Beach Season (49 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
“You’re falling in love with her again,” she charged, sniffing, lifting her head. When he didn’t answer, she wiped at her eyes and crossed the room. “Don’t be fooled, Parker. She’ll lie to you, try to make you doubt me. But this,” she patted her abdomen, “is proof of our love.”
“If it’s mine,” he said slowly, watching for any sign that she might be lying. A shadow flickered in her gaze—but only for an instant—then her face was set again with rock-solid resolve.
“Just think long and hard about the night before you were supposed to get married, Parker. Where were you before the accident? In whose bed?”
His skin tightened. Surely he hadn’t—Eyes narrowing, he stared up at her. “If I was in your bed, where was Brad?” he asked, as memory after painful memory pricked at his conscience only to escape before he could really latch on to anything solid.
“Passed out on the couch,” she said bitterly, hiking the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “He’d drunk too much.”
He almost believed her. Something about what she was saying was true. He could sense it. “So,” he said slowly, “if I’d planned to stay with you that night, why didn’t I take Brad home first?”
She paled a bit, then blinked back sudden tears. “Beats me. Look, I’m not trying to hassle you or Shawna. I just took her advice by giving you all the facts.”
“And what do you expect to get out of it?” he asked, studying the tilt of her chin.
“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea, you don’t
have
to marry me—we never had that kind of a deal, but I do want my son to know his father and I would expect you to ...” She lifted one shoulder. “You know ... take care of us.”
have
to marry me—we never had that kind of a deal, but I do want my son to know his father and I would expect you to ...” She lifted one shoulder. “You know ... take care of us.”
“Financially?”
She nodded, some of her hard edge dissipating. “What happened—the accident and you losing your memory—isn’t really fair to the baby, is it?”
“Maybe nothing’s fair,” he said, then raked his fingers through his hair. He’d never let anyone manipulate him and he had the distinct feeling that Melinda James was doing just that. Scowling, he felt cornered, and he wanted to put her in her place. But he couldn’t. No matter what the truth of the matter was, her unborn child hadn’t asked to be brought into a world with a teenager for a mother and no father to care for him.
When the phone rang, she stood. “Think about it,” she advised, swinging her purse over her shoulder and heading toward the door.
Closing his eyes, he dropped his face into his hands and tried to think, tried to remember sleeping with Melinda, making love to her.
But he couldn’t remember anything. Though he strained to concentrate on the dark-haired young woman who claimed to be carrying his child, the image that swam in front of his eyes was the flushed and laughing face of Shawna McGuire as she clung to the neck of a white carousel stallion.
Once again he saw her laughing, her blond hair billowing behind her as she reached, grabbing blindly for a ribboned brass ring. Or was the image caused by looking too long at photographs of that fateful day?
Think, Harrison, think!
A fortune-teller with voluminous skirts sat by a small table in a foul-smelling tent as she held Shawna’s palm. Gray clouds gathered overhead, rain began to pepper the ground, the road was dark and wet, and Brad was screaming... .
Parker gritted his teeth, concentrating so much his entire head throbbed. He had to remember. He had to!
The phone rang again, for the fourth or fifth time, and he reached to answer it just in time to hear the smooth voice of Lon Saxon, a friend and private detective. “That you, Parker?”
“Right here,” Parker replied.
“Good. I’ve got some of the information you wanted on Melinda James.”
Parker’s guts wrenched. Here it was. The story. “Okay, tell me all about her.”
Shawna’s fingers were clammy on the wheel as she turned into the drive of Parker’s house. After driving aimlessly through the damp streets of Portland, she decided she had to return and confront him. She couldn’t run from him and Melinda’s baby like some wounded animal.
Silently praying that Melinda had already left, Shawna was relieved to see that the girl’s tiny convertible wasn’t parked in the drive.
“Remember that he loves you,” she told herself as she flicked off the engine and picked up the white bags of hamburgers she’d bought at a local fast-food restaurant. “Just give him time.”
Inside, the house was quiet, and for a heart-stopping minute, Shawna thought Parker had left with Melinda. The den was dark and cold, the living room empty. Then she noticed a shaft of light streaming from under the door of his bedroom.
