Freefall

by RaeAnne Thayne

  The thought of him sent nerves scrambling through her and she paused in the middle of changing film. She closed her eyes. Tom. What was she going to do about Tom?

  All week long—as she'd gone about the business of taking the children to school and reading to William and letting her contacts in New York know her new address—she had been unable to think about anything but his crazy proposal.

  Marriage. How could she marry him? She wanted the man she married to love her and trust her completely. Tom had told her he had feelings for her a decade ago but what about his feelings now? She knew he desired her but she'd seen enough of Sharon's relationships based on little more than sex to know they wouldn't last long.

  Could Tom ever forgive her for leaving, enough that he would let himself love her?

  He didn't trust her. She knew it—and how could she blame him for that? She had hurt him by leaving and he was not the sort of man to let someone have the chance to kick him twice. She was sure he would be doubly careful to protect his feelings around her, given their past.

  Again, she couldn't really blame him but she also didn't know how they could possibly build a marriage under those circumstances. Not when she accepted that she already loved him and would be destined for heartache, spending the rest of her life pining for the love of a man who couldn't return her feelings.

  But he was right; they couldn't continue with this awkward arrangement. They would have to figure out something soon but she was afraid she was no closer to knowing what that might be than she had been days ago.

  She finished loading the camera and snapped the film cover back into place. Just as she leaned down to change lenses so she could frame a close-up of Zach and Zoe together, she heard footsteps clattering down the wooden stairs leading from the house.

  Her heart stuttered and she turned her head, already knowing whom she would find there. She wasn't at all surprised to see Tom hurrying down the stairs toward them, looking confident and athletic and gorgeous in the waning light.

  He must have changed after returning from Canfield—instead of the elegant charcoal business suit and burgundy tie he had been wearing when he left the house early that morning, he wore faded jeans and a soft cream fisherman's sweater.

  She had to admit she found the contrast between the light sweater and his dark hair and the five-o'-clock whisker growth shadowing his features as sexy as the business suit had been.

  He carried a basket, she noticed, and a blanket over one arm, just as he had the night they had come down here together a decade ago. Her stomach began a long, slow roll at the memory and she could focus on nothing but him and his outrageous proposal.

  She straightened from her camera as he reached the bottom of the steps and fought the urge to press a hand to that stomach as he walked across the sand toward her.

  "Mrs. Cope thought the troops might be starting to suffer hunger pangs. She sent me down with dinner," he said.

  "The tide is starting to come in again. I think the fun down here is just about over."

  "I guess I missed it all."

  "If you hurry, you might still have time to explore a tidepool or two." She smiled. "I'm fairly certain the children will be willing to share their expert guide with you."

  He paused from setting the blanket and basket on a fallen log behind her to glance at the figures huddled over some rocks several dozen yards away. Surprise flickered in his silvery eyes when he realized what she meant. "Dad's the expert guide?"

  "He's been amazing! You should see him, Tom. He seems to know every kind of marine life down here."

  The quick surprise on those masculine features settled into pensive lines. "I guess I shouldn't find that so astonishing. Dad loved the ocean. Studying it was one of the few hobbies I remember him having besides golfing at Pebble Beach and Spyglass. I suppose some of that knowledge has managed to stay with him, despite his disease."

  "I think it's wonderful. The children are fascinated by this side of their grandfather."

  He settled on the log next to the blanket, stretching out his long legs. "I should have thought to bring them all down to the beach together before now."

  He was quiet for a moment, then he laughed a little. "I'd forgotten this but he used to bring Peter and me down on the weekends to see how many kinds of sea creatures we could each document in an hour. It was always a pretty intense competition."

  "You didn't like to lose?"

  He shrugged. "I didn't really care. To me, the reward was just being outside, spending time with Dad. He was a busy man when we were growing up and we didn't see much of him, so those Sunday mornings together meant a lot."

  The laughter in his eyes faded. "Pete took it all fairly seriously, though. He played to win, whatever he did. If he wanted something, he wouldn't let too many things stand in his way."

  She certainly knew that all too well. She shivered, remembering groping hands and scotch-scented breath against her ear.

  Thomas noted her shiver but couldn't know the reason for it, of course. "It's getting chilly. Here, take this."

  With a concern that nearly made her cry, he wrapped the blanket he'd brought from the house over her shoulders. She let him, aware she couldn't tell him she wasn't really cold, just walking a particularly grim route down memory lane.

  "Thank you," she murmured.

  He made room for her on the log and they sat in a companionable silence for a while, listening to the waves slap against the rocks and the children's low voices.

  She decided not to disturb the peace of the moment by words, not when she could almost see the tension seep from his shoulders as the sun finally disappeared below the horizon.

  "I needed this," he murmured. "Just to sit for a while beneath the sky."

  "Rough day?"

  He opened one eye. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." He paused and she was sorry she had asked when some of the tension returned. "Agents Herrera and Washburn came to visit me again today. They might have a suspect in Walter Marlowe's death."

  "That's good news, isn't it?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not. The man in custody might have had some business dealings with Peter."

  "What kind of business?"

