by Eileen Wilks
That would change, he told himself as he stepped inside.
The house was quiet, and he hadn't seen Duncan's car out front. He wondered if Charlie was home, and if he'd have to apologize. Probably, he thought, heaving a sigh at the unpleasant duty. He'd been pretty mad earlier, said some things he shouldn't have.
Not that Charlie hadn't had it coming. What was wrong with the boy? Duncan might be going through a rough patch, but he hadn't turned into someone else entirely. Maybe Charlie had caught Duncan looking at Gwen a time or two. So what? Looking didn't hurt anything, and Duncan wasn't dead. Gwen was a pleasure to look at.
Delicious smells drifted through the house, grabbing Ben's attention before he had time to talk himself back into a good mad. He smiled as he reached the kitchen. This was just about perfect – coming home to family, to the homey smell of food he hadn't cooked. Fantasies stirred at the back of his mind.
"Something smells great," he said. The table was set, he noted with pleasure. Napkins, plates, glasses, even a pitcher of tea made and waiting. Two of the places already had steaming bowls of soup.
"Vegetable soup," Gwen announced. She stood at the stove filling a third bowl, her back to him. She was wearing jeans, and he gave their fit an appreciative glance. "You'll probably want a sandwich with yours. There's some leftover roast in the refrigerator."
Ben knew a hint when he heard one. He sighed as the soap bubble of one fantasy burst, but the savory smell of homemade soup reconciled him to fixing his own sandwich. "Where's Zach?" he asked, opening the refrigerator.
"With luck, he's washing up." She turned, holding a brimming bowl.
There was a heaviness about her eyes, a hint of shadows underneath. Panic and guilt touched him – one lightly enough for him to ignore, the other more heavily. After all she'd been through, she didn't need a man who sat around expecting to be waited on. She needed someone to take care of her. "Sit down," he said gruffly. "You like mustard with roast beef, right?"
"Thanks, but I don't want a sandwich. The soup will be plenty." She did sit, though.
He considered pointing out the obvious – she was too thin and needed to build up her strength. Long experience told him that would be a mistake. People never liked being told the obvious. He'd make her a sandwich and maybe she'd eat some of it, he decided, slicing into the roast. "Have you seen Charlie?"
"I think he and Duncan went somewhere."
"Didn't they tell you?"
"They were gone when I got up." Her smile flickered. "I was lazy today. I went back to bed after you and Zach left."
Was she coming down with a bug? He studied her face as he brought their sandwiches to the table. She didn't look rested. The faint flutter of panic was stronger this time. "You feeling okay?"
"I'm fine. I didn't sleep well last night, that's all, so I took advantage of the fact that you were taking Zach to the site to get caught up. Ben, I told you I didn't want a sandwich."
Ben ignored that and set her plate beside the one that held her bowl of soup. He couldn't ignore the little nips fear was taking out of him. "There's a lot I don't know, a lot I still need to learn about you, but you aren't lazy. If there's something I should be aware of, something about your condition, I mean—"
"I'm all washed! See?" Zach sped into the room at warp speed, flashed his hands in the air, then launched himself into the chair beside Ben. "You shoulda seen this Pat-a-piller, Mom. It dug up humongous piles of dirt and it growled real loud. Like this." He demonstrated.
Obviously he couldn't bring up Gwen's cancer in front of their son. Ben abandoned the subject, secretly relieved. Later, he promised himself. He'd bring it up later, make sure she was okay. Not now. Not when there was such pleasure in sharing a meal with her and Zach.
She was a good mother. A great mother. He watched her smile at Zach and encourage him to eat some soup in between growls. Funny how he'd forgotten how pretty she was, he thought as he nudged her sandwich closer to her while she wasn't looking. So maybe she was too skinny. What there was of her was shaped just fine.
This was the first time he'd seen her in jeans. They were dark blue and probably new, which made her look like one of the tourists that descended on Highpoint during skiing season, but they did great things for her trim little bottom. Her top was bright green, long-sleeved and ended at her waist. It was made from some kind of stretchy stuff that snuggled up to her breasts without being too tight. In fact, it fit so comfortably it seemed to breathe right along with her. Ben was enjoying watching her breathe when she said something about who was fixing supper.