She knocked lightly on the panels, then poked her head inside.
He was still dressed in the old jeans but his shirt was hanging limply from a post on the bed, and his chest was stripped bare. His head was propped by huge pillows and he stared straight at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“Truce?” she asked, holding up two white bags of food.
He didn’t move, except to shift his gaze to the bags.
“Was it bad? With Melinda?”
“Did you expect it to be good?”
Hanging on to her emotions, she walked into the room and sat on the bed next to him. The mattress sagged a little, but still he didn’t move.
Though her hands were trembling, she opened one bag and held out a paper-wrapped burger. When he ignored the offering she set it, along with the white sacks, on the nightstand. “I didn’t expect anything. Every day has a new set of surprises,” she admitted, tossing her hair over her shoulders and staring straight at him, refusing to flinch. “Look, let’s be completely honest with each other.”
“Haven’t we been?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I—I just don’t know where I stand with you anymore.”
“Then maybe you should move out.”
“Maybe,” she said slowly, and saw a streak of pain darken his eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“Honesty? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes.” She braced herself for the worst.
His jaw grew rock hard. “Then,
honestly,
I want to do the right thing. If the baby’s mine—”
honestly,
I want to do the right thing. If the baby’s mine—”
“It isn’t,” she said.
The look he gave her cut straight through her heart. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“No, but—
Yes.
I do know something—something you don’t remember—that we loved each other, that we would never have betrayed each other, that Melinda’s baby
can’t
be yours.”
Yes.
I do know something—something you don’t remember—that we loved each other, that we would never have betrayed each other, that Melinda’s baby
can’t
be yours.”
“I remember her,” he said softly.
She gave a weak sound of protest.
His throat worked. “And I remember being with her that night—holding her. She was crying and—”
“No! This is all part of her lies!” Shawna screamed, her stomach twisting painfully, her breath constricted and tight. She wanted to lash out and hit anyone or anything that stood in her way. “You’re lying to me!”
“Listen to me, damn it!” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her forward so that she fell across his chest, her hair spilling over his shoulders. “I remember being with her that night. Everything’s not clear, I’ll grant you that. But I was in her apartment!”
“Oh, no,” she whispered.
“And there’s more.”
“Parker, please—”
“You were the one who wanted honesty, remember?” His words were harsh, but there wasn’t any trace of mockery in his eyes, just blue, searing torment.
“No—”
“Her story checks out, at least part of it. I had a private detective in Cleveland do some digging. Her mother’s dead. Her father is an unemployed steelworker who hasn’t held a job in ten years! Melinda supported him while she went to high school. He was furious with her when he found out she was pregnant.”
Shawna’s fingers clenched over the sheets. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means she’s not a chronic liar and she obviously has some sense of right and wrong.”
“Then we’ll just have to wait, won’t we?” she asked dully, her entire world black. “Until you regain your memory or the baby’s born and paternity tests can be run.”
“I don’t think so,” he said thoughtfully. She didn’t move, dread mounting in her heart, knowing the axe was about to fall. “She told me she wants me to recognize the baby as mine and provide support.”
“She wants you to marry her, doesn’t she? She expects it?”
“No—” he let his voice drop off.
“But you’re considering it!” Shawna gasped, all her hopes dashed as the realization struck her. Parker was going to do the noble deed and marry a girl he didn’t know! Cold to the bone, she tried to scramble away, but he held her fast. “This is crazy—you
can’t
marry her. You don’t even remember her!”
can’t
marry her. You don’t even remember her!”
“I remember enough,” he said, his voice oddly hollow.
For the first time Shawna considered the horrid fact that he might be the baby’s father, that he might have betrayed her the week and night before their wedding, had one last fling with a young girl. “I ... I don’t think I want to hear this,” she whispered.
“You wanted the truth, Shawna. So here it is: I’m responsible for Melinda’s predicament and I can’t ignore that responsibility or pretend it doesn’t exist, much as I might want to.” His eyes searched her face and she recognized his pain—the bare, glaring fact that he still loved her. She could smell the maleness of him, hear the beating of his heart, feel the warmth of his skin, and yet he was pushing her away.
