Everything but the marriage

by Schulze, Dallas

  This time, the words penetrated. Annalise saw their impact in his eyes. She held her breath. She was prepared for him to be angry. They'd never even discussed the possibility of having a future together, and suddenly they were going to be parents. Even in the midst of her own delight, she wasn't foolish aiough to assume that Devlin was going to instantaneously find the same joy in his impending fatherhood.

  Emotion flashed across his face, but it was gone too quickly for her to read, leaving his eyes slate gray and completely empty of expression.

  "Is your health all right?" he asked in a neutral tone.

  "Yes. The doctor says I'm fine." Her eyes searched his face, trying to read something behind the blank facade he'd put up. "Devlin..."

  "I'm glad you're well," he interrupted without apology. He glanced at his watch. "I forgot to pick up some things in town. I'd better get going or it'll be too late. Is there anything you need me to pick up?"

  "I ... I have a prescription for vitamins," she said slowly, feeling as if she'd missed a part of the conversation somewhere.

  "I'll fiU it at Johnson's."

  Since he seemed to be expecting it, she got her purse and found the prescription. He took it from her and put it into his shirt pocket without looking at it. "Is there anything else you need?" He might have been a room service waiter asking if she had everything she needed before he left the room.

  She shook her head. Devlin nodded politely and picked up his keys. A moment later, the door shut behind him, leaving her alone.

  That appeared to be the end of matter, as far as Devlin was concerned. For three days, Annalise waited for him to mention the baby, waited for him to show some emotion about it. Anger, dislike, even hatred. Anything would have been better than the complete indifference he seemed to feel.

  She couldn't complain about his treatment of her. He was perfectly polite. He inquired after her health each day. He thanked her for the meals she prepared, meals neither of them ate more than a few mouthfuls of.

  He also came to bed every night after she was asleep and was up before she woke. His eyes never did more than skim across her face, as if he couldn't bear to look at her.

  She told herself he needed time to adjust to the idea. It had been as big a shock to him as it had to her. Where she could greet the news of her pregnancy with unadulterated joy, it was understandable that his feelings were not so simple.

  Time, that was what he needed. Once he'd gotten over the shock, they'd be able to talk about the baby. They'd be able to decide what lay in the future. An-_nalise never had a moment's concern that he'd refuse to help her in caring for the child. She knew Devlin well enough to know that he'd take his responsibility seriously.

  But she wanted their child to be more than a responsibility. She wanted Devlin to want this baby as much as she did. If she just gave him a little time to come to terms with the news, everything would be all right.

  After three days, when nothing had changed, she decided that perhaps time alone wasn't going to do it. If there'd been only herself to consider, she might have packed a bag and left, no matter how much it tore her heart to shreds to leave him. But it wasn't just her anymore.

  She had a child to consider now, and she had to try to make the child's father understand just what an incredible miracle they'd been given.

  "We need to talk." She hadn't planned on it coming out so abruptly. She'd planned on approaching the subject more obliquely, but it was hard to be oblique with a man who was doing a damed good job of avoiding her.

  **I have things to do." He had his hand on the doorknob and he didn't turn to look at her.

  *'We need to talk about the baby," she said determinedly.

  Devlin's shoulders stiffened as if the word baby was a lash laid across them.

  "I don't think so," he said tightly, still without turning.

  "You can't just pretend it doesn't exist," Annalise threw at him.

  His hand dropped from the doorknob and he turned slowly, looking at her without expression. "I'm not pretending it doesn't exist."

  "Aren't you? You haven't mentioned it."

  "Perhaps that's because I have nothing to say."

  "You're going to be a father," she said, her tone pleading.

  "No!" The facade of indifference vanished in an instant, revealing a blazing anger that made his eyes almost silver. "That's something I will never be!"

  AnnaUse gripped her hands together. She lifted her chin. "You can't possibly think this isn't your baby."

