by Cindy Gerard
Night brought the best and the worst times for Jo. She missed Adam most in the darkness. Because she missed him, she would let herself remember. And when she remembered, it made it all seem real and brought him back for a precious little while.
Each night as she lay alone beneath her cool, coarse sheets, she would press her hands to her belly and think of Adam’s baby growing there. And she’d smile. Would it please him, this life they’d created with their love? Would it thrill him as it had her? She would never know, and neither would Adam. She would not have him coming back to her out of duty. She would not be another burden for him to bear.
She pulled the covers to her chin and stared into the cold, dark bedroom, recalling the day they’d discovered they could both fit into the old copper bathtub. They’d subsequently explored the sensual properties of warm water on cool skin, and laughingly created whitecaps and sloshed soapy water all over the floor. Later that night they’d pored over the guest register they’d found in a cupboard drawer, smiling as the Larsons must have smiled at the messages travelers had left behind over the years. With a sense that they were preserving what they’d shared together, they scrawled their own message on the brittle, yellowed paper, then closed the book and made sweet, poignant love.
With her memories to warm her, Jo drifted into a fitful sleep. She was teetering on the edge of consciousness when Cooper’s low warning growl set her on edge. Her eyes slammed open. Her heart boomeranged inside her ribs. Without questioning why she was certain, she knew someone was in the house.
She lay very still. Listening for another sound, she tried to remember if she’d locked the door after Steve had left.
Willing herself to be calm and her bedsprings not to creak, she turned back the covers and rolled soundlessly to the floor. She groped under the bed, her fingers closing around the heavy steel of the long-barreled shotgun she kept loaded there. Rising shakily, she tiptoed on bare feet to her open bedroom door. Her fingers trembled as she tugged her flannel nightgown tighter against her throat and braved a hesitant step into the living room.
A tall, shadowy figure emerged out of the darkness just as she cleared the doorway.
She stifled a scream and raised the gun to her shoulder, taking a bead on what she hoped was his heart.
“You’re as good as dead if you move,” she warned him with wavering conviction. “Don’t doubt it for an instant.”
Every ounce of her blood careened through her body and pooled in her head. She was dizzy with fear as he stood stock-still, looming like a mountain in the darkness.
“You been watching those old gangster movies again?” The familiar husky voice filled the dead silence.
Fighting disbelief and hope and an uncontrollable weakness in her knees, she stumbled to the wall and flicked on the light, then stared in heart-lurching shock at the glorious sight of Adam Dursky’s cold-reddened nose and frosty gray eyes staring back at her from within the hood of his parka.
He flipped the hood back. “Hello, Red.”
His voice was as warm as the night was cold. His gaze swept hungrily across her face before veering to the shotgun.
“One way or the other,” he finally said, “I wish you’d put me out of my misery. Shoot me or kiss me, or send me back out in the cold, but do something.” His weak attempt at humor was laced with quiet desperation.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She did both as she lowered the gun and launched herself into his open arms. “Adam!”
He buried his face in her hair and held her hard against him. But it wasn’t enough. Prying her arms from around his neck, he unzipped his heavy jacket and drew her inside against his warmth. Knotting his hands in her hair, he dragged her head back so he could look into her eyes. “Lord, I’ve missed you.”
“Don’t talk,” she whispered urgently. Covering his face with her hands, she pulled his mouth down to hers. “Don’t talk, just hold me.”
To her utter horror, she began to cry, small, breathless sobs at first, but they escalated to hard, wracking shudders that stole her strength and her control. “I’ve . . . m-missed you . . . missed you,” she managed between gulps.
“I know, baby. I know.” He held her like he’d never let her go. He rocked her until her trembling stopped, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa before the fire.
Shrugging out of his parka, he settled her onto his lap and brushed her hair from her tearstained cheeks.
“Better?” he asked, tucking her nightgown around her bare toes, then warming them with his hand.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” She laughed sharply. “I don’t know where you came from. How did you get here?”
He eased deeper into the sofa. For the first time, she noticed the lines of fatigue on his face. Exhausted as he was, she’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
“I came the first eight hundred miles by bus and the last thirty by the seat of my pants. I hired someone with a pickup when I got to International Falls. We four-wheeled it as far as the lake road, then snowmobiled the rest of the way in.”
She had spent three months missing him. The reality of his presence in her living room was suddenly too much to accept at face value. “Why are you here?”
Adam filled his senses with her nearness. Several long moments passed before he cupped her face in his hands. “I’m here,” he said, “because for too many nights I’ve had to be content only dreaming about green eyes the color of springtime when you’re happy, fiery emeralds when you’re not.” His gaze drifted lovingly across her face. “Because for too long, I could only try to remember the feel of skin too soft to be real.” He brushed his thumbs across her proud yet delicate cheekbones. Then he tunneled his long fingers through her hair as though he couldn’t wait any longer to touch it. “I’m here because I couldn’t go another day without filling my hands with spun gold.”
