Phantom Waltz

by Catherine Anderson

  But her own needs and happiness weren’t the issue. She had to do the right thing, and as difficult as it might be, the right thing was to let him go. It would only become more difficult as time wore on, she knew. With each passing day, her resolve weakened just a little more, making it easier and easier to believe she could fulfill all his needs, when in truth she could never be the wife he needed or deserved.

  Foolish, pathetic Bethany. She’d feared from the first that this would happen, and now it had. She was head-over-heels, wildly, crazily in love with him, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could go on pretending differently.

  It might have been all right—she might have continued to fool him and herself—if only Ryan had been the type to keep his distance, but he wasn’t. He was a hands-on person and very affectionate, always hugging and rubbing and touching. Her hair. Her ear. Her neck. Her cheek. He was driving her absolutely mad. Sometimes after he left, she’d lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering how it would have felt if he had kissed her in all those places.

  Some mornings her brother Jake would stop by her office to ask, “So how’s it going with you and Ryan?”

  “There is no me and Ryan,” she always replied. “We’re just friends, Jake. Don’t read anything into it that’s not there.”

  Jake invariably grinned when she said that. “Okay, let me rephrase the question. How’s it going with you and your friend Ryan?”

  “Fine.”

  Jake would frown. “That’s it? ‘Fine?’”

  “There’s nothing else to say. We’re friends. It’s fine. He’s very nice, and I enjoy his company, end of story.”

  On the morning Bethany decided that she had to stop seeing Ryan, Jake asked the same old question again, lingering in her office doorway sipping a cup of coffee:

  “So, sis, how’s it goin’ with you and Ryan?”

  Bethany was so depressed, she couldn’t muster the energy to go through their usual routine. She just shrugged and said, “All right, I guess.”

  “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good. Problems?”

  “Not really,” she replied, when in truth she wanted to weep every time she thought of how empty her life would be without Ryan in it. How on earth would she fill up her evenings without him? “Nothing I can’t handle, anyway.”

  “Honey, are you feeling all right?” Jake stepped closer to peer at her face. “You’ve got circles under your eyes.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping very well the last couple of weeks.”

  Cupping his coffee mug between his hands, Jake leaned a hip on the edge of her desk. “Is something troubling you?”

  Bethany wondered what he would say if she told him what the problem was—that his beloved sister, whom he considered to be worthy of canonization, was sexually frustrated and about to lose her mind. “No. A bout of insomnia, is all. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  Frowning thoughtfully and narrowing his eyes against the steam, he raised his mug to his lips and took a slow sip. “If it continues, maybe you should see a doctor.”

  Bethany had seen enough doctors to last her a lifetime, and basides that, she really didn’t think a doctor could help with her present problem. Given her physical complications, she wasn’t even sure Ryan could. What if she was doomed to a lifelong itch, with no way to scratch? Just the thought made her want to scream. She sighed and cleared an erroneous entry on the computer with a vicious jab of her finger on the delete key.

  Ryan was in the tack room, replacing a bridle bit, when his cell phone chirped. He sighed and grabbed his jacket off a wall-stud nail to fish the phone out of the pocket.

  “Kendrick here,” he barked.

  “Ryan? Jake Coulter.”

  Ryan smiled and sank back against the saddler rack. “Hey, Jake. How’s it goin’?”

  “Not worth a tinker’s damn. What the hell’s going on between you and Bethany?”

  Ryan moved the phone away from his ear. “Nothing.” Much to his regret. “What are you talking about? I haven’t laid a hand on her.”

  “I figured as much,” Jake said. Long silence. Then he sighed. “Holy hell.”

  “What does that mean?” Ryan asked cautiously. Jake Coulter was not a man he wanted to tangle with if he could avoid it.

  “She’s not sleeping,” Jake said. “This morning she looks like somebody slugged her in both eyes.”

  “Not sleeping?” Ryan’s scrunched his brow in a worried frown. “She’s not sick, is she?”

