by Diana Palmer
She lifted her eyebrows. “You and whose army, buster?”
He grinned. He chuckled. He wrapped her up and gave her a bear hug, the first really affectionate gesture of their turbulent relationship.
*
They were married the following Monday. Miranda’s brother, Sam, gave her away, and Evan was best man.
Joan, Sam’s wife, managed to get a radiant Miranda alone long enough to find out how happy she really was.
“No more looking back,” Joan said softly. “Promise?”
“I promise,” Miranda replied with a smile. “Thank you. Did I ever just say thank you for all you and Sam have done for me over the years?”
“Twice a week, at least.” Joan laughed, and then she sobered. “He’s a tiger, that man,” she added, nodding toward Harden, who was standing with his brothers and Sam. “Are you sure?”
“I love him,” Miranda said simply.
Joan nodded. “Then it will be all right.”
But would it, Miranda wondered, when Harden didn’t love her.
“What a bunch,” Sam said with a grin as he joined them. He put an affectionate arm around his sister. “At least you’re no stranger to horses and ranch life,” he said. “You’ll fit right in here. Happy, kitten?”
“So happy,” she assured him with a hug.
“Well, Harden will take care of you,” he said. “No doubt about that. But,” he added with a level stare, “no more leaping on horses’ backs. I’m not sure your new husband’s nerves will take it!”
She laughed, delighted that Harden had shared that incident with Sam. It meant that he liked her, anyway. He wanted her, too, and she was nervous despite the intimacy they’d shared. She didn’t know if she was going to be enough for him.
Evan added his congratulations, along with the rest of the family. Theodora hugged her warmly and then looked with bitter hopelessness at Harden, who’d hardly spoken to her.
“He’ll get over it one day,” Miranda said hesitantly.
“Over the facts of his birth, maybe. Over Anita? I don’t think he ever will,” she added absently, oblivious to the shaken, tragic look that flashed briefly over Miranda’s features before she quickly composed them.
Suddenly aware of what she’d said, Theodora turned, flushing. “I can’t ever seem to say the right thing, can I?” she asked miserably. “I’m sorry, Miranda, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” she told the older woman quietly. “I know he doesn’t love me. It’s all right. I’ll try to be a good wife, and there will be children.”
Theodora grimaced. Harden joined them, gathering Miranda with easy possessiveness under his arm to kiss her warmly.
“Hello, Mrs. Tremayne,” he said softly. “How goes it?”
“I’m fine. How about you?” she asked.
“I’ll be better when we get the reception out of the way. I had no idea we were related to so many people,” he chuckled. Then he glanced at Theodora, and the laughter faded. “Few of them are related to me, of course,” he added cuttingly.
Theodora didn’t react. Her sad eyes searched his. “Have a nice honeymoon, Harden. You, too, Miranda.” She turned and walked away, ignoring her son’s hostility.
Miranda looked up at him worriedly. “You can’t keep this up. You’re cutting her to pieces.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t interfere,” he cautioned quietly. “Theodora is my business.”
“I’m your wife,” she began.
“Yes. But that doesn’t make you my conscience. Let’s get this over with.” He took her arm and led her into the house, where the caterers were ready for the reception.
The reception was held at the ranch, but Theodora ran interference long enough for the newlyweds to get away.
Connal and Pepi showed up for the wedding, and Miranda found that she and Pepi were fast becoming friends. Connal reminded her a lot of Evan, except that he was leaner and younger. Pepi was an elf, a gentle creature with big eyes. She and Connal had little Jamie Ben Tremayne with them, and he warmed Miranda’s heart as he had the night they’d had supper with the rest of the family. But he made her ache for the child she’d lost. That, along with Theodora’s faux pas put the only dampers on the day for her, and she carried the faint sadness along on their honeymoon.
They’d decided that Cancun was the best place to go, because they both had a passion for archaeology, and some Mayan ruins were near the hotel they’d booked into. Now, as her memories came back to haunt her, she wished again that she’d waited just a little longer, that she hadn’t let Harden coax her into marriage so quickly.
