A Lasting Love

by Mary Tate Engels

  "In some of these cases I'm all they have. Their last resort." Loren sighed and lowered her voice. "Look, Mark, I'm not going to stand here on my doorstep, defending my job. Nor will I argue women's rights tonight."

  Ruefully he backed down. "Sorry, darling. You know I'm as strong an advocate of women's rights as anyone. It's just that I see you working too hard on these causes. And I wanted you all to myself this weekend. I'm disappointed."

  She touched his cheek. "I'm sorry, Mark. Not tonight. Please—"

  He shrugged. "Okay, Loren. I won't press. But I'll see you tomorrow." He kissed her cold, unresponsive lips, murmuring, "Goodnight, my love."

  She waved as his car rumbled away over the cobblestones.

  Loren walked slowly into her small home, lit only by the stained glass Tiffany lamp. She stared numbly, not bothering to turn on another light. The house was cool, but she didn't even think to turn up the thermostat. She just sat on the sofa, hugging the heavy granny-square afghan around her. She felt excited and scared, sensitive and paralyzed, all at once.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his new image, his old memory. But the bold, dark vision loomed in her mind, and Loren saw his profile close and felt his breath on her face and heard his low mumbling of her name. Reid looked older, more mature, with a little gray mingled with the dark hair at his temples. Well, he must be about thirty-four or five now. The lines beside his cheeks were deeper etched, and she wondered about the dimple that hid in his left cheek. He was still lean and wore his jacket as though he were on the verge of discarding it. Still, he cut a hot, handsome figure. He even had that western swagger to his step. And now, a crazy mustache added character to his already interesting face.

  A car traveled the rough cobblestone street, passing by her house. What if he had forgotten where she lived?

  Where they had made love? No, that wouldn't happen. What if... he didn't come? After all this mental anguish, what if he didn't show up? Just like six years ago, when he left and didn't return.

  Sinking back into the depths of the sofa, her head lolling back, Loren resigned herself to the idea. She could make it without him. After all, she had managed adequately for years. But, so far, she hadn't seen him again . . . hadn't looked into those deep, dark eyes. Loren thought she couldn't stand the idea of Reid being in Washington and not seeing her. How many times he had been there and not bothered to look her up?

  There was a sound of soft feet, then a familiar purring, as Angel, her white Persian, hopped into her lap. Loren stroked Angel’s silky back, something that seemed to calm them both. A friend at work who was moving out of town had given her the energetic and loving kitten a few months after Reid left. She was truly an Angel for Loren during her worse time.

  Another car rapidly turned the corner and pulled immediately to a practiced stop in front of her brick walk. The driver obviously knew exactly where to stop. There were three hard, familiar knocks on the door.

  Taking a deep, ragged sigh, Loren gathered the afghan around her chilled shoulders. Angel bounded away as Loren slowly opened the door to facing him.

  She looked so lovely, so vulnerable, so achingly proud. Her tawny hair, shorter than before, barely reached her shoulders as it curled over the familiar afghan that she was clutching. Her eyes were the same, more intense perhaps, as when they had laughingly made love in the field of bluebonnets. Her lips and neck and arms were tense— begging for his touch—yet holding back from him. He wanted to caress her, to hold her, to crush her to him. But, did he dare?

  There was a lightness in his tone. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

  Loren smiled faintly, then stepped back to admit him, once again, to her home . . . her life.

  As Reid walked into her home he was suddenly, powerfully, overwhelmed with the sights and smells around him.

  He was back! Déjá vu! This was where he belonged. He knew he couldn't leave her ever . . . ever again. He gazed at her upturned face and immediately Loren was propelled into his strong arms. His lips devoured her ravenously while a low moan escaped from deep inside him. Finally, after an eternity of time and memories, he released her, murmuring, "Loren, oh, my God, Loren, how I've missed you."

  Loren stumbled back, obviously shaken by his actions and words. She hadn't expected... or had she? Maybe she had moved into his arms of her own accord! "Please, Reid, don't—"

  He ran his hand raggedly over his face, then placed it on the wall above her head. "I'm sorry, Loren. I didn't mean to do that. I just couldn't resist you. I don't know how I stayed away so long."