  “Hello. Add it up. She can’t sleep, and you say you haven’t laid a hand on her. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the problem.”

  Ryan grinned like a fool. “You think?”

  Jake sighed again. “Ryan,” he said with exaggerated patience.

  “Do you remember our conversation when I came out to your place that night?”

  “I remember.”

  “When are you planning to get to the wedding vows and forever-after part of our understanding?”

  “I’m working on her.”

  “Well, if you love the girl, kick it in the ass.”

  Ryan raised his eyebrows. “Would you repeat that, just for clarification?”

  “Don’t press your luck. And for the record, you’re a dead man if you don’t marry her afterward. Clear?”

  Ryan chuckled. “I read you. No worries, Jake.”

  Seducing a woman like Bethany called for careful planning. Ryan preferred to stage the seduction scene at his place. Less risk of being interrupted that way. He didn’t want one of her brothers dropping in to check on her right in the middle of everything. He could warn his own family not to come over or telephone, threat of death.

  He had hoped to put off bringing Bethany out to see the ranch for another week. Her saddle still hadn’t arrived, and he didn’t have her treadmill set up yet. But, oh, well. Desperate situations called for desperate measures. Circles under her eyes. Oh, yeah. He’d gotten under her skin. Now all that remained was to reap his reward.

  That afternoon Ryan called the store and invited Bethany out to his place for dinner that night. She sounded distracted and weary, and for a moment, Ryan was afraid she was going to turn him down.

  “There’s something special I want to show you,” he quickly inserted.

  “Well … all right. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Maybe it’s just as well I do it there.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “Hey,” he said softly. “Is something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, exactly. It’s—complicated. I’ll talk to you tonight. All right? Is six-thirty okay?”

  “Six-thirty is fine.”

  Ryan frowned as he broke the connection. She’d been meaning to talk to him about something? That had “Dear John” written all over it. Son of a bitch. He rubbed his brow. The headache he’d been battling since Jake’s phone call that morning was growing worse. No worries. He loved her, and he knew damned well she cared for him. If she was thinking about not seeing him anymore, he’d be able to talk her out of it.

  He took some ibuprofen, gathered up all his dirty socks and the scattered newspapers in the family room, and then took two steaks out of the freezer to thaw. That done, he made for the shower.

  With his aching head shoved under the jets of hot water, Ryan was able to think more clearly, and he began to plan his strategy. He definitely wanted to look sharp, but at the same time, he didn’t want to overdo it. He’d be grilling the steaks himself. Nothing too fancy. He should dress accordingly. He decided to wear pressed black jeans, a long-sleeved black shirt, and a pair of black dress boots polished to shine like glass. Women went for black. Why he had no idea, but he wasn’t about to mess with what worked. Not tonight.

  Did all guys feel sort of sick before they popped the question? His stomach felt like a wet sock being turned inside out. He angled an arm over the tile and rested his aching head on the back of his wrist. He hadn’t felt nervous like this over a female in years. After his green wore off and he’d go
tten a little experience under his belt, he’d always just figured, “What the hell,” and hadn’t really worried about how he looked or what he should say.

  Falling in love was a real bitch.

  She was late. Ryan glanced at his watch. Six-thirty-two, and ticking. Only two minutes late. Not big deal. It was a long drive from town, and people didn’t always time it exactly right. She’d be here.

  He paced. Through the kitchen, into the great room. Around the sofa. Past the slider. Quick stop to gaze out at the road. He’d be able to see her coming around the lake long before she got here. Back into the kitchen. He checked the steaks for the umpteenth time to make sure they were thawed. Opened the new low-profile refrigerator to stare at the salad he’d tossed. Still there, still green.

  He sighed and stepped to the new universal-level sink to scrub the potatoes a little more. Looked out the window again. Where was she? Damn. His stomach squeezed. He passed a hand over his eyes. He went back over everything he could remember saying to her over the past few days. As far as he knew, he’d done nothing, nothing, to make her want to stop seeing him.

