If Michael felt a small disappointment that he would never know now if she would have done it but for a sense of debt, he dismissed it. It would be foolish in the extreme to hope that she would go to the party for any other reason than their very practical, very cut-and-dried business arrangement. Tit for tat, that was all this was. All he could expect.
All he wanted.
But the courage she’d shown in face of her terror still moved him. He tapped one finger lightly on her nose. “I swear I’ll stay with you until you feel at ease.”
Something of the saucy Suzanne flared back. “Then you’d better wear comfortable shoes, Michael Longstreet. You’re going to be standing by me all night.”
Between them, laughter eased away a little more of the strain, and Michael took heart from that.
“Okay, let’s get this jungle into the cars.” He turned to gather up the two biggest pots.
“If only we had a 30-channel remote control sound system to take along.”
Michael turned, and between them spun a web of memory and shared laughter.
He’d learned long ago that crying did nothing, but laughter could smooth the path. “Let’s go home, Suzanne.”
The swift, poignant look that crossed her face just then was something he would ponder far into the night.
Eight
As they neared Jim Roper’s home, Suzanne watched the way Michael drove, one hand draped casually over the top of the steering wheel, his whole big body loose but still with that air of command that came so naturally to him. His was a strong profile, the sort you’d find on a Roman coin, which made the flash of boyish dimples all the more intriguing for their contrast. But that was Michael, she was discovering. A man of contrasts.
She turned back to the needlepoint in her lap, concentrating on the Dallas Cowboys logo for the pillow she would make for Bobby, a diehard fan.
“I can’t get over you doing needlepoint,” Michael said.
“Why is that?”
“I think of needlepoint in connection with my mom. Something ladies with a lot of time on their hands do.” He glanced over. “No wonder you’re so skinny. You’re never still, are you?” But his mossy green eyes were fond.
She wanted to capture that fondness, that friendly approval. He was chiding her, but he was doing it as a close friend does. Fondness would get them through this. Fondness would protect her son.
To keep from disturbing the fragile peace that, for once, wasn’t rippling from the strong physical pull between them, she kept her tone light. “I have a short attention span.”
He chuckled. “No, you don’t. You’ve got the persistence of a pit-bull dog. I’ve prayed for your attention to be distracted more than once, so you’d get off my case.” He glanced over. “No pun intended, but that dog won’t hunt. You just don’t know how to relax, is what I think.”
“And you do?”
His lazy smile promised all manner of delights. “I sure do.” But he seemed inclined to honor the truce, as well, grinning at her as he said, “Stick with me, kid. I’ll show you all about the laid-back life.”
She smiled back, thinking that for a man who professed to be lazy, he sure had his fingers in a lot of pies. Then she noticed where they were. “Turn left here. It’s about a half mile down on the right.”
Inside her, the nerves that had never gone completely silent stirred to life. Since the day, not that long ago, when she’d met her son again, she’d always had a sense of being the intruder, no matter how Jim and Bobby welcomed her. They had a full life here, had a history. Bobby didn’t know she was his mother. As far as he was concerned, the only mother he’d ever known had died.
Someday soon he would have to know. Someday soon he would live with her. What if he and Michael didn’t suit? What if Bobby hated living with her? What if she couldn’t smooth the very rough road ahead for him?
The car stopped. A large warm hand touched hers and squeezed. “Relax. I can hear your brain clicking. It’ll be all right.”
She looked at Michael’s hand on hers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anyone to lean on. Dangerous as it was, she soaked in the feeling. After a deep breath, she turned and looked at him. “Thanks.”
Then the screen door burst open, and a black dog and a black-haired boy tumbled out. It was time to step out of the car, ready or not.
“Suzanne! Dad got me a dog! Isn’t he great?”
The pup raced toward her, slamming into her legs before leaping back, whirling and barking with joy. Suzanne grasped for balance, and Michael was there. She shot him a thankful glance, then leaned down, feeling oddly shy as she ruffled the pup’s fur. “He is great. Aren’t you, baby? Ooh, you’re such a love,” she crooned.
The dog slurped a happy kiss up her cheek.
Suzanne laughed. “Oh, you’re a heartbreaker.”
“His name’s Maverick,” Bobby offered, but he kept glancing at Michael.
She straightened. “Bobby, this is my husband, Michael Longstreet.” How strange it felt to say that word. Husband.
Jim must have prepared Bobby. Without a blink, he stepped forward, holding out his hand as though he were far older than just shy of ten. “Hello, Mr. Longstreet.”
“Glad to meet you, Bobby. Suzanne’s told me a lot about you.” Solemnly, not as one talked to a child, Michael shook his hand and kept his tone adult.
“Yeah? Like what?”
“I hear you like horses.”
His eyes, so like her own, widened. “Oh, yes sir. I do. Dad wanted to get me one, but—” He shrugged. The knowledge of Jim’s illness suddenly filled the air.
Michael squatted down and wrestled with the pup. “I have horses at my place, too many for me to ride.” He kept his tone casual. “Maybe you could help me work them when you come to visit.”
Bobby’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. “Oh wow, that would be—” Then he broke off, casting a quick glance at the porch. “Well, my dad might need me.”
