The Brass Ring

by Susan Crose

  "I remember enough," he said, his voice oddly hollow.

  For the first time Shawna considered the horrid fact that he might be the baby's father, that he might have betrayed her the week and night before their wedding, had one last fling with a young girl. "I ... I don't think I want to hear this," she whispered.

  "You wanted the truth, Shawna. So here it is: I'm responsible for Melinda's predicament and I can't ignore that responsibility or pretend it doesn't exist, much as I might want to." His eyes searched her face and she recognized his pain—the bare, glaring fact that he still loved her. She could smell the male-ness of him, hear the beating of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin, and yet he was pushing her away. "Please, Parker, don't do this—" "I have no choice."

  "You're claiming the baby," she whispered, eyes moist, insides raw and bleeding.

  "Yes." His jaw was tight, every muscle in his body rigid as he took in a long, shaky breath. "So—I think it would be better for everyone involved if you moved out."

  She closed her eyes as her world began spinning away from her. All her hopes and dreams were just out of reach. She felt his grip slacken. Without a word, she walked to the door. "I—I'll start packing in the morning," she whispered. "Good."

  Then, numb from head to foot, she closed the door behind her. As she slowly mounted the stairs, she thought she heard him swear and then there was a huge crash against one of the walls, as if a fist or object had collided with plaster. But she didn't pay any attention. All she could think about was the horrid emptiness that was her future—a future barren and bleak without Parker.

  Chapter 11

  Tossing off the covers, Shawna rolled over and stared at the clock. Three a.m. and the room was pitch black except for the green digital numbers. Tomorrow she was leaving, giving up on Parker.

  Before a single tear slid down her cheek, she searched in the darkness for her robe. Her fingers curled in the soft terry fabric and she fought the urge to scream. How could he do this? Why couldn't he remember?

  Angry with herself, Parker, and the world in general, she yanked open the door to her room and padded silently along the hall and down the stairs, her fingers trailing on the banister as she moved quietly in the darkness. She didn't want to wake Parker, though she didn't really know why. The thought that he was sleeping peacefully while she was ripped to ribbons inside was infuriating.

  In the kitchen she rattled around for a mug, the powdered chocolate, and a carton of milk. Then, while her cocoa was heating in the microwave, she felt a wild need to escape, to run away from the house that trapped her with its painful memories.

  Without really thinking she unlocked the French doors of the dining room and walked outside to the balcony overlooking the dark Willamette. The air was fresh and bracing, the sound of the river soothing as it flowed steadily toward the Columbia.

  Clouds scudded across a full moon, filtering thin beams of moonlight which battled to illuminate the night and cast shadows on the river. Leaves, caught in the wind, swirled and drifted to the ground.

  Shivering, Shawna tightened her belt and leaned forward over the rail, her fingers curling possessively around the painted wood. This house was to have been hers, but losing the house didn't matter. Losing Parker was what destroyed her. She would gladly have lived in a shack with him, if only he could have found his way back to her. But now it was over. Forever.

  She heard the microwave beep. Reluctantly she turned, her breath catching in her throat when she found Parker staring at her, one shoulder propped against the open French door.

  "Couldn't sleep either?" he asked, his night-darkened gaze caressing her face.

  "No." She lifted her chin upward, unaware that moonlight shimmered silver in her hair and reflected in her eyes. "Can I get you a cup?" she asked, motioning toward the kitchen. "Hot chocolate's supposed to do the trick."

  "Is that your professional opinion?" For once there was no sarcasm in his voice.

  "Well, you know me," she said, laughing bitterly at the irony. "At least you did. But maybe you don't remember that I don't put too much stock in prescriptions—sleeping pills and the like. Some of the old-fashioned cures are still the best. So, if you want, I'll fix you a cup."

  "I don't think so."

