When Love Comes

by Leigh Greenwood

  He showed her his watch. “It keeps on ticking off the minutes no matter how much we’d like time to stand still.”

  The other couple came into view and stopped when they saw Broc and Amanda.

  “Sorry,” the young woman said. “We didn’t know anyone was here.”

  “We were just going,” Broc said.

  “Don’t let us chase you away,” the young man said, but it was obvious he was relieved they wouldn’t have to share the spot.

  “You’re not,” Broc said. “It’s a lovely evening. Enjoy it.”

  The couple moved to the side of the path to allow Amanda and Broc to pass. They walked hand in hand in silence until they reached the first street. Amanda hesitated, hoping Broc knew of another romantic spot, but he turned in the direction of their hotel. She followed but had already made up her mind their evening wouldn’t end yet.

  The light coming from the homes they passed had seemed friendly before, almost as though it was reaching out to her, enveloping her in warmth, encouraging her hopes. Now the light felt distant, retreating behind walls that could not be penetrated. It seemed like a metaphor for Amanda’s fading hopes for the evening.

  She would not give up. She had until tomorrow to convince Broc she couldn’t live without him, that he didn’t want to live without her. All she had to do was make him believe that when she looked at him, she only saw the person behind the scars. It had been that way from the beginning.

  “We should leave early tomorrow,” Broc said as they approached the hotel.

  “Okay.” She didn’t care about tomorrow. Only tonight.

  “We have to think of a way to force Corby to pay that debt.”

  “I know.” She would think about that tomorrow.

  They entered the hotel and passed the desk. The clerk looked up and mumbled good night before going back to the book he was reading. There was no one else in the lobby or on the stairs. Broc paused when they reached the door to her room. “I had hoped we’d find there was some mistake, but at least we know Corby’s the one who’s responsible for paying the debt. I’ll give it some thought tonight and see if I can come up with a way to force him to honor it.”

  “Forget about Corby.”

  “I’ll be happy to forget him as soon as I figure out—”

  “I don’t want you to think about Corby tonight.”

  “What do you want me to think about?”

  “Me.”

  “I do that all the time.” His soft chuckle banished any lingering guilt over what she was about to do.

  “Then show me.”

  “How?”

  “Make love to me tonight.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Broc looked so startled, Amanda was afraid he was going to refuse. She’d never asked a man such a question, never even considered the possibility that she would.

  “I don’t think you realize what you’ve just asked me to do,” Broc said.

  Despite his shock, he hadn’t refused. She still had a chance. “I know exactly what I’m asking.” She blushed. “I don’t know all that’s involved, but I know it means I love you and want to be with you.”

  Broc looked around. There was no one in the hall, but he said, “We really can’t discuss this here.”

  “I don’t see anything we need to discuss.” Amanda reached for the door to her room, opened it, and stepped inside. Broc didn’t move. “I’m not going to force you.” She didn’t know where she’d found the courage to say that. She was acting like a strumpet, at least what her mother said a strumpet acted like, but she didn’t care. She had a horrible feeling that if she lost Broc now, she’d never get him back.

  Still, he hesitated. “If anyone saw me enter or leave your room, your reputation would be ruined.”

  What kind of reputation did she have? What kind of reputation did she want? She wasn’t sure, but she knew no reputation could make up for the absence of Broc in her life. “There’s only one reputation I want, that of being your faithful and loving wife.”

  “We have to take things one step at a time,” Broc said, “and that’s several steps down the road.”

  “At least come in and talk to me.” She held the door wider. Her heart pounded; the muscles in her legs and shoulders tensed; she held her breath, waiting. She sighed in relief when Broc walked through the door to take a position against the wall as far away from the bed as possible. She crossed the room on shaky legs to take a seat in the only chair in the room.

  She opened her mouth only to discover she didn’t know what to say. Talking about things that could separate her from Broc was pointless, because there was nothing that powerful this side of death.

  “Do you love me?” She knew the answer, but she could never hear it often enough, especially when he was standing across the room from her.

  “You know I do.”

  “I love you, too, but it’s hard when you keep pulling away from me.”

  “I’m not pulling away. I’m just keeping a certain distance.”

  “Sometimes the reason isn’t as important as the distance itself.”

  “The only reason I keep any distance between us is to protect you.”

  “I don’t need your protection as much as I need your love.”

  “You have that. You’ll always have it.”

  “Do you believe I love you?”

  “Yes.”

  He’d hesitated. It was only a brief faltering, but it was as important as if it had been ten times longer. He still feared it was impossible for anyone to love him. Unless he believed in her love, he wouldn’t come back to her after he got out of jail—wouldn’t stay after he found a way to force Corby to pay off the debt.

  She stood. “Come here.”

  He didn’t move. “I can hear what you have to say from here.”

  “You can’t do what I want you to do from there.”

  “If I can’t do it from here, I probably shouldn’t be doing it.”

  “You think it’s okay to hold my hand or kiss me, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He sounded as if he didn’t trust where she was going.

