Somebody's Lady

by Marilyn Pappano

  Beth heard the heavy door close behind him as she sank weakly into her chair. She was alone in the courtroom now—and alone in so many other ways, too. How could she bear going home and knowing he wouldn't be there? How could she spend even one night in her bed without him beside her? Every place in her life held intimate memories of him, even—after a few nights ago—her office. How was she going to survive?

  * * *

  That night she delayed going home as long as she could. When she finally gave in, she walked into a cold, empty, unwelcoming place. There was a hall lamp burning, because Zachary had been considerate enough to turn it on for her when he'd picked up his things. On the marble table where it sat were the extra keys she'd given him to the house and the office and, beside them, a single rose. It was red, and it still bore its thorns. She picked it up, breathed deeply of its scent and sternly warned herself not to cry even as the first tear slid down her cheek.

  Upstairs the ice-blue bedroom was untouched, as if no one had ever been there. Her own bedroom seemed that way; even the closet that had held his clothes was now empty. She walked into the room, hating its stillness. Clutching the rose in one hand, she pulled the white comforter off the bed, grasped hold of the black sheets and yanked them free of the mattress. She shook the pillows from their cases, gathered the pile of linen together and carried it to the wastebasket downstairs in the kitchen, dumping it into the empty container.

  As she passed her office, she thought about the answering machine and wondered if he'd left anything behind besides the rose. Even just a tape-recorded goodbye would mean something.

  There were messages, but all three were from her mother. The first was a simple, "Call me," followed by a longer message about Christmas. The last told her more than she wanted to hear. "Christmas dinner will be served at two o'clock Friday. I want you here no later than one so you can help me with the guests. And wear something pretty, Beth—maybe in blue? No black, please. It is a holiday, after all."

  "Yes, ma'am," Beth muttered with a mocking salute as the machine shut off. She would show up not one minute after one, and she would be wearing blue, even if she didn't particularly care for the color. Even if there was no place on earth she wanted to be less on Christmas Day than at her parents' house.

  She curled up in a chair in front of the cold fireplace and sighed. It sounded so loud and lonely. Yes, she was already lonely. How was it possible to miss someone who didn't want to care about you? Didn't she have any pride, or had she lost that along with her common sense when she invited Zachary into this house and into her life?

  Lord, how it would help if she could simply talk to someone. But there was only one person she could talk to about love, and it was far too late to be waking Sarah just so she could cry on her shoulder.

  The phone rang, and she wearily unfolded her legs, going to sit at the desk and listen while the answering machine picked up the call. It was her mother again—it was too late for normal people to be calling, Beth amended her earlier thought. In the middle of Francine's message, she pushed the button that would stop the tape and picked up the phone. "Hello, Mother, I'm here."

  "Did you get my message about Christmas dinner?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "And you'll be here at one to help." This time it was a statement, not a question. Her mother was so sure of her, Beth thought with a sick little smile. And why not? Except for her one brief rebellion regarding her education and career, she had always done what her parents wanted.

  But not this time.

  "No, Mother, I won't," she said quietly. "I intend to spend Christmas in my own way this year." Alone. She couldn't go to Sarah and Daniel's, because they would be celebrating with the Adamses, and she couldn't handle that. But she didn't have to spend it with her family. She didn't have to be miserable and tense on what should be one of the most joyous days of the year. She didn't have to let her parents ruin one more holiday for her.

  "What do you mean—spend Christmas in your own way?" Francine asked. "Don't be silly, Beth. You're coming over here, and—"

  Her hand trembling just slightly, Beth replaced the receiver in the cradle, disconnecting the call. She felt a little shiver of relief at her daring. Never had she spoken crossly to her mother or walked out on a conversation or done anything that a well-mannered child wouldn't do. Now she had not only defied Francine, she had hung up on her. It was a first step, and she was proud of herself.

  Zachary would be proud of her, too.

  * * *

  Monday morning found Beth in her office, all ready to work—but not on business. She was going to find a solution to the mess her life had become. After moping for an entire weekend, she knew what she wanted to do: quit the firm, sell her condo and say goodbye to Nashville forever. Of course, that was her number two list. Her priority wish list included the same items, but was topped by marrying Zachary and living happily ever after with him on his mountain.

  She had called Marian Vega on Sunday and told her that she would soon be available for cases similar to Carrie's. The psychologist had been pleased. Who wouldn't be pleased, Beth admitted honestly, to get an attorney of her caliber for free?

