Balancing Act (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Darcy, Lilian

  Her breathing got shallow and tight and painful. Why was she thinking of this now? She almost never thought about her teen years. Or about her dad.

  Brady was still asleep. His breathing was heavy, soft, rhythmic and soothing. He always slept on his side or his stomach, and he didn’t snore. She snuggled closer to him, needing the body contact. Their physical response to each other was the strongest strand in their relationship, she often felt. Maybe it shouldn’t have been. Probably the strongest strand should be their shared commitment to the girls, but in that area, there were boundaries still in place.

  My fault.

  Although she rejoiced in Scarlett and Colleen’s growing closeness, Libby knew that she herself still had blocks and barriers. She’d taken Scarlett into her heart, but at the same time she pushed her away, didn’t try to make more time to spend with her. She was so aware of how vulnerable love made her.

  If she let herself love Brady, it would be the same. Or worse.

  Beneath the covers, she slid her hand onto Brady’s hip. Touching him was safe. Touching him was right. She nestled even closer, nudging her knees into the bends behind his, pressing her chest against his back. He was sleeping topless, with just a pair of stretchy navy pajama pants, while the thin cotton nightdress that Libby wore shut out some of his body heat and very little of anything else.

  She let her arm drop across his bare, hard abdomen.

  And she wanted him.

  No illusions about why. Because the times they made love were the times they were closest, and she was going away today, back to a place where she hadn’t known him, back to a place she hadn’t wanted to leave, and she didn’t know how she was going to feel, a week from now, when she got home to Columbus again.

  Libby had never before awakened Brady because she wanted to make love.

  Floating out of a deep sleep like a boat floating out of harbor on an ebb tide, he took a while to realize that it was happening. At first, he was only aware of her warmth and the motionless pressure of her body against his back. When his groin began to grow heavy and full, he was still more asleep than awake.

  But then her fingers began to move. Softly and slowly, she started to caress him, pouring awareness onto his stomach and chest and hip and thigh like pouring maple syrup onto a pancake stack.

  Wanting more, his whole body was now wide awake, but he kept up the pretense of sleep. You couldn’t be a voyeur, in your own bed, with your own wife, and with your eyes closed, but that was how he felt. Like a voyeur.

  If she thought he was still asleep, then she thought she was alone.

  “Brady,” she said softly. “Brady…”

  And there was such yearning emotion in her voice that he had to move, and hold her, and kiss her. He had to slip that semitranslucent nightdress up over her head and feel her naked body against his, breasts already peaked and swollen, back arched, skin craving his mouth, hips rocking against his arousal.

  “Was this my idea?” he asked her, his voice creaky with sleep. He knew it wasn’t his idea, but wanted to hear what she’d say.

  “Well, no, but I wanted you to think it was. Guess that part didn’t work.”

  “You’re allowed to need this, Libby.”

  “Wasn’t sure if I was allowed to wake you up for it.”

  “Did I grunt and roll over?”

  “No…”

  “Remember that!”

  Oh, she would, Libby knew. She’d remember that…and all of this…for the rest of her life.

  The hot chocolate cascaded over Scarlett’s front before Brady could cover the distance across the kitchen. Somehow, her curious fingers had managed to pull the lid off of her sippy cup, and she was sticky and soaked.

  Crying, too. The drink had only been lukewarm, so her tears were more from shock than anything else, and his own reaction didn’t help. He yelled an exclamation and lunged at her, and she thought this was something terrible.

  “Hey,” he said, as he unstrapped her harness. “It’s okay. So you got wet? Big deal! We’re going to give you a rinse over the sink and dry you off and change your outfit.”

  Pity about the meeting he was already running late for.

  After Libby had woken him out of a dream at four in the morning—and the reality she’d given him was much better than the dream—he’d been so deeply asleep when his alarm had sounded at six-thirty that he’d hit the off button, thinking hazily, “I’ll just grab another five,” and hadn’t surfaced again until seven-ten.