  "There's the rub. We can't find any sign of the man in any of the files. So whatever connection he had with Peter, it either wasn't related to Canfield or wasn't anything official."

  "Are you worried Peter was in some kind of trouble?"

  "To be honest with you, I don't know what to think. Things are a mess at Canfield. Shoddy bookkeeping, inaccurate records. Missing escrow funds. Things were a hell of a lot easier in my life when all I had to worry about was my next mission."

  "I'm sorry."

  He gave her a rueful smile. "Yeah, me too." He gestured toward her camera and tripod. "How about you? I see you lugged your equipment down that long flight of stairs."

  "I'm just trying to stay in practice. I haven't touched a camera in a week and my fingers were starting to itch. Your father and the children make good subjects."

  "I'm sure they'll be happy to be your subjects anytime you need to burn a few rolls of film."

  "Actually, that's something I wanted to discuss with you. I need to return to New York."

  She was surprised to see what looked like resignation in his eyes, but maybe that was only a trick of the fading light.

  "When?" he asked, his voice flat.

  "I don't know. We can talk about it."

  He gazed out at a small group of sea otters nearly hidden in strands of kelp a hundred yards from shore. "The board is meeting next week to pick Pete's replacement, which should take a lot of the pressure off me. After that, I should have far more time to spend with the children. Do you think you can wait a while before leaving?"

  "Of course. Or I have a better idea. New York is magical during the holidays. If you think you could get away, I can put my trip off another week or so and all of us could go in early December for a long weekend. I think the diversion would be good for everyone. You could take them
Christmas shopping and sightseeing while I clear out my apartment and take care of some business with a few of my editors. I only need a few days, just long enough to arrange for my things to be shipped here and to get out of my apartment lease. I've got friends who would do it for me but I'm not sure I'd trust years' worth of slides to someone else."

  He tilted his head and narrowed his gaze at her, clearly surprised at the idea. It took her a few beats to realize why—he must have thought she planned to leave for good.

  Hurt washed over her like the sea cresting the rocks. If she needed any evidence that he still didn't trust her, he had just handed her plenty. Would he ever trust her? she wondered. Or would he always be waiting for her to leave?

  "You thought I planned to head off to New York and not come back, didn't you?" she asked quietly.

  "I'll admit, the thought crossed my mind," he finally admitted.

  "I'm not going anywhere, Tom. I don't know what I can do to convince you of that."

  "Marry me."

  She drew in a shaky breath, not at all sure she wanted to get into this again with him.

  "I haven't pushed you." As he spoke, he focused on the water and the distant otters again. "I promised myself I would give you all the time you need to consider it. But I wanted you to know I haven't changed my mind, even though we haven't talked about it again. I still think it would be the best thing for everyone."

  She thought of all the reasons why they shouldn't marry, why she would only be setting herself up for heartbreak like the hundreds of times she had seen her mother go after the wrong man.

  But Tom wasn't the wrong man for her. He was exactly right, if only they could move beyond the past and be willing to work together to build a future for the children.

  She shifted her gaze to Ali and the twins, then to William. They were her family now. All of them. She couldn't imagine being happy somewhere else, without them in her life.

  And especially without Tom. The thought left her chilled, despite the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  She drew a deep breath, her stomach hollow, trembling, feeling as if she was poised on the edge of one of those jagged rocks, ready to dive into the surf. "I…okay."

  He jerked his gaze to her in the fading light, his jaw sagging. "Okay? Okay what?"

  She couldn't believe she had actually agreed, that the word had actually spilled out, but she knew she couldn't yank it back now.

  "Okay, I'll marry you." She said the words quickly, afraid if she didn't, she would change her mind, would surrender to all her instincts that shouted at her to grab her camera gear and escape from those silvery eyes and those broad shoulders and the devastating pain she feared waited for her if they went through with this.

  "You're right," she went on, staunchly ignoring those instincts. "The children need stability. Zoe's still having nightmares nearly every night and Ali cried for twenty minutes when she came home from school today and wouldn't tell me why. They try to hide it but they're frightened about the future. We need to do everything we can to give them a safe, solid home, even if it requires sacrifices from both of us."

  He gave a harsh-sounding laugh. "Not a very flattering assessment of how you view marriage to me."

  She turned toward the children and William so Tom wouldn't be able to see the yearning in her eyes, all the emotion she would have to be so careful to conceal from him.

  "This isn't a love match. We both know that. It's a pragmatic solution to a sticky custody dilemma, that's all. That said, I think it's the most sensible thing we can do."

  Tom fought the urge to shake her until she stopped talking about sensibility, pragmatism. He didn't want to hear that from her. He wanted her to be thrilled at the idea of marrying him—to fling herself into his arms and give him the answer to his proposal with passionate kisses and words of undying love.

  He was so pathetic.

  Head over heels in love with a woman who viewed marriage to him as nothing more than a down-to-earth answer to a difficult situation.

  "When?" he asked.

  Her shrug lifted the blanket he had tucked around her shoulders. "I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. As soon as we can arrange it, I suppose."