  She had begun going through her files, estimating how much time she needed to complete or transfer her open cases and composing letters to the clients who'd been with her from the beginning. She would give them time to retain new lawyers—but not too much time. Now that she was finally taking action, she was eager to start making new friends.

  But where? The only place she had ever considered was Sweetwater, and now it wouldn't exactly be fair to Zachary for her to move in on his territory. After all, hadn't he as much as told her that he didn't want to care for her? That he was actively trying to stop caring for her? And now I have to figure out how to fall out of love with you. That was what he'd said. Moving to his hometown after he'd told her that, forcing her way into his life, would be less than generous.

  She'd repeated his words to herself so often in the last week that the sting was gone. Now there was just sadness. Acceptance.

  And now I have to figure out…

  Suddenly she frowned. Flipping to a clean sheet on the pad in front of her, she wrote the sentence down, word for word, the way he'd said it. She studied the words, then read them out loud.

  And now I have to … Have to. Not want to. He had to find a way to stop caring. As in against his will. As in having no other choice.

  Reining in her excitement, she tried to recall his next words, something about being sensible, followed by something about the future. I understood from the beginning that there wasn't any future to this—to us.

  Was that what he'd meant? she wondered, her hands trembling so badly that she had to clasp them together. That there were so many obvious differences between them that they could never work out any way to be together, and that was why he'd felt forced to stop loving her?

  She reached for the phone and dialed the first three numbers, then stopped, her fingertip poised over the number pad. Was she reading too much into his choice of words? People were rarely precise in their language; as a lawyer, she understood that all too well.

  But Zachary was a lawyer, too, and he had no problems saying exactly what he meant.

  Slowly she hung up. She needed to know the truth. She needed to know how he really felt—about her, about them, about a future. She needed to tell him that she loved him, that she was willing to do whatever was necessary to be with him.

  But not yet. This wasn't something that could be done over the phone. She would go to Sweetwater. She would look into his sweet blue eyes. Then she would know the truth.

  And it wasn't something that could be done until her life was in order. Until she was free of all her old obligations, all her old responsibilities.

  Until she was free to offer him anything.

  Until she was free to offer him everything.

  And if that wasn't enough? If he really didn't want her?

  She smiled bleakly. As Carrie h
ad said on the last day of her trial … at least she would know.

  * * *

  It was a cold, clear Saturday, the kind of winter day that made Zachary thankful he'd been born in these Tennessee mountains and not somewhere else. The sky was startlingly blue, the clouds thin and wispy. The temperature was in the high thirties, but it wasn't warm enough yet to melt the last patches of snow that blanketed the shady areas around the house.

  It was the middle of January, over three weeks since he'd seen Beth. He'd had the opportunity just a few days ago, when Carrie had been sentenced, but he'd declined to tag along. He certainly didn't need to be there to hear that she'd been sentenced to a year in prison. With credit for the time she'd already served and for good behavior, she would be out and home with her children in a matter of months—maybe even before her baby was born.

  He had been tempted to go, though. He'd wanted to see Beth—just see her, not touch her or kiss her or make love to her—so badly that he'd ached with it. But seeing her would just stir up the pain that had finally become manageable. It would disturb his nights when he'd finally found some peace in them again.

  And so he had stayed away, and he'd heard the news about Carrie from the Morrises. And he'd gone on with his life the way he had the last three weeks: one day at a time.

  The way he was afraid he would have to live it for months—years—to come.

  Behind him he heard the French door open, and he picked up the stack of two-by-fours that he'd just finished cutting. Daniel and Tyler were working on the laundry room that opened off one end of the kitchen. They knew his mind was elsewhere these days and that he was working more slowly because of it—Daniel had even suggested that maybe he shouldn't use the power saw until he could concentrate more clearly—but they were being patient with him. They must have figured they'd been patient enough in waiting for this wood.

  Grinning, he turned, ready to respond to whatever remarks they might make; then he stopped suddenly, and his grin disappeared. The lumber fell from his arms, clattering to the deck, one piece missing the small, booted feet there by only inches.

  Beth.

  All he could do was stare at her, wondering dimly if he had conjured her up with the intensity of his thoughts, and why, if that was the case, it hadn't happened three weeks ago when the pain around his heart had been strong enough to make him sick with it.

  Her expression was uncertain, a curious little smile that threatened to vanish any second now and an uneasy shadow in her green eyes. Those eyes had haunted him every night, asleep and dreaming, and awake, too. Lovely eyes. Eyes he'd gotten lost in and even now couldn't find his way out of.

