Lonely Pride
Page 24
Chapter Nine
Taking a desultory nibble on a slice of toast, Sam stared down at her coffee cup. After a sleepless night, she felt drained and listless. At about two she’d climbed from her untidy bed to turn on the TV, but had no idea what the ancient movie she’d watched was about.
Rusty barked once at a knock on the back door and she jumped. Who could be calling at seven thirty? For a moment she thought of ignoring it, but that was childish, for whoever was out there would have seen her by now through the glass at the top of the door. Rising slowly she gave a small start of surprise to see Mac behind the glass. Had she expected to see him again? Not really.
As she let him in, she tried hard to ignore his steady gaze. “Good morning.”
He didn’t return her muttered greeting but after he’d closed the door stood silently, hands on hips. There was no way she could refuse to look at him, so when she met his gaze head on she was stunned to see he looked as weary as she felt, probably more so.
He patted Rusty’s head when the dog whined and wagged his tail, saying, “Good boy,” absently. “We’ve got to sort this out. That was rubbish Clare spouted and you know it. We need to talk.”
When Sam went back to sit at the table he took the chair opposite her. “Clare has no idea what love is. She’s always been spiteful and thinks that if she wants something bad enough she can just reach out and grab it. She’s always hated the bond between you and me.” He got up and poured himself a coffee. But when he sat again he didn’t touch it. Sam’s drink was forgotten. “I thought that once we’d made love you would see everything clearly. Surely you’re not so naïve you can’t see this thing between us is something rare.”
“And you can’t be so naïve you’d fail to recognize my inexperience,” she said quietly, folding and unfolding the napkin by her plate.
“Obviously it isn’t always possible to tell.” He massaged his nape, sighing. “I’m not a stud, you know. There haven’t been that many women in my life.”
Sam stared into his eyes. His were clear and honest, and she felt inclined to believe him. “Come on my rounds with me, Sam. We’re just going round in circles, getting nowhere fast.”
After a brief silence while he returned her stare, making her nerve-endings tingle, she said, “Mum’s coming on the mid-morning bus. I really think I should spend some time with her. I’ll be going back to Melbourne without having had a chance to talk to her, let alone offer comfort.”
He looked hard at her, his eyes now as cold as an icy pond in mid-winter. “When are you going? I thought this was supposed to be an extended visit?”
“I may go tomorrow.”
He shot her a look of disapproval, shoved the chair back, and strode over to the window. Mac stood gazing out, his shoulders heaving as if he struggled to breathe. “Was last night and what we shared so meaningless to you?” Facing her, he lifted a hand. “No, don’t bother answering that. Just ask your mother if it’s at all possible for me to be the father of Clare’s baby.”
With another hard look that made Sam cringe, he strode out, leaving her feeling as empty and dry as a river bed in mid-drought. Her throat constricted, as relentlessly her mind played over the magical time spent in Mac’s bed.
He’d looked on her as if she was beautiful, and their coming together had been devastating in its intensity. Beyond her wildest dreams. And then he’d spoiled it by assuming she’d lost her virginity with Peter. In retrospect, she had to admit her wanton behavior and response had even shocked her. Mac undoubtedly had cause to think he might be just another man in a procession of lovers by the way she’d acted.