On Love's Own Terms

by Fran Baker

  She spun around, catching him off-guard. Flattening her palms against his solid chest, she pushed him backwards. He’d left her no choice—she had to hurt him. It was strictly a matter of self-preservation.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression, trembling with rage? Just remembering why I divorced you, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  His dark gaze drifted to the front of her blouse again, taking in the hardened tips of her breasts.

  The more he hated her, the safer she was—she simply couldn’t afford another emotional risk. Bonnie let him have it with a deliberate cruelty that sickened her.

  “And don’t attach any great importance to my physical reaction,” she warned. “I still crave corn pone on occasion, too, but I’m certainly not interested in a steady diet of it.”

  Luke’s glare confirmed she’d hit her target, but Bonnie took no pride in her accuracy.

  “If you think you sound sophisticated, think again,” he advised. “Leading a man on, then disappointing him, is nothing but a juvenile trick”

  “You came on to me!” she reminded hotly.

  “You weren’t fighting me off.”

  She winced at the truth in his words. “I was confused,” she admitted. “For a minute, I…” How could she tell him she was hurting, too? She couldn’t. “I’ve learned some hard lessons in seven years, Luke—the most important one being the difference between love and lust. If you—”

  “Considering that that wasn’t love we felt just a minute ago, it wasn’t a bad substitute,” he said caustically.

  Even knowing she deserved his sarcasm, she was hurt by the remark “You haven’t changed a bit! All you want is an instant replay of the past: Luke scores and Bonnie pays the penalty.”

  “Spoken like a true martyr,” he scorned. “If I recall correctly, we shared the satisfaction as equally as we did the suffering.”

  “You’d better see a doctor,” she retorted, “because your memory seems to be fading real fast.”

  Bonnie reeled away from him again, her throat constricting painfully as she was harshly reminded of the baby she’d lost. Deep inside, she had never stopped blaming herself, wondering what she’d done to cause the miscarriage. She drew a bracing breath of air even as the tears spilled freely down her cheeks.

  “All I remember is that when I needed my husband’s support the most, he was busy drowning his sorrows in a beer mug and dancing his sadness away in a damned roadhouse.”

  “If you’d been more of a wife—”

  “Says the model husband?”

  The silence thickened with other accusations that didn’t bear repeating.

  “I’m sorry, Bonnie.” Luke’s voice was filled with regret. “I know it’s probably too late, but believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you.

  She nodded, wordlessly accepting the apology she’d never dreamed she’d hear. Bonnie turned around and was shocked by the bitterness she saw in his dark eyes. Ashamed of her part in provoking the fight, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “If I’d known then what I know now, I wouldn’t have let it happen.” Luke looked so miserable, it wrenched her . “I was older; I could have controlled things if I’d tried.”

  “It wasn’t all your fault,” she qualified with a watery smile. “I could have said no, if I’d wanted to.”

  “Listen. I don’t want to spoil the wedding,” he said. “If my hanging around all week means you’ll be uncomfortable, I’ll head back to Atlanta and stay put until Saturday.” He lifted an eyebrow, leaving the final decision to her. “Hell, I see Darlene and Dave every day; this is your first visit in years. Say the word and I’ll disappear.”

  How could she deny him the pleasure of helping prepare for the ceremony that he was partially financing? With a bemused expression, she shook her head. “You’re not worming your way out of shelling walnuts for the wedding cake that easily.”

  His smile would have charmed the stripes off a skunk.

  “Why don’t we declare a truce?” she proposed. “We won’t talk about the past—that’ll be off-limits. And the wedding folderol should keep us too busy to fight”

  “Agreed.” Luke proffered his hand, then promptly withdrew it. “Before we shake, though, I have to ask one question on the forbidden subject.”

  She eyed him warily, then nodded.

  “For the reception, are you baking that fantastic chocolate cake I used to love so much?”

  “Yes; it’s Darlene’s favorite.”

  “Are the walnuts I’m supposed to shell going into that creamy fudge frosting you were always asking me to help you stir?”

