When she finally stopped crying, she rested against him for a moment and then sat up. She glanced at him before turning to stare out the window to an utterly black night.
"I've never been so embarrassed," she whispered. "And, I'm so sorry."
"You said that already," he returned.
"Yes … well." She pulled the blanket that Annmarie snuggled under nearly every afternoon and draped it over her. Even with the blanket covering her, he could see that she continued to shiver. "I thought I was ready."
He'd thought so, too. A gnawing pain settled in his gut—the one that came when something terrible was about to happen.
"Five years ago I was working in San Jose," she said, her voice soft.
What that had to do with right now, he didn't have a clue, but he watched her without responding, his instincts on full alert to the danger he sensed.
"And, I believed, really believed that nothing could hurt me. And so, one Friday night when a guy I knew from the gym where I worked out showed up with one of his buddies, I let them into my apartment."
Ian knew at once where this was going. He wanted her to stop. He didn't want to hear what had happened, didn't want the terrible images of someone hurting her blistering through his mind.
She told him, anyway, her voice flat and controlled. "They tied me to my own bed," she whispered. "With my favorite silk scarf." She stared right at him, but he was sure that she didn't see him. "And, I kept thinking—hoping, praying—they were finished, but then they'd come back, the two of them taking turns and… Do you know who finally found me? Lily's husband. I'd borrowed his laptop, and he came to get it. I lived in a building where there were forty other apartments, and nobody heard me. Two days … and nobody came." A tear appeared at the corner of her eye. "I might as well have been alone on a deserted island."
Her voice became husky as though her throat was dry, and she licked her lips. Figuring she was thirsty, Ian left only long enough to get her a glass of water. She took it from him and drained the glass. Without a word he sat back down and watched her, sure that anything he said or did would be the wrong thing to make things better for her.
"I followed the rules—did all the things you're supposed to do. I would have killed for a bath, but instead I called the cops."
This time when she met his gaze, he knew she saw him.
"It was like being raped all over again." She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "It was a threesome that I invited—that's what they said. You're not supposed to fight your attacker, did you know that? But, if you don't have any bruises to prove that you weren't willing…" She wrapped the blanket more closely around her. "Like the D.A. told me, damned if you do, and damned if you don't."
Ian sat and listened, his own features just as controlled as hers, his shock and fury at what had happened to her more intense than anything he'd ever felt in his life. Over something that had happened years ago. Her panic every time she felt cornered made sense … and if he'd known, he would have done things so, so differently. She'd trusted him to help her regain a normal part of her life … and instead he'd shattered it. He wasn't sure he could live with that.
"I was so afraid to be by myself, and John and Lily were so great, letting me stay with them—even driving me to work when I couldn't face getting into my car alone. When I found out I was pregnant… Did you know that Lily had been trying to get pregnant for years?" Rosie stared into space long minutes. "How could I get an abortion when she couldn't get pregnant? How fair is that?" She took a deep breath. "And since there wasn't enough evidence to prove I was raped … we didn't tell anyone."
Ian took Rosie's hand, clasping her cold fingers within his, the best he could do right now. Making sure not one iota of the rage he felt was transferred to her, he caressed the soft palm of her hand with his thumb.
"And Annmarie was so perfect, so beautiful that it seemed impossible that she'd been conceived … that way. God help me, but I loved her."
From the first instant he saw her with Annmarie, he'd known that she did.
Her chin quivered. "That first night, I held her all night—my baby girl, and I didn't know how to give her up. Only, I'd promised Lily, you see. And she loved her, too. It was best. She'd have a mother and a father, and I'd be her favorite aunt." Rosie closed her eyes, and a wash of tears seeped from beneath her lids. "It was best. So Lily and John adopted Annmarie when she was a day old."
