by Sandra Brown
Through the long night they had kept vigil in the plastic- and-chrome waiting room chairs. They didn’t speak. They didn’t look at each other. So many times she had wanted to apologize for thinking he could have betrayed her love with Marilee. She had wanted to touch him, to hold him, to grieve with him for all the years they had been kept apart. But they were apart still. Every taut line of his body and tense angle of his face told her so. She kept her distance and held her silence.
Roscoe had been heavily sedated after Rink left his room. Once the doctor had come to Caroline and knelt in front of her, taking her hand. “It won’t be long. You can go in if you wish, but he won’t know you’re there.”
She had shaken her head. She never wanted to see his face again. When at last the doctor had come to tell them that Roscoe had died, she left the hospital with Rink, dry-eyed and empty-hearted.
Now she must play the role of the bereaved widow. The limousine pulled to a halt. She was helped out of the backseat by the solicitous funeral director and led to the temporary tent that had been set up at the gravesite. She took the chair he indicated and sat stiffly, Rink beside her, Laura Jane next to him. Haney chose to stand behind Laura Jane, her comforting hands on the young woman’s shoulders.
Caroline closed her ears to the minister’s eulogy. Her eyes stared right through the casket with its blanket of white roses. When the service was over, she accepted the condolences of those who came to speak to her and Rink with formal graciousness.
“Isn’t she holding up well?” they murmured to each other.
“Not a tear.”
“Of course, since he had that exploratory surgery she’s known it was only a matter of time.”
“Yes. She’s had time to prepare herself.”
“Still, she could be carrying on something awful. You know how those people are. They tend to get emotional in public.”
“I wonder what will happen to the gin?”
“She’ll go on running it, I reckon.”
“What about Rink?”
“He’ll stay.”
“He’ll go back to Atlanta.”
“I don’t rightly know.”
She heard the whispered speculations as she returned to the waiting limousine, and she was unmoved by them. The magnitude of Roscoe’s deceit was still in the forefront of her mind. If she let any of her control slip, she would lose it all and disgrace herself by screaming like a madwoman. So she let them think her stoic. She would neither pray nor weep for the soul of Roscoe Lancaster. He had hurt not only her, but the only man she had ever loved. There would be no forgiveness in her heart for meanness so profound.
“Thank God that’s over,” Rink said as he sank into the backseat after shaking hands with the minister one last time.
But it wasn’t over. All afternoon The Retreat was filled with people who had ostensibly come to pay their respects to Roscoe’s survivors. Caroline thought most of them had come out of curiosity. Did they want to see what changes she had made in Marlena Winston Lancaster’s house? She got the impression that most of them were disappointed to find it unaltered. Had they expected scarlet wallpaper and fringed lampshades?
They were insatiably curious about Rink and his life in Atlanta. He was grilled about his business, his private life, the years he had been away from them, his future plans. He handled the subtle inquisition adroitly.
They were equally curious about Caroline. From where she sat in somber dignity, she watched her visitors covertly study her and wondered what they expected. Had they expected her to wear something besides a sedate black dress? Did they expect her to be weeping uncontrollably? Or did they expect her to be laughing now that her rich older husband had died? Just as they were disappointed with the unchanged house, she felt they were disappointed in her. The Dawson girl hadn’t given them anything to talk about later.
At last the callers began to leave, until finally the house was empty. Lengthy evening shadows came through the shutters to stripe the hardwood floors. Haney went about clearing up used glasses and paper napkins, emptying ashtrays.
“Will anybody be wanting supper?”
“Nothing for me, thank you, Haney,” Caroline responded desultorily.
“No thanks.” Rink splashed a draught of bourbon in a highball glass. “Go on to bed, Haney. It’s been a long day for you.”
She hoisted up her laden tray. “As soon as I get these things washed up, I may take you up on that. Is there anything you need, Caroline?”
Caroline smiled her thanks and shook her head. “Good night, Haney.”
“Well, there’s plenty of food in the refrigerator if anybody gets hungry. Good night.”
She left the two alone in the front parlor. Caroline leaned her head back on the sofa cushions and massaged her temples as she closed her eyes. She unbuttoned the top button of her dress and slipped off her shoes, sighing in relief.
Having taken off the jacket of his dark suit and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, Rink stood at one of the tall windows. One hand was in his pants pocket, the other periodically raised the glass to his lips. This was the first time they had been alone together since they’d left the hospital two nights before. It seemed they still had nothing to say to one another.
Caroline’s eyes drifted open and she studied him from across the room. She indulged herself and greedily soaked up the sight of his dark silhouette against the indigo evening.
His black hair was a startling contrast against the white collar of his shirt. His shoulders were wide and she followed the tapering shape of his vested back to his waist. His buttocks were narrow and taut beneath the tailored slacks, his thighs hard and lean and long. She wanted nothing more than to go to him. She could almost feel her arms sliding under his and around that firm torso to a stomach she knew her hands would find flat and corded. Her breasts ached to be pressed against the strength of his back. She wanted to lay her cheek against his shoulder and drink in his scent, every nuance of him.
