by Hinze, Vicki
“Why?”
“Why?” She turned a frown on him, then held it. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“Well, for starters, you’re in love with your dead wife and I’m never going to love a man again as long as I live. Marriage is kind of intimate, you know? Going into it with love is hard enough, but without it, it’d be hell.”
“Would it?” Bryce leaned a shoulder against the wall, and lowered his voice to a serious whisper. “Look, we loved and we got hurt. I’ve thought about this a lot, Cally. My marriage wasn’t great. It wasn’t even good. And I wasn’t content. But I did love the woman and, as best she was able, she loved me. Like you with Gregory, love just wasn’t enough.”
“No, it wasn’t. And if love, with all its power, didn’t make the cut, what in the world would come of a marriage without it?”
“A lot less pain. We both have needs and wants and they’re compatible. We both love the kids. We like each other. We can talk. And on the physical side, well, I liked our kisses. I’m sure making love—”
“Sex,” she corrected him, her voice hard and snappy. “It’d be sex, Bryce. We don’t love each other.”
“Okay, then. I’m sure sex would be great between us. You appeal to me, Cally. Do I appeal to you?”
“You know you do.” She crushed the pillow to her stomach. “That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not sure. I’m confused.” She looked up at him, all her misgivings there in her eyes. “But there is a point, Bryce. I know there is. I’m thinking big defeats.”
He stroked her cheek, her chin. “Think little victories instead. And don’t be upset. Please. I hate your being upset. It makes me sad.”
She turned her face into his hand. “It’s a marriage of convenience we’re talking about here. That’s it.”
“What’s wrong with that? They’ve been done for centuries.”
“And a lot of the people in them were miserable.”
“But they weren’t typically choosing for themselves. We are. That’s a big difference, Cally.” She was weakening. The idea was growing on her; the stiffness was leaving her shoulders, her expression. “Think about it, okay? I want to marry you. I know in my heart you’d be a good mother to my kids and a good wife to me. I can’t love you—I’ll never be able to love you. But I promise I’ll be good to you and do all I can to make sure you’re content.”
She stilled for a long moment, then a soft light glistened in her eyes. “Will you promise me fidelity and honesty?”
Gregory’s affair. His getting remarried to Joleen so soon after his divorce from Cally was final. “I will.”
“And you’ll never side against me with the M and M’s? Parents putting on a united front makes kids feel secure. I won’t have insecure kids, Bryce.”
“I won’t side against you.”
“And we forbid the use of that word ‘stepparent.’ I’m not saying I agree to this, but if I do, I’ll never permit that word to be spoken in our home.” She shrugged. “That yours-and-mine attitude causes a lot of problems between parents, and a lot of nightmares for kids. I won’t have any of that, either.”
“Sounds reasonable. In everyone’s best interests.”
“I won’t love you either, Bryce. I just don’t have that left to give a man now. But I’d be good to you. I care. I really do. But it can’t be love. Not even fifty years from now. So you can’t ever expect it.”
“I understand. Same here.”
“And you mustn’t think you can’t talk about Meriam. You can. But I won’t have you comparing us, or flaunting her in my face.”
He smiled. “Cally, that sounded positively courageous.”
She looked surprised, then her mouth settled into a smile. “Yeah, it did, didn’t it?”
He nodded. “How did it feel?”
She hiked a shoulder. “Pretty damn good.”
He laughed softly. “So will you think about it?”
“Yes, I will.” She cocked her head. “And you think about it too, because if we do this, it’s permanent. I can’t go through another divorce. Not even when the kids are grown and you don’t need me anymore.”
He’d always need her. Always. And if he’d doubted that before walking into the hall tonight, he’d never doubt it again. But he’d live his life without once telling her. This very conversation forbade him the privilege of ever telling her. “No divorce. I’ll draft it up as a term in our contract.”
“Do we need to put it in writing?”
“I trust you, but I’m a lawyer, honey. Everything gets put in writing.”
“Not everything.” She stroked his beard. It rustled softly and her voice went husky thick. “Your proposal didn’t.”
