It was better this way, she told herself. But that didn’t mean she felt any better about it, because regardless of what she did or how busy she was in the course of a day, she was lonely. Always lonely. She wanted to tell Sam about her work, but he wasn’t there. She wanted to stretch out beside him when she was exhausted, but he wasn’t there. She wanted to hold him and tell him how much she loved him and somehow vent the feelings that seemed at times to be choking her, but he wasn’t there.
She was constantly tired, because she worked too hard and too fast with too little rest in between. She was often weak, because she couldn’t bear the thought of eating, much less eating alone. Her tan faded. She lost weight. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was pregnant. But she did know better. The IUD she’d never bothered to have removed precluded conception.
She wished she were pregnant. To have some part of Sam living in her would have been a solace. But it wasn’t so.
Her problem was a broken heart. And there wasn’t a single, solitary thing she could do about it—except hope that in time it would mend, that in time she’d begin to care, really care about living.
The day was hot and muggy and Chelsea was thoroughly enervated by the time she returned to her apartment. She’d spent the morning running around interviewing people on behalf of one client. She’d spent the early part of the afternoon on the phone, then had dashed out again to speak with a welfare worker who thought she had a lead on a second case. The lead proved to be a dead end, which Chelsea discovered only after she’d visited three more people in the neighborhood where the child had supposedly been seen.
Chelsea had been back from the Yucatán for two full weeks. She felt twenty years older.
A loud clap of thunder rent the air and she put a hand over her heart to still its sudden leap. When a knock came at her door with nearly as much force, she whirled around. Feeling dizzy, she grasped the back of the sofa. Whoever it was would go away. She simply wasn’t in the mood to converse with another human being. Not when she was feeling like a soggy paper bag, worn and useless, threatening to tear with the smallest input. And she had barely an hour to somehow get herself together before heading for Icabod’s!
The knock came again and she groaned. Wiping a forearm across her clammy brow, she steadied herself for a minute, took a deep breath, walked to the door and drew it open.
She might have been all right if it had been a matter of simple fatigue or overheating. Had it been her landlord, or her neighbor, or the postal carrier, she might have made it. Seeing Sam standing at her door, though, was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
For the first time in her life, Chelsea Ross fainted dead away.
9
CHELSEA CAME TO SLOWLY. She was vaguely aware of someone slapping her face, calling her name. It sounded so like Sam’s voice, so filled with warmth and worry, that she knew she must be dreaming, so she kept her eyes closed and let the dream go on.
But her cheeks felt another sting and the stark reality of it brought her lids up with a snap. She stared, then blinked, then swallowed, sure she was hallucinating.
“Chelsea? My God, Chelsea, are you all right?”
It was Sam, bending over her with a concern so reminiscent of that he’d shown the night in the pueblito when she’d gotten sick. Confused and frightened, she wanted to cry. Tears smarted behind her lids, though she could have sworn there had been none left.
Disoriented, she jerked her head around. She was lying on the sofa, with Sam sitting on its edge and leaning close. She quickly struggled to push herself up, but when she reached her feet she swayed. He dragged her down, tucked her head between her knees and firmly massaged the back of her neck.
“Take it easy. Breathe deeply.” He sounded as though he were taking his own advice. There was a long pause, then a soulful, “What have you done to yourself, Chelsea? You look awful!”
She would have laughed hysterically had she not been preoccupied controlling her dizziness. Her head was spinning in more ways than one. When she was finally able to sit up, she stumbled away from Sam and made it to the side chair before her legs gave out. He was half off the sofa to rush to her, but she warded him off with a shaky hand, and he sank back.
“What’s the matter with you,” he asked hoarsely.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered, eyes wide as she clutched the arms of the chair. She was shaking all over and couldn’t seem to stop.
“I came back.”
“But what are you doing here? You don’t belong here! I don’t know you!” Though her reaction was in large part the result of shock, there was some truth to it. He was wearing a dark business suit, a crisp white shirt, a striped tie and conservative cordovans. His mustache was still there, and his tan, but his hair had been trimmed and there was a tautness over the bridge of his nose and across his jaw. He looked every bit the aggressive businessman, and that thought made her tremble all the more.
As though sensing her fear, he forced the tension from his features. “You know me, Chels,” he said more gently. “I may be dressed a little differently, but I’m the same man underneath.”
She was in dire pain, dire emotional pain, and she was bewildered. “But why are you here?”
He came forward again, then stopped when she flinched. But nothing could stop his words. “I came to tell you that I love you. I do, y’know. I have since the first day we met.”
She had her hands on her ears and was shaking her head. “Don’t say that! Anything but that!”
His arms moved, as though about to encircle her. When she cringed, he clutched his hands between his knees. “It’s the truth. Why shouldn’t I say it?”
“Why now, Sam?” she screamed, feeling as though she were in hell. The tears that had welled moments before began to slide down her cheeks. He was cruel, she thought. How could he do this to her? She’d wanted and wanted, then convinced herself that it would never work. How could he?