The silence was so complete that Ian could hear the faint slosh of water against the hull. When Rosie shivered again, he lifted her, blanket and all, onto his lap. Then he held her, having nothing else to offer her. His heart pounded … he had the rest of the story, and he wished to God he'd never wanted to know why she'd never visited Lily and Annmarie in California.
He'd do whatever it took to keep Rosie safe. As long as he drew breath no one would ever hurt her again. Finding those two men— He had the resources to do just that plus make sure they could never hurt anyone else. He could take care of that in a heartbeat. He knew he wouldn't, but he liked thinking about it.
Delivering Rosie back to her home and making any repairs on her house and plant nursery that might be needed—that he could also do. She wouldn't even have to ask. He was good at figuring out what had to be done and then making sure it was. He could do that for her—figure out what she needed, then put to use his resources to make it happen.
Showing her how to be healed of this great gaping wound that she carried—that was beyond him. He leaned his cheek against her soft hair, wishing he were a different kind of man.
As she relaxed little by little against him, his heart broke for her … and for him … and for the crushed dreams he hadn't even known he had.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Rosie awakened to the aroma of coffee and bacon. She inhaled and snuggled more deeply under the covers, loath to give up the fog that enveloped her. When she heard Annmarie's giggle, Rosie smiled. There was nothing in the world better than that child's laugh. Ian's deep chuckle joined Annmarie's, a sound just as inviting.
She let her eyes drift open, and the first thing she noticed was a brilliant stream of sunlight coming through the window. The rain was over … at last. She stretched, and lifted herself to look out the porthole above the bed, then frowned when she realized she was on the couch in the salon rather than the queen-size bed she shared with Annmarie. The big windows across the bow and along each side of the boat gave her a full view of the cove where they were anchored and the steep rise of an island on the other side of the fjord a mile away.
From the galley and adjoining dinette, Annmarie's childish voice floated to her, though the words were indistinguishable. Ian laughed, and the sound feathered through Rosie's chest.
In a flash she remembered. Thinking she was ready to make love … with Ian. The heady desire that had rushed through her veins. The anticipation.
The instant he entered her.
The flashback.
She closed eyes, turning her head into the pillow. Dear God, she had honestly thought she was ready.
And Ian. Despite the kindness he'd shown in the aftermath, would he think she'd been a tease? Or would he think she was ready for a straitjacket? How could she have led him on like that? Get a grip, Jensen. The point was a whole lot more basic than worrying about what Ian thought of her. How could she have believed that she could ever, ever have a normal relationship with a man. It wasn't going to happen.
With a mutter of disgust she swung her feet to the floor and stood. She stared down at Ian's T-shirt, which fell to midthigh, remembering the instant she put it on. Never had she felt more vulnerable than when she had run from Ian's bed—not even the morning John had found her in the apartment after the rape. Hopefully she could make it to the shower before Ian or Annmarie noticed she was awake.
Fate wasn't with her. Annmarie poked her head over the top of the dinette, and a huge grin split her face.
"Aunt Rosie!" She slid off the bench and s
kipped toward Rosie. "Lookit outside. The sun is shining. And don't you hear the birds singing? And you promised me that we'd hunt for seashells again as soon as there was a nice day." She jumped up to her with the complete confidence that she'd be caught … and she was. "It's a nice day. No more yucky rain."
"I can see that." Rosie hugged her.
"So, it's a good idea, right?" Annmarie hugged her back, then leaned back to stare earnestly into Rosie's eyes. "And we could have a picnic—not a real one because we don't have any hot dogs, but we've got peanut butter for sandwiches. And we can play Frisbee with Sly and everything."
"Maybe she'd like to get dressed first," came Ian's bland interjection from the direction of the galley.
"I know that." Annmarie's grin stayed in place. "As soon as you put on shoes—"
"And have breakfast," Ian said.
"And have breakfast," Annmarie repeated with an exaggerated sigh, "then, we can go. Okay?"
"Okay." Rosie let Annmarie slide down, then wished she still held her when Ian came toward them carrying a cup of coffee. She had no idea what to say to him, so she looked away.