Her lips parted, and an intense, low beam of desire whirled in his stomach. “I thought a proposal needed a more personal touch than a formal written agreement.”
“I think so, too. Still, you lawyer types do love your agreements official, and we don’t have a formal proposal contract.”
“What’s your point, Miss Tate?” Playful. He rather liked seeing Cally playful, her eyes shining mischief.
“We need some kind of signature on the dotted line to assure you this proposal is getting serious consideration.”
He swallowed his surprise, but his heart started a hard, slow beat. So she wouldn’t hear its thumps, he ruffled his beard. “Sounds reasonable. What do you suggest?”
Her lids dropped a notch and a sexy little puff of air escaped from between her lips. “A kiss.”
With a grunt of pleasure he couldn’t hide, he lowered his lips to hers. She’d think about it. For now, that was enough. She needed time to weigh the matter and, unless God was napping, she’d agree. Eventually.
Entice her, man.
Bryce internally grumbled, irritated at the interruption. Out, Tony. Now.
I was just trying to help.
Out.
Color me gone.
Smiling at the pout in Tony’s voice, Bryce put his heart and soul into the kiss. He couldn’t give Cally the words, could never give her the words, but he could let her know that he cared, and show her his love. And he could pray that letting her know and showing her would be enough and she’d be content. It’d worked for Tony and Hattie for years, so it could be done. Bryce dared to believe it could be done again. For them.
And, in their kiss, he dared to dream.
Chapter 11
Dawn.
That special moment of time where the brink of a new day promises rebirth and renewal. A day where anything is possible, plausible, just waiting for its witnesses to decide whether to leap on it and cherish its treasures, or to idly watch its opportunities and possibilities come and go unrealized.
Before coming to Seascape Inn, Cally never would have believed that potential and those opportunities in dawn’s promise could include her. Now, today, she permitted herself the luxury of wondering if they might.
She looked down the legs of her jeans to nudge at a pebble with the toe of her sneaker, hunched her shoulders inside her jacket against the early morning chill. Tendrils of mist clung to the sky, ribboning through the clouds and hovering above the granite cliffs like party streamers. The constant ebb and flow of the ocean usually soothed her. But feeling as if dawn’s promises might include her had her agitated and unsure, afraid to hope that they might because if she did, and they didn’t, then she’d once again set herself up for a major disappointment.
At the tree line, a deer peered out of the thick clump of spruce. It looked frightened to see her there; as frightened as she felt inside. Not wanting to intrude—this was the deer’s turf, not hers—she turned away, crossed the dew-slick cliffs to the stone steps, walked down them to Main Street, then headed toward the village, kicking at pebbles, patches of dry, brittle grass, little hills of windswept sand.
Confused and weary of challenges, she wanted dawn’s promise. Wanted life to mak
e sense again. It’d been a long time since life just had made sense.
The sun rose above the horizon in a fiery burst of orange, filling the sky with spectacular beams of brilliant pink and lavender. A little breathless, Cally paused to appreciate its beauty and fleetingly wished Bryce was with her. That he wasn’t had her off balance again, worrying. She walked on, down the weedy dirt path running parallel to the street, on to the cemetery. Life-altering decisions had to be made. And she had to make them. She needed to weigh them out, explore them. These decisions wouldn’t only affect her life, but Bryce’s and the precious M & M’s. The responsibility of making the right decision rested on her shoulders. It terrified her. And humbled her.
If at home, she’d make a beeline for the oak and talk this over with Mary Beth. But Cally wasn’t at home. She was in Sea Haven Village, Maine. A warm and wonderful, sleepy little village, filled with a quaint old inn that had lured her, an angelic innkeeper who pampered and nurtured and cried with her, and a remarkable ghost who was so very loving and special that he devoted himself to protecting Suzie. Cally appreciated all of Seascape’s treasures but, right now, her heart yearned for the familiar. For Mary Beth.
