by Francis Ray
She grabbed her purse and got out of the car. Inside, she found him in the kitchen as usual. Only instead of working, he sipped his coffee.
“We accomplished a lot,” she said. The tile on the floor was gone and so were the countertops, the front doors of the cabinets, the sinks. The rest of the house—except the master bedroom, which hadn’t been touched—was just as bare. They’d elected to remove the carpet and not wait until after they painted. They’d sanded, polished, and stained the floors as well. “You did a fantastic job on the dining room hardwood floors. They shine like new.”
“If only it was that easy to bring back the luster to other things,” he said.
Her brow lifted. So not greeting her had been intentional. “No one would agree with you more. But you had the children.”
“And they saw their father turn into a drunk.” He slammed the cup on the wooden edge of the counter. “They saw me turn into a weakling. I blamed you for that, but it was my choice.”
She’d heard and ached for him and the children. Stella realized that she wasn’t over Paul once she left, but it was too late. “I’m sorry.”
“As they say, sorry don’t cut it.” He picked up the cup, squeezed. Coffee spilled over the sides. “Damn!”
She rushed to his side, taking his hand and turning the water on. “Hold still,” she demanded when he tried to move his hand away from the gushing water. “Be thankful I thought of bringing a bucket or we’d have to mop up water.” She snatched a paper towel and blotted his hand dry and inspected it. “I don’t see any redness. I have a package of mustard. I’ll rub it on.”
“No need.”
She frowned up at him. “There’s every need. You were burned.”
He glanced away. “It wasn’t hot.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then kissed his hand. He snatched it away and stumbled back. “I’m sorry. No, that’s a lie. I’m not sorry,” she said.
Paul glanced from his hand to her. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to and I’m tired of holding back when I want to touch you,” she said boldly. “It felt good being that close to you, taking care of you.”
He stared at her. She felt like sighing, instead she glanced around the kitchen again. “I called the appliance specialty store yesterday. The range hood is in, and so is the island. We can pick up everything we need to install them. Both can be delivered today and we can leave the bedroom for later.”
“We can’t install the range hood by ourselves,” Paul said. “It’s too heavy.”
“Faith gave me the name of a couple of men who could help with that and positioning the island,” Stella told him. “Should I call and have the pieces delivered?”
“No.”
Stella’s heart sank, but she refused to give up. “We need to keep working if we plan to finish on time.”
“I know.” He stuck his hand into the pocket of his well-worn jeans. “I wasn’t saying no to the delivery. I meant we need to get what we need to install them first, then call.”
“I’ll drive.” She started out of the kitchen.
“I’ll drive.” Paul pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’d like to get there before they close.”
“Funny, McBride,” Stella said, but she was smiling. He wasn’t frowning at her any longer. “Cameron got his speeding from you.”
He locked the front door and followed her down the walk. “You were right there with him at all his races when he started out.”
“I was scared to death, but it was more important to show him that I loved and supported him,” she said.
Paul opened the passenger door. “You always loved the children.”
She looked him straight in the eye. “The children weren’t the only ones I loved. Still love.” She climbed inside the truck and closed the door in Paul’s stunned face.
* * *
As the day lengthened, each time Paul thought about what Stella said, his heart beat like a drum. Still love. How could he let her keep doing this to him? Why couldn’t he shove her out of his mind, his heart, for good?
She said she’d made a mistake, and asked for his forgiveness. He had to admit he’d made mistakes as well. He honestly didn’t know what he would have done, how his life would have turned out if his children hadn’t looked past his lapse and continued to love him. He wasn’t blameless himself.
He cut a glance at her putting a clear varnish on the bottom of the island he and the two men had installed. She’d tried to help. Just as she’d lent a hand installing the range hood. He’d let her. He wasn’t sure if it was because she seemed to enjoy helping or that it reminded him of a time when they’d made the house into a home, a time when he woke up with a smile on his face because of the woman in his arms.
“It’s dark outside. I’ll finish up,” Paul told her. He could feel himself weakening toward her. Too many memories of their good life together overshadowed the difficult times without her. Please, just leave.
“I want to do it.” She never paused. “We can bring the children over tomorrow to see everything. They’re going to be so pleased.”
Paul’s hand clenched around the handle of the screwdriver. “We haven’t gotten to the bedroom.”
Her hand paused then continued the even brushstrokes. “The rest is done.”
That’s what they should be—done. Perhaps going into their bedroom would finally rip her from his heart and mind so he’d stop loving her. “I’ll get to it now. When you finish, let me know and I’ll walk you to your car. I’m not leaving until everything but the tub is out of there.”
Haunted eyes stared up at him. She came to her feet. “I can help.”
He almost laughed. “I think you’ve done enough.” She flinched, but didn’t lower her head. He walked past her and didn’t stop until he stood in front of their old bedroom. The door was closed, as it had been since the first day. He didn’t think Stella had been inside either.
He felt her behind him. He sensed that she wanted to help him with his demons, but she’d caused them. Anger that he’d tried to master, surged. Her leaving made him act less than a man. He’d failed his children, his legacy—all because she’d wanted another man. No more!