Maybe it was the remembered echo of Charlie's words. Maybe it was his appreciation of the way those jeans fit her. Whatever the reason, he saw his chance and took it. "We missed out on our date last night," he said casually, reaching for the pitcher to refill his glass. "How about we let my lazy brothers fend for themselves tonight and go out? We can grab something to eat, go to a show."
She looked down at her lap, smoothing the napkin she'd put there. "Sure," she said after a second's pause. "That would be great."
It wasn't the kind of enthusiasm he'd like, but it was a start. "What would you like to eat? Chinese, maybe?" She seemed to enjoy that sort of thing.
"I want a cheeseburger," Zach announced.
"You'll have to ask your uncles about that," Gwen said. "If they agree, they'll be in charge of you and dinner."
Zach's face fell into a scowl. "I want to go, too."
"Not this time. Here, wipe some of that temper off your face along with the soup." She handed him his napkin.
The stormy look on Zach's face said he wasn't finished arguing. Ben frowned. It was only natural for the boy to resist sharing his mother, but he hadn't seemed jealous before.
Of course, he hadn't had much reason. They'd done everything together until now. "Not this time," he echoed Gwen firmly. "We'll be going to one of those places with cloth napkins where you'd have to sit still and mind your manners. Then we'll go to a grown-up movie."
"With kissing?" Zach looked disgusted.
"Probably."
He sighed heavily. "Gross. Can I rent a movie, Mom?"
She agreed, and they discussed what he wanted to watch. And sure enough, while she was talking to Zach, she picked up the sandwich he'd fixed her and absently took a bite. Satisfied, he reached for the pepper. The soup was good, but a little bland. No meat. He could be flexible, though. If she was crazy about vegetables, he'd eat them.
That made him think about her family being "in produce," and the soup lost its savor. He hadn't come up with a solution for that problem yet. Maybe he should talk to a lawyer about a prenuptial agreement – though that wasn't much of a solution. The money would still be there.
He'd work it out, he promised himself, one way or another. First things first. She wasn't noticing him yet, not the way he needed her to, but tonight should change that.
* * *
"It was a tie," Charlie insisted.
Duncan glanced at his brother. Charlie's sweatshirt was wet across the chest and under the arms. He was still breathing hard. "Tie? Where the hell do you get tie? I was ahead two games."
"The last game was a tie. Up till then I was taking it easy on you."
Duncan snorted. Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. He felt good – loose, relaxed. More like himself than he had in a long time. Somewhere between the first and second game of one-on-one, a few things had fallen into place. "Tell me one I'll believe. You, little brother, are out of shape."
"Yeah," Charlie said sadly. "There was a time when you couldn't have snuck in that last basket on me."
"Hard to stay fit when you're behind a wheel all day, every day." He turned off on Oak. Almost home, he thought. Gwen would be there.
His heartbeat sped up. He ignored it. That was what he had to do for another four days, all he was going to do. Duncan had his share of flaws, but he was hell on wheels when it came to setting and meeting goals. He could ignore what he felt for that long. Then she'd
be gone.
If that made him feel hollow, he could ignore that, too.
"How's the arm?" Charlie asked.
"Good." Duncan flexed it experimentally. It hardly ached at all. "Thanks for the game."
"Next time I won't hold myself back," Charlie said smugly, reaching for the door.
Duncan snorted. "If you want to be punched, try something I might believe." He ducked the lazy swing Charlie aimed his way and was grinning as he stepped inside.
Zach's voice, high and excited, came from the living room. "I bumped you! Look, Mom, your car has to go back to start 'cause I bumped you!"
Duncan's grin widened. Sounded like another McClain male was enjoying the thrill of competition.
He heard Gwen murmur something, then as he reached the doorway, Zach again, highly indignant. "Hey! You bumped me!"
