Rekindled (29 page)

“For dinner?”

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t have the willpower to wait until breakfast for this.”

Anne drew a finger across the back of the cooling wooden spoon and licked the sweet syrup from its tip. “Mmmmmm. You may be right.” She paused. “French toast.”

“French toast, it is.” Following her example, he tasted the syrup, then ran his finger over the spoon and held it to her mouth. The syrup was as rich and sweet as the moment itself. Anne thought she could go no higher.

Suddenly, a faraway gleam entered his eyes. His voice was filled with gentleness. “Rachel enjoyed this taste-testing stage the most last year, too.”

Anne froze. Rachel? His “obligation”? She frowned, then stood straighter, then backed away from the arm on her shoulders. Rachel?

With that faraway gleam, and such gentleness? Oh, yes, he loved Rachel. Anne didn’t doubt it for a minute.

He was frowning. “What is it?”

“How could you?”

“How could I what?” His innocence riled her.

“How could you do that to me? How could you mention her name at a time like this?” She felt eviscerated, as though he had become part of her and was being cut free.

“Her name?” Then he realized what he had done, and his frown gentled. “I mentioned Rachel, didn’t I?”

The softness in his voice at the mention of her name ravaged Anne. “How could you?” she repeated. Tears welled. When he reached out, she flinched and took a step back.

“Annie, listen-“

She took another step, then another. “I don’t want to hear about your love life.”

“You’re wrong-“

“Yes, I’m wrong. I’m wrong to want to stay up here with you, when I should be back in New York trying to build a new life. I’m wrong to think that you really wanted me here, when in one careless minute you go wimpy over another woman. How could you, Mitch? Can’t you see that I love you?”

Whirling around, she ran from the kitchen, taking the steps with reckless speed, stopping only when the door to her bedroom was slammed and flush to her back. Trembling hands covered her eyes and grew wet with tears. The pounding of her heart drowned out the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

He rapped on the door. “Open up, Anne.”

“No.” She was mortified by what she had said, and heartsick that it had come to this.

“There are things I have to tell you, Anne. Open the door.”

Weeping, she only shook her head.

“Anne…”

“Go away!” she pleaded. She couldn’t face him. Nothing he said mattered.

“I love you, Annie.” His voice filtered soft and sensuous through the ancient wood of the door, and suddenly it did matter, very much. If this was a cruel hoax, she would never forgive him.

Turning, she laid her wet cheek against the door. Afraid to listen, afraid not to, she waited.

“Did you hear me, Annie?” Again the velvet sound, too dear to be dismissed, too real to be denied. “I love you.”

Her pulse raced. She wanted to believe that he did, wanted to believe it more than anything in the world. But there was a crucial question still to be answered.

Slowly she turned the knob and drew open the door. Fearful, she raised her eyes to his. And she saw love, surely she did, unless she wanted it so bad that she was imagining it.

“Do you love Rachel, too?” she asked in a faltering whisper.

When he reached for her arms, she didn’t resist. Neither did she melt toward him, but held her line, waiting, waiting for his answer.

His smile was sad but tender. “Yes, I love Rachel.” His hands tightened when she would have pulled free. “But I love her in a very different way from how I love you, Annie. Rachel is my daughter.”

Anne was shocked. His daughter? She had been jealous of his daughter?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she cried, wanting to hit him but slipping her arms around his neck instead.

He held her tightly. “I’ve wanted to so many times. But it never seemed appropriate. At the beginning, there was a part of me that wanted-God forgive me-that wanted to forget her existence while I was up here. Fatherhood has its merits, but it’s been my greatest challenge since Bey’s death.”

He had a daughter. Anne could only begin to imagine that, much less the challenge of going it alone. “Maybe I could have helped.”

“You’ve had enough to face without having to cope with a child.”

“How old is she?”

“She turned six last week. And she came down with the chicken pox the day after her birthday. It’s the first time she’s been sick-really sick since her mother died.”

Anne understood. “That’s why you were late arriving last weekend?”

He nodded against her head. “My parents have been wonderful, taking her for weeks at a stretch. They’re often more cheerful than me.” He looked down at her. “But I couldn’t leave them with a sick child who only wanted her mother to hold her.” His voice broke at the last.