He wrenched open the door and flicked on the light. Before he let the past immobilize him, he went to the corner of the bedroom and knelt. He didn’t hesitate to insert the screwdriver beneath the carpet and pull. He wouldn’t think about them putting it down together, laughing and making love on top of it. He just kept working until he came to the other corner. He lowered the screwdriver with his right hand, reaching with his left to pull up the carpet—and went still. Air stalled in his lungs.
“My lord.”
“What is it?” Stella rushed across the floor and knelt beside him. “My-my wedding rings.”
Air finally whooshed out of his lungs. Faith. How could she do this to him? Unable to move, he watched Stella slowly reach out to pick up the one-half-carat round diamond engagement ring and simple band, then hold them in the palm of her trembling hands. Tears drenched the rings.
She had no right to cry. He’d been the one whose heart had been coldly wrenched from his chest. He’d cried for her like a spineless fool.
Her hand fisted. She turned to him, tears sparkling on her lashes. “I love you, Paul. I lost my way, but I’m trying to find the way back. Please, give me—us—another chance. Please.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She leaned into him, brushing her lips across his, murmuring his name. He shuddered and he was lost. He grabbed her, his tongue seeking and finding hers. The remembered taste of her mouth; the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest dragged him under faster than an undertow.
Need and desire heated his blood. “Stella.” Somehow they were on the floor, her blouse and his shirt partially open. He was kissing the side of her neck, biting her earlobe.
“Paul, I’ve missed you so much. Loved you for so long.”
He froze. She’d walked out on him an
d never looked back. He released her and rose to his feet.
Her eyes widened in alarm. “Paul, where are you going?”
“Away from you,” he replied harshly.
Stella flinched. “What? I-I thought…”
“You thought wrong.” He began buttoning his shirt. “I just wanted you to know how it feels.” He never wanted her to know how much he wanted to take her in his arms, make love to her, make her his again.
“So, you never wanted me. You just wanted to punish me.”
The pain and anguish in her voice, her face was killing him. He had to get out of there.
“I can understand that. I was a fool,” she cried. “I let myself be wooed and flattered, telling myself that the McBride curse would one day happen. You had lost interest in me, spending most of your time at the hotel, so I began to foolishly think, why fight it?”
“You took the easy way.”
“I did, and regretted it almost from the moment I walked out the door, leaving you and Faith.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I kept telling myself I was just being sentimental, that everything would be all right once we were married and in New York. It wasn’t. I didn’t like the city, the noise.” Her head briefly lowered.
“I didn’t like myself most of all. I tried to make the marriage work because I didn’t want to ruin two men’s lives.” Her laugh was brittle. “Little chance of that. I discovered he was cheating less than a year later. He liked the chase.”
He frowned. “Why didn’t you leave?”
“It was my punishment for hurting you. I’d left a man who loved me for one that I amused.” She dashed away tears. “I was different. Somewhat of a challenge, he told me when he asked for the divorce, but he needed more. I could have wept for joy. I think he thought I was a bit hysterical when I congratulated him and asked how soon he thought the divorce would be final.”
“He’s a snake.”
“Yes, and I should have seen that and kept walking. To my everlasting shame and regret, I didn’t. Instead, I hurt you. For that, I will forever be sorry. I’m asking you to forgive me and let’s try again. Paul, I want you in my life.”
He had to be strong. “I don’t want you.”
“I know. You hate me. If you can bring yourself to touch me again, maybe some of the abhorrence will go away.” She swallowed. “I’d settle for you not turning away from me. I hate seeing the disgust in your eyes.”
He couldn’t stay a moment longer. He whirled to get out of there.
“No!” Her shout was tortured. She came to her feet, wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, and pressed her cheek against his chest. He felt the dampness of her tears. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I’d rather have your hate than lose you again.”
That was the problem. He didn’t hate her. He couldn’t.
Her arms loosened on his waist. She gazed up at him with tear-drenched eyes. “Please don’t hate me. I love you, Paul. I love you.”
His heart cracked open. He felt his own wetness on his cheeks. He had to get out of there. “It’s over. Good-bye.” He walked as fast as he could, but not fast enough to escape her pleading for him to come back.
He had his revenge. She knew what it was to beg the one you loved to stay and they kept going. The price was high. It ripped out his heart.
Two steps out the door, he activated the locks on his truck. Another step and he was running. Her heartbroken sobs arrowed deep into his soul.
He jerked open the door and turned on the ignition. In a squeal of tires he pulled off. He had no idea where he was going. He just knew he had to get away, because if he didn’t he’d take her back no matter the cost.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Stella cried. She’d lost. She’d wounded him too badly for him to forgive her.
He didn’t trust her. She couldn’t blame him.
“You have to show him.”
Her head came up abruptly. She’d heard Ruth’s advice as clearly as if she’d been standing there. Being a coward wouldn’t get Paul and her back together. If she had to tell him a hundred times, a thousand times, she’d do it. She reached for her rings on the floor. She started to slip them on, but decided to put them in her pocket for now.
