He almost let it slide, almost said to hell with it, let’s pretend the last week and a half never happened, that there was never an angry word spoken. Let’s just go back to the morning we woke in each other’s arms, and start again from there.
Instead, he forced himself to look at her. “When you got back from Beason’s Ferry, why didn’t you call me?”
“Brent…” A breathy laugh escaped her. “I was waiting for you to call me.”
His brows snapped together in a scowl. “But we agreed on the phone that you’d call me when you got back.”
“No, we didn’t. All we said was we’d talk when I got back.” She hesitated, then frowned. “Didn’t we?”
”No.” Something relaxed in his chest, like a fist that had been clenched too long suddenly letting go. “I specifically asked you to call me, if you wanted to talk about … things. So when you didn’t call, I assumed…” He let the rest trail off in embarrassment. God, he felt like an idiot. Of course Laura would expect the man to do the calling.
“Oh.” The whispered word echoed the regret in her eyes. “I … I’m sorry. I guess I was upset and wasn’t really listening.”
He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “Actually, I think that’s my line—the one about being sorry. Laura, I —”
“No, don’t apologize.” She pulled away when he started to reach for her. Wrapping her arms about her knees, she let her head fall forward. “God, I can’t believe this.” Sad laughter rippled from her. “All this time, I thought you didn’t want to see me again.”
“I never meant for you to think that.” He cringed inwardly as he realized she’d felt as awful all week as he had. All because of his stubborn pride. Not that she wasn’t just as stubborn, but still— “I should have called. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She sighed. “Maybe it was even for the best.”
“Oh?” he prompted.
“Yeah.” She tossed the rest of her bread to the ducks.
“After what happened at home, I’ve had a lot to think about this last week. I needed some time alone.”
“I take it your father has been up to his usual tricks?”
“You might say that.” Her shoulders sagged. “Only this time, he’s come up with a little different angle. Instead of clinging to me, he’s washed his hands of me completely.”
“What do you mean?” A frisson of alarm snaked up his spine.
When she finally spoke, she did so without turning to face him. “The day I left to bring you your car, he told me if I walked out the door, I’d never be welcomed back through it. Apparently he was serious. When I got home,” her muscles shifted, as if she were withdrawing inside herself, “I found the locks on the doors changed and all my belongings packed in boxes.”
“You can’t be serious.” His body tensed for battle. Though he’d never particularly liked her father’s possessive attitude, he’d never thought the man was cruel. Looking at Laura’s curved spine, though, he saw the signs of deep pain. “What the hell did he say to you?”
“Nothing.” She turned her head to rest her cheek on her knees and regarded him with resigned eyes. “He wasn’t even there. He didn’t have to be. His message was clear enough—either I move back home, or I’m no daughter to him.”
“That self-centered, manipulative son of a bitch.” He clenched his fists, wishing he could hit something.
“I know he seems that way.” She sighed. “But there are things about him you don’t understand.”
“There’s no excuse for the way he treats you, Laura. There never has been.”
She smiled at him—a sad smile that tore at his heart. “Not even love?”
“This isn’t love. This is sheer domination.”
“He’s just trying to protect me.”
“Protect you from what? Growing up?”
She looked away. “From the world that killed the one person he loved more than anything else.”
He stared at her in confusion, realizing she wasn’t so much resigned as emotionally exhausted. For that he could happily wring her father’s neck. He couldn’t believe that in addition to his not calling her all week, she’d had this to deal with. Alone.
“Do you remember my mother?” she asked after a moment.
“Not really,” he answered distractedly. He found it difficult to carry on a casual conversation with his blood doing a slow boil. “I know there were some rumors about her, but I always discounted them. She was so beautiful and gracious. You know, the perfect wife for Beason’s Ferry’s most respectable citizen.”
“Yes she was. But that doesn’t mean the rumors weren’t true. In fact, I doubt the folks in Beason’s Ferry know the half of it. Even in a small town, some skeletons can remain safely hidden in the closet.” Her manner grew hushed and still. “There were a lot of skeletons in the house where I grew up.”
She seemed so fragile, he feared she would shatter at the slightest touch. Forcing his anger aside, he leaned forward and draped his arms over his knees. “Care to tell me about them?”
She remained silent so long, he knew the thoughts in her head were ones she’d never shared with anyone else.
“I think my mother was … abused … sexually as a child. By … her father.”
He forced himself not to react, to remain perfectly still even as everything in him rebelled at the thought that something so ugly had touched Laura’s life.
“I think,” she continued slowly, “that’s why she was so self-destructive. No matter how much my father loved her, and he truly did love her, she never thought she was worthy of him.”
He watched silently as she stared into the distance.
“They met when Dad worked at a hospital here in Houston. She’d just been kicked out of college and sent home. Her parents, my grandparents, live on a ranch north of here. I don’t really know them. Dad has always refused to let them anywhere near me.”
“Good choice,” Brent said with controlled calm.
“Anyway, my parents met when my mother was brought into the hospital. She’d been beaten up.”