What was done was done, though, and she had to make the best of it.
Harden had watched the joy go out of Miranda at the wedding, and he guessed that it was because of Connal and Pepi’s baby. He almost groaned out loud. He should have carried her off and eloped, as he’d threatened. Now it was too late, and she was buried in the grief of the past. As if to emphasize the somber mood that had invaded what should have been a happy time, it began to pour rain.
CHAPTER 10
Miranda hesitated in the doorway of their hotel room. It really hadn’t occurred to her that they’d be given anything except a room with double beds. But there, dominating the room with its ocean view, was a huge king-size bed.
“We’re married,” Harden said curtly.
“Yes, of course.” She stood aside to let the bellboy bring the luggage in and waited while Harden tipped him and closed the door.
She walked out onto the balcony and looked out over the Gulf of Mexico, all too aware of Harden behind her. She remembered the night at the bridge, and the way he’d rushed to save her. Presumably her action—rather, what he perceived to be a suicide attempt—had brought back unbearable memories for him. Suicide was something he knew all too much about, because the love of his life had died that way. Was it all because of Anita? Was he reliving the affair in his mind, and substituting Miranda? Except this time there was no suicide, there was a marriage and a happy ending. She could have cried.
Harden misattributed her silent brooding to her own bitter memories, so he didn’t say anything. He stood beside her, letting the sea air ruffle his hair while he watched people on the beach and sea gulls making dives out of the sky.
He was still wearing the gray suit he’d been married in, and Miranda was wearing a dressy, oyster-colored suit of her own with a pale blue blouse. Her hair, in a chignon, was elegant and sleek. She looked much more like a businesswoman than a bride, a fact that struck Harden forcibly.
“Want to change?” he asked. “We could go swimming or just lay on the beach.”
“Yes,” she replied. Without looking at him, she opened her suitcase on its rack and drew out a conservative blue one-piece bathing suit and a simple white cover-up.
“I’ll change in the bathroom,” he said tersely, carrying his white trunks in there and closing the door firmly behind him.
It wasn’t, Miranda thought wistfully, the most idyllic start for a honeymoon. She couldn’t help remembering that Tim had been wild to get her into bed, though, and how unpleasant and embarrassing it had been for her, in broad daylight. Tim had been selfish and quick, and her memories of her wedding day were bitter.
Harden came back in just as she was gathering up her suntan lotion and dark glasses. In swimming trunks, he was everything Tim hadn’t been. She paused with her hand in her suitcase and just stared, taking in the powerful, hair-roughened length of his body, tapering from broad, bronzed shoulders down a heavily muscled chest and stomach to lean hips and long legs. A male model, she thought, should look half as good.
He lifted an eyebrow, trying not to look as self-conscious as that appraisal made him feel. Not that he minded the pure pleasure on her face as she studied him, but it was beginning to have a noticeable effect on his body.
He turned. “Ready to go?” He didn’t dare look too long at her in that clingy suit.
She picked u
p the sunglasses she’d been reaching for. “Yes. Should we take a towel?”
“They’ll have them on the beach. If they don’t, we’ll buy a couple in that drugstore next to the lobby.”
She followed him out to the beach. There was a buggy with fresh towels in it, being handed out to hotel patrons as they headed for the small palm umbrellas that dotted the white sand beach.
“The water is the most gorgeous color,” she sighed, stretching out on a convenient lounger with her towel under her.
“Part of the attraction,” he agreed. He stretched lazily and closed his eyes. “God, I’m tired. Are you?”
“Just a little. Of course, I’m just a young thing myself. Old people like you probably feel the—oh!”
She laughed as he tumbled her off the lounger onto the sand and pinned her there, his twinkling eyes just above her own. “Old, my foot,” he murmured. His gaze fell to her mouth and lingered.
“You can’t,” she whispered. “It’s a public beach.”