Anguish brought her from the chair. Her every muscle was taut, which was a blessing because otherwise she would never have been able to stand. Her bones felt like powder, and she was crying openly. All the more gut-wrenching was the sadness she saw in his eyes when he looked at her.
“Better late than never—isn’t that what they say …? Don’t cry, Chels. Please?” He was on his feet, taking a step closer. “Something’s terribly wrong. I don’t understand—”
“It hurts!” she cried, sobbing. “It hurts so much!” Wheeling around, she fled into her bedroom and collapsed not on the bed but in a corner of the floor. She huddled there, hugging her knees, with her forehead pressed to them.
Sam’s footsteps tapped softly across the wood floor, but she didn’t hear through her misery. Then he was hunkering down, stroking her head, murmuring, “What have I done? Dear Lord, what have I done?” He put an arm around her shoulder. “Don’t cry. Please, Chels, don’t cry. I’ll make it better, whatever it is. I promise. I’ll make it better.”
When he drew her closer, she resisted at first. But with her eyes closed she could only hear him and smell him and feel his warmth, and it was so familiar, so dear that the part of her that needed him so badly ruled. Unable to help herself, she continued to cry, but her sobs were muffled against his suit and soon she was clutching its lapels, brokenly whispering his name.
His arms tightened and he pressed her face to his chest until, at long last, the storm abated. Then he settled with her on the floor and began to talk softly, gently, soothingly.
“I was a fool, Chelsea, but I was hurt that day. I knew you’d been hiding something. I assumed someone had sent you, but I really did manage to push it out of my mind, because I adored you and I didn’t want to think it might be true.”
He paused for a minute to stroke her back. She was quiet, listening. Only an intermittent hiccough broke the silence until he spoke again.
“When you said you loved me, I felt that my entire future was at stake. I wanted to ask you to stay with me alway
s, but I had to know the truth then. Hearing it from your lips was like a knife thrust.” He pressed his head protectively over hers. “I know I overreacted. I’m human, and imperfect. I think I was so damned scared because I’ve never felt this way about a woman, and then to learn that you’d been lying, that she’d sent you … something snapped in my mind, I guess.”
Chelsea sat against him without moving. It all made sense, what he said, but still she was tortured because she’d come so much further since that awful morning.
“I walked around Cancun all day, Chelsea, not knowing what to do. After a while I realized how wrong I’d been, but then I got defensive.” He shifted his cheek against her hair and his voice grew softer. “Men do that when they’re feeling vulnerable, when they hurt. And I was hurting.
“I kept asking myself why you hadn’t told me sooner, why you’d let it go on so long. You had to know I loved you. I wanted you with me every minute, and it wasn’t only the physical thing. I found pleasure in showing you all about life down there, a life I’d begun to take for granted. And that stunned me, because I hadn’t realized I was taking anything for granted. But I guess all of life is that way, whether it’s here or in the Yucatán. Being able to share, to see things through another person’s eyes, makes them fresh and new and special.” His breath fanned her temple. “Are you listening, Chels?”
Unable to speak yet, she slowly nodded her head. He seemed satisfied with the wordless response.
“Those last few days I’d begun to think more about where we were headed, what I was going to do. I knew you wouldn’t stay in Mexico forever, and suddenly I wasn’t sure if I wanted to either. I kept remembering the things you’d said about making adjustments here, setting priorities I could live with. But I didn’t think I could do it alone. I wanted you. I needed you.”
He pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head before returning his cheek there. “I thought about all those things while I wandered around Cancun. My anger wore itself out. The hurt faded. And I knew you’d been right, that I should have stayed and talked it through with you. By the time I got back to the hotel you were gone. I called the airport and found that you’d flown out hours before. I was stunned—both because you’d left and because I realized that through that entire day I’d only been thinking of me.”
He rubbed his hand up and down her spine. It was a gesture of comfort rather than sensual awareness. “I sat in that hotel room and relived the argument we’d had. I heard myself, the ugly words I’d used, the accusations I’d known weren’t true but which had come out in the heat of anger. I was a bastard, Chelsea. I should never have said those things, because they weren’t true and they hurt you.”
His voice was less steady when he went on, as though he were back there again, suffering. “My first thought was to go after you. But then I realized that you needed time, that I needed time. There was still the other issue for me. I’d been away for nearly seven months, and I had to be sure I’d come to terms about returning. I didn’t want to chase you back here and then find myself reverting into a man you’d despise. I had to be convinced that I was doing the right thing for both of us.
“So I went back to the pueblito. Five days was all I needed. Maybe I’d outgrown it. It had served its purpose, given me a total break, a chance to get my head together. It wasn’t the same there without you, but I tried not to think about that because I didn’t want to be running home for that reason alone. At the end of the five days I just knew I was ready.”