“By her father?”
“No, just some man,” Laura said the words quietly, without meeting his eyes. “I doubt if she even knew his name. He was just someone she’d picked up in a bar. My father patched her up and sent her on her way. A week later she was back in the emergency ward from an overdose of barbiturates.”
Laura sighed at some far-off memory. “I always thought of her as a beautiful bird with a broken wing. Dad never could resist healing the wounded. He tried everything he could to save her from her own self-loathing.”
“I take it his efforts didn’t work?” Brent asked softly.
“For a time, I think they did. When they first married and he brought her to Beason’s Ferry, I think she was better. At first people saw her as my dad did. Kindhearted, generous, gracious. But that’s not how she saw herself. And by the time she died, she’d made sure other people saw her the same way she saw herself.”
She looked right at him. “Isn’t it strange that how we see ourselves, and how others see us as is often so at odds?”
The truth behind the question made him frown, for he’d always seen Laura’s life as the opposite of his own, only to learn now that she’d had her own demons to conquer. Yet maybe he had sensed this sadness and this strength inside her. Maybe this was the common ground that had let them be childhood friends.
“How did you see her?” he asked.
“She was a good mother. The best,” she said with conviction. “I like to think she was happy when she was around me. She seemed happy.”
“How could she not have been?” He smiled. “Any mother would he proud to have you as her daughter.”
Laura looked away. “I wasn’t enough, though. Nor was Dad. Not enough to make her feel whole.”
“Do you blame yourself for her death?”
“No.” She sighed. “But Dad blames himself. He knew she was clinically depressed, but he thought he could t
reat her himself. He thought he could be everything to her—doctor, counselor, husband. She tried to get well for him. I know she tried.”
Laura shook her head. “That’s why she never slipped up in Beason’s Ferry. Whenever she went on one of her self-destructive binges, she’d go to Houston, or Galveston, or anywhere she could lose herself in alcohol and drugs and men.”
She fell silent for a while, and he waited patiently, sensing she needed to tell him more.
“Do you know how she died?” she asked at last.
“In a boating accident, wasn’t it?”
Laura nodded. “Except there was a lot more to the story than ever reached home. The yacht she was on belonged to some Galveston drug dealer. Apparently, he was throwing a wild weekend party that got out of control. His yacht collided with another boat at full speed, killing several people—even though he escaped without a scratch.” She sighed to expel the bitterness that had crept into her voice. “I lost more than my mother that day. I lost a part of my dad. I saw it on his face the day he brought her body home for burial. Something inside him had died.”
“Is that why he’s so overprotective of you? He’s afraid he’ll lose you, too?”
She glanced toward him. “I’m all he has left, Brent.”
“I still say it’s no excuse.”
“Actually, I agree.” Straightening her legs, she rested her weight back on her hands. “However—I also know he isn’t solely to blame. He wanted my life to be perfect, so I fell into the habit of pretending that it was.” Dropping her head back, she stared at the sky. “But then, who would have guessed that living in a perfect bubble wouldn’t be enough?”
He stared at her, distracted by the graceful arch of her neck. She turned her head sideways and smiled at him. “Truth is, I’ve discovered that I’d rather fall on my face a few times than never experience anything outside Beason’s Ferry. And that’s what he can’t take: the thought of me suffering one moment of pain.”
Brent’s gaze lingered on the soft curve of her cheek before meeting her eyes. “Can’t he see that he’s the one hurting you?”
“Probably.” She lowered her weight to one elbow, turning slightly toward him. “And if I know Dad, he’s home right now steeped in guilt, with no idea how to make everything right again. And sadly, I can’t tell him not to worry, or assure him that I’m okay.”
“Why not?” He fought the urge to lean back on his elbow as well so he could recline alongside her.
She shrugged. “He made the mistake of drawing this stupid line in the sand. For once in my life, I refuse to toe the mark. If he wants to resolve things, he’s the one who has to make the first move.”
“But are you really okay, Laura?” He studied her closely.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She gazed off toward the water. “I guess I’m more confused than anything. About a lot of things. Like why we go through life playing so many games. Why can’t we just let down our guard and be ourselves?”
“What do you mean?” He sat up a bit straighter and wished she’d do the same, especially since her skirt had started to inch up her thigh.
“It just seems like we all pretend to be someone we’re not, or that we see people as something other than who they are.” She rolled to her back, so her weight rested on both elbows, and her silk tank-top stretched enticingly over her breasts. “And I’m the worst of all. While I was trying so hard to pretend my life was perfect, everyone started seeing me that way. Dr. Morgan’s daughter, so respectable, responsible, so kind and good. Blah!”
“It’s not an insult,” he said, trying not to laugh at her expression. “Besides, you are those things.”
“Maybe. Some. But it isn’t enough.” She looked up at him, and a devious smile lit her eyes. “Sometimes what I really want to be is exactly the opposite.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just once, I’d like to walk into a room and have every man turn and look.” She seemed to savor the image for a moment, while he struggled not to.