“Yes, I can,” he whispered back, and brought his mouth down over hers.
It was a long, sweet kiss. He drew back finally, his pale eyes quiet and curious on her relaxed face. “You were disturbed when we left the house. Did Theodora say something to you?”
She hesitated. Perhaps it would be as well to get it out into the open, she considered. “Harden,” she began, her eyes hesitant as they met his, “Theodora told me about Anita.”
His face froze. His eyes seemed to go blank. He lifted himself away from Miranda, and his expression gave away nothing of what he was feeling. Damn Theodora! Damn her for doing that to him, for stabbing him in the back! She had no right to drag up that tragedy on his wedding day. He’d spent years trying to forget; now Miranda was going to remind him of it and bring the anguish back.
He sat down on his lounger and lit a cigarette, leaning back to smoke it and watch the sea. “I suppose it’s just as well that you know,” he said finally. “But I won’t talk about it. You understand?”
“Shutting me out again, Harden?” she asked sadly. “Is our marriage going to be like that, each of us with locked rooms in our hearts where the other can’t come?”
“I won’t talk about Anita, or about Theodora,” he replied evenly. “Make what you like of it.” He put on his own sunglasses and closed his eyes, effectively cutting off any further efforts at conversation.
Miranda was shattered. She knew then that she’d made another bad marriage, another big mistake, but it was too late to do anything about it. Now she had to live with it.
*
They had a quiet supper in the hotel restaurant much later. Harden was quiet, so was she. Conversation had been held to a minimum ever since they’d been on the beach, and Miranda’s sad face was revealing her innermost thoughts.
When they got back to their room, Miranda turned and faced her husband with an expression that almost drove him to a furious outburst. It was so filled with bitter resignation, with determination to perform her wifely duties with stoic courage, that he could have turned the air blue.
“I want a drink,” he said icily. “By the time I get back, you should be asleep and safe from any lecherous intentions I might have left. Good night, Mrs. Tremayne,” he added contemptuously.
Miranda glared at him. “Thank you for a perfect day,” she replied with equal contempt. “If I ever had any doubts about making our marriage work, you’ve sure set them to rest.”
His eyes narrowed and glittered. “Is that a subtle hint that you want me, after all? In that case, let me oblige you.”
He moved forward and picked her up unexpectedly, tossing her into the center of the huge bed. He followed her down, covering her with his own body, and unerringly finding her soft mouth with his own.
But she was too hurt to respond, too afraid of what he meant to do. It was like Tim…
She said Tim’s name with real fear and Harden’s head jerked up, his eyes glazing.
“You’re just like him, really aren’t you?” she choked, her eyes filled with bitter tears. “What you want, when you want it, always your way, no matter what the cost to anyone else.”
He scowled. She looked so wounded, so alone. He reached down and touched her face, lightly, tracing the hot tears.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said hesitantly. “Not that way.”
“Go ahead, if you want to,” she said tiredly, closing her eyes. “I don’t care. I know better than to expect love from a man who can’t forgive his mother a twelve-year-old tragedy or even the circumstances of his birth. Your mother must have loved your father very much to have risked the shame and humiliation of being pregnant with another man’s child at the same time she was married to your stepfather.” She opened her eyes, staring up at him. “But you don’t know how to love, do you, Harden? Not anymore. All you knew of love is buried with your Anita. There’s nothing left in here.” She put her hand against his broad chest, where his heart was beating hard and raggedly. “Nothing at all. Only hate.”
He jerked back from her hand and got to his feet, glaring down at her.
“Why did you marry me?” she asked sadly, sitting up to stare at him. “Was it pity, or just desire?”
He couldn’t answer her. In the beginning, it had been pity. Desire came quickly after that, until she obsessed him. But since she’d been at the ranch, he’d had other feelings, feelings he’d never experienced even with Anita. His hand went to his chest where she’d touched it, absently rubbing the place her hand had rested, as if he could feel the warm imprint.