  “That’s two questions.” Bonnie was stymied by his sudden interest in what she planned to serve. They’d already agreed that the food for the reception was her responsibility.

  “Humor me,” he urged with that effective lopsided grin and an innocent shrug of those wide shoulders. “I’m getting to the point as quickly as I can.”

  “Yes.” She sighed and tapped her foot impatiently.

  “The walnuts are going into the fudge frosting.”

  The wicked gleam in his eyes should have warned her. Without touching her, Luke leaned over and placed his mouth a whisper away from her ear, as if the trees could hear. “Remember what we used to do with the extra fudge?”

  His question bolted through her like white lightning. After their first erotic episode with the sweet, creamy chocolate, she’d made a habit of stirring up a batch-and-a-half every time. Just in case. Bonnie refused him the satisfaction of a verbal answer, but her scarlet cheeks confirmed that she did, indeed, remember.

  “Cease fire!” he proclaimed. Luke grabbed her hand and pumped it, then draped his arm around her shoulders. “Come on,” he encouraged with a friendly squeeze, “I’ll walk you home.”

  She shot him an appraising amber glance. “Go on without me,” she insisted. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

  “Hey, are you all right?” His embrace tightened slightly.

  “I’m fine,” she asserted in a falsely cheerful voice. “This is my last chance for a little peace and quiet before the wedding, and I intend to take advantage of it.”

  In truth, she needed the solitude to sort through the newly tangled mess of her emotions. She waited, thinking he’d take the hint. When he didn’t, she shrugged out of his brotherly embrace.

  “Scoot!” she ordered. “Before I forget I’m a lady and give you a shove.”

  “I’m going. I’m going.” Luke raised his hands in mock fear and did a ludicrous reverse goosestep. Just before he ducked under the pine boughs and disappeared, he veered dangerously close to violating their recent treaty. “If you do forget you’re a lady, I’ll be more than happy to remind you.” He winked. “Curing amnesia is my specialty.”

  “I’ll just bet,” she replied skeptically.

  When she was certain he’d gone, Bonnie released an exhausted sigh. The next week stretched ahead of her like a long, wearying journey down the same old road. There had always been an element of the extreme in their relationship—love or hate, laughter or tears, hugging or hurting. It was probably downright foolish of her to believe they could straddle the middle line, even for a few days.

  Her glance strayed around their circle. Things hadn’t changed as much as she’d hoped—he was virile; she was vulnerable. If that wasn’t a recipe for trouble, she’d trade her wooden spoons and copper pans for a wedge of humble pie.

  Chapter 2

  Their truce lasted until dinnertime.

  “Bonnie, you know I never eat anything that floats,” Luke grumbled as he glared into the soup bowl she’d passed him across the table.

  Dave cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair when she set his serving in front of him. Peering curiously into the bowl, he asked, “What do you call them?”

  “Ping-Pong balls,” Luke sniped.

  “Quenelles,” Bonnie corrected calmly as she ladl
ed soup from the porcelain tureen. Ignoring Luke, she directed her explanation to Darlene and Dave. “They’re similar to dumplings, only they’re made from meat instead of flour. I used chicken for these.”

  “Delicious!” Darlene pronounced after biting into one.

  Following his intended’s example, Dave took a cautious nibble, then smiled. “Different,” he declared, “but real good.”

  The three of them started on the first course of the delectable meal, which Bonnie had spent the afternoon preparing. She had made the dinner as a celebration of their family reunion and had added a silent plea for peace.

  Luke saw to it that her prayers went unanswered. He sat opposite her, his soup untouched, paying undivided attention to her mouth. Now and then a crooked smile lifted the corners of his own mouth, as if he found something amusing in the way she ate soup. Bonnie knew she wasn’t dribbling. But every time he grinned, she automatically raised her linen napkin and dabbed her lips and chin. It couldn’t hurt to be on the safe side.

  He’s doing it deliberately! By the time she realized what he was up to, her hand shook with the effort of lifting her spoon without spilling the soup. She lowered her gaze, studying the interior of her bowl as if it were a crystal ball. Why was he baiting her? Worse yet, why was she rising to it? The clear broth held no answers, only a solitary quenelle.

