"You talked about freedom before, and I think I understand now. You wanted to be free of this place and the memories."
"Yes, but I did it foolishly. I latched on to someone I believed was strong, and I thought of him as my savior. I knew he had drive and that he would succeed somewhere better, and I wanted to go.
"He did have drive and ambition, and he did succeed in the things he planned. But he drove me, too. He created the successful partner he needed, and I went along, being manipulated."
"You must have realized what was happening. That you weren't happy."
"I always knew I was unhappy with him. After I was treated for depression, I started facing why. And then I found out I was pregnant with Andrew, and it all seemed so helpless. I finally got the help I needed and made the decisions I needed to make. I won't ever go back to that way of life again."
The candlelight flickered. "Not all husbands are like he was," Mitch pointed out.
"But you don't know," she said. "You just don't know until it's too late. And I couldn't go through that again."
"And that's why you wouldn't give us a chance?"
She nodded.
"Because you're afraid."
She met his gaze warily.
"What is it you're afraid of?" he asked.
The truth washed over her in a wave. "That horrible feeling of being out of control. Giving up myself."
"Sometimes you just have to trust."
"That horrible realization that you've made a terrible mistake and you can't take it back," she continued.
Mitch studied her expression. He scooted forward and took her hand. "It's not me you don't trust, is it? it's yourself."
Tears burned behind her eyes. "I couldn't stand to fail again," she said hoarsely. "And I'm afraid to trust myself to make such an important decision."
"You said it, Heather," he said softly, and stroked her cheek. "You're not a child any longer. You're old enough to know what you want and choose wisely. You're not helpless. You're in control."
"There is no control over things like that," she disagreed. "That was a ten-year section of my life wasted."
"I think those kids of yours are something pretty great that came of it."
She hung her head and whispered, "Yes. Thank goodness, yes."
Mitch moved closer yet, spread one hand over her bare knee. "Sometimes you have to trust your heart," he said. "There's nothing I can give you that you don't have already, so that's not why you would choose me."
"You're wrong. You couldn't be more wrong."
"Why?"
"You're everything I've never had before. Maybe I'd make a choice because of the way you make me feel or—" she looked away sharply "—or the way you make love to me."
"Those are good things, listen to yourself."
"But are they right for me?" Slowly she allowed her gaze to come back to his earnest one.
"What does your heart tell you?" he asked.
"Is it my heart? Or is it this woman's body that's been deprived for so long?"
"You're so hard on yourself," he said with a smile. "You can love me without needing me. You can want me and not sign your soul over to me. I wouldn't want you like that. Physical need is different from complete dependence on another person. But I know something about myself that I believe is true about you, too."
"What's that?"
"There's no separating sex and love. That's why it's called lovemaking. A physical relationship gets the heart involved."
"I never loved my husband."
"Do you love me?"
Her heart stopped.
His question hung in the air between them, dancing like kinetic energy she could feel along her skin, at the roots of her hair.
Her heart started again, and the answer was there in the frantic beating. Yes. The word frightened her. The fact frightened her more. How vulnerable she would be to a man she truly loved. It wasn't just staying in Montana. It wasn't just leaving her job. It was losing herself that frightened her.
"You're stronger than you think you are," he said. "You proved that when you were eight years old and put those candles in here."
She glanced at the flame and considered his words.
"You got yourself out of this place, even if you made some sacrifices to do it. But you ended up getting yourself out of that situation, too. You've been in control."
It hadn't seemed like control.
"If you do love me," he said, "will you ever be truly happy if you don't acknowledge it? Does it keep you safe if you lock up love and don't tell anyone, don't admit it?"
"You loved your wife," she said. "And look where it got you."
"Where?" he asked.
"Hurt."
He picked up her hand and studied her fingers. "Of course I hurt when she was sick. And I hurt when she died. Because I loved her. But I wouldn't change loving her, or having what we had together, in order to have never hurt."
He traced a finger one by one over hers, around her wrist. A wry smile turned up his lips. "I'm a fine one to be telling you this."
"Why?"
"Because I've spent the past couple of weeks working at not loving you so that I wouldn't be hurt again." He chuckled. "It hasn't worked. So, if you're going to leave, I might as well love you all I can while you're here. If I'm going to hurt later, I want to enjoy now."
His sincerity touched her. His words amazed her. His touch on her hand set her skin atingle. When he looked up and leaned toward her, Heather had already moved into the kiss she anticipated. Their lips met in a questing, eager blend of warm velvety skin and moist breath.
Would she ever be happy if she didn't acknowledge her feelings for him? Was he right? Were want and need two different things?
She took her hand from his to place it behind his neck and preserve the enticing contact. It wasn't just this. She'd been wrong to question her feelings as only physical desire. This was simply the crowning pleasure of what her heart wanted to express. She could choose to love him.
His arms went around her, and hers found their way to his back, and they clung that way, suspended in time and place. Mitch flipped the sleeping bag open and pulled her down beside him. Their kisses grew feverish and impatient. He covered her breast through her T-shirt and kneaded.
Through her fog of desire, she had sense to ask, "Mitch, what if the kids open the door?"
He cursed softly. Then he stood and pulled his belt out of his belt loops. "You have a belt on?"
She shook her head.