“Please, Parker, don’t do this—”
“I have no choice.”
“You’re claiming the baby,” she whispered, eyes moist, insides raw and bleeding.
“Yes.” His jaw was tight, every muscle in his body rigid as he took in a long, shaky breath. “So—I think it would be better for everyone involved if you moved out.”
She closed her eyes as her world began spinning away from her. All her hopes and dreams were just out of reach. She felt his grip slacken. Without a word, she walked to the door. “I—I’ll start packing in the morning,” she whispered.
“Good.”
Then, numb from head to foot, she closed the door behind her. As she slowly mounted the stairs, she thought she heard him swear and then there was a huge crash against one of the walls, as if a fist or object had collided with plaster. But she didn’t pay any attention. All she could think about was the horrid emptiness that was her future—a future barren and bleak without Parker.
C
HAPTER
11
HAPTER
11
Tossing off the covers, Shawna rolled over and stared at the clock. Three a.m. and the room was pitch black except for the green digital numbers. Tomorrow she was leaving, giving up on Parker.
Before a single tear slid down her cheek, she searched in the darkness for her robe. Her fingers curled in the soft terry fabric and she fought the urge to scream. How could he do this? Why couldn’t he remember?
Angry with herself, Parker, and the world in general, she yanked open the door to her room and padded silently along the hall and down the stairs, her fingers trailing on the banister as she moved quietly in the darkness. She didn’t want to wake Parker, though she didn’t really know why. The thought that he was sleeping peacefully while she was ripped to ribbons inside was infuriating.
In the kitchen she rattled around for a mug, the powdered chocolate, and a carton of milk. Then, while her cocoa was heating in the microwave, she felt a wild need to escape, to run away from the house that trapped her with its painful memories.
Without really thinking, she unlocked the French doors of the dining room and walked outside to the balcony overlooking the dark Willamette. The air was fresh and bracing, the sound of the river soothing as it flowed steadily toward the Columbia.
Clouds scudded across a full moon, filtering thin beams of moonlight, which battled to illuminate the night and cast shadows on the river. Leaves, caught in the wind, swirled and drifted to the ground.
Shivering, Shawna tightened her belt and leaned forward over the rail, her fingers curling possessively around the painted wood. This house was to have been hers, but losing the house didn’t matter. Losing Parker was what destroyed her. She would gladly have lived in a shack with him, if only he could have found his way back to her. But now it was over. Forever.
She heard the microwave beep. Reluctantly she turned, her breath catching in her throat when she found Parker staring at her, one shoulder propped against the open French door.
“Couldn’t sleep, either?” he asked, his night-darkened gaze caressing her face.
“No.” She lifted her chin upward, unaware that moonlight shimmered silver in her hair and reflected in her eyes. “Can I get you a cup?” she asked, motioning toward the kitchen. “Hot chocolate’s supposed to do the trick.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” For once there was no sarcasm in his voice.
“Well, you know me,” she said, laughing bitterly at the irony. “At least you did. But maybe you don’t remember that I don’t put too much stock in prescriptions—sleeping pills and the like. Some of the old-fashioned cures are still the best. So, if you want, I’ll fix you a cup.”
“I don’t think so.”
Knowing she should leave, just brush past him, grab her damned cocoa and hightail it upstairs, she stood, mesmerized, realizing that this might be their last moment alone. She couldn’t help staring pointedly at his bare chest, at his muscles rigid and strident, his jeans riding low over his hips. Nor could she ignore his brooding and thoughtful expression. His angular features were dark and his eyes, what she could see of them, were focused on her face and neck. As his gaze drifted lower to linger at the cleft of her breasts and the wisp of white lace from her nightgown, she swallowed against her suddenly dry throat.
“I thought you should have this,” he said quietly as he walked across the balcony, reached into the pocket of his jeans, and extracted the brass ring he’d won at the fair. Even in the darkness she recognized the circle of metal and the ribbons fluttering in the breeze. “You should have caught this that day.”