  "I don't know either." Her voice was a hoarse whisper and she turned away from his closeness. She curled into the corner of the sofa, letting the afghan fall from her shoulders. The air was suddenly warmer.

  Reid stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced with satisfaction around the once-familiar room. He began to walk around, stopping occasionally to touch a lamp or wall hanging. Some were things they had purchased together while rummaging in old antique shops or browsing through art galleries. But he didn't mention that. He didn't have to. They both knew.

  A me-oww broke the silence. He looked up to see a large white cat, sitting in the doorway to the hall leading to her bedroom, daring him to try to enter.”Well, hello. What a beauty.”

  “That’s Angel. She’s my companion now.” There was a tightness to Loren’s voice.

  He moved back into the room with Loren. "Some things never change. Everything's just as I remembered it. Except for the cat."

  "But people do," she responded sadly. “I needed someone after you left.”

  "I suppose so," he admitted. "And people keep living, doing what they have to do. Only you look. . . the same. Maybe lovelier. The years have been good to you, Loren."

  “Even though love wasn’t?” She smiled bitterly, wondering why she wasn't gray and bent with all the sadness she'd held inside during that time. Did she dare tell him how hard the years—and life without him—had been? How much she hurt inside? "I just did what was necessary to keep going all these years. I'm sure they took their toll."

  He smiled slightly and white teeth flashed against his tanned face. "It doesn't show. You're lovely."

  Poignantly she answered, "The scars are all inside."

  "Loren, please—" he implored, hands palm out. "It was tough on me too."

  "Well, what did you expect, Reid? Did you think I would fall into your arms the minute you walked in the door? Did you honestly believe that our relationship could pick up where it left off—six years ago? No way."

  He swallowed hard, knowing she was right . . . and terribly hurt. As if he couldn't stand the intensity of the moment, he changed the subject. "It's cool in here. I'll get the heat." He walked confidently to the hall and adjusted the thermostat. "How about a cup of hot tea? Then we can talk. I think there's a world of things to be said."

  She shrugged neutrally. She had thought a lot about this moment over the last six years, and now he wanted to delay it. "Help yourself. 'Make yourself at home.' Or mi casa es su casa as they say in your part of the country."

  His dark, devilish eyes cast a menacing glance, but he refused to answer her caustic statement. Instead he proceeded to the kitchen, opening the cabinet where he knew she stored the tea. "Is Constant Comment okay?"

  Loren nodded silently and remained on the sofa, feet curled comfortably under her, watching Reid work around the kitchen. She found herself enjoying the sight of him puttering in the yellow kitchen, as he had done so many times in the past. Oh, God, it had been a long time.

  Six years. Six heartbroken, hard-working, life-building years for her. And now, how dare he step back into her life? How could he think he had that right? And how in the world could she allow him in? Was she absolutely crazy? Things were going too well in her life to disrupt it now. There would be only one reason that would merit the discordance a relationship with Reid would surely create. Only one. If their love was strong enough. But, Loren wondered, could she relent to lo
ve?

  She focused again on Reid moving about the tiny, well organized kitchen. It was no surprise that he had shed his jacket, draping it casually over a chair. As his muscular arms and shoulders rippled with his movements, she remembered those arms around her. His chest strained tautly against the beige shirt, and she recalled times when that chest had pressed lovingly against her own. His dark hair fell in casual disregard across his forehead, and Loren could see strands of gray not previously there. The lines in his forehead and along his cheeks were more deeply etched, indicating that the years had taken their toll of him. Perhaps his life had been difficult . . . but, no. She wouldn't provide excuses for him.

  Reid reached for the cups, the dainty china that was always dwarfed by his large hands. Once, as a joke, she had bought him a mug, one to fit his hands. His western hands were made for mugs—something large enough for him to grasp. The mug was a tacky thing, with a roadrunner imprinted on its side. But Reid had laughed that marvelous low laugh he had, and always insisted on using it.