Then, as she watched, his body tensed and she heard his muffled, “What the hell?” before he slammed the glass down on the antique sideboard and stormed from the room, his face set in hard lines. Alarmed, Caroline jumped from the sofa and hurried to the window.
Steve and Laura Jane were on the lawn. They were making slow progress toward the house. His arm was around her shoulders as he held her securely close to him. Her head was nestled against his chest. His head was bent protectively over hers. Caroline saw his lips moving as he spoke to her softly. Then she saw his lips rest fleetingly on her temple in a gentle kiss.
Spinning on stockinged feet, she raced from the room, knowing now what Rink had seen. She must catch up with him before—
But even as she thought it, she heard the front door screen bang closed behind him and his heels on the front porch. “Laura Jane,” he called out.
Caroline ran after him, bounding down the front steps. “Rink, no.”
Laura Jane raised her head from Steve’s chest, but she made no effort to move away from him. Instead she carried him along with her as she obeyed her brother’s summons. Caroline could see the reluctance in Steve’s footsteps. He wasn’t as naive as Laura Jane and had recognized the rage in Rink’s voice immediately. But he didn’t avert his eyes from the other man as they came forward.
“Yes, Rink?” Laura Jane asked.
“Where have you been?”
“I’ve been in Steve’s apartment watching television.” She smiled up at the stable manager. “He was trying to take my mind off Daddy’s funeral.”
Fury radiated off Rink like heat from a stove. “Well, it’s getting late. You’d better get upstairs to bed.”
“That’s what Steve said, too.” She sighed. “Good night, everybody.” She bestowed upon Steve a private smile before she glided toward the front door.
Rink let several seconds tick by after they heard the door close behind her. Then he took a belligerent step forward. “Keep your hands off my sister, understand? If I see you pawing her again, you
’ll be out of a job and off this place so fast your head will spin.”
“I wasn’t pawing her, Mr. Lancaster,” Steve said levelly. “I was comforting her. She’s upset by your father’s death and… other things.”
“Well she doesn’t need your kind of ‘comforting.’ ”
“Rink,” Caroline interrupted and laid a cautioning hand on his arm. He shook it off.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asked.
“You know damned good and well what it means. You could get by with a helluva lot under the heading of comforting.”
Steve gnawed his lower lip and Caroline knew that only fear of losing his job and having to leave The Retreat and Laura Jane prevented him from lashing back at Rink.
“You can think whatever you like about me, Mr. Lancaster, but this you can write down as fact. I’ve never done anything to hurt Laura Jane, nor will I ever.”
Rink glared at him balefully. “Then we don’t have a problem, do we? But just to make sure I don’t ever misunderstand anything you do, stay away from her.” With that he turned away and stamped back into the house.
After casting an apologetic glance in Steve’s direction, Caroline rushed after Rink. She caught up with him in the wide foyer and, grasping his arm, spun him around. “You bully! Did taking your anger out on Steve give you any satisfaction? Do you feel better now?”
“Not quite.”
He reversed their roles and became the aggressor. Taking both her upper arms in fists of iron, he pushed her into the parlor and slid the door closed behind them. Pressing her into the wall with his body, bending his face close over hers, his breath labored, he demanded, “How could you have slept with him? How, Caroline?”
Chapter 8
The kiss that followed was brutal. His mouth twisted over hers and forced her lips to part and admit his tongue. His hips thrust forward and ground into hers. One hand released her arm and covered her breast. He squeezed it without tenderness. It was a caress intended to debase.
She fought him. Her free hand alternately pushed against his unyielding chest and pounded his shoulder. She tried to drag her mouth free of his assaulting lips, but to no avail. Her screams were nothing but high-pitched garbled noises that were muffled by his mouth.
This wasn’t Rink. Caroline knew that he didn’t want to hurt her this way. He was crazed with an anger that had been building all his life. His enemy was dead and that left him with no one to fight. Frustrated, he was taking out his rage on her, because unwittingly she had been a part of Roscoe’s scheme. She understood then that her best defense was not to fight him at all. She went limp in his arms.
It was several moments before Rink came to his senses and realized that she was no longer struggling against him. His lips gentled and the tempestuous kisses became sweet nuzzlings against her mouth. The hand on her breast ceased its insulting groping and after touching her tenderly, apologetically, was withdrawn.
It was this sweetness that she had to fight. The violent caresses of a moment ago weren’t from the man she had known and loved but a man torn asunder by deceit and bitterness. Now, his touch was painfully familiar, achingly reminiscent of that summer when every touch had been enchanted.
“Rink.” His name was a soft groan, carrying with it yearning and hopelessness.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
He leaned forward and placed his arms from elbow to fingertips against the paneled wall behind her. His forehead pressed into the wood as he rested it close above hers. His breath stirred her hair. “Why do I want to make love to you more than I want to breathe? Why haven’t I been able to forget you? After all this time, why am I still obsessed by you?”
