Always (24 page)

      
Just shoot me now.

      He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how he'd felt when he went to her house the day after she left. The expression on her mother's face when he'd begged her to tell him where Taylor had gone. The way her father had berated him for hurting his little girl.

      None of that mattered now, but the fact that she'd left still mattered. She'd tossed their love aside. All she had to do was talk to him. He could have told her the truth, talked to Sue, and spared them all these years of heartache.

      "You just left," he repeated, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Not a word to me or Sue or anybody." He whirled around and pinned her with his gaze.
 

      She staggered to her feet, holding her hands out to her sides beseechingly. "That's why I came here this morning, Gordon," she said, a tremor in her voice. "I'm sorry. I can't undo the past, but I want you to know that I'm sorrier for that than anything in my life."

      Silent tears spilled from her incredible green eyes, and he had to clench his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching for her. "All right, you're sorry." He looked away, unable to watch the pain in her expression a moment longer. He pulled his anger around him like a protective cloak, shielding himself from falling victim to her charms again. "You've apologized. Congratulations."

      "I guess there's no hope of you ever forgiving me."
 

      He whirled around to face her, disbelief nearly driving him to his knees. "Forgive you?"

      She nodded, tears shimmering on her lashes and cheeks. "Never mind." With a sigh, she turned to face the hearth. "It's too much to ask."

      Gordon continued to stare at her, the pain in his heart spreading. She'd broken his heart once, and he couldn't risk letting her do that again. Forgiving her would set him free. Then he could pretend none of it mattered anymore.

      It was his only defense against the truth.

      "I'll forgive you, Taylor," he whispered.
 

      She snapped her head around to meet his gaze, her brow furrowing. "You will?"

      "On one condition."

      She took a step toward him, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted. "What condition?"

      "That you never mention any of this again."

      Taylor had come here to apologize, and she'd done that. Now he was offering his forgiveness.

      For a price.

      Her soul.

      He wanted to bury the past and pretend it had never happened, while she was filled with the need to examine and understand it. He'd known the truth all along, while she'd just learned it. How could he expect her to forget it all now?

      For the first time since leaving Digby, she knew the boy she'd given her heart to hadn't betrayed her with her best friend. The horrible "truth" she'd carried in her heart all these years wasn't true at all. She couldn't ignore that.

      "I was so wrong. So very, very wrong." She shook her head slowly. "But ignoring the past isn't the same as forgiving."

      The expression on his face mirrored the pain in her heart. "Don't, Taylor," he whispered. "Don't resurrect all this. Let it go. It hurts too damn much, and we can't undo it."

      "I want your forgiveness, Gordon." She swallowed the bile burning her throat. "But I want
real
forgiveness–not just you sweeping it all under the rug."

      He chuckled low in his throat and bent to scratch Max behind the ears. The dog seemed oblivious to all the anguish in the room. "Is this the only reason you drove up here?"

      Taylor remembered Ryan's morning activities and cleared her throat. "No, there's another reason."

      "What?" Gordon grabbed a log and laid it on the fire. The hot embers flared to life, licking greedily at the new fuel.

      "Ryan."

      Gordon's eyes widened as he straightened and faced her. "What about Ryan?"

      Taylor explained what she'd seen this morning, and Gordon laughed. "I don't think it's funny," she said.

      "No, I don't suppose you do, but he's a ten-year-old boy." Gordon shrugged, then his expression grew solemn. "And..."

      "And what?"

      He sighed and scraped his hand through his hair. "He wants me to marry his mom and be his dad."

      Taylor nodded slowly, her suspicions confirmed. "And he considers me a threat."

      Gordon's mask fell into place again. "Maybe."

      "Sue's interested in Jeremy."

      Genuine surprise flared in his eyes. "Really? The yuppie? I thought you were engaged."

      Taylor shook her head. "We weren't engaged, and we both realized it wasn't right." She sighed. "He seemed like a different person when I saw him Sunday."

      The lamp in the corner flickered and went out. "Electricity's out and probably the phone," Gordon said, picking up the extension on his desk. "Yep. I'd better fire up the generator."

      He left the room before Taylor could respond. Gordon had no intention of discussing anything with her. She walked to the window and stared out at the heavy clouds. A shiver chased itself through her and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

      One thing was for sure. Tonight would be the longest night of her life.

Chapter 12

      Tonight would be the longest night of Gordon's life.

      He turned on the radio in the kitchen so they could listen to the news and weather. From the sounds of things, the storm was settling in for the duration.

      "I can sleep in that big recliner in the living room," Taylor said as she helped him clear the table after dinner. "It's huge."

      "No, you take the bedroom and I'll sleep in the recliner." He'd never bothered to buy a couch, but now he wished he had.
 

      "I don't want to put you to any trouble," she said, rinsing the plates under running water.
 