  His sudden low laughter jarred Loren back to the present. He had found it! It had been tucked away, hidden from her sight, but saved, nonetheless. Saved for tonight, as if she had known all along that he would return. And leave again. A chill passed through her at the thought.

  As he puttered around the kitchen, fixing hot tea, setting the cups on a tray along with sugar and spoons, Angel came to the kitchen doorway. She stood and watched him, her luxurious tail waving as she slowly waved it back and forth. Obviously, she wasn’t happy with this intruder. She bounded away before he returned to the living room with the tray.

  Reid smiled at the cat’s antics, revealing the incongruous dimple in his left cheek. Loren accepted the delicate china cup and saucer he offered. In his typical masculine way he grabbed the mug—his mug—and sat beside her. She caught his leathery, manly scent, which reminded her of all outdoors. She had forgotten that about him. And that she still loved that smell . . . still loved him.

  There was a smile in his voice. "You saved it. My mug was well hidden, but still there."

  She shrugged. "It belongs."

  "Like everything else around here?"

  Her heart reached out to him. Like you, she thought. "I suppose so."

  He set the mug down and turned to her. "I've missed you, Loren ..." He moved closer, overwhelming her with his fragrance. It had been so long since she had been close enough to smell his marvelous masculinity, feel his warm, inviting lips on hers, know his immediate response to her being there.

  His kiss was gentle this time, soothing and loving. Loving? But Loren pulled back. She had to. She couldn't— wouldn't—open herself to his kind of hurt again.

  She drew in a shaky breath. "Please, don't, Reid . . ."

  He shifted away from her, feeling her reluctance to his presence and yet confused by her varied reactions. Sighing, Reid gulped the hot, spicy brew from his mug. "It's been a long time since I've had this flavor tea, Loren."

  "About six years?" She sipped delicately, feeling better as the warmth spread throughout her insides. "Why? Won't your wife prepare it for you?"

  His dark eyes cut into her. "Tea wasn't my former wife's type of drink. Scotch was more to her liking."

  Loren raised her eyebrows. "Former wife? I see we have a lot of catching up to do."

  He answered honestly. "Yes, we do. I just hope you'll give me a chance to explain. Give us a chance again, Loren. We shared too much happiness to let time and bitterness drive us apart."

  "I thought by inviting you here tonight I was being quite open-minded. The bitterness? It was six years in accumulating, Reid. One night of explanation won't erase that."

  "I realize we can't just pick up where we left off six years ago, Loren. But could we try to catch up? Try to understand?" His voice was almost a plea.

  She smiled longingly. "We can try." She reached for his face, just to touch it, caress it, run her fingers along the lines and touch the grayness in his hair. "I.. . I've missed you, too, Reid. And you know something funny? At first I wasn't sure it was you in the restaurant tonight either. It was almost like a dream, my imagination. And yet you're still the same. These lines are deeper, a few gray hairs that weren't here before. And this mustache . . ." She touched it curiously. "I like it. Gives you a distinguished, mysterious appearance." Her hand fell away, and suddenly she felt shy with him.

  Reid's tone was soft and serious. "Loren, I want you to know that through it all I have never forgotten you or the love we shared. You have always been in my memory. Always. And when I saw you tonight, I knew I had to talk to you ... to hold you again. Just once more. Can you understand that?"

  She nodded, muttering thickly, "Of course."

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a stretch.”

  He kissed her forehead. "You are the same as in my memory. Beautiful and smart and sweet."

  “No longer the sweet innocent person you knew.” She sighed. "I won't deny that what we shared at one time was special and wonderful, Reid. But we have both changed. We lead entirely different lives now."

  "I know, but we're still the same people," he insisted.

  Loren shook her head stubbornly. "I—I'm not the same innocent young girl I was six years ago. This year I'll be thirty. And I won't let you manipulate me as you did then."

  His voice was rough. "I thought you wanted our relationship. Was it so bad, Loren? "

  "The leaving was."

  "That was a mistake. I sensed it then; I know it now. I was wrong to leave you, but my life just seemed to cave in around me after that and . . ."