Michael gave him a nod that spoke of talk between men. “Sure. But if your dad was all right with it…” He left the option open.
“Maybe.” Bobby shrugged, but his wistfulness was almost painful.
“Is Jim inside?” Suzanne asked.
Bobby looked up at them with eyes that were too old. He nodded, his voice dropping low. “He’s not feeling so good today.”
She brushed one hand over his hair, wishing she could do more. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Jim had insisted on being honest with Bobby, despite his age. Bobby knew Jim was dying, but she could see the hope for rescue in his eyes. It was a lot for a boy to handle, and they would all have to feel their way through this. “Is he up for visitors?”
Bobby looked up at her, leaning against her slightly. “He’s pretty tired, but he wants to see you.”
She wanted to snatch the boy up and hold him close, wanted to weep from the longing the slight pressure induced, to find some way to shield him from the pain to come. But some pain you just had to walk through. Vowing she would be there with him every step of the way, she forced herself to put a smile in her voice as she squeezed his thin shoulders. “I’d like to see him, too.”
The three of them walked up the porch stairs and headed inside, Maverick trailing them with the carefree abandon of someone who has known no heartache. Suzanne worried over how Jim might have deteriorated, but he looked the same as ever, if a bit more pale.
He stood to greet them, but soon had to take his seat. Michael handled everything with a grace she was having difficulty summoning. He led them all into conversation about all manner of topics unrelated to illness and death and the life changes that were very near. Soon he had them all laughing, and Suzanne relaxed as she saw Bobby responding like a flower in the rain, drinking thirsty gulps of Michael’s vibrancy, his good health and cheerful demeanor. She would have to trust Michael to keep the necessary distance, but at the moment, he was exactly what Bobby needed. His strength was giving Bobby back his childhood, even as
she watched.
Soon Bobby had invited Michael to go outside and see a new trick he’d taught Maverick. Suzanne stayed inside at Jim’s request.
“He’s a good man,” Jim observed. He was never one for a lot of words.
“He is.”
“Think this might be more than temporary?”
She shook her head. “It’s not what he wants. Not what we agreed.” She leaned forward. “He’ll be good to Bobby, Jim. He’ll help me get him through the tough part. And even though we won’t stay married, we’ll make it easy on Bobby. We’ll stay friends, I promise. Michael’s even said he’d set up a college fund.”
Jim frowned. “Why would he do that?” He shook his head. “Must have more money than I thought.”
“He does. I told him no, but I just wanted you to know that’s the kind of man he is. Decent. Really decent.”
Jim studied her carefully. “You might be wrong about this lasting.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t afford to hope. “He’s got his reasons. But we’ll both work hard to do right by Bobby.”
“Better work fast.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Things are getting worse real quick. Wish they weren’t.” Naked pain washed over his face. “I don’t want to leave him. He’s all the son a man could ever want.” His voice cracked slightly, the most emotion she’d ever heard from this very reserved man. He let out a resigned sigh. “But the good Lord has other plans for me.”
His eyes pinned her. “It’s going a lot faster than anyone thought, Suzanne. I can’t keep things together much longer. I need you to be ready to take him real soon.”
“Oh, Jim.” She reached for his hand.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, hon. I’m not ready to leave that boy, but I won’t be sorry to get past this. Days are gettin’ hard now. Nights worse.” He stared off into the distance for a moment, then squeezed her hand and pulled his back, straightening his shoulders with effort. “If you could see your way clear to picking him up Saturday and letting him spend the long weekend with you, I’d be obliged. And you might want to see about getting his school set up right away.”
Oh, God. For a moment, panic flooded her. She wasn’t ready. She’d wanted to take slow, careful steps so that Bobby could make the transition at his own pace and be completely comfortable by the time—
But Jim was telling her that time was a luxury he didn’t have. Looking at him, she saw the exhaustion of constant pain and wondered how long he’d felt far worse than anyone knew.
Panic couldn’t be allowed. She settled herself into her best social worker voice. “Michael’s parents are throwing this party Friday night to celebrate the marriage, but we’ll be here bright and early on Saturday, if that suits you.”
He nodded, gratitude shining from weary eyes. “That would suit me just fine. Now if you’ll help me up, we’ll go outside and tell Bobby he’s going to get to ride that horse sooner than he thought.”
At his side, she headed for the door, promising herself that she would never let Bobby forget this brave and caring man who had been the best gift she could have ever given the child she’d had to let go. Now she would have him back, but she would make sure that Jim Roper lived on in her child’s memory.
On Friday at six o’clock, Suzanne raced into the front door of Michael’s house, knowing she’d barely have time for a shower and still not sure what she’d wear to the party. She’d decided days ago that the deep purple wool was the only thing she had that was remotely suitable, but she couldn’t quit worrying that she’d embarrass Michael.
“Michael?” she called out. No answer. He was probably upstairs dressing. No time to waste. She all but ran up the stairs to her room.
When she opened the door, once again it slid over her—the sense of peace this room gave her. Never mind the awkwardness of having to knock to enter the dressing room they shared; never mind that in her mind the house was still Michael’s and not hers.