She circled his wrists with her hands and pressed them against her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were a poet,” she said shakily, her eyes filled with wonder.
He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t either. But then I didn’t know I was a lot of things until I found you . . . or until I lost you.” He looked deep into her eyes. “Just so you’ll know it’s really me, let me put it this way.” He paused and let a slow, sexy grin steal the last hint of chill from her heart and fill it with love. “I’m here because I’d gotten used to taking orders from a short, brassy redhead, because I miss your nasty little mouth, because of the way you looked in just my shirt . . .” His voice dropped to a low, husky rumble. “Because of the way you looked in just my socks.”
She lowered her eyes.
A strong finger curled under her chin and brought her head up. “And I guess I’m just a sucker for your dog,” he added, grinning as Cooper tried to squeeze up onto the couch beside them. But the humor left his eyes with his next breath. “I haven’t been able to eat, or sleep, or think of anything but you since I left here.”
She got lost in the love she saw in his eyes.
“I’m here because without you, there’s nothing to try for. Because with you, I want to try everything.
“Jo.” He murmured her name with so much tenderness her heart ached. “I tried to stay away. I swear to God, I meant to leave you alone.”
“Why?” The wonder in her question was peppered with pain. “I love you.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
All the hurt of the last three months balled into a fist in her stomach and materialized as anger. “It hurt so much when you left.”
He growled and drew her to him. “I wanted to give you a chance. I wanted to do the right thing by you. And I tried. I couldn’t stay away, though. The longer I stayed in that city, the more I realized what I’d left behind. I had come here to try to find some meaning to my life, then like a fool I left all the answers behind . . . with y
ou.”
“Your answers were always with you. Inside.”
He closed his eyes and held her closer. “But it was you who made me feel things and want things I’d never thought I was entitled to have . . . and that scared the hell out of me.”
She could feel his reservations. “So what made you decide you were entitled?”
“I’m not so sure I am.”
“If that’s the case,” she said gently, “we’re back where we started. Why are you here?”
“You’re going to push this to the limit, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’m going to push, and pull, and scratch, and growl, if that’s what it takes to keep you here. I want you with me without the worry that someday you’ll be gone again. I need to know you’ve reached your own peace.” She drew back and looked deep into his eyes. “And I want you to pay for the hell you put me through the past three months. Tell me exactly why you’re here.”
He kissed her deeply. She melted into his embrace, loving the feel of his arms around her, the taste of his mouth on her tongue.
“I’m here,” he whispered against her lips, “because I love you and I need you and even though you’ll never admit it, because I know you need me too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Joanna.”
They were the sweetest words she’d ever heard. That a man such as this one would confess to needing her was the ultimate accolade. And he was so right. She did need him, desperately.
He brushed away the tears tracking down her cheeks. “What do you think, Red?” he asked, smiling into her eyes. “Would you be in the market for an ex-cop and a Johnny-come-lately poet who wants to leave the world behind and spend the rest of his days under the thumb of a stubborn, mule-headed, independent little snip of a woman who doesn’t have the good sense to come in out of the rain? Have you any need for a beat-up old veteran who can’t row a boat or bait a line?”
“I have a need,” she whispered as she eased off his lap and held out her hand. “One you can satisfy right now.” She led him toward her bedroom.
“Wait.” He left her just outside the door and returned with a package wrapped in bright paper. “I was going to put it under your tree.” He nodded toward her bedroom. “But I don’t want you to have to wait any longer. Go on, open it, but when you put it on, remember I bought it for you, not for me.”
He kissed the bewildered smile from her lips and turned her gently toward the bedroom door. “Go.”
Her hand shook as she laid the package on the bed. She plucked loose the red ribbon and tore aside the wrapping. Very carefully she removed the lid and folded back the rustling tissue paper, knowing before she saw it what she would find.
Delicate ivory lace trimmed the deep V neckline of a sheer midnight blue nightgown. She touched it lovingly, then held the creamy fabric to her cheek for a moment before she tugged her old flannel nightgown over her head and replaced it with his gift.
The expensive silk caressed her body like water. She took a long look in her mirror. Would he notice the slight roundness of her tummy, the fullness of her breasts? Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned and walked to the door.
He was standing by the fire, staring into the flames, a distant look in his eyes. He’d taken off his shoes and socks. His shirt was unbuttoned and pulled free of his jeans. His head came up when she entered the room. She heard his indrawn breath, read the urgency in his eyes, and felt a matching need coil tight in her belly.
His gaze traveled from her shining hair down her silk-wrapped body, then back up to her face. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you. Your leg has healed.”
He nodded and peeled his shirt from his shoulders. “And you’ve got two good hands to love me.” He tossed the shirt negligently on the sofa, then picked up the comforter that was folded across the arm of a nearby chair. “I’m going to miss zipping up your pants, though.”
She smiled, suddenly shy with him.