“Why didn’t you bring her up here with you?” Anne scolded.

He studied her closely. “I wasn’t sure how you felt about kids. We’ve never talked about that, you and me. I only know you have none of your own.”

“Not through choice, Mitch, not through choice.”

“But to foist a sick child on you? How could I do that?”

Anne spoke from the heart. “I would have loved to have met your daughter. I’d have loved helping you take care of her. She’s your daughter.” Her voice fell. “And I love you.”

He crushed her in his arms. The force of it said all that he didn’t, but seconds later he was kissing her. If she hadn’t already gotten the message, he did then. There was a vow in his kiss, a declaration, a promise.

“I love you … love you … love you,” she whispered at the very first chance, loving being able to say it at last.

When his hands moved down to frame her face and tip it up, she savored the devotion she saw. His eyes asked a question; hers answered. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her back down the narrow staircase to the room with the large bed, his bed.

This time, when he lowered her and reached for the hem of her sweater, she caught his hands and stilled them. “Let me,” she said. “I need to know you.”

He searched her eyes for a minute. Then, silently, he sat back on the bed and let her undress him. When his big body was bare, she could only marvel at its beauty, at the beauty of the love she felt. She explored his every sinew, touching him with innocent wonder from his shoulders to his thighs, skimming lean planes, tracing manly swells, delighting in his arousal.

When his patience was exhausted, he made a gutteral sound. “That’s it, honey. That’s it.” With bullet speed, he flipped over her and removed every stitch of her clothes.

They lay naked then on the cool sheets, facing one another. Their breathing was heavy with need and want, but he held her off for those last few infinitely trying seconds. His eyes ran the length of her once more before searching her soul.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“I love you,” she replied.

“But it’s different for a woman, isn’t it?”

“Not when she’s in love.”

“Then you’ll be mine?”

She grinned. “If you keep me waiting much longer, I may attack you.”

The waiting ended. He possessed her as the pale purple of early evening bathed them in its glow, and it was good from the very first. Good … better … all-consuming … exhausting … absolutely, positively mind-blowing.

Arms and legs entwined, they slept, the deep and satisfied sleep of two who were spent and content. Long forgotten was the maple syrup on the stove, cooling to a thick amber perfection, and the French toast that was to have showcased it. They were oblivious when dusk faded to a dark and moonlit night.

When Anne awoke some time later, the only things she cared about were the warm chest pillowing her head and the lean hip under her palm. Her first movement brought a tightening of the arm across her back and the reverent caress of a hand. Smiling, she kissed the matted hair on his chest, then tipped her head to see him. His chin was strong but relaxed, the angled jaw likewise. His hair fell in waves over his forehead, lending a boyish charm. But his eyes-his eyes held hers, speaking of love.

“How are you?” he asked gently.

She traced the line of his jaw. “I’ve never been better.”

“I love you. You know that now, don’t you?”

She nodded. He could never have made love to her the way he had if it hadn’t come from the heart. But he repeated the words as the night passed, reassuring her again and again, and Anne had never known such a night. She would collapse, breathless, weary of limb and shuddering in the aftermath of passion, only to discover before long that Mitch had a new way to say it.

The sun was high in the late-morning sky when they finally awoke. They lay in bed, face to face, studying, marveling, smiling.

“How am I going to drive back to New York today?” she finally asked. Forget her heart. Her body was done in.

“You’re not. When I go to make my phone call later today, I’ll make any you need to make. I’m sure the O’Gradys won’t mind.”

“The O’Gradys?”

“Our neighbors, about two miles to the east. I found them by accident once, but they’re used to me now. I always call Rachel from there.”

Anne smiled. “Rachel. You’re daughter. That’s so special, Mitch. I’m glad you keep in touch with her while you’re away. I feel guilty that you left her at all to meet me, especially when she was sick.”

“She was better by the time I left. But don’t worry your pretty head about that. What you need to worry about is whether I’ll let you out of this bed before Monday.”

She feigned shock. “You wouldn’t keep me here that long.”

