Marry Me...Again

by Cheryl St. John

  “Dev, I need you to leave.”

  Chapter Seven

  Devlin straightened and slowly turned to look at her. “Where do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t know. Fly somewhere. Go wherever it is you go when you’re having a good time. Just don’t stay here.”

  “But this is my place, here with you. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  She studied him. He’d showered and changed since she’d seen him at the hospital. Clean or dirty, he was the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen. Just looking at him touched her heart, spoke to her woman’s soul and weakened her sensible resolve. She’d let the physical things, like his looks and her attraction to him sway her for the last time. “Don’t you?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I think you should pack your things and go.”

  “Pack,” he repeated, staring at her now. “Move out? You want me to move out?”

  “Yes.”

  His posture changed and his expression shuttered. “Brynna, what in the hell have I done to tick you off like this?”

  “I’m not mad. I’ve just stopped fooling myself and now I know that this is not going to work.”

  “What’s not going to work?”

  “Us. Our marriage.”

  He faced her squarely. “It was working just great until now. Suddenly you’ve got this attitude, and I can’t do anything to please you. I know I say and do the wrong things, but give me a break. I’m only human. I said the wrong thing this afternoon.”

  “It was not working great until now,” she argued. “You were just blind to the fact that it was all one-sided. We don’t want the same things. You want to fly whenever the whim strikes. You want to play at being a cowboy. You want to go to Kenya. I’ve always known what I want and a husband and a family are part of it.”

  “I want a family, too,” he said, and it was plain that he was working to keep his voice low and level. “I never said I didn’t.”

  “Oh, really. Well, you sure didn’t jump for joy when you found out I was pregnant. And when I lost the baby, all you could think of is that you’re free again.”

  “That’s not true, I—”

  “I’m tired of being a ball and chain, Dev,” she said wearily. “I can’t travel with you because of my career, and I don’t expect you to stay here.”

  “So far it’s worked. I’ve taken a few trips, but—”

  “No, it’s not working. Not for me, anyway. If you won’t leave, I’ll pack my things and go. I can stay with Melanie.”

  “No. I don’t want you to.” He hooked a hand on his hip and stood in thoughtful contemplation, not looking at her.

  “You’ll leave?” she asked, hating that she was saying this, that she’d brought all of this upon both of them because of her weakness.

  He turned his green gaze on her then, and she steeled herself against the foolish love and desire she felt for him. She would not back down now.

  “If it’s what you really want,” he said, his voice a gruff sound she’d never heard before. “I’ll go.”

  She moved past him to sit in the spot he’d made on the sofa.

  “But you shouldn’t be alone,” he added. “Let me stay here with you tonight.”

  If she gave in to him, she’d always be giving in, never have what it was she really wanted. She didn’t want to be alone. But neither did she want to be reminded of the mistake she was paying for. She’d made the decision, now she was going to carry it through. “I’ll call Melanie,” she said. “She’ll come over.”

  “Can we talk about this after you’ve rested?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what there is to talk about,” she replied.

  Anger flashed in his eyes and the set of his jaw showed his restraint. “About us. About our marriage,” he replied tersely.

  “We should have talked about that before,” Brynna said, having made up her mind and determined not to let him change it.

  If he’d paid more attention, he wouldn’t have been blindsided by her resolve now. She’d fooled herself into thinking her love for him could make up for their differences. This week she’d awakened to the truth, even though it had taken something horrible to snap her out of her delusion.

  Hurt and angry, and at a loss for a way to repair what had happened, Devlin headed for the stairs. He jammed clothing, shaving gear and a few personal items into a flight bag and carried it down to the foyer. From the closet, he added his jacket and a couple of Stetsons to his belongings, then stopped with his hand on the doorknob.

  Pride—or hurt—kept him from turning back to look at her. He deliberately opened the door and exited their home, pulling the door closed behind him with a final click. He stood on the stoop beside a bucket of lushly blooming white geraniums. He should probably remind her to water them; he’d done it every evening.

  The hell with the geraniums. Dev stepped off the stairs and walked toward his truck. Away from her, from their house.

  This was his home, too. She’d insisted on paying equally when they’d purchased it only two short weeks after their marriage. Her financial help was unnecessary, but she felt the house belonged to them equally if they shared the cost. Her apartment had been too small for both of them, and they’d wanted a bigger place of their own. This had been an ideal choice, new enough and small enough to not require extensive work from two busy people.

  Dev tossed his things onto the passenger seat and turned to study the row of trees they’d planted along the property line, the landscaping they’d done on the weekends she’d had off, and the leafy fronds of the ferns she’d insisted they leave along the shady side of the garage. This was their place…and he was leaving. What choice did he have? She would move out if he didn’t, and he didn’t want her out of her home at this time. Not at any time, but especially not now that she needed rest and comfort.

  He was a first-class screwup, so he undoubtedly deserved her anger. Did he deserve to be sent packing? Maybe so. When she’d needed him the most, he’d said and done the wrong thing.