Passing the post office, Cally glanced through the window. The glass-front post boxes had to be antiques. Their polished brass locks gleamed. When she reached the fence beside the little cemetery, down a bit from where Miss Millie had lectured the kids on village history, she stopped, remembering Suzie, so earnest and serious, insisting that Little Island belonged to her as well as to the other village children. Despite Bryce’s explanations, she still insisted. Cally smiled. After Hatch had taken Suzie to see the island, the oldest M and M had successfully negotiated her father’s promise to come back to Seascape at least once a year so she could check and be certain her property received proper care in her absence. “The tourists dump trash in the water, Daddy,” she’d said, “and the tide will sweep it onto my island. I can’t let trash stay on my island.”
Bryce, God love his heart, hadn’t so much as cracked a smile. Nor had he expressed any doubt that his daughter could accomplish the impossible and hold back the tide. “Of course you can’t,” he’d simply said. “While we’re away, Frankie will keep watch.”
That had set Suzie’s mind at ease. Otherwise, Cally suspicioned, Bryce would have a hard time convincing Suzie to ever leave the village.
Would that be such a bad idea?
Bryce had a successful practice in New Orleans. Family and friends. So did Cally. And he also had memories of Meriam. He’d never consider leaving permanently, and maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe they needed to remember where they’d been to fully appreciate where they were going.
And where exactly were they going?
Cally slumped against the fence. The yellow carnation in her hand drooped over the top fence rail, its petals teased by the stiff breeze. In her thoughts she already had accepted Bryce’s proposal, and that disturbed her. She couldn’t do that; she had to be logical, systematic about this decision. It affected too many lives.
In the end, would she accept it? Wishing she knew, she moved over to the foot of Mary Elizabeth Freeport Nelson’s grave and heard children laughing. Two boys wearing blue jackets and white helmets riding their bikes hell-bent-for-leather down Main Street, their tires kicking up clouds of dusty sand and loose pebbles. They looked happy. Content.
She took in a deep breath, then bent down and placed the carnation against the headstone. I hope you don’t mind me talking with you, Mary Elizabeth. My own Mary Beth is far away, and Bryce thinks you’re a hot line to her. I hope you are, because I really need to talk with her about this proposal of his.
A sense of warmth veiled her and, feeling welcome there, Cally sat down on the ground, still damp with dew, then smoothed her jeans over her ankles. The moisture soaked through the seat of her jeans. See, this thing with Bryce really has me stumped. I know I’m not lovable, Mary Elizabeth, but he makes me feel as if I am. I like it. This wasn’t going to work. Not without unvarnished honesty. It was time to strip bare the fluff and get to the substance. Actually, I love it. And I’m crazy about him and about his kids. That’s the problem.
She looked away from the stone, through the light mist to the fence. Clusters of spiky chickweed hugged the bases of the slats and bent to the breeze. Sunlight streamed between the boards and cast thin streaks of shadows on the ground; cool strips of gray eclipsing brown leaves and wet sand and rock. Feeling as malleable as they looked, she stared at them. I don’t know, Mary Elizabeth. When he first proposed, I thought he’d lost his mind. But the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. I guess that sounds goofy to you, considering your mother and father had that rare love that people like me don’t even dare to dream about.
But since I don’t dream of finding that kind of love, I’m thinking maybe Bryce’s suggestion is a good alternative. We’d both have what we need. Kids and partners who respect us. There’s a lot to be said for respect. I don’t think he’d ever make me feel ugly. I hate feeling ugly. I really hate it. Bryce sees beauty in me. I’m not sure why. And I still can’t look in the mirror, but he makes me want to look into it. He makes me want to look at myself and see beauty, too. And I believe him about being faithful and honest. He’s just that kind of man.
At least, I think he is. My judgment isn’t up to snuff, I know. After all, I thought Gregory felt those things, too, and I learned the hard way that he didn’t. But I was naive then. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that men wouldn’t be faithful and honest with their wives. Now, of course, I know they can be conniving and dishonest, and I think my judgment is probably better for having learned that. Anyway, I trust Bryce. More importantly, the kids trust Bryce, and I trust them.