“The first time I loved you was by firelight,” he said huskily as he spread the thick blanket on the floor before the hearth. He knelt and held out his hand. “Come let me love you again. It’s been way too long.”
She went to him. His big hands pulled her near, circling her buttocks and drawing her against him. His mouth was hot and hungry against her stomach as she leaned over him, cloaking him in the curtain of her hair. The lean muscles of his shoulders felt like steel warmed by sun beneath her hands.
“To think,” he whispered, “I’d given up on life.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him tight. “To think I’d given up on love.”
He growled low in his throat and tugged on the silk with his teeth. “Can I take this damn thing off now?”
She laughed, a deep, self-assured woman’s laugh, and joined him on her knees on the floor. With a sensual shrug, she slipped the fragile lace straps from her shoulders. He stripped the gown to her waist and bent his head to her bare breast.
“Nothing in the world tastes as good as this,” he murmured, dragging his lips across her nipple until it grew rigid with desire. He wet it with his tongue, rimmed it lightly with his teeth, then suckled gently. It wasn’t enough. Cupping her fullness with his palm, he lifted her, drawing her deep into his mouth.
“Sweet, sweet girl,” he whispered, his breath drifting across her skin like summer heat. She shivered and arched against him as he drew out her pleasure, milking the anticipation until she cried his name.
“Tell me how much you need me,” he demanded, pulling her with him until he lay on his back and she was draped across him. “Tell me!”
“I need you so much I hurt,” she said, matching his urgency. “Here.” She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. “Here.” She guided his hand to her breast and pressed it there, leaving her own hand to ride on the back of his as he caressed her. “Here,” she whispered breathlessly, her eyes glazed with longing as she lowered his hand to the part of her that was moist with wanting him. “Come inside me, Adam. I miss you being there.”
He rolled her onto her back and fit himself between the cradle of her thighs. He kissed her deeply, foraging into the silken heat of her mouth with explicit invitation before drawing back and looking into her eyes. “How can you be better, sweeter . . . even more than I remember?”
The unqualified love she saw in his eyes gave her courage.
“I am better.” She framed his beloved face in her hands and held him still above her. “I am more, because I carry a part of you inside me. Adam . . . your doctors were wrong.”
The fever in his eyes transformed to questioning, the questioning to disbelief, the disbelief to wonder.
He drew back, propping his weight on one elbow. His gaze swept her body from breast to belly. With the care of an artist handling spun glass, he cupped an ivory breast in his palm, weighing, fitting, comparing reality to memory. With awe, he skimmed his hand down her ribs to the slight protrusion of her abdomen, then measured her waist with his hand, cupped his palm over her tummy.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth when his gaze found hers again. Her eyes misted over with tears as, like a slow sun at daybreak, a tentative, cautious light replaced the shadows in his eyes. “It’s . . . not possible.” The hope in his voice challenged his own denial.
She cupped his cheek in her palm. “Then my obstetrician is going to be a very disappointed man. He thinks he’s going to deliver a baby in six months.”
She would remember the look on his face for her lifetime. He kissed her gently, then closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to hers. For what seemed like an eternity he held her that way, his heart beating steadily against hers before he lowered his head to her stomach. He pressed his mouth to her belly in a long, reverent kiss, then rested his cheek on the warm, resilient flesh that harbored his child. She felt the moisture of his silent tears and rejoiced in the joy s
he had brought him.
“Introduce yourself to your child, Adam,” she said gently. “We both need to get to know you again.”
With infinite care, he entered her. He filled her slowly, as though he thought she might break, as though he would die if he hurt her, as though she were his world and his light and his reason for living. And he loved her ever so gently because she was all those things to him. All those things and more.
She was sitting on the sofa, her knees tucked under her chin, her toes buried deep in the cushion, when Adam woke up. Rolling over on his side, he propped his head on his palm and scowled sleepily at her.
“What are you doing up there?”
She smiled. “I’m watching you sleep.”
“Why aren’t you watching me sleep from down here where I can touch you?”
“Because if you touch me, I end up close to you and then I can only see your face. I wanted to see all of you.”
“I want to see all of you too . . . but you’ve got that damn nightgown on again.”
“This nightgown happens to be a gift from a very special man. And besides . . .” She gave him a sassy grin. “I like wearing it.”
He reached out and took her foot in his hand, dragging it from the sofa cushion. “And I like taking it off. Come here.”
When he had her where he wanted her, naked and spent beneath him, he brushed the damp hair back from her temples and feasted his eyes on the porcelain perfection of her face. “If I hadn’t come back, were you going to tell me about the baby?”
She understood the anguish in his eyes and answered him truthfully. “I told myself I wouldn’t. I told myself I wouldn’t use the baby to get you to come back to me. And then, too, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It was such a shock. Don’t get me wrong. I was thrilled. I am thrilled. I thought, if I couldn’t have you, at least I could have a part of you. I wouldn’t be alone anymore.