  But starting the engine and backing out of the drive, he thought over the words she’d hurled at him. He wanted to “play at being a cowboy” she’d said, and he winced at the remembrance. That had stung. He’d done a damned good job at the Holmes Ranch. He enjoyed the work. Was the job insignificant because he didn’t need the money? Plenty of wealthy people worked.

  Did she resent the fact that he’d never lived hand-to-mouth? A lot of people seemed to take issue with that, but he couldn’t change the facts. If she did resent his financial freedom, she was being pretty stinkin’ shallow.

  Sure she’d worked and sacrificed, but did that make her better than him? More deserving? Was her work of more value because she knew what she wanted, and he was still trying to figure that out? Sure, her profession was valuable, but would it have been any less so if she’d had the money for her education readily available?

  Headed for the ranch, Dev stewed over the situation until he’d worked up a full-blown temper. She had a lot of nerve belittling him and holding his inadequate words against him. She’d come to her senses in a day or two and then he’d show her how to accept an apology gracefully.

  He slowed the truck to a safer speed, and with each passing mile, he prayed he was right—and that she would come to her senses. No matter how long it took.

  The following day, news on the fire spread through the hospital at the speed of light. The two bodies found on Logan’s Hill had been identified as those of Wanda Cantrell, wife of Rumor High School’s science teacher, and Morris Templeton, the attendant from the gas station and convenience store right outside of town. As of yet, Wanda’s husband, Guy Cantrell, was still missing, and no one knew where he’d gone. Suspicion ran rampant.

  Brynna made rounds, then left before noon to go home and rest. Melanie was waiting on her front steps. “I can’t believe you went to work. You wouldn’t let me come over last night, and today I show up to find you gone.”

  She
wrapped her arms around Brynna and hugged her soundly. Immediately, tears smarted behind Brynna’s eyelids, but she blinked them back and pasted on a smile for her sister. “I told you, I’m okay.”

  “Well, you lied. You’re hurting. Where is your husband anyway? He should have stopped you from going to the hospital this morning.”

  Brynna unlocked the door, and Melanie followed her into the cool interior of the house. Brynna placed her keys on the hall table, her bag on the floor and took a fortifying breath. “He’s gone. I asked him to move out.”

  Melanie stared at her. “What? You’re the level-headed one, the pulled-together sister. What did you do that for?”

  Brynna did her best to give Melanie the condensed version of everything that had led to her realization that marrying Dev had been a mistake. She was still trying to understand it herself, so explaining it was difficult. Mel didn’t require much of an explanation, however; she seemed instinctively to understand Brynna’s hurt.

  “Sit down and I’ll fix us some lunch,” her sister said.

  Brynna changed her clothing and washed her face before complying and settling onto the sofa where the blankets and pillows Dev had arranged still remained.

  A few minutes later, Melanie handed her a plate holding a sandwich and sat across from her. “At least you didn’t wake up one day and discover you’d married Archie Bunker,” she said, taking a bite of her tuna salad.

  Relieved that her sister was talking about her own problems as usual, instead of questioning her, Brynna asked, “What do you mean?”

  Melanie set down her plate. “The man has the most irritating habits. Sometimes I think I’ll scream if I don’t get away for a while. And he’s got this macho idea that I should stay home while he brings home the money.”

  “I thought you liked staying home with the boys.”

  “I do, but they’re getting older—they’re not babies anymore. I’d like a part-time job, just to get out of the house for a little while. Frank won’t even discuss it.”

  “I remember when you were tickled to quit your job at the school cafeteria to stay home and have babies.”

  “I should have finished college,” Melanie said. “Like you. You told me to finish college, but I was in a hurry to get married. You were the smart one, waiting like you did.”

  “I don’t know how smart it was to get married at all, in my case,” Brynna replied. “I’d never done an impulsive thing in my life before Dev. And now looking back, I can see it was insane, for crying out loud.” She set her own plate aside and brought her hand up to her head. “I barely knew him.”

  “I guess you knew enough to fall in love with him.”

  Brynna’s eyes filled with tears, and she quickly swiped them away.

  “The difference is, Brynn, Dev knew you had a career, and he had his planes, and the two of you compromised to be together, right? For Frank, I’m just the woman who had his kids and takes care of them. To him, there is no other me. But there is. She’s just stifled inside somewhere.”

  “Don’t you think most mothers of young children feel the same at some point or another?” Brynna asked. “Children take time and energy, and you still have to work on your relationship with your spouse. After the kids are gone, you’ll have each other, and you don’t want to weaken what you had to start with.”

  Melanie picked up her sandwich and ate a few more bites.

  “You need to get together with friends who have young children like you, Mel. It helps to know you’re not the only one going through this stuff.” Her grief counseling and psychology classes hadn’t been for nothing. She just wasn’t much good at applying the lessons to herself.

  “I do. Most of the time they talk about coupons and what’s on sale at MonMart. But they all seem more satisfied with their boring lives and their husbands than I am. Frank seems so unreasonable some times. Take this argument over me working. I think the real reason he refuses is that he doesn’t want to take care of the boys while I work for a few hours.”