She came to her feet and buttoned her blouse. She didn’t know where he’d gone, but she wasn’t about to stay there and wait. She’d drive by the hotel and if he hadn’t left his truck with the valet, she’d drive around a bit to see if she saw him. She was going after the man she loved.
In the bathroom, she washed her face, blew her nose. She didn’t even glance in the mirror. She’d seen the ravaged look on his face. He cared. He was as scared as she was. One of them had to be willing to give more. It was only right that she be the one.
In the front of the house, she grabbed her purse by the French doors and hurried out the front door, hearing it lock behind her. Her head down, she searched in her purse for her car key. Berating herself for not finding them in the house, she tried to stand in the weak beam of the streetlight one house down.
“Need some help?”
Stella jumped, almost dropping her purse. She whirled to see two young men approaching. They appeared to be in their early twenties, hatless, and wearing oversized black denim dusters. For some reason she felt uneasy. She took a step back. “No, thank you.”
“My mother always said to help women,” the taller of the two said.
The other man with him laughed as if he’d just heard a funny joke. “You’re somethin’, man.”
Stella decided the safest place was in the house. It was a quiet neighborhood. Most of the people were home from work and inside their homes. The traffic was at a minimum. “Good night.” She turned to go back inside and felt a hard hand on her arm. “Let me go!”
“That ain’t no way to act when we’re trying to be helpful,” sneered the one who had spoken first.
“No way at all,” the shorter one said, stepping behind her so she was trapped between them.
Fear like she’d never known before congealed her blood. “W-What do you want?”
The short one laughed again. “They always ask the same question.”
“Shut up, man.” The one who’d grabbed her released her arm and snatched her purse.
Stella clenched her hands to keep from reaching for it. If they wanted the purse, the car, she wasn’t going to fight them. If they tried to force her into the car it would be a different story. If she could fight for Paul, she could fight for herself.
He whistled. “Cash, credit and debit cards. Looks like we hit the jackpot. Where this came from, there’s more.” He grabbed her arm again. “Let’s go and find a fat ATM machine.”
“No,” Stella said.
His hatred-filled eyes narrowed. He lowered his face to within inches of hers. “I don’t think I heard you right.”
The other one snickered.
She had to think fast. “I don’t have my car keys. I must have left them inside.”
The hatred in his eyes intensified. “I don’t like liars.”
Stella had to swallow before she could speak. “Why do you think I was searching in my purse?”
“Broads.” He spat out the words and shoved her small billfold into the pocket of his jacket. “Dumb and more trouble than they’re worth. Hold her while I check.” He pushed her toward the shorter man.
His partner caught her arm, but his hands were smaller, softer. If she hoped to get away, she had to do it now.
The young man dumped the contents of her purse on the top of the hood. Her lipstick and mascara rolled off the hood as he moved the items around. “Well. Well.” He held up her car key. “Look what I found. Let’s go.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw headlights. It was now or never.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” The snickers from the other man turned into a grunt when Stella elbowed him hard in the stomach. She whirled and ran toward the fast-approaching headlights. Arms locked around her waist.
“No!” She bucked, trying
to wrench her body away.
“Stella!”
Paul. Relief and fear coursed through her. She didn’t want him hurt. Reaching back, she raked her nails down her attacker’s face.
He howled, freeing her. Then Paul was there. She fell to her knees. His fist plowed into the young man’s face. He went down and struggled back to his knees, his hands on the concrete street.
The other thief jumped into her car and sped away.
“My car!”
Paul’s attention shifted to the rental speeding away.
“Watch out!” she screamed.
Paul ducked the fist aimed at his head and punched the thief again. This time, he buckled and didn’t get up. Paul rushed to Stella and pulled her into his arms. Both were trembling. “Please tell me that you’re all right.”
Her eyes closed; she just held on. “I am now.”
“If anything would have happened—” He swallowed and held her closer.
A high-beam flashlight speared over them. “Police. What’s going on here?”
“Two thugs attacked my wife,” Paul told the officer. “That’s one of them. The other just drove off in her rental,” Paul told him, his voice tight.
Stella wondered if Paul knew he’d referred to her as his wife.
The officer who had spoken knelt by them. The female officer with him went to the young man just waking up. “I recognize this one, Mathis. Johnny Coggan. He’s been arrested for theft before.”
“Handcuff him and call it in,” the officer told his partner. “Are you all right, ma’am? Do you need medical attention?”
“No.” All she needed was the man holding her.
“I know you’re shaken, but if you can give us a description of the car and the license plate it would help,” he said.
“The information was in my billfold. The one who drove off had it in his pocket,” she said.
“A 2012 blue Toyota, license plate JMS 109 with an Auto Travel rental emblem on the back,” Paul told the officer. “Rented to Stella Elaine McBride. I’m Paul McBride.”
Officer Mathis chuckled. “Thanks. Is this where you live?”