River's End

by Nora Roberts

  He offered to try his hand at fishing, but she pointed out he didn’t have a license and shot that down. Accepting that, he insisted on making soup instead, and entertained her with stories of childhood adventures with Mike.

  “He decides in-line skating is the way to get chicks.”

  Noah sampled the soup, decided it could have been worse. “Coordination isn’t Mike’s strong point, but at sixteen a guy’s brain is really just one big throbbing gland, so he blows most of his savings on the blades. I figure, what the hell, maybe he’s on to something and get myself a pair, too. We head to Venice to try out his theory.”

  He paused, poured them both more wine. The light was still strong, the air wonderfully cool. “The place is lousy with girls. Tall ones, short ones, wearing tiny little shorts. You gotta cruise first, scope things out. I home in on this little blonde in one of the girl packs.”

  Olivia choked. “Girl packs?”

  “Come on, your species always travels in packs. Law of the land. I’m working out how to cull her out of the herd while we strap on the blades. Then Mike gets up on his feet for about three seconds before his feet go out from under him. He pinwheels his arms, knocks this guy skating by in the face, they both go down like redwoods. Mike smacks his head on the bench and knocks himself out cold. By the time he comes to, I’ve lost the blonde, and end up taking Mike to the ER, where he had a standing appointment.”

  “A little accident-prone?”

  “He could hurt himself in his sleep.”

  “You love him.”

  “I guess I do.” And because there’d been something wistful in his statement, he studied her face. “Who’d you hang with when you were a kid?”

  “No one. There were a few when—before I moved up here, but after . . . Sometimes I’d play with kids at the lodge or campground, but they came and went. I don’t have any lasting attachments like your Mike. He’s doing all right now?”

  “Yeah. He bounces.”

  “Did they ever find the person who broke into your house and hurt him?”

  “No. Maybe it’s better that way. I’m not sure what I’d do if I got my hands on her. She could’ve killed him. Anything I could do to her wouldn’t be enough.”

  There was a dark side here, a latent violence she could see in his eyes. She’d had glimpses of it once or twice before. Oddly enough it didn’t make her uneasy, as hints of violence always did. It made her feel . . . safe, she supposed. And she wondered why.

  “Anything you could do wouldn’t change what already happened.”

  “No.” He relaxed again. “But I’d like to know why. Knowing why matters. Don’t you need to know why, Olivia?”

  She took his empty bowl, and hers, then rose. “I’ll wash these.” She started toward the stream, hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I need to know why.”

  While she washed the bowls, Noah took out his tape recorder, snapped in a fresh tape. He had his notepad and pencil ready when she came back.

  He saw the stress. It showed in the way her color faded to a delicate ivory. “Sit down.” He said it gently. “And tell me about your father.”

  “I don’t remember that much about him. I haven’t seen him for twenty years.”

  Noah said nothing. He could have pointed out that she remembered her mother very clearly.

  “He was very handsome,” Olivia said at length. “They looked beautiful together. I remember how they’d dress up for parties, and how I thought everyone’s parents were beautiful and had beautiful clothes and went out to parties, had their pictures in magazines and on TV. It just seemed so natural, so normal. They seemed so natural together.

  “They loved each other. I know that.” She spoke slowly now, a line of concentration between her elegant, dark brows. “They loved me. I can’t be wrong about that. In their movie together, they just . . . shimmered with what they felt for each other. It radiates from them. I remember how it did that, how they did that whenever they were in the same room. Until it started to change.”

  “How did it change?”

  “Anger, mistrust, jealousy. I wouldn’t have had words for it then. But that shimmer was smudged, somehow. They fought. Late at night at first. I’d hear not the words so much but the voices, the tone of them. And it made me feel sick.”

  She lifted her glass, steadied herself. “Sometimes I could hear him pacing the hall outside, saying lines or reciting poetry. Later I read some article on him where he said he often recited poetry to help him calm down before an important scene. He suffered from stage fright.

  “Funny, isn’t it? He always seemed so confident. I think he must have used the same sort of method to calm himself down when they were fighting. Pacing the hall, reciting poetry. ‘For man, to man so oft unjust, is always so to women; one sole bond awaits them, treachery is all their trust.’” She sighed once. “That’s Byron.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  She smiled again, but her eyes were so horribly sad. “You read poetry, Brady?”

  “I was a journalism major. I read everything.” He feathered his fingers along her cheek. “ ‘Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.’ ”

  It touched her. “With or without words, my heart’s survived. It’s my mother’s heart that was broken, and she who didn’t survive what he wanted from her, or needed. And I haven’t spoken of it to anyone except Aunt Jamie, and then only rarely. I don’t know what to say now. He’d pick me up.”

  Her voice cracked, but she tried to control herself. “In one fast swoop so that my stomach would stay on my feet for a minute. It’s a delicious feeling when you’re a child. ‘Livvy, my love,’ he’d call me, and dance with me around the living room. The room where he killed her. And when he’d hold me, I’d feel so safe. When he’d come in to tell me a story—he told such wonderful stories—I’d feel so happy. I was his princess, he’d say. And whenever he had to go away to a shoot, I’d miss him so much my heart would hurt.”