  She counted to ten, impatience surging through her veins. Unaware of the tension at the table, Darlene and Dave chatted happily. Damned if she’d let him ruin her dinner! Her cheeks flaming an angry scarlet, Bonnie looked up and licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. Luke’s eyes shot such electric sparks that she went hot and cold all at once, every cell in her body tingling with excitement.

  Forcing herself to break the magnetic connection, Bonnie stood and turned toward the kitchen. Round one belonged to Luke.

  “Darlene, would you clear away the bowls while I bring in the meat and vegetables?” It was a perfectly normal request, yet her voice sounded strange—quite unlike her own. Bonnie walked the interminable distance from the table to the swinging doors, acutely aware of Luke’s potent gaze following her every move.

  The kitchen was familiar turf. While she mentally regrouped, her hands functioned automatically. She arranged stuffed lamb chops on the meat platter, poured a velvety hollandaise sauce over the steamed asparagus and unmolded the wild rice ring.

  “Why didn’t you fix the steaks I brought from Atlanta?” Luke greeted her with the loaded question when she wheeled the carved walnut serving cart into the dining room.

  “I’d already planned the menu for this evening,” she explained patiently. She flashed him a tight smile, betraying none of the fury she felt. “We’ll have the steaks tomorrow night,” she reasoned. “Okay?”

  Bonnie managed to fill four plates and pass three with a deceptive domestic tranquility that left her bursting with pride.

  Round two looked rather promising, she thought. But her complacency proved completely premature.

  Ignoring his food, Luke repeated his visual attack. His dark eyes narrowed suggestively whenever her fork disappeared into her mouth; his grin widened devilishly whenever she lowered her eyes from the aggressive challenge in his. The juicy lamb chops, the tender asparagus, the fluffy rice—they might well have been sawdust for all she tasted them.

  Still oblivious to their older siblings’ silent combat, Darlene and Dave ate heartily and talked nonstop about their wedding and the house they were building in Atlanta. Bonnie nodded and smiled every time it seemed appropriate that she do so, but the conversation could have been conducted in gibberish as far as she was concerned.

  It was a battle-weary Bonnie who finally abandoned the pretense of eating. Mumbling a lame excuse about having sampled too much as she cooked, she laid her fork aside. Although her hand itched to slap away the triumphant smile on Luke’s face, she squelched the urge and stood.

  “I’ll go plug in the coffee maker,” she announced brightly to no one in particular. “When you’re finished eating, leave the dishes for later. I’ll meet you in the living room with the coffee tray.”

  The kitchen was a warm and friendly haven. Through the years, hundreds of relatives and neighbors had gathered around the old formica table, gossiping, laughing and swapping recipes and tall tales. Why then, out of those untold numbers, was the memory of Luke the only one that came to her mind while she worked?

  Bonnie took cups from the cabinet, spooned sugar into a bowl and filled the cream pitcher—routine actions that required no real concentration on her part. How many midnights had Luke and she raided this old refrigerator? She ran her hand along its smooth porcelain surface, recalling in unappetizing detail some of the weird ingredients they’d slapped between two slices of bread and called a sandwich. How many evenings had Luke and she sat up over her algebra papers, redoing each problem until she understood what to do with the x’s and y’s well enough to earn a passing grade?

  Those moments and others swirled around her now, dancing like dust motes in a stream of sunshine. After their marriage, she and Luke had stood in the middle of this kitchen, hands tightly clasped, while announcing their elopement and her pregnancy to her parents. Later, she’d sat alone here, sobbing out the hurt, sorting out the uncertain future.

  Methodically, Bonnie finished preparing the coffee tray and carried it into the living room. Dave sat in the overstuffed recliner, paging through a sports magazine. Darlene knelt in front of the entry-hall chest, rummaging for something in the bottom drawer. Luke stood staring out the bay window, his broad shoulders backlighted by the scarlet rays of a stunning sunset.