"Morning," he said, holding the cup toward her.
She carefully took it, dreading what she might see in his expression. When she glanced up, his easy smile was in place—the one that hid his thoughts. His cheek was swollen near his eye and discolored. Once again, he had bruises from an encounter with her … and she'd had only consideration from him. Without thinking, she touched his face.
"Mr. Ian, he's going to take me fishing," Annmarie said. "And he's going to show me how to find bears and lions by following their tracks."
"I'm sorry," Rosie whispered.
"Don't be," he returned.
"Did you hear me?" Annmarie interrupted.
Rosie glanced down at her.
Annmarie spread her arms wide. "This is going to be the best day."
"Want to take a shower before breakfast?" Ian asked. When she glanced back at him, his smile widened, and he nodded toward Annmarie. "She has plans, and this could be your only chance."
"Sounds like." Rosie moved toward the stern.
"And hurry," Annmarie called after her.
What could have been an awkward and awful morning after was mitigated by Annmarie, who seemed blissfully unaware of any tension. Ian's sharp gaze caught every movement beyond the window though he responded to Annmarie's chatter with his usual easygoing aplomb. By now Rosie knew him well enough to recognize that his focus was elsewhere—if she were in his shoes, she'd be counting the hours until he was away from her.
She allowed herself to be drawn into the child's enthusiasm, and within an hour they were exploring along the shoreline. They found a dead tree where several bald eagles kept watch, while another soared above the water.
"The last time I saw a bald eagle was when we were training in the desert in southern New Mexico," Ian said. "Never saw so many together. I thought they were solitary."
"Maybe they are when the food supply is scarce," Rosie responded.
"I never saw one except in a picture," Annmarie said. "They don't look bald to me, not like Mr. Potter." She grinned at Rosie, taking the Frisbee from her. "His head is very shiny. Mr. Ian, throw this for Sly, okay?"
Ian took the disk from her and threw it, and Sly immediately chased it. Annmarie giggled and ran after him, calling him to her when he retrieved it. Dutifully he dropped it at her feet. She brought the disk to Ian.
"Throw it again," she commanded, then pointed toward the eagles. "So why are they called bald?"
"Because of the white feathers on their head," Rosie said.
"Oh." Annmarie thought a minute. "I don't think bald is a good name. They should be white-headed eagles."
He laughed, throwing the Frisbee. "Can't argue with that."
"Wait until you see them fish," Rosie said, watching Sly jump into the air for a perfect catch.
"Birds can't fish," Annmarie said. "Can they, Mr. Ian?"
"I've heard they can," he responded.
Rosie took Annmarie's hand. "When we get back to my house, maybe you'll have a chance to see that. Your mom, too."
"Mommy's coming?"
"Soon," Rosie promised. How much longer could it be until Lily testified?
"Yay!" The child skipped away, taking the Frisbee from Sly when he brought it back. This time she threw it, and Sly easily caught it a scant ten feet away from her. He returned it to her, and she threw it again.
Moments later Rosie became aware that Ian was watching her. Without Annmarie as a buffer, the silence became almost palpable. Rosie hated knowing that she had failed herself … failed him. Most of all, she hated the expression in his eyes—pity. It made her the victim she had fought so hard not to be.
"When I called Lily from the Bobs', she told me that she's quitting her job," Rosie said, putting her hands in the pocket of her knit jacket. "And she's put her house up for sale. And … she's decided to move back to Alaska."
"I'm not surprised." He followed Rosie as she wandered away from the meadow and meandered up the rocky shoreline littered with driftwood. "She's been thinking about it since shortly after John died."
In all their conversations, Lily had never mentioned that to Rosie, an omission that again punctuated how little she really knew of her sister's life. "There's nothing here for her."
"Maybe she doesn't see it that way. She'll be closer to you, to your folks."