“You love me, don’t you?” he asked unexpectedly.
She flushed, averting her eyes. “Think what you like.”
He didn’t know what to say, what to do, anymore. It had all seemed so simple. They’d get married and he’d make love to her whenever he liked, and they’d have children. Now it was much more complicated. He remembered the day she’d gone riding, and how black his world had gone until she’d come back. He remembered the terror, the sick fear, and suddenly he knew why. Knew everything.
“Listen,” he began quietly. “This has all gone wrong. I think it might be a good idea—”
“If we break it off now?” she concluded mistakenly, her gray eyes staring bravely into his. “Yes, I think you’re right. Neither of us is really ready for this kind of commitment yet. You were right when you said it was too soon.”
“It isn’t that,” he said heavily. “And we can’t get a divorce on our wedding day.”
She gnawed her lower lip. “No. I guess not.”
“We’ll stay for a couple of days, at least. When we’re home…we’ll make decisions.” He turned, picked up his clothes, and went into the bathroom to dress.
She changed quickly into a simple long cotton gown and got under the covers. She closed her eyes, but she needn’t have bothered, because he didn’t even look at her as he went out the door.
*
The rest of their stay in Cancun went by quickly, with the two of them being polite to each other and not much more. They went on a day trip to the ruins at Chichen Itza, wandering around the sprawling Maya ruins with scores of other tourists. The ruins covered four miles, with their widely spread buildings proving that it was a cult center and not just a conventional city. A huge plaza opened out to various religious buildings. The Mayan farmers would journey there for the year’s great religious festivals; archaeologists also assumed that markets and council meetings drew the citizens to Chichen Itza.
The two most interesting aspects of the ancient city to Miranda were the observatory and the Sacred Cenote—or sacrificial well.
She stood at its edge and looked down past the underbrush into the murky water and shivered. It was nothing like the mental picture she had, of some small well-like structure. It was a cavernous opening that led down, down into the water, where over a period of many years, an estimated one hundred human beings were sacrificed to appease the gods in time of drought. The pool covered almost an acre, and it was sixty-fi
ve feet from its tree-lined edge down limestone cliffs to the water below.
“It gives me the screaming willies,” a man beside Miranda remarked. “Imagine all those thousands of virgins being pushed off the cliff into that yucky water. Sacrificing people because of religion. Is that primitive, or what?”
“Ever hear of the Christians and the lions?” Harden drawled.
The man gave him a look and disappeared into the crowd.
If things had been less strained, Miranda might have corrected that assumption about the numbers, and sex, of the sacrificed Mayans and reminded the tourist that fact and fiction blended in this ancient place. But Harden had inhibited her too much. Sharing her long-standing education in the past of Chichen Itza probably wouldn’t have endeared her to the tourist, either. Historical fact had been submerged in favor of Hollywood fiction in so many of the world’s places of interest.
Miranda wandered back onto the grassy plaza and stared at the observatory. She knew that despite their infrequent sacrificial urges, the Maya were an intelligent people who had an advanced concept of astronomy and mathematics, and a library that covered the entire history of Maya. Sadly Spanish missionaries in 1545 burned the books that contained the Maya history. Only three survived to the present day.
Miranda wandered back to the bus. It was a sobering experience to look at the ruins and consider that in 500 B.C. this was a thriving city, where people lived and worshiped and probably never considered that their civilization would ever end. Just like us, she thought philosophically, and shivered. Just like my marriages, both in ruins, both like Chichen Itza.
She was somber back to the hotel, and for the rest of their stay in Cancun. She did things mechanically, and without any real enjoyment. Not that Harden was any more jovial than she was. Probably, she considered, he’d decided that there wasn’t much to salvage from their brief relationship. And maybe it was just as well.
When they got back to Jacobsville, Theodora insisted that they stay with her until their own home was ready for occupancy—a matter of barely a week. Neither of them had the heart to announce that their honeymoon had resulted in a coming divorce.