  “Who wants coffee?” Bonnie set the silver tray on the low table in front of the sofa, then perched on a cushion to pour. Dave accepted a cup; Darlene said she’d fix her own in a few minutes.

  Bonnie glanced up at Luke’s unyielding silhouette. If only he’d cooperate! “Let’s see,” she began in an optimistic voice, “you drink yours black if I remember correctly.”

  He spun around, his stubborn expression exterminating her hopes for a halfway pleasant evening.

  “I found them!” Darlene proclaimed with a laugh. Holding a small cardboard box, she fairly waltzed across the room and plopped down beside Bonnie. “It’s your half of the family photographs. Mama divided them before she died and put yours away for safekeeping.” She lifted the lid off the box. “Let’s have a look at them.”

  Bonnie and Darlene browsed through the photographs, taking a sentimental visual journey through childhood and adolescence. Dave continued reading. Luke kept his distance.

  “Lord love a duck!” Darlene hooted, closely inspecting one of the pictures. “Where did you get this steel-wool hairdo?”

  “Don’t you remember the hell I raised when mama gave me that home permanent and left the waving lotion on too long?” Although Bonnie could laugh about it now, it hadn’t been a bit funny at the time. “I cried three days straight and refused to leave my room. Finally, to shut me up, daddy drove me to his barber and told him to keep cuffing until the frizz was gone. The guy practically scalped me!”

  “I loaned you my baseball cap,” Luke recalled out of the blue, “and you wore it everywhere for a solid week.”

  Bonnie looked up at him, and their gazes locked. For a wonderful moment time reeled in reverse, erasing old sorrows and wrapping them in the sweet cocoon of youth. Darlene stood. Luke walked over and claimed her place on the sofa.

  “When I took the cap off Danny Tyler called me a skinhead, and you punched him in the nose.”

  Luke chuckled. “The next day you brought me a batch of chocolate chip cookies you’d baked—all of them burned black as pitch on the bottom.”

  “You ate them.”

  “Every last crumb.”

  Unnoticed, Darlene and Dave left the living room.

  “Will you just look at these?” Bonnie asked rhetorically. She scooped the entire pile from the box and set them on her lap. “Why, I’ll bet you’re in every other picture.”<
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  “Let’s see.” Luke slipped his arm around her shoulders and leaned closer.

  Dusk fell as softly as a down comforter. Together, they examined the photographs and traded the souvenirs they had saved in their minds and hearts. Bonnie groaned occasionally in embarrassment. What a skinny creature she’d been—her legs looked just like matchsticks in this one! Luke’s frequent laughter reverberated vibrantly in her ears. Whatever had happened to all those baseball trophies he’d won in school? Probably serving as door-stops all over town, thanks to his mother’s famous rummage sales.

  When they came to the pictures taken during their marriage, they both lapsed into silence. Here she’d mugged for the camera while he’d pointed at her bare feet with one hand and the small but definite bulge of her belly with the other. There, after her miscarriage and the quarry closing, Bonnie’s eyes were deep pools of pain and Luke’s grim expression seemed chiseled from stone. There’d been no reason for either of them to smile.

  On the brink of tears, Bonnie gathered her composure while returning the photographs to the box and replacing the lid. “I’ll take these upstairs and put them in a suitcase before I do the dishes.”

  Luke’s arm remained around her shoulders.

  Keenly conscious of the intimate press of their bodies, she groped for emotional distance. “I saw a beautiful leather album last week in New York. When I get back to the city I think I’ll buy it. Sort of an early birthday present. To myself…”

  Luke’s hand slid to the nape of her neck where his thumb made lazy circles that felt like billion-volt brands. Bonnie trained her gaze straight ahead. If she looked at him, even for an instant, she was lost.

  “Do you realize this is the first time we’ve ever slept under the same roof without sharing the same bed?” he murmured.

  Stung by his question, she stood. “Only if you don’t count the nights one of us slept on the sofa after an argument.”

  She started toward the stairway. The box she carried felt as heavy as lead; it was so full of memories. She’d sort them out later, behind closed doors.