  “It’s no worse than that.”

  There was that low chuckle again. One of these days she was going to tell him just what it did to her. Then maybe she wouldn’t. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to know how much power he could have over her.

  “I never thought of holding your hand or kissing you as worse. I’ve spent hours figuring out how to do it again.”

  “Then come here.”

  When he approached reluctantly, she held out her hands.

  “Take my hands.”

  He did. She didn’t know whether she found their strength or roughness more significant, but together they characterized a side of him she found very appealing. There was no polish to his strength, no glittering sheen to blind her to a weakness or flaw. It was naked and honest, there for anyone to see who could look past the scars.

  “Now put your arms around me.”

  Again he complied with uncharacteristic tentativeness. It made her sad.

  “Now I want you to kiss me like you want to kiss me, not the way you think it’s proper to kiss me, not even the way you might think I want to be kissed.”

  She was relieved to feel all trace of tentativeness disappear. His arms wrapped around her so tightly she couldn’t take a deep breath. More important, he pulled her against him with none of the hesitation he’d shown moments before. From shoulder to thigh, she could feel the tautness of his muscles, the rigidness of his body. His kiss was satisfyingly hard and thorough.

  She started to tell him that allowing him to do something she wouldn’t permit any other man to do proved she loved him, but she decided it would be better to show him instead. She tilted her head to one side to expose her neck and shoulder to his lips. After a brief moment of hesitation—she wondered what arguments raced through Broc’s mind—apparently the temptation proved too great. He scattered a line of kisses from her ear down her neck to her shoulder.


  Much to Amanda’s surprise, Broc found a spot just at the base of her neck that nearly rendered her incapable of standing. She had no idea that any spot on her body was so sensitive, or that something as simple as a kiss could come close to causing her to collapse. She clung to him for support. He took that as a sign of encouragement and intensified his efforts. Not certain of how much longer she could remain standing under this assault, Amanda tilted her head to the other side.

  She was relieved—and disappointed—that Broc found no equally sensitive spot on the other side of her neck. But she was able to enjoy the sensation of his lips on her neck, to revel in the electricity that skittered about under her skin, the tantalizing tremors that traveled to the extremities of her body, the heat from his closeness, the feel of his hands on her back.

  She usually avoided any sort of closeness with men. Listening to some of the women who worked in the saloon talk about the pleasure they found in the company of men had made her worry there might be something wrong with her. Being with Broc had proved she was no different from the other women. She just needed to find the right man.

  And everything about Broc had felt right from the beginning, so right and natural she hadn’t been aware she was falling in love until it was too late to pull back. Not that she wanted to pull back. Being in love with Broc was the most wonderful experience of her life. Some days she felt so happy it was hard to keep from smiling and laughing when there was nothing to smile or laugh about.

  Yet this happiness was in jeopardy, because he didn’t believe anyone could love him the way he wanted to be loved, the way he had to be loved, before he would commit his life to her. He saw only obstacles to be overcome. But having found what would make her happy, she wasn’t about to let anything—or anyone—cause her to lose it.

  Broc was making it difficult to keep her thoughts focused. His lips were no longer brushing lightly over her skin. His kisses had become more intense, had grown more aggressive. Had she known kisses could be aggressive? Had she guessed she would like that best of all? She’d never allowed anyone such liberty or herself so much enjoyment. Now that she had, she didn’t want to stop.

  She undid the top two buttons on her dress so she could slip it down far enough to give Broc access to her shoulder. Her shoulder wasn’t as sensitive as the spot at the base of her neck, but it was responsive enough that she wanted to bare the other shoulder. When she had trouble with the next two buttons, Broc undid them for her.

  Her self-control was dissolving with the speed of ice sizzling on a hot stove. She was beyond resisting. She was beyond mere acceptance. She wanted more. She needed more. She demanded more.

  But the right words—assuming there were some—wouldn’t come. Instead she reached up and pulled his head so deeply into the curve between the base of her neck and her shoulder, she feared she might suffocate him. Rather than pull back or gasp for breath, Broc nipped the skin at the base of her neck and raked her shoulder with his teeth.

  Amanda was certain she’d dissolve on the spot if he did that again. He did, and she didn’t dissolve. Instead she pivoted so he could do it to the other side.

  Her purpose in encouraging Broc’s attentions had been to prove to him she loved him without reservation, but she was proving something to herself as well. With the right man, everything was better. Everything felt right.

  It seemed only natural for her dress sleeve to slip down her arm until she was able to pull her arm free, or for Broc to blaze a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her palm and back again. It seemed only natural for her to want him to do that with the other arm as well. It seemed only natural when he complied.

  She tried to think of what she could do to give Broc pleasure, but his kisses were making any kind of thinking nearly impossible. All she wanted to do was sink into the sea of sensation that his lips were creating, to let the waves wash over her until she was beyond wanting to think, but she couldn’t abandon control just yet. She had to make him believe she loved him despite his scar.