Gwen and her son sat on the floor with an old board game between them. Her back was to Duncan. Sunlight washed it, making her short, pale hair glow almost molten. "That's right. Now you go back to start."
Zach's face puckered up in a scowl so familiar, however condensed on that smaller, rounder face, that Duncan's throat closed up.
"Sounds like a cutthroat game," Charlie said from behind him. "Just my kind."
"Hi, Unca Duncan! Hi, Unca Charlie! I'm winning!"
Gwen looked over her shoulder, smiling. "Want to join us?" Her gaze snagged on Duncan's for a second – and quickly skipped past him to Charlie.
His heart hitched in his chest. Four more days…
"Mom, they'll never catch up. You guys can play with me after supper," Zach told them generously. "You're gonna be in charge of me then. I want a cheeseburger."
"If that's okay," Gwen said quickly, picking up the dice. "Ben was supposed to ask, but he had an errand to run."
"Sure," Charlie said easily. "You and Ben going out?"
She nodded, her attention on the dice in her hand.
If she left without getting herself committed to his brother, he could go after her. He'd given Ben his chance, hadn't he? He'd held back, let Ben do his best to win her – hell, he was going to watch their kid tonight so they could be together. Surely that was enough nobility for any man.
"Mom, it's my turn."
"Oh – yes, so it is." She handed Zach the dice. She didn't look up.
He couldn't go in there. His feet wouldn't move. "I'm going to wash off some of the sweat Michael Jordan, here, forced me to work up." Charlie slapped him on the arm and headed for the stairs.
On his injured arm. It hurt. It also jarred him into speech. Had Charlie done it on purpose? "Cheeseburgers for supper sounds good. I'd better go wash up, too."
That had come out okay, he thought. He started for the stairs. His foot was on the first step and Charlie was halfway up when he heard Zach's voice again.
"Mom, are you gonna marry my dad?"
Duncan froze.
"What in the … where did you get that idea?"
"From my dad. He told Mr. Hampton at the site maybe you would."
"Your dad has been jumping to some big conclusions," she said grimly.
"I like it here. I want to stay. If you an' my dad gets married, we'd stay here all the time."
Duncan forced himself to start moving. His heart was beating harder than it had in the middle of the fast and furious third game of two-man basketball.
God. Had he been patting himself on the back for deciding to wait four whole days? What an ass he was. What a selfish ass. If there was a chance that boy could have his parents together, Duncan had no business messing with it. Even if it meant waiting four months or four goddamned years. Even if it meant never.
* * *
Highpoint had more restaurants than Gwen had expected in such a small town. Skiing meant tourists, and tourists meant shops, cafés and restaurants, bed-and-breakfast inns, two nice hotels and a posh resort just outside town.
The movie theater was old but had been recently renovated, with comfortable seats. She and Ben went to an early showing of a new Kevin Costner film, then to a little Italian place with red tablecloths and a pesto that rivaled any she'd had anywhere.
He'd held her hand at the movie. His hands were what she remembered best about him – big and gentle. She'd felt cared for, protected … and a little restless. She kept having to shut out the memory of another man's hands.
Gwen hadn't wanted Ben to put his hands anywhere else. And he hadn't.
But then, Ben wasn't a grabber. Gwen wasn't normally a fan of the "good old days," but Ben possessed an old – fashioned courtliness she couldn't help but be charmed by. It was more than just holding doors or consulting her on where they would eat. When Ben took a woman out, he gave her comfort and enjoyment his complete attention.
And that, she found, was both appealing and distressing. What woman wouldn't enjoy being the focus of such solicitous masculine attention? Yet it felt impersonal, a tribute to her gender rather than herself. He would have devoted himself to the comfort of whatever woman he was with because he considered that the right thing to do.
Between the salad and the pasta courses a thought flew into her head: living with someone who always did what was right might just drive her crazy.
She escaped to the ladies' room. It was, happily, empty.
Idiot, she told herself as she fluffed her hair with her fingers. Would she rather have a man who didn't do what was right?