  "No. I know you conceived it with me." He made it sound like a cold, clinical act, and Annalise felt hurt rise inside her.

  "Then how can you say you're not the father?"

  "Fm the father, but it won't be anything more than an empty title." He stepped away from the door, facing her, his eyes full of anger. "You don't have to worry that I won't support you. I'll make sure you and your child have everything you need. But that's as far as it's going to go."

  Her child. The words made it clear that he was distancing himself as much as possible. She fought the urge to turn away from his anger, to give in to the tears that burned at the back of her eyes. Anger wasn't going to do them any good. God knows, he had enough for the two of them.

  "Can't we talk about this?" She struggled for a reasonable tone.

  "Talk? What shall we talk about?" he asked nastily. "Shall we talk about how you lied to me? How you told me you couldn't get pregnant?"

  "I didn't lie!" She was shocked by the accusation. In all her thinking, it had never occurred to her that he might beUeve she'd lied about her inabiUty to conceive.

  "Pardon me if I find that a little hard to believe," he sneered.

  "It's the truth! Why would I lie about that?"

  "Because you wanted me to get you knocked up," he said crudely. "Because you wanted a baby to replace the one you lost."

  Annalise wasn't even aware that she'd moved until she saw her hand arcing through the air. Her pahn hit his cheek with enough force to jerk his head to the side. The sound of the slap echoed in the big house.

  Her hand fell to her side. He looked at her, the imprint of her hand scarlet on his cheek.

  "You got what you wanted," he said. "You've got your baby. I'll make sure you're taken care of, but I don't see any reason to smile about it."

  She stared at him, seeing the deep anger he felt. At another time, she might have seen the fear that underlay the anger, but her own emotions were too tumultuous for her to see anything but the obvious, which was that he was looking at her as if he hated her.

  Shaken and trembling, Annalise was incapable of putting together the words to defend herself. That he could believe she'd use him as he'd just said, cut to the bone.

  When he turned and walked out, she didn't try to stop him. She stood frozen in place, listening to the roar of the truck's engine disappearing down the driveway. He was going too fast, she thought vaguely. He'd spin out in the gravel at the bottom of the driveway. But he'd get it under control again. Devlin always got things under control again.

  Moving dazedly, she turned and went into the bedroom. Methodically she began removing her clothes from the closet. Beauty, sensing that all was not as it should be, leaped up onto the bed and sat down on top of the small stack of garments. Looking up at Annalise, she meowed inquiringly.

  Annalise felt the ice that had encased her crack. Sinking onto the bed, she scooped the cat up in her arms. Rocking back and forth, she let the tears start. In the past few minutes, not only her world but her heart had shattered into a thousand pieces.

  And she didn't know if she'd be able to put either back together.

  Chapter 13

  Uevlin took the turn at the end of the driveway too quickly. The rear wheels slid on the loose gravel. His hands tightened on the wheel, and he wrenched the truck into line with brute force.

  The road was, as usual, empty. It was just as well, because Devlin sent the truck down it as if all the demons in hell were speeding after him. The trouble wa
s, he was carrying the demons with him. No matter how fast he went, he couldn't escape them. Instead of the country road in front of him, he saw Annalise's white face, the hurt in her eyes. The image made it hurt to draw a breath.

  Cursing, he slowed the truck, pulling it off to the side of the road. His hands knotted on the steering wheel, he stared through the windshield.

  He'd been a fool. Annalise was no more capable of using him to get her pregnant than she was of swimming the EngUsh Channel. He couldn't remember ever hearing her tell a he. He'd wanted—needed—to believe that she'd hed to him, that she'd used him.

  From the moment she'd told him that she was pregnant, he'd felt torn apart by conflicting emotions. There'd been a part of him that had felt utter joy. A child was something he'd never thought to have, and he'd told himself he felt no r^rets at that decision. But when he pictured Annalise carrying his baby, holding his son or daughter in her arms, he'd realized how wrong he'd been to think it was something he didn't want.