  "How about next Friday? A week from today? That should give us time to work out all the details."

  He thought he saw panic flicker in her green eyes briefly but it disappeared so quickly he couldn't be sure. "Next week would be fine," she said after a moment. "And perhaps we can go to New York the following weekend to tie up all my loose ends."

  He agreed and they spent a few more moments discussing details that needed to be decided. The entire time they talked, he was aware of a curious sense of detachment, disillusionment.

  He should be thrilled she'd agreed. It would solve many of their problems, make life much easier all the way around. The whole thing had been his idea, after all, and he had spent a week convincing himself it would work out.

  So why did it leave him feeling so cold?

  Chapter 15

  Her wedding day dawned stormy and cheerless.

  Half-dressed, her stomach a bundle of knots, Sophie stood at the window of her room gazing down at the churning gray sea far below. The weather matched her mood, she had to admit.

  She felt as restless and wild as that white-capped ocean, as dark and grim as the sky full of clouds.

  She couldn't stop thinking she was about to make a grave mistake, the biggest of her life. What was she doing, binding herself to man who didn't love her and couldn't trust her?

  How much more joyful this day would be under different circumstances, if Tom wanted to marry her out of love, because he couldn't live without her, instead of because of their shared obligation to the three children they both loved.

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. No use dreaming of the impossible. She had made her choice and now she must live with it, no matter what sort of heartache awaited her.

  Still, she couldn't seem to force her muscles to move from the window and the tumultuous view below. She had never been paralyzed by nerves before—not even the time she'd been cornered by an old, wounded lion in the Serengetti—but she was still standing there with her fingers pressed against the cold glass of the window twenty minutes later when Alison and Zoe burst into the room.

  "You're not ready, Aunt Sophie," Ali exclaimed. "Mrs. Cope sent us to tell you the limousines are here to take us to the courthouse. Zach and Uncle Tommy are leaving now. You have to hurry!"

  She gazed at the girls in their matching lavender tulle dresses, their hair elaborately piled high on their heads and their sweet faces glowing with excitement.

  Sophie had wanted a small, quiet ceremony, just her and Tom with none of the typical wedding accouterments. But after they told the children about the wedding, Ali and Zoe immediately threw themselves into making plans—helped along in large part by two devious helpers, Maura and Mrs. Cope.

  Unable to figure out a way to break free without hurting everyone, she had been carried along on the tide of their excitement. So now she had two beautiful bridesmaids, a bouquet and a far more traditional wedding than she'd ever expected.

  "You have to huwwy, Aunt Sophie," Zoe repeated her sister's exclamation.

  This was for them, she reminded herself. Her nerves didn't matter, not if this marriage would help the children ease into a new life without their parents.

  "You're right." She reached for the dress the girls helped her settle on after three days of shopping, a creamy, softly romantic creation with seed pearl buttons and an empire waist they had found in a boutique in Capitola. She pulled it over her head and the material fell in soft folds to midcalf.

  "Here. Help me with the zipper, will you?"

  Her little bridesmaids were quick to step forward. With solemn expressions that made her smile despite her nerves, Ali worked the zipper while Zoe went to work straightening the lines of the dress.

  When they were finished, Sophie gazed at herself in the full-length antiqu
e mirror near the fireplace. She didn't recognize the pale stranger staring back at her with the elegantly coifed hair and the fine-boned features and the eyes that looked far too big for her face.

  "You look beautiful, Aunt Sophie," Ali declared.

  "As pretty as Mommy," Zoe added.

  Ah, Shelly. A deep sense of loss settled in her chest. If she had ever bothered to dream about her wedding day, she would have pictured Shelly right there, fussing over her. Fixing her hair, whispering advice, crying over every little thing, as Shelly often did.

  She never would have dreamed she would be getting married without her sister there to help her through it or that Shelly's death would be the impetus behind the whole thing.

  Her sister's children needed a stable home, a family, and she would do her best to give them that. No matter the cost.

  With another deep breath, she pasted on a smile for the girls and reached for their hands.

  "Let's go have a wedding," she murmured.

  * * *

  Despite her resolve, the trip to the courthouse had a hazy, unrealistic feel to it, as if she watched everything around her through a Vaseline-blurred star filter.

  The girls chattered animatedly through the entire drive. She tried to focus on them but couldn't seem to concentrate on much of anything but the nerves in her stomach. Before she knew it, the limo pulled up in front of the historic Monterey courthouse, where they were greeted by an eager law clerk the moment the driver opened the door.

  "This way. They're waiting for you." The fresh-faced young woman seemed to be bubbling with as much excitement as the girls. "We're all so thrilled about this. Judge Philips doesn't have the chance to perform many weddings."

  The judge was a friend of William's. Since neither she nor Thomas felt right about a church wedding under the circumstances, they had agreed a courthouse ceremony would be best, despite the nudging of Maura and Mrs. Cope.

  By the time the clerk led them through an echoing marble hallway to a door identified as Judge Coleman Philips's chambers, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point and she was horribly aware her hands were perspiring as she clutched the little bouquet she and the girls had picked that morning from the Seal Point gardens.