  "Your father? How is he? We heard about his stroke."

  Reid grimaced. "It's been very difficult for a man who was once so active. Now he's confined to a wheelchair, and that's tough. But he's doing fairly well, considering."

  "I'm sorry to hear that. I can't imagine him inactive."

  Reid shook his head. "You probably wouldn't recognize him. He's lost weight and is very bitter. Dealing with him can be difficult."

  "How do you handle him?"

  "Oh, I have help at the ranch," Reid admitted gratefully. "I could never get along without Lupe and Manuel and Raul, plus we've hired a therapist who comes weekly. They help me run the ranch and take care of my father."

  "Do you mean you're not a senator from Arizona yet?" she teased.

  He chuckled; embarrassed that she should touch on the very timely subject. "No, not yet. That's a few years down the road, I suppose. Right now I just manage the ranch's business."

  "A gentleman rancher? How nice." Somehow that didn't sound like work to Loren. Certainly it wasn't nine to five, dress for success, and meeting the daily pressures of her job.

  Reid's hands became expressive. "It's the lifestyle I really love, Loren. I have freedom, open spaces, and enough to keep me busy and in tune to people and what's going on in my state."

  "Your state? How quaint." She chuckled.

  Reid laughed with her. "I guess that does sound possessive, doesn't it? I see you're still spirited, Loren. I like that. And you haven't lost the ability to excite me like no other woman."

  "Like no other?" There was acid in her tone. "What kind of fool do you think I am, Reid? You were married. Someone excited you then."

  His answer to her was low-toned. "I was married for two miserable years. It was sort of a land acquisition marriage, with two powerful ranch families joining. It had been arranged for years. And I thought it might work. After all, she was a native Arizonan and could understand the lifestyle. Believe me, Loren, there was never any love —never anything like what you and I shared here in Washington that year."

  She gave him a doubtful look. "Please—don't."

  "It's true, Loren. What we shared was very special— always will be. What about you? Are you—" The obvious question was avoided as he lifted her left hand, cradling it, running his fingers around the sparkling, sizable rock that graced her third finger. "What's this?"

 
; "I'm engaged," she answered quietly.

  "To the man I saw you with tonight?"

  She nodded silently.

  His voice was tight. "Do you love him?" Then, after a heavy silence, "Do you sleep with him?"

  She sat the cup and saucer on the table with a clatter, and stood. Anger shook her voice as she walked around the room, away from him. "I don't think it's any of your business."

  He was instantly beside her, his hand on her wrist, as if feeling her wildly racing pulse. "I have to know. Is it any good with him? As good as we had it?"

  "Damn you, Reid Mecina. What the hell are you trying to do to me? Did you sleep with your wife? Was it 'good'?" Loren was dangerously close to tears. "Have you slept with a hundred women since me? Would you tell me the truth?"

  His voice was low and strained and she could hear his ragged breathing close to her. "I'll tell you the truth. It was never as good as with you, Loren." He came to her. His hands grasped her forearms, and he shook her slightly. "Never, do you understand? I could never get you out of my mind. I tried. Oh, God, did I try." His mouth was set in a thin line as he pulled her closer. "Tell me, Loren, was it as good? Was it ever as good?"

  Loren's blue eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him, knowing she was once again opening her heart, her life, for love's pain. Her voice was low and hoarse. "No, Reid. It was never as good as what we had. Never."

  "Oh, Loren, how I've longed to hear you say that. Please, don't marry him. Let’s see if we can . . ." His voice was lost in the muffled groan that escaped his throat as their lips met.

  His kiss was fierce as he pulled her powerfully to him, his actions vowing never to let her go. And she submitted to his strength, his clamoring for her. At that moment Loren never wanted to be out of his arms and free again. Being free would mean being without Reid. And, dear God, she couldn't stand that again.

  Finally, breathlessly, he raised his head, raining kisses over her eyelids, and cheeks, and earlobes, and neck. Her arms clung to his shoulders as if she would never let him go, and, indeed this night, she didn't intend to.