  But the joy was quickly swallowed up by fear. He didn't have to close his eyes to see his father standing over him, his thin face twisted with hatred, his belt raised. He'd swom never to have a child, never to risk finding that insanity in himself.

  And suddenly, there was Annalise, telling him she was carrying his child, making him confront his own worst nightmares. His reaction had been rage. He'd told himself that it was rage because she'd lied, because she'd used him. In reality, the anger was easier to deal with than the fear that boiled like acid inside him.

  But that didn't give him the right to hurt her. What if she left?

  He stared down the empty country road, seeing his life stretch ahead of him, equally empty, equally lonely. Since Annalise had come into his life, he'd

  known a contentment, a happiness, he'd never thought himself capable of feeHng.

  She'd had a childhood scarcely less painful than his own. Her marriage had broken up just when she'd needed support the most, and she'd had to stand by and watch a beloved child die. And she hadn't let any of it destroy her. Perhaps it had come close, he thought, remembering the lifeless woman he'd pulled from the river.

  But all she'd needed was a little time, a little bit of security, and she'd pulled her life back together. She'd not only learned to laugh again, she'd taught him how to laugh. She'd opened her heart to Beauty and Lobo—and one Devlin Russell—unwanted strays, all of them.

  She'd given them all a home. Not just a house but a home. He'd thought he was building a home this past year, but now he could see what he'd really been doing was building himself a wall to keep the world at bay. Another prison, only this one was to protect him from life—from living.

  If she left, it would be like hearing those big iron doors slide shut behind him. Only this time, there would be no reprieve, no one to say he wasn't guilty after all. He'd have no one to blame but himself.

  His fingers were not quite steady as he turned the key in the ignition. He had to talk to her, apologize. God, how could he offer an apology for the things he'd said to her? He'd been unforgivably cnid. But whether she forgave him or not, she had a right to hear the apology.

  He drove back at the same breakneck pace at which he'd left. He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there staring at the raipty fields, realizing what a fool he'd been. She could have had time to pack and leave by now.

  K she was gone, he'd just have to find her, he told himself. He'd track her down no matter where she'd gone and tell her he was sorry. She'd no doubt kick him out of her life, but he couldn't let her think that he really believed the things he'd accused her of.

  Her car was still beside the house, and Devlin felt the band around his chest ease slightly. She wasn't gone yet. He could talk to her, tell her how sorry he was, tell her he hadn't meant any of it.

  He strode into the house, trying to think of what he was going to say to her. How did you begin to apologize for the kind of things he'd said? But he had to find the words. He owed her that much.

  Annalise was in the bedroom. He felt an almost paralyzing stab of pain when he saw what she was doing. Her clothes were on the bed. She was folding than neatly and setting them in a cardboard box. The same damned box they'd been in when he towed her car home, he realized.

  She glanced up, her eyes not quite touching on his still figure, settling somewhere just to the left of him instead.

  "I'm ahnost done. I thought you'd be gone longer." There was no anger in her tone. No hurt. There was nothing there at all. She could have been talking to a stranger.

  "Annalise, Fm sorry.'* He winced at the inadequacy of the words, but they were all he had to offer.

  "That's quite all right," she said politely. She folded a pair of jeans and set them in the box. "Actually, it's probably just as well you did come back. I was hoping it would be all right if I left Beauty and the kittens here, just until I find an apartment. I know you didn't particularly want a cat and I'll take her off your hands as soon as possible."

  "Fine." He watched as she took a blouse off a hanger and began folding it. He felt as if he were breaking into a hundred tiny pieces inside.

  "Lobo, too, if you'd like," she went on, setting the blouse on top of the jeans. "Although, he really considers himself more yours than mine. If you want, I'll take him, too. I don't want you to feel as if you're stuck with him."

  Where did she think she was going to find an apartment that would let her have, not only a cat and four kittens, but a dog the size of a Shetland pony?