  She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if to hold in the words and the pain. Then made herself drop it. “That night when he came into my room and broke the music box, and shouted at me, it was as if someone had stolen my father, taken him away. It was never, never the same after that night. That whole summer I waited for him to come back, for everything to be the way it was. But he never did. Never. The monster came.”

  Her breath caught, two quick inward gasps. And her hand shook, spilling wine. Instinctively, Noah snagged the glass before it slipped out of her fingers. Even as he said her name she pressed both fists to her rampaging heart.

  “I can’t.” She barely managed to get the words out. Her eyes were huge with pain and shock and staring blindly into his. “I can’t.”

  “It’s all right. Okay.” He dropped his pad, the glass, everything and wrapped his arms around her. Her hands were trapped between them, but he could feel her heart race, he could feel the sharp, whiplash shudders that racked her. “Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t. Let go. If you don’t let go, you’ll break to pieces.”

  “I can still see it. I can still see it. Him kneeling beside her, the blood and broken glass. The scissors in his hand. He said my name, he said my name in my father’s voice. I’d heard her scream, I’d heard it. Her scream, breaking glass. That’s what woke me up. But I went into her room and played with her bottles. I was playing in her room when he was killing her. Then I ran away and never saw her again. They never let me see her again.”

  There was nothing he could say; there was no comfort in words. He held her, stroking her hair while the sun left the sky and sent the light to gloaming.

  “I never saw either of them again. We never talked of them in our house. My grandmother locked them in a chest in the attic to save her heart. And I spoke of her secretly to Aunt Jamie and felt like a thief for stealing the pieces of my mother she could give me. I hated him for that, for making me have to steal my mother back in secret whispers. I wanted him to die in prison, alone and forgotten
. But he’s still alive. And I still remember.”

  He pressed his lips to her hair, rocking her as she wept. The hot tears dampening his shirt relieved him. However much they cost her to shed, she’d be better for them. He swung her legs over, drawing her into his lap to cradle her there like a child until she went lax and silent.

  Her head ached like a fresh wound, and her eyes burned. The fatigue was suddenly so great she would have stumbled into sleep if she hadn’t held herself back. But the raw churning in her stomach had ceased, and the agonizing pressure in her chest was gone.

  Tired and embarrassed, she pulled back from him. “I need some water.”

  “I’ll get it.” He shifted her aside to get up and fetch a bottle. When he came back, he crouched in front of her, then brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You look worn out.”

  “I never cry. It’s useless.” She uncapped the bottle, drank deep to ease her dry throat. “The last time I cried was because of you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was so hurt and angry when I found out why you’d really come. After I made you leave, I cried for the first time since I was a child. You had no idea what I’d let myself feel about you in those two days.”

  “Yes, I did,” he murmured. “It scared me. Nearly as much as what I felt for you scared me.”

  When she started to get up, he simply planted his hands on her thighs, locked his gaze to hers and held her in place. “What? You don’t want to hear about it?”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Not so long, but maybe just long enough. It’s a good thing you booted me out, Liv. We were both too young for what I wanted from you then. Both parts of what I wanted.”

  “You’re getting your book now,” she said evenly. “And we’re acting on the attraction. So I guess we’re both finally grown-up.”

  He moved fast, stunning her when he dragged her to her feet, nearly lifted her off them. His eyes had gone sharp, like the keen edge of a blade. “You think all I want from you is the book and sex? Goddamn it, is that what you think or is that what you choose to think? That way, you don’t have to give too much back or take any real risks.”

  “You think baring my soul to you about my parents isn’t a risk?” She shoved him back, hard. “You think knowing anyone with the price and the interest will buy my memories and feelings isn’t a risk?”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  “Because it’s time.” She pushed her hair back from her damp cheeks. “You were right about that. Does that satisfy you? You were right. I need to say it, to get it out, and maybe somewhere in your damn book I’ll see why it had to happen. Then I can bury them both.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “That covers that part. What about the rest? What about you and me?”

  “What about it?” she shot back. “We had a few sparks some years ago and decided to act on them now.”

  “And that’s it for you? A few sparks?”

  She stepped back as he moved in. “Don’t crowd me.”

  “I haven’t even started crowding you. That’s your problem, Liv, never letting anyone get quite close enough to share your space. I want your body, fine if you’re in the mood, but everything else is off-limits. That doesn’t work for me. Not with you.”

  “That’s your problem.”

  “Damn right.” He grabbed her arm, spinning her back when she turned. “And it’s yours, too. I have feelings for you.”

  He released her abruptly to pace away, to stand all but vibrating with frustration on the bank of the stream. The light was gone now, so the low fire flickered gold and the first shimmer of the rising moon shifted through the trees.