He paused, but Chelsea remained silent, so he went on. “I wish I could say that in the nine days I’ve been back I’ve solved all my problems, but I can’t. I’ve talked things over with David. We both know there have to be changes. We may split the business up and go our separate ways, or I may just take charge of one limited section. I may even sell the whole thing to him, but I’ve got to think more on that. I’ve been following your advice, though, leaving work at the office, making time to do things just for the fun of it. I’ve taken up running, and I’ve gone for drives to the beach, and the mountains.” He whispered a sad laugh. “Only thing is that I keep thinking about you and about how much more fun I’d be having if we were together. I was going to give you more time, Chelsea, honestly I was, but I couldn’t. I’ve driven by this place every day for the past week, and I just couldn’t wait any longer.” His voice thickened. “To have you open the door looking like you haven’t slept or eaten, and then to have you pass out—God, Chelsea, say something. Tell me what’s wrong!”
Chelsea took a long, shuddering breath. She felt more tired than she had in her entire life. “It wouldn’t work,” she ventured weakly.
“What wouldn’t work?”
“Us.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because our worlds are different, yours and mine.”
“Only as different as we make them.”
“But there’s been too much anger and hurt.”
“If I could turn back the clock and erase all that, I would, Chels. You have to believe that!”
“But you can’t,” she said dully. “Things were said. I’ll always remember and wonder and be afraid.”
“You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I love you. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying it and proving it if you’ll only let me.”
She brushed her cheek against his chest. Though she’d intended it to be a headshake, it came out more like a caress. “I’m so tired,” she murmured. “You’re wrong, but I can’t fight with you just now.”
Her muscles had grown slack, which made it that much easier for Sam to lift her and carry her to the bed. “You lie there while I get some things together.”
“What things?”
He was opening her closet, rummaging beneath the clothes. “Overnight-type things … . Have you got a bag in here?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I have to work.”
“You can’t work. You’re too tired.”
“I have to work. My boss expects me.”
“I’ll call him and tell him you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick. Just tired. I’ll sleep tonight.”
“Damn right you will,” he said purposely. “What’s his number?”
She raised herself up by stages until she was sitting. “You’re not calling.”
Sam pressed her back quickly, holding her shoulders with a firm but gentle hand. “No more than half an hour ago you passed out. You’re run down, overtired and undernourished. You need rest, Chelsea, and I intend to see that you get it.”
“But my job—”
“Your job can just wait.”
“It waited while I was in Mexico. Sam, I’ve got to go—”
“And stand on your feet for hours pouring drinks? I can’t let you do that, Chelsea. If it’s a matter of money, I’ll be glad to reimburse you—”
She bolted up, her eyes filled with sudden fire. “I don’t want your money! I’ve never wanted your money! Can’t you understand that?”
Stunned by the vehemence that seemed to have erupted from nowhere, he pulled back. “I’m not sure where that came from,” he said very quietly, “but it’s one of many things we’ll have to talk about. First, though, you need rest.”
“I can rest here.”
“It’s hot as hell here.”
“Is it much different from the pueblito? The heat didn’t bother you there. See, you’ve changed, Sam,” she challenged, eyes flashing.
Striving for patience, he pressed his lips together, briefly closed his eyes, eventually took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ve changed. I’ve come to realize, just as you were trying to tell me, that life isn’t black-and-white, all or nothing. Just because there are some things wrong with my life here doesn’t mean I have to chuck everything. I don’t need high blood pressure and tension headaches, so I intend to reorganize my life to prevent them. But I earn a good living and I can afford to have luxuries like a nice car and clothes and air-conditioning. Besides,” he scowled boyishly, “you kno
w damned well that the heat down there is totally different from the heat up here.”
“It’s that stuffy suit you’re wearing.”
He shot a glance toward the ceiling. “Are you going to give me the number at Icabod’s, or should I call directory assistance?”
She gave it to him simply because it seemed dumb for him to bother an operator. But she hadn’t moved to pack her things when he returned to the bedroom.
“I told him you’d call him in the morning to let him know about tomorrow night. He wasn’t surprised, Chelsea. He said he’d been worried about you.”
But Chelsea was worried too. “I’m not going with you, Sam. I’m staying here.”
“Come on, Chels. I thought we settled that.”
“You did. But we’re not in Mexico anymore. I’m on my own turf here. And I want to stay.”
“You’re scared. Just like you were down there.”
“You’re right.”
He came to sit beside her then, taking her limp hand in his. His gray eyes were warm, his expression beseechful. “I won’t hurt you again, Chelsea. Please, please believe that. I love you, and I want things to work out for us. But the only way that can happen is if we spend time together, talk everything out, get to know each other here, just like we did there.” He brushed her damp cheek with the back of his hand. “Right now you’re not feeling well, and I want to help. I want you to come to my place because I think you’ll be more comfortable there. And I want you to see it. It’s my home. It’s not all that bad.”
Chelsea pictured that Wellesley Hills estate and shuddered.
“It’s not like that,” Sam insisted, seeming to have read her mind. “And the only way you’ll be able to see for yourself is by coming with me. I won’t force you to do anything. For now, I just want to take care of you. That’s all.”
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