This beautiful room, far lovelier than anything she’d ever dreamed of having, already felt like hers. Being here was almost like living in a luxury hotel.
She heard movement in the dressing room and couldn’t help the quick skip of her heartbeat as the image of Michael half-clothed burned into her brain. She’d felt the power of his muscular frame, but in her private thoughts she had to admit that she’d like to see those muscles in the flesh. Did he have hair on his chest? What would his skin feel like against her own? Would it be as heavenly as she’d imagined to have him inside—
Stop. Don’t go there, Suzanne. That way lies madness.
She shook her head and moved from where she’d leaned against the door toward the delicate writing desk in the corner to drop her briefcase. Okay, so she lusted after Michael Longstreet. It didn’t matter—couldn’t matter. He was her husband in name only. They’d made rules.
But never, in a life full of rebellion, had she wanted to break a rule more. Just once. Just one more taste of being held in his arms.
No, no, no. Because if she knew one thing about herself, it was that she’d never been good at keeping her heart separate from her body. How she wished she were a woman adept at using sex for sport, but she wasn’t. In the ten years since Bobby’s father, she’d been involved with exactly two men—and both times, she’d led with her heart and wound up with it broken. They’d wanted a strictly physical relationship; she’d wanted more.
Michael had made himself very clear that he was open to a physical relationship but that his heart was not available. Even if Bobby weren’t in the picture, that should be warning enough. Don’t go there.
She set down her briefcase and purse and listened for sounds of activity in the dressing room. Thus far, they’d avoided the need for locks on either door, but sometimes at night when she heard him moving around in there, she’d wished he weren’t so honorable. She’d never breach the barrier, but if he did…
Suzanne shook her head hard and turned around, mentally cataloging what she needed to take with her to the bathroom across the hall.
And then she noticed the dress bag hanging on the door of the antique wardrobe across the room, marked with the name of a very exclusive dress shop in San Francisco.
For a moment she closed her eyes, not sure whether to smile or scream. Very slowly she walked toward it and lowered the zipper.
Suzanne caught her lower lip in her teeth. It was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen, a silk confection spun of moonlight and amethysts. She pushed aside the dress bag and let her gaze feast on it, forbidden longing oozing from her every pore.
It was a long column of iridescent lavender and silver that would do amazing things to her eyes. Strapless and simple in line, the top beaded with a delicate fringe of silver bugle beads and amethyst crystals, it would nip in slightly at her waist and fall to her ankles in one shimmering column. On the floor stood a shoe box she was almost afraid to open—but of course, she did. Inside were silver evening sandals that were a perfect match.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful in her life, and she was torn between shame and gratitude. Michael knew her limited income and might have simply worried about her embarrassing him and his parents, no matter what he’d said. But that he would even think to do this for her…
Her eyes narrowed. Maybe he hadn’t done this for her. Maybe he’d only done it for himself.
She whirled and stalked to the dressing room door, rapping sharply on it. When there was no answer, she barged inside, fist poised to rap on his bedroom door.
But it opened before she could touch it, and Suzanne fell speechless.
First at Michael in a tux. God, he was gorgeous, and it made her temper spike. He’d known this was formal and he hadn’t told her.
“You big jerk,” she sputtered. “You knew and you didn’t tell me. When was I supposed to find out that this was formal? When I showed up in—”
“You’re welcome.” The green eyes that had at first been warm were cooling rapidly, as was his v
oice. “I’m so glad you like the dress. Please don’t bother saying thank you,” he responded dryly.
Shame sent her temper spiking. “I didn’t ask you to buy me a dress. I’m not going to wear—”
“Fine.” His tone was weary. “Wear whatever you want. But if you don’t mind, we need to leave in half an hour. If you don’t like it, I’ll send it back.”
“I can’t afford that dress, Michael. And you should have told me. I could have made a horrible mistake. Your parents—” She was shocked to hear her voice break, to feel the press of tears, humiliated tears. She hadn’t cried as much in the last ten years as she had in the last week.
“Suzanne, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you. I wanted you to feel comfortable, and I knew that no matter how hard I tried to get my parents to make it simple and casual, my mother would insist on making too much of this. If I’d asked you first, you would have told me no, right?”
He nodded, though she hadn’t answered. “Of course you would have.” He shrugged his very broad shoulders, and despite her furious embarrassment, she couldn’t help but admire the figure he cut in a tux that was obviously tailored just for him. “I didn’t want to make you dread it all week, so I took matters into my own hands. If you hate the dress, don’t wear it.”
She glanced past him. “I don’t hate it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever—” Suddenly it registered on her what lay behind him. “That’s your room?”
Michael shifted in the doorway and gestured for her to enter. She was already inside before the doubts hit her and she stopped in her tracks.
The room was stunning, thoroughly masculine, yet a room in which a woman could feel at home with a few softening touches. Mostly what she felt was a sense of welcome, a sense of refuge from the world outside. A huge four-poster bed topped by a deep forest-green comforter dominated the room, and it looked out over the mountains, opening onto a panorama that was absolutely stunning. She could just imagine sitting in that bed, propped up on pillows and drinking coffee in the mornings. What a way to start the day.
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