“No?”

She took another tack. “You couldn’t.”

“No?” His eyes held a naughty gleam. Then he slid over her and proved her wrong.

Saturday night they had cause to celebrate, toasting each other by first and last names, making merry despite the fact that they had both decided to leave the next day. Mitch had a Monday morning board meeting, Anne needed to deliver a promised piece of work. The real world waited.

She dreaded the moment of parting. What they had was so new, so fragile, so precious that she would have liked nothing more than to stay in the cottage forever.

But Mitch grew preoccupied as that moment of parting drew near. Finally, cautiously, he said, “The next few weeks are going to be impossible for me, Annie. I have some business matters coming to a head, and I’ll want to spend extra time with Rachel. Let me call you as soon as things clear up. Is that okay?”

Given their intimacy and the number of times he’d said he loved her, Anne might have been puzzled by his unsureness, but she was starting to grow preoccupied herself. The court hearing on the matter of her law suit was only a week and a half off.

She took a resigned breath and gave him a hopeful smile. “I’ll be waiting.

Wait she did, day after day, night after night. The knowledge that Mitch was suffering through a busy spell was small solace. Only the belief that he loved her carried her through to the evening before her court appearance, when the phone finally rang.

“How are you, Annie?” He sounded caring, but a little guarded.

“Fine. But I miss you.” She had no pride.

“Same here, honey. Are you all set for tomorrow?”

She was touched that he remembered the date, touched that he was calling to give her last-minute encouragement. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” she answered honestly. “But my family and Jeff’s will be coming to get me first thing in the morning. I think they’re not sure that I’ll show up on my own.”

“They’ll all be there?”

“Most of them. I’ll have plenty of emotional support.”

“I’m glad.”

A silence fell. To lighten it, she asked, “How’s Rachel?”

“Fine. Thanks for asking. A few scabs still left, but she’s back at school.” Again a pause, even heavier this time. “Anne?”

“Yes?”

“I love you very much.” His voice was melancholy. Anne wanted to believe that he was as bothered by the separation as she was.

“I love you, too. When will I see you?”

“Soon, honey, soon. I’ll talk with you again soon. Just remember that I love you.”

Tears filled her eyes. Something felt wrong. But he said he loved her. She had to hold on to that.

The next day was warm by April standards, but Anne woke up feeling chilled. At nine o’clock sharp, Jeff’s father rang her bell.

She kissed him, feeling the same fondness she always had, and reached for her coat and purse. “Are the others downstairs?” She was eager to be gone. The sooner the day was done, the better. She had been unable to touch any breakfast, and her stomach continued to knot.

“Actually, no. There’s been a slight change. Our lawyer got the call this morning.”

“What kind of change?”

He took her arm and directed her back into the room. “Sit for a minute and I’ll explain.” When they were seated on the sofa, he said, “The hearing has been called off.”

“What?” After dreading the day for so long, the last thing Anne wanted was to have to go through the agony of anticipation all over again. “Why?”

“It’s good news, really. There will probably be an out-of-court settlement.”

A wave of relief swept her. “You mean, there won’t be a hearing at all?”

He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“Then today?” The first thing she could think of was changing out of her suit and into jeans, and putting the whole matter behind her at last.

“Today we go to the lawyer’s office. The lawyer representing the airline, that is. It seems that Southeast American Air has counter-filed a suit, one against the manufacturer of the aircraft itself.” He waited for her nod, just as Jeff would have done. Then he went on. “The latest investigation points to a weakness in the design of the craft as the cause of the accident, rather than pilot error or substandard maintenance procedures. Southeast American Air has a fine reputation on those scores.”

Anne didn’t understand. “Then isn’t this the end between the airline and me? Why do I need to do anything more?”

Theodore Boulton took her cold hand. “They need a deposition from you, a statement of what you suffered and will suffer in the future because of the accident. The lawyer asks questions and you answer under oath. You see,” he explained, “in order to arrange a settlement, there has to be some assessment of damages, of losses. Not only will our lawyer, the airline’s lawyer, and its president be there, but there will be similar representation by the airplane manufacturer.”