  "He can stay. You can all stay."

  "No!" For an instant, her careful calm wavered and her fingers knotted over the T-shirt she'd just picked up. "Thank you," she said politely, forcing her fingers to relax.

  "I was wrong."

  "Yes, you were." But there was no anger in her words.

  "I know you didn't lie to me about thinking you couldn't have children. I think I knew all along."

  "I'm glad.*' She folded the last garment and set it in the box. "Excuse me. I want to make sure I didn't leave anything in the bathroom."

  Devlin watched her leave the bedroom, feeling a blackness rising up inside, threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn't let her leave like this. There were things that needed to be said.

  She came back into the room with a bottle of shampoo in her hand and tucked it down along the side of the box. Her eyes skimmed over the room, as if checking to see if she'd missed anything. The fingers that rested on the sides of the box trembled slightly.

  It was that tronbling that gave him hope. He hadn't managed to kill her feelings for him completely if the thought of leaving could make her tremble.

  "Don't go."

  The simple plea sounded loud in the quiet room. Annalise closed her eyes as if the words had a physical impact.

  "Don't," she said softly. "I understand how you feel."

  "Do you?"

  "Yes. You made it clear you didn't want a child. You didn't truly want to get involved with me, did you?" For the first time, she squarely looked at him, her mouth quirked in a half smile. "I guess I shouldn't have thought that because you made an exception on one, you'd be able to make an exception on the other. A baby is a much bigger commitment than a lover, isn't it?"

  "I didn't want to get involved," he admitted slowly. He tried to pick his words carefully. This might be the only chance he had to make her understand, to beg her forgiveness. "Fve always known that Fd never have a serious relationship with a woman. I never thought I was capable of the kind of feelings that required."

  "Oh, Devlin." Annalise looked at him, the compassion in her eyes sending a stab of pain through him. "You're capable of a great deal more than you give yourself credit for. Fve never met anyone with so much to give. Look at the way you took me in. And Beauty and Lobo. Strays, all of us," she said, unknowingly echoing his earlier thoughts. "You shouldn't sell yourself short."

  He felt hope surge up. Surely she couldn't look at him like that, say that he had so much to give and not still feel somethin
g for him.

  "Annalise, I-"

  "I should get going." She looked away from him, her tone suddenly brisk. "I need to find a motel tonight."

  "Please. Don't go."

  Her finger knotted over the sides of the box. She fdt a wave of pain wash over her. He sounded as if he meant it. There was need in his voice, in his eyes. She wanted desperately to respond to that need, but she couldn't.

  Her chest still ached with the pain of his earlier words. He felt badly about having hurt her and he wanted a chance to make it right. But the only thing that could make it right was if he loved her. And he

  didn't. He couldn't have loved her and said those things to her.

  "I have to go," she said tightly. "I accqjt your apology, but I have to go."

  "I was afraid," he told her, taking a stq) away from the doorway.

  "Afraid? Of what?" Despite herself, her eyes wait to his face. She didn't want to Hsten to him, didn't want to care about what he had to say.

  "Of being hurt."

  "So you thought you'd strike first?"

  "Of hurting you," he continued, ignoring her sharp question. "Of hurting the... the child."

  "You did hurt me," she told him, anger and pain tangled together in her stomach.

  "I don't mean that kind of hurt." He waved one hand m an impatient gesture.

  "What other kind of hurt is..." Her voice trailed off. She stared at him, suddenly realizing what he meant. He was talking about physical hurt. Maybe she should have thought of it before, considering what he'd told her of his childhood.

  "You think you might hit me or our child?" she asked, incredulity colouring her tone.

  "The capabiUty is there."

  "Nonsense." There was no hesitation in hex brisk d^al. "You're no more capable of hurting someone smaller than you than you are of...of leaping tall buildings in a single boimd."

  Devlin blinked at her, disconcerted by l^r instantaneous dismissal of a fear that had haunted him all his life.