  His meeting this morning started at eight, and was taking place on one of his construction sites, half an hour’s drive away. It was now seven thirty-five, and he still had to get Scarlett to day care. No time to take her upstairs and give her a proper wash.

  He pulled off the chocolate-drenched blue-and-green plaid playsuit and the undershirt beneath, held Scarlett over the sink in the crook of his arm and rinsed her off, drying her with a clean towelling dish-cloth that didn’t quite do the job. She was still a little damp.

  There was a basket of clean, folded laundry sitting beside the door to the basement. Libby only left laundry lying about when she was running late for something, and he had the dim idea that she’d slept in this morning, too. Hadn’t he heard the side door close and her car start just after he killed the alarm?

  The basket of laundry helped him in his own doomed quest for punctuality. He rummaged around for an undershirt, and grabbed an outfit of Colleen’s that was sitting on the top of the pile. It was the pink dress and leggings with the little white stars that she often wore. Scarlett happily held up her little arms and lifted up her feet one at a time, while he put it on.

  He’d call Libby later and explain why he’d put Scarlett in one of—

  No, damn it, he wouldn’t!

  It was crazy that they were still dressing the girls so differently—that there were still Scarlett’s outfits and Colleen’s outfits, Scarlett’s car seat and Colleen’s car-seat, Scarlett’s dad and Colleen’s mom, and Scarlett’s life, separate from her sister’s.

  He and Libby had been living together since the end of October, and they’d been married for more than a month, yet Libby went on clinging to these artificial lines of separation and he couldn’t think of a good reason why.

  Her bad first marriage?

  Okay, he thought he understood that. Not that she ever said straight out that it was a bad marriage, but he’d heard enough of the truth from her now, in the few stories she’d let slip. The Christmas tree. The kindergarten class.

  So he tried to give her space. Space to dress Colleen in pink, when Scarlett wore everything but, because he wasn’t on the ball enough with laundry to keep pastel outfits stain-free. Space to keep on with that insane job, having Colleen with her there even on Fridays when Mom would have loved to take care of both the girls.

  But he kept waiting for Libby to shift the lines, to need less of the space, and she never did. He kept thinking he was giving her enough reasons for trust, but the trust didn’t happen. He’d gotten better at confronting her, knew he was making progress of his own in getting over his own past. He understood that Libby had deeper reasons for her evasions and her silences than Stacey had had for her more flagrant lies. He was confident that he’d moved on from his marriage.

  Sometimes he felt as if he was closer to loving Libby than he’d ever thought possible, and then at other times, like now, when he found himself wanting to apologize for putting Scarlett in an outfit that belonged to her identical twin, damn it, he wanted to write Libby off like a bad debt, write off their whole marriage, give up on any thought of working it through.

  Libby and Colleen were flying to St. Paul this afternoon, and he felt edgy about it. He’d offered to keep Colleen here, so Libby could work more efficiently and maybe cut short the trip, but of course she’d said no. Her mother was coming to help. It would be, quote unquote, “fine.”

  Of course.

  He’d almost said as a challenge, “Okay, so do you want to take Scarlett, too?”
but he’d suddenly had a thought so terrifying it made his stomach drop like a broken elevator. What if they didn’t come back? There was something about the way she was preparing for this trip that spooked him, something in her preoccupied attitude. What else was going on?

  The lack of trust between them, he realized, went both ways, and he wasn’t in a good mood, three minutes later, when he and Scarlett left the house.

  “And, once again, I’m so sorry about getting in late this morning,” Libby said to Martha Dinmont.

  “We were quiet. It wasn’t a problem. I hope things go smoothly for you with sorting out your house.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sorting out the house.

  Having the surgery.

  “I’m just going to change Colleen now,” Libby went on, “And then I’ll head off.”