  “Has he said that? Frank loves those kids.”

  “No. Not in so many words.”

  “Well, why don’t you ask him if that’s the real problem? Ask him out on a date, where you can be alone to talk and tell him how you’re feeling. You can bring the boys over here.”

  “Are you sure you want to keep them? You’re working two jobs—and you’ve just gone through an emotional loss. You’re having your own personal trauma with Dev.”

  “I adore those guys, of course I want them. I need something to take my mind off my own problems for an evening. It’ll be good for me.”

  Melanie gave her an appreciative smile. “You’re the best sister in the whole world, you know that?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I’ll ask Frank, and we’ll set a date. I’ll call about your schedule.”

  “Perfect.”

  “Now, what about you?” Melanie asked, turning the tables. “Are you planning to talk to Dev about how you feel?”

  “I’ve explained how I feel. Dev and I were never meant to be together in the first place. He has his life, and I have mine.”

  “There’s always compromise.”

  “Not on his side, there’s not. I don’t want to be the only one holding a family together.”

  “Like you did for ours, you mean,” Melanie said softly.

  Brynna looked into her sister’s eyes, knowing she understood. “Like I did for ours.”

  Dev parked in front of the house and turned off the headlights. The interior of the two-story home was dark, except for a dim light glowing from the living room. The television probably. He’d let two days go by without phoning her. He’d gone over their conversations, over the things he’d said and done, and knew she had every right to be mad. Ever since he’d brought up the Kenya trip, he’d wished he could take back those stupid words.

  His feelings fluctuated from angry to repentant and back again a dozen times a day.

  He got out of the truck and approached the house. She was still his wife, and he still loved her. This was still his home. He touched the key to the lock, then paused, reconsidering.

  After thinking better of opening the door, he rapped his knuckles against the wood…and waited.

  Chapter Eight

  The porch light came on and the lace curtains on the door fluttered aside. The lock turned and Brynna opened the door. She was wearing a little white tank top and black sweatpants, and the outfit made her look small and vulnerable…and sexy as always. God, he missed her.

  “I wanted to see how you’re doing,” he said. “May I come in?”

  “You could have called,” she said.

  “But I didn’t, and I’m here now, so are you going to let me in?” He took off his hat and stepped forward.

  Brynna opened the door wider and backed into the foyer with a sweeping gesture of one arm.

  Dev dropped his hat on the hall table as he always did and moved into the living room. The television was playing, and it was obvious she’d been lying on the bedding he’d arranged on the sofa the other day.

  “Have you been going to work?” he asked.

  “Half days so far. I do rounds and come home. I haven’t been to the clinic for two days.”

  “That’s good.” He took a seat on an overstuffed chair.

  Brynna sat on the sofa and tucked a pillow against her chest, her arms encircling it, as though placing a barrier between them. She cast him an uncertain look.

  Dev wanted nothing more than to join her on the sofa and pull her into his arms—hold her until the quaking inside him stopped. Fear had crept in around the edges of his anger and self-assurance. He was starting to think maybe she was serious. And that scared the hell out of him.

  “Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “I’m fine. Really.”

  She looked a little pale to him. “Sleeping?”

  Brynna shrugged a slender shoulder. “Not so great.”

  All the things he
wanted to say were jumbled in his mind now. Sorting through them, Dev flattened his palms on his knees, then flexed his hands nervously. He noticed she was watching his hands and forced them to lie still. “Brynn, I’m sorry for saying what I did. I knew it was stupid as soon as I said it. But I just wanted to say something that would make you feel better, and I was groping for something. Anything. I was out of my depth.”

  “You said you were sorry,” she replied.

  “And you said sorry didn’t fix things. Well, I’m here to fix things. Just accept my apology.”

  “So you can feel better? Okay. I accept your apology.”

  He scanned her face to confirm what she really meant, hoping she had truly forgiven him, but was skeptically hesitant to believe it. “So you forgive me?”

  “Yes.”

  He almost breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But forgiving you doesn’t change the situation. What happened, and what you said, was a reflection of what’s on your heart and your mind at all times, don’t you see that? You weren’t excited about a baby, Dev. To you it was an accident, an inconvenience.”

  “No, it was a surprise—okay, all right—a shock, I won’t deny that. But the idea grew on me. I was okay with being a father. I was planning to tell you that when I got the call from the clinic. I never got the chance.”

  Brynna looked into his eyes. She didn’t believe him.

  “Too little too late, Dev,” she said, the dullness in her voice breaking his heart, and terrifying him to the bone.

  Without giving her a chance to say anything more—anything worse, like telling him she wanted a legal separation—or a divorce—Dev jumped up from the chair and moved toward the door. “You’re shutting me out when I could be here helping you, sharing this,” he said gruffly. “Don’t throw this back at me later, too.”

  He grabbed his hat. “I’ll call you in a day or so after we’ve both thought it through and we’ll talk again.”

  He closed the door behind him and loped out to his truck. Starting the engine, he slammed it into gear and drove away. Away from his home. Away from his wife. Away from everything that had ever meant anything to him.