“You remember?” she asked quickly as her fingers touched the cold metal ring.
“Pieces.”
Hope sprang exuberantly in her heart. “Then—”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“But—”
His hand closed over hers, warm and comforting, as his fingers forced hers to curl over the ring. “Take it.”
“Parker, please, talk to me!” Desperate, she pleaded with him. “If you remember—then you know the baby—”
His jaw grew rock hard. “I don’t know for sure, but you have to accept that the baby is mine,” he said, his eyes growing distant. He turned then, limping across the balcony and through the kitchen.
For a few minutes Shawna just stared at the damned ring in her hands as memory after painful memory surfaced. Then, unable to stop herself from trying one last time, she practically flew into the house and down the hall, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floors. “Parker, wait!”
She caught up with him in his bedroom. “Leave it, Shawna,” he warned.
“But you remember!” Breathless, her heart hammering, she faced him. “You know what we meant to each other!”
“What I remember,” he said coldly, though his gaze said differently, “is that you wouldn’t sleep with me.”
“We had an agreement,” she said weakly, clasping the post of his bed for support. “Maybe it was stupid, but—”
“And you teased me—”
“I what?” But she’d heard the words before. Stricken, she could only whisper, “It was a joke between us. You used to laugh!”
“I told you then you’d drive me to a mistress,” he said, his brows pulling down sharply over his eyes.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” she accused him. “You’re forcing yourself to be cruel—just to push me away! All that business about having a mistress ... you were kidding ... it was just a little game ... oh, God.” She swayed against the post. Had she really been so blind? Had Parker and Melinda—? Numb inside she stumbled backward. Before she could say or do anything to further degrade herself, she scrambled out of the room.
“Shawna—”
She heard him call, but didn’t listen.
“I didn’t mean to—”
But she was already up the stairs, slamming the door shut, embarrassed to tears as she flipped on the light and jerked her suitcases from the closet to fling them open on the bed.
“Damn it, Shawna! Come down here.”
No way!
She couldn’t trust herself, not around him. She wouldn’t. She felt close to tears but wouldn’t give in to them. Instead she flung clothes—dresses, sweaters, underwear, slacks—anything she could find into the first suitcase and slammed it shut.
She couldn’t trust herself, not around him. She wouldn’t. She felt close to tears but wouldn’t give in to them. Instead she flung clothes—dresses, sweaters, underwear, slacks—anything she could find into the first suitcase and slammed it shut.
“Listen to me—”
Dear God, his voice was closer! He was actually struggling up the stairs! What if he fell? What if he lost his balance and stumbled backward! “Leave me alone, Parker!” she shouted, snapping the second suitcase shut. She found her purse, slung the strap over her shoulder, slipped into her shoes, and hauled both bags to the landing.
He was there. His face was red from the exertion of the climb, and his eyes were blazing angrily. “Look,” he said, reaching for her, but she spun out of his grasp and he nearly fell backward down the steep stairs.
“Stop it!” she cried, worried sick that he would stumble. “Just stop it!”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“Too late! But it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. It’s over. I’m leaving you alone. That’s what you want, isn’t it? It’s what you’ve been telling me to do all along. You’ve got your wish.”
“Please—”
Her traitorous heart told her to stay, but this time, damn it, she was going to think with her head. “Good luck, Parker,” she choked out. “I mean it, really. I—I wish you the best.” Then she ran down the stairs, feeling the tears filling her eyes as she fled through the front door.
The night wind tore at her robe and hair as she raced down the brick path to the garage and the safety of her little hatchback. Gratefully, she slid behind the steering wheel and with trembling fingers flicked on the ignition. The engine roared to life just as Parker opened the kitchen door and snapped on the overhead light in the garage.
Shawna sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he’d made it safely downstairs. Then she shoved the gearshift into reverse and the little car squealed out of the garage.
Driving crazily along the empty highway toward Lake Oswego, she could barely breathe. She had to fight to keep from sobbing hysterically as she sought the only safe refuge she knew. Jake—her brother—she could stay with him.
Slow down,
she warned herself, as she guided the car toward the south side of the lake where Jake lived in a small bungalow.