Against his will, a memory stirred through him of how she’d looked and felt lying beneath him, their bodies tangled in passion. He cleared his throat. “I have a feeling men notice you more than you think.”
She tipped her head to give him a sidelong look. “Do you think wanting to be bad makes a person bad? I don’t mean being really bad, just a little bit bad?”
He shifted his weight to accommodate his unexpected arousal. Didn’t the woman have any idea how sexy she was? Or that talking about it was turning him on? “I assure you being a little bit bad can be a lot of fun at times.”
“Really?” She sat up. “Like when?”
He laughed. “Oh, no, you aren’t going to sucker me into that conversation.”
“Oh?” She blinked in a way that made him want to lay her down and show her just how bad he could he. “You think if you share some wild tale about you and some other woman that I’ll get jealous?”
“As we say in the news business: I have no comment.”
“Fuddy-duddy.” She wrinkled her nose.
“To answer your earlier question—no, I don’t think being a little bad now and then makes a person bad. It’s probably healthy, in fact.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking.”
“I’m not exactly sure I like the sound of that.” He scowled at her, thinking her father had had the right idea after all about keeping her sheltered.
“Well,” she grinned, “you don’t exactly have much say in the matter, now do you?” The words rolled off her tongue as a jest but fell into silence between them.
“True.” His scowl deepened. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?” She turned wary.
He took a breath for courage. “Us.”
“Oh?” Her smile faded, and he nearly changed his mind. But no, he’d made a decision last night, and he meant to stick to it.
“Laura,” he said, “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I don’t think we were meant to date.”
She regarded him for a moment, then wrapped her arms around her legs. “I see.”
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he hastened to say. “This has nothing to do with your desirability, or how much I enjoy your company. In fact, I’d like to go on seeing you, but I think it would be best for both of us if we see each other as friends.”
“You want to be friends?”
“Absolutely. Trust me on this that platonic relationships last longer than lovers, and I’d like for what we have to last.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes that probed too deeply for his comfort. He prayed she couldn’t see what he really wanted, which had very little to do with being friends and everything to do with stripping that skimpy tank-top off her luscious little body.
Finally, she nodded. “All right.”
“You agree, then?” He frowned, wondering why her words didn’t make him happy. There just didn’t seem to be any pleasing him lately. “No problem? No anger? No tears? No telling me to go to hell?”
“Nope.” She gathered up the deli wrappers and crumpled them in her hand before tossing them into the bag. “Not even a pout.”
“Okay,” he said, thinking he should feel a lot more relieved than he did. “So how about tonight?”
“What about it?”
“Well, it is Friday.” He shrugged. “Some of the news crew is planning to get together at Chuy’s after work.” Or at least they would be after he invited everyone.
“After work?” She stopped cleaning up their picnic long enough to look at him. “But you don’t get off until midnight.”
“So?”
“Don’t you think that’s kind of late to start your evening?”
He flashed her a teasing grin. “Now, how are you going to be bad if you aren’t even willing to stay up past your normal bedtime?”
“You know, you’re right.” A light dawned slowly over her face, turning her lips up in a mischievous smile. “In fact, toni
ght would be perfect.”
Now why did that sound as if she were planning something he wouldn’t like? “You’ll meet me, then? At midnight?”
“Absolutely.” The mischievous look turned calculated. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Chapter 18
So Brent wanted to go back to being just friends, did he? Laura snorted at the absurdity of that notion as she pulled into the parking lot of Chuy’s, a trendy Mexican restaurant, fifteen minutes after midnight. She and Brent had stepped too far over the line for her to go back to thinking of him as “just a friend” even if she wanted to. Which she most certainly did not. She wanted more from Brent than that. Much more.
When she spotted his car, she released her breath in a rush. He was already there, just as she’d hoped. Now, if she could work up the courage to go through with her plan, she and Brent would be back on very “un-friendly” terms before the night was over.
Pulling into a parking space, she cut the engine of her economical compact. She gripped the steering wheel and assured herself she looked sexy, not vampish. The dress was a simple cotton-knit sundress: a hot red, form-fitting sundress she’d seen a week ago when she’d gone on the first shopping spree for her new life. She’d been tempted to buy it at the time but hadn’t been able to justify the extravagance while shopping for a new work wardrobe.
Today, however, Brent’s well-intentioned words had made her so angry—not angry at him, but at the image she’d lived under for too long—she’d driven to the Galleria after work, marched into the shop, and plunked down her credit card without even trying on the dress. Not until she got home and slipped into the clingy red knit did she realize just how sexy it was. Or maybe she just wasn’t used to wearing something that so blatantly stated “Look at me boys, look at me and drool.”
Glancing in the rearview mirror to check her makeup, she tried to visualize herself walking into the crowded restaurant. No, not walking, prowling. That’s the word Melody had used in the last-minute pep talk Laura had received when she’d almost lost her nerve. “When you get to the restaurant,” Melody had said, “stroll through the door like the queen of cats deigning to prowl among the kittens.”
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