to the steering wheel.”

  He was sure glad to hear that.

  This wasn’t how he’d envisioned their conversation. And his hopes hadn’t been all that high to begin with.

  Just yesterday, he’d promised her all the time in the world; he’d been able to give her a day.

  “What was it you needed to talk to me about?” she asked, turning to look at him.

  Taking a deep breath, trying to pretend that her eventual answer wasn’t crucial to him, Ben regrouped. He steepled his fingers in front of him and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring look. He figured he might as well give it his best shot before things got any worse.

  “I want you to marry me.”

  TORY SAT FROZEN. She might have said something, if she could think of something to say. If her throat wasn’t locked, her lungs struggling to take in enough air.

  She was still staring at him, but only because she couldn’t seem to move. His eyes were brimming with so much warmth, she couldn’t stay numb. But she tried.

  “Before you answer, hear me out,” he said, as though she might actually be getting ready to speak.

  She continued to stare, wondering what more he could possibly have to say.

  He wanted to marry her. He’d told her just the day before that she could have all the time she needed. He thought asking her to marry him now was giving her time?

  Ben shifted his leg on the seat. He studied her, apparently choosing his words carefully.

  He wanted to marry her. The thought terrified her. She’d tried marriage once.

  He wanted to marry her.

  And most devastating of all—the part of her that had survived kind of wanted to marry him, too.

  “First, it would be a marriage in name only for as long as you need it to be.”

  What kind of fool did he think she was? “I won’t be married to a man who takes his pleasure elsewhere,” she said coldly.

  Bruce, damn him, had taken her down that road, too. If she so much as talked to another man, he went ballistic, but she wasn’t supposed to notice when he played with an occasional receptionist.

  “Not only would I not do that to you, I’d never do it to myself,” Ben told her. “I am a man of my word, no matter who I give it to.”

  Tory knew that about him. Her knees unclenched, her legs relaxing against the seat.

  “I say that, not because I don’t want to take you to bed right this instant, but because I won’t do that until you’re sure you want to be there.”

  “That might never happen.”

  “I think it will.”

  Tory would have smiled if she hadn’t been so uncomfortable with the entire conversation. “You’re sporting quite an ego there, my friend,” she said.

  “You really wanted me on Friday.” He repeated her own words back to her. “Until I put my arms around you.” He paused, the gentleman even then, giving her the opportunity to refute his statement.

  But he knew she couldn’t.

  “So we’ll make love armless for the rest of our lives, if that’s what it takes.”

  Tory pictured that before she could stop herself. Ben lying on a bed, his arms behind his head. Her on top of him. Pleasuring herself.

  Pleasuring him.

  Whoa. She put the brakes on, staring out the windshield, rejecting the brief surge of excitement she’d felt. What Ben was offering might be available to someone else, to another person in another life. It wasn’t something Tory could have.

  She wasn’t free. Might never be free.

  She didn’t know a lot about love, wasn’t sure she could buy into that fantasy a second time. But one thing she did know: it wasn’t love without trust. It couldn’t be trust without honesty. And if Tory told Ben the truth, if she came back from the grave, they could both end up dead.

  “Child Welfare has Alex.”

  His words cut through the tension between them. Obliterating it.

  “When? How? What are they doing with her?”

  “They picked her up today. They were going to send a social worker in, but the school nurse knew Alex would never trust a stranger and talked them into letting her go.”

  His next breath was more like a shudder, and Tory turned to face him. His face twisted with the effort it was taking him to maintain control when he said, “She took one look at Alex’s back and moved her out. She said if there were any formalities to be followed, they could go in and clean them up later.”

  It was more than a few superficial welts, Tory translated, sick to her stomach. She leaned forward, unable to tolerate the sensation of the door against her back. In a haze of remembered pain, she could feel her shirt chafing the tender skin of her back, making it sting.

  “Where is she tonight?”

  “They’re keeping her overnight at the hospital and—”

  Tory’s sharp intake of breath cut him off. She couldn’t even pretend to hide her horror. There must be a lot of damaged tissue, too many layers of skin gone—extreme danger of infection.

  “She probably wouldn’t have had to stay once they got her wounds salved and dressed and started her on antibiotics. They were able to bandage her up pretty well, but she refused to go anywhere else. She threw such a tantrum they figured it was in her best interests to let her stay right there.”

  “For how long?” Tory needed to swallow, but couldn’t.