      He flipped off the radio and covered the salad with plastic wrap. He was trying to conserve generator fuel for important things like the refrigerator, so he retrieved two more kerosene lamps from the cabinet and made sure they were full and ready. One already burned on the kitchen table.

      "No trouble, I like my recliner." He handed her a lamp. "There are matches in the tin on the dresser."

      "Are you trying to get rid of me, Doctor?"

      
Oh, yeah, definitely
. "Nope, but there's barely enough light to read by. Nothing to do but go to bed." He winced when he realized what he'd said.

      She cleared her throat and blinked, staring at him for several seconds. "Gee, we could talk."

      
No, anything but that
. Lightning struck somewhere nearby, and the floor rumbled beneath them.
 

      "Gordon, we really need to talk."
 

      He shook his head. "I'm in denial. Give me time to get used to this."

      "Get used to me knowing the truth?" She shrugged. "You've known the truth all along, and I'm the one who just learned it."

      "I don't want to discuss this. You made a choice not to learn the truth, and I'm making a choice not to discuss it now." He retrieved the burning lamp from the table and carried it into the living room. "I'd better stoke the fire. If the temperature drops much more, we'll have snow by morning."

      "I remember having snow on the Fourth of July when I was a kid."

      
The Fourth of July
. Did she remember their first time? Did she dream of that Fourth of July between their junior and senior years in high school? Did she remember every minute detail about what happened that day? What they'd shared? The promises they'd made?

      He paused in front of the hearth and faced her. The expression on her face tore at him. She remembered. Joy mingled with terror in his heart and made him swallow hard.
Just don't talk about it, Taylor
. He couldn't stand that. Not now.

      She brought her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide, green pools. "I...remember the last time we spent Fourth of July together," she whispered.

      "Don't." He set the lamp on the mantel and put more logs on the fire. "I'll get you a blanket, if you insist on sleeping out here."

      She didn't answer, so he took that as agreement and carried his lamp into his bedroom and set it on his dresser. He opened the closet door and saw his Taylor box–the one containing pictures and that blanket he'd kept all these years.

      He doubled up his fist and slammed it into his palm. Why did everything have to remind him? Why was she here, torturing him? Stranded with him?
 

      Alone?

      "Gordon?" she said from the doorway, startling him.
 

      He reached onto the shelf and grabbed a blanket that had no sentimental meaning whatsoever, a pillow and a pillowcase, then handed them to her.
 

      "Your last chance to claim the bed," he said, forcing a tight smile.

      "Got an old T-shirt I can borrow for a nightgown?"

      Without a word, he grabbed a yellow T-shirt from a drawer and laid it on the pile in her arms.

      "Thanks." Her gaze darkened and she pulled her lips into a thin line. "Go ahead and pretend for now," she said, lifting her chin a notch. "But by morning, I want you to be ready to talk about this. I'm
not
taking no for an answer."

      She whirled around and stomped into the next room, leaving Gordon alone with his memories.

      He closed the door behind her and walked woodenly to the bed and threw himself face down on it. The truth was, he wanted to forgive Taylor. Desperately. But he couldn't trust her.

      If he allowed himself to trust her, she'd have the power to hurt him. No matter what, he couldn't give her that power ever again. But by denying her that power, he was also denying himself the very thing he wanted most.

      With the door closed, the room grew frigid in no time. He undressed and climbed under the comforter, folding his arms behind his head. If he managed a wink of sleep tonight, it would be a miracle. He should've doused the lamp, but instead he kept staring at the patterns the flickering flame threw across the beamed ceiling.

      The woman he wanted more than any other was in the next room. Why was he shivering alone in his bed?
 

      
Because you're a fool.

      Hours passed and he dozed off and on, but his thoughts and his dreams kept straying to the woman in the next room. Was she sleeping, too? Was she wearing anything under his yellow T-shirt?

      The thought made him harden and he grimaced in self-disgust. Would he ever stop wanting Taylor Bowen? "Damn."

      The floor creaked just beyond his door, and he held his breath as the doorknob turned. His heart thundered in his chest and he wanted desperately to call out to her.

      Slowly, the door opened, and she stood framed by firelight. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders in a mass of dark curls.

      
Dear God
. His gaze drifted down the length of her, savoring every inch of bare leg exposed below his T-shirt. His body sprang to life, even as his mouth formed the words, "Taylor, don't..."

      "I've been lying awake remembering, and I can't stop remembering." She padded barefoot to his bed. "Look at me, Gordon."

      He raised his lashes and met her gaze. Something bright and hot and dangerous burned in her eyes. "Do you know..." He bit the inside of his cheek to silence his words.

      She put her knee on his bed and cupped his cheek with one hand, then brought her other knee onto his bed and framed his face with both hands. "I only know this," she whispered, leaning closer to cover his mouth with hers.

      Gordon's mountain experienced far more than a mere mud slide as she pulled him closer, stroking his lips with her tongue until he growled and wrapped his arms around her to
 
tug her down on top of him.