  He glimpsed her gray van through the trees just then. His heart pitched and did a funny little dance in his chest, making him worry he was about to have a heart attack. He took a deep breath, realized he was sweating, and called himself a thousand kinds of idiot. Never let them see you sweat.

  He’d wait inside, he decided. If he went out on the porch, he’d look too eager. He no sooner concluded that than he was stepping outside. So … he was eager. Big deal. He wanted to marry the girl. She was it for him. No harm in letting her know how he felt.

  She parked on the cement pad he’d had poured between the stable and the house. Then she just sat there and stared. Ryan walked down the wheelchair ramp he’d added onto the kitchen porch, then moved along the walkway toward her, wearing a smile that felt carved into his face. He lifted a hand in greeting.

  When she finally rolled down her window, he said, “Hi, there.”

  She fixed him with those huge blue eyes. Her face was so white it looked damned near bloodless. “Oh, Ryan, what have you done?” she cried.

  Somehow, he didn’t think she was any too happy. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping to get, to say the least. Wow would have been nice. He glanced around, swallowed. It was on the tip of his tongue to explain what he’d done, but then it struck him how stupid that would be. He had obviously built her wheelchair paths all over hell’s creation.

  “How do you like it?” he settled for asking. “You can even go down to the lake and follow the shore for quite a ways in either direction.”

  Her face went even paler, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes that Jake had mentioned. “Oh, God. What have you done?”

  Ryan had had a few days in his life when he’d wondered if he wouldn’t have been better off never getting out of bed. This was shaping up to be one of them. At the sound of her voice, a horse inside the stable started whinnying and screaming and kicking its stall. Ryan didn’t have to go check to see which horse it was. Hell. He’d been hoping to surprise her with Wink a little later in the evening. There was such a thing as hitting someone with too much at once.

  But, no. The horse recognized her voice. Incredible. It had been eight years. Eight frigging years. Most horses had long memories, but in his recollection, he’d never heard of one recognizing someone’s voice after so long.

  Bethany glanced bewilderedly toward the stable. “What on earth is the matter in there?”

  It sounded like the stable was about to fold like a house of cards. Ryan followed her gaze and rubbed his jaw. “It’s nothing.” He hoped Sly was still around and would do something to settle Wink down. Fast. “We have a new mare in there. She gets a little—”

  Wink grunted three times and whinnied excitedly. Ryan had never heard the horse make that particular succession of noises before, but he recognized horse love talk when he heard it. His stomach did a slow revolution, and he could only pray Bethany didn’t make the connection.

  “Wink?” she whispered. She started tearing at the driver’s door to exit the van. “Wink!” She fixed a tear-filled, incredulous gaze on Ryan as she extended the lift. “That’s my horse!”

  Ryan thought, Well, hell … He puffed air into his cheeks. “Nothing like hitting you with all your surprises at once. I, um … bought her back for you.”

  She moved her chair out onto the platform, set the brake, and then lowered the lift to the pad. “You what?”

  Just in case she hadn’t heard him, he repeated himself.

  “You what?” she said again.

  Ryan wasn’t going to say it a third time. She moved her chair off the lift onto the cement and took off like a shot for the stable. Ryan followed, almost wishing that he could stop her from going inside. But, no. He’d paved the way, so to speak.

  At the entrance she braked to a sudden stop, stared for a moment at the wide asphalt alley that stretched, straight as a bullet, the length of the center aisle to the double, cross-buck doors that opened onto the riding arena. Before each stall, a lip of asphalt with a sloped edge extended out, making the hasp of the gate accessible to someone in a wheelchair.

  “Oh, Ryan,” she whispered shakily.