  It took a conscious effort to summon the energy to raise her hand to cup the side of Broc’s face. The scarred side. He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let him. The look he gave her was laced with pain and full of questions.

  “Why are you pulling away?”

  “I don’t want you to touch me there.”

  “Why not? It’s part of you.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s this horrible thing that has destroyed the person I used to be.”

  He was so upset he was shaking, but she didn’t drop her hand. “I wish I had known you before the war, but I was a little girl, and you were a grown man used to dazzling women with your handsome face. Neither of us would have given the other a second thought.”

  He looked as thought he wanted to deny that but knew he couldn’t.

  “I’ve never seen you without the scar. I’m not haunted by what you used to look like because that wouldn’t be the face of the man I fell in love with.” She caressed his cheek. “This is the face I love. Your scar reminds me you were willing to fight for something you believed in, of the strength it took to endure such terrible pain, the courage it takes every day to face rude curiosity and thoughtless cruelty. It reminds me how proud I am that you have chosen to love me.”

  “How can I believe that? I see my face in the mirror every day. I know what I look like.”

  “There’s no mirror in the world that will let you see yourself through my eyes. When you see yourself, you’re seeing what you lost. When I look at you, I see only what I’ve gained. You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. I still find it hard to believe you exist, even more that you could love me.”

  She could only guess how difficult it was for him to believe what she said, but she wouldn’t give up. He was teetering on the edge, half hopeful and half fearful. If she failed to convince him now, she might never get another chance.

  Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed his scarred cheek. “This is part of the man I love. There’s no way I will ever be afraid of it or ashamed of it. I won’t cringe or turn away when I see it. I won’t apologize for loving you, or allow anyone to pity me, because I know I have more than they have, more than they’ll ever be able to understand. I’m proud of the man you’ve become since that awful day. I’m sure you’ve always been a wonderful person, but for me, you’re a miracle.”

  His face crumpled, and for a moment she thought he was going to cry. “You don’t know how much I want to believe that.” His voice was as unsteady as a newborn calf, choked and scarred by powerful emotions.

  “You don’t have to believe it all at once. Just a little bit, only as much as you can manage. I have the rest of our lives to make you believe all of it.”

  He didn’t move; his gaze didn’t waver. It was as though he was trying to see into her very core, to make sure she meant every word she said. She knew this was a crucial moment, that he stood at some kind of precipice, but she didn’t know what more she could say to help him cross the black and bottomless crevasse that yawned at his feet. She raised her other hand to his unmarked cheek, cradled his face in her hands.

  “When I first met you, I noticed your scar. I was aware of it, but it didn’t bother me. Now I don’t see it anymore because I don’t see you in parts, nor do I see only the surface. What I see of you comes from inside and is projected out. It wouldn’t matter if both sides of your face had been scarred. It’s only your face. It’s not your kindness, your courage, your intelligence, or your willingness to put others before yourself. Those things are what make you the man I am proud to love, the man I will always love.”

  A strangled sound escaped Broc, a sound not unlike something breaking apart. She wasn’t sure whether it was the anguish of disbelief or the emergence of hope, but it was laced with pain. His head sank slowly until it rested on her shoulder; his arms closed around her. He remained motionless for so long, she started to worry that he didn’t believe her, that he had slumped against her in defeat.

 
“You give me more credit than I deserve.” He raised his head until he looked directly into her eyes. “I begged my friends to let me die. I didn’t want to go through all that pain only to have to live as a monster for the rest of my life, but they forced me to live, to get well, to come to Texas with them. I didn’t even have the courage to face my family. I wanted them to remember me the way I was, so I talked my commanding officer into reporting that I had died in the attack.”

  Amanda couldn’t imagine what he must have endured knowing no matter how much love and support his friends could give him, the rest of the world would look on him with shock, even revulsion.

  “There was never any question about my going back on the stage. That part of my life was over. I had been given what I thought was ample proof no woman could love me. I told myself the smartest thing to do was never to allow myself to develop feelings for any woman, that if I should feel any attraction, I should get the hell out as fast as I could.”

  “But you couldn’t leave this time, or you’d go to jail.”

  “Even without the threat of jail, I couldn’t have left.” His bleak look softened into a thin smile. “I fell in love with you so fast, I didn’t have time to run. I cursed myself, decided to settle for a few kisses, then spend the rest of my life reliving the times I held you in my arms.” His smile broadened. “Even when you seemed to enjoy being with me, I wouldn’t let myself believe you might fall in love with me. I told myself you were only being kind, or indulging in a mild flirtation.”

  Amanda stiffened. “Do you think I allow men who flirt with me the same liberties I’ve allowed you?”

  “I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I started to believe it just might be possible you did love me.”

  She relaxed and leaned against him, her head on his shoulder. “When did you finally believe it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She raised her head so she could look at him. “But I thought—”

  “I kept my distance, because I worried that loving you might not be the best thing I could do for you.”