  Knowing she should leave, just brush past him, grab her damned cocoa and hightail it upstairs, she stood, mesmerized, realizing that this might be their last moment alone. She couldn't help staring pointedly at his bare chest, at his muscles rigid and strident, his jeans riding low over his hips. Nor could she ignore his brooding and thoughtful expression. His angular features were dark and his eyes, what she could see of them, were focused on her face and neck. As his gaze drifted lower to linger at the cleft of her breasts and the wisp of white lace from her nightgown, she swallowed against her suddenly dry throat.

  "I thought you should have this," he said quietly as he walked across the balcony, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and extracted the brass ring he'd won at the fair. Even in the darkness she recognized the circle of metal and the ribbons fluttering in the breeze. "You should have caught this that day."

  "You remember?" she asked quickly as her fingers touched the cold metal ring.

  "Pieces."

  Hope sprang exuberantly in her heart. "Then—"

  "It doesn't change anything."

  "But—"

  His hand closed over hers, warm and comforting as his fingers forced hers to curl over the ring. "Take it."

  "Parker, please, talk to me!" Desperate, she pleaded with him. "If you remember—then you know the baby—"

  His jaw grew rock hard. "I don't know for sure, but you have to accept that the baby is mine," he said, his eyes growing distant. He turned then, limping across the balcony and through the kitchen.

  For a few minutes Shawna just stared at the damned ring in her hands as memory after painful memory surfaced. Then, unable to stop herself from trying one last time, she practically flew into the house and down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floors. "Parker, wait!"

  She caught up with him in his bedroom. "Leave it, Shawna," he warned.

  "But you remember!" Breathless, her heart hammering, she faced him. "You know what we meant to each other!"

  "What I remember," he said coldly, though his gaze said differently, "is that you wouldn't sleep with me."

  "We had an agreement," she said weakly, clasping the post of his bed for support. "Maybe it was stupid, but—"

  "And you teased me—"

  "I what?" But she'd heard the words before. Stricken, she could only whisper, "It was a joke between us. You used to laugh!"

  "I told you then you'd drive me to a mistress," he said, his brows pulling down sharply over his eyes.

  "You're doing this on purpose," she accused him. "You're forcing yourself to be cruel—just to push me away! All that business about having a mistress . . . you were kidding ... it was just a little game . . .

  "Oh, God." She swayed against the post. Had she really been so blind? Had Parker and Melinda—? Numb inside she stumbled backward. Before she could say or do anything to further degrade herself, she scrambled out of the room.

  "Shawna—"

  She heard him call, but didn't listen.

  "I didn't mean to—"

  But she was already up the stairs, slamming the door shut, embarrassed to tears as she flipped on the light and jerked her suitcases from the closet to fling them open on the bed.

  "Damn it, Shawna! Come down here."

  No way! She couldn't trust herself, not around him. She wouldn't. She felt close to tears but wouldn't give into them. Instead she flung clothes—dresses, sweaters, underwear, slacks—anything she could find into the first suitcase and slammed it shut.

  "Listen to me—"

  Dear God, his voice was closer! He was actually struggling up the stairs! What if he fell? What if he lost his balance and stumbled backward! "Leave me alone, Parker!" she shouted, snapping the second suitcase shut. She found
her purse, slung the strap over her shoulder, slipped into her shoes, and hauled both bags to the landing.

  He was there. His face was red from the exertion of the climb, and his eyes were blazing angrily. "Look," he said, reaching for her, but she spun out of his grasp and he nearly fell backward down the steep stairs.

  "Stop it!" she cried, worried sick that he would stumble. "Just stop it!"

  "I didn't mean to hurt you—"

  "Too late! But it doesn't matter. Not any more. It's over. I'm leaving you alone. That's what you want, isn't it? It's what you've been telling me to do all along. You've got your wish."

  "Please—"

  Her traitorous heart told her to stay, but this time, damnit, she was going to think with her head. "Good luck, Parker," she choked out. "I mean it, really. I—I wish you the best." Then she ran down the stairs, feeling the tears filling her eyes as she fled through the front door.