  She picked up her daughter and went into the center’s baby change room to remove a pair of paint stained mauve corduroy overalls and a white and mauve turtleneck, and replace them with a one-piece pink stretch cotton playsuit, with a high, gathered waist and a sprinkling of little white flowers. She wanted Colleen to look pretty for the flight, but wanted her comfortable, also.

  The traffic was about what she’d expected between Toyland and Brady’s, and she had some time to spare when she got home. The laundry basket still sat by the basement door, but its contents weren’t as neat as she’d left them. Brady must have been hunting around for something.

  She smiled. He had a difficult relationship with laundry, and it was kind of cute, sometimes.

  She sat Colleen in front of a toddler music video and refolded the messed-up laundry items, then went upstairs to put everything away. From the window of her room, a few minutes later, she saw Brady’s car turn into the driveway and disappear into the garage beneath where she stood.

  She hadn’t expected him home, and felt her heart lift to a dangerous height. She’d thought she wouldn’t see him for a week. He’d been deeply asleep when she left the house this morning, and still naked beneath the covers. She’d wanted to say something to him, hug him, follow up on their recent lovemaking with some words about missing him, about keeping himself and Scarlett safe until she got back. Watching him sleep, however, she hadn’t dared.

  Now maybe she’d have the chance, after all.

  “We’re still here,” she called to him down the stairs.

  “I hoped you would be,” he called back, on his way up. Scarlett must have run into the living room, hearing the sound of the video.

  “Okay, I—I’m glad,” Libby answered. She was breathless, which was ridiculous.

  They met at the top of the stairs.

  “Can’t stay long,” he said, his voice a low growl.

  “No, neither can I.”

  “I’m dropping Scarlett at Mom’s and going to a late meeting with a potential client. But I needed to see you.”

  “Did you?”

  “Uh…yeah.”

  Brady rubbed his fingers along the roughness of his jaw, and felt his anger and his fluency desert him. Libby’s eyes were shining and her mouth was soft, and she was looking at him as if she wanted him to kiss her, not yell at her.

  Hell, of course she wouldn’t want him to yell at her! The problem was, he didn’t want to yell at her, either. Not anymore. The need to yell had evaporated like spilled liquid on a hot pavement. He wanted to kiss her as much as she clearly wanted to be kissed. Sweet jiminy, this wasn’t going to solve anything!

  And he couldn’t remember, at the moment, why that mattered, or what there was to solve. He answered the silent speech of those expressive lips and came forward. “Gonna miss you, Lib,” he said softly. “Colleen, too. Scarlett’ll be lonely.”

  “I—I know.” She looked up at him. “Take care of her. Be safe. It’s only a week. But then I might…uh…not be feeling too great when I get back. Oh, Brady…” She went into his arms, pushed her forehead into his shoulder, then kissed his neck.

  “I know,” he said. “The house.”

  She didn’t answer, just stood quite still in his arms, then turned her face up and kissed him almost desperately. Her lips parted and her whole mouth was urgent and fast and hard against his.

  He kissed her back.

  Of course.

  When had he ever been able to resist kissing this woman?

  Something wet touched the corner of his mouth and he realized it tasted salty. She’d teared up, and a couple of the tears had spilled out of her closed eyes. He tried to kiss the tears away, touching his lips to her closed lids.

  “When you get back,” he said, “we’re going to talk about some changes.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “We are. I want to, Brady. Doesn’t make sense, how hard it always feels. But right now—”

  “Yeah, I know. The flight.”

  “I have to go. I have to get Colleen. The cab should be here any second.”

  Their bags were already by the door. He watched her hurry down the stairs, then followed her at a slower pace. She disappeared into the living room, picked up a little girl and came into the front hall again, lifting the diaper-clad bottom into a better position on her hip in preparation for shouldering her carry-on bag.

  Only one problem.

  It was the wrong child.

  Libby was in a hurry. She probably still had tears in her eyes, and Scarlett was dressed in Colleen’s pink outfit. Colleen must have gone to the kitchen looking for Mommy, or something, and Scarlett was the only twin left on the couch.