None of this had bothered her five years ago. Had his courtesy been just as generic then as it was tonight? She sought the memories she'd repressed for so long and couldn't be sure, but something else did become clear. Five years ago she wouldn't have cared if his attention was truly personal or not. She'd needed exactly what he offered – the care, the sense of safety, the certainty that nothing would happen she didn't want.
Five years ago that had made her want him. Tonight it didn't.
Was sex so important?
She bit her lip. She was afraid that, for her, it probably was. But it was juvenile to think that passion had to strike like a bolt out of the blue. Surely it could grow out of friendship.
She and Ben could be friends, she thought, digging through her slim black evening bag for her lipstick. Couldn't a marriage be based on liking, and couldn't liking grow into love over time?
The memory of another man's touch drifted over her… Duncan's hands, closing around hers when he took the paper towel from her and told her she'd done enough. She shivered.
Dammit, she was with Ben tonight, and he deserved better. She ran the lipstick over her mouth quickly and shoved it back in her purse.
Maybe he deserved better than she could give him.
Earlier they'd talked about his parents. His father had been a wanderer, just as Mrs. Bradshaw had said, an archaeologist who was out of the country more than he was home. Ben's mother had gone with her husband whenever possible. His parents' passion for other places had eventually robbed their children of them permanently. They'd been killed on a dig in Egypt when their car rolled over.
Ben had taken over their roles. At an age when most young men were kicking up their heels, dabbling in adulthood without really committing to it, he'd assumed responsibility for three younger siblings. And she wondered if he'd been doing that all along in some ways, if all his life he'd been the one others depended on.
And that, she thought sadly, was what had drawn her to him five years ago. In the wake of her father's death she'd wanted – needed – a man she could depend on. Those lean-on-me vibes he gave off like a stove radiates heat had been irresistible.
Now they felt smothering.
Gwen gave the skirt of her little black dress an impatient twitch, making sure it was settled properly over her hips. She was overreacting. Ben was protective and a bit bossy, but he was no tyrant. After a last check in the mirror, she marched out of the ladies' room.
Ben stood and held her chair for her when she rejoined him. She wanted to tell him she was capable of seating herself without assistance. Still overr
eacting, she thought, and smiled and thanked him.
"I ordered coffee and tiramisu," he said. "It should be here soon."
"But I said I didn't want dessert."
He smiled. "Wait till you taste it. They do great tiramisu here."
The waiter arrived before she could snap at him. The dessert was delicious, but she was full. She put her fork down after a single bite and picked up her coffee cup. "It must have been difficult to put your own life on hold to take care of your brothers and sister." He'd intended to be an architect, he'd said. He'd been working summers at a construction firm while he went to college.
He shrugged. "It was hard on all of us. Hit Annie the hardest in some ways – she did go on to be a teacher, which was what she'd always wanted, but she sort of tethered herself to Highpoint. Wouldn't go far from it."
"But she's in Sri Lanka now."
"Jack persuaded her to look at things differently."
Jack was her husband. They'd married a little over a year ago. "What about Charlie?" And Duncan. Only she couldn't bring herself to ask about him.
He grinned. "Charlie did stop talking about being a country-and-western star, but I kind of think he would have given up on that, anyway. He can't carry a tune with a shovel." His grin faded. "He stopped talking about college, too. Just like Duncan. Neither of them would even consider it, no matter how much I tried to talk some sense into them. I've wondered…"
"What?"
"Maybe it was because of me." Ben had that heavy, brooding look again. "I didn't think about it at the time, but maybe they were worried about being a burden. They both jumped from high school straight into jobs – Charlie took a course in truck driving and Duncan went into basic. And look how well that worked out. Charlie wants to take off and find himself, and Duncan got shot up."
"You can't blame yourself for that," she exclaimed, laying her hand over his. "They made their own choices."
"I should have seen what they were doing, found some way to make it clear they weren't any kind of burden." He turned his hand over to clasp hers. "I didn't take you out so we could talk about family history, Gwen."