  The night wind tore at her robe and hair as she raced down the brick path to the garage and the safety of her little hatchback. Gratefully she slid behind the steering wheel and with trembling fingers flicked on the ignition. The engine roared to life just as Parker opened the kitchen door and snapped on the overhead light in the garage.

  Shawna sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he'd made it safely downstairs. Then she shoved the gearshift into reverse and the little car squealed out of the garage.

  Driving crazily along the empty highway toward Lake Oswego, she could barely breathe. She had to fight to keep from sobbing hysterically as she sought the only safe refuge she knew. Jake—her brother— she could stay with him.

  Slow down, she warned herself, as she guided the car toward the south side of the lake where Jake lived in a small bungalow. Please be home, she thought as she parked, grabbed her suitcases, and trudged up the front steps to the porch.

  The door opened before she could knock and Jake, his dark hair falling in wild locks over his forehead, his jaw stubbled, his eyes bleary, grabbed the heaviest bag. "Come on in, Sis," he said, eyeing her gravely.

  "You knew?"

  "Parker called. He was worried about you."

  She let out a disgusted sound, but when Jake kicked the door shut and wrapped one strong arm around her, she fell apart, letting out the painful sobs that ripped at her soul.

  "It's okay," he whispered.

  "I wonder if it will ever be," Shawna said, before emitting a long, shuddering sigh and shivering from the cold.

  "Come on," Jake suggested, propelling her to the tiny alcove that was his kitchen. "Tell me what happened."

  "I don't think I can."

  "You don't have much choice. You talk and 111 cook. The best omelet in town."

  Shawna's stomach wrenched at the thought of food. "I'm not hungry."

  "Well, I am," he said, plopping her down in one of the creaky kitchen chairs and opening the refrigerator. "So, come on, spill it. Just what the hell happened between you and Parker tonight?"

  Swallowing hard, Shawna clasped her hands on the table and started at the beginning.

  ❧

  Parker could have kicked himself. Angry with himself, the world, and one lying Melinda James, he ignored the fact that it was the middle of the night and dialed his lawyer.

  The phone rang five times before he heard Martin Calloway's groggy voice. "Hello?" he mumbled.

  "Hello. This is—"

  "I know who it is, Harrison. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

  "Vaguely."

  "And whatever's on your mind couldn't wait 'til morning?"

  "That's about the size of it," Parker said, his gaze roving around the dark, empty kitchen. Damn, but the house felt cold without Shawna. "I want you to draw up some papers."

  "Some papers," Martin repeated dryly. "Any particular kind?"

  "Adoption," Parker replied flatly, "and post-date them by about six or seven months."

  "Wait a minute—what the hell's going on?"

  "I've had a breakthrough," Parker said, his entire life crystal clear since his argument with Shawna. "Something happened tonight that brought everything back and now I need to straighten out a few things."

  "By adopting a child that isn't born yet?"

  "For starters—I don't care how you handle it—I just want to make sure the adoption will be legal and binding."

  "I'll need the mother's signature."

  "I don't think that will be a problem," Parker said. "Oh—and just one other thing. I want to keep the fact that I'm remembering again a secret."

  "Any particular reason?"

  "There's someone I have to tell—after we get whatever letters of intent for adoption or whatever it's called signed."

  "I'll work on it in the morning."

  "Great."

  Parker hung up and walked restlessly to his bedroom. He thought about chasing Shawna down at Jake's and admitting that he remembered his past, but decided to wait until everything was settled. This time, he wasn't going to let anything come between them!

  ❧

  If Shawna had known the torment she was letting herself in for, she might have thought twice about leaving Parker so abruptly. Nearly a week had dragged by, one day slipping into the next in a simple routine of patients, hospitals, and sleepless nights. Though Shawna fought depression, it clung to her like a heavy black cloak, weighing down her shoulders and stealing her appetite.

  "You can't go on like this," Jake said one morning, as Shawna, dressed in a skirt and blouse, sipped a cup of coffee and scanned the newspaper without interest.