  Brady saw the exact moment when Libby realized her mistake. She gasped and gave a little cry, let Scarlett sway back a little from her shoulder and took another look, as if wanting to make absolutely sure. She said, “Oh, sweetheart!” in a shaky voice, then hugged her and looked back up the stairs at Brady, who’d stopped half way down.

  “Would it really have mattered?” he said harshly, all his earlier anger coming back in a flood.

  “If I’d taken Scarlett to Minnesota, instead of Colleen?”

  “Yes. Instead of. As well as. Dressed the same, or dressed differently. Would it have mattered?”

  “How come she’s dressed like this?”

  “She poured hot chocolate down her front at breakfast, and I didn’t have time to hunt up the right outfit. I pulled the first one off the pile in the basket, and it was her sister’s. Why do we still have them dressed like they’re from different planets, Lib? Why do we still have Colleen’s outfits and Scarlett’s outfits?”

  “I didn’t think you liked pink.”

  “And you apparently don’t like red or navy or plaid. But there’s room for compromise. And anyway, hell, do you really think that’s the issue? It’s not about their outfits, it’s about them! How come Scarlett’s still mine and Colleen’s still yours? You gasped and looked up at me as if you thought I’d suspect you of kidnapping her. You moved seven hundred miles so they could be together. We’re married. Aren’t they ours now?”

  She blinked back more tears. Colleen could be heard, coming through the living room and calling for Mommy.

  “No,” Libby said. “They’re not. That’s wrong. I know it is. I thought our marriage would make a difference, but it hasn’t. Or not enough. I’m too scared to let it happen. And I don’t know how to change that.”

  “Maybe it would help if you’d admit to yourself that, for no fault of yours, your first marriage was miserable. Lord knows, mine was! If you don’t admit it, your second marriage is heading the same way. I’m not Glenn, and you’re not Stacey. We’ll blow this thing apart in our own unique way, but we’ll do it just as effectively, the way we’re headed now. Is that what you want? Will you push us to a divorce and then claim custody of my daughter as well as yours? Or will you just drop Scarlett like a hot coal and never see her again?”

  “Good grief, Brady!” She’d gone white. “No! Neither of those things.”

  He felt a wash of relief that couldn’t dissipate his anger. “One good point, I guess,” he said tightly. “For the rest,
think about it. You’ve got a week. If we can’t do better than this, we’re going to end up writing off the whole deal.”

  She was still white, but now her eyes were flashing. “I’ll never let that happen. I won’t let Colleen lose Scarlett, and I won’t lose her, either.” She put Scarlett down and picked up Colleen, who’d appeared a few seconds ago and was clinging to her legs. “I hope that’s an empty threat, Brady, even though, I should tell you, empty threats don’t impress me. I’ve come that far, at least. It’s not threats I’m afraid of, it’s what’s real.”

  “Yeah, well,” he muttered behind her, as she opened the door and went out to the cab which had just pulled into the driveway. “Right now, empty threats seem to be all I’ve got.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I had a miserable first marriage.

  On the airplane, with Colleen asleep in her lap, Libby said the words in her head, testing them for truth, pushing back the qualifying phrases that automatically sprang up after them.

  Until Glenn’s illness.

  Then the bad patterns changed.

  Did they? she wondered. Or did Glenn just lose the opportunity to dominate as he got weaker? In the hospital, he hadn’t been able to dictate the day-today details of her life, and the big-picture issues had faded in the light of the biggest issue of all—that he was dying. What about the care she thought she’d discovered for him then? Was it, after all, no more than the care she’d have felt for any human being in the grip of a terminal illness, cut down in their prime?

  I’ve made too many excuses for both of us. He’s gone now. I can’t lie to myself anymore. And I need to look more closely at other things.

  “I had a miserable first marriage,” she murmured.

  The man in the seat next to her turned in her direction with a frown.