Please be home,
she thought as she parked, grabbed her suitcases, and trudged up the front steps to the porch.
she warned herself, as she guided the car toward the south side of the lake where Jake lived in a small bungalow.
Please be home,
she thought as she parked, grabbed her suitcases, and trudged up the front steps to the porch.
The door opened before she could knock and Jake, his dark hair falling in wild locks over his forehead, his jaw stubbled, his eyes bleary, grabbed the heavier bag. “Come on in, sis,” he said, eyeing her gravely.
“You knew?”
“Parker called. He was worried about you.”
She let out a disgusted sound, but when Jake kicked the door shut and wrapped one strong arm around her, she fell apart, letting out the painful sobs that ripped at her soul.
“It’s okay,” he whispered.
“I wonder if it will ever be,” Shawna said, before emitting a long, shuddering sigh and shivering from the cold.
“Come on,” Jake suggested, propelling her to the tiny alcove that was his kitchen. “Tell me what happened.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“You don’t have much choice. You talk and I’ll cook. The best omelet in town.”
Shawna’s stomach wrenched at the thought of food. “I’m not hungry.”
“Well, I am,” he said, plopping her down in one of the creaky kitchen chairs and opening the refrigerator, “So, come on, spill it. Just what the hell happened between you and Parker tonight?”
Swallowing hard, Shawna clasped her hands on the table and started at the beginning.
Parker could have kicked himself. Angry with himself, the world, and one lying Melinda James, he ignored the fact that it was the middle of the night and dialed his lawyer.
The phone rang five times before he heard Martin Calloway’s groggy voice. “Hello?” he mumbled.
“Hello. This is—”
“I know who it is, Harrison. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Vaguely.”
“And whatever’s on your mind couldn’t wait ’til morning?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Parker said, his gaze roving around the dark, empty kitchen. Damn, but the house felt cold without Shawna. “I want you to draw up some papers.”
“Some papers,” Martin repeated dryly. “Any particular kind?”
“Adoption,” Parker replied flatly, “and postdate them by about six or seven months.”
“Wait a minute—what the hell’s going on?”
“I’ve had a breakthrough,” Parker said, his entire life crystal clear since his argument with Shawna. “Something happened tonight that brought everything back and now I need to straighten out a few things.”
“By adopting a child that isn’t born yet?”
“For starters—I don’t care how you handle it—I just want to make sure the adoption will be legal and binding.”
“I’ll need the mother’s signature.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Parker said. “Oh—and just one other thing. I want to keep the fact that I’m remembering again a secret.”
“Any particular reason?”
“There’s someone I have to tell—after we get whatever letters of intent for adoption or whatever it’s called signed.”
“I’ll work on it in the morning.”
“Great.”
Parker hung up and walked restlessly to his bedroom. He thought about chasing Shawna down at Jake’s and admitting that he remembered his past, but decided to wait until everything was settled. This time, he wasn’t going to let anything come between them!
If Shawna had known the torment she was letting herself in for, she might have thought twice about leaving Parker so abruptly. Nearly a week had dragged by, one day slipping into the next in a simple routine of patients, hospitals, and sleepless nights. Though Shawna fought depression, it clung to her like a heavy black cloak, weighing down her shoulders and stealing her appetite.
“You can’t go on like this,” Jake said one morning as Shawna, dressed in a skirt and blouse, sipped a cup of coffee and scanned the newspaper without interest.
“Or
you
can’t?” Shawna replied.
you
can’t?” Shawna replied.
Jake’s dog, Bruno, was lying under the table. With one brown eye and one blue, he stared at Maestro and growled as the precocious tabby hopped onto the window ledge. Crouching behind a broad-leafed plant, his tail twitching, Maestro glared longingly past the glass panes to the hanging bird feeder where several snowbirds pecked at seeds.
Jake refused to be distracted. “If you don’t believe that you’re moping around here, take a look in the mirror, for Pete’s sake.”
“No, thank you.”
“Shawna, you’re killing yourself,” Jake accused, sitting angrily in the chair directly across from hers.
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