Actually, I think it’d be a perfect marriage. Care, concern, respect—good foundation blocks. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t anticipating making love with him. I’m worried about disappointing him, of course. What woman wants to feel lacking or ugly then? But he tempts me, Mary Elizabeth. Something fierce. Even after Gregory, Bryce can make me melt with just a look, a glance, a smile. It’s almost obscene. And, from what I’ve seen of it, he has a body that just won’t quit. I’m not crazy enough to think he finds me as appealing as I do him, but he hates loving our kisses and he likes touching me. Sometimes when we’re walking, he puts his hand at the small of my back, and he often touches me when he doesn’t have to—deliberately, I mean. God, but I hate loving the way that makes me feel. He’s so strong, but when he puts his arms around me, he’s gentle. And when he touches my face, he gets this look in his eyes that takes my breath away. I can’t describe all it makes me feel, but . . . oh, I really hate loving the way he touches my face.
A bird cawed overhead. Molten and bittersweet, Cally spotted the gull and watched it fly away. I love him, Mary Elizabeth. God help me, I thought I was smarter than to ever love another man. But Bryce sneaked in on me. While I was sidetracked, falling in love with the M and M’s, he slipped right into my heart.
The problem is that he doesn’t want it. And I’d be nuttier than Batty Beaulah Favish if I wanted him to want it. But I do want him. And the kids.
She rocked back and dusted a brittle brown leaf from her shoe. It crackled, tumbled to the ground. I think with them I could be content. When I came here, I thought I’d never be content again. I didn’t see how I could be. But he’s promised me all the things I’ve wanted for most of my life. With him, I could be the sunshine of my home. I know you have no idea how much that means to me, but Mary Beth knows.
A woman’s voice sounded in Cally’s mind. I know exactly what it means to you, Cally. You’re thirty-two and starting over with everything you’ve never wanted. You believed you’d never get what you wanted and suddenly you’re offered a new dawn. A chance for all your dreams to become realities. And it’s scaring you half to death.
Cally jerked, looked through the trickles of mist, but saw no one. Internally. The woman had talked to her internally . . . jus
t like Tony. Oh, God. “Who are—” Her voice gave out, and she paused, swallowed, then tried again. “Mary Elizabeth?”
I understand, Cally. My name isn’t of consequence, only that I understand your dilemma.
Cally told herself to get a grip on her emotions. She wanted to run, but her legs were about as stable as sand. No way would they hold her. Okay, this was strange. Bizarre. But so was Tony, and he was helping Suzie. Maybe this woman was Mary Elizabeth. She hadn’t confirmed or denied her identity, but maybe Tony’s sister had come to help Cally. Did it really matter who she was? She was right, she understood Cally’s situation, and Cally had promised herself to appreciate miracles here. If this didn’t qualify as a miracle, she sure didn’t know what would.
Ah, you’ve stopped shaking. Good. Your blood pressure spike made me uneasy. I’m glad it’s nearly down to normal now.
“Me, too.”
Talk internally, dear. People are milling around and we wouldn’t want them to think you’ve snapped your crackers.
Cally glanced over. Lydia Johnson stood outside The Store. Her husband, Horace, was filling a half-barrel with ice and beer near the front door. And Jimmy Goodson tinkered under the hood of an old green pickup in the parking lot of his garage.
Back to business. I hear all you’ve been telling me, Cally, yet I’m sensing a huge obstacle that you’ve not yet mentioned. Do you know what it is?
She did. I have the chance to get everything I want. But is it the right thing for Bryce and the kids? That’s the obstacle that’s driving me insane.
The children simply need your love. Can you give that to them?
I wouldn’t consider this for a second if I didn’t love the M and M’s.
Well, that resolves that. Now, Bryce. Well, he’s a bit more ticklish a situation.
He is. See, I’m okay with what he’s proposed. I’ll get everything I want. But to do it, I’ll have to lie to him. That rankles.