"Give me your bra."
She pulled her arms inside her shirt, unhooked her bra and handed it to him. He fastened it to his belt, secured the belt end to the doorknob and the silk lingerie end to the rod above their heads.
Heather laughed out loud. "Were you a MacGyver fan?"
He chuckled and pulled off his T-shirt.
The smile left her face.
He joined her on the sleeping bag. "Let me help you off with this."
"And these?"
"Especially those."
"Now yours. . .I've been watching these muscles all week, wanting to touch them."
"Let's not waste any more time. Don't fold my jeans, for crying out loud. Was that a giggle?"
"I love it when you kiss me there."
"What about here?"
"Ah. Especially there."
"Your skin's so soft. . .all over. I like you in candlelight."
"There's so much I love about you, Mitch. Hurry."
"Now?"
"Yes. Mmm.. .yes. . .I don't think. . .I could bear. . . to leave you."
"Don't."
Sometime later, dressed in his jeans, Mitch glanced at his watch. "Suppose they're all asleep?"
"Probably." She snuggled against his bare chest.
He loved the feeling, but his stomach was ready to growl. "I'm getting hungry." He sat and opened the sack. Handing her a bagged sandwich, he asked, "Want to share a cola?"
"No, thanks."
"You sure?"
"Oh, yeah." He hadn't even thought about that. Yet.
They munched sandwiches, touched each other's faces and hands, and shared smiles.
"Mitch?"
"Hmm?"
"What about Trina?"
"We mutually decided we weren't cut out for each other."
"Really? She's awfully pretty. And young. And firm."
"I'd rather eat peanut butter in a closet with you than filet mignon in the best restaurant in the state with her. Firm or no firm. I'd rather share a—-" he glanced down "—Barbie sleeping bag with you than a deluxe cabin on a cruise liner with her."
"You would?"
"I would." He drew an X over his heart.
"You sure know how to lay it on thick."
"Yeah."
She kissed his peanut butter-flavored lips. "Mitch?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
His cocky smile faltered. He had difficulty swallowing the bite he'd just taken. He set his crust aside and took hers from her. "I love you, too, Heather."
She gazed into his incredible, sincere golden- brown eyes, loving him more every minute, choosing to love him more every minute.
"Will you marry me?" he asked.
Her heart jumped. But it wasn't out of fear this time. It was out of love—and happiness. The only thing she truly had to let go of was her fear. "Yes."
He kissed her and they laughed, at the peanut butter and the bizarre location.
"What does this mean?" he asked, his expression growing serious. "What about your job in San Francisco?"
"They're managing fine without me."
"You'd leave it? What about your career?"
"I'd like to explore being a wife and a mother for a while—until I decide what it is I'd like to do. I own some good horses. I'm sure there's a thriving business there somewhere. I can make my own choices now. Can't I?"
"Here?" he asked. "In Montana?"
"Do you think if we slip a note back out under the door, telling them we'll stay, they'll let us use the bathroom?"
"The question is—will they let us back in?"
* * *
The punishment for locking people in a closet as yet undetermined, the children spent the morning wavering from trepidation to triumphant joy.
"You're really going to get married?" Taylor asked for the tenth time as they sat around the table in the new kitchen.
"And we really get to stay here?" Jess inquired.
"I've turned down the offer for the sale of the ranch," Heather replied.
"Yeah, I heard that." Mitch started a pot of coffee.
"How did you hear?" She hadn't told him.
"My agent called to say you'd turned down my offer. I thought it was pretty generous, too."
"Your offer!" She stared at him. "You made that bid?"
"Yup. I pulled a few strings and was ready to sell some stocks, as well as get a loan. This place doesn't come cheap."
"You were going to buy it?"
He nodded. "Seems like home to me now."
He stepped toward her and she hugged him. "To me, too."
"Are you guys gonna hug all the time?" Ashley asked.
"Yes," her father replied. "And kiss, too."
He kissed Heather, and around the table the children giggled.
"What do you guys want for lunch?" Heather asked, changing the subject.
"Skettios!" Taylor shouted.
"I'm really craving peanut butter," Mitch drawled, and nuzzled her cheek.
She pushed him away playfully, and he seated himself beside Patrick.
"Does this mean we get to keep the horses?" Jess asked.
"Oh! The horses!" Heather sprinted to the phone. "I have to call Martin and tell him to stop the auction."
Jess grinned at Mitch.
Andrew pitched a fit in his chair, and Mitch took him out and held him on his lap.
The ranch was nearly workable and the renovated house had evolved into a home they'd created together—no longer the house of Heather's childhood. New memories and once-impossible dreams had replaced the past.
"We need to give the ranch a new name," Mitch said when Heather returned from her call.
Jessica had been doodling on a pad of paper, and her well-drawn circle gave him an idea. He took a red crayon and made a number seven inside it.
"Circle Seven?" Heather asked. "I like it."
Mitch observed the circle of smiling faces around the table. "Me, too."
"Me, too," Taylor said. "Now can we please have skettios?"
Mitch met Heather's shimmering eyes, seeing her happiness and knowing, without a doubt, that this woman was what his life had been missing. No matter what the future held—and it would hold plenty if these children were any indication—they could weather it together.
The Magnificent Seven Page 16