He inclined toward her until they were touching in one unbroken line. Their position was so blatantly sexual that their hearts hammered against each other. “We could be lying in a bed in this same position, couldn’t we, Caroline?”
“Oh, God.” She burrowed her nose in his neck. “Don’t talk about it, Rink.”
“That’s what you’re thinking. That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Don’t think about it.”
“I’ll always think about it.”
Their bodies heated one another. Her breasts flattened softly against his hard chest. Their bellies massaged each other with every shallow breath. He adjusted himself against her so that she might feel the strength of his desire. His sex nestled in the receptive hollow of her femininity. Their thighs pressed against each other.
Fully clothed, standing, not moving, they were intimate. They made love. It was a mental intimacy, not physical. But each was thinking about the act so potently that it couldn’t have meant more had it been performed.
Rink turned his face into her hair, burying his nose in it. He whispered her name repeatedly. Their emotions were so undisciplined that they trembled with them. Then they were still.
Minutes passed and they neither moved nor spoke. They just stood there, relishing the nearness of one another, regretting what had never been and lamenting that it could never be.
Gradually Rink began to back away until they were no longer touching. His eyes pored over her face, hot and compelling. She raised hers to meet them. “How could you have been with him, Caroline?” he rasped. He pushed himself away from the wall and ran his hand through his hair. He didn’t ask again, but his stern expression demanded that she answer him.
“He was my husband.” It was a simple statement that should have explained everything. Instead it provoked fresh anger.
“How could you have married him in the first place? How, for God’s sake? After what had been between us, how could you have married him?”
“That’s not fair, Rink!” she said heatedly. “You deserted me, not the other way around.”
“You know why I married Marilee.”
“Not until two days ago I didn’t.”
He put his hands on his hips and faced her angrily. “Then you actually thought that I was screwing somebody else while I was defying everything, even my own common sense, to be with you?”
His vulgarity shocked her into flaring back. “How was I to think otherwise? You were gone without a word. I heard that you were getting married to Marilee George because she was pregnant. What was I supposed to think?”
He cursed and turned away to avoid her sound reasoning. “I couldn’t come to you with the truth. You wouldn’t have believed me any more than anyone else did.”
“I might have.”
“Would you?” he asked, rounding on her. Her eyes fell beneath the accusation of his. “No, you wouldn’t have,” he answered for her. “You would have thought just what everybody else did, that the baby was mine.”
He went to the couch and flopped down on it, extending his legs far out in front of him. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. “Besides I was afraid you might become involved somehow if I tried to see you again. I knew the town was buzzing with gossip and that I would be watched like a hawk. Anything I did would be duly reported. I didn’t want to risk getting you mixed up in the mess.”
She went around the room plucking cards from the numerous flower arrangements that had been delivered before the funeral. “Who was the baby’s father, Rink?” Disinterestedly he named the man. Caroline turned to him in surprise. “But that was the man Marilee married after your divorce.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “She could hardly wait to run back to him. But first she had to bleed me dry financially. That was my punishment for not wanting her.”
“You wanted her at some point,” she said in an almost inaudible whisper, remembering what he had said that night in Roscoe’s hospital room.
His head snapped up. “Are you going to hold that against me? My God! I was just a kid, Caroline.” He was irritated and it showed. “Sewing wild oats. Yeah, I was with her a few times. Every guy in town was. But I had sense enough to take precautions so she wouldn’
t get pregnant. A couple of romps in the backseat of my car sure as hell didn’t mean I wanted to marry her.”
She looked down, studying her thumbnail. “And it’s true that you weren’t…”
“Caroline.” Her head came up at his soft beckoning. “Do you want to know if I was with her at the same time I was seeing you?” Her eyes brimmed with emotion as she stared back at him. “No,” he said with soft emphasis. “I wasn’t with anyone else that summer.”
“Did you really tell Ro… your father… that you wanted to marry me?”
“Yes. I told him I’d met the girl I wanted to marry.”
Their eyes locked and held and it was a long while before her head fell forward and she turned away. “The baby, Alyssa?”
The corners of Rink’s lips lifted in a brief smile before his face became sad. “She was a great little girl.”
At his mellow tone, Caroline faced him again. “You loved her,” she said with no inquiring inflection.
Unashamed he looked up. “Yeah,” he said, laughing softly. “Crazy, isn’t it? But once she was born, I wanted to keep her.”
Caroline’s heart wrenched with love for him. She sat down beside him on the couch. “I’m not prying, Rink. But if you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
His eyes roamed her face. “You always were good at listening. Tell me, did you sit at my father’s feet and listen as he poured his heart out to you?”
She uttered a strangled cry as she leaped to her feet. He caught her wrist and checked her retreat. “I’m sorry. Sit down.” When she strained to pull her arm free, he gave it a swift, light jerk that brought her back down on the sofa. “I said I was sorry. That was uncalled-for, but habits are hard to break. If you want to know about my ill-fated marriage, I’ll tell you. You know about all the other garbage in my life, you’d just as well know about that, too.”