  Standing slightly back and to one side, he could see a tear rolling down her pale cheek. About halfway up the aisle, Wink thrust her head out over the stall gate, the whites showing around her eyes, her nostrils flared as she snorted the air. She made the three grunting sounds again and whinnied eagerly. It was clearly a greeting for Bethany alone. Gazing at the horse, Bethany made a low, keening sound, then covered her face with her hands.

  “Oh, God, Ryan, why did you do this?” She dropped her hands and whirled on him. “Just friends, you said. No risks, no expectations!” With every word, her voice grew shriller. “Jake sold Wink for twenty-five thousand. I know Hunsacker wouldn’t have let her go for a cent less than that. How much did you pay for her?”

  Ryan swiped a hand over his mouth, Instead of feeling like her hero, as he’d imagined he might, he felt like he’d committed a crime. “The money isn’t important, honey.”

  “It is important! And don’t call me honey!”

  “Bethany, I—”

  “How much?” she demanded.

  “Thirtyish,” he admitted. “That’s peanuts, Bethany. I’ve paid over a hundred for a nice horse without batting an eye.”

  “Thirtyish?” She stared up at him in appalled amazement. “And what does the ish stand for?”

  “Six.

  “Thirty-six thousand?” She passed a hand over her eyes. She was shaking. Shaking horribly. “I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe it! I can’t ever pay it back. Not ever.”

  “I don’t expect you to pay me back.”

  She stared at him with an accusing look in her eyes. Just stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. After what seemed like a small eternity, she spoke, her voice flat and hollow. “It’s all been a lie from the very first, hasn’t it? You never intended for us to be just friends. You lied so I’d continue to see you.”

  Ryan thought about lying again. At the moment that seemed like the wisest choice. Admitting the truth didn’t strike him as a brilliant move. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I sort of lied, I guess. Actually, it depends on how you define love and friendship, sweetheart. Can you really have one without the other?” He shrugged, doing his best to look reasonable. “I don’t think so. An intimate relationship without a wonderful friendship isn’t love or anything close to it. Been there, done that, and trust me, it has no meaning.”

  She hugged her waist and sat back in her chair, flinching when Wink kicked her stall door again and shrieked. She closed her eyes, and the muscles in her face drew taut. “I told you from the first, Ryan. I didn’t color it. We can never be more than friends. Never. And I planned to tell you tonight that even the friendship isn’t working for me.”

  “Why, for God’s sake?”

 
She lifted her lashes and fixed him with those beautiful blue eyes he’d loved since the moment he first looked into them. A deep, vivid blue so clear it could hide nothing, especially pain—the kind of pain that ran too deep for tears and hurt so much, it couldn’t be expressed with words.

  “I can’t be what you need,” she whispered.

  She circled around him and headed for her van. Ryan gazed after her for a moment. Then he struck out after her. “Bethany, can we discuss this?”

  “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  He caught up with her just as she reached the lift. She rolled her chair up onto the ramp, raised it to move inside the van, and then positioned herself behind the steering wheel. He watched in silence as she hit the control to retract the chair lift and bent to fasten the restraints.

  “So, you’re just going to leave. Is that it?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, and shut the door.

  Ryan hooked his arms over the edge of the window opening and leaned inside. “And I’m supposed to just let you go?”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  When she reached to start the engine, he snaked out a hand and grabbed her wrist. “I outweigh you by a hundred and twenty pounds. That carries the vote.”

  She threw him a startled look. “Let go of me, Ryan.”

  “Not until I’ve said my piece,” he bit out.

  She twisted her arm free. “Nothing you say will change my mind.”

  Ryan knew he was about to lose his temper. At the back of his mind, warning bells went off. But he was past caring.

  “Fine, then!” he bit out. “Run away, Bethany. It’s what you’re good at. Right? That’s all you’ve done for the past eight years is bury your feelings and run away.”

  That got her attention. She turned to look at him, at least. Nose to nose with her, he glared back. “All this time, I figured you for having a backbone. I guess I was wrong. You didn’t just lose the use of your legs in that riding accident. You lost your guts.”