  “Do you think this is a snap for me?” he said wearily. “Because I’ve had other women in my life, it’s a breeze for me to deal with the only one who’s ever mattered?”

  He turned back. She stood where he’d left her, but had lifted her arms to cross them defensively around her. Those delicate fingers of moonlight shivered over her, pale silver.

  “Olivia, the first time I saw you, you were a baby. Something about you reached right out, so much more than that sad image on the television screen, and grabbed me. It’s never let go. I didn’t see you again until you were twelve, gangly and brave and all haunted eyes. There was a connection. There was nothing sexual about it.”

  He started back toward her, watched her shift slightly, as if to brace. “I never forgot you. You were in and out of my head. Then you were eighteen. You opened the door of your apartment, and there you were, tall and slender and lovely. A little distracted, a little impatient. Then your eyes cleared. God, I’ve had your eyes in my head as long as I can remember. And you smiled at me and cut me off at the knees. I’ve never been the same.” He stopped a foot away from her and saw she was trembling.

  “I’ve never been the same.”

  Her skin was shivering, her heart beating too fast. “You’re fantasizing, Noah. You’re letting your imagination run wild.”

  “I did plenty of fantasizing about you.” He was calm now, certain because he could see her nerves. “But it didn’t come close. I did some compensating, too. But there was never a woman who pulled at me the way you do. Straight from the gut. I know I hurt you. I didn’t understand you or myself well enough then. Even when I came here and saw you again, I didn’t understand it. I just knew seeing you thrilled me. I’ve never gotten over you. Do you know what it was like to realize I’d never gotten over you?”

  Panic wanted to rise, taunted her to run. Pride had her standing her ground. “You’re mixing things up, Noah.”

  “No, I’m not.” He reached up, touched her face, then framed it in his hands. “Look at me, Liv. Look. There’s one thing I’m absolutely clear on. I’m so completely in love with you.”

  A messy mix of joy and terror clogged her throat. “I don’t want you to be.”

  “I know.” He touched his lips gently to hers. “It scares you.”

  “I don’t want this.” She gripped his wrists. “I won’t give you what you’re looking for.”

  “You are what I’m looking for, and I’ve already found you. Next step is to figure out what you want, and what you’re looking for.”

  “I told you I already have everything I want in my life.”

  “If that were true, I wouldn’t scare you. I’m going to build a life with you, Olivia. I’ve been waiting to start and didn’t even know it. It’s only fair I give you time to catch up.”

  “I’m not interested in marriage.”

  “I haven’t asked you yet,” he pointed out and his lips parted as they covered hers again. “But I’ll get to that. Meanwhile, just tell me one thing.” He cruised into the kiss so that they could both float on it. “Is what you’re feeling for me just a few sparks?”

  It was warmth she felt, a steady stream of it, and a longing so deep, so aching, it beat like a heart. “I don’t know what I feel.”

  “Good answer. Let me love you.” He walked her backward toward the tent, muddling her brain with hands and lips. “And we’ll see if the answer changes.”

  He was patient and thorough and showed her what it was to be touched by a man who loved her. Each time she tried to hold back, he would simply find a new way to slide through her defenses. To fill a heart reluctant to be filled. To steal a heart determined not to be taken.

  When he moved inside her, slow and smooth and deep, he saw the answer he wanted in her eyes. “I love you, Olivia.”

  He closed his mouth over hers, drew in her ragged breath and wondered how long he would wait to hear her say it.

  twenty-nine

  The man was so carelessly cheerful, Olivia thought, it was all but impossible not to respond in kind. It didn’t matter that the morning had dawned with a thin, drizzling rain that would undoubtedly have them soaked within an hour of the hike back.

  He woke up happy, listened to the drumming and said it was a sign from God that they should stay in the tent and make crazy love.

>   Since he rolled on top of her and initiated a sexy little wrestling match, she couldn’t come up with a logical argument against the plan. And for the first time in her life laughed during sex.

  Then just when she’d convinced herself that good sex shouldn’t be a barometer of her emotions, he nuzzled her neck, told her to stay put and that he’d see to the coffee.

  She snuggled into the warm cocoon of the tent and wallowed in the afterglow of lovemaking. She hadn’t let herself be pampered since childhood. She had taught herself to believe that if she didn’t take care of herself, see to details personally and move consistently forward in the direction she’d mapped out, she would be handing control of her life over to someone else.

  As her mother had done. And yes, she thought closing her eyes, perhaps even as her father had done. Love was a weakness, or a weapon, and she’d convinced herself that she’d never permit herself to feel it for anyone beyond family.

  Didn’t she have both potentials inside her? The one to surrender to it completely, and the one to use it violently? How could she risk turning that last key in that last lock and open herself to what she already knew she had inside her for Noah?

  Then he nudged his way back into the tent, two steaming cups in his hand. His sun-streaked hair was damp with rain, his feet bare and the jeans he’d tugged on unbuttoned. The wave of love swamped