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe just till tomorrow.”

  “Where will she go?”

  Tory had visions of foster homes, strangers, people whose impermanence would frighten the little girl. Or worse. She didn’t have a whole lot of faith in the system.

  “I’m hoping with me.”

  Her head swiveling toward him, Tory stared at Ben. “Really?” she asked, a grin breaking across her lips. “But you’re out of state.”

  “I also have visitation rights. The nurse thinks they can s
wing it to at least get her to me for Christmas vacation. From there, who knows?”

  Tory’s mind whirled. His face was mostly shadows in the moonlight, but she could still see his eyes. “The other day—when we talked—you told me you thought you wanted to marry me.”

  He nodded.

  “So I know you’re asking me because you really think you want to be married to me—correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But the question came today because of Alex, didn’t it?”

  Suddenly the idea wasn’t so threatening, so invasive. He really wasn’t taking away her time. This had nothing to do with her needs or his; it had everything to do with Alex.

  He nodded. “I understand if you can’t consider the idea,” he said, and though he sounded regretful, he also sounded resigned. “I don’t want to pressure you into something you’ll regret. But this afternoon, when I was speaking with people from Child Protective Services, the idea seemed so…right.”

  “You think that if you’re married, you’ll have a better chance of getting Alex permanently.”

  “I’m sure of it.” He ran a hand through his curls, mussing them. “If I were her natural father, it wouldn’t matter so much, but they’re a little uncomfortable about turning a seven-year-old girl over to a man who is, in actuality, no relation to her at all.”

  “But you raised her single-handedly!” Not that they’d care. Tory knew all about the vagaries of social services.

  “Which is why they’re giving her to me, why they’re even willing to investigate the idea of permanent placement. Things would just slide through a lot more smoothly if I was married, could provide a mother for Alex.”

  Tory wanted to help him. More than anything she wanted to help little Alex. Suddenly there was a reason for her life, something she could contribute to humanity. Who better to help the little girl through the months ahead, the slow frightening struggle to trust, the nightmares and sudden bouts of fear, than a woman who’d been there? A woman who was feeling her pain, caring about her, crying for her before she’d even met her?

  A woman who cared about the little girl’s father more than she’d ever cared about anyone in her entire life, with the exception of her dead sister.

  “You haven’t said no,” Ben said eventually.

  She still didn’t say it. She didn’t say anything.

  She couldn’t be considering this! There was no way she could marry him. Her emotional baggage aside, she was living a lie. If she did this, he’d be married to a dead woman.

  “Are you angry?” he asked, leaning his head back against the window, one jean-clad leg resting against the gearshift, the other folded in front of him on the seat.

  “No.” The word was barely audible. Tory shook her head. She wasn’t angry—not in the way he meant. Not with him. How could she be?

  If she was angry at all, it was with the world, the life she’d been given, the choices that had been taken from her so long ago.

  “Are you considering the idea?”

  She tried again to say no, but the word wasn’t audible at all this time.

  Sitting forward, Ben turned, put his hands on the steering wheel, his feet on the floor beneath the dash. “I just want you to know that I meant what I said, Christine. You won’t have to worry that a marriage license is going to change anything between us, physically, until you’re ready. As far as I’m concerned, your battle is our battle. We fight it together.”

  Tears pricked her eyes and Tory fought them for all she was worth. She’d never met anyone like him. Wondered where he found the strength to be so unselfish. So giving.

  Wondered if she could ever have that much strength. Or the courage to find out.

  She stared out the windshield at the desert shadows around them.

  “Say something.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “No is one option.”

  He was giving her a second chance. She still didn’t say it.

  “Yes is another.”

  Just thinking about that answer, about the possibility of saying yes, caused her physical pain. Because she wanted to…

  “So you’re considering the idea?”

  In spite of how wrong it was, Tory nodded.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Yes, dammit, even knowing I’ll never be able to marry you, I’m considering the idea.

  She’d done a lot of stupid things in her life, but this had to top the list.

  “Thank you.” She felt the quiet warmth of those words all the way to her toes.

  She was a repulsive excuse for humanity, leading him on, allowing him to believe she might actually be able to help him. She had to tell him no. Right now.

  But before she could say the word, she had a sudden flashback to a time fifteen years before. Her stepfather’s face was red from drinking, contorted with rage. She could still feel the slap of his belt across her back when she turned away from that face.