  "Or you can't?" Shawna replied.

  Jake's dog, Bruno, was lying under the table. With one brown eye and one blue, he stared at Maestro and growled as the precocious tabby hopped onto the window ledge. Crouching behind a broad-leafed plant, his tail twitching, Maestro glared longingly past the glass panes to the hanging bird-feeder where several snowbirds pecked at seeds.

  Jake refused to be distracted. "If you don't believe that you're moping around here, take a look in the mirror, for Pete's sake."

  "No, thank you."

  "Shawna, you're killing yourself," Jake accused, sitting angrily in the chair directly across from hers.

  "I'm leaving, just as soon as I find a place."

  "I don't care about that, for crying out loud."

  "I'm not 'moping' or 'killing myself so don't you dare try to psychoanalyze me," she warned, raising her eyes to stare at him over the rim of her cup. He didn't have to remind her that she looked bad, for heaven's sake. She could feel it.

  "Someone's got to," Jake grumbled. "You and Parker are so damned bullheaded."

  Her heartbeat quickened at the sound of his name. If only he'd missed her!

  "He looks twice as bad as you do."

  "That's encouraging," she muttered, but hated the sound of her voice. Deep down, she wanted Parker to be happy and well.

  "Talk to him."

  "No."

  "He's called twice."

  Frowning, Shawna set her cup on the table. "It's over, Jake. That's the way he wanted it, and I'm tired of being treated as if my emotions don't mean a damned thing. Whether he meant to or not, he found my heart, threw it to the ground, and then stomped all over it."

  "So now you don't care?"

  "I didn't say that! And you're doing it again. Don't talk to me like you're my shrink, for Pete's sake."

  Jake wouldn't be silenced. "Okay, so I'll talk like your brother. You're making one helluva mistake here."

  "Not the first."

  "Cut the bull, Shawna. I know you. You're hurting and you still love him even if you think he's a bastard. Isn't it worth just one more chance?"

  She thought of the brass ring, still tucked secretly in the pocket of her robe. "Take a chance," Parker had told her at the fair that day. Dear Lord, it seemed ages ago.

  "I'm out of chances."

  Jake leaned over the table, his gaze fastened on her. "I've never thought you were stupid, Shawna. Don't change my mind, okay?" Glancing at the clock
over the stove, he swore, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of a chair. "Do yourself a favor. Call him back." With this last bit of brotherly advice, Jake swung out the door, then returned, his face flushed. "And move your car, okay? Some of us have to work today."

  She felt like sticking her tongue out at him, but instead she grabbed her purse and keys and swung her coat over her shoulders. The beginning of a plan had begun to form in her mind—and if Jake was right about Parker . . .

  "You don't have to leave," Jake said as they walked down the frost-crusted path to the garage. "Just move that miserable little car of yours."

  "I think I'd better get started."

  "Doing what?" he asked. "You have the next couple of days off, don't you?"

  She grabbed the handle of her car door and flashed him a secretive smile as she climbed inside, "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should do more than mope around here."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked suspiciously.

  "I'm not sure. But I'll let you know." Waving with one hand, she rammed her car into gear and backed out of his driveway. With only the barest idea of what she was planning, she parked in front of the house and waited until Jake had roared out of sight.

  Spurred into action, she hurried back inside Jake's house, called her friend Gerri, and threw some clothes into a bag.

  Her heart was in her throat as she climbed back into her car. She could barely believe the plan that had formed in her mind. Ignoring the screaming protests in her mind, she drove through the fog, heading north until she slammed on the brakes at the street leading toward the Willamette River and Parker's house.

  Her hands were damp. What if he wasn't home? Or worse yet, what if he had company? Perhaps Melinda? Well, that would be too damned bad. Because it's now or never!

  Her muscles were so rigid they ached as she drove, her jaw firm with determination as Parker's huge house loomed to the side of the road. Without hesitation, she cranked the wheel, coasted along the long asphalt drive and parked near the brick path leading to the front door.