  "Hey, Zachary." Her voice was unsteady, and she cleared her throat to strengthen it. "How are you?"

  "Okay." God help him, he couldn't stand here and exchange pleasantries with her as if they were no more than casual acquaintances. It would destroy his soul. "How are you?" Waiting for her answer, he bent and began picking up the wood he'd dropped. What he saw froze him in place as surely as what she said.

  "Lonely."

  He stared at her boots—not the expensive, low-heeled leather boots that she'd worn before, but hiking boots, virtually identical to his own, only smaller and newer. And jeans? Beth Gibson wearing jeans? They were dark indigo and pressed and creased, but they were undeniably jeans, and they fit her undeniably well, from her long legs to her slender hips and narrow waist.

  He stood up again and stacked the wood on the saw-horses beside them, then dusted his hands. "You came to see Sarah?" he asked, having to swallow hard to get the words out.

  "No. Actually, I came to show you something." He waited expectantly, and she smiled that nervous little smile again. "It's out front."

  Rather than cut through the house where he might run into Daniel or Tyler in this addle-brained condition, he gestured to the steps at the end of the deck. He followed her down them, around the corner and to the front of the house. There he stopped abruptly. Parked next to his Jeep on one side was Daniel's truck; on the other was another pickup. This one was brand new. It was flashy and more than fast enough, he thought with a slow grin, and it was definitely fire-engine red.

  "It's not a sports car," she said quietly. "But a sports car couldn't clear the ruts in your road."

  These things—the boots, the jeans, the truck—weren't just things, he thought as he walked closer to the pickup. They were Beth's declaration of independence. She was turning her back on the life that had stifled her for so long and reaching for something new.

  And could that something new include somebody new? he wondered, feeling a measure of hope for the first time in weeks. Turning around to look at her again, he asked, "What about your condo?"

  "I turned it over to a real estate agent to sell."

  "And your career? Did you simply walk away from the partnership?"

  "That job didn't suit my needs anymore. But I have another. As soon as I get settled, I'll be working part-time with Marian Vega, handling cases for women who can't afford legal counsel. It will mean some travel. I'll work hard for a couple of months, then my time will be my own for a couple."

  He took a step closer to her. "Get settled where?"

  "Zachary—" She swallowed hard. "I don't need the city. I don't need the career or the firm or the people or the parties. I can live without those things. I can live…" She faltered, then started again. "I can live without you, too, if I have to. If that's what you want. But I need to know."

  He glanced at the truck again, and this time he saw the suitcases that filled the passenger seat. That was all she'd brought with her from her old life: a few suitcases of clothing—although he would bet Great-Grandmother Althea's portrait was stored somewhere, waiting for a new address.

  She really was looking for something new, he thought, more than a little surprised. But not somebody new. No, she'd come to somebody old, somebody who cared. Maybe somebody she loved?

  He moved again, until only inches separated them. "I already told you that I love you."

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "But you made it sound like goodbye."

  "I thought it was. I thought those other things—the condo, the firm, the social standing, the money—were more important to you than me."

  Beth blinked away the moisture that filled her eyes. A month ago she would have blamed the tears on the cold, but today she was being honest. She was about to cry because she'd never felt so many emotions, all so strong and all at once. "Nothing is more important to me than you are. I love you, Zachary." More than ten years had passed since she'd said those words to a man, and she had sworn she would never say them again. But they came so simply, so easily, and they were so true.

  He slipped his arm around her waist, then brushed his hand over her hair. "Are you sure?" he asked softly. "Our nearest neighbors will be more than three miles away. It could get awfully lonely up here sometimes."

  Our neighbors, she thought with a smile. And it would be our house, our friends, our family. That one three-letter word could certainly make a big difference. "I'm sure, Zachary."

  He studied her face for a moment, his eyes searching hers. Once, not too long ago, he had done that, and she had worried about what he'd seen. This time she didn't worry. She knew what was there, and when he slowly smiled, she saw that he'd recognized it, too. Promises. Love. Forever.

  "I love you, Beth," he said, his voice throaty and hoarse. "Will you marry me? Will you be my lady?"

  "Yes," she whispered, and then he kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, sweet and undemanding, but with a hint of something more—of passion, pure and lasting. Of soul-deep hunger. Of love.

  Silently, deep in her heart, she repeated her answer. Yes, she would marry him. Yes, she would be his lady.

  Zachary's lady.

  * * * * *

 

 

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