  Could feel the sheets sticking to her back when she awoke the next morning.

  And she couldn’t tell Ben no.

  WITH SCHOOL OUT and no studying to occupy his hours, Ben found the waiting almost interminable. He played several games of racquetball with Zack early on Wednesday, but by lunchtime his tension was so great he knew he had to get out of the apartment again. He’d heard from California Child Protective Services that morning. They were keeping Alex one more day for observation.

  Tomorrow he might be permitted to go get her for the holidays. He’d know in the morning.

  “Come on, Buddy, you need some exercise,” he muttered after clearing away the crumbs on the counter from the bologna sandwich he’d made—and fed to the dog. He grabbed the leash, but before he left, with Buddy dancing and jumping around him like the good obedient dog he was, Ben called Christine.

  She was on break, too. Maybe she’d enjoy a walk.

  Walking was something they did well together. They’d had lots of practice at it during the school term.

  Truth be known, Ben didn’t really care whether they walked or not. He just needed to be with Christine. Her presence was a comfort he neither understood nor questioned.

  THEY WALKED DOWNTOWN from Phyllis’s house, where Ben had parked his truck, and then on to the park. It was almost deserted now, but it became a hub of activity during the summer, especially Shelter Valley’s annual Fourth of July celebration. Both Tory and Ben had heard about it, and both said they were eager to participate in next year’s festivities.

  The previous year’s celebration had included the dedication of his great-grandfather’s statue. Ben wished he’d been there.

  Buddy plodded ahead of them, pulling at his leash, his nose working overtime. Whenever he looked back to see what was keeping Ben, he seemed to be grinning.

  “Phyllis said the Montfords are finally arriving back in town,” Tory told him as they strolled through the park, enjoying the solitude. And the bright green, carefully manicured grass.

  He’d been so consumed by Alex’s situation that he’d forgotten the Montfords were supposed to be coming home. They weren’t quite real to him, these people whose blood he shared. He was so used to being alone.

  “They were expected sometime last week, weren’t they?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but I guess they ended up staying in France for a couple of days, visiting an old friend. It’s not like they have kids or grandkids to come home to for the holidays.”

  There were many people who didn’t have families to see during the holidays. They ought to get together and form some kind of club. Buy gifts. Have a big dinner with lots of chaos and people talking at once.

  “They’re coming to Becca’s Christmas party.”

  Ben grunted. That was on Friday. A lifetime away. Anything beyond tomorrow morning—when he’d hear about Alex—was too far away to think about.

  “Are you planning to go?” Christine asked.

  She was wearing jeans again, tight ones, with a fleecy sleeveless red vest over a cream-colored swea
ter. Her sassy hair teased the neckline of the sweater, and Ben’s fingers itched to brush aside those strands and touch the warm skin beneath.

  “I guess it’ll depend on Alex,” he said. “I’m obviously not going to leave her alone, and I haven’t been in a position to meet any baby-sitters recently.”

  “Martha Moore’s got a couple of daughters who baby-sit.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “But it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to leave her with a stranger so soon…” Christine put his thoughts into words—which should have surprised him, but didn’t.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  BUDDY, GETTING TIRED, lagged beside them as they walked, his tongue hanging out. Christine glanced down at him and grinned.

  “That has got to be the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  “Shh,” Ben said quickly. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  She laughed and Ben stopped. She was relaxed, almost happy. And was taking his breath away.

  Buddy, meanwhile, sniffed the nearby six-foot-high hedge of desert bushes for an acceptable spot to do his business.

  “Do you think Alex will like Shelter Valley?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Ben said, gazing around. He pictured Alex racing through the park, laughing and carefree, until the vision started to hurt. What if they wouldn’t give her to him? What if Mary won again, convinced the authorities not to let Alex come home? What would happen to his little girl then?

  “I just wish I knew for sure that I’m at least going to see her,” Ben said, frustration brimming over. “I need to see for myself that she’s okay.”

  “And you want to make sure she has a good Christmas,” Christine guessed. She was standing closer to him than she ever had before.

  “A seven-year-old kid shouldn’t have to remember a Christmas where no one would make her a tree.”

  “Do you have one?”

  Buddy sniffed some more, apparently in no hurry to move on.

  “No, but if I get Alex, I will have.”

  “Do you have any stuff to decorate it?”

  He hadn’t thought about that. “No.” And then, “I don’t suppose you’d help me pick some out?”