"She'll also be giving everything up as a research scientist. She needs a university for that. In her line of work, it's publish or perish." Rosie shook her head. "She's talking about teaching high school or community college. This from a scientist who is one of the best in her field." Though Rosie hadn't voiced her concerns to Lily, she didn't understand it. Lily had worked for years to get to this point in her career, complete with a staff of graduate students, post docs, and million-dollar grants.
"I figured you'd be happy. Annmarie would be closer."
"Yeah." Rosie glanced back toward the grassy knoll where Annmarie played with Sly. "That will be nice."
"Nice?"
"Sure."
"But you'll still be on your island, and she'll be somewhere else."
The bite in his voice made her turn around and look at him. "What are you getting at?"
The easy smile was gone. He stared at her with the same intensity as the eagles watching from their tree, and there was no disguising the angry jut to his chin.
"That you're hiding."
That simple comment sliced her open as though it was somehow the truth. It couldn't be the truth. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" His eyes took on a sudden glitter. "I wrote the book on hiding. Why do you think I live as far away from my family as I can get?"
She shook her head.
"Because they don't want me. Because they have cause. Because some things really are unforgivable. Because it's easier to hide than to ask for something I don't deserve." He took a step toward her. "But you … do you know how much your sister loves you, needs you? Wants you to be part of hers and Annmarie's lives?" He waved an arm toward the water. "You're an island, Rosie Jensen, and it's by your own choosing."
"I'm not."
"Sure you are. Alone with your fortress walls in place. Well, lady, the invasion has begun, and you're going to have to deal with it." He waved toward Annmarie. "I've met your folks because they come to visit their granddaughter. And I've met your sister Dahlia, who spent a month with Lily after John died. Where were you, Rosie?" Without waiting for an answer, he added, "On your island—separate and apart and doing nothing to help yourself to move on."
"How dare you!" She remembered that spring vividly. It was the first year she had contracts of any size to provide seedlings to the forest service and a major timber company. If she had left her business for even a week, she wouldn't have had a business. It had killed her not to be able to go to Lily. The only thing that had made it bearable was knowing that Dahlia and her folks were
there. It had been like that, hadn't it? She closed her eyes against the niggle of doubt.
"I dare a lot." He stepped closer. "After last night I figure I'm entitled."
"This is about last night?" She lifted her chin. "I knew it. You're mad."
"I'm not mad." He sounded mad. "This is about you running away from your problems."
"I don't run away." She prided herself on that.
"Which is why you had a flashback last night."
"You don't know that."
"The hell I don't." He pointed toward the bruise on his cheekbone. "If yon think I believe for one minute that you were hitting me, think again."
She shook her head.
"You're not the only one who has them, Rosie." The anger drained out of his voice. "Ask any soldier who's seen serious combat. What happened to you was serious combat. You think you were the only one hurt last night?"
Her gaze flew to the bruise. She didn't remember hitting him but knew that she had. "I'm sorry I hit you."
"That's not what I'm talking about. If you'd been straight with me, I could have—I would have done things differently."
Fierce anger burned through her, and she attacked. "And just how was I supposed to do that? Confess that I'd been raped and watch the pity in your expression and then ask you for another of those good deeds you're always so willing to perform—"
"I don't pity you." A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I thought I'd hurt you, dammit. If I'd known—"
"I couldn't tell you." Unable to stand the tension a second longer, she ran.
"Rosie, wait!"
"Leave me alone," she called over her shoulder. "Just leave me the hell alone."
She climbed the slope, returning to Annmarie and Sly. When she glanced back at Ian, she was relieved to see that he hadn't followed, but stood watching her.
Annmarie brought her the Frisbee, and Rosie threw it, only half listening as the child laughingly urged Sly on. The next time Rosie looked at Ian, he was walking toward the point, picking his way through the driftwood that littered the shore. She had the oddest feeling that he was walking out of her life.
TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT Page 16